Wounding and Death in the 'Iliad': Homeric Techniques of Description 0715629832, 9780715629833

Citation preview

WOUNDING AND DEATH IN THE ILIAD Homeric Techniques of Description

Wolf-Hartmut Friedrich Translated by Gabriele Wright and Peter Jones Preface by Peter Jones Appendix by K.B. Saunders

Duckworth

First published in 2003 by Gerald Duckworth & Co. Ltd. 61 Frith Street, London W1D 3JL Tel: 020 7434 4242 Fax: 020 7434 4420 [email protected] www.ducknet.co.uk © 2003 by Wolf-Hartmut Friedrich Translation © 2003 by Peter Jones and Gabriele Wright Appendix © 2003 by K.B. Saunders Ah rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the pubhsher. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 0 7156 2983 2

Typeset by Ray Davies Printed in Great Britain by Bookcraft (Bath) Ltd, Midsomer Norton, Avon

Contents ix xi

Foreword Preface by Peter Jones Introduction

[5] 1

I. Phantasmata II. Truth to Life Additions to I and II: A. Pseudo-Realism B. Low Realism III. Strict Style Appendices I. The Duels in Γ and H II. Harpalion and Lycaon III. Sarpedon IV. N : Ξ : Π

[11] 7 [30] 23 [43] 34 [52] 41 [64] 53 [84] [97] [103] [113]

71 82 88 97

103 [120] 127

Notes Index

131 131 137 147 151 153 161 162

Appendix by K.B. Saunders Introduction Phantasmata Pseudorealism Low Realism Other Problematic Wounds Conclusions Notes

References in square brackets are to the original page numbers of Friedrich’s text.

V

Preface Peter Jones Friedrich argues that different styles in the Iliad indicate different authors. His conclusions will not find many supporters: indeed, since the need to believe in a single composer offthe Iliad seems to be almost an article of faith in western scholarship at the moment, it is hard to think of any case that would. The fact that Homer’s poetry is oral in nature certainly weakens, if it does not destroy, many of the tradi­ tional arguments for multiple authorship, but that single fact does not automatically preclude the possibility that the work of more than one oral poet may help to constitute today’s text. After all, we can at the moment say nothing for certain about the conditions of the production of epic poetry in Homer’s time, let alone how the Iliad came to be in the form we have it. But if we were to make any case at all for multiple authorship, my sense of the matter is that style would be an important determining factor. However far one may justify the content of ψ 297- ω 5481 on thematic grounds, for example, I find its stylistic ineptitude quite inconsistent with most of the rest of the Odyssey.2 In this context it is interesting that oral stylistics is a field that remains, if not exactly virgin, then pretty thinly ploughed.3 Such judgements can be perilously subjective, and Friedrich is well aware of the problem. His Introduction is suitably scathing about earlier efforts to carve up the Iliad stylistically and aesthetically (see e.g. [5-7]),4 and his own solution is to produce stylistic and aesthetic, or value, judgements by restricting himself to comparing like with like - in this case, battle scenes [8] - and distinguishing between authors on grounds of the varying levels of plausibility or implausibility of the wounds and deaths suffered by the heroes [10]. This is where the medical interest of Friedrich’s work lies. Two points need to be made. First, as Kenneth Saunders argues in his Appendix, Friedrich’s categories range over a spectrum of physical possibilities, so that his distinctions between ‘fantasy*, ‘pseudo-realism’ and ‘low realism’ are not as sharp as they might be. Second, though Friedrich does indeed argue on medical grounds for the plausibility

Preface

or otherwise of a wound, he had no strict need to since, for literary purposes, it is the effect of the description on the imagination of the reader that counts. Herein, of course, lies the potential weakness of Friedrich’s analysis: what seems plausible or implausible to him may not in all cases have seemed so to the poet (just as, indeed, the death of Thoon will appear fantastic to the twenty-first-century doctor, but a layman might see little more to it than a hearty blow to the spine). For all that, since ancient scholia thought it worth commenting on some of the grislier wounds, often for moral purposes, the awareness of different styles of wounding is not a modern prejudice. We may summarise the situation today as follows: it is rather as if a doctor, an art-historian and a man-in-the-street were to react to (say) all the arrow wounds in all the paintings of St Sebastian’s martyrdom. The categories ‘likely’ and ‘unlikely’ would have different meanings to all parties (diagnosis of the consequences for St Sebastian of an arrow piercing the liver would not come into the art-historian’s thinking, for example, nor would artistic genre come into the doctor’s thinking, and neither criterion would come into the layman’s), but the conclusions of the one would not necessarily invalidate the perceptions of the others. By way of exemplifying Friedrich’s method, I take the scenes in which a warrior, and/or his attendant charioteer, are killed, after being rendered somehow helpless [Uff.]. The scene in which Idome­ neus kills Asius and Antilochus then kills Asius’(nameless) attendant who is at his wits’ end, hunched up in the chariot (N 387ff.), seems to Friedrich a model piece of action. But the scene at Π 399ff., where Patroclus kills Pronous and then his terrified, hunched attendant Thestor, seems to him far less satisfactory: Thestor’s terror is not related to Pronous’ death, and Thestor (who is named) is a nobody anyway, elevated into importance by being pictured in a lengthy simile which describes him as being hooked and lifted out of the chariot like a fish out of water, an image Friedrich finds fantastic. Things worsen at E 576, where Menelaus kills Pylaimenes (‘standing stock still’, for reasons Friedrich guesses may be related to the ‘terrified attendant’ theme); and Antilochus then kills his attendant Mydon with a sword-blow to the head. Friedrich points out that the poet does not make clear that Pylaimenes is even in, or indeed anywhere near, his chariot at the time, and finds the death of Mydon even more fantastic - falhng out of the chariot to stick upside down in the sand before being kicked over by the horses. Friedrich now turns to N 434ff. Here Alcathous is not in a chariot, but on foot. He too is incapable of action - this time because Poseidon has put him in a trance and shackled his limbs - and his armour gets a special mention because it ‘rings out drily” as the spear cuts through into his heart, X ll

Preface whose ‘dying palpitations shook the spear to the very butt’.5This, says Friedrich, is a magical, nightmarish scene, full of special effects. On this basis Friedrich starts to cast his net wider over the poem, and gradually it emerges [40] that much of N and Ξ is a combination of realistic and unrealistic warrior-actions, that the realistic episodes relate only to the wounding and retreat of Priam’s sons, and the additional material helps to delay the major battle between Ajax and Hector, which should surely start at N 802 but does not in fact occur till Ξ 402 (in which, as a climax to the ‘retreat’ theme, Hector too, the most important of Priam’s sons, gives way). Friedrich draws some parallels with the series of Greek woundings in Λ, and concludes that fantastic scenes, constructed by some other poet, have been added to the realistic scenes in N and Ξ, and that one of the purposes is to highlight heroes like Meriones, who are generally associated with such scenes and whom he sees as typical of ‘newcomers’ to the epic, introduced in its final stages; not being able to compete with the established heroes, they are described in such way as to offer stronger literary stimuli to the audience [78].6 In other words, small-scale analysis by style can have wider ramifications for conclusions about composition. This summary pursues only one thread among a large tapestry, but it shows, broadly, how Friedrich works. It is, of course, ironical that at one point he uses the phrase ‘variation and theme’ in relation to scenes like the death of Asius’charioteer and its multiforms [17], since in musical composition that phrase celebrates above all unity of authorship. But Friedrich also talks in terms of ‘motifs’, language with which neither the musician nor the oral critic would have complaints. And this, surely, is the point. Friedrich’s method of work­ ing is entirely compatible with that of the oralist - comparing scenes in terms of motifs - even if the oral critic would deny that it is thereby possible to reach conclusions about authorship of the sort to which Friedrich is drawn. Indeed, Friedrich’s work is used consistently by Bernard Fenik in his definitive Typical Battle Scenes in the Eiad (Hermes Einzelschriften 21, Wiesbaden 1968), and even Fenik, com­ mitted to the view of an oral Homer as he is, still acknowledges that there may be something to be said for e.g. Friedrich’s view of interfer­ ence in N and Ξ. Fenik writes (157): ‘The traditional explanation for this situation [i.e. why Hector and Ajax do not fight at N 382] is simple: the section between lines N 832 and Ξ 402 has been inserted into an originally unified context, splitting it apart and arresting its conclusion. It is, indeed, difficult to escape the conclusion that something has gone seriously awry here, however it may have happened. The xiii

feeling that N 832 and Ξ 402 belong together is further strength­ ened by their stylistic relation, as Friedrich has established. One of the stylistic categories that he isolated is what he calls ‘biotischer Realismus’. This is a manner of describing things or events simply and straightforwardly, but with an eye for detail. It is to be contrasted, for example, with that style which describes details that are weird, fantastic, or grisly, or the monumental style where details are held to a minimum and only what is necessary or most important is described. Friedrich concludes [39, this translation]: ‘For if we contemplate all the passages in which books N and Ξ show the “true-to-life” style which observes meticulously, is concerned about motivation, and is sober rather than effusive, then from all the individual fights, the following stand out: [40] The death of Asius and his charioteer N 384-401; Deiphobus’ appearance N 156-8, his attack on Idomeneus N 402-12, but above all his wounding and his retreat N 527-39; Helenus’ duel with Deipyrus, his attack on Menelaus, his wounding, retreat and nursing by Agenor N 576-600; Hector’s attack N 803-8 (cf. N 145-8), his duel with Ajax, his wounding, fainting and rescue Ξ 402-39 (his awakening is to be included, O 240-3). This selection according to stylistic criteria brings to­ gether material which is separated by much material of a different nature. This obscures the idea which links together the pieces that have been emphasised: Priam’s sons are wounded one after the other....’ These are startling observations, and a check of all the fighting in N and Ξ will show that Friedrich is right. This particular stylistic tendency appears only in these two books and, with the exception of N 384-401 (the death of Asius and his charioteer), it is always in connection with one of the sons of Priam, who are wounded one after the other. Other explanations for this stylistic · phenomenon besides ‘disturbance of the original context’ are possible. The poet could have had scenes in mind from another poem, his own or somebody else’s, from which he borrowed, and where these men’s woundings were related in this particular style.7 Perhaps the deaths and woundings of certain persons were more fixed in the tradition, stylistically and otherwise, than we might expect. But the transition from one of these stylistically identifiable sections to another where the style is different, and vice versa, is not abrupt or difficult elsewhere as it is here between N 832 and Ξ 402. It is this combination of stylistic relatedness and the abrupt break at N 833, plus the thematic connection of N 832 with Ξ 402, that forces the conclu­ sion that some violent disturbance has taken place.’

Preface This is, I think, striking confirmation that Friedrich’s approach to style is on the right lines; and Janko too, even though he rejects the idea of interference in this passage, finds persuasive Friedrich’s style-based analysis [25] that ‘the crescendo of horror contributes to the [Trojan] rout’.8 If Friedrich’s general approach to style is, then, compatible with oral practice $*nd may still be able to make a useful contribution to our understanding of it, what of his broader concerns with layers of authorship? fiere the case is more difficult to make. Yet I still think there is much that oral poetics can learn from the now old-fashioned analytical view of Homeric epic, Friedrich’s or anyone else’s. First, then, a very brief review of the history of analysis. In his Prolegomena ad Homerum (1795), the German scholar F.A. Wolf decisively articulated what some other scholars had felt for some time: that more hands were involved in the production of our Eiad and Odyssey than just the one.9 His reason was that Homer could not have used writing. His poems must therefore have been preserved by rhapsodes, whose faulty memories and desire to intervene corrupted the original words. Further, in Wolf’s view, no oral poet could produce works of such size: for who on earth could ever listen to them? So he concluded that Homer composed short, oral lays c. 950 BC; that these were taken over and expanded by rhapsodes for four centuries; and (when writing became available) enlarged even more by ancient literary editors, who put the poems in the form we have them today and were responsible for their high degree of artistic unity. The job of scholarship was therefore to decide what was Homeric, and what was not - the Homeric question. ‘Analysis’had begun, and with it the long battles between analysts themselves and the wider conflict between analysts and ‘Unitarians’, who were committed to the view that there was one, and one composer only, of the M ad.10 Howard Clarke provides a useful summary of the main theoretical hares that Wolf’s successors set running.11Did Homer, for example, compose one or more short songs himself, or did he assemble short songs composed by others into a larger structure? Was the Eiad once a brief poem —say, about Achilles’ anger - which was then expanded? If so, was it expanded by the addition of episodes, or by enlarging existing episodes? And where did Homer feature in all this? Further, what evidence did one prioritise to determine an answer to these questions - language? logic? style? history? How far should we apply our canons of taste to a primitive illiterate like Homer? Analysts used images like peeling away layers (as of an onion) to get to an original core, or sorting out pieces (like a puzzle), or dough into which new ingredients were blended, or a house with superstructures added, or a series of layers, like a cake (see e.g. [80-1], where Friedrich himself xv

Preface comes up with the idea of a three-colour, and at times strongly speckled, stylistic ‘map’). But we are all oralists now. We take the view that, by and large, a single ‘Homer’ was responsible for the EiacL as we now have it; that its unique size is indicative of a special poetic effort, generated by whatever inclinations and social and poetic circumstances; that ‘Homer’comes at the end of a tradition of oral story-telling going back hundreds of years (so that ‘Homer’has, in a sense, inherited the work of hundreds of earlier oral poets); and that his art consists in the unique way he has re-worked these traditional, typical materials devised to enable the oral poet to recite in the first place - from phrase and sentence at one level to ‘theme’ and story-pattern at larger levels - into the masterpieces we have today. Images of onions, houses, dough and cakes are irrelevant to this unique, individual process though perhaps they would not be if we had any evidence of what an Riad looked like in the hands of earlier poets. The strength of the German analysts in my view is that they imagine all sorts of alternative, shorter Riads which might pre-date our Riad, and then try to trace their development into our Riad by suggesting (on various, often aesthetic or logical, grounds) how the expansion took place. In so doing, analysts had to envisage the narrative implications of earlier Riads with, and without, the epi­ sodes that our Riad possesses. This surely is the point at which oralists should become interested, since addition, expansion and contraction of episodes is at the heart of oral epic technique and thoroughly exemplified in the Riad we possess. What, for example, would the Riad lose without (say) Thersites, the catalogue of ships, the duel between Ajax and Hector in Θ, or the seduction of Zeus? What does it gain, with them? On the much larger scale, if you assume that the earliest Riad told how Achilles, insulted by Agamemnon, withdrew from battle, lost Patroclus to Hector and returned to take successful revenge, the poet could have got by without any of the ethical dimension that our Riad possesses. Much of the first half of the Riad would therefore have been redundant. But if you want to explore the idea of what an insult might mean to a man like Achilles, and you conceive of an embassy to Achilles and his rejection of it, then not merely do you add I but you must also add Θ in order to motivate the embassy in the first place. What then if you conceive of an Achilles so enraged by Patroclus’ death that he refuses to hand back Hector’s corpse? That will require the poet to think about how to end the tale - it will no longer be a mere revenge story —and will generate further ethical considerations that may motivate Ω and deepen exploration of the person of Hector (and therefore, perhaps, suggest the idea of Z). A poet who wanted to use xvi

Preface th e interaction of the heroes further to create a framework w ithin which to e.g. exam ine the rights and wrongs of th e Trojan war w ill then probably find a place for M enelaus, Paris and H elen - and Pandarus too.12 And so on. I h asten to add th at I am not proposing that the M ad w as constructed like this, or th at th ese were the thought-processes that m otivated the poet of the Mad: I sim ply point out th at in purely narrative terms one decision leads to another, and that oral poetry is by its very nature a highly fluid form. This is w here the sort of analysis beloved of nineteenth-century scholarship can, in my view, be so stim ulating. To ask in th e light of Friedrich’s work e.g. ‘w hat would be th e im plications for the structure of our Eiad if it did not have N Ξ O in their present form, or if M eriones and M eges did not feature, or if Sarpedon died in E’ is not to ask counter-factual questions for th e sake of it but is to force on eself to confront th e narrative im plications of different sorts of Eiads and in so doing to understand more clearly the structure and priorities of th is one. One could do worse, for example, than start by considering the im plications of Walter L eaf’s analysis of th e Eiad in h is great com­ m entary on th e poem (M acmillan 1886-8), especially th e table in voi. II, p. xi w ith its eight columns, each (broadly) representing a different poet’s contribution. On L eaf’s analysis, the real star of th e show, introducing Θ, I and Ω and adding much of Σ, seem s to m e to be poet IIIB, but authorship is not th e point: this sort of analysis opens up major narratological questions about th e Eiad th at oral poetics should (in m y view) be trying to address, hut currently does not.13

Notes 1. We use Friedrich’s convention for indicating books of the Iliad and Odyssey, i.e. letters of the Greek alphabet, capitals for the Iliad, minuscules for the Odyssey. 2. See P.V. Jones and G.M. Wright, Homer: German Scholarship in Trans­ lation (Clarendon 1997), pp. 38-41, and the translation of Erbse’s essay on the linguistic problems associated with the end of the Odyssey (263-320). R.D. Dawe, The Odyssey: Translation and Analysis (Book Guild 1993) takes these matters very much further in a shamefully enjoyable 879 pages, wielding his flaming obelos against the True Believer to awesome effect. 3. See e.g. R.P. Martin, The Language of Heroes (Cornell 1989) passim, especially pp. 159ff. 4. References in square brackets are to the page numbers of Friedrich’s text. 5. Translations from Homer: The Iliad by E.V. Rieu, revised by Peter Jones (Penguin 2003). 6. Nasty slayings are restricted to Agamemnon and Achilles alone among

x vn

Preface the major heroes, but Friedrich thinks that only Achilles possesses the elemental passions and contradictions of character that makes sense of a first-rank hero indulging in such terrible behaviour [60-1]. 7. This comes as close as it could to Friedrich’s view - Friedrich would argue, however, that this insertion did disturb the original context, and was therefore probably someone else’s work. 8. See R. Janko (ed.), The Iliad: a Commentary, Books 13-16 (Cambridge 1992), pp. 212-13. 9. Prolegomena ad Homerum has now been translated from its original Latin, with introduction and notes, by Anthony Grafton, Glenn Most and James Zetzel (Princeton 1985). 10. J.A. Davison’s ‘The Homeric Question’ in A.J.B. Wace and F.H. Stubbings (eds), A Companion to Homer (Macmillan 1963), p. 254, describes the fury with which the Unitarian views of D. Mülder in his Die Ilias und ihre Quellen (1910) were greeted by analytical critics and points out how meas­ ured they now seem: (i) the Iliad is a unified work with a unified plan; (ii) inconsistencies arise from the problems raised by the massive poetic task Homer had set himself; (iii) the poem comes at the end of a long evolution; (iv) its sources are works produced during that evolution; (v) only a few of these had any connection with Troy; (vi) much of the work of the Iliad was turning the non-Trojan into Trojan tales; (vii) such work demands a single poet, not an editor or committee or random process like interpolation. Mülder, of course, was writing well before oral practice was understood. 11. H.W. Clarke, Homer’s Readers: a Historical Introduction to the Iliad and Odyssey (Associated University Presses 1981), a brilliant account of the way Homer has engaged readers’ imaginations over two millennia, discusses German ‘analysis’ in ch. 4. 12. J.B. Hainsworth, The Idea of Epic (California 1991), talks of the ‘greatness of soul’ as a defining feature of epic (8-10). 13. It should be clear that I use ‘narratology’ here in the sense that the German tradition uses it: the logic of the linear structure of the plot and the way the material has been arranged into a story, with its episodes (and their relationships), its anticipations, retrospectives, digressions, mis-directions and so on.

XV111

Introduction Translators’note: numbers in square brackets indicate original page numbers of Friedrich’s text.

[5] About one hundred and fifty years ago F.A. Wolf established that the Iliad and the Odyssey do not differ from each other just stylisti­ cally, but that each of the two epics combines several styles in itself, with the following words: ‘In the poems themselves there is diversity. Shortcomings in the art of writing etc. would not be a reason for saying that it could not have been written by one person; but he who can read the whole well cannot but find this diversity. The first books of the Iliad have far more calm and naturalness than the last ones, the last ones from Book 18 onwards are far stormier and more poetical. It is quite the opposite with the Odyssey, where from Book 16 onwards the books are often stale’ (F.A. Wolfs Vorlesungen über die vier ersten Gesänge von Homers Ilias, ed. by L. Usteri, Berne 1830, p. 11). The father of German Homeric criticism was not the only one to hold this view.1Chr. G. Heyne, who was attacked so fiercely by him, stated the same conviction in volume 8 (pp. 770ff.) of his great edition of the Iliad of 1802, as did G. Hermann in his Orphica of 1805 (p. 687).2 As early as 1795 in his famous Prolegomena, Wolf himself had maintained (p. 137) that the last six books of the Uiad differed strongly from the preceding ones and then (p. 138) had emphasised rightly that such variety could exist very well alongside a general family likeness within all hexameter poetry, including the Hymns. The Homeric poems, he wrote, ‘aequabili in universum ... facie fal­ lunt. quippe in universum idem sonus est omnibus libris, idem habitus sententiarum orationis numerorum’.3 Although Wolf suggested to his listeners that the diversity of the individual parts of the epic implied more than one author for the Riad as well as [6] the Odyssey, he had still been wary in the Prolegomena of substantiating his hypothesis on a stylistic level as well. Rather, he quotes an important warning there (p. 137): ‘Ruhnkenius quidem, optima sententia dicta, res, inquit, a peritis sentiri potest, imperitis, quid sit, explicari non potest.’4Lachmann acted correspondingly. He 1

Wounding and Death in the Iliad certainly sensed the diversity within the Iliad and took it for granted without a second thought, but for his theory of its construction he brought other observations to bear, e.g. contradictions within the narrative. His doubt whether aesthetic impressions could be used in scholarly work was only too understandable. At that time, aesthetic distinctions implied distinctions in authenticity as well, and no agreed judgements could be reached at all, particularly about individ­ ual episodes. Wolf already lamented the disagreement on this matter and, for all the brevity of his suggestions, Hermann did not manage without polemics (against Schneider’s Argonautica of 1803). R. Volkmann, the historian of the movement created by Wolf, therefore got everything off his chest with the words: ‘Whereas J.G. Schneider without a second thought sees in Book 18 the sorry effort of an imitator, ... Lehrs ... cannot find enough praise ... specifically for the beauty of this book ... They are the same books in which Schneider fails to notice the author of the first books ... which Wolf ... at the same time declared to be stormier and more poetical, therefore at least more beautiful than the earlier ones. This sort of thing certainly makes the mind boggle’ (Geschichte u. Kritik der Wolfsehen Proli, z. Horn., Leipzig 1874, p. 145). If Volkmann were to survey the literature on Homer today, the eight decades which have gone by since would give him at least as much reason to shake his head as the eight decades he was looking back on. One should simply compare several judgements about the death of Patroclus!5 By finding the last books of the Iliad ‘more poetical’ than the first ones and finding a good many things towards the end of the Odyssey ‘stale’, he did work with value judgements® but still not, as most of his successors [7], exclusively with them; he rather tried to classify the different styles, at least approximately, with terms such as ‘calm’ and ‘stormy’. One can doubt whether one can avoid asking the question about value-judgements at all; the history of Homeric philology shows th at it must be very difficult even just temporarily to distinguish neatly between stylistic and value categories. How­ ever, instead of making this distinction, it would be easier to establish one elementary condition under which characterisation as well as value judgements, and indeed any type of judgement, can be made. It is easiest to pronounce on stylistic and value judgements if one compares like with like, or content which is as similar as possible. For anyone who wants to grasp the artistic differences between pieces which are completely different in terms of content must first investi­ gate which of the actual divergences (for instance of vocabulary) could be caused by the subject matter, and which ones need not be caused 2

Introduction by this; and only in particularly favourable cases will he be able to say from the outset whether, at the end, we will be left with a solid argument, and not merely an appeal to a feeling for style. Perhaps Bethe, for instance, felt the difference between the seduction of Zeus and the reawakening of wounded Hector correctly (even though he certainly judged it wrongly);7 but such feeling is of no use as an argument. Conversely, anybody is at liberty to declare, on the basis that the subject-matter is completely different, that things are artistically homogeneous which, at first and also at last sight, seem so distinct from each other as anything might be from anything else in the Iliad. It was a paradoxical spectacle when, in his famous work about the Mad and Homer, a Homeric critic as critical as Wilamowitz connected the quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles (A) with the deception of Zeus (Ξ) and thought that he recognised in both the unmistakable mark of the same genius.8 It is true that anyone who assumes that there are several Mad poets could assert here that both episodes are outstanding in their own ways, and equally deserved the name of the most illustrious author, that of Homer. But this would not be a proof of stylistic affinity at all, and one could also argue about equal value on a poetic level. [8] Therefore we will use the kind of passages which, though expressed differently, are similar in terms of content or at least sufficiently comparable. Since such similarity is generally likely to last for only short stretches of narrative, we shall have to make do with smaller passages of similar content, which are not simply repe­ titions.9 The similes, which are the obvious choice here, have the disadvantage for us that they are too unevenly scattered and too frequently detachable from the context of the narrative. We therefore prefer the battle scenes, which offer more than enough in terms of thematic repetition and poetic variety. Since our path leads us amongst others in particular through the least popular parts of the Mad we may hope to be able to draw attention to matters which to date have received less consideration.10 It is an encouraging rather than a discouraging fact that aesthetic judgement about Homeric battle depictions in their entirety does not vary any less than in the case, as we have seen, of individual episodes, e.g. the death of Patroclus. Margarete Riemschneider recently wrote in a pugnacious essay (Homer, Entwicklung und Stil, Leipzig 1950, p. 99): ‘When you take an overall view of the many battle books - if you have the courage to be unbiased - you cannot help thinking that there was actually nothing which was further from the mind of this most famous battle narrator of all times and countries than war and battle’, and furthermore (p. 101) she calls Homer’s battle descriptions

Wounding and Death in the Iliad ‘strange and unwieldy’.11But Sainte Beuve, about whom it can hardly be said that he does not have the courage to be unbiased, had affirmed in 1856: ‘quand on lit Ylliade, on sent à chaque instant qu’ Homère a fait la guerre’,12 and medical experts, whose works we shall use extensively, have again and again extolled the realism of the Homeric descriptions of death and wounds. Frz. Albracht too (Kampf und Kampfschilderung bei H., Progr. Naumburg 1895, II, p. 1) admittedly expressed himself carefully: ‘Homer is a poet and not [9] a military author ... but the poet and his audience have an understanding of battle and war’, but his view still cannot be reconciled with M. Riemschneider’s. As is so often the case, the contradiction can be explained by the unjustifiable generalisation of individual observa­ tions which are actually correct: there are convincing examples of realistic as well as unrealistic descriptions in Homer,13and both one and the other party are in the right, as well as in the wrong (although not to the same extent). So careful distinction is necessary here. The question whether one and the same poet can deal with his subject with such variation, and use means of representation which are so different, is to remain unanswered for the time being. The comparison of what is thematically comparable has been familiar to the educated since H. Wölfflin’s Kunstgeschichtliche Grundbegriffe (since 1915); in classical philology R. Heinze has car­ ried it out particularly thoroughly and successfully.14 Where the radically different nature is already given - if we are dealing with different artistic forms, different authors or recognisably early and late works of the same author - the use of this procedure suggests itself, but not within the same work where such radical differences are not a datum but emerge only as the result of the investigation. Not that this method is alien to criticism of the Iliad. For instance, almost seventy years ago E.H. Meyer compared Apollo’s arrow shot with that of Pandarus, and by means of these two episodes tried to distinguish between two epic styles.16Now we intend to replace such isolated observations with a connected series of experiments. Like any other poem, the Iliad can be read either as poetry, i.e. for its own sake, or as a document, i.e. for the sake of [10] other things. A commentary, to which a few contributions are supposed to be provided here, would have to attempt to do justice to both claims. If neverthe­ less the antiquarian examination here comes second to the literary one, that is not only because of the restricted inclinations and knowl­ edge of the author, but essentially because of his prejudice that the latter has to precede the former. Admittedly, the Eiad can in many cases be readily examined as evidence for past conditions, opinions and materials; but in many places it resists this approach and fobs off the researcher with answers which, when you look at them more

Introduction closely, turn out to be completely ambiguous. As much as one feels that one owes a debt of gratitude to past and present people dealing with Homeric realia (in the widest sense), one will still often notice that they approached the texts too innocently. Right at the beginning, in the first chapter, we shall become acquainted with a Homeric style from which one can hardly glean any conclusive evidence about ancient wea^pns or ancient conceptions of the soul. As a result, one will do well, to exclude it from examination for the time being and, even afterwards, to call it in only with the strongest of reservations. We shall therefore consistently occupy ourselves with the relationship of statements to a reality which can still be experienced, or also reconstructed, today, not because we might regard it as the highest intention of art to portray nature as faithfully as possible, but because further information is vouchsafed by closeness to or distance from nature. In fine art, closeness and distance might often be given to us with such immediacy that one does not need to say a word about it, whether e.g. the anatomy of a mediaeval figure in a garment, or the statics of pieces of architecture presented in an illuminated book, are accurate or not. But here, where we have to shape the picture for ourselves first and can only learn by the process of investigation how far the statements are aiming at clarity, coherence and comprehensi­ bility and how far they are able to achieve their intention, we must after ah assume a simple reality and always ask anew about its validity.16

5

I. Phantasmata i

[11] Asius, Hyrtacus’ son, attacks the Cretan prince Idomeneus (N 385): πεζός πρόσθ’ ίππων· τώ δέ πνείοντε κατ’ ώμων αΐέν έχ’ ήνίοχος θεράπων. But Idomeneus gets his blow in first and Asius, who was recently so full of confidence, is now lying, felled like a tree, stretched out in front of his horses and chariot and, groaning (or even bellowing) loudly, clutching at the bloody dust. Asius’usually level-headed charioteer is so horrified by his master’s unexpected and particularly terrible end that he is not capable of turning the horses in flight, but lets himself be killed by Antilochus, without resistance (394ff.): έκ δέ oi ήνίοχος πλήγη φρένας, άς πάρος εΐχεν, 395 ούδ’ δ γ’ έτόλμησεν, δήιων υπό χεΐρας άλύξας, άψ ίππους στρέψαι· τον δ’ Άντίλοχος μενεχάρμης δουρί μέσον περόνησε τυχών· ούδ’ ήρκεσε θώρηξ χάλκεος, δν φορέεσκε· μέσηι δ’ έν γαστέρι πήξε, αύτάρ δ γ’ άσθμαίνων εύεργέος έκπεσε δίφρου, 400 ίππους δ’ Άντίλοχος, μεγαθύμου Νέστορος υίός, έξέλασε Τρώων μετ’ εύκνήμιδας ’Αχαιούς. The sad fate of a defenceless man is related here so concisely, so clearly and so vividly that one might want to think, on considering the few other comparable incidents, that epic could modify the per­ sons and the particular situation but not the details of presentation. However, one episode of the Patrocleia shows us how one can relate the same incident completely differently with epic devices (Π 401ff): ό δέ Θέστορα, Ήνοπος υίόν, δεύτερον όρμηθείς - δ μέν εύξέστωι ένί δίφρωι ήστο άλείς· έκ γάρ πλήγη φρένας, έκ δ’ άρα χειρών 7

Wounding and Death in the Iliad ήνια^ήίχθησαν1- ό δ’ έγχει νύξε παραστάς [12] 405 γναθμόν δεξίτερον, διά δ’ αύτοΰ πεΐρεν όδόντων, έλκε δέ δουρός έλών υπέρ άντυγος, ώς δτε τις φώς πέτρηι έπί προβλήτι καθήμενος Ιερόν Ιχθύν έκ πόντοιο θύραζε λίνωι καί ήνοπι χαλκώι, ώς έλκ’ έκ δίφροιο κεχηνότα δουρί φαεινώι, 410 κάδ δ’ άρ’ έπί στόμ έωσε· πεσόντα δέ μιν λίπε θυμός. Here an insignificant attendant, Thestor, has become an individual warrior, and with that the follow-up to the killing of Asius and the interlude in Idomeneus’ aristeia, which did not count any further as an achievement, changes into an action which is at least equal in status to the preceding and the following one. The stylistic elabora­ tion corresponds to this: the chariot is called well-polished, the spear shining, and a simile, itself powerfully elaborated (Ιερός Ιχθύς, λίνωι καί ήνοπι χαλκώι), underlines the exceptional quality of the event. This elevation of the charioteer and with it of Patroclus’achievement, however, severely damages motivation. That ‘the faithful servant of his master’ is at his wit’s end is a consequence of the catastrophe as understandable as it is moving. Thestor’s consternation, however, if it has any closer relation to the previously related death of Pronous than to the general slaughter around, could have been triggered off just as well as by any other loss of the Trojans. Together with the context, the ethos of the N passage does not apply either. Although Patroclus’ opponent has a name, he does not mean anything to us as a person. As if the poet had felt the loss, he tries to make something special out of the actual killing: Patroclus stabs his opponent, who is crouching2 and thus difficult to attack from the front, i.e. across the horses, from the side into the ‘right’jaw. Up to now the description has been most clear. But if then the spear, which apparently penetrates between the upper and lower row of teeth,· is able to pull the unfortu­ nate man, now open-mouthed, from the chariot, as a fishing rod does a fish, and Patroclus then ‘plants’him on his face: here obviously the extreme and barely credible is supposed to be won from a motif which appears more simply and more convincingly in M 395: νύξ’, έκ δ’ έσπασεν έγχος, ό δέ σπόμενος πέσε δουρί πρηνής.3 However, Patroclus’ deed is not characterised by variation only in this detail, but also as a whole. It can be understood as a variation on Antilochus’ deed, but Antilochus’deed cannot be taken as a variation of Patroclus’deed. We are not compelled here to construct an archetype outside the Eiad from which both episodes would be derived;4the Eiad itself supplies everything required; it [13] also supplies, as we shall see, the spear theme which in Π helps to vary the charioteer theme. In the stemma the sections in Π and N do not rank side by side, but one after the 8

I. Phantasmata other: the former hovers above the ground in which the latter is rooted. If Patroclus’ deed already shows a daring imagination, then a further variation of the theme appears downright adventurous. We read in E 576ff. a scene which is closer to the episode from N with which we started than the Thestor episode, in that one pair of warriors, master and servant, are overcome by another pair, Me­ nelaus and Antilochus. But inasmuch as the motif of stunned terror is (admittedly) presupposed but hardly expressed any more, the affinity between E and N, too, is again less clear than that of Π with N: 576 ένθα Πυλαιμενέα έλέτην άτάλαντον νΑρηι, άρχόν Παφλαγόνων μεγαθύμων άσπιστάων. τον μέν dp’ Άτρείδης δουρίκλειτος Μενέλαος έσταότ έγχει νύξε κατά κληΐδα τυχήσας. We shall pause for a moment to note that here the success of the attack is not expressed as is usual, for instance with δούπησεν δέ πεσών or κάππεσεν έν κονίτμ. So far it has not been said either that Pylaimenes is in the immediate vicinity of his chariot (we remember the precise details when Asius appears); only when the poet calls the next victim ήνίοχον θεράποντα does the situation belatedly become clear to us.5What was the main thing in N, the death of the ‘master’, has [14] become a minor matter here and vice versa the minor matter, the death of the charioteer, has become the main thing. For a four-line sketch is now followed by a ten-line painting: the pretension of the episode is the same as in Π. So the charioteer has a name, too, which is even underlined by the epithet έσθλός. So we are dealing with a θεράπων of a very special kind: 580 Άντίλοχος δέ Μύδωνα βάλ’, ήνίοχον θεράποντα, έσθλόν Άτυμνιάδην - ό δ’ ύπέστρεφε μώνυχας ίππους (Like Areithous in Υ 488, Mydon at least manages what the chari­ oteers in N and Π were unable to do) χερμαδίωι αγκώνα τυχών μέσον έκ δ’ άρα χειρών ηνία λεύκ’ έλέφαντι χαμαί πέσον έν κονίηισιν (we notice the same colouring as in Π. When there the word ήίχθησαν was used of the reins, this was a second degree metaphor: at first the word was very expressively transferred from living things to arrow and spear, and from there highly cataehrestically to the completely 9

Wounding and Death in the Eiad passive reins; here the imagery does not lie in the single word but in the phrase χαμαί πέσον έν κονίηισιν, which has been coined for dying warriors). Άντίλοχος δ’ dp’ έπαίξας ξίφει ήλασε κόρσην (if you are standing on the ground, it is impractical to attack someone who is standing on a chariot with your sword; it is with good reason that the Eiad in other instances of this situation uses a spear), αύτάρ δ γ’ άσθμαίνων εύεργέος έκπεσε δίφρου κύμβαχος έν κονίηισιν èrti βρεχμόν τε καί ώμους, δηθά μάλ’ έστήκει - τύχε γάρ ρ άμάθοιο βαθείης δφρ’ ιππω πλήξαντε χαμαί βάλον έν κονίηισι. τούς ΐμασ Άντίλοχος, μετά δέ στρατόν ήλασ Αχαιών. We already know 585 as N 399. There the word άσθμαίνων has an important task to fulfil: the charioteer is giving his death rattle: nothing more is to be reported about him. Besides, the word is used more appropriately for the situation in N. [15] For from a man whose head is buried in sand, we hear neither gasping nor death rattle; at the most we can assume that he too will probably do this under these circumstances (even when we make the charioteer give the death rattle while still faffing, we only produce an event which can perhaps be reconstructed, but not observed). This further elaboration, this extension of what can be perceived into what can only be assumed, expands the body of motifs immensely, but brings with it problems which will cause us much difficulty. So N 399 is either itself the model of our passage in E or is considerably closer to a model common to both passages. The point of the Mydon story is fantastic,6 even grotesque.7 Whether in rigor mortis or not, one would have to fall from a much greater height than the chariot, which is well-known to be low, in order to perform such a header, and one would have to ‘bore one’s way’ into sand which has been heaped up very high and very loosely in order to get stuck in this way, especially for a longer period of time. For this is how we must understand it, in spite of Leaf’s objection (the argument that something is practically impossible is acceptable only within a style which commits itself to what is practically possible). But even the person who agreed with his far more complicated interpretation would still have to admit a considerable strain on our imaginative capacities. So it would all come to the same thing: our problem is not what remains unclear here, but the fact that every­ thing which one could possibly think of appears more or less 10

I. Phantasmata ‘surrealist’. - Finally, the horses throw the wretched man with their (hoof?)beats (from the heap of sand?) down into the dust (it is better not to ask how we are supposed to imagine this). [16] Only when Antiloehos carries off the horse and chariot into the Greek camp (as in N 401f.) are we released from this dream world. The person of Antiloehos, too, is a point in favour of the theory that when composing the passage in E the poet had the charioteer episode from N in front of him. But something else also comes into it. Twice in the Iliad it is said that someone fell down ‘like a diver’, and Mydon does indeed dive into the depth, though actually, because there is no water, into the loose sand. The comparison with the diver is used most convincingly at M 385, because the man there plunges down from a considerable height: άρνευτήρι έοικώς κάππεσ’ άφ’ υψηλού πύργου. We need to exert our imagination somewhat more when in Π 742 Hector’s charioteer is said to fall to the ground ‘like a diver’, for the chariot is quite low (compare on the other hand the proper description in Z 42f. έκ δίφροιο παρά τρόχον έξεκυλίσθη πρηνής έν κονίηισιν επί στόμα). Even if we are not quite so particular in Cebriones’ case, we will still recognise in Π the transition from M to E. This order cannot be reversed, even though, in favour of a prejudice about the age and model character of the Patrocleia, people have tried to derive the passage in M from Π. At the most, one could ask whether E did not connect motifs from M and N independently of Π, and would have to be regarded as having originated at the same time as, rather than after, the Patrocleia. A decision can hardly be reached here, although the Mydon passage goes one disturbing step further than the Cebrio­ nes one. Between passages such as E 585ff. and a reality which can be experienced, there stands literature, separating both from each other, unleashing the imagination but undermining its roots in the ground. Here we have reached a point which linguistics recently began to contemplate. For the difficulties of our verses culminate in the word κύμβαχος which here can mean nothing else but ‘forwards, headlong’. M. Leumann in his Homerische Wörter (especially p. 281) postulated as a model a sentence in which κύμβαχος = ‘helmet top’was put in such a way that it could be misunderstood as ‘forwards (headfirst)’. This conclusion, which Leumann regards as inevitable, confirms our sty­ listic analysis and is in turn confirmed by it. The derivative character of the passage shows in the whole, as well as in individual instances. 2

Whereas in E the chariot and horses are kept, but the consternation motif is dropped completely or reduced to one little word, a different

Wounding and Death in the Iliad variation conversely keeps the consternation and does without the chariot. We refer to Alcathous, companion in death to the nameless charioteer in N, who is not only called ήρως in N 428 but also demands special attention as son-in-law of Anchises and brother-in-law of Aeneas respectively. He is also incapable of [17] confronting the danger which threatens him, indeed, he is not even capable of perceiv­ ing it properly (N 434£f.): τον τόθ’ ύπ Ίδομενήι Ποσειδάων έδάμασσε, 435 θέλξας δσσε φαεινά, πέδησε δε φαίδιμα γυΐα· οΰτε γάρ έξοπίσω φυγέειν δύνατ ούτ άλέασθαι, άλλ’ ώς τε στήλην ή δένδρεον ύψιπέτηλον άτρέμας έσταότα στήθος μέσον οΰτασε δουρί ήρως Ίδομενεύς, ρήξεν δέ οί άμφί χιτώνα χάλκεον, δς oi πρόσθεν άπδ χροδς ήρκεσ δλεθρον δή τότε γ’ αΰον άυσε έρεικόμενος περί δουρί. δούπησεν δέ πεσών, δόρυ δ’ έν κραδίηι έπεπήγει, ή ρά οί άσπαίρουσα καί ούρίαχον πελέμιζεν έγχεος· ένθα δ’ έπειτ άφίει μένος δβριμος άρης. As is said of the charioteer, so it is simply said of Alcathous that he was incapable of flight, as if from the outset resistance was as far from him, the ήρως, as from the θεράπων. Also, as it is emphasised with the hero that the armour, which we can take for granted without hesita­ tion for an individual fighter, was of no use to him, so it had to be said of the charioteer specifically that he was armed, if we were supposed to obtain a precise visualisation. This time the armour is mentioned, not because it had to be mentioned in order to understand fully the actual combat, but because it is supposed to ‘grate roughly’ when the iron cuts through it.8 Although Alcathous is not driving a chariot but engages in combat (or rather, does not) on foot, N 434ff. represent a new variation of N 394ff., and in fact this, like Π 401ff., uses the motif of the spear sticking in the body. Both variations, when compared with the theme, have this in common as well, that they do not describe in advance a special battlefield incident which caused the horror. In the case of Alcathous a god has a hand in it, but it is not just the need for motivation (which of course is not there in Π) which seems to have brought him into the arena, but also the intention to remind us again of Poseidon, who organises the Greeks’ counter attack in N. Outside this purpose, the miracle creates an atmosphere of magic, a veritable [18] nightmare mood. The victim’s eyes9 and limbs are bewitched (instead of έκ πλήγη φρένας), a simile10paints the paralysis (instead of ούδ’ έτόλμησε), the armour grates, and the spear jerks about in and 12

I. Phantasmata with the heart of the dying man: the poet is certainly not so thrifty with his devices that we might misjudge what kind of effect he has in mind. From the host of killings which the Mad describes, these four stand out because they have motifs in common which make them compara­ ble with each other. It is obvious that, in terms of subject matter, version A (Asijis) goes together with B (Thestor) more than with C (Mydon) and*D (Alcathous). Only in A and B are we dealing with a charioteer filled with consternation, in C with only a charioteer and in D with consternation only. On the other hand B and D correspond in the use of the spear motif against A and C, and also in the fact that in B one stands against one, but in D, on the other hand, two pairs confront each other. Style decides the grouping. The gulf lies between the harsh matter-of-factness of A and the chosen lavishness of B, C, and D. C and D are admittedly even more fantastic than B,11but apart from the similarity of devices, the tendency towards the incredible is also apparently common to all three. If we put aside the difference in degree, two styles separate themselves (Aon the one hand, B, C, and D on the other), into whose area of influence we shall now have to enquire. One of them (B, C, and D) displays such striking, even obtrusive, features that, wherever it appears, it can in fact hardly be overlooked. Is it used rarely or frequently, deliberately or arbitrarily, is it detachable or indispensable? If we now assume that from all the fairly comparable sections of the M ad we had picked out those which are more closely or more remotely related to the Alcathous episode - is then everything which remains stylistically related to the charioteer scene A? Does this scene represent the normal narrative technique? Or does it, too, apart from subject matter, show peculiarities which prevent us from classifying them under a rule from which the Alcathous episode and its relatives would have to be made an exception? Apart [19] from the syntax (397f.), it incurs the suspicion that it does not correspond at all to what is predominantly customary in the Mad, through the one word περόνησε. It means that the charioteer is speared like an insect. As Eustathius notes, it is supposed to underline what an easy job Antilo­ chus has with his opponent, who is not a real opponent at all. The almost contemptuous extremity of the expression makes us sit up and take notice, just as much as its rarity.12Apparently it fits exactly with the treatment of Asius whom the poet made die such a wretched death, and yet, unless our Homeric memories thoroughly deceive us, it gives us cause for some astonishment. We shall later return to this type and its distribution.

13

Wounding and Death in the Iliad 3 As miraculous as things are, thanks to Poseidon’s intervention, in the Alcathous episode, the most peculiar element in it is really the ending, although here, as we are assured from the medical side, we are dealing with a possible, or at least not completely impossible, occurrence (N 442ff.): δόρυ δ’ έν κραδίηι έπεπήγει, ή ρά oi άσπαίρουσα και ούρίαχον πελέμιζεν εγχεος· ένθα δ’ έπειτ άφίει μένος οβριμος άρης. A general practitioner, Dr Küchenmeister from Zittau, exactly a hundred years ago calculated the weight of the spear which is here moved by the heartbeat to be about 15 pounds (7.5 kilos) (in Fr. Günzburg’s Ztschr. f. klinische Medizin, Breslau 1855, p. 40), whereas Körner (op. cit., p. 45) is only prepared to think an arrow capable of beating in such a way with the heart into which, or next to which, it has penetrated.13 One can assume the physical possibility of the phenomenon and nevertheless describe it as extremely unusual, even incredible. Again, something unparalleled is wrested from a motif which we occasionally meet in the Iliad. We first read in E 664ff. that a spear is lodged for quite a long period of time in the body of the man who has been hit, [20] when Sarpedon drags it along in his thigh; Helenus drags it along in his bow arm in N 597. More daring is the claim that Patroclus pulled Thestor off his chariot on his spear as a fisherman would his catch on a rod. Ξ 498ff. is thematically most comparable and equal to our section in terms of abnormality, when Peneleus cuts off his opponent’s head and lifts it up as a trophy, together with the spear which is still there sticking in his eye. The compositional importance of this close affinity between the horror in N and Ξ will soon emerge. However, the ambition of the section in N takes a further direction. For here, too, as Leaf notes, the motif of the spear hitting the earth and quivering afterwards is modified (Π 611ff. = P 527ff.): δόρυ μακράν ούδει ένισκίμφθη, έπί δ’ ούρίαχος πελεμίχθη εγχεος- ένθα δ’ έπειτ’ άφίει μένος οβριμος άρης. Ρ 523 plays a remarkable role of mediator: Automedon’s spear is lodged in Aretus’stomach; there it quivers, like the spear in Alcathous’ heart, even violently,14but it quivers from its own momentum, like the spears which are lodged in the ground: έν δέ οί έγχος νηδυίοισι μάλ’ όξύ 14

I. Phantasmata κραδαινόμενον λύε γυια. In the Alcathous scene, this has been devel­ oped further by a process of virtual logic, so that it was possible, even without a corresponding example, to think of making the heart the motor of the spear. For with such improvements, it is not absolutely necessary for something completely impossible to emerge. So we are confronted with a combination of motifs. The poet does his utmost to giake Alcathous’ death unforgettable.15 At the news of this event Aeneas, the brother-in-law of the man killed in action, rushes over - £he one hero who, within the stylistic area in which we have been principally moving until now, occupies a key position. The ascent to the heights of the Alcathous episode follows a flat area in the epic. The first deed which, after the most prolonged [21] exposition, Idomeneus is allowed to perform, hardly satisfies even modest demands when taken in isolation. Othryoneus, not mentioned in the index of the Poseidon peripeteia (M 93ff.), is introduced to us as a suitor of Cassandra’s who was brazen enough to pay the bride-price by repelling the Greeks (N 363ff.). Idomeneus meets him ΰψι βιβάντα, and this self-confident strutting could impress us if Deiphobus had not strutted in quite a similar way just a moment ago (156ff.): Δηίφοβος δ’ έν τοΐσι μέγα φρονέων έβεβήκει Πριαμίδης, πρόσθεν δ’ εχεν ασπίδα πάντοσ’ έίσην,

κουφά ποσί προβιβάς καί ΰπασπίδια προποδίζων. Next to these lively verses v. 371 looks like a lifting, behind whose formation Γ 22 (where Menelaus catches sight of Paris μακρά βιβάντα) was the force. The words immediately following show that we are not doing an injustice to the Othryoneus section with this assessment: ούδ’ ήρκεσε θώρηξ χάλκεος δν φορέεσκε, μέσηι δ’ έν γαστέρι πήξε. We know them from Asius’ charioteer. But whereas the observation δν φορέεσκε made sense there, it is completely pointless here. For Othryoneus must, after all, be wearing some protective armour, although we do not find out whether he is carrying even a shield.16 Besides, he is the shadow of another, bright figure, of Imbrius, a real son-in-law of Priam. We met him, too, only a few verses earlier (N 170ff.) and there heard of his fate which was about to be fulfilled by Teucer. It is no disgrace for the Othryoneus episode to take second place after such a section (whose beauty shall be specifically acknowledged by us later). But it makes us reflect that, for the three things out of which this is composed, parallels can be found in the very near vicinity, of which each individual one in its context is more persuasive than the Othryoneus episode is in detail as well as in its entirety. But even if we refuse to look at any nearby incidents at all, we cannot

Wounding and Death in the Iliad possibly be satisfied with it. For Idomeneus, strangely enough, knows bis opponent’s personal circumstances and scornfully challenges the dying man to ask rather for the hand of the most beautiful of the Atridae’s daughters, in return, naturally, for the corresponding serv­ ice, i.e. the capture of Troy. Only Agamemnon or at best Menelaus can really speak like this, but not Idomeneus, who does not have the daughters of the Atridae in his gift (we do not even ask how he, a mature man who only recently delivered the wisest of speeches, comes to be given this outburst17). But, [22] badly as the speech is exposed, its severe scorn is still effective, especially as it accompanies a grim action (381ff.): άλλ’ επε δφρ επί νηυσί συνώμεθα ποντοπόροισιν άμφί γάμωι, έπεί οΰ τοι έεδνωταί κακοί είμεν. ώς είπών ποδός έλκε κατά κρατερήν ΰσμίνην. If this had been invented especially for our section, the poet, impa­ tient to play his trump card, cannot have worried too much about the general context; hut if the final effect, as the contradiction to the person and to the situation suggests, itself had also been borrowed, the whole episode would really show off someone else’s glory as its own. We can deny it all appeal without worrying: it owes its right to exist to its function rather than its beauty. Idomeneus’mocking speech is a prelude to the exchange of words between him and Deiphobus. To the excessive gloating of the Trojan, the Cretan prince responds with deed and word; with this he concludes the first series of his victories. The position and shape of the speeches, together with the position and character of the last one, the killing of Alcathous, create at the same time a clear relation to the end of Ξ.18 Since Asius is killed between Othryoneus and Alcathous without any speeches at all on this occasion, a ring composition results. But this is not realised solely in the recurrence of the speeches. Whereas Asius appears here only as a warrior, the two other opponents of Idomeneus are also presented as people with private lives, in fact as contrasting figures. Intentionally enough, the arrogant would-be sonin-law of Priam is contrasted with the άνήρ ώριστος who is well worth marrying the most beautiful and most loved daughter of Anchises.19 4 There is no lack of miracles in the Iliad, but not only do comparatively many happen to Aeneas, but also particularly miraculous ones. Again and again things happen around him and to him [23] which we can 16

I. Phantasmata (with the work On the Sublime 9, 6) describe as ΰπερφυά φαντάσματα. Thus his second removal from battle in Y (in contrast with the first in E and the removal of Paris in Γ) receives its special character through the fact that the poet gives a more precise detail of his enormous leap through the air: this chains our imagination to the hero and, so to speak, forces it to leap as well (Y 326f.): πολλάς δέ στίχας ήρώων, πολλάς δέ και ϊππων Αινείας υπεράλτο θεοΰ άπό χειρός όρούσας.

When in Ο Apollo restores Hector back to health from his ‘contusion of the thorax’ (Körner 77f.), a moderate miracle occurs; on the other hand people have regarded Aeneas’ cure from a hip pan fracture as extreme: instead of crediting Leto or Artemis with this achievement, Küchenmeister rather assumed that Homer had made a wrong dia­ gnosis and regarded a mere contusion as a fracture.20 The question cannot be avoided whether the fracture (of Aeneas) is an intensifica­ tion of the contusion (of Hector), i.e. whether the former was not derived from the latter (the fact that both injuries are caused by a stone being thrown makes it inevitable when one happens to remem­ ber the other).21 Anyhow, the removal in E with the worsening of the wound, and even more so with the creation of the phantom for Aeneas,22 is such an extravagantly supernatural scene that, when we look at the whole, the removal in Y appears modest by comparison (and looks like a precursor, rather than a successor, of the E removal). Fighting at Aeneas’ side, Pandarus the Lycian is killed. It can no longer surprise us that the description of his death is completely irrational. From Aeneas’ chariot he has managed to hit Diomedes, who is fighting on foot, but not wound him. On the other hand the spear thrown by the Greek serves its purpose (E 290ff.): βέλος δ’ ί'θυνεν Άθήνη ρίνα παρ’ οφθαλμόν, λευκούς δ’ έπέρησεν όδόντας. τού δ’ άπό μέν γλώσσαν πρυμνήν τάμε χαλκός άτειρής, αιχμή δ’ έξελύθη παρά νείατον άνθερεώνα. ήριπε δ’ έξ οχέων, άράβησε δέ τεύχε έπ’ αύτώι. [24] ‘The path of the spear is most peculiar’ (Von der Mühll p. 95). It remains a mystery23 how, from a lower position, one could hit an opponent in the bridge of the nose in such a way that the root of the tongue is also cut through and the spear, instead of coming out in the neck, comes out again near the base of the chin.24 We shall have to admit to ourselves that, on the one hand, the poet gives detailed information about the progress of the spear and with this feigns 17

greatest precision, but on the other, reconciles the irreconcilable. We shall come across this pseudo-realism so many more times in the Eiad that it would make little sense to interpret it away in one individual section. One dimly senses25 an affinity between Pandarus’ catastro­ phe and Mydon’s fall. They both have in common not only the striving for the unusual and the irrationality of the occurrence, but above all the annoying way in which they tease the audience and, particularly successfully, philologists. Apparently tangible details are held out as baits which stimulate the imagination into making impractical recon­ structions. It is not that they display their freedom from obligation in the way fairytales do, but they falsely present us with peculiar things, as if they were possible. Whether this suspicion of an affinity will be confirmed depends on whether both sections can be included in a larger group. 5 We say goodbye to Aeneas for a while and turn to those fights in Ξ which we have already related to Idomeneus’ aristeia, and especially to the Alcathous episode. We are dealing with a self-contained series of five fights (440ff.), like [25] the first group fight of the Iliad (A 457-504), and in fact both times Ajax is at the centre.26Again, as was to be expected with an uneven number, a Greek victory forms the beginning, middle and end respectively, whereas the second and fourth successes fall to Trojans. No. 1 [Locrian Ajax kills Satnius] presents itself as a kind of prelude, and then 2/3 run parallel with 4/5: Polydamas kills Prothoenor and boasts about it excessively (εκπαγλον); Ajax replies with the killing of Antenor’s son Archelochus and besides punishes Polydamas with a counter speech. After that Acamas, a brother of the last man killed, kills the Boeotian Promachus who was on the point of pulling away the corpse. Acamas, too, boasts excessively (εκπαγλον); but the punishment does not fail to materialise here either, the Boeotian Peneleus dreadfully avenges his countryman on Ilioneus and, just as Ajax did, pays the Trojans back for their vainglory with triumphant scorn. Both series are artistically braced together through the participation of the two sons of Antenor; the deed of Ajax, who does not stand at the centre of the overall series by coincidence, participates in both sub-series. But, apart from their concluding speeches in reply, these remain clearly parallel through the corresponding monstrosity of the injuries. Now since 3 is even outdone by 5, a relatively tame beginning (through a stab in the side, Locrian Ajax seemingly renders a Trojan merely unfit for battle) is intensified into the gruesome, wild end: its compositional purpose is to trigger off the Trojan flight (506).

I. Phantasmata This structure is well calculated, with individual details carefully shaped all through, and immensely effective. Yet the horrors are also unmistakably there for their own sake. Polydamas had enjoyed success in what is hardly ever granted to a Trojan, a spear-cast. Reversing this, the poet here does not mind that Ajax misses Polydamas and instead hits Archelochus,27 and thus like the Trojajj Antiphus Δ 489ff. he is successful only by mistake28 (465ff.) τόν p έβαλεν κεφαλής τε καί αύχένος έν συνεοχμώι νείατον αστράγαλον, άπό δ’ άμφω κέρσε τένοντε. του δέ πολύ πρότερον κεφαλή στόμα τε ρίνες τε οΰδει πλήντ ή περ κνήμαι καί γούνα πεσόντος. [26] We would like to do without the last two verses, for a δούπησεν δέ πεσών or ύπτιος έν κονίηισι κάππεσε would also do (and would corre­ spond to the section N 545ff. which has its eye in similar fashion on anatomical interest) but if anything was deleted here, one would also have to modify the conclusion of the other series at 493ff., if the balance was not to be severely disturbed. But what are 467/8 actually supposed to mean? The commentaries rightly consider several possibilities, for instance that the head has been cleanly cut off and has fallen to the ground, or that the man who has been hit executes a kind of diving header. This must remain open. It belongs, as I think, to the teasing nature of this pseudo-realism that it leaves various things to the imagination, without allowing it finally and decisively to resolve the matter. So finally Peneleus stabs Ilioneus (493ff.): τον τόθ’ ύπ’ όφρύος οΰτα κατ’ όφθαλμοΐο θέμεθλα έκ δ’ ωσε γλήνην. δόρυ δ’ όφθαλμοΐο διαπρό καί διά ίνίον ήλθεν, ό δ’ έζετο χεΐρε πετάσσας άμφω· Πηνέλεως δέ έρυσσάμενος ξίφος όξύ αυχένα μέσσον έλασσεν, άπήραξεν δέ χαμάζε αύτήι σύν πήληκι κάρη· έτι δ’ οβριμον έγχος ήεν έν όφθαλμώι, ό δέ φή κώδειαν άνασχών πέφραδέ τε Τρώεσσι καί ευχόμενος έπος ηύδα etc. Even if the poor wretch had neither time nor consciousness to grab the spear in his eye, nevertheless the stretching out of the hands is less expressive than Δ 523 and Φ 115, since there is no person opposite at whom it is aimed, and άμφοτέρας, which comes strongly to the fore through its position at the end, is likewise an essential part of the occurrence in the section mentioned last, but is here only a decorative 19

Wounding and Death in the Iliad postscript. The expression αυχένα μέσσον έλασσεν has also been devalued: in E 657 and Y 455 it indicates a brilliant shot: if here, as in K 455, it is used of a blow, μέσσον is pointless. The explanation that it has been inserted because the neck is between the head and trunk does not change anything here - there is no neck which could not be there. We would not make so much fuss about this trivial matter if it did not recur again and again in stylistically strikingly similar con­ texts, and, as we will be able to show in the chapter on fake realism, represent a characteristic as inconspicuous as it is unmistakable. Further details need not be discussed now; as a whole, the section Ξ 493ff. speaks loudly enough for itself, or maybe against itself. In any case, it stands out from its surroundings to such an extent that it points across to a summit of the same kind in which a long, well calculated gradation also reaches its climax - to the Alcathous episode with its gripping magic and its spear horror. [27] That Idomeneus and Peneleus in particular become affiliated is no coincidence. The Patrocleia associates them closely, and again distinguishes them through particularly gruesome heroic feats (Π 335ff.). Lycon’s sword has broken on the Boeotian’s helmet, ό S ύπ οΰατος αυχένα θεινε Πηνελέως, πάν δ’ εΐσω έδυ ξίφος, έσχεθε δ’ οΐον δέρμα, παρηέρθη δε κάρη, ΰπέλυντο δε γυΐα ... Ίδομενεύς δ’ Έρύμαντα κατά στόμα νηλέι χαλκώι νύξε, το δ’ άντικρύ δόρυ χάλκεον έξεπέρησε νέρθεν ύπ έγκεφάλοιο, κέασσε δ’ dp όστέα λευκά, έκ δέ τίναχθεν όδόντες, ένέπλησθεν δέ οί άμφω αϊματος οφθαλμοί, τό δ’ άνά στόμα καί κατά ρίνας πρήσε χανών· θανάτου δέ μέλαν νέφος άμφεκάλυψεν. The two killings share with each other (and with Pandarus’ fate) not only the gruesomeness but also the incredibility. That a head which has been cut off falls down sideways and in doing so is held only by the skin is imagined more easily than it is observed; one would really have to ask an executioner whether something like that can occur. The effect which Idomeneus then literally achieves may at first sight appear more plausible. However, the description of the bones as ‘white’ shows that literature here too has emancipated itself strongly from nature. For this is how at first the bleached bones of a dead man are described (cf. Ψ 252, Ω 793), so the epithet points beyond the immediate visual content of occurrence. And one may accept that the skull bone is split, although it does correspond more to the effect of a blow with a sword on the vertex; but that the teeth (one has to understand: all the teeth individually) are shaken out would have

I. Phantasmata more of a basis in reality if it were an exaggeration arising from a blow with a fist or a club29 than from a stab with a spear. So, without consideration of probability, the poet endeavours to unleash the great­ est degree of devastation, and to plunge into a river of blood. Virgil advances further along this path when in Aen. 9, 749 he conflates these two horrors. This grotesque variation on the hideous is unusual even in the bloodthirsty Patrocleia, and consequently there too stands out from its immediate'1'surroundings.30Unless it depends on the characters as such, then [28] it is still connected with the association between Peneleus and Idomeneus; i.e. the person who in N, Ξ and in Π31related them to each other was a representative of that movement in art which reaches its climax in the two pairs of atrocities. 6

But the closely related horrors in N 601 ff. and Π 740 ff. make the most demands on us. In a first armed encounter, Peisandrus and Menelaus have unsuccessfully fought each other with their spears; at this point Peisandrus draws an axe, Menelaus his sword. Whereas nothing is said about the effect of the blow with the axe which hits the helmet, the following is reported about the sword-blow (N 615ff.): ò δέ (ήλασε) προσιόντα μέτωπον ρινδς ΰπερ πυμάτης. λάκε δ’ όστέα, τώ δέ οί δσσε πάρ ποσίν αίματόεντα χαμαί πέσον έν κονίηισιν, Ιδνώθη δέ πεσών. The merciless matter-of-factness of the last sentence connects the preceding (571) ήσπαιρ ώς δτε βοΰς with ώς τε σκώληξ έπί γαίηι κεΐτο χαθείς which soon follows (655). However, the bizarre motif of the eyeballs dropping out of the head and in front of the dying man’s feet points beyond Book N to the Patrocleia. For Patroclus kills Hector’s charioteer Cebriones by throwing a stone at his forehead (740ff.): άμφοτέρας δ’ όφρΰς σύνελεν λίθος, ούδέ οί έσχεν όστέον, οφθαλμοί δέ χαμαί πέσον έν κονίηισιν αύτοΰ πρόσθε ποδών. The question which of the two impossible occurrences is the more possible does not then exactly appear to be useful. But I can still more easily imagine the event in Π (for instance in the way that the eyes are squeezed out). N, on the other hand, better motivates the fact that the eyeballs come to lie in front of the dead man’s feet: for Peisandrus 21

Wounding and Death in the Iliad fights on foot, the eyes fall into the dust in front of him, then he himself falls. Cebriones [29], however, stands on his chariot where his eyes, if they can fall out at all,32would of course slide in front of his feet, but not into the dust. Apparently Cebriones falls out of the chariot after his eyes, but since he does not fall onto his feet, we cannot do much with the detail πρόσθε ποδών. So it is impossible to pass off the Cebriones passage as the model of the Peisandrus pas­ sage. The reverse would just about do, but one would rather expect that both passages reflect a single passage which antedated our epic, whose daring merits they shared between themselves.83 We emphasise that N Ξ are linked to each other through a peculiar type of warrior-slaying, but also with E, and again with Π. The connection with the latter is very close, but it is impossible to regard the Patrocleia as the mother-city, so to speak, and the corresponding episodes of the other books as its colonies. Rather, it appears to presuppose the charioteer story in N just as much as the related passages in N itself and in E do. So if one can talk about a prior source, it befits a non-fantastic, even a pronouncedly realistic, passage. This corresponds precisely to the indisputable priority which M main­ tained in every instance where it had to be consulted for explanation. For if one disregards the stone throw with which Hector surpasses himself at the end of this book, we find here only one single warrior­ slaying (M 182ff.) which one could include in the fantastic type, which besides everything else is unimportant, and not even unanimously attested, and occurs twice elsewhere. As in Δ Θ K Λ O, so in M, quite predominantly ‘natural’ things occur.

22

II. Truth to Life 1

[30] Odysseus is hit by the Trojan Socus, but, with the spear in his side, bravely fights on and even kills his opponent. Only then does he pull out the spear, and the blood gushes up from inside - it pains his heart, but is an encouraging sight for the Trojans. He calls for help, Ajax finally approaches to bring relief and Menelaus is able to lead the wounded man away from the turmoil (Λ 487f.): ή τοι τον Μενέλαος άρήιος έξαγ’ ομίλου χειρός έχων, ήος θεράπων σχεδόν ήλασεν ίππους.

The same incident, for which two verses suffice here, takes up more than three times the space elsewhere (N 533ff.): τον δε Πολίτης αύτοκασίγνητος, περί μέσσωι χεΐρε τιτήνας, έξήγεν πολέμοιο δυσηχέος, δφρ’ ΐκεθ’ ίππους ώκέας, οι οί δπισθε μάχης ήδέ πολέμοιο έστασαν ήνίοχόν τε καί άρματα ποικίλ’ έχοντες. οί τόν γε ποτί άστυ φέρον βαρέα στενάχοντα τειρόμενον κατά δ’ αίμα νεουτάτου έρρεε χειρός.

The pitiful retreat of a man [Deiphobus] who had been introduced as μέγα φρονέων and κοΰφα προβιβάς (N 156ff.) and had then shown himself quite vainglorious, is apparently supposed to arouse satisfac­ tion. 1But if one takes away everything which the person of Deiphobus brings with him in terms of difference from Odysseus, then the vividness of the event still remains, which justifies the extravagance in terms of verses. There we see Menelaus and Odysseus merely departing; here, however, a closely intertwined, far more threedimensionally executed group. Furthermore [31], the swift horses and the colourful chariot form a cheerful contrast to the sufferings of the wounded man and to his blood which we see dripping down. This last picture differs from [e.g.] the magnificent ρέε δ’ αΐματι γαΐα μέλαινα 23

Wounding and Death in the Iliad like a full stop from a conclusion: our passage is not summative, but intensifying, aiming at one detail. At any rate, on our way we here encounter for the first time the high art of the conclusion, which looks forward to Virgil. Compared with this description, Odysseus’retreat appears meagre - the narrative so to speak completely withdraws into his great soul; his unbroken courage and the effort which he wrings from his tor­ tured body are the real subject of the poet.2 This contrast does not represent an isolated case. Shortly before Odysseus, Agamemnon was wounded (Λ 252ff.), κατά χεΐρα μέσην άγκώνος ένερθεν, αντίκρυ δέ διέσχε φαεινού δουρός άκωκή. Agamemnon is startled, but like Odysseus he continues fighting, and even kills his opponent. Then, when the wound closes up and acute pain sets in, he jumps onto the chariot and, spurring on his men, leaves the battlefield. The fact that Agamemnon and Odysseus do not withdraw from the field groaning like Deiphobus corresponds to their high heroic rank in the Iliad. They differ in this from one of their most dangerous opponents not as Greeks, but as great Greeks. Teucer on the other hand, who is certainly not unimportant but takes second place behind those two, and even more behind his brother Ajax, is allowed to abandon himself to his physical pain when, like Agamemnon, he sustains an injury to his arm (Θ 332): τον μέν έπειθ’ ΰποδύντε δύω έρίηρες έταΐροι, Μηκιστεύς Έχίοιο πάις καί δΐος Άλάστωρ νήας επι γλαφυράς φερέτην βαρέα στενάχοντα. The manner of his wounding, with its visible consequences, recalls the elimination of another archer from the battle, the Priamid Helenus; and the exceedingly vivid ΰποδύντε δύω έρίηρες έταΐροι brings before our eyes once more the leading away of the Priamid Deiphobus. Obviously, since here neither Book Θ can be derived from N nor N from Θ, we are occasionally dealing with the same art in both books. As has happened to Deiphobus, the Priamid Helenus has his forearm pierced (N 594ff.): εν δ’ αρα τόξωι άντικρύ διά χειρός έλήλατο χαλκέον έγχος. αψ δ’ έτάρων εις έθνος έχάζετο κήρ’ άλεείνων, χεΐρα παρακρεμάσας- το δ’ έφέλκετο μείλινον έγχος 24

II. Truth to Life [32] so again an image which is seen, unsurpassably sharply, as a conclusion. This time, too, the difference between the passages cannot be completely traced back to the characters. Even if the ‘Nevertheless’ of heroic courage was out of the question for the two Trojans, the vividness of the passages in N is still not a mere case of omission. One may attribute the omission of the emotional dimension, if need be, to the poet’s natjpnal standpoint; the increase of a quite peculiar manner of observation is not explained by this. But if it had been available in Λ just as in N' and had only been switched off, this should not make us lose faith in the perception of two styles. For a different intention, expressed with different artistic devices, is of course nothing else than a different style. A further comparison will confirm to us that Greeks and Trojans are not simply measured with a double standard here, as is, of course, quite often the case in the Iliad, and that the border between the two styles does not run between the two fronts. Diomedes has been shot in the foot by Paris; covered by Odysseus, he crouches down and pulls out the arrow (Λ 398): οδύνη δέ διά χροός ήλθ’ άλεγεινή. But the wound and the pain do not prevent him from jumping onto his chariot: ές δίφρον δ’ άνόρουσε καί ήνιόχωι έπίτελλε νηυσίν επί γλαφυρήισιν έλαυνέμεν. ήχθετο γάρ κήρ.

Is a Homeric hero not allowed to limp? This apparently depends on the hero; if not Diomedes, Eurypylus is still allowed to, whom Paris also wounds in the leg shortly afterwards (Λ 583): καί μιν βάλε μηρόν όιστώι δεξιόν, έκλάσθη δέ δόναξ, έβάρυνε δέ μηρόν. Eurypylus withdraws amongst his companions; we hear that he is protected by them, especially by Ajax. Then, at 595, the poet ends this episode. Only at the end of the long book do we encounter the wounded man again (811ff.), σκάζων έκ πολέμου, κατά δέ νότιος ρέεν Ιδρώς ώμων καί κεφαλής, άπό δ’ έλκεος άργαλέοιο αίμα μέλαν κελάρυζε, νόος γε μέν έμπεδος ήεν. τον δέ ίδών ώικτειρε Μενοιτίου άλκιμος υιός.

The sight is more suitable for rousing pity than the heroic retreats of Agamemnon, Diomedes and Odysseus. Patroclus, whose sympathy and readiness to help the poet proposes to describe, does not meet these sublime heroes, but a soldier, who is laboriously dragging 25

Wounding and Death in the Riad himself along, as we have already witnessed for ourselves - or at least believe we have witnessed; so closely does Homer bring us up to him. The remark that Eurypylus was fully conscious presupposes that from such a wound, which in itself is not [33] all that serious, one could quite probably pass out. Like the Trojans Deiphobus and Helenus, so too the Greek Eurypylus is measured by the standard of ordinary people. Apparently the style in Λ separates the great heroes from the minor ones. With this, the question of the influence of national prejudice is pushed into the background, but not excluded (for the bias could only regard Greeks as heroes of the first rank). However, it is not the worst Greeks who are shown to us in just as unheroic a state as the Priamids in N. After the great heroes in Λ have made their exit, the artistic world changes thoroughly. At the core of Λ, Homer speaks to us differently from N - or a different Homer speaks. 2

If we look around further in N for this precise manner of narrating, we find a few more short but exquisite examples. Remarkably, they are connected with the sons of Priam. After the wounding of Helenus, his treatment by Agenor is described as well and during this, the woollen dressing material is recalled (N 598f., see below, p. [93]). Helenus’ preceding fight with Deipyrus (576ff.) also goes into small details: the Greek’s helmet is struck off, we hear, with a long Thracian sword, rolls along between the feet of the fighting men, and is even­ tually picked up by someone. It is worthwhile following the path of that helmet which remained in Menelaus’ hand during his duel (Γ 377f.), because this trophy attests a victory out of whose fruits Me­ nelaus, as winner, is cheated. In N, however, we are dealing with a commonplace feature, which can be observed only at close quarters and virtually transfers the reader right into the middle of the fighters. The appearance of Deiphobus is shaped in quite an unheroic but very lively manner (156ff.),3 and his wounding is seen and heard with exceptional sharpness (527ff.): with a crash, the helmet which he had just pulled from a dead man’s head falls from his hand.4 Also the amusing comparison between Helenus’ arrow, which ricochets off Menelaus’ armour, and [34] beans or peas jumping around on the threshing floor, apparently lives up to expectations in this unpathetic, true-to-life style. Otherwise, not much of this kind is to be found in N (for the realism of Meriones’ deeds does not reflect the human, but the horrible), but if we look across to the end of Ξ, which we have already connected with N several times, we find in the rescue, fainting and reawakening of 26

II. Truth to Life Hector, who has been gravely hit by Ajax, very similar devices to those used in the woundings of Deiphobus and Helenus. Bethe (295) and following him Von der Mühll (225) assign Hector’s wounding to the very last stratum of the Iliad, and therefore endeav­ our to belittle the artistic value of the passage. However, the former attempt fails, because the sequence is interrupted in order to insert Hera’s deceptjpn. This tactic presupposes the duel (at the end of N Hector and Ajax meet and exchange provocative words; but only towards the ehd of Ξ, after Zeus’ outwitting has been accomplished, do they compete against each other with their weapons). If the duel poet inserted his product into an otherwise complete narrative, one cannot see why, in doing so, he split it up and only created the difficulty which he could then solve only by suspending the action on the battlefield for four hundred verses. On the other hand, the inter­ ruption of an existing sequence, especially in favour of a scene involving the gods, is a popular trick in the Eiad. Now, as far as the quality of the passage is concerned, it is com­ pletely arbitrary and unfair to pass it off as an inferior piece of epic which has been put together from passages borrowed from elsewhere. It is most annoying that Bethe generally only puts the verse numbers next to each other, and thus creates the impression that we are dealing with the repetition of concise phrases. But this is the case only in exceptions, and the apparent wealth of his arguments dwindles pathetically under the hands of anyone who looks them up. Since Von der Mühll called Bethe’s argumentation ‘splendid’ it should be exam­ ined in what follows. Ξ 421: οί δέ μέγα ίάχοντες έπέδραμον υΐες Άχαίων is supposed to have been borrowed from E 343: ή δέ μέγα Ιάχουσα άπό έο κάββαλεν υίόν, 427f.: άλλα πάροιθεν ασπίδας εύκύκλους σχέθον αύτοΰ is supposed to stem from E 453: δήιουν ... βοείας ασπίδας εύκύκλους λαισήιά τε πτερόεντα. Here, apparently, the prejudice that E is a particularly old part of the Iliad shows its influence. But E 452f., in its place, certainly gives the impression of being less original than the parallel in M 425f.: the precise detail about the arming is not natural in the fantastic context, but in the realistic one. - That the verse ending 409: μέγας Τελαμώνιος Αϊας is also used elsewhere, that the verse ending 416: δς κεν ϊδηται also appears in Σ 467 and not, in fact, more succinctly, does not mean the slightest thing, and when Bethe, for Ξ 408, refers to Γ 32 then he should at least have added that the verse appears no less rarely than seven times in the Eiad, and that in our passage it does not fit any less well than in any of the remaining six. Even more misleading is the note ‘Ξ 419bf. = N 543bf.’. For on the assumption that έάφθη really means ‘fainted’, everything in Ξ is clear: the spear falls out of Hector’s hand, his shield and helmet fall with him. This is 27

Wounding and Death in the Uiad now supposed to be derived from a passage which does not describe the fall of a man who has been hit at all, and does not mention the contrast with the shield and helmet, i.e. the spear. As long as etymo­ logy does not ascertain a completely different meaning for this rare word, which would be possible solely for the passage in N, one has to come to the opposite conclusion to Bethe’s, viz. that the Ajax-Hector passage is the model of the Aeneas-Aphareus passage about whose stylistic connections we have already spoken (an analyst would, of course, hardly be allowed to claim that the appearance of Aeneas might speak in favour of its great age). For the time being, there is no reason to derive both passages from a lost third passage. [35] If furthermore we compare verses Ξ 42 Iff. with N 55 Iff. - both passages have quite a few things in common, not so much in formu­ lation as in the subject matter - we will again at most be able to establish a priority of Ξ over N. Not even the parallel Ξ 406f. : X 291f. compromises S. Even if one admits that Hector perhaps had more reason for his wrath when his spear (as in X) simply bounced off his opponent’s shield than when (as in Ξ) it stuck fast in the latter’s armour, one could still object against X that στη δέ κατηφήσας does not really go with his wrath. If κατηφήσας were written in Ξ, one would certainly have emphasised that this verb occurred ‘only here’, and used this as an argument for the inequality of Ξ. If one wants to make the wrath passage in Ξ dependent on any other passage at all, the one which suggests itself most strongly is N 160ff., where Meriones, after the aforementioned mishap with the spear, retreats, burning with wrath, into the crowd of his comrades. But an analyst cannot get involved in this for, as will be discussed below, Meriones in the Iliad came into favour only very lately; furthermore, his retreat in N mediates between different episodes and scenes, so it does not belong to the older passages, but presupposes them, just as the seduction of Zeus presupposes the duel between Ajax and Hector. In short, Bethe has not produced a single argument which could not be turned effortlessly on its head, and would only thus become a real argument. Not much can be done analytically even with the linguistic modern­ isms which were discovered by Wackernagel and brought to bear by Bethe and Von der Mühll. The most striking, προς Ιθύ οί (403), stands at the beginning of our passage which could not but be particularly exposed to adaptations, the word order in 427 can be changed only too easily (ούχ εΰ τις έκήδετο instead of τίς εΰ) and the rest are deposited in the simile (which, incidentally, is brilliant). The artistic quality is not impaired by these things. Hair-raising catachreses, confused constructions, and other symptoms of a declining technique, are completely absent.

28

II. Truth to Life Hector’s fainting is described in Ξ in such a way that one really has to shut one’s eyes persistently not to be impressed (433ff.): άλλ’ δτε δή πόρον ιξόν έυρρεΐος ποταμοΐο Ξάνθου δινήεντος, ον αθάνατος τέκετο Ζεύς,5 435 ένθα μιν έξ ίππων πέλασαν χθονί, κάδ δέ οί ΰδωρ χεΰαν, ό^’ έμπνύνθη6 καί άνέδρακεν όφθαλμοΐσιν, έζόμενος δ’ επί γοΰνα7 κελαινεφές αΐμ’ άπέμεσσεν, αΰθις δ’ έξοπίσω πλήτο χθονί, τώ δέ οί δσσε νύξ έκάλυψε μέλαινα. βέλος δ’ έτι θυμόν έδάμνα. [36] This description stands out through a harsh matter-of-factness. Hector is lifted out of the chariot, laid onto the ground and has water poured on him; as a result his breathing, which seemed to have stopped, starts again, and he even opens his eyes. The addition όφθαλμοΐσιν is certainly not otiose, but exceedingly expressive, be­ cause it newly invigorates and intensifies the basic meaning of έδρακεν.8Hector does not yet perceive his surroundings; only later (O 241) will it be said: άμφί έ γινώσκων έτάρους. He sits up, spits out blackish blood over his knees, and sinks back again. This second fainting is not an invention but precisely what usually happens after severe physical shock. If the poet had not been particularly concerned about this pathology, he could have allowed Hector to remain pros­ trate in his first swoon. This would have completely satisfied the compositional intention (viz. to eliminate the main Trojan hero so that the Greeks can gain a temporary victory). So the second fainting is not a mere doubling, any more than his second awakening in O. In fact, we could be justified in seeing in these doublings signs of a secondary lengthening (the duel between Ajax and Hector seemed lengthened to us in this way just recently); but the fact that Hector awakens differently the second time - he does not merely open his eyes but begins to recognise his surroundings - provides the decisive criterion that the context of the narrative has essentially, i.e. in its development, remained preserved for us. The passage, as expressive as it is sharply observed, where Apollo finds Hector: ήμενον, ούδ’ έτι κεΐτο, νέον δ’ έσαγείρετο θυμόν, άμφί έ γινώσκων έτάρους, is, however much its surroundings may have suffered during their insertion into the final narrative of the Iliad, not the lucky hit of an imitator,9 but something precious which has fortunately been pre­ served.

29

Wounding and Death in the Iliad 3 [37] With the half verse: βέλος δ’ έτι θυμόν έδάμνα, a variation of closing phrases like τον δέ σκότος όσσε κάλυψε or το δ’ έφέλκετο μείλινον έγχος, the description of the great duel is powerfully con­ cluded. The counter attack of the Greeks can now begin. Its hero seems originally to have been Locrian Ajax, certainly in his special­ ised nimbleness a rather unheroic hero. Immediately after Hector’s withdrawal, he comes to the fore (442ff.) and the conclusion of this section of the fight praises him, admittedly quite summarily, as the best of the pursuers (520ff.). The extremely fantastic things which stand between veil the importance of Telamonian Ajax’s victory over Hector, which, of course, was bound to give the Trojans the signal to flee, rather than Peneleus’ victory over Ilioneus. The latter, with an immense array of horror, motivates, for the second time, both what had already been factually motivated, i.e. the flight of the Trojans, inevitable after Hector’s defeat.10 So the traces of an adventurous style presuppose an older narrative, in which Hector’s ehmination by Telamonian Ajax formed the turning point, and the aristeia of Locrian Ajax as the born pursuer formed the natural continuation. When we look around further in Ξ for that appropriateness and precision which in the Mad is not at all a matter of course (as the last fights of this book especially show), then our gaze falls on the great duel itself. The description of the place where Hector’s spear hits Ajax (404f.) has a place of honour in the literature of Homeric weapons so thoroughly are we informed about the point where the shield-belt and sword-belt crossed. Ajax’s stone throw is localised just as unam­ biguously and characterised as a masterly performance.11 This attention to details which, elsewhere, are treated quite arbitrarily, can hardly be separated from the suggestions which Poseidon (still, or again, in the person of Thoas?) makes for the organisation of the Greek resistance (371ff., before the duel of Hector with Ajax): the best weapons are supposed to be given to the best men. Poseidon here shows the same military judgement as Thoas himself who, inO 294ff., gives the advice that the majority of the warriors should withdraw to the line of the ships, while the best try to absorb Hector’s attack.12The [38] god’s instruction is carried out under the supervision (cf. Leaf ad loc.) of the wounded princes Diomedes, Odysseus and Agamemnon: έσθλά μέν έσθλός έδυνε, χέρεια δέ χείρονι 0óoKov.13That these heroes do not consider themselves too good to make themselves useful in this way is again a piece of real, and completely unelevated, life. Poseidon’s intervention transfers us unexpectedly into a com­ pletely different world. The fantastic image of verses 384-401 has rightly been emphasised: the ocean begins to move and breaks 30

II. Truth to Life against ships and huts14 and its divine ruler brandishes a sword which spreads terror and resembles lightning. With this, he conjures up the memory of the magic of E and the world in which the fates of Alcathous and Patroclus are settled. Now, there is hardly anything in the Iliad which looks more appended, more artificially implanted, than the role which Poseidon plays from the beginning of N until the beginning of £). This mere impression prevents us from integrating the realistic, and the fantastic sphere; it rather speaks for a double layering of odr narrative (just as at the end of that book, one cannot get by without an analytical working hypothesis). If Poseidon in 363-77 does not adopt the persona but rather the wisdom of Thoas, he now expands beyond this and the human surroundings. Through this, he introduces a magic aura into a world in which things originally seem to have been much simpler.15 4 [39] The end of N is spatially far removed from the great duel of Ξ, yet in terms of material, it is connected with it much more directly than the last passages dealt with. There, Hector sounds out the Greek phalanx in terms of its steadfastness and finally finds in Ajax an unshakeable opponent. An exchange of speeches between the heroes announces an armed encounter in the customary manner, but, as we already emphasised, this occurs only much later, and in a roundabout way. But Hector’s equipment is already described here with the same care which must strike us during the duel itself. Again, we are given details which, particularly because of their rarity, are extremely welcome to a researcher of weapons (N 803ff.): πρόσθεν δ’ εχεν άσπίδα παντόσ’ έίσην ρινοΐσιν πυκινήν, πολλός δ’ έπελήλατο χαλκός, 805 άμφί δέ οι κροτάφοισι φαεινή σείετο πήληξ. πάντηι δ’ άμφί φάλαγγας έπειράτο προποδίζων, εϊ πώς οί εϊξειαν ύπασπίδια προβιβάντι. ‘This gradual advancing and approaching ... splendidly illustrates the way in which one carefully carries the Mycenean shield in front of oneself and on towards the danger.’ Thus Robert (p. 5 according to Reichel), and he compares with this the advance of Deiphobus N 148: κουφά ποσί προβιβάς καί ύπασπίδια προποδίζων, whose protective weapon is also called παντόσ έίση (157, 160).16 In view of the rarity of this kind of vividness, we shall have to define as closely related the two Hector passages and the Deiphobus

31

Wounding and Death in the Uiad passage too.17But here we have finally reached the point at which all our lengthy discussions have been directed. For if we contemplate all the passages in which books N and Ξ show the ‘true-to-life’style which observes meticulously, is concerned about motivation, and is sober rather than effusive, then from all the individual fights, the following stand out: [40] The death of Asius and his charioteer N 384-401; Deiphobus’ appearance N 156-8, his attack on Idomeneus N 402-12, but above all his wounding and his retreat N 527-39;18 Helenus’ duel with Deipyrus, his attack on Menelaus, his wounding, retreat and nursing by Agenor N 576-600; Hector’s attack N 803-8 (cf. N 145-8), his duel with Ajax, his wounding, fainting and rescue Ξ 402-39 (his awakening is to be included, O 240-3).19 This selection according to stylistic criteria brings together material which is separated by much material of a different nature. This obscures the idea which links together the pieces that have been emphasised: Priam’s sons are wounded one after the other, Hector, the most important, last and most seriously.20 How can one not recognise the parallel with Λ ? Just as there Agamemnon, Diomedes and Odysseus withdrew one after the other, so that only Ajax was left to delay the disaster, so here only Paris remains in the field, who of course cannot prevent a Trojan flight. The drastic reversal which Poseidon brings about literally behind the back of Zeus, who has turned northwards, is the mirror image of the plan which precisely this same Zeus had set in motion and then (N 1) left to Hector to carry out. The realistic passages in N Ξ presuppose Λ , and the mention of the three wounded Greek princes in Ξ 379ff. makes the reversal of events particularly obvious, so apparently this has consciously been made to serve a symmetric composition, which was then thrown off balance by numerous poetic insertions. [41] What was common to this attack and counter-attack was the unobtrusiveness of the divine contribution. The Greeks in Λ and later the Priamids were wounded one after the other as if by chance. Since the champions of both sides particularly expose themselves to the danger, the poet did not need to engage the gods in each case to make the course of events comprehensible. Zeus and Poseidon may deter­ mine the general direction of the development, but they do not need to exert particular influence behind every deed of arms. As in tragedy the deity shows itself in the prologue but can remain invisible during the action, so also in Λ and in the relevant passages of N and Ξ, events on earth unfold in such a way that, admittedly, we know about their 32

divine originators, but we nevertheless perceive the events as quite essentially earthly and human, since each action explains itself auto­ matically. The deity’s intervention in individual fights, which blurs the border between the human and superhuman sphere, remains reserved for those fights which are not essential to the outlined narrative scheme: Poseidon bev^tches Alcathous’ eyes and feet, he protects Antilochus from the hail of Trojan missiles, in particular he renders ineffectual the spear of Asius’ son Adamas, whose life he begrudges (N 562f.); besides, he does not merely spur on the Greeks but, swinging an enormous sword, marches into battle with them like the bloodthirsty Ares, drunk with the slaughter. Of these episodes, the first and the last clearly belong to that fantastic style whose wide control over the narrative always ends when one of Priam’s sons is to be eliminated. Although the Priamid theme always left room for interludes like the disaster of Asius who, without heeding Polydamas’ advice and Hector’s example (M 66ff., 80ff.), dares to advance further than all the others,21 the climax which leads to Hector’s defeat has, first through the interruptions at N 413-505, 540-75, but above all through N 601-801, become almost unrecognisable. Not even the seduction of Zeus, which of course takes place on a different level, prevents us recognising the continuous progress of the development on the battle­ field as much as the [42] episodes which serve the glory of the heroes Aeneas and Meriones, who are pushed into the foreground by all possible means. But not only was an older composition stretched to breaking point, but a new one was developed as well. The fantastic style vaults the realistic passages, which used to hang together. In the Alcathous scene, it rises up to daring heights which, in conjunction with the Peneleus peak, just about hold together the immensely enlarged mass of episodes.22 E.H. Meyer, p. 150, distinguished an older ‘great, heroic, manly, natural, vivid, strictly symmetric, moderate’ style from a younger ‘tender or also uncouth, bourgeois-idyllic, feminine-sentimental, fan­ tastic, picturesque, looser and occasionally bombastic’ one. We can now gauge how much correct observation underlies this description of the ‘younger’style, and soon we shall also recognise his ‘older’style in the Eiad. But he credits the younger style with a diversity which abolishes the notion of style. This series of epithets falls into two groups, of which each first visualises a certain individual. The desire to polarise phenomena, to get by with a contrast, is understandable, but we shall have to progress to a trinity of styles which perhaps still represents a simplification, which is able to render services that are only provisional even though not contemptible. If it is correct that the fantastic style has absorbed parts of a realistically shaped context in 33

Wounding and Death in the Iliad N and Ξ; if furthermore it is correct that these parts, taken out and merged, still allow a narrative to be recognised which is meant as a mirror image of the elimination of the Greek champions in A, then we would be allowed to distribute our three styles into three periods of time. But in general, only two of these will be relevant to us, that of the including and included, the presupposing and presupposed verses. Additions to I and II A. Pseudo-Realism 1

[43] There are battle descriptions in the Iliad which restrict them­ selves to the decisive moments, and others which are more generous with details. The second group sometimes presents comparatively minor matters which bring events closely to our notice, and thus convince us of their naturalness. However, the impression of precision which is created through such details often does not stand up to examination: what at first sight seemed to heighten the vividness, at second becomes blurred, because there is no whole which emerges from the parts. In cases like this we have on occasions already spoken of pseudo-realism. Fantasy in the garb of precision is offered to us in the AntilochusThoon episode N 545ff.: Άντίλοχος δέ Θόωνα μεταστρεφθέντα δοκεύσας οΰτασ έπαίξας, άπό δέ φλέβα πάσαν έκερσεν, ή τ’ άνά νώτα θέουσα διαμπερές αύχέν’ ίκάνει. την άπό πάσαν έκερσεν. Leaf’s remark that such a vein ‘of course’did not exist perhaps sounds a little condescending, but does more justice to the text than the claim that we are dealing here with the aorta. For Küchenmeister (p. 44), this one passage was in fact sufficient proof‘that Homer knew exactly the course of the aorta’ and ‘that already Homer and the Homerids’ had ‘made sections of human carcasses’, and Körner in the Münchener medizinische Wochenschrift (69, 1922, 1484ff.) tried to give stronger reasons for this view. But άνά νώτα θέουσα does really mean ‘running along on the back’ and not, as Körner thinks, ‘on the back wall of the thoracic cavity’.23If the aorta, located in front of the human spine and revealed only if one cuts open the abdomen, is identified with a vein

34

II. Truth to Life ‘along the spine’, then one will be able to find pretty well anything everywhere. [44] However, the resumption of the main clause shows how much importance is attached to this peculiar detail by the poet. The passage Ξ 465f., which was already discussed above, points very similarly to the wound: τόν p έβαλεν κεφαλής τε καί αύχένος έν συνεοχμώι24 νείατον Αστράγαλον, άπό δ’ άμφω κέρσε τένοντε. The usage of άποκείρειν25which is peculiar only to these, shows that the last two passages belong together. The passage in Ξ is followed, as we saw, by the highly fantastic verses 467/8. So it marks the point where sophisticated pseudo-precision turns into daring yarn spin­ ning. The impression of anatomical knowledge is also given Π 313ff. where Meges hits Amphiclus, πρυμνόν σκέλος, ένθα πάχιστος μυών ανθρώπου πέλεται, περί δ’ έγχεος αίχμήι νεΰρα διεσχίσθη. However, the ένθα sentence does not stand up to the objection already made by the ancient commentators, that such a stab wound is rela­ tively harmless; and besides, one wonders how Meges can hit the gluteal muscle, the muscle which must obviously be meant, from the front. But the next sentence is more significant, because again it leads beyond the observable into what can only be imagined. The splitting of the sinews appears wholly made up. We shall spurn the solution that twists διασχίζειν into a mere διακόπτειν, διατέμνειν. The family of these paradoxes is too common in the Eiad for us to be able to eradicate or ignore them. 2

The passage Y 463-83 is a treasure trove. It is surrounded by Achilles’ deeds, which are told so concisely and matter-of-factly that they look like themes rather than variations. We have already mentioned that the victory over Rhigmus and his charioteer (484ff.) can give an idea of the original form of that episode, whose brilliant modification N 384ff. in the Eiad was then varied further several times, and with the greatest sophistication. The combination of a shot in the leg and a blow with the sword 456ff., when compared with a passage like Δ 52 Iff. - comparable in terms of content but giving the impression of

Wounding and Death in the Eiad having been put together and derived - has the advantage of solid simplicity as well, and the double success 460ff., achieved with spear and sword, contains in a nutshell what unfolds broadly and luxuri­ ously e.g. in the series of double victories A 143£f. [45] which is supposed to put Agamemnon on an equal footing with the greatest heroes. So our difficulty begins at 463. Tros, son of Alastor (both names are all too transparent, but the same is true of Demuchus 457, Laogonos and Dardanus 460), who asks Achilles for pardon but is then so cruelly mistaken in him, is only a shadow of Lycaon, whose rare and moving fate is described to us in such detail in Φ.26 The priority of the Lycaon episode reveals itself in the manner of the killing: there the kneeling man is, appropriately, hit in the neck, as we know from vase paintings (117: τύψε κατά κληΐδα παρ’ αυχένα, παν δέ οί εϊσω δΰ ξίφος άμφηκες), whereas Tros, while he is still clasping Achilles’knees, is hit in the liver, which astonishingly slips out and, dripping with blood,27 floods the folds of the chiton - the latter a variation of the simple, and at the same time exceedingly graphic, statement Φ 118: ό δ’ αρα πρηνής έπί γαίηι κεΐτο ταθείς, έκ δ’ αίμα μέλαν ρέε, δεΰε δέ γαΐαν. The next wounding is unusual but not outrageous (Achilles from the side stabs Mulius in one ear, the point of the spear emerging at the other). On the other hand the following seems familiar to us: ό δ’ Άγήνορος υίόν Έχεκλον μέσσην κάκ κεφαλήν ξίφει ήλασε κωπήεντι, παν δ’ ύπεθερμάνθη ξίφος αιματι, τόν δέ κατ’ δσσε έλλαβε πορφύρεος θάνατος καί μοίρα κραταιή. For we have read the phrase (πλήξας ξίφει αύχένα κωπήεντι etc.) in a fantastic interlude in the Patrocleia (as Π 332ff.). In both places, the main interest is the heating up of the sword, which again draws the event out from the immediately perceptible into what is in the mind. For it is not said, for instance, that the sword, when it was pulled out, was steaming with hot blood, but the imagination, as in Virgil (Aen. 9, 701), slips with the weapon into the body of the man who has been struck; cf. Y 399 (εγκέφαλος δέ ένδον άπας πεπάλακτο) and E 75 (ψυχρόν έλε χαλκόν όδοΰσι). But all this is outdone by the killing of Deucalion (478ff.), which again combines spear-throw with sword-blow. But whereas in other places the doomed man is hit in the leg, and thus [46] prevented from fleeing, here the spear hits him in the elbow joint ‘where the tendons hold together’ (the upper arm and the forearm); so he could still at least make an attempt to get to safety, but, with certain death staring him in the face, he simply stands still. Here, in an extremely abbre36

II. Truth to Life viated way (as perhaps already in E 579), but still just recognisably, that motif of consternation and inabihty to move appears, which meant so much in N (the charioteer and Alcathous episode) and in Π (the Thestor episode). - Achilles, a skilful executioner, cleanly cuts off the defenceless man’s head (as Diomedes does Dolon’s), so that the spinal cord splashes out of the cervical vertebrae: μυελός αΰτε σφονδυλίων έκπαλτο. Here, ‘however, we see Homer make an anatomi­ cal mistake’»Küchenmeister remarks on this, op. cit. p. 50, and, so as not to have to disavow Homer, reckons with an addition by later writers. But then, of course, anatomical correctness cannot be expected in the Lliad. Rather, we have to admit that one can rely on the precise details of information in such passages only when they concern the self-evident, for instance the fact that the upper arm and forearm are connected to each other by tendons; but in areas where only real medical experience can give testimony, they offer plausibility by chance at best, but, for the most part, largely fantasy. P 295 is cast in the same mould: πλήξ’ αύτοσχεδίην κυνέης διά χαλκοπαρήιου, ήρικε δ’ ίπποδάσεια κόρυς περί δουρός άκωκήι, πληγεΐσ’ έγχει τε μεγάλωι καί χειρί παχείηι, εγκέφαλος δέ παρ’ αύλόν άνέδραμεν έξ ώτειλής αίματόεις.28 Not very satisfyingly for us, but, no less than three times in our Iliad, the closely related warrior-slaying Y 396ff. is used (cf. Λ 96ff. and M 183ff.): Άντήνορος υίόν νύξε κατά κρόταφον, κυνέης διά χαλκοπαρήιου. ούδ’ άρα χαλκείη κόρυς έσχεθεν, άλλα δι αύτής αιχμή ίεμένη ρήξ’ όστέον, έγκέφαλος δέ ένδον άπας πεπάλακτο. One should take particular note of ένδον: the soiling or shaking29 of the brain ‘inside’can no longer be observed from outside [47] but, like the death-rattle of Mydon who is stuck in the sand, can only be supposed, while the smashing of a skull in the helmet (M 384f. and others) is still subject to perception from the outside. A style which acknowledges this borderline is consequently more restrained, cf. Δ 459: τόν p έβαλε πρώτος κόρυθος φάλον ίπποδασείης, έν δέ μετώπωι πήξε, πέρησε δ’ άρ’ όστέον εΐσω αιχμή χαλκείη- τον δέ σκότος όσσε κάλυψεν.

Wounding and Death in the Iliad The cutting of the head from the trunk, and the splashing of the spinal cord from the spine, form a peak in between, as we find quite fre­ quently in the battle descriptions. So the mowing off of Hypsenor’s arm (E 81f.), and of Archelochus’ and Ilioneus’ heads (Ξ 465ff. and 496ff.), are highlights, which have been put in deliberately and pre­ pared after long and careful planning. When with Y 484-9 once more - immediately before the magnificent final image of the book - a simpler type is used, the description, after its flight of fancy, seems to land on the level of the Achilleid substratum. The ensuing warriorkillings, which certainly do not lack emotiveness, do without miracu­ lous horrors. The death of Lycaon shows us what is possible, in terms of expression, within the framework of the normal, average business of war: in terms of power of image and human content, this episode looks for its equal among the battle scenes of the Iliad. Here the highest standard is reached, without things being particularly ‘stormy and poetical’. 3 The thematic character of the short Rhigmus episode can be clearly explained by one single word. In Y 486 it is said: τον βάλε μέσσον άκοντι, πάγη δ’ έν νηδύι χαλκός. [48] We encounter this usage of μέσος, as plausible as it is, in only a few places. Generally γαστέρα μέσσην, μέσσην κάκ κεφαλήν, and that sort of thing, is said. In view of the relation between the content of the Rhigmus charioteer scene and the Asius charioteer scene, one can hardly regard it as a coincidence that the latter says (N 397): δουρί μέσον περόνησε τυχών (and then, without τυχών, Η 145)30... μέσηι δ’ έν γαστέρι πήξε.31 We also feel the influence of Y 486 in its own vicinity. We read in Y 413: τον βάλε μέσσον άκοντι and we must first understand this as a shot roughly into the navel area, even if we do not remember the few parallels. But instead of πάγη δ’ έν νηδύι χαλκός, or something like this, these words are followed by: ποδάρκης δΐος Άχιλλεύς νώτα παραίσσοντος. This surprises us, because a human being has a natural middle only at the front, not at the back; so for the wounding of people in flight, this is naturally never mentioned, but rather we find ώμων μεσσηγύς, and similar phrases. Anyone to whom this seems too pedan­ tic should read on: δθι ζωστήρος όχήες χρύσειοι σύνεχον καί διπλόος ήντετο θώρηξ. We know this detail very well: Athena steers Pandarus’ arrow precisely to this point, because that is where Menelaus is least at risk (Δ 132f.). But Menelaus is wounded from the front, Polydorus 38

II. Truth to Life in Y in the back, and it is impossible to see how nevertheless the same part of both men’s armour can be hit.32Archaeology struggles in vain with this contradiction,33but the person who sees through the com­ plexity and pseudo-realism of this passage in Y will not demand information about Homeric armour from such details; he is also rid of the question with what force the spear had to tilt downwards so that it could emejjge near the navel after it had penetrated roughly be­ tween the shoulders (with νώτα one has to think of the upper body first).34 [49] If is, of course, transparent why the spear does not come out in the chest. For ill-fated Polydorus is also supposed to have his entrails fall out, as do Diores Δ 525f., Tros Y 470 and Asteropaius Φ 180f. (who are hit from the front). The particular ambition of this passage is betrayed by the fact that this horrible effect is achieved not, as with the latter two, through a blow with the sword, but, as with the former, through a stab with the spear and, on top of everything else, from behind. That the dying man also tries to hang on to his entrails is even repeated, and thus particularly emphasised: 418 προτί οΐ δ’ έλαβ’ έντερα χερσί λιασθείς. Έκτωρ δ’ ώς ένόησε κασίγνητον Πολύδωρον έντερα χερσίν έχοντα, λιαζόμενον ποτί γαίηι ,..35 It should be emphasised that it is not the reconstruction of the weapons alone which causes difficulty. It is definitely conceivable that a realistically-minded poet might also have rather peculiar ideas about the heroes’ armour, and say impossible things about it. It must therefore be emphasised that the problem is not restricted to what is antiquarian (both for us as well as the poet), but also extends to the human body - which can be examined at any time. So the Polydorus episode follows three models, and it would be futile to want to reconcile the different statements. Conjecture and especially deletion fail here, as in other places. Anyone who wants to put such passages in ‘order’ has to rework them completely. If we now further pursue the rare, and so to speak absolute usage, of μέσος, we finally find a passage whose close affinity to the last one we dealt with leaps to the eye. ‘The description is hopelessly con­ fused’, Leaf judged not without reason, but he left us in the dark whether he regarded the invention, as such, as confused, or thought that an originally clear description had been confused later. We can now make a certain diagnosis. As so often, Meriones is the cause of our headache, even though this time he shoots only a pigeon (Ψ 870ff.). This had been freed from its fetters by a shot from Teucer, and was fluttering away. Without [50] delay, Meriones gets out an arrow36 and vows to Apollo no less

Wounding and Death in the Uiad than a hecatomb πρωτογόνων άρνών, i.e. just as much and exactly the same as Pandarus, before his enormously important shot at Me­ nelaus (Δ 102). Success does not fail to materialise: ύψι δ’ υπό νεφέων είδε τρήρωνα πέλειαν. τήι ρ δ γε δινεύουσαν υπό πτέρυγος βάλε μέσσην, άντικρύ δε διήλθε βέλος, το μέν άψ έπί γαίηι πρόσθεν Μηριόναο πάγη ποδός. αύτάρ ή δρνις ΐστωι έφεζομένη νηός κυανοπρώροιο αύχέν’ άπεκρέμασεν, σύν δέ πτερι πυκνά λίασθεν. 880 ώκύς δ’ εκ μελέων θυμός πτάτο, τήλε δ’ άπ’ αύτοΰ κάππεσε. Leaf remarks correctly on this: ‘υπό πτέρυγος seems to imply* a side shot.’ Nevertheless, one understands μέσσην perfectly, as soon as one takes into consideration that the hero is supposed to hit not only the target but the bull’s eye, i.e. to perform a perfect master shot. But this does not in any way change the fact that there is here, in Homeric terms, a misuse of μέσος: the middle of the side, calculated from the beak to the tail and from the back to the base of the legs, is just as little the actual middle of the pigeon as the middle of the back is the actual middle of Polydorus. Apart from the linguistic usage of μέσος, these two are linked through the repetition of λιάζομαι37and, not least, through the detail of the missile emerging again on the opposite side. This at least is conceivable for a pigeon (unlike a human), so the re-emergence of the arrow is here developed into its ‘flying through’ (cf. E 99: διά δ’ έπτατο πικρός όιστός). Finally, after a short agony, the pigeon falls down from the mast (like a warrior from his chariot), τήλε δ’ άπ’ αύτοΰ (like the tip of Ajax’s lance Π 117 or Deucalion’s head Y 482). First, it is clear that we are allowed as little as we are in Polydorus’ case to follow the path of the missile and ask how an arrow which has been shot through a pigeon can fall down at the feet of the archer. This, as Leaf emphasises, is certainly possible only by a miracle, just as it was also a miracle that caused Cebriones’ eyes to fall in front of his own feet. Neither through critical interventions nor through sophisms can one insist that here, and in stylistically comparable places, nothing strange happens. [51] The derived, composite, but, as one has to admit, highly picturesque style of the pigeon episode resists attempts such as those recorded in Ameis-Hentze in the Appendix ad loc.38The impression of a description which is plausible right down to the technical details, though without doubt momentar­ ily achieved, does not la s t long, and m ust yield to the acknowledgement of its complete irrationality. 40

II. Truth to Life Secondly, it must be stated that the death of the poor pigeon has been modelled on the epic warrior-slaying in its most sophisticated, boldest form, hardly as parody, but by means of parody. Verse 879, however its last word should be understood, is not merely by chance reminiscent of passages such as: N 543 έκλίνθτ^δ’ έτέρωσε κάρη, επί δ’ άσπίς έάφθη, Ν 597 χεΐρα ,παρακρεμάσας, το δ’ έφέλκετο μείλινον εγχος r

(cf. also Θ 306, Π 341).39 Β. Low Realism 1

[52] One passage which one now normally derives from the NestorAntilochus episode of an older Achilleid offers the following solid physiological detail (Θ 81) (Paris hits a horse of Nestor’s with his arrow): άκρην κάκ κορυφήν, δθι τε πρώται τρίχες ίππων κρανίωι έμπεφύασι, μάλιστα δέ καίρίόν έστι. Ε 305ff., where Diomedes hits Aeneas with a stone, is similarly expressed: Αίνείαο κατ’ ίσχίον, ένθα τε μηρός ίσχίωι ένστρέφεται, κοτύλην δέ τέ μιν καλέουσι. θλάσσε δέ οί κοτύλην, προς δ’ άμφω ρήξε τένοντε, and Π 314f. (Meges hits Amphiclus): πρυμνόν σκέλος, ένθα πάχιστος μυών ανθρώπου πέλεται. We find this ένθα scheme at N 568f. differently expressed, both gruesome and with a sentimental touch (Meriones hits Adamas with his spear): αιδοίων τε μεσσηγύ καί όμφαλού, ένθα μάλιστα γίγνετ’ άρης άλεγεινός όιζυροΐσι βροτοίσι.40 Meriones more than any other hero is responsible for a certain type of wounding. Homer has ‘given Merione s a particular skill in wound-

Wounding and Death in the Uiad ing fleeing men in the pubic region. Of the woundings in this area which Homer mentions, three are attributed to Meriones’ (Küchen­ meister, p. 37).41We can [53] add that the fourth passage differs from the three others in its brevity42 whereas the Meriones passages are more precise and two of them dwell on the rare wound as if with grim pleasure. This rarity can probably not be put down to Homeric weapons and the way heroes handle them (or not exclusively).43It corresponds to the avoidance of the low and indecent about which J. Wackernagel (,Sprachl. Untersuchungen z. Homer, Göttingen 1916, p. 224ff.) has written. The scholia confirm that, to ancient feeling too, the Meriones passages were conspicuous and offensive exceptions, cf. Schol. A on E 67: αισχρόν to τραύμα του τής πορνείας ναυπηγοΰ. So this remark appeals to the poetic justice of the wound (though by wrongly equat­ ing the wounded man with the ναυπηγός) in order to justify its horror.44 Let us look at this case (E 65ff.) more carefully: τον μέν Μηριόνης, δτε δή κατέμαρπτε διώκων βεβλήκει γλουτόν κατά δεξιόν, ή δε διαπρό άντικρύ κατά κύστιν ύπ’ όστέον ήλυθ’ άκωκή. γνύξ δ’ έριπ’ οίμώξας, θάνατος δε μιν άμφεκάλυψε. The last line is particularly effective, for it is clear that the man who has been hit falls onto his knees in the direction of the spear throw; the loud groaning too - which the Iliad mentions here for the first time [54] during the fights - corresponds to the horribleness of the injury. What comes earlier is less convincing. Admittedly, we do not want to prevent Meriones from doing what is more difficult instead of what is easier and usual, and hurl his spear while running rather than standing still. But δτε δή κατέμαρπτε διώκων does not go at all well with βεβλήκει. For this cannot mean, as Düntzer wants, ‘when he was standing in front of him in throwing range’. It describes the complete act of catching up, and this gives the opportunity for a stab or a blow, not a throw. The expression is used once more in the Iliad, and in fact with considerably more impact, when Glaucus, who was running away, executes a sudden turn to shoot his pursuer Bathycles (Π 597ff.): τον μέν άρα Γλαύκος στήθος μέσον οΰτασε δουρί, στρεφθείς εξαπίνης, δτε μιν κατέμαρπτε διώκων. So either the Ε passage depends on this Π passage or both follow a third, pre-Uiadic one more closely and more loosely.45That we do not 42

II. Truth to Life have an individual error, whether of a rhapsode or in a later tradition, is shown by the coupling of διαπρό and άντικρύ: each would be suffi­ cient by itself and does indeed suffice in other passages of the M ad.A6 A particularly unpleasant variation on E 65ff. on the one hand and N 648ff.. on the other, is N 566ff. If in the passage mentioned last Harpalion had thrust at Menelaus in vain, this time Adamas thrusts at Antilochus ψ vain: άψ έτάραΛ εις έθνος έχάζετο κήρ άλεείνων. Μηριόνης δ1άπιόντα μετασπόμενος βάλε δουρί αιδοίων τε μεσηγύ καί όμφαλοΰ, ένθα μάλιστα γίγνετ’ άρης άλεγεινός όιζυροΐσι βροτοΐσιν. [55] 570 ένθα οί έγχος έπηξεν, ό δε σπόμενος περί δουρί47 ήσπαιρ’ ώς δτε βοΰς, τόν τ’ οΰρεσι βουκόλοι άνδρες ίλλάσιν ούκ έθέλοντα βίηι δήσαντες άγουσιν. ώς ό τυπείς ήσπαιρε μίνυνθά περ, οΰ τι μάλα δήν, δφρα οί έκ χροός έγχος άνεσπάσατ έγγύθεν έλθών 575 ήρως Μηριόνης. τον δέ σκότος άμφεκάλυψε. Β. Niese (Entwicklung der Homerischen Poesie, Berlin 1882, p. 55) saw that the verse end τόν τ’ οΰρεσι βουκόλοι άνδρες has been modelled on N 390: πίτυς βλωθρή, τήν τ’ οΰρεσι τέκτονες άνδρες / έξέταμον. Indeed, the mountain range is essential only for this simile.48 The death of Asius would therefore be the model of the Meriones episode in the same way as the death of the charioteer of the Othryoneus and the Alcathous episode.49 The one victim of Meriones in N is hit in the bladder from the front, the other from the back, as if the poet prided himself on the develop­ ment of this new territory and exploited it as best he could. The association of the episodes is also underlined through the quite unusual mention of the dying man’s convulsions and writhing. In comparison with this, the ‘fantastic’injuries such as in the Alcathous and the Peneleus episode, as offensive as they may be, should be called absolutely sublime. Meriones is made interesting not because the wounds overstepped the natural or observable but because of a naturalism of a cruder kind than we find elsewhere in the Mad. That a hero of the second rank is distinguished in this way is not a coincidence. The minor figures were able to hold their own in the circle of the main characters who had anticipated them in the simple magnificence of their heroic feats only through a dowry of unusual­ ness which has not been encountered before. A widening of the circle of characters of the Iliad could therefore always bring with itself a stylistic widening. [56] Now, of course it was observed long ago (cf. ‘Meriones’ in

Wounding and Death in the Iliad Pauly-Wissowa) with what persistence the ‘attendant of Idomeneus’ is pushed into the foreground.50 The decisive successes in battle, however, had already been allocated to other heroes; but when it is said ‘Volunteers, forward!’Meriones does not take second place to the greatest heroes, whether it might be a question of being a match for Hector (H 16 Iff. = Θ 26 Iff.) or of undergoing the deprivations entailed by guard duty (I 80ff., cf. K 58f.51). In the overall composition of the Poseidon peripeteia, it is apparent that the poet is trying to make Meriones appear at least equal to Idomeneus, possibly superior. After he was able to force Deiphobus, the most dangerous opponent of his master Idomeneus, to retreat, he is allowed to perform two further deeds which are very memorable and, in spite of a distance of almost 70 verses, clearly related to each other.52Since Meriones had already played a significant role in the preparation of the double aristeia, his name, like a rondo theme, regularly alternates with those of the other Greek heroes: Meriones-Idomeneus-Meriones-Antilochus-MerionesMenelaus-Meriones. The catalogue of ships had already placed these two Cretans next to each other as equal (B 651), and where the younger is described as the όπάων of the older, an additional description such as θοώι ατάλαντος ’Άρηι, ατάλαντος Ένυαλίωι άνδρειφόντηι ensures that the relationship is not interpreted as one of subordination. From the strikingly warm address on the part of Idomeneus N 249: Μηριόνη, Μόλου υίέ, πόδας τάχυ, φίλταθ’ εταίρων one has certainly sensed this tendency correctly. It expresses itself quite delightfully in 267f.: when Idomeneus wants to lend him one of his spears, Meriones hastens to affirm that he does not actually rely on other people’s weapons (καί τοι έμοι παρά τε κλισίηι καί νηί μελαίνηι / πολλ’ εναρα Τρώων), since (he says) he does not give best to any other hero in any respect, something which Idomeneus of course must know best (272f.)!, whereupon Idomeneus hastens to assure Meriones in the greatest detail of the particularly high regard in which he holds him. The sensitive selfconfidence of a homo novus could not reveal itself more thoroughly. If it is dynastic ambition, or e.g. the fulfilling of palace duties for ambitious ends, which conceals itself behind this, then the relation­ ship between Meriones and Idomeneus would correspond to that between Aeneas and the sons of Priam. Strangely enough, the Iliad brings the two ‘young’ heroes together in an encounter without a result, which is supposed to prove their equality. [57] In view of the certainly not original, but still very extensive, part which Aeneas plays in the Eiad, this equality is decidedly more flattering for Meriones than for Aeneas, so the former would still be younger rather than the same age as the latter.53Hence it appears understandable to me that the stylistic spheres of the two, at least in N, do not assimilate 44

II. Truth to Life to each other. For the poetry of groins and earthworms in its dry horribleness is of a different type from the luxuriously coloured fantasy of Aeneas’ exploits. But the fact that both, practically as well as aesthetically, can hardly be compared with the brilliantly con­ ceived heroic pair Ajax-Hector, re-assimilates them: both heroes, each in his own way, are representatives of an epic modern age. 2

Since in a fight for life or death one is not fussy about one’s means, we must not be appalled by the fact that now and then one warrior kills another by cutting off his head. But this occurs quite rarely in the Mad, and when Diomedes makes short work of the defenceless Dolon in this way, such efficient cruelty makes us shudder. But the custom of cutting the head off the opponent’s corpse and taking it home as a trophy is particularly barbaric. When one considers how normal this brute triumph remained in Rome, it says much for the Iliad that it speaks about it so little. The main passages adjoin one another (they are written in P and Σ)64 and at first attribute this practice to the Trojans. Iris is not able to say anything more provocative to Achilles than that Hector proposes to violate his friend’s corpse in this way (Σ 175): μάλιστα δε φαίδιμος Έκτωρ έλκέμεναι μέμονεν, κεφαλήν δέ έ θυμός άνωγεν πήξαι άνά σκολόπεσσι ταμόνθ’ απαλής άπό δειρής. This could be a well-calculated slander, but of course in P 125 we heard it from the poet’s own mouth: Έκτωρ μέν Πάτροκλον έπεί κλυτά τεύχε’ άπηύρα ϊλ%\ ιν’ άπ’ ώμοιιν κεφαλήν τάμοι όξέι χαλκώι. That this intention is attributed to Hector must displease us because so far he, who of course has fought and killed unceasingly, has not been accused of any strikingly horrible deeds. It is really less charac­ teristic of him than it is of Book P, which right at the beginning makes another Trojan, Euphorbus, utter (38): [58] ή κέ σφιν δειλοΐσι γόου κατάπαυμα γενοίμην, ει κεν έγώ κεφαλήν τε τεήν καί τεύχε’ ένείκας Πανθόωι έν χείρεσσι βάλω καί Φρόντιδι δίηι. Although this threat is partly explained by the specific rage of 45

Wounding and Death in the Iliad Euphorbus, it is still also partly an expression of that presumptuous­ ness which Menelaus had just reprimanded in Euphorbus (19: ΖεΌ πάτερ, ού μέν καλόν ύπέρβιον εύχετάασθαι etc.). Since we have not yet forgotten this reprimand, it comes to life again in us when we hear Euphorbus’ words. The description of his beautiful locks and of him radiant with gold and silver, completes the picture of a barbaric luxuriance which cannot stand up well against a person like Me­ nelaus.65 Specific rage also contributes to the atrocity committed by Locrian Ajax (N 202): κεφαλήν δ’ απαλής άπό δειρής κόψεν Όιλιάδης, κεχολωμένος Άμφιμάχοιο, ήκε δε μιν σφαιρηδόν’ έλιξάμενος δι ομίλου, but again the deed is also characteristic of the perpetrator himself, the sinner who will twice provoke the wrath of Pallas and meet his deserved punishment (the poet apparently assumes that the listener knows this). Finally Achilles too wants to rob Hector of his ‘weapons and head’ (Σ 335). But although even this disproportionate reaction would definitely correspond to his nature, nevertheless no shadow falls on him because of this threat: for he utters it at the height of his emotional turbulence, and besides he means it as retaliation for Patroclus’ death. If one thinks that Trojans are most likely to mutilate corpses (but still without allowing them actually to do this to Greeks), if one does not accuse even a less noble Greek of it without thinking twice about it, one is still conscious of its brutality. The phrase απαλής άπό δειρής which closely connects N 202 with Σ 17756reinforces the impression of ruthlessness not without refinement. [59] The fact that we have to mention Agamemnon here too is certainly striking, but even more the fact that he even adds to and outdoes the horror of cutting off a head by separating also the arms of his victim from the trunk (Λ 145): Ίππόλοχος δ’ άπόρουσε, τον αΰ χαμαί έξενάριζε, χεΐρας άπό ξίφει τμήξας άπό δ’ αυχένα κόψας, δλμον δ’ ώς έσσευε κυλίνδεσθαι δι ομίλου. So the killing itself is kept very generalised and bland so that the emphasis of the episode is shifted to the treatment of the corpse. What was previously lacking in vividness here is now made up for more than enough: the trunk, horribile dictu, is compared with a barrel or a mortar. Such an object can of course roll - but can a human trunk? 46

II. Truth to Life This is impossible on a plain, and a slope is not mentioned. That is, here we have unexpectedly reached one of the critical points again where gross realism suddenly becomes fantasy; the comparison makes our imagination slide imperceptibly from the natural to the supernatural. In this respect the warrior-slaying turns out to be a relative of that performed alsofcy Agamemnon 95ff. whose blandness people have, as we saw, rightly emphasised but wrongfully regarded as an exception which could not be tolerated in the text of the Riad. It is now suggested that, through the overall character of the first part of the aristeia, the two can be seen to have a single common denominator. As is well known, W. Schadewaldt in the first chapter of his RiasStudien (Leipzig 1938) thoroughly destroyed the belief in the old age of the whole of Λ 1. If anything in the Riad gives the impression of being derived, it is that part of the fighting containing those fantastic deaths. The fact that Agamemnon gains no fewer than three double victories one after the other is supposed at least to equate him with the greatest heroes. Mere accumulation is a simple device but it devalues a type of heroic success which, as we shall see, was suitable for grand compositional tasks, particularly because of its rarity. What elsewhere is intensifying and decisive is here, at the beginning of the great battle, trebled and hackneyed. Even if one regards this as the right way to begin such a prelude, the accumulation of deaths already existed in earlier versions, as an achievement which anyone who is not Achilles could achieve only as an exception. The middle episode of the three is definitely narrated with the shadow of Achilles overhang­ ing it: Isus and Antiphus, so we hear, had once been captured by him and released for a ransom. If now they do not, like Lycaon, fall for a second time into the hands of their former vanquisher but into Agamemnon’s, [60] the story has been deprived of its real subject; besides, the question then arose whether, and from where, Agamem­ non knew the captives of the other man - a question whose answer gives such a frosty impression that in order to rescue the age and perfection of Λ 1, it has had to be deleted.57 In the end, of course, it is not Agamemnon but Achilles, the greatest avenger of the Riad (Schadewaldt p. 7 and 47), whom we really see raging in the powerful verses 148-180, like a spreading forest fire. Since the horror of verses 95ff. returns in the Achilleid of our Riad (as Y 397ff.) it could thus have been invented for Achilles, although the deed as such does not show any particular cruelty. Now, this is the case with the second atrocity, but we find its particular models in the Riad only outside the Achilleid. A mutilated trunk can admittedly look like a barrel or a mortar, but can roll like such objects can be rolled only under particular conditions, least of all δι ομίλου. But a

Wounding and Death in the Eiad helmet can roll along on the ground (as N 579 and Π 794), and a head which has been cut off can roll along like a ball, σφαιρηδόν (cf. N 204). In the latter passage we also find the detail δι ομίλου, and even if (in the light of M 467) it should be referred to the movement of the thrower rather than that of the object thrown, such a misunderstand­ ing (if it is one) seems reasonable enough. Indeed, verse N 204 seems to have influenced Λ 147: its ending δι’ ομίλου was adopted either with its supposed meaning or as a mere echo which now received a new meaning.

The merciless harshness with which Achilles proceeds against living and dead opponents is accounted for in the Iliad almost more by his destiny than his nature. It would not be repeatedly mentioned that formerly he had spared opponents if we were not supposed to feel and understand the contradiction between his former and his present behaviour. Even though the idea of a development of character may have still been far from the poet’s mind, it still mattered to him to show that various potentialities existed in the same person and to connect their change to certain conditions. The unusual cruelty of Achilles is an expression of his condition: as such, cruelty may have become an accepted part of the Eiad as a result. For in spite of its frequency, it is not natural here; in its atavistic, recidivistic wildness it remains essentially alien to the most important other heroes, above all (apart from the rare exceptions mentioned) to Ajax and Hector who appear to be shaped by culture in a completely uncompromising way. We shall have to ask ourselves (p. 79f.) whether the keen observation of certain types of behaviour occurred first of all for the sake of their significance but then became an aesthetic end in itself, and we will have to ask here as well [61] whether the description of cruelty was not at first a means to an end and an important statement about Achilles, but then spread to other heroes and finally, having become a mere sensation, lost its original significance. The cruel deeds of Agamemnon, not only in Λ but already in book Z of the Eiad, could argue for this further spreading. Even if such cruelties are also motivated through the Trojan breaking of the oath, the motivation remains rather unpersuasive because Agamemnon lacks the impetu­ ous passion and the elemental natural energy of Achilles. This is how one could at best imagine the sequence if one regards a simplification of this kind as permitted. The assumption that the fantastic style arose in general as a further development of Achilles’ atrocities and then became the accepted thing in the poetry about Troy seems to me even less provable, but not impossible. But the main area where it is valid is at least as Iliadic as it is Achillean. For we found its most impressive examples in the passages of N and Ξ which are structured to summarise, to vault. This observation is confirmed 48

II. Truth to Life by a curious correspondence. Agamemnon shows himself inhuman because he believes that he must punish the Trojans for breaking their oath. Now, the relevant part of his aristeia testifies to that unpleasant taste for smashed skulls and protruding brains whose manifestations we have already had to discuss. But outside book Λ too, the idea of retaliation is linked with these manifestations: there is a hint in P 2%lff. where, of all people, the man who is trying to pull the corpse of Patroclus over to the Trojan side is made to suffer a similar horriblé death, but very expressly in N 614ff. where Menelaus, after he has split Peisandrus’ skull in such a way that his eyes fall out, reproaches the Trojans in a detailed invective with violating the right of hospitality and with an insatiable thirst for blood, and then prophesies that the revenge of Zeus will fall on them. If the coinci­ dence of the motifs up until now does not yet mean all that much, it is still exceedingly eloquent in that passage which inaugurates the whole complex of guilt and atonement (Γ 297): ώδε δέ τις ειπεσκεν ’Αχαιών τε Τρώων τε· Ζεΰ κύδιστε μέγιστε καί αθάνατοι θεοί άλλοι, όππότεροι πρότεροι υπέρ δρκια πημήνειαν, ώδέ σφ’ έγκέφαλος χάμαδις ρέοι ώς δδε οίνος, αύτών καί τεκέων, άλοχοι δ’ άλλοισι δαμεΐεν. It is striking that it is not blood but brain which is mentioned; the next verse elucidates how this is meant by forcing our imagination to visualise the atrocity visited especially on children. The garish, ‘mod­ ern’ colouring of the passage goes with its function which is compre­ hensive - establishing relationships.68 [62] Agamemnon’s ‘Achilleid’ is followed by Zeus’ instruction to Hector (163/4, 181-210) whose significance for Λ and beyond Λ Schadewaldt (esp. p. 53ff.) discussed thoroughly. To those people who, like Von der Mühll (p. 193f.), still want to remove it, one should object that what precedes it would not then join without a break to what follows it, in terms of either unity of context or style. Consequently it would be wrong to speak about an interpolation of the Iris message: it could at most be a connecting piece which mediates between different conceptions. For the context, one should refer merely to the word πρώτος in the invocation of the Muses 218f. which, despite Wilamowitz’s fierce protest (p. 188), is significant and which really does not sound as if Agamemnon had just overcome Bienor ίθυς μεμαώτα (95) and had already completed three double victories: Έσπετε νυν μοι Μοΰσαι ’Ολυμπία δώματ’ έχουσαι, δστις δή πρώτος Άγαμέμνονος άντίον ήλθεν.

Wounding and Death in the Mad This πρώτος can now be silenced even less, since after the new beginning of the battle description, we find ourselves transferred into a different world. There is no trace any longer of that superhuman elemental irresistibility which we were most ready to believe to be present in the son of Peleus; however much honour Agamemnon, Diomedes and Odysseus may gain, nevertheless their heroism from now on no longer has anything excessive, abnormal, colossal. Tb agree with G. Hauptmann, we are grateful to feel the ‘blessing of natural proportions’. The horrors which thrived in the heated atmosphere of the ‘Achilleid’ here restrict themselves to one single line: Agamemnon also cuts Coon’s head off. If one looks more closely at the relevant verse 261, it looks strangely redundant: τον δ’ ελκοντ’ άν δμιλον ΰπ άσπίδος όμφαλοέσσης οΰτησε ξυστώι χαλκήρει, λύσε δέ γυΐα. τοΐο δ’ έπ’ Ίφιδάμαντι κάρη άπέκοψε παραστάς. One can remove it without difficulty, and with profit for the context an experiment which would not occur to us with 95ff. and 145ff. unless we dared to rework both passages completely and contrary to the style of the section. Since 261 noticeably devalues a phrase which is familiar but rich in content,59it probably sits so loosely [63] for some reason, i.e. it was added on probably in order to assimilate the second part of the aristeia to the first. There is no reason to think of a post-Iliadic interpolation. True, this second part, and with it the ensuing deeds and sufferings of Diomedes and Odysseus, do not survive in their original shape, but fortunately they still let us recog­ nise how noble a foundation supports them.60This horror had not been planned for this context but came into it only in the course of its reshaping, whose tendency is the same as that which we observed in other passages. A highly dramatic passage with fantastic elements, inspired by the Achilles poetry, would thus he given precedence over one which is more restrained in its detail, steady in its build-up, and which inten­ sifies without violence. Although the prelude describes Agamemnon’s irresistibility with all available means, he is still - and in this respect, the episode is strangely similar to the notoriously young episodes not allowed to bring about any decisive result; consequently Hector, after the disorderly flight of his people, miraculously manages to re-establish the battle in the twinkling of an eye although he himself, according to the command of Zeus, does not even participate as a fighter.61 Only after this point does the narrative persistently drive the events on towards catastrophe. The break is so constructed as to 50

escape our attention through the fact that the scene is left for a while. When, after the scene with the gods, we look at the battlefield again, we are struck less by the sobering imbalance between Hector’s suc­ cessful measure and Agamemnon’s alleged achievement than if the orgy of blood had not yet released us at all from its spell. With the help of the scene on Olympus, we may state all the more confidently that an older battle^description has been enriched by a piece which had been freely composed according to the Achilleid (which, with the triple success of Agamemnon, took into consideration the three stages of the future Trojan success). Our reason is that a less extensive example of the same procedure - the connecting of stylistically dissimilar pieces by means of a gods’ scene - which is therefore clearer and which is completely unambiguous, will soon be at our disposal (see p. 62ff.)

51

III. Strict Style 1 [64] There is a certain kind of warrior-slaying which it is easy for us to think of as the essential Homeric example, because it opens the Mad’s first general battle, and thus meets us at a moment when we have not yet tired of reading battle descriptions. So it is no wonder if it seems to us to predominate more strongly in the M ad than is in fact the case. After Pandarus has prevented a settlement of the quarrel over Helen, and Agamemnon has spurred on his men with praise and blame, both armies once again advance against each other, the Tro­ jans driven on by Ares, the Greeks by Athena.1 Magnificent verses, crowned by a simile, paint a general picture of the battle, then (from Δ 457) individual deeds are reported. Now up until the end of the book a Greek success alternates regularly with a Trojan one, but in such a way that a Greek one both begins and ends the series: G T G T G. T G. The first five fights, as has been indicated, form a group on their own;2 they are separated from the second group of two fights by a dozen verses (505-16). These tell us that the Trojans, in particular Hector, withdraw, that Apollo rebukes them as a result and (though this has to be deduced by us) brings the battle to a halt, while Athena on the other side spurs on the Achaeans. But the two groups are not only separated by this connecting piece but are also essentially differ­ ent from one other. We shall begin with the most superficial difference: in the first group one single action, like a spear throw or a stab with a spear, is sufficient each time to deal with an opponent; in the second group, there are two actions in each case - in one, a stone throw combined with spear thrust, in the other a spear throw with sword thrust. In this respect the second group outdoes the first, especially since it also introduces the stone and sword as weapons when previously the spear alone had been used. So, looked at in terms of content, the last two scenes employ richer devices than the first five. [65] In this first, more extensive group the sequence is as follows: Antilochus (457) hurls his spear at Echepolus, hits him on the fore53

Wounding and Death in the Iliad head, the tip penetrates helmet and bone, night covers the victim’s eyes, and he falls like a tower. From this the next episode develops: the Trojan Agenor stabs Elephenor, who wants to drag the corpse of the dead man over to the Greek side, and in bending down, is no longer covered by his shield and exposes his side. The first killing is described in five, the second in three verses. The first deed of the great Ajax is treated next, in more detail. We are given some personal detail of his opponent Simoeisius who is still young, a simile livens up our picture of him and at the same time our sympathy for him. If the first Trojan fell like a tower (462) then this one falls like a smooth, airy poplar (482). The injury corresponds to the delicacy of his body: the iron tip of the spear which hits him next to his right nipple emerges from the shoulder-blade (this means more than when a fleeing man has a spear go right through him, as M 428 shows, since his back does not need to be covered by his armour). Then (though without it being said specifically that grief at the loss of his companion induced him to do this) Antiphus the son of Priam throws his spear at Ajax but does not hit him but hits one of Odysseus’ men. This Leucus was just dragging away the corpse of the young Simoeisius, so his death is connected with the one preceding immediately in just the same way as that of Elephenor. But the poet introduces a variation at the same time: the spear of which Leucus is the victim was not meant for him at all. As a result of this Odysseus becomes angry (so this way of connecting events had been saved up for him) and with a skilful attack, which is accordingly appreciated by the poet, he hits Demokoon the son of Priam by hurling his spear through both temples. Throughout these five fights the weapon, the spear, remains con­ stant. A significant distinction is made in relation to its handling. Here only Greeks have mastered the difficult art of throwing a spear. Each of the three heroes proves himself a master, whereas one Trojan success comes through stabbing, the other only through a coincidence. On top of everything, the Trojans manage to achieve these successes only because both Greeks drop their guard when they drag away fallen victims. Here the Trojans achieve nothing against a Greek who is actually engaged in combat. Apparently they are not capable of this (one recognises the anti-Trojan bias of the details, which is woven in subtly enough but unmistakable to the listener who judges expertly). But throughout, we find the wounding varied, without any distinction being made between Greeks and Trojans: forehead, flank, chest, abdomen and temple have their turn one after the other. But again one notices a certain inclination to underline the Greek success: Antilochus’spear pierces helmet and forehead, Ajax’s chest and shoul­ der, Odysseus’both temples. However, the poet charitably [66] leaves it to the reader to imagine these events which are actually horrible; 54

III. Strict Style he shows himself just as economical with his devices as restrained in his cast of mind. Nevertheless the events are exceedingly graphic precisely because, apart from some well justified exceptions, they restrict themselves to what is necessary. Furthermore the poet is clearly trying to get beyond the episodic and to connect several events with each other, or to develop them apart. Finally it does not seem a coincidence, big; planned architecture, that our passage poetically culminates wifh the detailed and exceedingly expressive simile ex­ actly in the middle.3 But in spite of all the standardisation, the individual components are still sharply dissociated from each other. The man who is acting in each case appears immediately, at the beginning of the sentence, and in fact (something which is not a matter of course at all) as the grammatical subject. Where the narrative heads off from the straight path, the feature is repeated on its return. Thus after the details about Simoeisius, Ajax appears again as the subject (480), and for a third time, after the simile (488). To the parallelism of the beginnings corresponds that of the endings, which at the same time display a high art of variation: 462 ήριπε δ’ ώς δτε πύργος ένί κρατερήι ύσμίνηι, 469 λύσε δέ γυΐα, 482 ό δ’ έν κονίηισι χαμαί πέσεν αΐγεφος ώς... 493 ήριπε δ’ άμφ’ αύτώι, νεκρός δέ οί έκπεσε χειρός, 503 τον δε σκότος δσσε κάλυψε, δούπησεν δέ πεσών, άράβησε δέ τεύχε’ επ’ αύτώι. So here, poetic embellishment is used only when we are dealing with Greek victories (ώς δτε πύργος, αϊγειρος ώς with the ensuing simile; also δούπησεν δέ πεσών etc., here still unfamiliar and sounding mag­ nificent, but going beyond the factually inevitable). When we find the wounds caused by the Greeks described more emphatically than those which are inflicted on the Greeks by the Trojans, the same bias which we were already able to establish betrays itself. It also seems to have had a say in the treatment of Echephron’s death. After the Trojan’s victory has been announced as concisely as possible with λύσε δέ γυΐα, the victim instead of the winner is celebrated by the fact that a fierce battle for his corpse is unleashed (471f.: oi δέ λύκοι ώς άλλήλοις έπόρουσαν). By bringing a larger number of warriors into our field of vision for the moment, the poet clearly distinguishes the fights around Antilo­ chus, which are connected among themselves, from those around Ajax and Odysseus, but without really interrupting the context, as [67] happens afterwards through the Apollo-Athena episode. The spear 55

Wounding and Death in the Eiad fight theme is modified in a series of forms which are closely related and yet at the same time self-contained, a series which reminds us of musical variations which build themselves up over a continuously recurring bass-line. The realistic sequencing and energetic firmness of the narrative, which uses poetic embellishment both economically and effectively and neither denies the nationalistic standpoint nor emphasises it obtrusively, leads me, only for the sake of abbreviation, to speak about a ‘strict’Homeric style, though implying nothing about either historical or conceptual artistic development. 2

A classic example of this is found in N. It is all the more comparable with our Δ example since thematically it represents a repetition of Ajax’s first success there. Again, we are introduced to a likeable Trojan in such a way that we cannot help lamenting his death, even if we definitely do not begrudge the Greek his victory. Again the falling man is compared to a falling tree; again a Trojan tries to avenge the dead man on the victor, but this time, too, he misses his target and hits a lesser warrior. But anyone who feared this repetition might generate boredom will be pleasantly disappointed: although both subject matter and form are unmistakably the same as in Δ, nevertheless within this double limitation the passage illustrates such a wonderful capacity for renewal that one cannot point to the one as model, the other as imitation, but both only as worthy of each other and equal. We read: Τεΰκρος δέ πρώτος Τελαμώνιος άνδρα κατέκτα Τμβριον αίχμητήν, πολυίππου Μέντορος υιόν ναΐε δέ Πήδαιον, πριν έλθεΐν υΐας ’Αχαιών, κοόρην δέ Πριάμοιο νόθην έχε, Μηδεσικάστην. αύτάρ έπεί Δαναών νέες ήλυθον άμφιέλισσαι, άψ ές ’Ίλιον ήλθε, μετέπρεπε δέ Τρώεσσι, ναΐε δέ πάρ Πριάμωι, ό δέ μιν τίεν ΐσα τέκεσσιν.4

So the poet dedicates just as many verses to the details about Imbrius as he does to those about Simoeisius. For all their dissimilarity, both companions in misfortune come equally to life for us, especially when we put them immediately next to each other. Imbrius seems older than Simoeisius who is still unmarried; if for this reason he is not compared to a quivering poplar, the comparison with an [68] ash-tree still attests an admittedly more robust but still youthful slimness. When the Greeks landed, he did not, as would certainly have been his right, stay away from the war, but hurried to help his father in law; 56

III. Strict Style and he really did as much as anyone and Priam, in whose house he was living, therefore thought as highly of him as of his own sons. A καλός κάγαθός stands before our eyes: τόν p υίός Τελαμώνος ύπ οΰατος έγχει μακρώι νύξ’, έκ δ’ έσπασεν έγχος. ό δ’ αΰτ έπεσεν μελίη ώς, ή τ’ δρεος!»κορυφήι έκαθεν περκραινομένοιο χαλκώι Ίαμνομένη τέρενα χθονί φύλλα πελάσσηι. The last two verses give as full a landscape, but a completely different one, from the more detailed description in Δ5 - there the damp meadow from which the smooth trunk rises, which finally branches out into a crown at the top; here the single ash-tree on a peak which is visible from afar (every inhabitant of the region will immediately notice its absence). These two similes complement each other in terms of content, but above all they are poetically very closely related to each other. As soon as one places alternative versions of the same motif next to them, it becomes clear that a special relationship exists between them (apparently a consciously created one).6 Now, this relationship extends beyond the similes to the contexts in which they stand. But whereas one can still be aware of the more general points of comparison even though the similes are widely separated, the intimate reference of the ash-tree simile to the poplar simile nevertheless fulfils its purpose only when one moves the Imbrius episode closer to the Simoeisius episode, and above all does not insert anything in between which is of a roughly similar kind. The present immense gap between them is the result of several later extensions of the context. But fortunately no transposition occurred, and the order has been preserved. For in Δ the Greeks are more successful than in N. There Odysseus succeeds in avenging his com­ panion; here Ajax, who seems to have remained alone with Teucer, merely pushes back Hector. Even if one takes the passage out of the unit that is N, it still presupposes that the Greeks have been pushed onto the defensive.7 There is correspondence too in the seemingly self-evident. As in Δ, the most obvious opening of the fighting is chosen in each case, i.e. the attacker appears as the grammatical subject; after [69] the simile he returns in the same function. And as in Δ, a clear final line is drawn under each event: 181 ώς πέσεν, άμφί δέ οί βράχε τεύχεα ποικίλα χαλκώι (Μ 396) 187 δούπησεν δέ πεσών, άράβησε δέ τεύχε’ έπ αύτώι (Δ 504) The parallel runs on for a while after the death of Imbrius. As in Δ the 57

Wounding and Death in the Iliad son of Priam Antiphus aims at Ajax and instead of him hits a companion of Odysseus, so in N Hector aims at Teucer and instead of him hits Amphimachus. But then N takes a different path from Δ. Admittedly, Ajax succeeds in preventing Hector from stealing the armour and in securing the corpses of the two Greeks, but the Trojans do not immediately have to pay for the death of Amphimachus with a new loss. Admittedly, Hector withdraws, but we know that his cour­ age in battle has been increased rather than diminished.8 In this difference alone, there already lies a guarantee that the Teucer episode of N is more than a duplicate of the Ajax episode in Δ; one will be allowed to call it a continuing recapitulation. Since Imbrius is far more significant as a fighter than the kind Simoeisius (as emerges not only from the details about him but is also most beautifully illustrated in the simile), so, as compared with Δ, the same intensification lies in his death as in Hector’s immediate sympathetic response. Before we go on, an observation now due should be made about the whole of N. If we have judged 169-94 fairly correctly, and if we are allowed to distinguish the lifelike realism of Deiphobus’and Helenus’ appearances from this passage as well as from the fantastic episodes typified by the Menelaus-Peisandrus duel, then the book takes us through [70] three stylistic areas. If the low realism of Meriones’last deeds is also something distinct, then there are four of them. It is hardly a coincidence that this multi-layeredness coincides with an action which is extremely complex even for the circumstances of the niad, and that the gigantic Book E also combines stylistic multi-lay­ eredness with multiple narrative complexity. So our distinctions are suitable for confirming in principle the analytical approach, but for making the way in which it has been exercised up till now appear inappropriate. This must await discussion at the end of this more general section. Here we should merely contradict the widespread tendency to judge or condemn Book N as an aesthetic unit. Thus Ed. Kammer in his aesthetic commentary on the Iliad (Paderborn 1901, p. 239), which is still very well worth reading, wrote that one could ‘not imagine a more desolate, a more soulless structure’, and contin­ ued: ‘What irritates most if you repeatedly read this book is the complete lack of naturalness and veracity, for which bombast and flatness are a poor substitute.’ Supernaturalness and unreality (this is what, in the spirit of the first chapter, we prefer to say in place of unnaturalness and lack of veracity) do indeed characterise quite a few episodes of N, but nothing could be poetically further from them than the treatment which e.g. the death of Asius and of charioteer was given. The breadth of variation could not be greater, the contrasts could not be more gross. We are dealing with a complexio oppositorum

58

III. Strict Style of such a kind as can probably be understood only as the result of a longer epic development. 3 We now return to the end of Δ. The battle incidents following on from the interlude ^05-516 immediately bring surprising new things. First the Thracian. Peirous shatters Diores’ sinews and bones of the right shinbone above (this is how we may clarify the meaning of παρά) the ankle with a stone, then he stabs him in the navel area with his spear so that ‘all’his entrails fall out onto the ground. A Trojan victory was due; that it was completed not by a spear throw but by a spear stab fulfils our expectations after the Trojan victory at 469. So in this respect the first five killings are simply continued. The two steps of the action and, connected with this, the introduction of another weapon can be understood as an intensification, or at least can be attributed to a desire for change arising at this point. After what came before, it is more striking that the death of a Greek is described with such detail, even fervour, particularly that the effect of stone throw and spear stab is for the first time gruesomely depicted. Was barbaric cruelty supposed to be portrayed so as to arouse stronger pity for its Greek victim? One might best explain the depiction of the atrocity [71] in this way,9 but one loses one’s faith in it the moment one remembers the not exactly rare passages in which a Trojan perishes in the most horrible way without a shadow thereby falling over his vanquisher. But even if one were to accept this interpretation, one would still have to emphasise that the relation of the narrator to his subject matter had changed. Not only are different things portrayed, but also in a different way. First of all, the elevated expression for death - μοίρα πέδησε - makes the victim the logical subject of the first sentence and puts him in the accusative, instead of the victor in the nominative, at the beginning; then the cause is added with an ex­ planatory γάρ. We find such a husteron proteron at e. g. P 598: βλήτο γάρ ώμον δουρί etc. Might this be a coincidence that at that very same place we also find the rare and difficult άχρις which does not make our verse 522 exactly clearer (cf. Leaf ad loc.)? Anyhow, one cannot fail to notice that, in spite of plentiful individual detail, our episode does not deliver proper clarity. After βλήτο παρά σφυρόν ... κνήμην δεξιτέρην, which taken by itself would remain completely in the style of the corresponding details before the interlude, the addition 52If.: άμφοτέρω δέ τένοντε καί όστέα λαας αναιδής άχρις άπηλοίησεν tries to make us feel the destruction caused even more strongly, but we have to accept a zeugma which blurs rather than clarifies (the verb itself seems to me to refer to the bones, its preposition more to the sinews).

Wounding and Death in the Iliad Then one will remember that in the Mad the ‘two sinews’ are men­ tioned several times, quite plausibly K 456 where with a single blow of the sword Diomedes cuts off Dolon’s head, cleanly cutting through the neck sinews; but on the other hand, just as problematically as in our passage, at E 307 where again a stone throw tears both sinews of Aeneas’ hip joint; and also at Ξ 466 where Ajax with his spear (strangely enough) penetrates both the spine and the two neck sinews - the fantastic style appears to have a predilection for details of that kind. But even if one accepts this here, will one have to ask immedi­ ately afterwards how a stab with the spear can tear open the abdomi­ nal cavity so far that all the entrails fall out? This is distinctly better described in the parallel passage Φ 180 where Achilles achieves the same effect with a sword blow. Although this does not exhaust the difficulties of the Diores episode,10 we are still allowed to make the diagnosis: pseudo-realism. Diores is avenged on Peirous by Thoas. So both warrior-slayings are connected to each other into a special group in a way we already understand. [72] The repetition of a double attacking action under­ lines their unity and when, at the end, our attention is once again directed towards the corpses of the Greek and the Thracian which are lying next to each other,11that is something else to set off the unity of the composition. But if we therefore expect that things will happen similarly in its second part to the first, we are completely mistaken. For here the horror is restricted to the inevitable and the mode of performance is concise and clear: Thoas hurls the spear, hits Peirous in the chest, pursues, pulls out the spear and finishes off his opponent with a sword blow to the abdomen. This would be derivable from the group of five, but the final sentence: έκ δ’ αΐνυτο θυμόν corresponds to the simple λΰσε δε γυΐα of the Trojan victory 469 rather than the more elevated expression of the Greeks’ victories there; moreover, up till now the location of the blow has changed, but here the first repetition appears: στερνόν υπέρ μαζοΐο means roughly the same as παρά μαζόν δεξιόν. The sober admission 532: τεύχεα δ’ ούκ άπέδυσε12 makes us sit up and take notice, but even more so the ethnographic interest of 533: Θρήικες άκρόκομοι, δόλιχ’ έγχεα χερσίν έχοντες which finds a new lease of life again in the final verses 536 f. which are just as realistic as they are expressive: ώς τώ γ’ έν κονίηισι παρ’ άλλήλοισι τετάσθην, ήτοι ό μεν Θρηικών, ό δ’ Έπειων χαλκοχιτώνων. Now the question is whether the strict style includes this possibility or whether the short Thoas aristeia represents a third element of the end of Δ. It is not by chance that it conjures up the world of Archilo60

III. Strict Style chus but also that of K and M, of the Asius catastrophe and many another Eiad episode. That a composition which is shaped by two battle actions which are so closely interlocked and definitely dependent on each other should not be stylistically uniform but conflicting displeases at first. For one could either align the Peirous deed to that of Thoas or [73] vice versa so that eithe^the more sparing or the more lavish style might dominate th ^ short section in every respect! The former would sug­ gest itself mo/e than the latter, for one can imagine more easily that the lavishness could have been added later rather than removed from the Thoas episode. Now, the stylistic about-turn from the strict style of the group of five to the fantastic style of the Diores scene can hardly be divorced from the interruption of the narrative by 505-16. It is known that it is unsatisfactorily motivated since the Trojans and with them Hector, who has re-emerged onto the scene so to speak, with­ draw prematurely so that Apollo may intervene, remind them of the absence of the wrath-filled Achilles and prepare for the Diomedeia; and the scene is so hastily ended that the re-establishment of the encounter is not described and Athena’s activity on the Greek side is merely mentioned, not depicted. The thought of banishing 505-16 as a later insertion certainly suggests itself.13But less would be won by doing this than appears at first sight. For after the removal of that which separates them, 504 and 517 do not merge at all but remain separated like oil and water. In order partly to reconcile that which precedes the insertion with what follows it, one would actually have to assume that a reworking of the Diores episode was carried out at the same time. But if the style of the group of five were to have been abandoned not only in the Diores episode but, although less obtru­ sively, also in the Thoas episode, then this hypothesis which goes further is still not yet sufficient; one would rather have to assume that the author of the interlude had added a section of realistic style to a section of strict style in such a way as to rework the former at the same time in the manner of fantastic pseudo-realism. That is, the most careful assumption would be the one which reckoned with a welding together which would be the most intimate, hardest to dis­ solve and developed almost to the point of fusion.14 It is typical enough that these problems lead us out of the circle of the great heroes, even more typical that Thoas, as we have seen, belongs to the heroes of the Iliad who have been repressed (for his present disjointed activity corresponds neither to the important role which he takes on at a decisive moment nor to the high opinion which the poet has of him O 281 ff.). Δ N O contain parts of an aristeia which is now widely dispersed, parts which were once to be read and heard so closely together that one could simply understand them as parts of

Wounding and Death in the Riad one whole - something which nowadays nobody would succeed in doing any more, without a precise knowledge of the characters. 4 [74] If smaller or diminished heroes led us out of the strict style, then the undoubtedly great hero Diomedes leads us back into it. His appearance at the beginning of E does not come as a surprise, even if we take our orientation merely from what preceded and disregard what the poet has in mind for him on top of that. For when we look back beyond the smaller heroes, our eye falls firstly on Odysseus whose success, hardly by coincidence, is stylistically picked up by his most faithful companion-in-arms of all people. Correspondingly, the first deed of Diomedes, even if he achieves through it more than his predecessors, still remains completely within the scale of the achieve­ ments so far.15 Since he is so lucky as to capture a chariot and horses and is the decisive factor in the flight of the Trojans, a special emphasis on his intervention is not out of place; the star simile E 4-7, however, already makes him shine in a supernatural radiance and points to the later Diomedeia. What we read between v. 7 and 84, especially since Diomedes is immediately replaced by other heroes, does not yet belong to this impending Diomedeia and keeps within the bounds of a definitely human heroism. His first victory shows what the stricter style can achieve by the simplest means in terms of intensification and change. The extension of the pattern which is offered at 9ff. is just as natural as it is gripping. Diomedes is on foot and is attacked from a chariot (one is all the more grateful for the detail of 13 as elsewhere one sometimes wonders in vain who is actually now fighting on foot and who on a chariot). The spear flies over the top of Diomedes - the poet, as we have already seen, begrudges the Trojans success in the noble art of spear throw­ ing, but at the same time he individualises this failure by describing the raised vantage point [from a chariot] of the thrower. All the more perfect is Diomedes’ reply; after Ajax had wounded his opponent in the side, he hits his victim exactly in the middle, between the nipples, and thus hurls him off the chariot. The brother and companion of the fallen man jumps down but does not dare to-face the victor, but flees, and thus paves the way for the general flight of the Trojans.16 The capture of the horses rounds off the victory which concludes and crowns the series of fights so far. The poet lets the facts speak for themselves and therefore contents himself with [75] a meagre ώσε δ’ άφ’ ίππων to describe the annihilation of the opponent. He spares us the sight of blood and pain. A brief scene with Ares and Athena (29b-36) announces that activ62

III. Strict Style ity of deities in person which is so important for the later, ‘real’ Diomedeia. Here the scene (Athena takes Ares by the hand and leads him from the battlefield) interrupts the context and casts a veil over the fact that Diomedes’ success, factually and formally, is epochmaking.17 For after the Trojans have turned to flight, all the battle actions are initiated by tke Greeks and through this receive a new, one-sided character. If ene accepts that the deed of Diomedes stands out clearly to both sides (through the capturing of the horses alone) and yet participates in both (for he appears as duellist and pursuer) and that, of the two brothers, Phegaius belongs to the Trojans who fight, Idaius to those who flee, and that therefore this closely connected pair forms the axis around which events turn, one obtains the following com­ position: series of variations (Antilochus - Ajax - Odysseus), Janus­ headed middle variation (Diomedes), new series of variations (Agamemnon - Idomeneus - Menelaus). So this new series varies the theme of flight - pursuit - killing. The beginning and end of each individual occurrence correspond to each other in the way which we observe in the first series, the group of five. Again the attackers in each case appear as the grammatical subject and again a clear line is always drawn under the action at the end. Within these narrow limits, an impressive art of variation also shows itself at this time, which has not escaped the commentators: 42 47 58 68 75 82

δούπησεν δέ πεσών, άράβησε δέ τεύχε’ επ’ αύτώι, ήριπε δ’ έξ όχέων, στυγερός δ’ άρα μιν σκότος εΐλε, ήριπε δέ πρηνής, άράβησε δέ τεύχε’ επ’ αύτώι, γνύξ δ’ έριπ’ οίμώξας, θάνατος δέ μιν άμφεκάλυψε, ήριπε δ’ εν κονίηι, ψυχρόν δ’ έλε χαλκόν όδοΰσι, αίματόεσσα δέ χειρ πεδίωι πέσε, τον δέ κατ’ δσσε έλλαβε πορφύρεος θάνατος καί μοίρα κραταιή.

If one examines it more precisely, this series falls into two closed groups of three. On the one hand, as far as the characters are concerned: the two Atridae take the worthy Idomeneus into their middle, and this trinity splendidly complements the [76] trinity Ajax - Odysseus - Diomedes which does the decisive groundwork and therefore prepares the path so to speak for the most illustrious princes. The Atridae group is then replaced by another, clearly less noble one - Meriones, Meges and Eurypylus. These three are con­ nected, not only through the comparatively modest role which falls to them in the Iliad but also because they are occasionally mentioned together elsewhere: Meriones with Eurypylus H 167 and Θ 265, Meriones with Meges O 302 and T 239. In view of this class distinc63

Wounding and Death in the Eiad tion, the other contrast seems doubly significant: the first group is simpler, to speak with Wolf, calmer and more natural, the second is stormier and ‘more poetic’. The latter apparently wants to outdo the former, and besides has the function of producing a continuous inten­ sification. It prevents the listener from looking from a certain dis­ tance at the occurrence as a whole and forces him instead to attend to the single effect of the death blow in each case, so it draws him into the events more. Already a sentence like γνύξ δ’ έριπ’ οίμώξας not only makes the victim more sharply visible than up to now but also makes him audible as well (it may be left open whether the groaning is supposed to arouse more sympathy or satisfaction). The fact that the next dying man bites on the bronze which penetrates from the back of his head into his mouth shows even more that the imagination is beginning to tread completely new paths, and the mention of the coldness of the bronze is really a refinement, whether the poet was concerned more with the final sensation of the falling man or with the deadly coldness of the weapon or with both at the same time. Finally we have to watch how an arm which has been cut off falls down •bleeding - but let us turn away: the motif had such enormous success in ancient literature that we encounter it only too often within and outside the Eiad. The first three of the six killings represent three possibilities and in some respects exhaust their theme. Agamemnon throws at or stabs18a Trojan who is about to turn round his chariot, and hits him between the shoulder blades in the same way as Diomedes has just hit his opponent between the nipples. Idomeneus on the other hand stabs in the right shoulder a Trojan who is about to mount his chariot. This variant corresponds to the situation: Idomeneus will not try to hit an opponent from the front, over and across the horses, when he is mounting from behind his chariot which has not been turned round yet; nor will he run round the chariot either in order to get to him from behind but will be most likely to wound him in the side, in fact with his right arm wound his right shoulder which is turned towards him. Menelaus’ opponent does not reach his chariot at all but flees on foot in front of [77] him. Because of that, it is then of course said that he fell πρηνής, i. e. ‘from a run’onto his face, not from a chariot. Menelaus like Agamemnon also succeeds in driving the spear completely through the enemy’s body; Idomeneus had not had an opportunity to do this from the side and thus not only is he himself flanked by the pair of brothers but also his mode of victory is flanked symmetrically by the Atridae’s victories. For the remaining three heroes, only the factual or, as in v. 80, the literal repetition of πρόσθεν έθεν φεύγοντα seems to be left. The vari­ ation picks up other things anyhow. Here the same sort of difficulties 64

III. Strict Style

emerge as in the Diores episode. Menelaus and Idomeneus stabbed their opponents as soon as they had come close enough to them. Meriones and Meges on the other hand throw from a run, and this is something new. We certainly do not want to prevent them from doing something difficult instead of easy, but when it is said of Meriones: δτε δή κατέμαρπτε διώκων, βεβλήκει, then one only has the choice whether one takes βεβλφίει literally and with Düntzer waters down κατέμαρπτε to ‘when he was standing before him in throwing range’ or to make the latter the graphic part of the description, as it is in Π 598, and so to distort the former into stabbing or wounding. One will get into difficulties either way. Also Meges ‘comes up close’ but likewise does not stab but hurls so that the tip of the spear comes out at the front through the opponent’s teeth. The particular horribleness is associ­ ated with a lack of ultimate persuasive detail, in the manner which we have met enough, particularly in E N Ξ Π. It is easier to imagine Eurypylus sawing off the arm of the fleeing man (this is what χειρ must mean) from his shoulder whilst running; a long Thracian sword like the one Helenus swings in N could be meant. But even if the border of the possible is perhaps not crossed, the border of the fantastic is at any rate reached. That is the least one is allowed to claim about all three deeds of the second group. Besides, when the poet tries to offer his listeners something really unusual, it does not at all follow th at something completely impossible must always result. So we find our old suspicion confirmed: the problems associated with horrific killings have a predilection for heroes of the second rank. Every extension of the circle of heroes probably furthered a stylistic enrichment of the epic and thus changed its overall character. Not Ajax or Hector, but certainly Meriones and Peneleus depended on creating an effect on the listener or the reader through the peculiari­ ties of their actions. But if the poet (or poets) concerned did not intend to make the new heroes competitive, he still took into consideration the taste of certain circles of characters which were also new; the fact that fantasy and pseudo-realism again do not restrict themselves to minor heroes speaks for this. The one does not exclude the other, and it will be best to do [78] without determining which came first. Two modernising tendencies in heroic epic, the favouring of heroic new­ comers and the need for stronger literary stimuli, may have found and heightened each other. The six deeds, I repeat, form a worthy composition in which a strict structure serves an exciting heightening of tension. We are dealing literally with a composition. Small as the size of this construction is which is firmly closed and sharply delimited from start and finish, it does still represent more than one of the stones out of which the huge

Wounding and Death in the Eiad structure of the Eiad is composed. It is already a system of two trinities of which the first in particular distinguishes itself through its inner firmness. Although it represents a composition in itself, if we consider it as a unit which one cannot dissolve any further without its components losing their meaning, and if we for once consider it on its own in its individuality, it immediately enters into a new aesthetic connection with the foursome Antilochus - Ajax - Odysseus Diomedes which had also been singled out.19However, the remaining trinity Meriones - Meges - Eurypylus also does not remain uncon­ nected, but finds support in the stylistic forms which we have studied especially in E, N and Ξ. With that it should presumably be obvious where an analysis of the Eiad must lead which brings into play not only factual contradictions, linguistic peculiarities and a feeling for quality which it is difficult to communicate, but also uses description of style. Multiplication of criteria should be welcomed by it; for the transition from the older to the younger, from the more original to the derived or added, does not necessarily always reveal itself through inconsistencies or unusual features. Only too many such transitions, without which one cannot make a reliable analysis, were bound to remain concealed because they were too inconspicuous for traditional attention. Nevertheless, the analytical ‘cutting up’, the ‘shredding’ of the Eiad had already in the last century taken forms which seemed objectionable and sense­ less [79] especially to the most important analysts. The desire to obtain acceptable rather than hair-raising results brought about a curious paradox, [viz.] Unitarian analysis. That is, scholars analysed for as long as it took to mark out, in their judgement, an original Eiad, an original Menis, an original Patrocleia. Within these boundary markers they then proceeded, as conservatively as was necessary, to save the new units. Here, unhealthy features were regarded as what they were for the ‘charcoal burner’s belief’ [as Wilamowitz put it] of the Unitarians in the whole of the Eiad: as illusions, trivialities, or misunderstood subtleties.20 Scholars act in just the same way now when, instead of looking for Homer’s contribution, they determine that of the editor who - so they say - is responsible for the final shape of the colossal work. If one looks at the alleged achievement of which Von der Mühll believes his editor B is capable, even if one agrees with the persistently unfavourable value judgements about it, then one can only find it strangely uneven and put together out of a number of incompatible things. It is a partial, and at the same time extreme, unitarianism which here clings on to the unity of the author which is otherwise rejected for the Eiad as a whole. An analysis may be barbaric if it does not allow itself to be challenged by its results and does not care whether it must reckon 66

III. Strict Style with many or few authors, with a plausible or a confusing history of origin, but it has a better prospect of remaining consistent than that other one which, in a more cultured but less consistent manner, tries to take the wind out of the Unitarians’sails by placing great emphasis on the simplicity of its hypothesis, and has as few hands as possible, in a manner as uniform as possible, deal with Homer’s poetic legacy. However, it se^ms easier to me to set analysis in motion than to halt it; its field (the text) inexhaustibly gives it new energies (i.e. argu­ ments). The final targets which Bethe, Wilamowitz and Von der Mühll set themselves are arbitrary and deceptive. Already a small increase in the criteria is sufficient to carry our thinking beyond them. The fact that the target is moved further and further away, and perhaps remains unattainable, may be disappointing but does not refute analysis as such any more than any other form of thinking. For its intention is not, as it is again and again tendentiously expressed, to carve up the Homeric poems, and, for example, to fritter them away into small strips and to replace the whole with boxes with fragments in them; rather, it is concerned with understanding, at least in principle, the genesis of extraordinarily complicated creations and so these creations themselves. [80] Of course in Homeric philology the fronts no longer face each other as rigidly as they used to. The differentiated, enlightened unitarianism of a W. Schadewaldt has nothing in common with the charcoal burner’s belief about which Wilamowitz spoke, and by no means spurns analytical methods and results. Likewise, an analysis would deserve to be called enlightened if it did not lose sight of the whole over the individual detail, if it did not lose sight of the building erected on top of the foundations. Yet the analyst who stopped half­ way would by no means be the one with whom the Unitarians would most likely be able to agree. For the more small units there may appear contained by the matter out of which our M ad is constructed, the more comprehensive and more manifold, the more significant becomes the achievement of him or them, who joined the whole together. Only an analysis which has been pursued as far as it possibly can be reaches those depths where the ascent to synthesis begins. There, where both schools of thought meet, a fruitful dialogue should actually be possible. However, for the time being one deep difference of opinion contin­ ues to exist (which is why we have in fact assumed there to be groups and given them the conventional names): whether the M ad is com­ posed of very small cells of equal status or whether we come across indissoluble parts which have already been shaped and thus repre­ sent poetry. In the first case Nilsson would be right, when he compares the Homeric text to a dough which, with the addition of 67

Wounding and Death in the Iliad more and more new ingredients, was continually being kneaded afresh;21 in the other case, we would cling to the old, certainly trivial, but still practical, comparison with a building which was completed in a different style from that in which it was begun, and underwent many an extension and rebuilding.22In the first case one devalues the elements to mere matter, but makes it possible to see in the whole an organic creation which is thoroughly worked out right down to the last detail, and to regard only one single achievement as fundamen­ tal, that of the designer of the final whole. In the second case, the parts gain what the whole loses in terms of achievement and artistic end product. A scholar who wants to accept one single ‘Homer’who, if you discount a few interpolations, can be heard in every line, even when he uses ancient formulae, can at most be interested in an analysis which dissolves the enormous tapestry into single threads, so to speak, threads which would be merely material for art and not already art in themselves. But the end of Δ and the beginning of E are sufficient proof that one can drive analysis [81] very far, at any rate considerably further than has been done until now, and, after making allowances for some bonding, still find shaped material which did not become art only once it had been inserted into the overall structure, but was art before. Thus analysis does not derive immediately from the work of art, the Πΐαά, but leads, via another art, to the material which was at the disposal of any non-Homer among the rhapsodes in the same way as it was at Homer’s disposal. That is, here, as every­ where, one comes across material built in but not coalesced, and because of this ‘one will never be successful in interpreting the Eiad in such a way that, as enthusiasts would like, it shows itself to be an organic creation. For this is what the argument fundamentally cen­ tres around. The layman still protests against Wolf in Goethe’s name. And Goethe felt so disturbed by the result of Wolf’s criticism because he could not imagine a poetic work in any other way than as an organic creation’.23 If, on the other hand, the Eiad were simply an assemblage, one would also be able to disassemble it, and the Homeric question would presumably have been resolved a long time ago. But since it also presupposes countless fusions, it can no longer be dis­ mantled into its elements. That the poem as a whole therefore was not cast from the metal of a ‘poetic language’, which was still liquid and had not yet been moulded into larger shapes, is shown by those passages which had to sacrifice the complex sentence in order to use pieces (which had become ossified into other forms) as material for new narrative sequences. Words like these are likely to displease analysts and Unitarians in the same measure, the latter because the assumption that there are several styles leads to the assumption that there are several, and 68

III. Strict Style even several important, poets, unless one wants to understand the Iliad as the product of an epigonal eclecticism which used different styles with the mastery of a forger; the former because I acknowledge that the genetic way of looking at things is the pre-condition of any interpretation of the Mad, not least the aesthetic one, but also that I regard as impracticable any experimental analysis of the entire epic which undertakes to distinguish Homer’s contribution from that of as few editors as possible (probably even of just one). However, dlir investigation does not concern itself with these last matters but it would like firstly to render a mnemotechnical service. A division of the numerous woundings into several distinctive groups is supposed to do away with the very understandable first impression that the Mad varied one single basic theme here admittedly endlessly but according to a basic principle which roughly remained the same. Our separation perhaps appears mechanical from time to time, for instance as if on a map the lowland plains were faintly painted in green, the stretches of water in blue and the mountain ranges in brown; but it can make it easier to imagine something as three dimensional [82] which, when understood as two dimensional, levels out the differences and tires the eye. So, I hope to provide a first orienta­ tion and to show clearly where there is variation within a certain type and where one type takes the place of the other. Not that I deny finer shadings within the three colours; they, too, will receive their due as soon as more substantial preliminary work has been done. To maintain the image: our map, at least in places, is strongly speckled. Those times are long gone when Wolf was able to contrast the ‘first’ books of the Mad with the last seven, and thus to handle whole groups of books in a very cavalier fashion. But, as far as the battle descriptions are concerned, one cannot even reckon with units of the scale of for instance the Doloneia, the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon, the embassy to Achilles or Patroclus’funeral games, and the summary praise which has been given to the first part of Δ, or even the whole Diomedeia, does as little justice to circumstances as the summary criticism which has been made of Θ, for instance, or equally the three books N Ξ O. Our description of style alone which is certainly in great need of refining shows that e. g. at the end of Δ and at the beginning of E wherever we go we step on different stylistic ground and if not all the ways of representation appeal to us equally, our praise and criticism will also often have to alternate very rapidly. We should not be surprised if the battle descriptions in particular proved to be the most complicated sequences in the Mad·, for that would of course only mean that they had the longest epic history behind them (something which one would like to believe). It is certain that blocks and mortar are not in the same proportion to each other

Wounding and Death in the Eiad throughout the Eiad·, but there is no book in which one could not also find the highest quality building pieces. Only the interpretation of larger contexts can show how the styles are individually distributed over the individual passages of the Eiad. But we have already seen that the fantastic style, which emancipates itself from ‘reality’, lends its character particularly to such episodes which endeavour to form or prepare climaxes and with that to coun­ te ra c t a shapeless overflowing, favoured not le a st by th e phantasmata themselves, which of course were not exclusively and not primarily meant to serve the architecture, but to celebrate certain heroes and to act as new stimuli to the audience. Other pieces had been included, and just as these could not be reduced to one single style, so this does not mean at all - it is not even probable - that their inclusion would have occurred under the aegis of one single style. The great συνοικισμός need neither have been achieved in one move, nor by one single man. It has long been noticed that one cannot base analysis of the Eiad on inconsistencies in the course of the action alone; they indicate [83] only some of the joints or seams. New criteria were brought in by archaeology and linguistics to both of which Homeric philology owes so much; but since they directed their attention more to the material than to its shaping, all too much still remained open in the literary sphere. A strong further multiplication of the criteria seems possible to me which is also suitable for driving on analysis considerably further than could be achieved even by those who were more confident in attaining the ultimate target, i.e. the solution of the Homeric question. If the observation of stylistic forms teaches us better to understand the individual verse, the episode and ultimately also the whole work, then the analyst does not need to fear the reproach of unproductive cleverness.

70

Appendices I. The Duels in Γ and H [84] Before Achilles re-appears on the battlefield and, eerily radiant ‘like Orion’s dog’ (X 26ff.), draws attention to himself, it is a double star to which we orient ourselves: if we did not want to view the almost endless surge of battle from a distance but, so to speak, wanted to enter into it and be carried from wave to wave, we would lose orientation if it were not for Ajax and Hector. Naturally, both heroes disappear from sight now and again, but again and again they return to the fore, outlasting countless episodes and also the deeds of such important campaigners as Diomedes, Odysseus and Agamemnon. Even where they do not confront each other directly, they are con­ nected with each other. In a complete reversal of the basic situation, the besiegers become, in Achilles’absence, the besieged, and Ajax now appears as the master of defence, Hector of attack. Just as brilliantly as manifestly, two types of fighting are personified in them, one static, persistent, and the other dynamic, surging forward. The most glori­ ous similes of the Biad paint this elemental contrast of the rock and its surf, the surf and its rock. Since from the outset there is no doubt about their relative strengths, Achilles’ encounter with Hector, an encounter of the stronger with (in the same category) the weaker, does not possess the curious appeal of that rivalry which transforms the quantitative difference of physical strength into the qualitative one of fighting method, and generates something of that excitement which in the Roman circus arose from the contrasting nature of a murmillo and retiarius. Hector, as the tireless encourager of his men, amply makes up for the advantage Ajax has as an individual fighter in terms of weight. The diversity of heroes and heroic deeds is impressively polarised in them. After Hector’s death, Ajax finds a new rival, within his own ranks [in the funeral games for Patroclus]. Since Odysseus makes up in guile what he lacks in strength, the contrast between endurance and agility is again revived in a new form1and is now polarised morally as well. [85] Even though we can no longer read the story of the quarrel over Achilles’ weapons in ‘Homer’, from the outset Ajax’s 71

Wounding and Death in the Uiad honest clumsiness was bound to win us over against the successful agility of Odysseus. Even if epic did not yet distribute light and shade in this sense, it still certainly prepared the distribution which we find e.g. in Pindar (Nem. 7 and 8). In contrast to this, Hector and Ajax, also on a moral level, are pretty well equal. Both are inspired by the same noble spirit which proves itself in different forms of endurance, in Hector’s case, picking himself up after he has been severely struck, no less than in Ajax’s when he makes his tenacious stand after being attacked from all sides. In the pair of speeches O 484-514 this equality is unmistakably expressed, and with an unmistakable intention. What the warrior, what warriordom itself, can be in the noblest case, is definitively stated. But the heroes’words only confirm for us what their characters already told us. Thus Ajax and Hector complement each other as heroic characters; one cannot be conceived of without the other. Compared with this, the antagonism of Achilles and Hector is partly of a more general, partly of a more private kind: more general in as far as the best hero of the Greeks can only prove himself in the defeat of the best Trojan hero; more private in as far as Achilles holds Hector responsible for the death of Patroclus. Neither of the two motivations reaches the depth in which the concordia discors of Ajax and Hector is rooted. Accordingly, the Iliad very soon promises a duel of these two warriors. This expectation is already suggested at the end of the catalogue of Greeks when Ajax is described as the best of the Achaeans after Achilles (B 768) and shortly after (802, cf. also 807f. and 816) Hector is addressed by Iris as the leading Trojan. It is aroused at the latest in E 590ff., when Hector begins to prove himself as an irresistible attacker (whom even Diomedes avoids) and Ajax as a tenacious defender. They almost collide at 608ff.: Hector kills two Greeks and Ajax, incensed, answers with the killing of rich Amphios. From now on the action drives towards their conflict, which is here still withheld from us, over wide distances, naturally in anything but a straight line. Only at the end of N does it seem to have become inevitable, but nevertheless the Iliad steers clear of it yet one last time. Finally in Ξ 388f. the time has come: Ajax, whom Zeus has determined to checkmate so that Achilles can receive satisfaction, is finally allowed to show us that, as an individual fighter, he is more than a match for his opponent, who is obviously tactically superior. As if the Uiad did not want to make us wait excessively long for this climax, it offers us already seven books earlier, as a prepayment [86] so to speak, a surrogate encounter of the two heroes. This, too, shows the Greek at an advantage, but, since the fight must not have any serious consequences for the course of the main action, it is discontinued prematurely, or rather in good time. Since we are deal72

Appendices ing with a set battle here, this interruption can be brought about byheralds, so that there is no need for another sudden intervention by a god to guarantee that the fight ends without a result, as it must. Now, although the duel constitutes a welcome diversion in the midst of the slaughter, it still fulfils apart from that a double compositional purpose, first by pointing back to the duel of Paris and Menelaus (in consequence $f which Antenor’s party tries to take appropriate steps) and giving a certain rounding-off to the prelude which has become extremely complex through various expansions,2 second by anticipat­ ing the ‘actual’ encounter of the two heroes, and at the same time building up our expectation of it to such an extent that it is main­ tained over even a large interval. Both tasks, and with them the episode itself, presuppose an Iliad whose dimensions invited the formation of such foundations.3 The duel of H is not the only episode with this anticipatory and forward-looking function. To stay with Hector and Ajax, we first refer to the challenges they exchange at the end of N, providing an admit­ tedly pretty meagre substitute for the main fight which has been postponed once again.4We find a clearer analogy in Y. Since Achilles is dying to take revenge for his friend on Hector, the ultimate target of his attacks has been identified. But since before this climax and final point Achilles still has to fit in an aristeia like the ones Diomedes and Agamemnon had accomplished, Apollo advises his protégé Hector not to venture out in single combat but to stay with his men. Never­ theless, it shortly comes to an encounter since Hector, enraged at the terrible end of his brother Polydorus, [87] now takes on Achilles after all.5But since Hector is not supposed to die yet, the god carries him away. One is allowed to ask why the account of Polydorus’death is not delayed until later, as an immediate prelude to Hector’s catastrophe. Because, one will again answer, the decisive battle is postponed by the slaughter in the river and by the battle between the gods to such an extent that the need arises to confront Hector with Achilles before and, through the interruption of the context, to heighten the excited anticipation of the final encounter so much th at the expanded Achilleid is bridged by it. Of course both preliminary fights can contain epic material which is as old as the idea of two pairs of enemies; but if they received their final place in the epic in the course of a concluding distribution of weight, then again they should also show ‘modern’ features. The killing of Polydorus, as we have seen, definitely fives up to this expectation and the Hector-Ajax duel does not disappoint us in this respect either. The young episodes of the Eiad are subject to the same conditions as the young heroes: as much as their poets may be concerned with them, they are not allowed to achieve anything decisive; otherwise 73

Wounding and Death in the Iliad they would destroy the mechanics of the overall narrative which functioned without them, and before them. So even such privileged heroes as Aeneas and Meriones achieve amazing things but nothing important.6 2

As our topic stipulates, we shall now look at the armed encounter between Ajax and Hector on its own, although the prelude to it, which of course contains the unforgettable characterisation of the Telamonian, is more attractive than the event itself.7More varied than any other [88] duel in the Uiad, this one takes place in four phases, which constitute a kind of compendium of the heroic manner of fighting. There are two fights (not just one) with the spear, first throwing, then thrusting;8then each of the two throws a stone; finally they are about to try fighting with the sword, when they are separated by the heralds. Numerous verses from this compendium meet us also elsewhere. With the vast number of fights and hmited possible ways of fighting, repetitions can actually not displease, and often one will not be allowed to ask where a phrase is original, or anyway more original. But if it is not the typical occurrences of typical fights which are repeated, but the exceptional features of outstanding fights, one will have after all to ask this question. Throwing a stone is not completely rare in the Uiad, but it is still something special. Apart from our passage, it remains partial, for it is not at every moment that coinci­ dence provides a handy stone within reach. Accordingly, the Uiad explains why such a missile is available: Ajax finds it M 380 ‘within the wall, lying on the top’ (probably from the building of the wall), Hector M 445 ‘in front of the camp gate, wide at the bottom, pointed at the top’ (probably acting as a wedge). In Ξ 410 it is pointed out that that such stones ‘rolled’ in great numbers between the warriors’ feet, as ‘restraints for the fast ships’ (which therefore were safeguarded against falling over or slipping). This motivation would also be suffi­ cient for a more frequent use of this missile.9In the battle of the gods, Athena finally knocks down her opponent Ares with an enormous block (Φ 403): ή δ’ άναχασσομένη λίθον ειλετο χειρί παχείηι κείμενον έν πεδίωι, μέλανα, τρηχύν τε μέγαν τε, τόν ρ άνδρες πρότεροι θέσαν εμμεναι οΰρον άρούρης, and this passage now recurs, at least for the most part, as H 264f.:

74

άλλ’ άναχασσόμενος λίθον εϊλετο χειρ! παχείηι κείμενον έν πεδίωι, μέλανα, τρηχύν τε μέγαν τε. The parallels quoted show that one does not have to explain why in Φ a few more things are said about the stone, but why in H [89] nothing more is said about it.10 Such an explanation can easily be obtained. Whoever explained what kind of a stone it was which Hector seized also had to say what kind of‘much bigger’stone Ajax snatched up, and this double reason would of course have been inconvenient for the poet and tiresome for the listener.11That the relationship between the two passages cannot be reversed, and thus the third verse in Φ cannot be interpreted as an addition, is shown by the colour of the stone: only from Φ 405 does it follow that we are dealing with blackening as a result of age, and it is only this reference to bygone generations of men which gives the lines their poetic depth, which was certainly not added by any successors. How can Hector, with Ajax’s spear in his shield and neck, pick up a stone so quickly and without his opponent pursuing him? That the goddess, unwounded and endowed with supernatural strength, is capable of this is more plausible; so one will see in her the model of Hector.12And how can Ajax even whirl round the block which is like a millstone, before he lifts it? Only, of course, if he rotates his body at the same time, as is customary in shot-putting (in Homer one already throws the discus περιστρέψας Θ189). If need be, one can imagine this for Polyphemus’ second stone throw (i 537f. = H 268f.): πολύ μείζονα λάαν άείρας ήκ έπιδινήσας, έπέρεισε δε ΐν’ άπέλεθρον, but neither the occasion nor the heavy shield recommends this movement to Ajax. Therefore von der Mühll regards the Polyphemus passage as the model for the Ajax one. - But is it really a turn of the body which is meant? He who has not forgotten Γ 378 cannot fail to realise that Ajax makes his arm turn as Menelaus does when he hurls the captured helmet with a motion which is supposed to carry it across to his companions. When one wants to throw a relatively light object a long way, this is the only effective way to do it, whereas for heaving a heavy missile at a target, one has to push from behind, as of course Hector does at M 457 when he throws his stone έρεισάμενος.13So there is [90] a good reason why, for other stone throws in the Iliad, we do not read anything corresponding to έπιδινήσας. So the Γ passage was a model for H here. But the correspondences go further (cf. H. Jordan, p. 50, Deecke, p. 41ff.). Γ 348 reappears as H 259: ούδ’ έρρηξεν χαλκός (or χαλκόν), άνεγνάμφθη δέ οί αιχμή, and here Η shows an advantage compared with Γ. The bending back 75

Wounding and Death in the Iliad of the spear tip is most likely to occur when it strikes the shield; once it has penetrated it will not bend out of shape. So the preposition άνά is put in the first case, and consequently appears more expressively in H. So if H is nevertheless supposed to depend on Γ, this would not relate to the present form of the Menelaus-Paris fight, but only its substratum, which still shimmers through now. For Deecke, p. 43ff. has proved that it is multi-layered and this will be confirmed only too clearly. Even if we leave aside the question dealt with by Deecke, p. 61, how the (mutual?) pulling out of spears at 1. 255 actually works, we still have not straightened out the duel in H. In 1. 261 στυφέλιξε δέ μιν μεμαώτα has been robbed of its genuine content. The surrounding words = ή δέ διαπρό ήλυθεν έγχείη and τμήδην αύχέν έπήλθε portray the usual course of events and in terms of content are completely suffi­ cient; whereas the inserted clause implies something precisely only if the spear does not penetrate the shield but only hits it, at least hindering the opponent’s advancing, cf. M 404: Αϊας δ’ ασπίδα νύξεν έπάλμενος, ού δέ διαπρό

ήλυθεν έγχείη, στυφέλιξε δέ μιν μεμαώτα. χώρησεν δ’ dpa τυτθόν έπάλξιος (sc. Sarpedon). When the spear sentence was changed in H and turned into a nega­ tive, a different article appeared which of course is now separated as far from the word it refers to, as we found in E 66: = ή δέ διαπρό άντικρύ κατά κύστιν ύπ’ όστέον ήλυθ’ άκωκή. Here too the separation is the result of a bending back into shape, as a glance at N 651 teaches: αύτάρ όιστός άντικρύ κατά κύστιν ύπ’ όστέον έξεπέρησεν. So, the most elementary grammatical practice cannot be separated from the estab­ lishment of the relative chronology of the individual passages. We should also bring into this context the unpleasant catachresis of ούτάζοντο in 1. 273: καί νύ κε δή ξιφέεσσι αύτόσχεδον ούτάζοντο. Το ascribe to the heroes (with Lorimer, p. 272) the intention of stabbing each other with the sword, which is highly displeasing in the Iliad, would mean to misjudge the style of the passage.14In view of this style and the experience we have already had with the little word μέσος, we shall also beware of pressing 1. 266f. Hector hits Ajax’s shield μέσσον έπομφάλιον with his stone and is therefore a good shot who [91] knows how to score a bull’s eye, even if he does not shake his opponent. In order to express this the shield is provided with a central boss.16How this is consistent with the seven layeredness of Ajax’ shield seems to have worried the poet as little (219ff.) as the remaining discrepancies of the story. As long as one cannot rectify these, it is not advisable to put together a historical shield from the individual details of the 76

Appendices episode.16There are enough passages in the Mad which admit such antiquarian conclusions; but this is not one of them. If we now look at the ‘actual’ duel of Hector with Ajax [at Ξ 402ff], it will seem to us like the square root of the duel. A spear throw by Hector, a stone throw by Ajax - that is all. To make up, these two extremely dangerous actions are sharply depicted. Bethe (p. 295) correctly lays ^Jress on the fact that Ajax’s turn against Hector (Ξ 403: τέτραπτο προς ίθύ oi) seems to result from a retreating move. This turn precisely now%ives Hector the opportunity to get in a hit past his opponent’s shield. Precise reasons are given why the excellently calculated shot, to the understandable disappointment of the thrower, remains without effect: the weapon reaches precisely the point where shield and sword-belt cross over. A reason is also given why Ajax finds a suitable stone (we are apparently immediately by the ships) with which he can reply to Hector’s attack. On the other hand, no reason is given why Ajax has to rely on stones and does not just hurl his spear. He seems to have lost it, as in the battle for the ships (Π 114ff.). The fact that the special prerequisites of this important duel are not made clear proves that it is older than the surroundings in which it now stands. If the Trojan hit the Greek sideways past the rim of the shield, the Greek hits his opponent, who retreats facing him, over and across the rim of the shield at the base of the neck. The second detail necessarily presupposes the first, whereas in H we are bound to be surprised when the spear which Ajax drives through the shield emerges so high up that it wounds Hector in the throat. This paradox can well be understood as a variation of what corresponds to expectation. In this case too, the relation cannot be reversed. The rich incidents of the duel in H are therefore based on the more concise description of Ξ and are expanded with the help of (still unedited) Γ, and of M, whose model character we have already empha­ sised several times, and even of Φ which certainly does not give the impression of being antiquated. The combination of motifs and verses has led to all kinds of irrationalities which, nevertheless, impose themselves on us [92] far less than those which we dealt with in the first chapter. So it seems as if the author had not adopted them for their own sake, and basically would not have objected if the result had been a totally realistic course of events. Now the lack of striking phantas­ mata can be put down to the fact that the fight ends so lightly. If we rate this exceptional feature so highly, we can link the duel, which points backwards and forwards, with the scenes in N and Ξ which likewise establish relationships. But so far, there is no reason for this simplification. For in the meantime there is still the question whether

Wounding and Death in the Iliad the Iliad was really brought to completion by only one master builder and not several. Θ also establishes relationships but, although things are bloody enough, it does so in a completely unfantastic way. So there would also exist the opportunity to connect the duel to this book too. Since it neither ties itself to the demands of probability nor deter­ minedly rises to the supernatural, it remains a somewhat ambiguous creation, neither meat nor fish; nevertheless, it can be dissolved without a residue. Here analysis does not (as with the duel of Me­ nelaus and Paris) identify a firm core. The eclectic method which was used here, and the far-sighted intentions which it undoubtedly serves, apart from its harmlessly pleasing end in itself, assign the piece to a last stage of the Riad. 3 If we now turn to the duel of Helen’s husbands and, disregarding analytical problems for the time being, try to orient ourselves stylis­ tically, then our eye is caught by the end of the episode, which stands out through its clarity. Machaon,17summoned at Agamemnon’s insti­ gation, finds the wounded [Menelaus] surrounded by the noblest heroes,18 approaches him in the circle and first of all pulls the arrow out of the wound, and its barbs bend.19Only then is he able to remove the body protection bit by bit; he now observes the wound, sucks it out and sprinkles on healing powder (Δ 210ff.). This is extremely vivid not only from the details which are related [93] but above all from their context, which is full of light. Every move of Machaon’s gives the impression of perfect effectiveness. One is transported into that circle of spectators and watches the expert doctor with pleasure. The epi­ sode proceeds soothingly and ends almost cheerfully. One cannot describe this way of narrating as Homeric as such. As closely as it draws us to people and things, it is equally unheroic at the same time. One need only compare the sharp, but considerably more meagre, portrayal of the corresponding events in Λ, first (of all) in 396ff.: Odysseus steps protectively in front of Diomedes, the latter sits down and, wracked by violent pain, pulls the arrow out of his foot; then 456ff.: Odysseus pulls the spear out of his body and out of his flesh and blood pours out of the wound, still filling the hero with great concern. These wounds are apparently more serious than Menelaus’, but it is not their treatment which concerns the poet but merely their prerequisite - the removal of the weapon; and this, too, principally for the sake of the composure which the heroes maintain during the process, in spite of their distress and incapacity. But, on the other hand, there are definitely stylistic parallels to the Machaon scene. Agenor’s treatment of the wounded Helenus (N 78

Appendices 596ff.) should above all be counted among these: the arrow is pulled out and the arm is bandaged with a strip of wool (and, if 1. 600 is only corrupt rather than an addition, put in a sling). Furthermore one should recall the care which is devoted to heavily wounded Hector by his companions (Ξ 428ff.). Fortunately, these passages differ so strongly from each other in terms of detail that only stylistic kinship connects them^md not any common use of verses, and none of them is subordinataci to one of the other two, but all three are on a par. The processai the wounding [of Menelaus] itself in its present form is confused and possibly modified through additions (136, 140).20 However, the attempt to explain as plausibly as possible why the missile does not have a deadly effect on Menelaus but only wounds him slightly is unmistakable: one of the best protected parts of the armour lessens its impact. The poet motivates Ξ 404ff. with similar care, but in Δ a goddess is still active; as important as she may be for the overall context, so dispensable in view of Ξ does she appear for the course of the action. If we go back a little further still,21we find in the duel that throwing away of Paris’ helmet by Menelaus which is so convincing both as a sequence of action [94] and because of its effectiveness. Whereas 576ff. turns us into witnesses of an externally quite similar, but peripheral, event, the destiny of Paris’helmet is highly significant: for its capture proves that Menelaus, although he was not allowed to kill his rival, has indisputably defeated him. One can work out the facts in such a way that this exposition of sharply defined details was first of all supposed merely to help underline the way the story hung together, not for its own sake; once this expository device had been discovered and developed, it could then become a narrative end in itself. But it is still doubtful whether it is legitimate to draw conclusions about Homer’s natural way of seeing things from such a technique, rather than seeing in it a tendency which cannot help but communicate itself in this way and no other. In this case it would have been only the next step, which would have been taken only occasionally, to turn the sharply grasped phenomenon into the symbol of a significant event. The throwing of the helmet in Γ is more than a successful image and therefore certainly has an essential advantage over the falling of the helmet in N. But no clue to the relative chronology is thereby afforded. One can regard the deepening no less than the trivialising as the later version, and on top of all that, both can have lived peacefully next to each other over long periods of time in the same head and in the same work. So if, for the time being, we lump the passages in question together, we still remain conscious of their differences. If we take another step backwards, we also find that the first phase

Wounding and Death in the Iliad of the battle strives for probability. The poet wants to make it clear to us why a spear throw which does all credit to Menelaus still remains ineffectual. Admittedly it penetrates Paris’ shield cleanly, but Paris still has room to take evasive action.22 Of course Paris was even less successful earlier, since his spear did not even penetrate Menelaus’ shield but was bent back by it. Both events seem to be referring to each other and in their sensibleness are definitely compatible with the realistic elements discussed already. The remaining improbabili­ ties23could appear intended and be regarded as elevations of a nature whose usual opportunities now no longer satisfied artistic ambition if only they were more conspicuous. But thus, apart from their existence, their inconspicuousness too has to he explained. One will hardly be able to achieve this without returning what is now next to each other into its original position at its genesis, consequently applying analytical principles. The complexity of the oath-breaking sequence as a whole and its overload of detail invites us to do this anyway. One should just consider the extravagance of the means used to foil Menelaus. His masterly spear throw misses its target by a hair’s breadth; his sword breaks into pieces; and the helmet strap which is strangling his opponent breaks at [95] the decisive moment. This is quite enough already, but Aphrodite, far from contenting herself by freeing her darling from his bonds and giving him the opportunity to escape, even transports him far away, and Menelaus, while he is looking for him in vain, is put out of action with a treacherous arrow shot. One understands quite well why Tasso in his Jerusalem Liber­ ated preferred to relate the corresponding episode more simply (the devil, who represents Athena, advises an archer to intervene in the duel which is going on between the Christian and the pagan cham­ pion; this happens, and thanks to one single arrow the pagan is saved as well as the contract broken). Tasso’s variation, which anticipates all sorts of nineteenth-century philology, restores a context which ultimately seems to form the basis of the Eiad version: after Me­ nelaus had somehow captured Paris’ helmet, he was prevented from exploiting his advantage because of an arrow shot, in the same way that an arrow shot interrupts or ends the victorious run of Diomedes in E and A. No other human intervention could occur so unexpectedly. Twice the main action is interrupted and its scene, the battlefield, is widened in a twofold direction. Once, we are transferred with Paris to the background of events and find out how dissatisfied Helen is with her second husband. The emphasis of the interest, which had focussed completely on the events on the field, temporarily shifts. But then our attention is forced on to yet a third scene, which heightens and links the two first ones: the palace of Zeus, around whom the 80

Appendices remaining gods have gathered. What is actually going on we only now discover - Troy must fall because Hera and Athena want it that way, and because of this Troy must, through Pandarus, become guilty in Greek eyes. The poet now very effectively does not let us ascend immediately out of Paris’ dwelling to Olympus, but first makes us once more return to Menelaus and Agamemnon, so that the battle context, whichjias been extended over 160 lines, does not disappear from view but can prop itself up on a pillar, which has been placed precisely in thè middle and is bracketed together with the Trojan and Olympian connecting piece mainly through verses 453/4: none of the Trojans or their allies is able to tell the searching Menelaus where Paris is ού μέν γάρ φιλότητί γ’ έκεύθανον, ει τις ΐδοιτο ίσον γάρ σφιν πασιν άπήχθετο κηρί μελαίνηι. For the moral co-responsibility of the Trojans this much suspected pair of lines (cf. Bethe I 262, Von der Mühll 75) is decisive: apparently the Trojans obey some external compulsion although in their hearts they are not close to Paris. It is this same distinction between active and (at most) passive guilt that separates Paris and Helen from each other, i.e. the domestic problem repeats itself on the battlefield and foreground and background merge into each other in our pair of lines. The parallel Γ 355ff. = H 249ff. poses a particularly interesting critical problem: προίει δολιχόσκιον έγχος καί βάλε Πριαμίδαο κατ’ άσπίδα πάντος έίσην. διά μέν άσπίδος ήλθε φαεινής δβριμον έγχος καί διά θώρηκος πολυδαιδάλου ήρήρειστο. άντικρύ δέ παραί λαπάρην διάμησε χιτώνα έγχος. ό δέ κλίνθη καί άλεύατο κήρα μέλαιναν. In both passages the verse which tells of the spear penetrating the armour, and superbly depicts this event with the heavy verse end, [96] is deleted by all those who try to imagine the event (cf. Leaf here as there, and now Lorimer, p. 205). Indeed, once the spear is lodged in the armour, there is no more swerving aside for the man who has been hit. But this plausible consideration does not work, at least not in H, because the duel between Ajax and Hector offers irrational details elsewhere as well, so that it would be futile to treat one improbability differently from the others. Nothing is evidence for the line concerned being younger than the whole armed encounter. One could rather insist on a rational course [of events] in Γ, for the duel between

Wounding and Death in the Iliad Menelaus and Paris shows realistic traits. However, as a whole it is no longer a realistic creation, and even if the mention of the armour may demand too much of our imagination, the armour has, after all, been specially exposed; for Paris, äs has been noted in 1. 332f. with its peculiar interest in family matters, has put on the armour of his brother Lycaon. So the suspected line may be younger than the original description of the fight, but because of that it is still not younger than our Iliad and must therefore remain in the text. (But it has not been created for our two passages but only for passages which do not connect an armour-piercing spear with the swerving of the man who has been hit, i.e. for passages such as Δ 136 and Λ 436). This means that, as long as the line is not disavowed by the textual tradition, we have no active authorisation to expel it. Of course it can be a later intruder, but the difficulties which it causes us are only an appendix to those others which have emerged already with the arm­ ing of Paris. For if Paris played the challenger already in 19f., he had to regard himself as ready for battle and a further arming should be unnecessary. Aristarchus tried to compensate here by deleting 1. 19 (cf. on this the commentary of Faesi and Franke, Berlin 1879). If we do not agree with him, this does not happen merely because we shy away from critical acts of violence, but because we have realised that the duel sequence is multi-layered, and because we can assign the suspect verse pair to that substratum which comes to light in other places as well. That this whole tale would have been invented from the start as such a multi-roomed, multi-figured composition (which is also rich in relations), that from the start Trojan guilt, if one asked about it at all, would have been at the same time differentiated and qualified, is as unlikely as it is plausible that one took ready-made pieces into such an edifice and for this purpose edited them, as far as it seemed necessary. In this way not only factual inconsistencies could arise but also stylistic differences. Thus it came about that the impression of realism again and again imposes itself, and again and again disap­ pears, and the sharp contour now seems drawn, now interrupted and blurred. An artistic programme was hardly followed with this incon­ sistency; it resulted automatically with the inclusion of the old context in the new. II. Harpalion and Lycaon 1

[97] We have already discovered a branching of motifs whose roots lay, so to speak, under the soil of our Iliad. This phenomenon should be 82

Appendices illustrated by way of an instructive example. Harpalion has tried in vain to penetrate Menelaus’shield and now, cautiously looking round, retreats back to his companions (N 648): άψ.δ’ έτάρων είς έθνος έχάζετο κηρ άλεείνων, πάντοσε παπταίνων, μή τις χρόα χαλκωι έπαύρηι. 650 Μηριάνης^’ άπιόντος ΐει χαλκήρε όιστόν καί ρ έβαλε γλουτόν κάτα δεξιόν, αύτάρ όιστός άντικρύ ι/ατά κύστιν υπ’ όστέον έξεπέρησεν. έζόμενος δε κατ’ αΰθι φίλων εν χερσίν έταίρων θυμόν άποπνείων, ώς τε σκώληξ έπί γαίηι 655 κεΐτο ταθείς, έκ δ’ αίμα μέλαν ρέε, δεΰε δε γαΐαν. Similarly it had been said of Diores (Δ 523): κάππεσεν, άμφω χεΐρε φίλοις έτάροισι πετάσσας, θυμόν άποπνείων. Several advantages of Ν leap to the eye: the companions, among whom this Harpalion believed he would be safe, surround him in death; the arrow which hit him from afar has torn him from their midst. So we find explained here what from the hint in Δ still needed development. Furthermore, θυμόν άποπνείων has the full value of the final only in N: these words show that it is all up with Harpalion. But Diores does not receive the actual death blow until afterwards. But unfortunately the passage in N is not without blemish either. If one took έζόμενος completely seriously, one would have to imagine that the man who has been hit ends up sitting on the arrow; here γνΰξ έριπών (cf. E 62) would be more appropriate, especially since the wounded man, as is the rule in the Iliad, would sink down to the ground in the direction of the shot. Again, the structure of the period, which after έζόμενος (653) and θυμόν άποπνείων (654) does not find its finite verb until κεΐτο ταθείς (655), is not unchallengeable either. But the main weakness of the text in N lies in the fact that with έχάζετο πάντοσε παπταίνων we see Harpalion retreating but not returning with his back to the enemy; only the wounding [in the buttocks] tells us that [98] he had turned round. Up until then an error was inevita­ ble, cf. for instance Ξ 408f.: άψ δ’ έτάρων είς έθνος έχάζετο κήρ’ άλεείνων. τον μεν έπειτ’ άπιόντα (cf. άπιόντος Ν 650) ... Αίας ... βεβλήκει. For Ajax hits Hector over and across the shield in the throat, i.e. from the front. - And that we are not making excessive demands on the clarity of description in N can be shown e.g. by Λ 547 where Ajax likewise withdraws παπτήνας but where έντροπαλιζόμενος makes it

Wounding and Death in the Iliad clear that we are not dealing with a mere looking around but with backward glances at the same time. What this Meriones episode leaves to be desired is fulfilled by an Antilochus episode very close to it (N 545): Άντίλοχος δέ Θόωνα μεταστρεφθέντα δοκεύσας ούτασ’ έπαίξας ... 548 ό δ’ ύπτιος έν κονίηισι κάππεσεν, άμφω χεΐρε φίλοις έτάροισι πετάσσας. The express mention of his turning round superbly motivates the gestures of the falling man. Since he falls, having turned towards his companions, the stretching out of his arms means ‘Help me! Get me!’ Because of this advantage, one would like to regard N 548f. as the model for Δ 522f. (ό δ’ ύπτιος - πετάσσας) for whose θυμόν άποπνείων N 654 would have been decisive. It will turn out that this derivation is unworkable. It is impossible to derive N 648ff. from N 545ff. because only the first passage describes how the comrades behave. Besides, N 545ff. itself contains at least one derived feature, and probably two. In 545 μεταστρεφθέντα cannot mean anything other than what it normally means, ‘turning to flight’. But then δοκεύσας is a catachresis. For this technical term from hunter’s jargon describes the ‘taking on’ of an attack.24This meaning would be possible here only if we assume that A ntilochus’ opponent, suddenly tu rn in g round from flight (μεταστρεφθείς), attacked on his part as Glaucus does in Π 597f.2B However, nothing is said earlier about Thoon fleeing, and he cannot have done when we look at the situation; so δοκεύσας now means nothing more than the perception of an opportunity. On the other hand the language used in Π 313 is succinct: Φυλείδης δ’ ’Άμφικλον έφορμηθέντα δοκεύσας έφθη όρεξάμενος πρυμνόν σκέλος. At any rate, someone who did not pay careful attention could here misunderstand δοκεύειν as ‘seizing the right moment’. This means that Π 313 Can be regarded as Leumann’s starting point for a shift of meaning which, apart from N 545, also appears at Ψ 325. [99] That Antilochus’ opponent falls to the ground ύπτιος and not πρηνής (in the direction of the thrust) seems to presuppose that the spear and with it the body of the man who has been hit is pulled backwards. Such details are sometimes given, and since ύπτιος else­ where in the Iliad is reserved for those who are hit from the front,26 something corresponding should be expected or supplied here. Now, the otherwise fairly weak Diores lines do not need such forbearance or assistance, so they do not seem to have blended N 548 with N 654, but rath er to have found ύπτιος-πετάσσας together with θυμόν 84

Appendices άποπνείων in a third passage which probably also influenced Π 286ff. where, hardly by coincidence, the companions are mentioned next to the man who is falling Backwards to the ground. Thus each of the passages dealt with here has its special merits and its special flaws. Consequently, none can have been developed from one or more of the others. According to the rules of recensio, this leads to the conclusion that behind al^ the individual versions there stands an archetype in which a wounded warrior fell backwards and, while he was giving up the ghost, made an imploring gesture towards his companions. ‘The authentic ring was presumably lost’ - we have to admit this to ourselves regularly in the Eiad; on the other hand, it has been frequently preserved for us as well. Fortunately, we have enough passages (and we shall discuss them as well) which do not require such recourse, but are consistent in themselves and can be under­ stood only in their own terms. That the Harpalion episode does not belong with these, but can be understood only together with its models, will be some consolation at least to the person whom aesthetic puzzles manage to worry. For the episode leaves an unusually con­ flicting impression. As attractive as the idea is that the wounded man is at least allowed to die under the care of the companions who are looking after him, so repulsive is the worm simile of 654, to say nothing of the wounding itself. And how is κεΐτο ταθείς 655 consistent with the trouble the companions are taking? Do they lay him down or do they leave him lying there because they are prevented from recovering him? But according to 656ff. he is recovered and removed, without the enemy preventing it! We shall see that the Iliad does contain the model for 655, which was here put together with a pre-JZtadic one, but one which appeared only in different refractions, during which process (again disregarding the wounding itself) the earthworm was added as an original contribution of the person who put the elements together. We have taken seriously impulses which have so far been taken lightly, and now we are allowed to take one lightly, over which German Iliad criticism has made much fuss since Wolf’s Prolegom­ ena·. for Pylaimenes, who is here leading home his dead son, already died E 576ff., [100] his death preceding the grotesque Mydon episode. This contradiction solves itself in the same way as those which were identified within the Harpalion episode. The moment we reckon with a pre-Hiadic model, ‘earlier’ and ‘later’ no longer have any meaning for us; the Pylaimenes anachronism is the result of a double reversion to the older narrative, during which the right hand no longer knew what the left was doing.

85

Wounding and Death in the Uiad 2

Passages like the one just considered resemble the glass panes of a lantern which colour differently and dim the light in its middle. Elsewhere, we see the source of light either immediately or through a medium which makes itself invisible through its purity. We are taught by the Lycaon episode that this impression can also be caused very well by passages which do not describe original situations at all, but rather tricky ones, and, on top of everything, use phrases which have already been coined. This hapless Lycaon, previously captured by Achilles during some peaceful activity and sold abroad, had then escaped from slavery and returned to his homeland eleven days earlier. Once again he falls into the hands of his earlier captor, who has now become merciless. Achilles lifts his spear for the deadly throw or thrust, but Lycaon slips under it and, crouching down, clasps Achilles’ knees with one hand, and the spear which has lodged in the ground with the other. This double gesture is just as eloquent as it is peculiar. Through its picturesque fertility, it recalls the closely entwined group of Polites and Deiphobus (N 533f.), but is more difficult and richer in assump­ tions. The group attains its highest expressiveness the very moment it dissolves, when Lycaon has to hear from Achilles that his pleading is in vain (Φ 114): ώς φάτο, του δ’ αυτού λύτο γούνατα καί φίλον ήτορ. εγχος μέν ρ άφέηκεν, ό δ’ έζετο χείρε πετάσσας άμφοτέρας. Άχιλεύς δέ έρυσσάμενος ξίφος όξΰ τύψε κατά κληΐδα κατ’ αυχένα, παν δέ οί εισω δΰ ξίφος άμφηκες. ό δ’ αρα πρηνής επί γαίηι κεΐτο ταθείς, έκ δ’ αίμα μέλαν ρέε, δεΰε δέ γαΐαν. The hardening of Achilles’ soul shows itself at its most terrible here, because he is dealing with a young, harmless opponent who is not dangerous. But it is not for that reason alone that the poet has roused our sympathy for this son of Priam and his turbulent fate; we are also unmistakably shown here that developed interest in internal Trojan family matters which brought people like Simoeisius, Scamandrius and Imbrius so close to us. It testifies to a certain shift of the original emphasis towards the Trojan side. The result is that the advanced nature of the episode, which is still wonderfully natural [101] but already reaching the boundaries of the artificial, cannot surprise us. The movement with which Lycaon bows to the inevitable is touch­ ing: letting go of the spear and sitting back from his crouching position,27he stretches out his arms and so opens himself to the death 86

Appendices blow. Then he lies stretched out on his face, and his blood runs from the wound in his throat and moistens the earth. The last line is a pause [as in music], through which Achilles is not prepared to wait, since he proposes to maltreat the body. But if he drags it to the river in order, to throw it to the fish which are supposed to ‘lick the blood off the wound’ and to tuck into ‘Lycaon’s white fat’, he undoes 1. 119. The purpose is^lear. The connection with the river has to be re-estab­ lished. As thejocation for the Lycaon episode it is unimportant, but it is all the more important for the events which now follow. So since we face a transition after 119, we must be prepared to meet atrocities; for we have not forgotten our experiences with linking passages which establish relationships. To understand Achilles’ threats as merely an expression of a soul devastated by grief would mean isolating it unjustifiably (for that sort of thing is not restricted to Achilles, and is only too common in the Eiad); to understand it as the expression of a naive cruelty which is offensive only to ‘modern prissiness’ would mean to generalise it unjustifiably (for such scenes are not a matter of course in the Eiad and do not appear in any old place). Whether, following on from the ethos of the truly unsqueamish killing of Lycaon, one perceives the self-indulgent description of what is repul­ sive as a fall or not, a stylistic change would not be displeasing, even if the break were less prominent. This killing has been included into the context of Achilles’ impending fight with the river and it is only natural that, like quite a few included pieces, it testifies to a different spirit from that of its new surroundings. It is understandable that a verse such as 119, which is so important and has been created for such an important passage, should be used again in the Eiad, but the manner in which this happens in ζί 654f. jeopardises, as we have seen, not only the context of the narrative but also that of the sentence. Although it is possible that the word έζόμενος, which is so little in accordance with the wounding, was also taken by N 653 from Φ, one can still not regard the Lycaon scene as the sole model for the Harpalion scene. The proximity of the compan­ ions is just as essential for the Harpalion scene as the forlornness of the son of Priam, who is at the mercy of Achilles, is for the Lycaon scene. However, as far as the catastrophes of Diores and Thoon are concerned (which in terms of motif are closely connected with the Harpalion scene) the words may be almost the same but the stretch­ ing out of hands means something different from what it means in Φ. In one instance the hands are also being raised up, in the other they are also being let drop. Both are of such strong and noble illustrative [102] and expressive content, that one is allowed to ask whether that passage which stands behind its representatives (which are all open

87

Wounding and Death in the Iliad to question) was not a part of that poetry which, in the Lycaon episode, still speaks directly to us. We are taught by a comparison with the fantastic deed of Peneleus Π 339ff. how solid the Lycaon episode is, for all its exceptional character, up until 1. 119 (though the Peneleus episode, incidentally, is shaped with virtuosity as far as rhythm is concerned): ό δ’ ύπ οΰατος αυχένα θεΐνε Πηνέλεως, παν δ’ εΐσω έδυ ξίφος, έσχεθε δ’ οΐον δέρμα, παρηέρθη δε κάρη, ύπέλυντο δέ γυΐα.28 It is far less plausible that the whole blade ‘sinks’ into the victim’s body29 after a blow from the sword than after a stab. This belongs to iugulatio, as we know it from vase pictures. The epithet άμφηκες has been meaningfully inserted in Φ and not just for decoration; for a single blow it would be pointless, because one single blade would be enough for that. But for a stab, the mention of the double-blade draws our eyes to the sword in such a way that we see it disappear in the wound right up to the hilt. Thus we follow the bloody event as if from close at hand and feel reminded of the passages we dealt under that heading in Chapter II. But the realism of the killing of Lycaon is of particular importance because the event described is significant not only for the defeated man but also for the victor, and indeed more than a new proof of his irresistibility. So (as with Menelaus’throw of Paris’ helmet) one could again think that the higher purpose had specifically created its means of expression through its precision. It is tempting to imagine the birth of realism like this, but the ennoblement of an artistic device which is already in existence is an idea which is at least as gratifying as that construction which we cannot yet implement. III. Sarpedon 1

[103] The character and role of the prince of the Lycians have occupied Homeric philology strongly30but nobody seems to be worried by the fact that, after a different injury, Sarpedon dies the same death as Asius. If we were dealing here with an average hero or with average verses, naturally the repetition might leave us cold; but since we are dealing with very special heroes and verses which are just as special, the repetition is also something special, particularly since this unique re-use of the verses concerned is all that happened. In order not to go too far afield, we begin at Π 428f., the concise but extremely vivid simile of the vultures which screeching loudly attack 88

Appendices each other on a rocky cliff. The battle actions themselves (split off from the simile through a conversation between Zeus and Hera) seem to have been doubled, as Sarpedon’s double spear throw lets us assume; one must reckon with an originally very simple sequence (cf. Robert op. cit. p. 400). Sarpedon’s deadly injury is dismissed with the one single verse 481. When we consider how richly such events are depicted at the climaxes of E, N and Ξ, we are amazed at the poet’s thrift. One cannot explain this economy by arguing that the main effects have been saved up for Cebriones’and Patroclus’catastrophes; after all Sarpedon is more important than Thestor and Erylaus (411f.), in dealing with whom there was no restriction at all in extravagance.31 Sarpedon now falls like a tree - the same variety of tree simile was used in the fall of Asius in N 389ff., and just like the latter, Sarpedon wrestles with death (N 392f. = Π 485f.): [104] ώς ό πρόσθ’ ίππων καί δίφρου κεΐτο τανυσθείς, βεβρυχώς, κόνιος δεδραγμένος αίματοέσσης. The comparison does not exhaust itself in the wording of the passage, but extends also to the relation of the utterance to its respective context: here, as there, its harsh realism stands in contrast to the neighbouring phantasmata. Can one derive one of the two passages from the other? First of all, the Patrocleia may boast one advantage here: the ensuing simile (487) of the bull which perishes under the Ron’s teeth with the word στενάχων unmistakably picks up βεβρυχώς again (cf. Wilamowitz 138) and by calling the bull αϊθωνα μεγάθυμον recalls once more the former splendour of the dead man, who is now so ignominiously lying in the dust. But on the other hand N also has its advantages: it carefully reveals the information that the dying man is lying in front of his horses and turns the episode with Asius’ charioteer, which in the Patrocleia precedes the Thestor episode, into the immediate result of Asius’ fall; the catastrophe is thereby completed and rightly and properly sealed. So it is impossible to regard the death of Sarpedon, as it is de­ scribed in our Iliad, as the model for Asius’ death and to assume that during the transfer from one man to the other it was supplemented by the charioteer episode. On the other hand, the reverse could be momentarily conceivable, that Asius’death was transferred to Sarpe­ don and that in doing this the charioteer episode was left out, or transferred to Thestor. It is not only the loss of motivation for Thestor’s consternation that speaks for this, but above all the fact (stated a very long time ago) that the tale of Sarpedon’s death collapses at 1.

491. Sarpedon has suddenly regained the ability to give instructions to Glaucus; only then does he definitively die, as Wilamowitz noticed, really for the second time.32 Diores, too, in a certain sense died twice in A 524, in a similar break of context no less than of style. But even if Π too shows inalienable special material here (at least the bull simile), we again have to [105] postulate a common archetype which lives on in the merits of both versions. But since we cannot blend Asius and Sarpedon into one single person, the question arises for which of the two the passages N 389-393 = Π 482-486 were actually coined. Here we do not have the option of ‘as well ... as’, but only ‘either ... or’ and ‘neither ... nor’. The answer is made easier for us because while Asius and Sarpedon appear as doubles here, they do not do so at all in the remainder of the Mad. Asius has been intro­ duced in such a way that there lies a certain (poetic) justice in his wretched end. Whereas the description as νήπιος applies to Patroclus only at the moment of his error (Π 686), it does say something about Asius’ nature (M 113). For in a break during the fight, which would give him time to think, he disregards Polydamas’ salutary advice which all the Trojans and allies follow (M 60ff.), and scorns abandon­ ing his chariot in front of the Greek fortifications - the result is that he will brought to the ground πρόσθ’ ίππων καί δίφρου. As he has to admit to himself (M 165f.), he overestimates his own strength and underestimates the courage of the Greeks, but improperly33shifts all the blame onto Zeus. His arrogance is the same as that of Othryoneus who is self-important and promises too much and who looks like Asius’shadow in any case. From the start we have a foreboding of the steep fall awaiting the one just as much as the other.34 On the other hand any reader of M knows that before his death, Sarpedon is described as a hero who through his good attitude and sense of responsibility (M 310ff. justify us in speaking even of a ‘social’ sense of responsibility) elevates himself far above the impetuous barbarity of Asius. The way Sarpedon dies in Π is not the death he deserves: he does not die his death here, but on the other hand Asius in N does.35 Unity of character and fate may be problematic in the Mad [106]; but here, where we are facing an alternative, the ‘better’ is the enemy of what is in no way particularly ‘good’, and Sarpedon as an appropriate subject for this kind of death steps into the shadow of Asius. Not necessarily his name, but Asius’nature should be assumed to have been in the archetype. Now, since we assume that there was an influence of such an archetype, we should straight away also ask about the origin of a magnificent passage which has been perceived to be an alien element in its context, Π 775f.:

90

Appendices ο δ’ έν στροφάλιγγι κονίης κεΐτο μέγας μεγαλωστί, λελασμένος ίπποσυνάων. As one has to agree with Wilamowitz, these verses are too solemn and important for Hector’s charioteer Cebriones. Wilamowitz was wary of referring them to Achilles, with good reason, for λελασμένος ίπποσυνάων with 7#)δώκης, in spite of his chariot and his immortal horses, lacks any precision. If, as has been concluded from ω 40, this really was said about Achilles (in the Achilleid), it still has not therefore been necessarily coined for him. I am not concerned with the name Asius, but this ‘yesterday still on proud horses, today shot through the chest’was invented for a man of his type, cf. M 113ff.: νήπιος, ούδ’ dp’ έμελλε κακάς υπό κήρας άλύξας ιπποισιν καί οχεσφιν άγαλλόμενος παρά νηών άψ άπονοστήσειν προτί ’Ίλιον ήνεμόεσσαν. 2

If we have to reckon with the possibility that Sarpedon’s death is derived poetry, the hope of peeling away a firm core out of all the things which in the Patrocleia are connected with his person fades away. Indeed, Sarpedon’s catastrophe and the fight for his corpse belong to the most complex passages of the Iliad. Bethe (I 317) calls his removal from the field “blown up through small individual fights without a context’; during the encounter of Aeneas and Meriones which does not have a result - ‘it is as if it had been forgotten that the fight is over Sarpedon’s corpse’ (Von der Mühll, p. 249); the conversa­ tion between Zeus and Hera has not only been driven into the context like a wedge, but the removal which is being prepared for here appears to transfigure a nobler death of a warrior than that which Sarpedon suffers in our Iliad. So would the fact that he dies at all therefore be an innovation by that person who included him in the Patrocleia? This is improbable for this reason alone, that it is here presupposed precisely by passages which stand out very sharply against the ‘sentimental’ style of the Patrocleia with its ‘semi-darkness’ and its [107] ‘light effects’ (H.E. Meyer, op. cit., p. 81): so 638ff.: ούδ’ άν έτι φράδμων περ άνήρ Σαρπηδόνα δΐον έγνω, έπεί βελέεσσι καί αϊματι καί κονίηισιν έκ κεφαλής εϊλυτο διαμπερές ές πόδας άκρους. This unforgettable image which Wilamowitz, however, did not regard 91

Wounding and Death in the Iliad worthy of his old Patrocleia is followed by the very unsolemn, but also very vivid, comparison between the warriors crowding round the corpse and the flies which swarm around the milk pail. If the poem had moved in well worn tracks since Sarpedon’s fall, it now unexpect­ edly comes to important passages. Incidentally, the verses which have been quoted above give the impression that the poet sees Sarpedon naked in front of him, as if his weapons had already been captured by the Greeks. Since their capture does not happen until twenty verses later, the description of the corpse runs ahead of events, no less than the likewise exceedingly impressive passage 659ff. lags behind them: ένθ’ ούδ’ ιφθιμοι Λύκιοι μένον, άλλα φόβηθεν πάντες, έπεί βασιλήα ϊδον δεδαιγμένον36 ήτορ κείμενον εν νεκύων άγύρει. The consternation which Sarpedon’s death causes among his people corresponds to the dismay which overcomes the Paeones when their leader falls, except that there, as is to be expected, cause and effect follow each other immediately (Π 290). As often in the Iliad, the original Sarpedon tale has been expanded over a large distance and nothing guarantees us that its remains appear in the old order throughout. But that such remainders are indeed present here is assured not only by the fact that 659ff. are not appropriate to the situation now, but also by the peculiar hint at ‘gathered’ corpses. The harsh clarity of the few words recalls κεΐτο μέγας μεγαλωστί, probably even more strongly Δ 536f.: ώς τώ γ’ έν κονίηισι παρ’ άλλήλοισι τετάσθην, ήτοι ό μέν Θρηικών, ό δ’ Έπειών χαλκοχιτώνων ηγεμόνες.37 From such Sarpedon passages, it is only one step to the description in M 397ff. which, rhythmically, is brilliantly coined, in its unadorned monumentality worthy of a Thucydides: [108] Σαρπηδών δ’ άρ’ επαλξιν έλών χερσίν στιβαρήισιν ελχ’, ή δ’ εσπετο πάσα διαμπερές,38αύτάρ ύπερθε τείχος έγυμνώθη, πολέεσσι δε θήκε κέλευθον.89 We shall recall not least the merciless but powerful realism of the two lines which describe Sarpedon’s death throes. But since they are used by Asius, the question can no longer be rejected as to how Sarpedon’s death might have been described. Now, if it were assumed that an answer could still be given, the further question would immediately 92

Appendices arise, as to what could have led the Iliad poet to make Sarpedon suffer Asius’death instead of his own. The answer to this is: because he had already described Sarpedon’s original death in E. There Sarpedon had received a serious wound which is later com­ pletely forgotten, although nothing was said about how it was healed (for instance, by a god). But it was not invented to have no conse­ quences at all^That this consequence was once death is still disclosed by our text in several passages, probably most clearly through the resolute, but j$ot exactly wise, turn with which it avoids it in E 671ff.: μερμήριξε δ’ έπειτα κατά φρένα καί κατά θυμόν, ή προτέρω Διάς υίόν έριγδσύποιο διώκοι, ή δ γε των πλεόνων Λυκίων άπό θυμόν έλοιτο. ούδ dp’ Όδυσσήι μεγαλήτορι μόρσιμον ήεν ϊφθιμον Διός υιόν άποκτάμεν όξέι χαλκώι, τώ ρα κατά πληθύν Λυκίων τράπε θυμόν Άθήνη. Sarpedon’s plea to Hector (684ff.) sounds like a last request, like the words of a dying man: Πριαμίδη, μη δή με έλωρ Δαναοΐσιν έάσηις κεΐσθαι, άλλ’ έπάμυνον. έπειτά με καί λίποι αιών [109] έν πόλει ύμετέρηι, έπεί ούκ dp’ έμελλον έγωγε νοστήσας οΐκόνδε φίλην ές πατρίδα γαΐαν εύφρανέειν άλοχόν τε φίλην καί νήπιον υίόν. When things do not look all that bad for the wounded man, v. 686f. above all, expresses whining despondency; but, on the assumption that Sarpedon’s death is imminent, this turns into the noble melan­ choly of a real farewell. And, always on this premise, is not the wonderful homecoming of the dead hero most beautifully prepared here? Whatever views one may have on this, this plea is still a doublet of the plea to Glaucus in the Patrocleia, only that there, we were unable to see how Sarpedon might still be capable at all of uttering it. The plea to Glaucus does not presuppose the death which precedes it, the Asius-style death of Sarpedon, but a wounding as we read it in E. Sarpedon’s plea to Hector implies that the warrior who has become unfit for battle is still lying in the forefront of the battle line. But in v. 664 his countrymen had carried him out of the tumult; so are we to understand έξέφερον belatedly as a conative imperfect? For this one could point to Aphrodite’s attempted rescue at v. 318; yet it would remain awkward that έξέφερον returns immediately in 669, but this time does not describe an attempted, but a genuine, rescue. One does 93

Wounding and Death in the Iliad not like to reduce the clear parallelism of these passages to a mere echo. So there is something wrong with the removal of the wounded Sarpedon. But the very origin of the duel which causes the wound also has its problems. ‘The poet takes into consideration as little as he does with Tlepolemus the fact that we are in a passage where the Achaeans are retreating’ remarks Ameis-Hentze’s appendix (II 2, p. 73, cf. Von der Muhll, p. 101); we add that Sarpedon’s encounter with Patroclus does not correspond to the situation described immediately before that, either. Here, as there, the duel has not been developed from the context, but was inserted into it and was already there before the context.40 3 [110] The concisely related duel between Sarpedon and Tlepolemus (E 655) is a unique phenomenon insofar as both heroes hurl their spears simultaneously. This will have happened in reahty from time to time, and one probably has to perceive it as stylisation that the Uiad insists on battle actions happening one after the other, of which each one can then be followed with undivided attention. The empha­ sis on simultaneity would be particularly significant if the heroes killed each other mutually; but the Iliad poet does not (or no longer) let things go as far as this. Sarpedon’s throw is a masterly perform­ ance in any case, for he hits his opponent precisely in the middle of the narrowest, and at the same time the most endangered, part of his body, the neck.41 More words are expended on Sarpedon’s wounding, but clarity is not thereby achieved. He is hit in the left thigh, αιχμή δέ διέσσυτο μαιμώωσα, so the spear penetrates fully, like the spear with which in O 542 Menelaus pierces his opponent’s hack and chest: αιχμή δέ στέρνοιο διέσσυτο μαιμώωσα. Consequently όστέωι έγχριμφθεΐσα would have to mean ‘closely past the hone’, although when taken by itself it does not contain the notion ‘past’ but receives that meaning from διέσσυτο.42Apparently what is meant is that the wound was not as serious as it could have been - πατήρ δ’ έτι λοιγόν άμυνεν. As Leaf also notes, the poet is thinking of the Patrocleia here, for which Sarpedon is going to be saved up. ‘A small realistic feature livens up the tale of how the wounded Sarpedon was carried off. The spear has lodged in his hip’(in his thigh rather) ‘and drags along over the ground’ (H. Jordan, p. 38). We immediately recall N 597: το δ’ έφέλκετο μείλινον έγχος. But the small realistic features go further. In the crush, Sarpedon’s companions do not get round to pulling the spear out of his body again, δφρ’ έπιβαίη: if this were to happen, the result would be that he would appear again. If this possibility is reckoned with, it is paradoxical or at least 94

Appendices not particularly heroic that, after he has been laid down under Zeus’ oak tree43and freed of the spear,44 [111] Sarpedon faints. Now, there is a completely different explanation for Hector’s fainting in Ξ. Again, Hector’s rescue by his companions is not only more vivid but also incomparably more expressive than the rescue of Sarpedon, the ac­ count of which is interrupted as well. Since the motif of the spear which is being Ragged along N 597 appears in connection with one of Hector’s brothers and, as we have seen, is stylistically closely related to his wounding by Ajax, it rather suggested itself to the creator of the wounding and fainting of Sarpedon that he should combine the two rescues in N and Ξ into a new one. To the difficulties of content are added semantic ones of the most disagreeable kind. Originally τον δε λίπε ψυχή (696) is an expression for dying. E. Bickel (Horn. Seelenglaube, p. 52ff.) and J. Böhme (Die Seele und das Ich, p. 99ff.) laboured long and hard with this passage. However, as many another which we have discussed, it does not tolerate a more precise interpretation. Such a carefree use of lan­ guage as ζωγρεΐν ‘to revive’ (698) makes it doubtful from the outset whether one can learn something about Homeric ideas of the soul from the fact that here, when fainting starts, the word ψυχή is used, but when it ends we have the word θυμός. We can hardly separate Sarpedon’s eventual death from his fainting Π 504f.: έκ χροός ελκε δόρυ, προτί δέ φρένες αύτωι εποντο. τοΐο δ’ άμα ψυχήν τε καί εγχεος έξέρυσ’ αιχμήν. We are dealing with the same enigmatic mode of expression (and the same author?).45 Much, and perhaps even most, of what we read about Sarpedon in E and Π belongs without doubt to the last, inclusive layer of the Eiad. But equally without doubt this magma contains quite a few older elements, which are structured like the important Sarpedon passages in M rather than their immediate surroundings. Even if mainly stylistic grounds have led us to this conviction, the analysis of the plot must also point in that direction. We heard just now that Odysseus E 671ff. considers whether he should attack the wounded Sarpedon or his compatriots, and that Athena makes him choose the latter, so that the Lycian prince will stay alive for a little longer. One should compare with this how at Π 647ff. Zeus considers whether Hector should kill Patroclus in the battle for Sarpedon’s body, but then decides to let Patroclus live for a little longer and perform further heroic feats: πολλά μάλ’ άμφί φόνων Πατρόκλου μερμηρίζων, ή ήδη καί κείνον evi κρατερήι ϋσμίνην

Wounding and Death in the Iliad αύτοΰ επ άντιθέωι Σαρπηδόνι φαίδιμος Έκτωρ χαλκώι δηιώσηι άπό τ’ ώμων τεύχε εληται, ■ήέτι καί πλεόνεσσιν όφέλλειεν πόνον αίπύν. [112] In the one case as in the other, the poet shows us the path which he could have taken if he did not have his eye on ‘long-term goals’. Might the shorter path really have been constructed only to serve, for a moment, as a foil for the longer way? Might this not rather be an old and much-used path, to which the Iliad poet points by the very fact that he is departing from it? Both passages fit together like the two halves of a tally: the Iliad itself presupposes a different death of Sarpedon from the one it itself narrates,46and it presupposes a death of Patroclus during the battle for Sarpedon’s corpse. This alone yields three layers: firstly, the narrative of our Uiad which has been ex­ panded and is rich in problems; secondly, another version which takes place at a time before Troy, into which Sarpedon’s removal [by Death and Sleep] probably fitted more meaningfully than into our Uiad', and thirdly, that old poem about Sarpedon from which ultimately stems " the duel with Tlepolemus, which belongs to the Lycian, and, if need be, also to the Rhodian coast.47 In M Hector and Sarpedon have a dispute as to who should have the glory of storming the wall; this rivalry remains unreconciled, and certainly this lack of connection of the two heroes would not have been in the original. But it would already be claiming too much if one said that it was the work of the Uiad poet; one should assume that he took it over, at least as long as he is not convicted through stylistic evidence, as he is in E and Π. As we have been able to observe frequently, compared with these two books M is for the most part thematically coherent, but this does not mean that it was necessarily a unified whole.48 We have not really complicated the facts of the matter unnecessar­ ily, but have only graded them as far as absolutely necessary for our purposes. Since only parts of the Sarpedon problems have been picked out, it is definitely possible that our three layer hypothesis is still too simple. At any rate, it allows us to ask a little more precisely than before, e.g. whether Glaucus (whom we have deliberately left out of the discussion) was, as it were, brought along to Troy from his Lycian homeland by Sarpedon, or whether both found each other only there and whether, if this should be the case, the connection is at least as old as Sarpedon’s participation in the fight for Ilium or originated only together with our Uiad. Here Sarpedon certainly belongs to the ‘young’heroes. But this observation does not say much about him yet. Apart from the older heroes, there are still younger heroes next to him, and Tlepolemus need not be the only one of the same age.

96

Appendices IV. N: Ξ: Π [113] Each of these three books, even if one just contemplates its battle descriptions, shows several stylistic aspects. But one of these is in such, strong evidence everywhere that one gets the impression that there is a close affinity between the three books. This impression intensifies wheiyme compares M and O which are neighbouring but, when one lookß at the whole, definitely different. The fantasy of Peisandrus’ endffn N repeats itself, for the most part even verbatim, at the death of Cebriones in Π. The nightmare atmosphere which is generated in the Alcathous episode, by means which are as unusual as they are effective, casts its spell over us at Patroclus’ catastrophe too; the scorn which Idomeneus directs at Cassandra’s dead suitor in N speaks the same wrathful and brutal language as Patroclus’words at the death of Cebriones; the agony of Asius in N is not only described in the same verses as that of Sarpedon in Π, but also its genuine realism stands out, equally curiously in both cases, from the pseudo­ realism of the context. Since we have seen that one cannot regard the Patrocleia simply as the mother-city of this mode of representation, which would have sent out its colonies into N and into other areas of the Mad, one will have to state first of all that here, as there, composition was continued in the same spirit. But the bringing together of Idomeneus and Peneleus in Π shows that, during this process, the left hand definitely knew what the right hand was doing: in their feats, the phantasmata of N and Ξ are heightened to that twin peak, whose unmistakable architectonic significance manifests itself in the immediate co-operation of the two heroes in another twin peak into which the achievements of a particular circle of heroes integrate themselves. Thus here a connection has been created across O be­ tween N Ξ on the one hand and Π one the other, a connection which is not just vaguely perceptible out of our feeling for style but one which is attested as unmistakably as possible. If one wants to get an idea of the composition of Π or of its battle scenes, it is advisable to distinguish an ‘original’ Patrocleia from a ‘non-original’ one. We find passages here which do not concern the hero directly, but could just as well be narrated in a different context, and which therefore do not belong [uniquely] to his [114] fate but, for whatever reasons, have been interwoven with it. The original Patro­ cleia extends, to begin with, roughly to 305. Patroclus has flung himself on to the Trojans (275), hurled his spear into their midst and killed Pyraichmes; the Paeonians, whose leader he was, have taken to their heels in fright, the Trojans have been swept away, the fire on the ship has been extinguished: although the Trojans nevertheless still do not consider the battle as by any means lost, the Greeks can 97

Wounding and Death in the Iliad still breathe a sigh of relief. What follows, very soon diverts our attention away from Patroclus and to several heroes with whom we have already frequently dealt - Menelaus, Antilochus, Idomeneus, Peneleus, Locrian Ajax and Meges. Thus, apart from Telamonian Ajax and Teucer, whose main task it is to put up resistance to Hector himself, fundamentally we find here assembled the Greek cast of N Ξ. By also carrying out the first of the nine killings, Patroclus mediates between the original and the non-original Patrocleia. For the group itself he must, in accordance with the requirements of the Iliad, be a newcomer. For a long time verses 303-51 have been felt to be an unpleasant interruption of the context. Bethe (p. 316) talks about insignificant warrior-slayings, Von der Mühll (p. 245f.) is not the first who wants to have 352 following straight after 302. This exclusion is supposed to benefit the steady progress of the action, and we must admit that it really does exclude, rather than just cut out. For 306-51 are not just held together by their stock of characters, but also stand out clearly as a stylistic complex against their context; for those heroes, who Splayed such a great part within the sphere of the adventurous style, here move in the same hothouse atmosphere which characteristically mixes the fantastic and the unclear.49 In the ensuing passage the general flight of the Trojans is described magnificently, but there is no end to the difficulties as far as detail is concerned.50 Thus the sentence 367f.: Έκτορα 5’ ίπποι . . . έκφερον σύν τεύχεσιν makes an assumption which has not been mentioned so far,51 the use of a mere άέλλη (374) [115] for ‘cloud of dust’seems have been derived from a passage such as Ψ 366, and the word άνακυμβαλιάζειν (379) for ‘overturning, capsizing’, as Leaf notes, can hardly be sepa­ ra te d from the ominous κύμβαχος ‘headlong’ (E 586). These peculiarities remain even if one approves of the deletion of 370f. and 380-3 (the purpose of the deletion is to remove the reference to the ditch and Patroclus’ premature pursuit of Hector). So the gold of an older Patrocleia cannot after all be smelted from verses 364-93. Besides, on a stylistic level, the passage in the shape handed down to us does not seem to go badly with the preceding episode 306-51 and it seems to go even better with the further Patrocleia (from 394 onwards): the easy jump across the ditch by the immortal horses (380f.) constitutes the right contrast to the unholy confusion of the Trojan vehicles, meaningfully concludes the description of the flight and pursuit, and prepares the further miracles of the Patrocleia.52 As much as one may object to 364-93 in detail, it belongs to the most grandiose battle descriptions of the Eiad not only because of the famous flood simile 384ff. but as a whole. The way the Trojans scatter, fall from the chariots in front of the wheels, the way the vehicles 98

Appendices overturn and the horses pant, all that is so breathtaking that one understands the desire to regard this whirlwind as an eruption of elemental genius and assign it to the original conception of the Patrocleia. But the episodic character of these events must raise doubts about this; for the poet treats Patroclus’journey in pursuit as a digression from which he has to call him back again into the vicinity of the ships (3 ^). These doubts are increased through the derived details; and what presumably is decisive is the consideration that it is of course not’actually Patroclus who unleashes this storm, just as it is not actually Agamemnon either who in Λ plunges the Trojans into the most unholy flight. Only the son of Peleus wreaks havoc in such a way: he is the model behind the two heroes. Through the fact that the poet gave Patroclus Achilles’weapons and so compensated for the disparity between the two, the poet has acknowledged that Patroclus, for all his bravery, is after all not the man to produce effects of that kind. This strategy, which in my opinion is immensely clever, made it possible for the poet once again to go to extremes and here, too, to work with devices which befitted nobody so much as Achilles. In a shorter Eiad, such devices had to remain reserved for him; whereas our extended Iliad offers room for several orgies of this kind. [116] However, the setback which Hector’s enterprise suffers is perfectly motivated on a pragmatic level. The sudden appearance of fresh enemy reserves is indeed apt to cause horror and flight. In v. 283, consequently, as Leaf has emphasised, panic seems to be directly imminent. But after it had been said 303ff. that the Trojans did not turn to flight at all but retreated whilst fighting; after from 306 until 351 a series of Greek individual successes had been related, which still did not presuppose a flight by the Trojans but only brought it about (356f.); after, finally, Hector had been presented to us (358ff.) with an unshakeable determination to protect his people; the proper time for the outbreak of panic had been missed. As was noted a long time ago, it consequently gives the impression, at least as far as Hector is concerned, of being groundless by now, or at least in need of having its explanation renewed (which was given a long time ago). As long as the intervention by the Myrmidons immediately caused the change in fortunes (so that for instance 364 followed 283), the ex­ change of arms was not absolutely necessary; but if it merely prepared the main success, which was achieved only through the co-operation of several heroes, Patroclus could only be convincing as a protagonist if he surpassed himself by far. The weapons of his great friend provide him with these new opportunities; they alone produce the right proportions between the event as the Eiad describes it now and its originator.63 Once again we remember S. If in the Patrocleia the ‘original’

Wounding and Death in the Iliad motivation of the great change, the counter-attack by the Myrmidons, is suspended until other heroes like Idomeneus and Peneleus have also had an opportunity to contribute their share, it repeats the excesses of Ξ. When Hector, heavily struck by Ajax, was carried out of the battle, a Trojan retreat and Greek advance seemed the inevitable consequence. This, however, did not happen until other Greek feats of arms had been accomplished as well, and only when Peneleus had triumphantly lifted up that head with the lance still stuck in it was it all up with the Trojans’ steadfastness. The same kind of horrors, the same heroes, the same technique of motivating what has [117] actu­ ally been motivated already - this can only have been the same poet who here, as there, expanded and reshaped the older poem. The immense momentum with which the Myrmidons rush into battle (257-83) repeats itself 364-93: an introductory, general descrip­ tion corresponds to a concluding one,54both framing the individual fights. A further, interior frame is formed through the relation of 284-305 (the Trojans suffer severe losses but still put up a resistance) to 358ff. (the Trojans no longer put up a resistance but Hector covers their retreat). The warrior-slayings of 306-51 constitute the centre of the rosette.55 It is doubtful to what extent artistic intentions have been realised in this symmetry. A possible inclusion of favourite heroes (306ff.) automatically had to create a correspondence between what preceded and what ensued. Nevertheless, it remains to be noted that the distinction of stylistic areas led us here, as well, to the joints of the composition, which fortunately did not have to be ascertained especially by us but had been observed a long time ago. The fact that 283 (πάπτηνεν δε έκαστος, οπηι φύγοι αίπύν όλεθρον) rushes on ahead of development; the fact that the intervention of Patroclus and his Myrmidons does not have its full effect at first, but first requires supplementing through the achievements of several other heroes; the fact that Hector, who was only just protecting his companions, sud­ denly deserts them and thinks only of his own safety: all these are old impulses from which we did not start out, but by which we found Pur distinctions confirmed. The former gain in significance through the latter: someone who thinks nothing further of the fact that the poet drops and picks up again the threads of his narrative as he pleases, will presumably have to be a little surprised about the stylistic change that goes with it. The remainder of our book constitutes an unambiguous example of planned symmetry. For if we look at the first and last feat of Patroclus to be related in full, we realise immediately: they are meant and made to be cornerstones. We shall begin with the most obvious. After Patroclus has killed Pronous, Thestor and Euryalus (399-414) he kills a further number of men whose names are simply strung together, 100

Appendices nine altogether (in Λ 301ff. Hector kills nine as well). Immediately after this, Sarpedon appears (419): his fate occupies us up to 683. But when it has only just been fulfilled, Patroclus once again kills nine men, and the [118] poet expressly draws our attention to the fact that, with that, we have entered the finale of the Patrocleia (692f.): ένθα τίνα πρφτον, τίν ΰστατον έξενάριξας, Πατρόκλεις, δτε δή σε θεοί θάνατόνδε κάλεσσαν; f

Then Cebriones’ death is related, which has Patroclus’ death as its consequence. But to conclude his career, Patroclus first kills another three times nine men whose names the poet does not mention. None of the other heroes reaches such fantastically high figures in such a short time. We therefore prepare for Patroclus’ final deeds to be fantastic in other respects as well. But this is typically the case only with those which are directly connected with the ninefold victories, i.e. with the killing of Thestor and Euryalus on the one hand, and Cebriones on the other. Sarpedon’s wounding, which stands between, in spite of its importance, appears moderate in comparison. The recurrence of the number nine merely underlines a relation which cannot be mistaken in other passages either. The fact that here, as there, a charioteer is pushed out, is in itself no more striking than that Meriones kills two sons of two participants in the war one after the other (N 560ff. and 643ff.). But the fates of Cebriones and Thestor become particularly comparable through this, and the poet invites us to make that comparison. For on one occasion, Patroclus pulls his victim, whom he has stabbed into his jaw-bone, υπέρ αντυγος, i.e. out of the ‘driving seat’, as a fisherman does the fish out of its element.56 The simile which depicts in detail Cebriones’ plunging from his chariot stems from the same sphere. The simple ό δ’ άρ’ άρνευτήρι έοικώς κάππεσε, which was created for the fall of Sarpedon’s compan­ ion from the bastion (M 385),67is set out in more detail by Patroclus himself, when he calls after the dying man th a t such an oyster diver could feed many mouths. It is characteristic of the epic level of this ‘obituary notice’that Patroclus, as we already observed with Nestor, works with Homeric turns of phrase.58 The grotesquely cruel end of Cebriones definitively transports us into the world of the miraculous: a god has to intervene to put an end to the raging of the superman. [119] Between 351 and 394 (apart from the similes 352ff. and 384ff.) the passage 358-63 occupies a special place. The fact that it does not show any fantastic traits could be a coincidence, since it is so short. However, it has not only been coined unmistakably but also shows us for a moment the old rivals Ajax and Hector, of all people. 101

Wounding and Death in the Iliad Whereas a link with what preceded has been produced,59there is a gaping hole between 363 and 364: Hector, who was just now being celebrated as the protector of his men, in 367 is suddenly ahead of all others in flight.60This gives us sufficient reason to conclude that we are dealing with a pure piece of older, included poetry here: Αίας δ’ ό μέγας αίέν έφ’ Έκτορι χαλκοκορυστηι ιετ άκοντίσσαι, ό δέ ίδρείηι πολέμοιο άσπίδι ταυρείηι κεκαλυμμένος εύρέας ώμους σκέπτετ όιστών τε ροΐζον καί δοΰπον άκόντων. ή μεν δή γίγνωσκε μάχης έτεραλκέα νίκην, άλλα καί ώς άνέμιμνε, σάω δ’ έρίηρας έταίρους. The noble, moderate monumentality of these verses seems to belong to Hector and Ajax in the same way as excess does to Achilles (but not to bim alone). But the question about the specific stylistic sphere by which the individual heroes or groups of heroes are surrounded leads beyond the area to which we wanted to restrict ourselves here.61

102

Notes Introduction 1. For the time being we can forget Wolf’s distinguishing of different styles. But it should be noted that his judgement about the later books of the Iliad is reasonably compatible with E. Howald’s words (Der Dichter der Ilias, Erlenbach-Zürich 1949, p. 92) on the death of Patroclus: ‘It is that style saturated with sentiment which we have observed in the whole of the last third of the Iliad’ (cf. ibid., pp. 19ff.). 2. Unfortunately, this outstanding authority contented himself with a ‘sed haec indicasse sat est’ [‘It is enough to have mentioned this’] and a reference to the different treatment of verse in N and Ψ (which would still be worth following up even now). 3. ‘They deceive us with their uniform appearance .... For in general all the books have the same sound, the same quality of thought, language and metre.’ Wolf himself had the second in universum printed in italics but, in doing so, could not prevent occasional misuse of his well considered words. 4. ‘Ruhnken indeed offered the best verdict on the matter when he said that it could be felt by experts, but its nature was impossible to explain to the inexpert.’ 5. For instance L. Erhardt (Die Entstehung d. hom. Gedichte, Leipzig 1894), p. 303: ‘Nevertheless, this description too is nothing less than a unified whole’, with Howald, loc. cit., p. 66 (the Patrocleia) ‘is a self-contained whole, not disparaged by any disruption, a completely unified whole’; further E. Bethe (Homer I, Leipzig 1914), p. 318: ‘The death of Patroclus as our Iliad renders it is foolish and inartistic at the same time —one cannot judge any differently. Here the demon of nationalism has really bitten off all the Muses and Graces’, with W.F. Otto (Die Götter Griechenlands, 3rd ed., Frankfurt 1947), p. 196 and P. von der Mühll (Krit. Hypomnema zur Ilias, Basle 1952), p. 251, who in the same episode see a sublime example of ancient Greek religiousness —and yet von der Mühll does not feel more devoted to any Homeric scholar than to Bethe. The examples are already sufficient to make us wonder with B. Marzullo (Ilproblemo Omerico, Florence 1952), p. 477 how in this case one might escape the satisfied laughter of the Unitarians. 6. On the other hand Wolf’s expression ‘poetical’ is not quite as unambigu­ ous as Volkmann, loc. cit., takes it. For, as the opposite of‘natural’illustrates, Wolf probably was considering the cost in terms of poetic devices as well. 7. Hom. I 295: ‘If there are stylistic differences in the Iliad then there exists one between O 240ff. and ... Ξ 153-353. Here everything is fresh and

103

Notes to pages 3-4 original, there the usual and the use of pre-formed material.’All susceptibil­ ity to the freshness of the Olympian intermezzo granted, we are still allowed to ask about the originality of a poem which unambiguously quotes its model, i.e. Heracles epic. In this case independent and dependent poetry certainly cannot be set against each other here, and relative originality can be meas­ ured only in comparison with relative unoriginality. But part of this means dealing with sections which have a little more in common with each other. 8. Marzullo’s spirited protest against this (op. cit., p. 477) recalls Volkmann’s deep sigh mentioned above. 9. So the subject is a different one for us than for W. Arend (Die typischen Szenen bei Homer, Berlin 1933); but Arend already (p. VII) asked for an investigation of the Homeric battle scenes to complement his own. 10. Strangely enough, we shall rarely have the opportunity to quote the thesis by Hedwig Jordan (Der Erzählungsstil in den Kampfszenen der Ilias, Warmbrun'n 1904) which was commendable for its time, and has since been quoted many times. The author does not order her material by unifying issues in terms of content or form, but discusses the relevant books one after the other so that only a few lines are allotted to the first duel between Ajax and Hector on p. 50f. and to Othryoneus and Alcathous on p. 86, whereas we .-shall have to devote considerable effort to dealing with these episodes. ‘ 11. Besides, she does not agree (p. 102) with Hedwig Jordan about what is appropriate ‘in a turbulent battle description’ and what is not. 12. ‘When one reads the Iliad, one feels at each moment that Homer had fought in battle.’ I owe this quotation to Frz. Albracht (Kampf und Kampfschilderung bei H., Progr. Schulporta 1886) I, p. 4. Sainte Beuve refers to a letter by P.L. Courier to Villoison of 8 March 1805: ‘Homère fit la guerre, gardez-vous en douter .... II fut aide-de-camp, je crois, d’Agamemnon, ou bien son secrétaire’ [‘Homer fought in battle, never doubt i t .... He was, I believe, Agamemnon’s aide-de-camp or else his secretary’]. 13. It is impossible to recognise Homer’s ‘loving care’ (Albracht II, p. 2) everywhere. But Albracht was right to point out that Virgil generally keeps far greater distance from ‘bloody business’, and thus to guarantee at least a relative kind of realism in Homer. 14. In Virgils epische Technik (1st ed. 1902) he compared the creative imitations by the Aeneid of its Homeric models, e. g. the funeral games for Anchises and for Patroclus; in Ovids elegische Erzählung (1919) he compared how the same poet shaped the same material but in the different artistic contexts of epic and elegy. 15. Elard Hugo Meyer (Homer u. d. Ilias, Berlin 1887), p. 200f.: ‘Instead of a gallery of great paintings (as in A) we have before us a series of photographs taken in a moment (in Δ )... It is fully justifiable for this style to stand next to the other, like the genre picture next to the fresco painting ..., like the short lapping of the waves of an inland sea next to the long rollers of the high seas.’Meyer’s reconstruction of the original Iliad (which amounts to a new poem) does not need further discussion today, but in his assessments of individual passages of the Iliad, he independently follows up Wolf’s hint (which referred to the ‘stormy’ and the ‘calm’ style), and with the distinction between ‘heroic’ and ‘sentimental’ pathos (p. 79ff.) he attempts, following in

104

Notes to pages 5-9 Schiller’s footsteps, to do justice to phenomena to which M. Riemschneider and E. Howald have only recently returned. 1 6 .1 have probably declared a fair number of things impossible which are only just about possible and vice versa. If the poet ventured as far forward as this boundary, he did not always have to cross it in order to be regarded as bold. I. P h a n ta sm a ta

1. For the completion cf. now P. Chantraine’s Grammaire Homérique I (Paris 1948), p. 120. 2. It will be legitimate to translate άλείς like this although this does not quite work in Φ 571 and X 308. 3. Here, against the rule, it is not stated where the spear hits. Perhaps in 394 δουρί τυχήσας or τυχήσας on its own has replaced this detail. 4 . But the relationship between Antilochus and Patroclus shows itself anyway as a development from Antilochus to Patroclus, according to H. Pestalozzi’s hypothesis {Die Achilleis als Quelle der Ilias, Zürich 1945) which was taken up by W. Schadewaldt, E. Howald and others. Bethe (I, p. 286) and Von der Mühll (216) admittedly suspect that in N Antilochus replaces another companion of Idomeneus (for instance Meriones). But this is only one of several possible ways of explaining the connection between these two heroes, which is indeed striking. Antilochus could just as well be the ‘rudiment’of the original connection. Since the charioteer does not defend himself, the situ­ ation does not even demand two Greek heroes here, but rather seems to be calculated to produce a double success, like the one first achieved by Diomedes (E 9ff.), then by Aeneas (E 54Iff.), Hector (E 608£f.) and Agamemnon in Λ in a veritable series. But in that case our original section would already be a variation, and the original theme, which it could have varied through the introduction of complete bewilderment, would have looked, for instance, like Y 486. The sections in Π and E would then already be second degree vari­ ations. 5. έσταότα is as concise as it is unclear. In v. 571 it had been said: Αινείας δ’ ού μείνε. If this were to refer to that, one could interpret έσταότα in the sense that Pylaimenes, in contrast to Ajax, stands still and waits for the enemies’ attack. But since in 575 a longer sequence ended and a new section began in 576, the contrast does not come out as clearly as for instance in B 170, where Athena meets Odysseus ‘standing’, whereas all the others have started moving in panic. So the word could refer to something else, perhaps to Pylaimenes not moving from his spot because he cannot move in horror. Then the consternation motif would at least be there as a vague echo. In order to exhaust all the possibilities, we shall finally envisage an original έσταοτ είν ΐπποισι καί αρμασι κολλητοΐσι or something similar (cf. Δ 366, Λ 198) which, for instance, was superseded together with a reference to the imme­ diate effect of the wounding and only left the participle behind. It characterises the style of such sections that one can and must raise consid­ erations of this kind, which are tiresome for the reader. To want to push

105

Notes to pages 10-13 through one single possibility would mean to underestimate the ambiguity or haziness of the accounts. 6. Aptly M. Riemschneider, op. cit., p. 104: ‘Not even the most diabolical coincidence would result in all this.’On the other hand Körner (Die ärztlichen Kenntnisse in Ilias und Odyssee, München 1929), p. 40 thinks that he recognises here a description of the rare cataleptic rigor mortis, ‘the first and over two millennia the only case of this kind in literature’. On p. 41 he declares it as ‘inconceivable that the poet would have made Mydon stiffen at the moment of death without knowledge of cataleptic rigor mortis, but’, Körner continues, ‘the description of this isolated case is the work of his imagination and incomplete, in that the permanent position of the stiff corpse on the back of its head and on its shoulders would not have been possible in the deep sand if the corpse had not been propped up by leaning against the chariot. Admittedly, there is nothing about this in the text, but the headlong fall ... makes the propping up so self-evident that the poet did not need to mention it.’As much as you can understand Körner’s pleasure at uncovering a medical rarity, his attempt to verify a plausible set of facts here plunges him into the greatest difficulties. For one single, and incidentally by no means ‘self-evident’, additional assumption is not sufficient; there are still quite a je w elements left here which cannot be rationalised. So we are more consis­ tent if we look not for some rational explanation in physico-physiological terms, but rather for a daring game with the imagination. 7. It is probably going too far to call it ‘strangely humorous’, following Wiessner (Bauformen der Ilias, Leipzig 1940), p. 30, and his reference to Cervantes is bold. 8. Once again (as for Π 406ff. and 742f.) we have to go back to M (160f.): κόρυθες δ’ άμφ’ αΰον άΰτευν βαλλομένων μυλάκεσσι καί ασπίδες όμφαλόεσσαι. The dry, hoarse grate of the metal seems to me to be characteristic of stones thudding onto something rather than spears piercing it, and also characteristic of a mass rather than an individual fight. But the change of circumstances changes the scream as well: the armour, as it were, instead of its wearer, screams out loudly as if with pain, and is thus strangely brought to life. Perhaps one may compare the bringing to life of the reins in Π 404. 9. According to Ω 343 and other passages θέλξας δσσε φαεινά refers to' a weakening or dazzling of vision rather than a spellbound staring at the danger. 10. The fact that we are allowed to choose between a grave stele and a tree has a slightly more chilling effect on me than the choice, so often offered by similes, between different animals or different plants (several trees had only just been mentioned in N 389). The individual grave stele is not only a rare subject of comparison but is also more ominous, and in the context more expressive than the tree. 11. So does the path lead from A to CD via B? This would be possible, but with the proximity of A and C it is not probable right from the outset, and the reference to the useless armour, the express observation that Alcathous Oust as Asius’charioteer) was incapable of fleeing, argues against it. The assump­ tion of a dependence (of C on B or vice versa) cannot be founded on the

106

Notes to pages 13-16 common spear motif, for it is not exactly rare in the Iliad, and can have been prompted by third passages here as well as there. So C should be assumed to be just as ‘A-immediate’ as B. 12. Instead of έβαλε οΰτασε (σδτα), νύξε, ακόντισε it occurs in the Iliad only one more time, borrowed from our section. It is Antilochus’ father, of all people, who uses it in one of his tales (H 145): Lycurgus stabs Areithous to death, but even if it happens insidiously, ‘needling through’ is not the right expression for thifc. We must not forget that Nestor had already read his Homer (as, accerding to Wilamowitz, Seneca’s Medea had read the Euripidean one) and therefore for instance can say about himself (Λ 747): αύτάρ έγών έπόρουσα κελαινήι λαίλαπι ίσος. 13. The Italian doctor Μ. Tobino precisely described such an occurrence (in which a metal knitting needle stands in for the arrow) in his novel Die Frauen von Magliano (Hamburg 1953), p. 22f. Körner thinks that, instead of an arrow, Homer is talking about a spear, since of course he is talking about the gigantic heroes of prehistoric times, and in doing so overlooks the fact that the weapons naturally grow with the bodies, and that a giant’s heart relates to a giant’s spear, as the human heart relates to the human spear. 14. If μάλ’ όξύ, as Ameis-Hentze want, were to be taken predicatively with κραδαινόμενον and meant ‘with the whole sharpness’, then we would have an interesting figurative use of όξύ. But we should probably rather note an interesting verbal metathesis, and connect μάλα with κραδαινόμενον, όξύ (attributively) with έγχος. 15. Leaf describes verses N 442ff. as a piece of exaggeration that looks more like the work of an interpolator than of a genuine poet. As under­ standable as such a judgement may be, the verses which Leaf wants to delete still cannot stylistically be separated from the preceding section; besides, their affinity with Ξ is so important that only someone who created more methodically than an interpolator usually does can he their author. For a methodically creative interpolator would not be an interpolator any more but a reviser; but for us there is no genuine epic poet who would not at the same time have been a reviser. 16. People have wanted to conclude from this section that θώρηξ here did not mean the breastplate but more generally the armour, which we could then understand to be any piece we wanted it to be, e.g. the shield. Leaf (in Appendix B of his first volume, p. 578) very correctly rejects this; yet the helplessness which the passage generates in its interpreters is once again characteristic of its style. 17. As with Nestor, one could also maintain of Idomeneus that he already knew his Homer by heart. 18. Deiphobus (N 413) is described in the same way as Polydamas (!) and Acamas (Ξ 453 and 478): έκπαγλον έπεύξατο μακράν άύσας. The Greeks’ reply is indicated by a mere γεγωνεΐν or εύχεσθαι in Ξ, whereas Idomeneus’ answer is introduced in the same way as the Trojans’rejoicing. Since in any case it is clear that you get as much as you give, the poet could also in the case of Idomeneus have reinforced his unmistakable partiality and, for instance, have written: Ίδομενεύς δέ γέγωνε καί ευχόμενος έπος ηύδα. 19. In Ν 460 we learn that Aeneas is filled with wrath against Priam.

Notes to pages 17-19 Although initially this is supposed to explain his absence from battle, as the Othryoneus-Alcathous contrast shows, it is still not an invention of the moment. There is probably a dynastic tendency behind the fact that Aeneas is constantly dissociated from the Priamids who are responsible for the bloody war. 20. op. cit., p. 35: ‘For Homer made an error here and was faced with a severe contusion of the hip, which in its most conspicuous manifestations sometimes simulates a fracture’, and p. 36: ‘Homer was nothing more and nothing less than a mistaken ontological doctor.’ 21. The replacement of Apollo by Leto and Artemis can well be understood as a variation on Hector’s cure, whereas Apollo cannot be understood the other way round as the substitute of the goddesses. 22. It is known that this motif enjoyed an astonishing success in Stesichorus, Euripides, Virgil and others. Nevertheless, Leaf would like to ascribe E 459ff. ‘to some rhapsode’, cf. also Ameis-Hentze’s appendix, p. 70f.: ‘The transfer of Aeneas to Pergamus and his cure there through Leto and Artemis ... contains so much that displeases that, with Düntzer and Bischoff, we are inclined to reject the whole section concerning Apollo, 432-60 and 512-18.’ 23. M. Riemschneider’s explanation (loc. cit. p. 103): ‘Pandarus must have kèpt his head very low’ does not suffice here. Küchenmeister concludes quite logically from his premise (p. 52): ‘Here anyhow Homer made an error in the description.’ Ameis-Hentze (Appendix, p. 94) take quite an easy way out in referring to the steering of the missile by Athene and furthermore to the B-scholium: ή Άθηνά μείζων οΰσα καί υψηλότερα άνωθεν κατενεχθήναι έποίησε το δόρυ: this idea would indeed not be any less grotesque than the path of the missile is anyway. Besides, ϊθυνεν implies that the goddess steers the spear to a specific place (cf. Δ 132 and Π 632), not that she bends its tip through Pandarus’head in addition. Actually a mere τυχών (τυχήσας) would suffice for Diomedes and the throw of his spear, whereas in Δ and P the divine ίθύνειν is completely indispensable for the context. Just as the poet took the opportu­ nity to involve Poseidon, the leading deity of N in the Alcathous episode, so here Athena, who is so important in E, is enlisted once again. 24. Perhaps we should write έξέλυθε(ν), see Von der Mühll, loc. cit. 2 5 .1 am allowed to generalise here because Körner (loc. cit., p. 88) already concluded from the extravagance of the injuries that E had a special position and a special origin. In fact such things are not found in all the fighting books, even though E is by no means the only book in which they occur. 26. If this correspondence means that the poet of Ξ took this section from Δ as his model (the reverse relationship is out of the question), it probably also means that he found it as a still clearly independent composition (the expansion of which we want to discuss later). 27. With κόμισεν δ’ ... Άρχέλοχος (the spear), the almost casual expression of Polydamas (456) is taken up again. Whether this is meant to be a punch­ line remains uncertain. 28. Once again there seems to me to be a connection in the contrast with Δ, especially since a Greek is immediately wounded while dragging off the

108

Notes to pages 21-26 corpse, as is narrated in Δ 467ff. of the Trojan Elephenor, admittedly much more vividly. 29. The blow with the fist with which Polydeuces shatters Amycus’jaw in Theocritus has similar consequences (126): πυκνοί δ’ άράβησαν όδόντες. 30. In between, the poet inserted a deed of Meriones, which is shaped completely differently - either because Meriones seemed inseparable from Idomeneus but was not supposed to overshadow him here, or to give the reader a breathirig space. We know the verses from Book 5 where they belong to nobody else but Idomeneus (E 46/7 = Π 343/4): νύξ’ ϊππων έπιβησόμενον κατά δεξιόν ώμον, ήριπε δ’ έξ όχέων, στυγερός δ’ άρα μιν σκότος εΐλεν. But έπιβησόμενον fits so badly into the context of the passage in Π (for here the Trojans do not flee at all as they do in E) that people have wanted to write άποβησόμενον (cf. Ameis-Hentze in the critical appendix ad loc.) but this fails because of 342: κιχείς ποσί καρπαλίμοισι. So the incident in E has not been transferred into Π in the same way. The fact that a deed of Idomeneus has been transferred to Meriones in particular corresponds to a tendency which can be felt everywhere, but particularly in N, to which we shall return. 31. The panic-stricken flight of the Greeks in P 597 again brings together the Boeotians Peneleus and Leitus with the Cretans Idomeneus and Merio­ nes. So this is a fixed group. In our discussion of the Patrocleia we shall come back to these connections. 32. Körner writes, p. 80: ‘The only thing that can be regarded as poetic exaggeration is that it (the eyeball) falls in front of the feet of the man who has been hit.’ But ‘only’ is out of place, because both descriptions culminate in this horror. 33. So those people who, like Von der Mühll, p. 250, regard the killing of Cebriones as magnificent would have to judge the Peisandrus episode iden­ tically, which is closely related to it and by no means inferior. II. T ruth to Life

1. With a wound like this, ‘heavy’groaning is not very heroic, and whereas Odysseus, who has been wounded in the body, is taken only by the forearm or the hand (χειρός) by Menelaus, Deiphobus lets himself be carried rather than led by Polites. The former gains here what Deiphobus loses; the broth­ erly care is a likeable, even though unheroic, family-like trait. 2. Cf. W. Schadewaldt, Ilias-Studien (Leipzig 1938), especially p. 57ff. 3. We have already seen that this is one of the models of the Othryoneus scene. In what follows, Meriones’ spear εν καυλώι breaks off in Deiphobus’ shield, and this mishap repeats itself 564 during the attack by Adamas, the son of Asius, on Antilochus. A disturbingly incomplete simile has been in­ cluded here, ώστε σκώλος πυρίκαυστος. What is meant is: the spear stuck fast as a stake, which has been charred at the tip to protect it from rotting, sticks fast in the ground. When one considers the derivative character of the episode - Adamas is a double of his father Asius and, like him, dies a particularly painful death - one will be allowed to wonder whether the simile was not written out more articulately in the Deiphobus scene, and was lifted from it ‘for Meriones’ greater glory’ (see below).

Notes to pages 26-30 4. βόμβησε πεσοΰσα is decidedly better said about a helmet than about the tip of Ajax’s spear (Π 118). 5. The first two verses, as Bethe, of course, emphasises, recur as Φ If. The second one, admittedly, does not disturb in Ξ, but is more important for the highly dramatic context of the Achilleid. Since a naming of the river is not required (cf. Θ 490 Π 397 Ω 351, disregarding the references to the battle in the river B 861 and 875) one gets by with 433 on its own and may, however, ask whether Ξ was not later adapted to Φ here. 6. Suddenly, the Sarpedon scene in E, which has been much berated, is, in the eyes of Homeric analysis, no longer too inferior to contribute έμπνύ(ν)θη (even the Glaucus scene from Π is called upon by Bethe for his purposes). But again, the word is motivated in the supposed copy (Ξ 436), but not at all in the supposed model (E 697). See also p. 95. 7. Ancient commentators connected έπί γούνα with έζόμενος instead of with άπέμεσσεν (also the readings άπέμασσεν, άπομόργνυ, άπέσεισεν presuppose this connection with έζόμενος). Was the spitting on one’s own limbs perhaps felt to be too crass? The word sequence: έζόμενος δ’ άπέμεσσε κελαινεφές αΐμ’ έπί γοΰνα would at any rate have been clearer. 8. Cf. B. Snell, Entdeckung des Geistes, 2nd ed. (Hamburg 1948), p. 16f. The expression χερσίν άείραντες precisely corresponds to this intensification: here, too, the dative of instrument is dispensable intellectually but not visually. 9. According to Bethe, a borrowing would again have been made here, in fact from Φ 417 where Aphrodite leads Ares, who has been defeated by Athena, out of the tumult of battle: πυκνά μάλα στενάχοντα· μόγις δ’ έσαγείρετο θυμόν. It does not exactly say much for the priority of Φ that the words common to both passages presuppose a fainting which, in Hector’s case, is described in detail because of its importance for the further course of the action, while for Ares, the god, it represents an exaggeration which for good reason is not discussed in detail. - On the imperfect έσαγείρετο see J. Boehme, Seele und Ich, Diss. Göttingen 1929, p. 100 n. 7. 10. Cf. especially Robert, Stud. z. Ilias (Berlin 1901), pp. 31 and 134f. 11. For Bethe, the detail στήθος υπέρ άντυγος άγχόθι δειρής is condemned because άγχόθι occurs only here and in Ψ 762 in the Iliad. He does not go into what is factually pertinent. 12. Ξ 370: άλλ’ άγεθ” ώς άν έγώ εϊπω, πειθώμεθα πάντες, recurs, hardly by accident, as O 294. It is likely to have served to flesh out Thoas’instructions: the exchange of weapons makes sense only if part of the troops withdraws at the same time. For who will hand over a better set of equipment if, in exchange, he is not removed from the battle? So both passages complement each other. The simplification which one gains through their merging is welcome anyway. For in N Ξ O there is an excessive extravagance in terms of divine and human exhortations and Thoas, who admittedly already appeared Δ 27 and H 168, but is introduced in full and exceedingly honourably only in O 281, must earlier have gone down less in the mass of warriors. The fact that Poseidon N 216ff. adopts Thoas’ character reveals that he was the real

110

Notes to pages 30-32 organiser of the resistance. But now he has been pushed into the background, like Locrian Ajax. 13. Here we had rather disregard the verse pair 376f. In addition to the Alexandrians’ reservations about them, there is the fact that they bump awkwardly along. Whether we are dealing with a mish-mash or interpolation cannot be decided. 14. Although this announcement comes as a surprise and gives a rather disjointed impression, it still has a clear grammatical advantage over the parallel in the Odyssey i 541, which is factually far more rational: after the first half verse έκλύσθη δέ θάλασσα one asks the question ‘Where to?’, which only in the Iliad is answered by the second half verse. An influence of the Odyssey on the Iliad is out of the question here, but not an influence of the latter on the former, so that a simpler, more natural event would, remarkably, have been described by means of a phrase from an exceedingly miraculous context, (a phrase) which was not even completely appropriate. 15. Verses 389-391 seem to me to have gone wrong absolutely: δή ρα τότ αίνοτάτην έριδα πτολέμοιο τάνυσσαν κυανοχαΐτα Ποσειδάων καί φαίδιμος Έκτωρ, ήτοι ό μέν Τρώεσσιν, ό δ’ Ά ργείοισιν άρήγων.

The comparison and equal status of god and man could only be justified if some point lay in it (as in Lucan’s famous victrix causa deis placuit, sed victa Catoni). The use of άρήγειν, which is used predominantly (15 against 3 places) for divine help, makes the matter even worse. Inst ead of φαίδιμος Έκτωρ, one expects Phoebus Apollo, but he was the last god one could have introduced immediately before Hector’s defeat. Since ήτοι is not particularly rich in content either, 391 looks like a distortion of 193: οΰνεκ’ έγώ Δαναοΐσι, σύ δέ Τρώεσσιν άρήγεις. 16. Robert here accepts this epithet, although according to his view it does not go with Mycenean shields. To be consistent, he should not have taken offence either, p. 134, at the fact that the shields with which the wounded Hector is protected are called εΰκυκλοι (Ξ 428). For the passages which matter most to us here harmonise perfectly with each other. Whether they offer evidence for Mycenean weapons is another question. 17. One can follow the context until N 816, a verse very suitable to conclude Ajax’s challenge, but no further than that, cf. Robert, p. 556. 18. Whatever view one takes of Robert’s terminology (‘original Mycenean, original Iliad,’), he discovered, p. I ll, that Deiphobus’ appearance went together with the duel of Hector and Ajax. 19. According to Bethe, loc. cit., Hector’s rescue would merely be a feeble imitation of Deiphobus’ retreat. What both passages have in common (N 535b-538 = Ξ 429b-432) is emphasised by him, but what distinguishes them, and that is much, simply goes by the board; for example the expansion of the scene by the river (Ξ 433ff.) is neglected. A recensio which omits the underivable, special features of the individual passages must naturally result in a wrong stemma, which distinguishes as superior and inferior to each other things which are on the same level. 20. Perhaps the throw of Locrian Ajax N 202ff. belongs here, too, (unless the realism of the scene has simply arisen from the combination of Γ 377f.

I ll

Notes to pages 33-37 with Μ 467), as well as the occasional detail from his aristeia (Ξ 442ff., 520£f.). One could, for instance, think of Ξ 463 λικριφίς άίξας, and of the brisk κόμισεν - which is, however, prepared by Polydamas’boasting (namely the spear) - δ’ Άντήνορος υιός. The impression of such passages supports the conjecture which has already been explained that Hector’s elimination, more directly than it happens now, gave the swift Locrian the opportunity to distinguish himself during the pursuit of the Trojans. 21. There also seems to be older material in the deeds of Meriones, Antilochus and Menelaus (cf. below p. 83f. on N 549 and 653); but as far as they do not concern the Priamids, they do not embody the realistic style purely, and in one of them, the killing of Peisandrus, the adventurous style celebrates a veritable triumph which the Cebriones scene of the Patrocleia is able only to repeat, not to outdo. - The other way round, the later addition of the Asius story is by no means inconceivable. But even if it could be proved from compositional arguments, the stylistic problems would not necessarily be affected. For although the Asius-charioteer passage seems harder and more monumental to me than for instance the Helenus and Deiphobus episode, I would not wish to restrict the possibilities of one individual style too much either and complicate the first, certainly still pretty rough, division, by distinctions of a more subtle and problematic kind. 22. The passage N 169-94, which has so far been omitted, will be dealt with in the chapter on strict style. 23. The Hippocrates passage (ιέ. τέχνης 10), with which Körner wants to support his interpretations, means something different. 24. The hybrid form occurs only here, but fits into the hybrid context just as well as the ominous κύμβαχος E 586. 25. It reminds us of the metaphorically used έπικείρειν Π 394: Πάτροκλος έπει οΰν πρώτας έπέκερσε φάλαγγας. 26. Cf. 466 νήπιος with Achilles’ νήπιε Φ 99, the broad, towards the end virtually empty, ού γάρ τι γλυκύθυμος άνήρ ήν ούδ’ άγανόφρων, άλλα μάλ’ έμμεμαώς (or μάλα μεμαώς) 467 with the concise, significant άμείλικτον δ’ οπ άκουσε Φ 98. It is known that the Lycaon scene in Λ (101-47) is divided into two episodes. The shift from Achilles to Agamemnon becomes manifest at Λ 104ff. (If, with Platt and Wilamowitz, A ll lf . were to have to be deleted, they still show that the gap which arose from the substitution of the main characters was strongly felt and therefore an attempt was made to close it.) See below, p. 59f. 27. 470 κατ’ αΰτοΰ, sc. ήπατος. On the other difficulties of the passage, cf. Ameis-Hentze (in the appendix p. 77) 28. The last sentence is presumably supposed to outdo passages such as P 86 έρρεε δ’ αίμα κατ’ ούταμένην ώτειλήν. 29. Typically enough for this style, the possibility cannot be excluded that πεπάλακΐο is to be derived from πάλλειν instead of παλάσσειν; for πεπάλαχθε H 171, even if it is hybrid, still need not be ‘post Homeric’ because of this. G. Jachmann, who deals with the passages in detail (GGN 1949,167ff.), believes that he is arguing against the genuineness of all three when he emphasises their lack of vividness, as if they Stood alone in the Iliad in this. He claims

112

Notes to pages 38-39 that Apollonius Rhodius deleted Λ 98 because there were other manuscripts which offered him the passage in a different version, but this overlooks the fact that the ancient philologists deleted particularly when they encountered a repeated passage, and then wondered where it was original, and where it was not: έν άλλωι τόπωι όρθως κεΐται, μετάκειται, εντεύθεν μετενήνεκται, ένθάδε τις μετενήνοχεν or similar, as we read in such cases (one can now easily survey them in G.M. Bolling, The athetized lines, Baltimore 1944). So if Apollonius deleted in Λ, it wlfcs most probably because he, just as we, read the same thing several times in. the Iliad but did not want to accept it everywhere; if he believed that Λ borrowed from Y, he perhaps hit upon the right answer - but he was not therefore allowed to delete because, of course, the Agamemnon aristeia lives off borrowings from the Achilleid. To speak about good old Λ is just as outdated as it is tendentious. At best, a lever for deletion is given in M 184ff. but not through stylistic considerations but through the text of the papyrus published by H.J.M. Milne in 1927. But whether we here really do have an older tradition before us, or a revision, will have to remain open for the time being — it is of course well known how freely e.g. Zenodotus proceeded, especially when he wanted to remove repetitions. 30. Vocabulary and construction correspond so strikingly also in ll 623 and υ 306 that one must have influenced the other: εί καί έγώ σε βάλοιμι τυχών μέσον όξέι χαλκώι: ή γάρ κέν σε μέσον βάλον έγχει όξυόεντι. The few μέσος passages of this kind thus decrease to such an extent that one is probably allowed to assume one single original passage. 31. The ellipse of the accusative object (δόρυ) and the distant relation of the subject (’Αντίλογος) originates through the insertion of ούδ’ ήρκεσε θώρηξ χάλκεος, ον φορέεσκε, and so through the variation of the theme. 32. ‘The trouble lies in the fact, that the spot described by the same words is different in each case’ (Leaf, voi. I, App. p. 581). 33. H.L. Lorimer Horn, and the monuments (London 1950), p. 248: ‘The point must be left obscure.’ 34. Y 416f.: άντικρύ δέ δίεσχε παρ’ όμφαλόν έγχεος αίχμή, γνύξ δ’ έριπ’ οϊμώξας, νεφελή δέ μιν άμφεκάλυψε, corresponds to E 67f.: άντικρύ κατά κύστιν ΐ>π’ όστέον ήλυθ’ άκωκή, γνύξ δ’ έριπ’ οϊμώξας, θάνατος δέ μιν άμφεκάλυψε, and here, as also in N 652, we are dealing with a genuine parallel, because both warriors are hit in the seat. One cannot reckon with a downward movement of the missile, and it is also better to leave this in Ψ 416. 35. It is well known that Xenophon describes a similar occurrence {An. 2, 5, 33): Νίκαρχος ’Αρκάς ήκε φεύγων τετρωμένος εις την γαστέρα καί τά έντερα έν ταΐς χερσίν έχων. One can more easily believe that in this state Nicarchus was still able to run a distance which, by the way, cannot have been insignificant, than that he was able to escape from the Persians with such a wound. So perhaps Xenophon exaggerated it, and with that gave us the first example of that Homerism which plays such a major part in the battle descriptions of the Hellenistic historians and, on through Ennius who used precisely these

113

Notes to pages 39-42 in addition to the Iliad, became important for Roman epic. Cf. my remarks on the battle of Magnesia in Ennius, Philol. 97 (1948), 297ff. 36. The significant variation of the tradition of 870/1 can here be pointed out only in passing. 37. Here, in the funeral games, it obviously departs so far from the meaning ‘to bend oneself, to avoid (someone)’ that Aristarchus’ attempt to remove it is certainly understandable. For the paraphrase συνεκρότησε τά πτερά πυκνώς supplies only what the context roughly demands, but not what can be found in the word itself. 38. The relationship of verse and sentence appears characteristic to me; in its almost nervous liveliness it corresponds e.g. to verses Π 339ff. which are dealt with below, p. 88. Both passages are related not only through their rhythm. 39. The whole competition between Teucer and Meriones is, as is well known, a much invoked crux of Homeric criticism, cf. P. Cauer, Grundfragen d. Homerkr. 3rd ed. (1923), p. 445 with older literature. 40. The two last episodes are linked with each other and at the same time with the Alcathous episode and the simile Φ 573ff. through a certain usage of περί: N 441 έρεικόμενος περί δουρί (P 295 ήρικε ... κόρυς π. δουρός άκωκήι) Ν 570 ό δέ σπάμενος περί δουρί (ν. 1. σχόμενος περί δουρί) Π 315 περί δ’ εγχεος αίχμήι / νεΰρα διεσχίσθη Φ 577 περί δουρί πεπαρμένη Of these passages the greatest difficulty is caused by N 570 which M 395 uses (ό δέ σπόμενος πέσε δουρί) and where it seems to have replaced πέσε with περί. 41. Küchenmeister’s reference to fencing amuses us nowadays, but it is the only attempt to explain a set of facts which has also been noticed by others but not deemed worthy of a single further word. 42. Δ 492 says merely that Odysseus’ companion Leucus is hit in the βουβών by a stray spear. 43. Körner p. 70: ‘In accordance with a careful statistic of the military doctor Frölich’ (Stuttgart 1879) ‘in Homer trunk, head and neck’ are ‘injured most frequently ..., which does not correspond to war injury statistics in the time of firearms’. But the fact that the numerical proportion (in our case four of 147 injuries described) does not simply reflect reality but is the result of a selection could have already been suggested by an excellent remark of Küchenmeister’s (p, 39): Ί have (in battle paintings) not yet seen a hero, hit by a deadly missile, portrayed as falling in any other way but backwards. This is what good form, which painting imposes on us, demands.’ Just as in Homer a distinction is apparently made between nobler and less noble injuries, which can be expressed in numbers, so more recent poets distinguish between nobler and less noble diseases which they distribute among better and worse characters, cf. the Hamburg dissertation by W. Ahrens, Krankheit

und Tod als Mittel dichterischer Charakteristik im modernen französischen Roman (1947) which unfortunately is available only in typescript. 44. M. Riemschneider writes, p. 104: ‘Homer is not at all conscious of the horror of these descriptions which are indifferent to human feelings and cold

114

Notes to pages 42-44 blooded.’ Indeed, if one wants to preserve one’s faith in the only ‘Homer’, one can explain the different attitude towards these things only by invoking a similar occasional lack of consciousness, as one excuses other contradictions by reference to the famous Homeric ‘nod’. On the excuses for these horrors, which therefore were perceived as such, and on their use for purposes of characterisation cf. our section on decapitation p. 57. 45. It argues for the second assumption that in Π it is not the καταμάρπτων but the καταμαρΛύμενος who kills his opponent. This is already the compli­ cation of a basic^jtuation, whose hero one would like to imagine to be nobody other than swift-footed Achilles. 46. Cf. on th e on e h a n d H 2 6 0 = M 404: ή δέ (ούδέ) διαπρό / ήλυθεν έγχείη (also Υ 276: = δέ διαπρό / Πηλιάς ήιξεν μελίη), o n th e o th er h a n d N 650ff.: Μηριόνης δ’ άπιόντος ΐει χαλκήρε’ όιστόν καί ρ έβαλε γλουτόν κατά δεξιόν, αύταρ όιστός άντικρύ κατά κύστιν ύπ’ όστέον έξεπέρησεν, fu rth erm ore Ρ 4 9 = X 327:

άντικρύ δ’ άπαλοίο δι αύχένος ήλυθ’ άκωκή. Ε combines these types with each other: the results are a slight pleonasm and a more noticeable separation of the article from its antecedent (άκωκή). Whether the effects would not be better caused by the thinner arrow rather than by the thicker spear should be left open. But in antiquity people perceived E 67 as extreme in any case, cf. Schol. Aon this: βία δέ δηλούται τής πληγής· όστέοις γάρ σκέπεται ή κύστις, ά παρήλθε τό δόρυ. 47. Cf. above, note 40. 48. The phrase δρεος κορυφήισι is similarly hackneyed on occasions: lion cubs are not reared on mountain summits (E 554) nor do lions fight with each other there (Π 757) or with boars (Π 824). So in such places the expression does not mean any more than simple ούρεσι in the ‘mountains’. 49. But with this neither the problem nor the geneaology of the simile are adequately described. The convulsions of a man who has been speared could remind one only very approximately of a trussed bull which struggles against being dragged away. The abduction of captives which plays such a small role in the Iliad, but from time to time emerges as the result of an event occurring in the poem’s past was more appropriate for such an image, as the Lycaon episode shows (Φ 36: ήγε λαβών έκ πατρός ούκ έθέλοντα). To be taken with these are the verses Λ 105f.: ’Ίδης έν κνημοϊσι δίδη μόσχοισι λυγοΐσι, / ποιμαίνοντ’ έπ’ δεσσι λαβών which are to be derived from the latter’s original form because they show where the mention of the mountain range in the bull simile can have come from. I am aware that it is regarded as antiquated to demand a solid tertium comparationis. However, at least it might be admitted that the majority of the Homeric similes stands up to an examination of this kind whereas a minority does not: this difference is precisely what matters here. 50. Horace, who treats Meriones’ name as one of the most famous, is able to show with what success. 51. P eop le h a v e u n a n im o u sly d escrib ed I 80ff. a s a p rep a ra tio n for K. I f in

Notes to pages 44-50 spite of Schadewaldt (p. 143 note) this proves its worth, it shows particularly clearly in which stratum of the poem Meriones’ career takes place. 52. Since Adamas is the son of Asius, his shooting constitutes a side show to the main feat of Idomeneus. On the other hand, this father-son relation­ ship points forward to Pylaimenes and Harpalion, strengthening still further the ring composition which cannot be overlooked anyway. 53. Another fact which goes with this is that the episode Π 603-32 can be taken out smoothly and without leaving a gap. 54. In addition to these there is E 214ff. where Pandarus swears that if he does not burn his bow, he will have his head cut off. 55. The bias which lies in the emphasis on the enemy’s sumptuousness can be studied most conveniently by means of Roman battle reports. Thus Livy, in contrast to his model (Quadrigarius), has his Gaul, who is supposed to be overcome by the simple Manlius, appear in a colourful garment and golden arms (7, 9, 7). In the Naevius parody of Plautus’ Amphitruo, the enemy are called (218) nimis pulchris armis praediti, and also the opponent of the Miles Gloriosus has golden weapons ascribed to him (16). Even Grillparzer has his King Ottokar, who is doomed, say: ‘Make the armour full of gold and purple’, and then has him walk up to Rudolf of Habsburg, who is clothed in simple leather, in gleaming armour and richly embroidered mantle. ‘ 56. P 49 is also superbly calculated: αντίκρυ δ’ άπαλοΐο δι αΰχένος ήλυθ' άκωκή (of Euphorbus) This is as expressive as the passage in Σ and stronger than N 202 which uses the same words as Σ but devalues them somewhat. Of course this may originally have looked different. For it can hardly be said to be the original if it contains a passage in which Hector, who has the head which has been cut off thrown in front of his feet, does not redouble his efforts but remains invisible for a long time. One can imagine this for instance after P 576ff. (esp. after 591f.) where Hector in his wrath at the death of a close friend puts the Greeks to flight. 57. Cf. on this Schadewaldt p. 49. See above, note 26. 58. Von der Mühll, p. 72 commendably reminds us that Aristotle (in Porphyrius 60, 2ff. Sehr.) already perceived in these verses the sole justifica­ tion of all the impending disaster. 59. Of course έπ’ Ίφιδάμαντι must mean that Coon’s corpse lies on top of that of his brother. Nevertheless, the expression, as its grammatical harsh­ ness also betrays, has been shaped Mter passages like Δ 470 ώς τον μέν λίπε θυμός, έπ’ αύτώι δ’ έργον έτύχθη άργαλέον, Ρ 400 τοίον Ζεύς επί Πατρόκλωι ... έτάνυσσε ... πόνον (cf. also Π 649, Ρ 236 and others). The content of this έπί is imaginary in this passage, for we are no longer dealing here with Iphidamas’ corpse; but if the preposition was supposed to remind us that only recently we were dealing with the corpse’s retrieval, the construction would be all the harsher and more derived. 60. It is obvious that the Agastrophus episode 338ff. here was split in favour of the Hector-Diomedes encounter which had been due since E (cf. there 590ff.). Von der Mühll, 196, 30 against Schadewaldt, 64, 2 now claims that Λ 443ff. is the model of E 652ff. admittedly without argument. But one only needs to understand clearly what importance and emphasis ενθάδε E 652

116

Notes to pages 50-59 has to show for itself when compared with A 443 to say that Schadewaldt is right and to reject the idea that everything which has something to do with Sarpedon really belongs to the very youngest stratum of the Iliad. See also below, p. 88ff. 61. Nevertheless Von der Mühll (p. 193) regards the verses 211ff. here in Λ as more original than elsewhere (E 494ff, Z 103ff.).

III. Strict Style 1. I ask readers to complement the following, intentionally one-sided paraphrase with the analysis by W. Marg, Antike 18 (1942), p. 168ff. 2. We have already mentioned that this pattern of five returns in N and Ξ. 3. Whether it points back to the tower simile 462 which is only depicted in outline seems doubtful to me in spite of Von der Mühll, p. 88. 4. The last three verses recur as O 549ff. but there Melanippus is not made Priam’s son in law and consequently ναΐε δέ πάρ Πριάμωι etc. hangs in the air. It is not only because the simile is missing there that we prefer to begin from N 170ff. 5. Here, too, I request readers to accept the one-sidedness of the para­ phrase and to consult H. Fränkel’s well-known study of Homeric similes, esp. pp. 36 and 65. 6. See also below, note 19. 7. Perhaps the relative brevity of the description of the fate of the ash-tree in N is accounted for by this reference back to Δ. However, it could also be that the image received its first mention in this passage. 8. The antithesis 193: ό δέ χάσσατ’ όπίσσω νεκρών άμφοτέρων, τούς έξείρυσσαν ’Αχαιοί would be a legitimate end of the passage which could only at most be underlined with an addition such as: ’Ίμβριον Άμφίμαχον τε, λύοντο δέ τεύχε’ άπ’ ώμων. I have reproduced this verse from Π 316ff.: χώρησαν δ’ ύπό τε πρόμαχοι καί φαίδιμος Έκτωρ. Άργεΐοι δέ μέγα ϊαχον, έρύσαντο δέ νεκρούς, Φόρκυν θ’ Ίππόθοον τε, λύοντο δέ τεύχε’ άπ’ ώμων. Now when in Π Apollo intervenes and brings the Trojans to a standstill (343: οί δ’ έλελίχθησαν καί έναντίοι έσταν ’Αχαιών), this sequence of events seems quite familiar to us, in fact from Δ 505ff. Now we do not need to go into the relationship of the last two passages to each other, but we can learn from them that in N after τούς δ’ έξείρυσσαν ’Αχαιοί we do not find the only possible continuation. For here one may expect, if not exactly an intervention by Apollo, then still some counter-measures by Hector. For just as unexpectedly as he appears in Δ, he is banished to inactivity in N. So if stylistic reasons were to argue that here, as there, the original context was interrupted, we would be able not only to supplement those reasons with the usual analytical explanations but also to take from our Iliad models according to which we would be allowed to sketch the former continuations. 9. One can also understand the atrocities which Achilles performs as a reflection of his soul which has been made savage by his thirst for revenge only as long as one isolates them. If they once had this meaning with and for

Notes to pages 60-65 Achilles, it has now evaporated with the spreading of the type, see above p. [60f.]. 10. On the anticipatory θυμόν άποπνείων and the stretching out of the arms to look for help cf. the section about the death of Lycaon, p. 85. 11. Cf. Marg, loc. cit., p. 170. 12. It may be regarded as a sign of soberness to pay attention to such things which are not important for the course of the battle, but are graphic. The impression is different where the inability to capture the weapons is significant, and indicates the difficulties of the victor concerned. So already in E 621 Ajax is no longer able to pull the weapons from his opponent’s shoulders, έπείγετο γάρ βελέεσσι. Teucer’s victory N 182 does not enable him to do this either. But if our Thoas episode, as I think, belongs together with his deeds in O, we must presuppose utmost difficulty here too. Therefore we must agree that the failure to capture the weapons has the same meaning which it has in the Ajax and Teucer passage. But with this it would lose its peripheral character, its mention would no longer be comparatively dry and we would have one stylistic element less here (which we can fortunately do without). 13. Thus Von der Mühll, p. 89, after others (Düntzer, Knight, Bethe). 14. In 531 the localisation of the wound with γαστέρα τύψε μέσην seems to correspond to a stab with a spear rather than a blow with a sword. On the use of μέσος see above p. 37ff. 15. So, in order to expect Diomedes, we do not need to remember the epipolesis which can be understood as a later index to the battles of Δ and E which includes the whole great Diomedeia. 16. The brothers are introduced to us as the sons of a priest of Hephaestus. The interest in Trojan matters is apparently the same as in the statements about Simoeisius and Imbrius. The god saves one of the brothers, so he appears at the beginning and at the end of the episode but without appearing as a person. The rescue is narrated completely differently from that of Aeneas by Aphrodite or by Apollo, so it foreshadows the later Diomedeia at most thematically but not at all poetically. 17. Now Τρώες δέ μεγάθυμοι, έπεί ΐδον υ ΐε Δάρητος τον μέν άλευόμενον, τον δέ κτάμενον παρ’ δχεσφι, πάσιν όρίνθη θυμός (29) is separated from 37: Τρώας δ’ έκλιναν Δαναοί. As a consequence of the change

of subject the connecting piece cannot be taken out smoothly (cf. Von der Mühll, p. 91). What the passage may have looked like originally is shown in Π 278ff.: Τρώες δ’ ώς εϊδοντο ... πάσιν όρίνθη θυμός, έκίνηθεν δέ φάλαγγες (cf. also Σ 222ff.). 18. The phrase έν δόρυ πήξε allows both. It is known that the turning of a chariot does not happen so fast that Agamemnon would not have had time to come closer, gain a foothold and hurl his spear. With such considerations we merely want to demonstrate that the description can be completely accounted for. 19. The fact that Menelaus’victim is called Scamandrius and that of Ajax Simoeisius means quite something under these circumstances. But the con-

118

Notes to pages 66- 73 nection which has been created poetically between these two Trojans and further between them and the sons of Hephaestus as well as Imbrius and Lycaon seems more important. All those mentioned become immensely vivid through the poet’s statements and this distinguishes them from the victims of heroes such as Meriones, Meges, Eurypylus. It is true that the details about these three Trojans follow the news about Scamandrius (what in the first group of three was the concluding exception has become the rule in the second), but the^ concern the parents of the warriors more than the latter themselves. In 'particular 59ff. are of a new type: they bring into play an important piece of the history before the war and at the same time as this (the) so-called poetic justice: as the sons of Antimachus Λ 122ff. have to pay for their father being a follower of Paris, so Phereclus here pays for his father Harmonides making possible the fateful voyage of abduction for Paris by building the ships for him. The dissimilarity and the interlocking of the two groups of three also shows itself in the treatment of the news about the vanquished Trojans. 20. A classic example of this is Wilamowitz’s displeasure about the fact that scholars had wanted to conclude from the word πρώτος Λ 119 that Agamemnon’s aristeia had originally not begun any earlier than here. Wilamowitz’s comment that Agamemnon had not been attacked before is not only incorrect but also a typical Unitarian argument which Wilamowitz, if it had been inconvenient for him, would probably have described as an excuse (see Ilias u. Horn. p. 188; still important, Leaf ad loc.). 21. Antike 14 (1936) = Opusc. II 752; against this Marzullo, op. cit., p. 47 n. 11. 22. The alternative of strata analysis and element analysis which E. Bickel (Homer.; die Lösung d. Homer. Frage, Bonn 1949, p. 67) takes over from H. Poeschel probably goes back above all to Wilamowitz’s Ilias u. Horn. (W. in his preface compared his method with an excavation). Whereas the concept of stratification implies the detachability of whole large layers and thus in my opinion separates too strongly, the concept of a dough mixes everything individual until it is indissoluble. The church comparison which has been used for a long time, e.g. by H.E. Meyer, op. cit., p. 150 keeps to a plausible middle. 23. Quoted not from a professional classical philologist, let alone a profes­ sional critic of Homer, but E. Staiger (Grundbegriffe der Poetik, 2nd ed., Zurich 1951, p. 119). A p p en d ices

1. The swift Locrian Ajax represents a further Greek contrast to the heavy Telamonian. That both complement each other like hoplite and horseman, that the job of the one is to break resistance and the other to pursue the enemy, and that therefore both together form a tactical unit, is presupposed in Book Ξ of the Iliad, but now somewhat obscured by the phantasmata discussed just now. 2. ‘Two individual duels flank them’ (Books Γ-Η), ‘obviously composed as counterparts’ (Bethe I 215). Jachmann (Symbola Colonensia, Cologne 1949,

119

Notes to pages 73- 75 pp. 52 and 54) denounces the expression ‘flank’ as a ‘dissembling’, ‘high-

sounding, in reality a hollow artificial word’ which ‘feigned significant profundity’ etc. Jachmann denies (passim) that the author of our Iliad whom he hated so much could have pursued any ‘long-term goals’ but he avoids a discussion of Schadewaldt’s Ilias-Studien and refers only to the latter’s more popularising writings. 3. The interpretation of Books Γ-Η as a unit stems from the school of F.A. Wolf, in fact from Wilh. Müller. After Bethe J.H. Mette (Der Schuß des Pandarus, Halle 1951, p. 14) has now renewed his (Müfler’s) thesis and modified it so that it can definitely be reconciled with the interpretation suggested above. 4. If the speeches were not, together with their exposition (from around 795 onwards), split off by the seduction of Zeus from the duel of Ξ which does not now contain any speeches. Their clearly modest quality (compared with the exposition, the duel and above all the noble pair of speeches in O) speaks against this and so one rather thinks of an addition composed ad hoc. Von der Mühll comes to the same conclusion when on p. 218 he restricts Wilamowitz’ (p. 229f.) allocation to the Hector section to verses 795-(c.)808. 5. A consequence of this is that Hector, only just warned by Apollo, immediately forgets the warning and, before we have even-thought about it, is back on the scene. This might once have been meant in such a way that in his noble wrath he spurned the advice of the god and thus caused his own destruction. Admittedly, bitterness in the Iliad often leads to someone chal­ lenging a stronger man and with that his certain death (thus the Antenorid Coon attempts to avenge his brother on Agamemnon, Λ 248ff.), but in the Polydorus episode one will be allowed to perceive the model of the death of Priam, as Virgil tells it in his Iliupersis. 6. Even the most illustrious example of this failure to reach a conclusion shows consideration not only of an Iliad but, like the duel, of an extensive Iliad. Only in such a work did Achilles stay in the background for so long that a remedy seemed necessary. His short appearance in Λ is not sufficient as a starting-point; on the other hand the embassy to Achilles constitutes a pillar, visible over a long distance, which is able to mediate between A and Π, towards both sides, over thousands of lines. 7. The whole paraphernalia were dealt with by Ed. Schwartz’s pupil W. Deecke in his thesis De Hectoris et Aiacis certamine singulari (Göttingen 1906) which owes much to Robert’s Ilias-Studien and in my opinion has been judged too harshly by Wilamowitz. 8. Double spear throw of Sarpedon in the extremely problematic passage Π 466ff. 9. Λ 264f.: αύτάρ ό των άλλων έπεπωλεΐτο στίχας άνδρών έγχει τ’ άορί τε μεγάλοισί τε χερμαδίοισιν is remarkable not only because of the hostile, i.e. metaphorical meaning of the verb and the metrically adjusted άορ (we have only just recently met 240 άορ, cf. Chantraine I, p. 99) but also because the stone throw in Agamemnon’s preceding aristeia did not play any part at all. Either 265 again has summarising force or it presupposes that Agamemnon finds himself in the same situation as Ajax at the end of Ξ. 10. This is also true of the ‘unmotivated’ stone throw E 302ff. Here the

Notes to pages 75-80 combination of older passages has resulted in a clear contradiction: χερμάδιον describes a relatively small field stone suitable for throwing (cf. Λ 265, Ξ 410), not a μέγα εργον which nowadays could not be managed by two men (M 449). The passage in E which has already occupied us shows in this respect too that it is derived. 11. That coping with a boundary stone actually demanded divine strength could have had a say in it; but one must not forget that at the end of M Hector, with his strength increased by Zeus, achieves hardly less impressive tasks. 12. It does nójt trouble us here that a passage which is generally regarded as young, like the battle of the gods, would still have to be old enough to serve as a model for passages which are younger still. The state of our Iliad cannot be explained by just two layers. 13. Nor does one lift a spear when one throws it, but when one thrusts it, possibly έπάλμενος, i.e. exploiting the body’s momentum. In N 204 Locrian Ajax throws a head which has been cut off σφοαρηδόν. The following έλιξάμενος δε’ ομίλου according to M 367 does not refer to the spinning of the skull which has been grabbed by the hair but means rather that the swift Locrian, like Hector, winds his way through the crowd and throws from there. 14. The parallel P 530 which is quoted offers ούτάζοντο only as a weakly attested variant of όρμηθάτην. 15. Therefore we do not necessarily need to imagine a round shield in front of us, but it is suggested. 16. Thus Lorimer, p. 185, although p. 183 the seven layeredness of the shield is accurately judged as fantastic. 17. Perhaps Machaon is called ισόθεος φως formulaically, i.e. thoughtlessly. But since he appears as a saviour here, it will rather be assumed that the poet quite consciously used such a high register. 18. The use of κυκλώσ(ε) for κύκλωι does not provide an analytical argu­ ment (Von der Mühll, p. 83) simply because it can be emended only too easily and in fact in various ways (Aristarchus read κύκλος). Cf. now Chantraine I 246. 19. This contradicts 151 where the δγκοι are apparently visible outside the armour (έκτος), unless one wants to assume a kind of zeugma which would let Menelaus see the shaft of the arrow outside (the armour) and feel the barbs outside (the body). On the difficulty cf. the essay by D. Mülder, NJahrb. 7 (19040, p. 635ff. which is perhaps overly sharp but very well worth reading. 20. More or less tortuous attempts at explanation in the appendix of Ameis-Hentze, p. 36f. On the fundamental issue, again Mülder, op. cit., p. 638ff. 21. Although Pandarus’shot no longer belongs to our theme, it should still be recalled that it has been described as the model of a genre-like style (cf. above, p. 104, note 15), which breaks down the large surge of events into small waves. If this characterisation is correct, then it does not go badly with the Machaon scene. Of course we find neither in it nor in the related passages of N and Ξ that suspense which is brilliantly generated by digression and delaying details, and which distinguishes the most fateful shot of a human marksman above all the other shots of Paris, Teucer and Meriones. 22. We shall leave aside the armour verse 358 for the time being.

Notes to pages 80-90 23. See W. Deecke, p. 41£f. 24. Cf. Σ 488 where the heavenly she-bear δοκεύει the hunter Orion, as well as the ancient variant of X 93: ώς δέ δράκων ... όρέστερος άνδρα δοκεύηι (for μένηισι). 25. Accordingly it is said Θ 340 of the hound which ‘takes on’ a boar or a lion: έλισσόμενον δοκεύει. 26. Cf. Π 286ff. where Patroclus overcomes Pyraichmes: τον βάλε δεξιόν ώμον, ό δ’ ύπτιος έν κονίηισι κάππεσεν οίμώξας, έτοφοι δε μιν άμφί φόβηθεν Παίονες. 27. If it is meant that by kneeling he is sitting on his lower legs, it can be most easily explained why he then ends up lying on his face (πρηνής). 28. One should observe the relation of verse and syntax. The five short main clauses follow each other breathtakingly, the double enjambement lends the performance suspense, the word ξίφος, which consists of two short syllables, before the bucolic diaeresis lends it flashing rapidity. The last device is often used with striking effect: just compare from A 127 άλλα σύ μέν νυν τήνδε θεώι πρόες (!), 194 ελκετο δ’ έκ κολεοΐο μέγα ξίφος 220 άψ δ’ ές κουλεόν ώσε μέγα ξίφος 282 Άτρείδη, σύ δέ παύε τεόν μένος, αύτάρ έγωγε 283 λίσσομ’ Άχιλλήι μεθέμεν χόλον, 382 ηκε δ’ έπ’ Άργείοισι κακόν βέλος, 387 Άτρείωνα δ’ έπειτα χόλος λάβεν (!). Of slighter significance for delivery are e.g. 138, 185. —See above, p. 114 note 38. 29. If it is a coincidence that Peneleus’ opponent is called Lycon (of all names), this would be a rather strange coincidence. The similarity of the names is evidence rather of the use of Φ by Π. A common archetype does not need to be introduced this time. 30. See especially E. Howald, Mus. Helv. 8 (1951), p. lllff. Against older disparagement of the relevant passages, see Wilamowitz, p. 135; against Wilamowitz, again Von der Mühll, p. 247 (with bibliographical details), cf. also p. 208. 31. Von der Mühll writes, p. 248: ‘Horrific end of Sarpedon at Patroclus’ hands.’ But as far as the wounding itself and its description are concerned, within the context of the Iliad things are not particularly horrific but rather ordinary. The description of the place of the wound: ενθ' άρα τε φρένες έρχαται άμφ’ άδινόν κήρ recalls the ένθα clauses Ν 546£, 568£, Ξ 465f. anyhow but the anatomical detail is more sound, even if in the manner which we have got to know it leads beyond the sphere of what is externally visible. 32. Wilamowitz has his old Patrocleia end provisionally with μενέαινε (491) and with this creates the opportunity to interpret the word which is incomprehensible here as the remnant of a sentence which has been broken off. A genuinely realistic kind of representation does not emerge again until much later, for 502ff. is a beautiful example of pseudo-realism: ώς άρα μιν είπόντα τέλος θανάτοιο κάλυψεν οφθαλμούς ρΐνάς θ’, ό δέ λάξ έν στήθεσι βαίνων

122

Notes to pages 90-92 έκ χροός ελκε δόρυ, προτί δέ φρένες αύτώι εποντο, τοΐο δ’ αμα ψυχήν τε καί εγχεος έξερυσ’ αιχμήν. The difficulties which J. Böhme (Seele und Ich, p. 4f.) judiciously deals with are characteristic of the adventurous style; we know now, that from the start one could not hope to gain any clarity at all here. 33. This seems to be said expressly with the word άλαστήσας which occurs only here and has been interpreted in different ways. But it also lies in the fact that AsiusWares to curse Zeus as φιλοψευδής. If Menelaus expresses himself similarly (Γ 365), it must be taken into consideration that even in triumphal speeches, the same latitude is not given to barbarians as to Greeks: what is regarded as legitimate wrath with one group is perceived as hybris with the other. 34. Although grown up sons (Adamas and Phainops) are attributed to Asius, it is difficult to imagine him any other way than youthful. Since both sons die in battle, but strangely enough neither as his father’s avenger, we have the choice whether the attribution originated as a kind of doubling with our N and P or whether the closeness in death of Mezentius and Lausus was preshaped here, and was only obscured in our Iliad. In the latter case one would have to imagine that neither Asius or Mezentius is young at all. On the other hand Othryoneus, who is courting, is definitely young, and it may have been intentionally set up in such a way that he is humiliated by the greying Idomeneus. 35. Conversely, Wilamowitz regards the Sarpedon passage in Π as old, that in E and M as young. As we shall see, this is untenable, but in my opinion it is better than attributing all the Sarpedon passages to one single layer of the Iliad, in fact the last one. 36. On this variation, Wilamowitz, p. 139. It will become obvious from the following why I do not agree with his deletion of the next two verses. 37. The famous passages Λ 162, 241f., 393ff. are partly more severe, partly more expressive, but always less concerned with vividness. One could rather adduce Λ 100 here where Agamemnon leaves the men he has killed lying στήθεσι παμφαίνοντας, έπεί περίδυσε χιτώνας (see Wilamowitz, p. 185, 2). 38. This word which here probably just means ‘completely’ is, however, used more succinctly in other places. In Π 640, the passage quoted just now, ‘through and through’ is only just contained in ‘completely’. The origin of the development is still evident in passages like E 112: the word first belongs to a piercing missile or another sharp object. In the E passage it is already doubtful whether Sthenelos pulls out Pandarus’ arrow through Diomedes’ shoulder (which would correspond most precisely to the meaning of the word, but is difficult to believe) or whether he does not rather pull the arrow backwards (which likewise must have been very difficult, since according to 99f. the arrow protruded on the opposite side of the shoulder). Now, anyone who imagined the extraction here the way it is normally done with spears and arrows in the Iliad could understand διαμπερές only as meaning ‘completely’. One may therefore regard this passage, or a passage like this, as (Leumann’s) central point at which the meaning of the word took a new turn. 39. Although the Sarpedon scenes of the Patrocleia contain much mediocre material, nevertheless the passages quoted above alone warn against collec-

123

Notes to pages 94-98 tive condemnation. Any general eulogy or criticism simplifies a set of facts which unfortunately cannot be simplified. 40. That the Lycian and the Rhodian measure their strengths against each other makes historical sense, as was noticed a long time ago (cf. Von der Mühll, p. 100, with older bibliography; differently Howald, Mus. Helv. 8 [1951], p. 114), and no less that the Lycian defends the country against intruders and, as is in accordance with the fact that he is an immediate son of Zeus, proves himself superior to the grandson of Zeus. The genealogy of Tlepolemus is a historic factor, and does not have to rely on divine descent from the fantastic Memnon. He who had the Rhodian-Lycian opposition carried out before the Trojan war had to explain why Sarpedon’s embalmed corpse was able to be kept in Lycia. The aition is given with the removal of the dead man by Sleep and Death. If one gets clear in one’s mind the problem which had been set here, the question whether it was solved with the help of the Memnon myth turns into a cura posterior. In the discussion about priority, one will not be allowed to disregard the fact that a tomb (of Sarpe­ don), situated in the immediate field of vision of the Greeks, gives a fixed destination for his removal, whereas Memnon disappears into vague dis­ tances. On the whole question cf. F. Focke, La Nouvelle Clio no. 9/10 (1951), esp. p. 341. 41. I do not see any reason for understanding μέσσος as the middle between head and trunk, as is, however, necessary in the catachrestic pas­ sages K 455 and Ξ 497. 42. The paraphrase έμπαγεΐσα is ill considered. 43. This translation of φηγός after Wilamowitz, p. 186, 2. 44. If one takes ώσε literally, the spear would carry through the thigh and out. But if the image was still observable in θύραζε, ώθεΐν could additionally appear without any idea of a spear-thrust. For one does not pull an intruder, but pushes him, out of the door. 45. See note 32 above. 46. Since Patroclus cannot yet appear in E it should be regarded as possible that he is represented by Odysseus here. 47. We cannot tell whether the verses which sing about him still carry with them some elements from that epoch; only, for me, in spite of Von der Mühll, p. 196 n. 30, it is certain that E 652ff. are older than Λ 443£f. 48. In this work M and O have not been dealt with in detail, but in another context they are to be dealt with according to their importance. 49. It is less strange that the commentaries desert us than that Wilamowitz (p. 128ff.) claimed precisely these excesses for his original Patrocleia. Admittedly, Amphiclus does attack Meges but is apparently hit in the buttocks by the latter. As has been mentioned already, Meriones’ feat 342ff. has been modelled on the feat of Idomeneus E 43ff. without consideration of the changed situation. 50. Cf. Leaf on 364. - Von der Mühll, p. 246, emphasises that v. 374: πάσας πλήσαν οδούς, έπεί άρ τμάγεν goes back to 352ff.: (έριφοι,) αϊ τ’ έν δρεσσι ποιμένος άφραδίηισι διέτμαγεν. One could also say that the simile anticipates the situation of 374. Both seem to belong together, but to have been torn apart and transposed.

Notes to pages 98-102 51. Leaf explains hesitantly: ‘in spite of the weight of his armour’, but then the poet would not have expressed himself very meaningfully. It seems rather that Hector has just captured some weapons which were worth mentioning again, and is taking them away. So the passage seems to have been created for a context as we read it in P 130ff. There Hector jumps on to the chariot — but he does not drive away but gives his spoils to the Trojans: again a break, but this time at the other end. What we expect in P 130 is to be read prematurely afrn 368, so this latter passage depends on the premise of that other one. Rdfourse to a model which has been used twice is once again unavoidable in explaining the facts. 52. One individual deletion of 381 would not change anything here. 53. It may be left open here whether Patroclus’ blindness is supposed to he in the fact that he presumes to take Achilles’weapons and role. It is hardly essential for understanding the book to make this assumption, and it is not expressed anywhere. For how much less does 685f. μέγ’ άάσθη νήπιος (which reprehends the fatal rashness of one moment) say about Patroclus than for instance νήπιος M 113 does about Asius who is flaunting his horses and chariot! But on the other hand, a time which imprinted μή μάτευε Ζεύς γενέσθαι on more and more new turns of phrase could hardly help judging Patroclus’ triumphant euphoria as presumptuousness which had to provoke divine counter-measures. So if this idea of hybris or retaliation is still just as alien to the Iliad here as the thought of Achilles’responsibility for his friend’s death is far from its mind, then it is, on the other hand, still only little younger than the Iliad. 54. It is strange that the first one contains 27 verses, the second at least 27 (381 is weakly attested and 387/8 are usually removed as Hesiodic reminiscences). A rough balance seems at least to have been intended, if not a precise one. 55. Stylistically, Patroclus’first feats are closer to the Hector scenes rather than these warrior-slayings. As noted already, 302-5 constitute a transitional piece which cannot be taken out and which is supposed to connect 306-51 with what preceded it. 56. In 407 ιερός ιχθύς sounds solemn, Hölderlinian, but only until one has read about ιερός δίφρος at P 464 and learnt to reckon with the word becoming rather hackneyed. 57. The attempt to derive the version of M, which is more appropriate to the situation and simpler, from Π merely originates from the prejudice that everything which is connected with Sarpedon must belong to the last layer of the Iliad and be younger than the Patrocleia. 58. Asius also Homerises in this way when at M 167ff. he compares the Greeks in detail with wasps or bees which have been attacked. This Homer­ ising in particular makes it doubtful whether there lies a ύπέρβιον εύχετάασθαι in Patroclus’ words: for Homer himself occasionally speaks the same cruel language, only just Π 409, further N 571ff. and 564f. 59. In V. 358 Αίας δ’ ό μέγας was said for the purpose of distinction from Αίας Όιλιάδης who was active in 330. 60. S. Leaf ad loc. and Von der Mühll, p. 246. Again it is strange that

125

Wilamowitz, to whom a convincing context mattered, simply let his old Patrocleia roll over this obstacle. 61. Through the kindness of the author I have just received the Frankfurt thesis of 1964 Die kleinen Kämpfer der Ilias by G. Strasburger. Unfortunately this time I can only point out this work whose formulation of her question complements mine in the direction indicated.

126

Index References in this index are to the page numbers of this book, not to Frie drich’s original page numbers. W ords

άέλλη 98f. άνακυμβαλιάζειν 98 άποκείρειν 35 αΰον (άυσε) 106 n.8 άχρις 59 διαμπερές 123 n.38 διασχίζειν 35 δοκεύειν 84 έάφθη 27£ έπί 116 η.59 έσταότα 105 η.5 ήίχθησαν (ήνία) 9£, 106 η. 8 καταμάρπτειν 42 κομίζειν 108 η.27, 111 η.20 κύμβαχος 11, 98 λιάζεσθαι 40 μέσσος 20, 38££, 76, 124 η.41 ούτάζειν 76 πεπάλακτο 112 η.29 περί 114 η. 40 περόνησε 13 συνεοχμός 35 H eroes

Achilles 47£, 99, 117 n.9 Aeneas 15, 16£, 44£ Agamemnon 46f£, 63£ Ajax the Locrian 30, 46, 111 n.20, 119 n.l Ajax the Telamonian 18, 48, 71f£, 101£

Alcathous 11 Antilochus 105 n.4

Asius and his charioteer 7, 32, 88f£, 112 n.21 Cebriones 21£, 101 Deiphobus 15£, 23, 31 Diomedes 25, 62 Diores 59£, 82f£ Euphorbus 45 Eurypylus 25£, 63£ Glaucus 96 Harpalion 82£ Hector 27ff„ 32, 48, 71££, 101£ Helenus 24, 26, 32 Idomeneus 7, 15, 20, 32, 63, 97 Imbrius 56 Lycaon 86f£ Machaon 78£ Meges 63 Menelaus 78f£ Meriones, 28, 39£, 41f£, 63£, 109 nn.30, 31, 3 Mydon 9ff. Odysseus 23, 124 n.46 Othryoneus 15£ Pandarus 17£, 20 Paris 80£ Patroclus 97ff. P e isa n d r u s 2 l £

Peneleus 14, 19, 97 Pylaimenes 85£ S arp ed on 8 8 f£

Simoeisius 54£ Teucer 24 Thestor 7, 117£ Thoas 60, 110 n.12

127

Index P a ssa g e s o f th e I lia d

Book Γ 297-301: 49 355ff.: 8If. 377f.: 26 453f.: 81 Book Δ 210ff.: 78 457ff.: 53ff. 517£f.: 59ff. 523f.: 83ff., 90 535£: 60, 92 BookE 29-36: 62 38-83: 62ff. 65f£: 42, 76 290f£: 17£ 302ff.: 41, 120 n.10 307: 60 576-89: 9f£ •655ff.: 94f£ 671ff.: 93 684f£: 93, 95 Book Z 42£: 11 Book H 244f£: 74ff., 81£ Book Θ 81£: 41 332ff.: 24 Book A 95f£: 17£, 46 lOlff.: 112 n.26 119: 119 n.20 145£f.: 46£ 218£:49 252ff.: 24 261: 50 396£f.: 25, 78 456f£: 78 482£:23 583£: 25 811£f.: 25 Book M 183££: 37£ 385: 11 Book N 156f£: 15

169-94: 56f£ 170££: 15 202ff.: 46, 111 n.20, 121 n.13 363f£: 15 381f£: 16 385-401: 7 397: 38 434-44: 12£f. 527£f.: 26 533-9: 23 545f£: 19, 34, 84£ 564: 109 n.3 566-575: 41, 43£ 576f£: 26, 79 594f£: 24, 26, 78£ 614ff.: 21, 49 648-55: 83f£, 87 803ff.: 31 Book Ξ 371f£: 30 384-401: 30 402ff.: 30, 77 433-9: 27££ 440ff.: 18£, 30, 100 465ff.: 17£, 35, 60 493ff.: 20f£ 498ff.: 14 BookO 240£:29 294: 110 n.12 484-514: 72 549f£: 117 n.4 Book Π 302-51: 98 313ff.: 35, 41 332f£: 36 339£f.: 20, 88, 114 n.38 358-63: 101£ 364-93: 98£ 40Iff.: 7f. 481: 89 482f£: 89 491: 90 502ff.: 95, 122 n.32 597£:42 638f£: 91f. 647ff.: 95f. 659ff.: 92

128

Index 692ff.: 101 740ff.: 21 742: 106 η.8 7751: 90f. BookP 39£: 45 126: 45 295£f.: 37 523£f.: 14f. Book Σ 175ff.: 45 Book Y 396ff.: 37f. 413ff.: 38f.

419ff.: 73f. 463-83: 35ff. 484ff.: 35, 105 n.4 Book Φ 64ff.: 86 114ff.: 86ff. 117: 36 180: 60 403ff.: 74f. BookX 29lf.: 28 Book*? 874-81: 39f., 114 n.40

129

Appendix K.B. Saunders Introduction Friedrich wrote in 1956 and based his solutions to the medical problems posed by wounds and death in Homer largely on the work of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century experts such as Küchen­ meister (1855) and Körner (1929).1Körner refers to medical literature of the second half of the nineteenth century and to Baumann (1923)2 who records battlefield events from the Franco-Prussian war of 1870. Friedrich does not use French scholars of Homeric medicine, such as Malgaigne (1842) and Daremberg (1865), nor Thompson (1952)3who had provided some new medical ideas but wrote in an English medical journal and has been remarkably unquoted since. Medicine has moved on since many of these accounts were written. Although the topical anatomy of the human body was well described by the late nineteenth century, in terms of structures which could be dissected and seen with the naked eye, the way they worked was largely unknown. The way nerves transmit electrical signals, and the biochemistry and mechanics of muscle fibre contraction, for example, were not elucidated until the second half of the twentieth century. When the fine structure of organs was examined under a microscope, cellular structures were in turn observed and described, but what it was that the cells did was another matter. In this context Grmek (1989) gives a good account of Homeric medicine and the wounds from the point of view of a medical historian, but does not approach the textual difficulties.4 In this Appendix I give a full response to all of Friedrich’s findings which involve wounds, writing as a late twentieth-century physician and physiologist. Some of what I say is based on my existing papers on wounds in Mad 13-16 (= Saunders A) and the death of the charioteer Mydon in Πiad 5 (= Saunders B).51 have usually summa­ rised or extracted from those accounts. The problems in Homer’s protracted description of the fight between Hector and Ajax in Mad

131

Appendix by K.B. Saunders 14 and 15 are particularly complicated, and the account in Saunders A is therefore transmitted in full. My general position is that, while I do not expect every wound described by Homer to have a realistic explanation - why should they, when all wound healing in Homer is miraculous? - the poet is to believed unless there is strong evidence to the contrary. I have paid particular attention to the commentaries of W. Leaf, M.M. Willcock, G.S. Kirk, R. Janko and M.W. Edwards (referred to hereafter simply by name). Translations are from E.V. Rieu (revised by Peter Jones), and I refer sometimes to M. Hammond’s version.6 Before going on to the details of fights and wounds, some general points need to be made. Sudden death. Commentators have always worried that warriors in the Iliad seem to die rapidly of wounds that should not cause sudden death. Agood example would be the death of Amphiclus at 16.313-16, where Meges hits him in the thigh with a spear thrust. We shall return to the wound later, but the point here is that the scholiasts, ^quoted by Leaf, remark that this would hardly cause sudden death. Leaf says that ‘if the femoral artery were severed however the victim would soon die’, and Janko follows this line of thought. Although this seems reasonable, it is unlikely. Bleeding from big arteries within limbs does not usually cause sudden death because of local protective mechanisms involving constriction of muscle within the arterial wall, and because the bleeding is often into a confined space. The local mechanisms are paradoxically more effective if the artery is com­ pletely severed, as opposed to torn. Sudden death is a rare event. Cardiac wounds that terminate the heartbeat cause sudden death, as may other events which bring about abnormal and ineffective heart rhythms. Wounds to the head (unless catastrophic), chest (unless involving the heart), belly, or limbs do not. Very few wounds in the Iliad would cause sudden death, yet most Homeric fighters seem to die that way or very rapidly. It is simply a convention, and not only an ancient one. Before modern cinematic realism made death unpleasantly bloody, cowboys would drop dead tidily with an Apache arrow impacted in the shoulder-blade. It is a matching convention that only top heroes (Patroclus, Sarpedon and Hector) are permitted to survive a fatal wound long enough to make a dying speech. Fatal and non-fatal wounds. Some wounds are obviously fatal decapitation is the prime example. Others are almost certainly fatal, such as transfixion of the cranium with a spear.7 Homer may use words or phrases which definitely mean killing or death.8 These are 132

Appendix by K.B. Saunders not only direct words like κτείνω but phrases which indicate the departure of the θυμός: θυμόν αίρέω / άφαιρέω / έξαιρέω / άπηύρα / έξαίνυμαι. Other phrases are less definite, γούνατα λύω and πελάζω χθονί, for example, which may imply killing, but literally only indicate that the victim has fallen to the ground. There are often contextual pointers, which indicate death - the victim’s body being stripped, or protected fron^spoliation by comrades. Finally, while a warrior who has been killed should not again appear in the narrative,9 the fact that a wounded combatant does not reappear cannot be taken as evidence of death. Many combatants leave the scene intact, but do not reappear. When all such factors are taken into account, we are left with episodes where the outcome is not determined. At 16.307 πρώτος δέ Μενοιτίου άλκιμος υίός αύτίκ’ άρα στρεφθέντος Άρηϊλύκου βάλε μηρόν έγχεϊ όξυόεντι, διαπρό δέ χαλκόν έλασσε· ρήξεν δ’ όστέον έγχος, ό δέ πρηνής επί γαίηι κάππεσ · άτάρ Μενέλαος άρήϊος οΰτα Θόαντα στέρνον γυμνωθέντα παρ’ άσπίδα, λύσε δέ γυΐα.

Brave Patroclus was first to throw his sharp spear at Areilycus and hit him in the thigh just as he had turned. The bronze point drove through and broke the bone; the man fell headlong to the ground. Meanwhile warlike Menelaus struck Thoas in his chest, which he had left exposed above his shield, and brought him down. Neither of these wounds is definitively fatal. Areilycus and Thoas are undoubtedly down - but are they permanently out? We cannot tell. There is a similar problem with catalogue killings. At 11.489 Αϊας δέ Τρώεσσιν έπάλμενος εΐλε Δόρυκλον Πριαμίδην, νόθον υιόν, έπειτα δέ Πάνδοκον οΰτα, οΰτα δέ Λύσανδρον καί Πύρασον ήδέ Πυλάρτην.

Ajax then flung himself on the Trojans and killed Doryclus, a bastard son of Priam’s; next he stabbed Pandocus and Lysander and Pyrasus and Pylartes. The last four are undoubtedly wounded, but are they dead? We do not know. It is in this context that we should assess Frölich’s attempt at a precise mortality rate for Homeric wounds.10 It cannot be done, unless arbitrary assumptions are made, e.g. ‘All those struck by the spear of 133

Appendix by K.B. Saunders Ajax must have died.’ Some useful generalisations from Frölich are: there are about 150 described wounds in the Iliad·, most of them are fatal; sword wounds are always fatal. Wound healing. All wound healing in the Mad is miraculous from a modern viewpoint. This is inevitable. Homer has chosen to pace his narrative of fighting episodes over a few days. It would be unrealistic, unfair, unheroic, and crippling to the plot if none of his main heroes were ever wounded. But he must get them back into the action - they cannot spend the rest of the epic on the bench. So their wounds must be trivial, or forgotten in later text (twice with Diomedes), or, most usefully, healed by divine intervention. Thus Hector’s disabling chest wound delivered by Ajax at 14.409-20 is miraculously healed by Apollo at 15.262. As Janko says at 15.240-1, recovery would normally take weeks. Even more outrageous is Aeneas’ terrible wound at 5.303-10. His pelvis is broken by a rock thrown by Diomedes, and the fracture involves the socket (acetabulum) of the hip joint. From this injury there would probably have been no complete recovery ever, but 'it .is healed by Leto and Artemis at 5.447. The third example is of Glaucus, who is healed by Apollo at 16.528. These cures are unrealis­ tic to the modern reader, but might not have been to an ancient audience. The practical, as opposed to divine, treatment of wounds in the Mad has two aspects, the removal of impacted missiles, and the superficial application of φάρμακα. The topic has recently been con­ sidered in detail by C.F. Salazar.11Technically, missiles without barbs, such as throwing spears, could be removed by simple extraction, but the position and nature of a (possibly) barbed arrowhead had to be determined by probing, a skilled procedure. The operator would then proceed to pull out the arrow (έξολκή), cut it out (έκτομή), or push it on through (διωσμός). There is no account of preliminary probing in the IHad, and there has been considerable debate in individual epi­ sodes as to which of the three possible techniques was employed. Salazar concludes that these accounts, while they seem detailed and convincing at first sight, may better be described by Friedrich’s term, pseudorealism. We do not know what the φάρμακα might have been. Weapons. It is not the purpose here to consider the realism of Homeric fighting in general, but one cannot write technically about wounds without some consideration of the weapons that caused them, and the nature of duels in the Mad.12 The five chief weapons are: bow and arrow, sword, thrown rock, throwing spear and thrusting spear. The bow in Homer is probably a composite bow. The arrows are 134

Appendix by K.B. Saunders targeted, that is aimed at specific warriors, not shot en masse as at Agincourt. In the Iliad there is no chance of dodging an arrow since the target is never aware of the incoming arrow until it strikes. The sword in Homer produces slashing wounds, never piercing. It is not then like the early Mycenaean rapiers found in the Shaftgraves, but fits well with the Naue Type II bronze slashing swords which appeared round the eastern Mediterranean at the end of the Bronze Age.1! I suspect that it is significant that sword wounds are invariably fatal in the Biad, and this may be relevant to Drews’ conclusion that the reason for the catastrophe in the Near East at the end of the Bronze Age, the collapse of the Mycenaean and Hittite powers, the fall of the citadels of the Levant, and the demise of the chariot armies, was related to the introduction of this very weapon.14 The thrown rock. Some of these episodes cannot be realistic. To obtain sufficient momentum to do damage (see below under throwing spear) the stone would need to be encompassed by a single hand, and thrown at high velocity. The manoeuvre can regularly be seen on television in anti-authoritarian demonstrations the world over. A fast moving rock in a crucial place can certainly be fatal (as Goliath discovered), but wounds which shatter the hip joint, as with Aeneas (above) are probably impractical. The throwing and thrusting spears. These are radically different weapons, as a simple examination of the relevant mechanics will show. With the thrusting spear, the wound is created by direct trans­ mission of force through the spear shaft to the victim. The only mandatory design feature is that the shaft must be rigid. The shape and weight of the spear head is pretty much optional, and the length and weight of the weapon can be suited to the size and strength of the wielder.15Thus ancient heroes with superhuman strength may rea­ sonably have outsize thrusting spears, e.g. the great ash spear of Pelion. Throwing such a weapon is another matter. To take a simple practical fine which may give the reader a feel for the problem, the nearest modern equivalent of the thrusting spear is the pitch-fork. Mine is just under six feet in length and weighs 4.5 lb (2 kg), most of the weight being in the metal fork. The diameter of the rigid wooden shaft is an inch and a half. Replacement of the fork by a metal spear head of the same weight, and lengthening the shaft by a foot would make a serviceable weapon, similar in length to those on the Warrior Vase.16One could throw it the length of a cricket pitch (say 20 yards), but not very fast. But Achilles throws the great ash spear of Pelion at 20.273-83. In contrast, the throwing spear penetrates because of its momen­ tum. It has a shaft for two reasons, the first aerodynamic, to ensure that the missile arrives with the sharp end at the front, the second 135

Appendix by K.B. Saunders simply to give the warrior a handle to throw it by. The rigidity of the shaft is not of primary importance. Momentum is mass (weight) times velocity. There has to be a trade-off between a too heavy throwing spear, which cannot be thrown fast, and a too light throwing spear, which can be thrown fast but will bounce off on arrival. Light missiles need a high velocity source - the arrow, a bow; the bullet, a gun. But an effective throwing spear will not be an effective thrusting spear, and vice versa. It is thought that because of the long oral transmission which precedes Homer’s construction of the Iliad we see an amalgam of several centuries of fighting techniques. An earlier warrior would be protected by a large body shield, need no body armour, and wield a heavy thrusting spear. Later the combatants were more mobile, protected only by a smaller round shield and therefore requiring body armour, and armed with one or two light throwing spears, with a sword for close range work. There is some suggestion that the large spear (έγχος) is associated with the σάκος shield and the lighter spear (δόρυ) with the smaller round άσπίς,17 but Homer does not reliably make this distinction. Certainly one can almost always tell whether the fighter is throwing or thrusting, either because he uses one of several words for ‘throw’, usually ΐημι or one of its compounds, or because Homer distinguishes between hits made by missiles, when he uses βάλλω to mean strike, and hits made by hand, when he uses one of about a dozen words, most frequently ούτάω, νύσσω or τύπτω. Aristarchus first noted this distinction.18In practice, however, on the one hand the same weapon may be described as both έγχος and δόρυ successively in the same fight, and on the other the same weapon is used for both throwing and thrusting. This happens most curiously in the climax to the epic, when Hector and Achilles both discharge throwing spears without success, but Athena returns Achilles’ spear to him. It is clearly the same spear, as 22.276-7 shows. And suddenly it is a thrusting spear, outranging and therefore too powerful for Hector’s sword.19 Perhaps we should better take it as another exam­ ple of an exception to Aristarchus’ rule. Duelling with spears. This is in itself problematic. For example, how far apart are the combatants? Again a simple modern parallel may be helpful. Both tennis players and cricketers face missiles travelling at 80-90 mph. Tennis players never get hit, and cricketers only because they have intentions other than ball avoidance. Moreover, the rele­ vant missiles may swerve and then change direction on the bounce, which spears do not, at least not when I throw them. To be sure, Homeric fighters are encumbered by their weapons and armour, which may somewhat impede their ability to dodge.20 Even so the 136

Appendix by K.B. Saunders distance of a cricket pitch or tennis court is too long-range. The incoming weapon would be routinely, as opposed to occasionally in the Biad, dodged. I suspect that 30 feet or less would be the range at which such combat occurred, if it ever did. Even then, the throw would need high velocity. Abig thrusting spear would be useless. Ideal perhaps would be the short javelin or dart, 3 feet or less in length, undoubtedly used in the late %onze Age21but nowhere described by Homer. Finally, we may note the apparent absence of short stabbing spears in the Iliad. Such a spear is used one-handed, as opposed to the big thrusting spear needing both hands. When Shaka was creating the Zulu impi that so terrorised Southern Africa in the nineteenth cen­ tury ‘he regarded the light throwing assegai as a ridiculous toy, and fretted at its flimsiness. He soon devised a new assegai, with a heavy broad blade and a stout shortened haft. He hefted it underhand, making of it a thrusting weapon similar to the short sword of the Romans ...,’22 There is one particular wound, which, I shall later suggest, needs such a weapon. Credible wounds with inappropriate weapons. We know now, as Frie­ drich did not, that oral poets compose with blocks of words, formulae, as well as with individual words, on a smaller scale, and topics, on a larger. Occasionally the juxtaposition of formulae, or the demands of metre within a formulaic construction, gives an inappropriate effect. The ‘stout hand’ of Aphrodite is the usual citation in this context. Similarly, it seems to me, Homer sometimes matches a realistic wound with the wrong weapon. We shall see several examples of this. I have called it ‘wound-weapon mismatch’. With these preliminaries, we can go on to consider the wounds in Friedrich’s company. We look particularly at two of his stylistic cate­ gories: ‘Phantasmata’, which applies to events which he finds unreal­ istic or physically impossible; and ‘Pseudorealism’ referring to accounts which appear realistic at first sight, but prove problematic on close examination. P h a n ta sm ata (1) Thestor. 16.403-10 (p. 7: Saunders B, p. 28, n. 7). Patroclus kills Thestor the charioteer. He spears him through the jaw, and drags him from the chariot like a fisherman landing a fish. ό δ’ έγχεϊ νύξε παραστάς 405 γναθμόν δεξιτερόν, διά δ’ αύτοΰ πεΐρεν όδόντων, ελκε δέ δουρός έλών υπέρ άντυγος .. ,23 137

Appendix by K.B. Saunders Patroclus came up beside him and stabbed him on the right side of the jaw, driving the spear between his teeth. Then, using the spear as a lever, he hoisted him over the chariot-rail. Friedrich finds this ‘extreme and barely credible’. There are two possible spear paths. The spear might enter at the right side of the jaw, just beneath and medial to the lower jaw-bone, and go upwards and backwards, between the teeth, that is through both lower and upper dental arches. If it goes relatively vertically in relation to the skull, it will go through the hard palate into the nose and paranasal sinuses. If it goes more backwards it will go through the soft palate, then the posterior nasopharynx, and end in the base of the skull. The fact that he is crouching (άλείς) means that his head is forward and the spear path is practical. If he were standing perfectly upright, for the same trajectory, the spear shaft would collide with the thorax. But with this path, the mouth would be skewered shut, and Thestor is κεχηνότα, gaping, at 409. More likely, then, that the spear goes in more obliquely around the angle of the mouth between the teeth at the side, upwards, backwards and across, ending probably in the paranasal sinuses on the other side. The mouth is now levered open. In either case, Thestor is now spiked and helpless. Patroclus uses the spear like a pitchfork, and simply levers him out of the chariot. Very little force is required since Thestor in agony must follow the spear. It is, contra Friedrich, one of the most brutal and realistic killings in Homer. If anything, it is the simile which is inappropriate. One could have wished that Patroclus was spear-fishing, a pastime well illus­ trated in Bronze Age Egypt, but Homer specifies the line and the hook in 408. Kirk,24considering the death of Mydon (see below), finds it all ‘a pure flight of fancy, like Patroclus dangling his victim from the end of his spear’, but this is because he follows the simile and not the action. (2) Mydon. 5.580-9 (p. 9: Saunders B). Antilochus kills Mydon, the chariot driver. He first hits him on the elbow with a rock. Mydon drops the reins. Antilochus then hits him on the head with a sword. Mydon, apparently, falls head-first from the chariot and sticks head-down in soft sand until the horses kick him over. 585 αύτάρ δ γ’ άσθμαίνων εύεργέος εκπεσε δίφρου κύμβαχος εν κονίηισιν έπί βρεχμόν τε καί ώμους, δηθά μάλ’ έστήκει - τύχε γάρ ρ άμάθοιο βαθείης δφρ ΐππω πλήξαντε χαμαί βάλον εν κονίηισι.

138

Appendix by K.B. Saunders With a gasp, he fell headlong from the well-made chariot up to his head and shoulders in the dust. For a while he stuck there, since it happened to be deep at that point. Then his horses kicked him down and laid him flat on the ground. For Friedrich there were two main problems. The first concerns the supposed difficulty of a man on foot hitting a charioteer on the head with a sword, ns opposed to a spear, as with Patroclus above. There are no surviving Mycenaean chariots, but late Bronze Age chariots in Egypt surviving or realistically depicted25 show that the feet of the occupant would be at about the level of the axle or just above it, 18-24 inches from the ground. The temple of a 6-foot charioteer would be not more than 8 feet from the ground. A 6-foot man standing on the ground and raising his arm vertically has his hand about 7 feet from the ground. Late Bronze Age Naue Type II slashing swords are about 2 foot 6 inches long.26The charioteer, pace Kirk,27does not have to be crouching to be hit, though he is in the similar episode at 16.403 (above). Nor is it necessary that he gives a better target by bending down to pick up the reins, as Kurz28suggested, and in any case Homer would likely have described such an action, as he did at 17.620-1. In short, there is no problem. The second, however, concerns the events which follow Mydon’s fall from the chariot, and this has occupied commentators since commen­ taries began. If the passage means that Mydon stuck, rigid, in the sand, head down and legs in the air, it is undoubtedly a phantasma. This is the way Eustathius took it, and so did nineteenth-century critics (Paley, Pierron) and early translators (Chapman, Pope, Cow­ per). Temporary medical support was given by Körner29who thought it was due to ‘cataleptic rigor mortis’, a rare phenomenon of sudden rigidity of the whole body occurring at the moment of death, but this is now technically indefensible. Moreover, soft sand will not support a vertical object buried to a small proportion of its length, and Friedrich adds, reasonably, that it is difficult to groan (ασθμαίνω) if the head is buried in sand. Leaf found this passage absurd, and proposed that Mydon fell out of the back of the chariot, where his legs remained while his head and shoulders were on the ground; or over the side of the chariot, with knees hooked over the αντυξ. But then how could the horses kick him? Van Leeuwen30(ad loc.) suggested that he fell over the front of the chariot. Inter currum et equos suos pronus delapsus in densum pulverem incidit Mydon et sic eius corpus exanime aliquantisper constitit fronte currus atque equorum clunibus fultum (‘His body stood for a while supported by the front of the chariot and the backsides of the horses’). He was following the scholiast, who noted δηθά μάλ’ είστήκει: ούκ άπίθανον τούτο- ήνέχθη γάρ μεταξύ των 139

Appendix by K.B. Saunders ϊππων καί τοΰ αρματος, καί ήν ή μέν κεφαλή βυθισθεισα ... ‘This is not incredible: he was held up between the horses and the chariot, with his head hanging down’ or perhaps ‘buried’ (Erbse31ad loc.) Thus one way of converting the phantasma to realism is to regard Mydon as propped up in some way by the horses and chariot. I have suggested a third possibility (Saunders B pp. 29-32, summa­ rised here). This relies on an analysis of Homer’s use of ιστημι, which leads to the conclusion that έστήκει in 587 does not necessarily mean ‘stood upright’ let alone ‘stood upright head-down’.32Then he may be lying or semi-recumbent, stuck in the soft sand. Indeed this is how Hammond translates it. If so, the action of the horses in line 588 is unnecessary, since he is already έν κονίηισιν and cannot be further demoted. But line 588 is potentially redundant: it can be excised without harming the syntax. If this is done, the phantasma goes with it. This third solution is perhaps textually too aggressive for modern tastes. Some may prefer the theory that Mydon is temporarily propped up by his equipment, in which case van Leeuwen, following the scholiast, has the best suggestion (above), though one not men­ tioned in recent commentaries. Others may wish to continue to think of it as a phantasma. (3) Alcathous. 13.428-44 (p. 12: Saunders A, pp. 348-9). Idomeneus stabs Alcathous with a spear. He falls and 442

δόρυ δ’ έν κραδίηι έπεπήγει, ή ρά οι άσπαίρουσα καί ούρίαχον πελέμιζεν έγχεος· ένθα δ’ έπειτ’ άφίει μένος όβριμος ’Άρης.

The spear was fixed in his heart and its dying palpitations shook the spear to the very butt till at last the imperious War-god Ares stilled its force. The older physicians took this quite seriously as indicating ‘a possible or at least not completely impossible occurrence’, as Friedrich says. Recent commentators take a different view. ‘An imaginative variation of the more realistic description of the spear still quivering after it has struck into the ground’(Willcock). ‘Apiece of exaggeration which looks more like the work of an interpolator than of a genuine epic poet (Leaf). ‘Surely Alcathous’ terrifying paralysis .... has its equal and opposite reaction, obeying some supernatural law of physics, in the spear’s bizarre motion’ (my italics: Janko). On this occasion, the older physicians were correct. Leaving theory aside, the possibility is proven by a case report which shows a knife wound with the blade 140

Appendix by K.B. Saunders lying alongside the heart. The surgeon who removed it observed and recorded that the knife moved with the heartbeat. I made some calculations for a rather small (5 foot) spear which suggest that a small movement at the tip (less than a quarter of an inch) would produce.an obvious movement at the butt (about an inch). The length of the knife blade in the case report is about 9 inches, judging by the photographs.3^3o there is no doubt that the heart can shake a small spear. But Homer specifies a thrusting spear. Indeed the reasonable argument amóng the older physicians was about the maximum size of a weapon that could be vibrated. Küchenmeister calculated that the work output of the heartbeat was enough to raise a weight of 10 (German) pounds one quarter of an inch, or a weight of 5 pounds half an inch.34Körner on the other hand thought that nothing larger than an arrow would vibrate. They were working on speculation, without benefit of observation (the case report) or a modern knowledge of cardiac function. There is now no doubt that the heart could move an arrow, a throwing spear, or a short thrusting spear. The wound itself is not a phantasma, but if Homer intends a heavy long thrusting spear, the weapon is probably inappropriate. Friedrich then briefly considers spears which quiver after they have stuck in the ground, at 16.612-3 and 17.528-9. To do this, the shaft must be flexible, and for a throwing spear it may have been, and the tip may be embedded in something hard, so that there is a fixed point that the shaft can vibrate from.36 If the earth is soft, the vibration will be damped out. Javelins used in athletics in the 1940s had bamboo shafts, and my memory is that they could vibrate for a second or so on impact. Fenik’s supposition that the spear quivering in Alcathous’ chest is ‘clearly a perverse variation of 16.612-13 and 17.528 where the spear quivers when it has stuck in the ground’ seems misplaced.36 The two mechanisms involved are both quite possible and quite different. (4) A retus. 17.516-24 (p. 14). Automedon hits Aretus with a spear thrust to the lower belly (line 519), and 523 ως dp δ γε προθορών πέσεν ύπτιος- έν δέ οί εγχος νηδυίοισι μάλ’ όξύ κραδαινόμενον λύε γυΐα. so Aretus sprang forward and then fell on his back. The sharp spear quivered in his guts and drew the life from him. This is much more difficult. This spear cannot vibrate mechanically like one impacted in the ground, since the belly is soft. If this episode 141

Appendix by K.B. Saunders is realistic, something must be moving the spear, and the only source of power is the aorta, the biggest of the arteries, which is in the centre of the abdomen at the back. Being an artery, it is pulsatile, since it expands transitorily as each separate output of the heart (stroke volume) is rammed down it. The aorta is about an inch across. The reader may get some guess at the magnitude of its pulsation by feeling the radial pulse at the wrist, and asking what sort of pulsation a vessel an inch across might produce. I suppose it might move an adjacent spear tip by a millimetre, and possibly that degree of move­ ment at the tip might produce a visible quivering at the butt. But I have no case report. (5) P andarus. 5.290-3 (p. 17). Diomedes, on the ground, hits Pandarus, in a chariot, with a spearcast on the face. 290

βέλος δ’ ιθυνεν Άθήνη ρίνα παρ’ οφθαλμόν, λευκούς δ’ έπέρησεν όδόντας. τού δ’ άπό μέν γλώσσαν πρύμνην τάμε χαλκός άτειρής, αίχμή δ’ έξελύθη παρά νείατον άνθερεώνα.

His spear, guided by Athena, came down on top of Pandarus’ nose by the eye and passed between his white teeth. His tongue was cut off at the root by the relentless bronze, and the point came out under his chin. The path of the missile seems too vertical for a spear-shot from a man on foot to a man on a chariot. Friedrich finds the description ‘com­ pletely irrational’and quotes Von der Mühll, Riemschneider, Küchen­ meister and Ameis-Hentze. There are two ancient approaches to explanation, first that Pandarus was stooping forwards, second that Athena put some last-second spin on the missile. Both go back to the b scholiast. Modern commentators get us no further, but Kirk, who finds neither explanation ‘very persuasive’, remarks that ‘the minute description depends more on the singer’s desire to create an effect than on any special keenness of observation’ and with this position I have considerable sympathy (see Conclusions). I doubt if any of the commentators have looked at the lateral and antero-posterior views of the skull (or for that matter, in a mirror) with this wound in mind. The spear goes in at the side of the nose, across, downwards and backwards, between the teeth and through the tongue, to emerge behind the angle of the jaw on the other side of the neck. If the skull is erect, the angle of trajectory is about 45° in both lateral and antero-posterior planes - not an impossible striking 142

Appendix by K.B. Saunders angle for an incoming throwing spear, but if it causes anxiety let us by all means have Pandarus’ neck, or lumbar spine, or hips, or any combination of these, flexed by 200.37 In short, I don’t see much of a problem. The fact that Pandarus’ tongue is severed seems ironic. He was a chatterbox (5.218). (6) Archelochi^s. 14.459-66 (p. 19: Saunders A, pp. 357-8). Ajax throws a §pear at Polydamas, who avoids it, but it hits Archelochus. 465 τόν p έβαλεν κεφαλής τε και αύχένος έν συνεοχμώι, νείατον αστράγαλον, άπό δ’ άμφω κέρσε τένοντετοΰ δε πολύ πρότερον κεφαλή στόμα τε ρΐνές τε οΰδεϊ πλήντ ή περ κνήμαι καί γούνα πεσόντος. It hit him where the head meets the neck on the topmost segment of the spine. It severed both tendons and, as he fell, his forehead, mouth and nose hit the ground well before his legs and knees. As Friedrich says, commentators provide several possibilities. The most important are first that the head is completely severed from the body and hits the ground before the rest of the corpse, and second that the wound causes the head to drop forward with a similar but less spectacular result. A third suggestion, that the victim executes a sort of diving header, seems unnecessary. Friedrich leaves the matter ‘open’. Leaf does not decide between the first two possibilities. Janko prefers the first because of parallel phrasing to the description of the decapitation of Dolon, but notes its implausibility. One thing only is certain: the head cannot be severed by a spear-cast. The idea that a piercing weapon not more than three inches wide could sever in one stroke a structure made of bone, cartilage, gristle and flesh which is about six inches in diameter is impossible and indeed ludicrous. If this is what Homer intended, it is both a phantasma and the most striking example of wound-weapon mismatch. Homer’s anatomical description is unhelpful here, since συνεοχμώι is hapax and the τένοντε are unidentifiable. I have given some ana­ tomical arguments that (in summary) the spear severed the spine at the joint between the first and second (atlas and axis) or second and third cervical vertebrae. The head would then indeed drop forward, in accordance with the second hypothesis above. This is my preferred solution, a variant of the motif of neck wound followed by drooping head (and κώδεια appears quite shortly at 499). In summary, this

143

Appendix by K.B. Saunders episode is either a phantasma or describes the unusual result of a posterior neck wound. (7) Ilioneus. 14.487-505 (p. 19: Saunders A, pp. 358-9 and Fig. 7). Peneleus hits Ilioneus with a spear-thrust in the eye. The eyeball is extruded and the spear goes on and out through the back of the head. τον τόθ’ ύπ’ όφρύος οΰτα κατ’ όφθαλμοΐο θέμεθλα, έκ δ’ ώσε γλήνην δόρυ δ’ όφθαλμοΐο διαπρό 495 και διά Ινίον ήλθεν, Peneleus struck him under the eyebrow in the socket of the eye. The spear dislodged his eyeball, pierced the eye-socket and came out at the back of his head. There is nothing unrealistic about this, but there can be some debate about the spear-path. Leaf, Willcock and Janko all take iviov to mean ϊς, that is some tendon at the back of the neck. Leaf refers to ‘the great tendon at the back of the neck which holds the head upright’, but there isn’t one. I have argued that iviov meant then, as it means now in modern anatomy, a point at the back of the skull, or occiput. (It can be felt as a bump the size of a sixpence in the middle of the back of the head right at the top of the neck.) Both Aristotle and Eustathius took it this way. But see (23) Pedaius below. (8) Lycon. 16.339-41 (p. 20). Peneleus hits Lycon in the neck below the ear, and almost severs it. ό δ’ ΰπ’ ούατος αύχένα θεΐνε 340 Πηνελέως, παν δ’ εϊσω εδυ ξίφος, έσχεθε δ’ οΐον δέρμα, παρηέρθη δέ κάρη, ύπέλυντο δέ γυΐα. But Peneleus slashed Lycon in the neck behind the ear and his sword blade sliced right through. Nothing held but a piece of skin, and from that Lycon’s head dangled down as he sank to the ground. Here Friedrich finds both gruesomeness and incredibility in the head hanging down held only by the skin. It is difficult to see why. If one accepts that the neck can be severed by a single sword blow, clearly it can be almost severed, which is what is described here. (9) Erymas. 16.345-50 (p. 20: Saunders A, pp. 361-2 and Fig. 9). Idomeneus stabs Erymas in the mouth. The spear knocks out teeth and goes through bone. 144

Appendix by K.B. Saunders 346 το δ’ άντικρύ δόρυ χάλκεον έξεπέρησε νέρθεν ΰπ’ έγκεφάλοιο, κέασσε δ’ άρ’ όστέα λευκάέκ δέ τίναχθεν όδόντες, ένέπλησθεν δέ οί άμφω αίματος οφθαλμοί. The metal point of the spear penetrated under his brain and smashed th^w hite jaw-bones. His teeth were knocked out; both his eyes filled with blood; r

Friedrich objects first because the bones are described as white, like the bleached bones of a long-dead man - but the surface of living bone can be white, too. Second, he reasonably objects to the possibility that all the teeth are knocked out - but Homer does not say this. The serious problem in this passage is that both eyes (eyeballs, not eye sockets) fill up with blood, as ludicrous a possibility as that they might both fall out on to the ground. I have noted that a variety of anterior facial wounds can cause haemorrhage under the conjunctiva (the ‘skin’of the eyeball), which is obvious to the onlooker and bloody, but this is a feeble explanation as it is not instantaneous. In short this is a phantasma, but not for the reasons which Friedrich gives. (10) P e isa n d ru s. 13.605-19 (p. 21: Saunders A, pp. 351-2 and Fig. 4)· Menelaus strikes Peisandrus on the forehead with his sword. The eyeballs drop out of the skull onto the ground: ήτοι ό μέν κόρυθος φάλον ήλασεν ίπποδασείης 615 άκρον υπό λόφον αυτόν, ό δέ προσιόντα μέτωπον ρινός ΰπερ πυμάτης- λάκε δ’ όστέα, τώ δέ οί όσσε πάρ ποσίν αίματόεντα χαμαί πέσον έν κονίηισιν. Peisander hit the ridge of Menelaus’ helmet on the top, just below the horsehair plume. But Menelaus caught Peisander, as he charged at him, on the forehead above the base of the nose. The bones cracked and his eyes, all bloody, dropped in the dust at his feet. Similarly (11) Cebriones. 16.732-43. Patroclus hits Cebriones on the forehead with a stone. Again the eyeballs fall out.

145

Appendix by K.B. Saunders 740 άμφοτέρας δ’ όφρΰς σύνελεν λίθος, ούδέ οί έσχεν όστέον, οφθαλμοί δέ χαμαί πέσον έν κονίηισιν αυτοί) πρόσθε ποδών. It shattered both his eyebrows, crushing the bone; and his eyes fell out and rolled in the dust at his feet. The eyes are attached to their sockets by six strap muscles on each side, and to the brain by the optic nerves and their accompanying blood vessels. It is not possible to sever all these structures at once by a single blow with any cutting or stabbing weapon. Nor can it be done with a blow on the forehead with a rock. These are the most certain of the phantasmata which Friedrich selects. Homer apparently believes that the eyeballs are completely free within their bony orbits. Then, if the bones of the eye sockets are fractured, as specified in both the above wounds, the eyeballs may fall out. This is very odd. The eyes do indeed rotate so freely, so rapidly, and through such a wide range that a totally naive observer might ·'■·think that they were not tethered in any way: but anyone who had butchered an animal would know that the eyes were firmly tied in. It is difficult to imagine a culture so primitive that this would not be known. A severe crushing wound to the side of the head (not the front) may push one eyeball forwards out of the socket. A gouging wound with a sharp instrument ((7) Ilioneus, above) may do the same, but the eyeball will remain attached in both cases. Rarely, and only in indi­ viduals with shallow eye sockets, a quite gentle blow may dislocate the eyeball forwards far enough for the eyelid to close behind it displacement known as luxation. Perhaps some original rare event like this triggered an account which was subsequently progressively exaggerated. Such exaggeration may have been accelerated by Homer’s use of the verb πίπτω for the event of the eyeballs falling. He most frequently uses this verb of warriors, meaning ‘fall dead’, whether unqualified (sixty-six times) or qualified by locative expressions such as χαμαί, έραζε or έν κονίηισι (twelve times). When referring to inanimate things falling, πίπτω is thus qualified on sixteen of twenty-seven occasions, always by words meaning ‘to the ground’. There is a more literary approach. Janko says that ‘Peisandrus’ misconception’ (that his hit on Menelaus’ shield will bring him vic­ tory) ‘makes it almost comically apt that his eyeballs pop out’ and finds this passage ‘poetically just’ as opposed to the parallel 16.741ff. and to 14.493ff. where a spear pushes (ώθέω) a single eyeball out of the socket (though the latter is perfectly realistic). At 16.733-50 he

Appendix by K.B. Saunders notes that while ‘the eyes fall out and land by his feet, he falls out and lands on his head. Complaints over his eyes’ absurd trajectory, espe­ cially when conjoined with his own, miss the wit Poetic explanations are outside the scope of this Appendix, which is con­ cerned with pathophysiology, and the above brief quotations do not do justice to Janko’s argument, which should be read in full, but I certainly find appertain piquancy in an event where the personified eyeballs drop dead on the ground, which is in one sense what Homer is saying. f P seudorealism By this Friedrich apparently means passages which at first sight, or hearing, seem spectacular and realistic, but cause problems when more closely examined. (12) Thoon. 13.545-8 (p. 34: Saunders A, pp. 349-51). Antilochus stabs Thoon from behind. 545 Άντίλοχος δέ Θόωνα μεταστρεφθέντα δοκεύσας οΰτασ’ έπα'ί'ξας, άπό δέ φλέβα πάσαν έκερσεν, ή τ’ άνά νώτα θεούσα διαμπερές αύχέν ίκάνεν την άπό πάσαν έκερσεν. Antilochus, seizing a moment when Thoon’s back was turned, leapt in and stabbed him. He sheered off the whole vein that runs up the back to the neck. Homer here gives an impression of precision, by repeating άπό πάσαν έκερσεν, although unusually he does not specify the assault weapon, presumably a spear. But there is no such vein, nor, since this is the first occurrence of the word φλέψ, is there any guarantee that Homer meant by it what we now classify as a vein, that is a relatively thin-walled conduit in which blood returns to the heart.38 Körner,39 following the scholiasts, and Aristotle and Küchenmei­ ster,40tried to make this vessel into the aorta, the main artery which runs up from the heart towards the neck, then loops down in front of the spine to about the level of the navel, where it divides: or into the vena cava, the largest vein which accompanies the aorta for the later part of its course. No recent commentator has agreed, for, as Willcock says, these vessels are a long way from the surface and protected from a stab in the back by the spinal column. (Thoon is μεταστρεφθείς.) Thompson, following Heyne,41favours the only large vein in the neck, that is the internal jugular which runs rather superficially and 147

Appendix by K.B. Saunders anteriorly, emerging from behind the medial end of the collar bone and proceeding in a line towards the lobe of the ear. A stab wound through it would cause serious but not torrential bleeding - not a spectacular result. Janko speculates that the spinal cord might be the intended structure, which indeed runs within and all the way up the spine, and could be completely severed by a stab wound. But in all later Greek φλέψ refers to a hollow conduit of some sort.42There is no solution. This description is not realistic. But remarkably few listen­ ers or readers will know that. (13) Amphiclus. 16.313-16 (p. 35: Saunders A, pp. 359-61 and Fig. 8). Meges hits Amphiclus with a spear-thrust ‘at the top of his leg where a man’s muscle is thickest’. Φυλε'ί'δης δ’ “Αμφικλον έφορμηθέντα δοκεύσας έφθη όρεξάμενος πρυμνόν σκέλος, ένθα πάχιστος 315 μυών ανθρώπου πέλεταν περί δ’ έγχεος αίχμήι " . νεΰρα διεσχίσθη.

Meges kept his eye on him and got in first with a spear-thrust on the top of the leg where a man’s muscle is very thick. The spear-point tore through the tendons. Friedrich classifies this together with (12) Thoon above as examples of anatomical pseudorealism. It is true that tendons in Homer are never identifiable, except at 22.396 where Achilles passes straps behind the two ankle tendons of Hector’s dead body in order to drag it behind his chariot.43 He has two further objections. First, he feels that the ‘thickest muscle’must be gluteus maximus, as do Leaf, Janko and Fenik.44But how can Amphiclus be hit in the back of the thigh or the buttock when he is έφορμηθέντα? Muscles are irregularly shaped structures. Where would one measure thickness? How? It is foolish to think that Homer could separate what we now call gluteus maximus from all the overlapping thick muscles of the thigh. I suggest that, on the contrary, πάχιστος / μυών simply refers to a region of the thigh where the muscle bulk is prominent. The front of the thigh is perfectly appropriate, but the gluteus maximus is mainly in the buttock. It is possible that the buttock might he the πρυμνόν σκέλος, but why invoke a more compli­ cated explanation? The second objection (from the scholiasts) is that such a stab wound is relatively harmless. But a stab wound in the thigh just below the groin medial to the femur and passing posteriorly and laterally could 148

Appendix by K.B. Saunders sever the femoral artery and vein, the profunda femoris blood vessels, the femoral nerve, the sciatic nerve, pierce three thick muscles (ad­ ductores: longus, brevis and magnus) and finally emerge through the gluteus maximus. (Saunders A, Fig. 8. For that matter it could start in the buttock and follow the reverse course). This is a long way from harmless, since it severs all major vascular and neural connections to the leg. It would j^ot cause sudden death, but this, as we have seen, is Homeric convention. r

(14) Tros. 20.463-72 (p. 35). Achilles hits Tros in the belly with his sword: the liver slips out. ò δε φασγάνωι οΰτα καθ’ ήπαρ· 470 έκ δέ οί ήπαρ δλισθεν, άτάρ μέλαν αίμα κατ’ αύτοΰ κόλπον ένέπλησεν Achilles struck him in the liver with his sword. The liver slith­ ered out and drenched his lap with dark blood. Of course the liver cannot slip out, as Leaf notes: it is attached to the diaphragm by three ligaments.45 It could, I suppose, appear in the wound, but it must be a slashing wound, rather than a stab, and this is entirely appropriate for the bronze slashing sword which Homer’s warriors use. Homer enjoys this sort of thing, I believe, however unpleasant it may seem to some modern readers. His use of the special word έξολισθάνω is disgracefully onomatopoeic. The only other time he uses it is when the lesser Ajax slips in cow dung during the foot race in the funeral games. (15) Deucalion. 20.478-83 (p. 36). Achilles decapitates Deucalion with a sword. 481

ό δέ φασγάνωι αύχένα θείνας τήλ’ αύτήι πήληκι κάρη βάλε· μυελός αΰτε σφονδυλίων εκπαλθ’ ...

Achilles struck the man’s neck with his sword and sent head and helmet flying off together. The marrow spurted out of his verte­ brae ... εκπαλθ’ must mean some spasmodic or sudden event. After decapita­ tion, red blood will spurt spectacularly from the arteries of the neck, and dark blood will flood out of the veins, but nothing will happen to 149

Appendix by K.B. Saunders the μυελός, whether it means the marrow of the vertebrae, which is a spongy substance under no pressure, or the substance of the spinal cord, or cerebrospinal fluid, which surrounds the cord at a pressure of a few centimeters of water. (16) Polydorus. 20.407-18 (p. 38). Achilles stabs Polydorus in the back with a spear, which passes right through the body and comes out by the navel. His guts come out through the exit wound. τον βάλε μέσσον άκοντι ποδάρκης διος Άχιλλεύς νώτα παραίσσοντος, δθι ζωστήρος όχήες 415 χρύσειοι σύνεχον καί διπλόος ηντετο θώρηξ· άντικρύ δέ διέσχε παρ’ όμφαλόν έγχεος αιχμή, γνύξ δ’ έριπ οίμώξας, νεφέλη δέ μιν άμφεκάλυψε κυανέη, προτί οΐ δέ λάβ’ έντερα χερσί λιασθείς. As he sprinted past, swift-footed godlike Achilles threw his spear at the middle of his back where the golden buckles of his belt were fastened and his body-armour overlapped. The spear-point went right on through him and came out by his navel. He dropped to his knees with a scream, the dark cloud of death enveloped him and, as he sank, he clutched his guts to him with his hands. Alternatively in Hammond’s translation, the guts did not come out, but they would have done if Polydorus had not held them in. Friedrich notes several problems here. The first involves the general difficulty of visualising Homeric body armour, in particular the relation be­ tween θώρηξ, ζωστήρ and μίτρη, which will not be pursued here.46The second is that the description of the corselet and belt fastenings is repeated at 4.134-5, where Menelaus is wounded by Pandarus’arrow. But Menelaus is wounded in the front, whereas here Achilles stabs Pandarus in the back. One of these must surely be inappropriate. Third, Friedrich pursues Homer’s use of μέσος / μέσσος at considerable length, seeking some sort of anatomical precision, even where an arrow strikes a pigeon at 23.875, but it seems that overall Homer really uses this word in no very definite sense. This is not to say that the site of belly wounds is undefined. If a wound is μέσηι δ’ έν γαστέρι it involves the θώρηξ on five of six occurrences. If it is νειαίρηι δ’ έν γαστρί, at the base of the belly, it involves the ζωστήρ, on three of four occasions. If, twice, it is παρ’ όμφαλόν, no armour is cited. Thus Homer sees the θώρηξ as protecting the upper belly and the ζωστήρ the lower belly below the navel. But we must also consider the guts spilling, or 150

Appendix by K B . Saunders potentially spilling, from the exit wound, and there are two other examples. (17) Diores. 4.517-26 (p. 39). Peirous stabs Diores in the belly with a spear. δς p έβαλέν περ 525 Πείροος, ο,ΰτα δε δουρί παρ’ όμφαλόν· έκ δ’ άρα π&σαι χύντο χαμάί χολάδες, τον δέ σκότος δσσε κάλυψε.

But Peirous, the man who had hit him, ran up and stabbed him by the navel with his spear. His guts gushed out on to the ground, and darkness engulfed his eyes. The same phrases occur when Achilles kills Asteropaius at 21.179-81, but Achilles uses a sword. Here is another example of Homeric onomatopoeia (and extraordinary alliteration with χ) with a particu­ larly unpleasant event. Guts can come out of the belly through an open slash which gapes open, most likely the small bowel, loops of which are mobile and anterior in the abdominal cavity. But they cannot come out through a puncture wound, and surely not through a puncture wound which is still plugged by the spear.47 Thus with (16) Polydorus and (17) D iores we have good examples of the weapon (spear) being inappro­ priate to the wound, whereas with Asteropaius, the wound is appropriately made by a slashing sword.48 Low realism By this Friedrich seems to mean episodes of wounding which some readers have found indecent or at least undignified. The examples he discusses are not unrealistic, and only two need detain us here. (18) P hereclus. 5.59-68 (p. 42: Saunders A, pp. 352-4 and Figs 5, 6). 65

τον μεν Μηριόνης, δτε δή κατέμαρπτε διώκων, βεβλήκει γλουτόν κάτα δεξιόν· ή δέ διαπρό άντικρύ κατά κύστιν ΰπ’ όστέον ήλυθ’ άκωκή.

Meriones pursued him and, when he caught him, hit him in the right buttock. The spear-head passed clean through to the blad­ der under the pubic bone.

151

Appendix by K.B. Saunders An identical wound is later inflicted, again by Meriones, but this time with an arrow. (19) Harpalion. 13.650-2 (p. 83). 650 Μηριόνης S’ άπιόντος ΐει χαλκήρε’ οίστόν καί ρ έβαλε γλουτόν κάτα δεξιόν· αύτάρ όϊστός άντικρύ κατά κύστιν ύπ’ όστέον έξεπέρησεν. As he withdrew, Meriones shot him with a bronze-headed arrow and hit him in the right buttock. The arrow went clean through his bladder and came out under the pubic bone. Here I disagree with Hammond’s translation, since he unnecessarily inverts the order of κατά κύστιν ύπ’ όστέον, but agree with the Rieu/Jones version for (19) Harpalion. The missile passes through the greater sciatic notch in the pelvis (Saunders A, Fig. 5), transfixes the bladder and emerges under the bony pubic arch in the front. This, as Thompson49 showed, is anatomically perfectly practical. This de­ scription replaced the theory of Malgaigne (1842) translated by Grmek50that it went ‘from back to front and from below to above, ... through the gluteus maximus, the ischio-pubic foramen, the bladder and the pubic arch’, which is wrong for three reasons. The foramen and the arch described he almost in the same plane, so an arrow cannot go through both. The base of the bladder lies just behind the symphysis pubis, just above the pubic arch, so any weapon travelling through the pubic arch will miss the bladder unless it is angled sharply downward, certainly not ‘from below to above’. Third, it would be somewhat difficult to shoot an arrow which hit the buttock and then angled upward, unless, I suppose, the recipient were standing on a hill.51 What is remarkable is the trajectory of the weapon. It is natural to think that the course from buttock through bladder and out at the front would be closer to horizontal than vertical, sloping downwards, appropriate for a targeted arrow or throwing spear. In fact when it is tested in an assembled skeleton it is much closer to vertical (about 25° off - Saunders A, Fig. 6).The sharply downward trajectory of this wound may be suggested by the three prepositions (κατά, κατά, υπό) which govern buttock, bladder and bone respectively. In real war, massed archers fire arrows high in the air to descend almost vertically on a massed enemy, but we are not dealing with Agincourt here. Arrow shots in Homer are targeted and therefore have a trajectory nearer to horizontal, as observation of any modern archery contest will show. Teucer shoots from a kneeling position 152

Appendix by K.B. Saunders suitable for a low trajectory. As for the possibility that the wound could be inflicted with a throwing spear, Meriones is at close quarters, and again the trajectory of the thrown spear should be nearly flat. In fact both wounds are appropriate for a right-handed downward stabbing blow on a fleeing enemy. If the victim’s trunk were tipped forward in flight, the weapon trajectory would be even closer to vertical. In botlj cases, therefore, the victim is in flight, the wounds are entirely realistic, but the weapon is different and in both cases (arrow and throwing spear) mismatched to the wound. What is needed is a short stabbing spear - an assegai, for example. Friedrich gets close to this with (18) Phereclus when he notes that κατέμαρπτε διώκων ‘does not go at all well with βεβλήκει .... It describes the complete act of catching up, and this gives the opportunity for a stab or a blow, not a throw.’ Other problematic wounds (20) Hector. 14.409-20, 436-9; 15.10-11, 239-42 (pp. 27-9: Saunders A, pp. 354-7). Ajax hits Hector on the chest with a thrown rock. Hector collapses, is carried away by his friends and recovers. τον μέν έπειτ’ άπιόντα μέγας Τελαμώνιος Αίας 410 χερμαδίωι, τά ρα πολλά θοάων εχματα νηών πάρ ποσί μαρναμένων έκυλίνδετο, των εν άείρας στήθος βεβλήκει υπέρ άντυγος άγχόθι δειρής ... As he withdrew, great Ajax son of Telamon picked up one of the many boulders that had been used to support the ships and had rolled among the feet of the combatants, and with this hit Hector on the chest just below the neck over the rim of his shield ... This celebrated scene, which is recounted as a series of four episodes in two books, has more problems than those already raised by com­ mentators. Where is Hector hit? On the chest (στήθος), near the neck (άγχόθι δειρής). Is this anterior? Presumably, since it goes υπέρ άντυγος, above the rim of his shield. If so it must be below the level of the collarbone, which if involved would likely have been broken and rendered the ipsilateral arm useless. ‘Close by the neck’ is an odd way to describe this site. Or is it posterior? Hector is άπίων when he is hit, and although this normally implies that the victim is backing away, it need not do so.62Hector would prudently have slung his shield over 153

Appendix by K B . Saunders his back to protect it if he had turned away. Then he might have been hit over the upper edge of the shoulder-blade, which is still the chest in modern parlance. But of the thirteen other occurrences of στήθος in 13-16, eight indubitably mean the front of the chest, since they refer to wounds in an oncoming fighter, or occurring when the victim is ύπτιος; or in one case the wound is located παρά μάζον. In the other five the meaning is ambiguous in this respect but there is no sugges­ tion that the back of the chest is involved. The clearest definition is at 8.325 δθι κληίς άποέργει αυχένα τε στήθος τε. Thus Hector is retreating by moving backwards behind a raised shield, and the wound is anterior below the clavicle. It is an odd and surprisingly innocuous place for a wound, close to and just below the site of Achilles’fatal thrust in 22.324 ήι κληΐδες άπ’ ώμων αύχέν έχουσι, just above the clavicle, an entirely different matter. Is this foreshadowing? Fenik53 is wary of such conclusions when we deal with accounts of battle scenes which are to some extent typified but with varying vocabulary. Apparent foreshadowing will occur automatically by this process without necessarily any authorial intent. Nevertheless these two scenes are so crucial that the reader (perhaps not the hearer) cannot fail to sense the connection. What is the local effect of the wound? A blunt injury to the upper anterior chest wall which does not cause collapse of the bony rib cage, (which there is no reason to suppose here), is a long way from any major blood vessels, and in particular a very long way from any part of the gastrointestinal tract (especially the intrathoracic gullet). What then does αΐμ’ άπέμεσσεν mean (14.437) and similarly αΐμ’ έμέων (15.11)? Not vomiting blood (haematemesis is the modern technical word for this), for there can be no source of bleeding in gullet or stomach. The simplest explanation is that the blunt injury to the chest wall causes bruising of and bleeding within the underlying lung, with or without rib fractures. Bleeding within the lung tissue habitu­ ally appears at the mouth, being coughed up as, in modern terms, haemoptysis. Homer uses the expression haemoptysis more precisely than we do to mean blood-spitting, as following a severe blow to the cheek in the boxing match when his friends drag Euryalus away αίμα παχύ πτύοντα (23.697). Thus έμέω must mean ‘cough up’, or perhaps more neutrally ‘bring up’, here, and not vomiting. Janko realises this (at 436-7), but says that the poet ‘depicts the symptoms of a punctured lung or pleural effusion, which such a blow might well cause’. A punctured lung, or, technically, traumatic pneu­ mothorax, is perfectly possible, and may cause haemoptysis, though the simpler explanation above suffices, but a pleural effusion is a watery collection of fluid which accumulates between the lung and 154

Appendix by K.B. Saunders chest wall over a period of days or weeks (for a variety of reasons), not an immediate response to trauma. It cannot be relevant here. How often does Hector lose consciousness? There is no immediate reason why someone struck on the front of the chest should lose consciousness. Boxers do not knock out their opponents in this way. Therefore commentators and translators alike, if they think Hector falls unconscipus at 418, must assume that the pain of the blow was so severe that die fainted. Janko spells it out. (The alternative, that unconsciousness was due to hypotension due to rapid blood loss, would not be compatible with subsequent recovery.) The problem is that men who have fainted he silent and still, but Hector is carried off βαρέα στενάχοντα (432). So far then at 432 we have no evidence that Hector is unconscious, and no particular reason why he should be. He has certainly been spun round and fallen in a heap (whatever έάφθη means). He has been carried off groaning. But what of Hector’s recovery? His friends put him in a chariot and take him behind the lines, until they reach the river Xanthos, when they put him on the ground and pour water over him. Then àpxvhv0q,54and all depends on whether this is thought to mean ‘regained consciousness’ which it routinely does, or whether this curious word can be taken in another sense. If we take it with Willcock and Leaf that it is derived from a πνυ root, like πεπνυμένος and πινυτός, it may mean that Hector started to make sense again rather than regained consciousness. It is rare to lose consciousness after a blow to the chest, but any severe blow or shock anywhere may leave the recipient temporarily disorientated and ‘making no sense’- and likely βαρέα στενάχοντα. We have similar shades of meaning when we describe someone ‘lying senseless’, which is unconscious, or ‘making a senseless decision’, which is béhaving stupidly. Note also the phrase-clustering (see Janko on 13.97-9) of άπινύσσων in 15.10 - which Leaf interprets as ‘dazed’. In short, it makes better sense to think of Hector as dazed and groaning, rather than unconscious and groaning, until his friends pour cold water on him, as friends do today in similar circumstances on the sports field. Alternatively, and more simply, since Hector has been hit heavily on the chest, and perhaps had ‘the breath knocked out of him’, άμπνύνθη may simply mean ‘got his breath back’. But he had breath enough to groan loudly. Hector starts to make sense, looks up (άνέδρακεν - another rare word) and gets up either to a kneeling position (Janko) or sitting on his heels (Leaf and Willcock). Either of these positions is unwise, since both impede venous return of blood from the legs to the heart, and now Hector faints without doubt. He falls hack to the ground again and ‘black night covered over his eyes’. When τώ δέ οί δσσε νύξ 155

Appendix by K.B. Saunders έκάλυψε μέλαινα, this means a temporary loss of consciousness, due to a faint, as it does for Andromache at 22.466 or for Aeneas at 5.310, and perhaps again for Hector at 11.356 though there it followed a blow to the head, perhaps concussion.55 If we rely on normal conventions, we are misled by Homer twice. First, Hector falls like a tree (414-17). Second, έπεσ’ Έκτορος ώκύ χαμαί μένος έν κονίηισι - with two locatives. Both phrases, in this context, signify death in Homer. Any listener who knew the oral linguistic conventions would now assume that Hector was dead, and it is 100 lines or so before we know for sure that he is alive, conscious again but dazed (15.10-11). However, in the meantime, Homer’s narrative conventions reassure us to some extent. His great heroes, when they die, die on the field of battle, not behind the lines, and their deaths are followed by energetic local action concerning the fate of their bodies and armour, and preceded in the most prominent cases by dialogue after the fatal wounding. ‘Gasping and sweating’{15.241). I take it that ασθμα comes from *dco, "referring perhaps originally to the simplest of all phonated breath sounds, Ί say Ah’. It is the ur-ur-verb. Hence αρημι, with the motion/action implication of the -μι forms - ‘blow’ or ‘breathe hard’, and ασθμα. That this means audible breathing or ‘panting’is borne out by the use of άσθμαίνω in 10.376, where Odysseus and Diomedes κιχήτην άσθμαίνοντε when they run in pursuit of Dolon. It may also imply rapidity of breathing. Galen (on Hippocrates) says ασθμα. καλοΰσι οΰτως oi Έλληνες την πυκνήν άναπνοήν, οϊα συμβαίνει τοΐς δραμοΰσιν ή όπωσοΰν έτέρως είς σφοδράν κίνησιν άφικομένοις.56 In 15.10, άργαλέωι ασθματι is highly appropriate, as deep or even normal breathing can be excruciatingly painful in someone with injury to the chest wall and underlying lung. In 15.241 άσθμα καί ίδρώς is more difficult. People do sweat from activation of the sympa­ thetic nervous system when they are frightened or as a response of the sympathetic system to low blood pressure (‘shock’, technically). Both mechanisms are possible here. But the commonest cause of panting and sweating is simple exercise (where sweating is an impor­ tant temperature control mechanism), and I suspect that ασθμα καί ίδρώς is formulaic, and only approximately appropriate here. (21) Pylaimenes. 5.576-9 (p. 9, note 5). He is έσταότα as Menelaus gives him a fatal wound with a spear thrust around the collarbone. (It is not a phantasma, but considered in that section as a derivative parallel.) Friedrich raises a problem with έσταότα ‘as concise as it is unclear’. In Homer the paradigm known as the perfect tense retains the stative aspect of Proto-Indo156

Appendix by K.B. Saunders European; that is, it is neither perfective nor a tense. Nor does it mean ‘present state resulting from previous action or experience’.B7It sim ply describes a state of affairs. The first and second perfects of ϊστημι are used especially to describe the position of inanimate objects (a cup, a tree stump, a ship, stakes in a trench), but also of anim als and humans. The perfect participle έστώς is used with one exception (spears in a hi^t) referring to animals and humans. It means ‘standing stock still’ or.'as he stood’. An element of consternation is sometimes implied, but ii not mandatory. (22) Aeneas. 5.303-10 (p. 17). 305 τώι βάλεν Αίνείαο κατ’ ισχίον, ένθα τε μηρός ισχίων ένστρέφεται, κοτύλην δέ τέ μιν καλέουσι. θλάσσε δέ οί κοτύλην, προς δ’ άμφω ρήξε τένοντε·

With this (rock) he hit Aeneas on the hip where the thigh turns in the hip joint - the cup-bone, as they call it. He crushed the cup-bone and broke both sinews too. This has been cited as an example of Homer’s anatomical expertise, but it requires very little. Anyone who has butchered or eaten beef or mutton, or has seen human bones, knows that there is a ball-andsocket joint at the top of the back leg. The diagnosis of a pelvic fracture could only have been made by stressing the pelvis and listening for crepitus, that is the sound of broken bone surfaces grating together, probably not a good idea. The dual tendons are, as usual, not identifiable. (23) Pedaius. 5.69-75 (p. 65). Meges hits Pedaius from behind with a spear-cast.

75

τον μέν Φυλε'ί'δης δουρίκλυτος έγγύθεν έλθών βεβλήκει κεφαλής κατά Ινίον όξέϊ δουρί· άντικρύ δ’ άν’ όδόντας ύπό γλώσσαν τάμε χαλκός· ήριπε δ’ έν κονίηι, ψυχρόν δ’ έλε χαλκόν όδούσιν.

The great spearman Meges caught this man up and hit him with his sharp spear on the nape of the head. The point came through between his teeth and cut out the root of his tongue. He collapsed in the dust and bit the cold bronze with his teeth. It is very clear that the blade must come out more or less horizontally in front between the upper and lower jaw, and that it goes through 157

Appendix by K.B. Saunders the tongue on the way. I have argued above for (7) Ilioneus that the iviov is a point on the back of the head, rather than the back of the neck. A glance at the lateral view of the skull (e.g. Saunders A, Fig. 7) shows that a missile going through the tongue and out between the teeth will probably not go through the skull, i.e. pierce it at the iviov, but will rather slide just below it and proceed horizontally. Perhaps the ‘nape’ is the best translation. (24) Sarpedon. 5.692-5 (p. 95). Sarpedon has been wounded in the thigh by a spear-cast from Tle­ polemos. οί μεν dp άντίθεον Σαρπηδόνα δΐοι έταΐροι εΐσαν ύπ’ αίγιόχοιο Διός περικαλλή φηγών έκ δ’ άρα οί μηρού δόρυ μείλινον ώσε θύραζε 695 ϊφθιμος Πελάγων

But godlike Sarpedon was removed by his men and laid under a lovely oak tree, sacred to Zeus who drives the storm-cloud. There his close companion, mighty Pelagon, extracted the ash spear from his thigh. The problem here is that Pelagon seems to be practising διωσμός, that is pushing the missile on and out through the thigh, an unlikely tactic with a spear. Salazar58comments on Friedrich’s ‘elaborate argument (p. 95, n. 44) in order to explain away the action of “pushing” the spear, which is quite obviously implied in the text: the use of ώθεΐν, he argues, is triggered by the word θύραζε, in which the image of pushing the intruder out of the entrance is so strong that the poet could be using ώσε without actually intending it as the action implied by the verb.’ It is the same argument which I put forward as a partial explanation of eyeballs falling to the ground ((10) Peisandrus and (11) Cebriones). There I suggested that the influence of the verb πίπτω is so strong that locative phrases meaning ‘to the ground’ are attracted to it. (25) Adamas. 13.567-75 (p. 43). Adamas is hit by a spear-cast from Meriones in the lower belly: Μηριόνης δ’ άπιόντα μετασπόμενος βάλε δουρί αιδοίων τε μεσηγύ καί όμφαλοΰ, ένθα μάλιστα γίγνετ’ Άρης άλεγεινός όιζυροΐσι βροτοΐσιν. 570 ένθα οί έγχος έπηξεν· ό δέ σπόμενος περί δουρί ήσπαιρ’ ώς δτε βούς, τόν τ’ ούρεσι βουκόλοι άνδρες

Appendix by K.B. Saunders ίλλάσιν ούκ έθέλοντα βίηι δήσαντες άγουσιν ώς ò τυπείς ήσπαιρε μίνυνθά περ, But Meriones followed him as he withdrew and hit him with his spear between the navel and genitals, where death in battle comes most painfully to wretched mortals. There the spear went home, anc^Adamas, collapsing, writhed round it, as a wild mountain, bull twists about when herdsmen have caught and roped it arfd bring it in against its will. So the stricken fighter writhed, but not for long ... This is perhaps more straightforward. The wound is central in the lower abdomen (not a groin wound). Willcock thinks that Adamas was impaled on the spear and σπόμενος περί δουρί means ‘collapsed forward on it’. Janko interprets it as Adamas following the spear, stuck in his belly, as Meriones tugs it, echoing μετασπόμενος in 567. Janko’s ver­ sion is indubitably nastier, and, since Meriones tends to produce aesthetically unpleasant wounds, more likely, τυπείς in 573 is odd since the wound was with a thrown spear (βάλε 567) and so Aristar­ chus’rule is broken. Janko suggests that the verb of striking has been attracted from the simile of the bull sacrifice, where τύπτω would be appropriate. The dragging of the bull to sacrifice also supports J.’s version. (26) M aris. 16.321-5 (Saunders A, p. 361). Thrasymedes wounds Maris in the shoulder with a spear-thrust. 321

τού δ’ αντίθεος Θρασυμήδης έφθη όρεξάμενος πριν ούτάσαι, ούδ’ άφάμαρτεν, ώμον άφαρ· πρυμνόν δέ βραχίονα δουρός άκωκή δρύψ’ άπό μυώνων, άπό δ’ όστέον άχρις άραξε·

Godlike Thrasymedes made a swift lunge at his shoulder and did not miss. The point of his spear, striking the base of the arm, tore it away from the muscles and completely dislocated the arm-bone. It is hard to see what is going on here. Janko thinks (with LSJ) that άχρις means ‘utterly’ smashed the bone (difficult with a spear-point). I suspect that άπό δ’ όστέον άχρις άραξε may mean ‘knocked the bone away’, in the sense that the spear went through the shoulder joint and dislocated the upper arm bone (humerus) away from the shoulder blade, as in Rieu/Jones. δρύπτω and άποδρύπτω refer elsewhere to superficial and messy 159

Appendix by K.B. Saunders wounds mainly involving the skin. Eagles tear each other’s flesh with their talons (Od. 2.153). Odysseus is in danger of being scraped on the rocks when he is cast ashore (Od. 5.426, 435), and of a similar injury if dragged by the angry suitors through the house (Od. 17.480). Both Athena (H. 23.187) and Apollo (iZ. 24.21) take steps to see that Hector’s body is not damaged when dragged by Achilles. In Od. 5.426 (see above) δρύπτω and άράσσω are again combined in the potential injury to flesh and bone which Odysseus might have received if cast on the rocks by the surf. There is nothing in any of this to suggest or reflect damage that might be done by a simple spear wound. Again, this points to mis­ match of weapon and wound, though even a jagged slash from a sword is not entirely appropriate. (27) Sarpedon. 16.503-5 (p. 88£f.). Sarpedon has made his dying speech. Patroclus withdraws the spear from his chest, and he dies. ό δέ λάξ έν στήθεσι βαίνων έκ χροός έλκε δόρυ, προτί δέ φρένες αύτωι έποντο· 505 τοΐο δ’ άμα ψυχήν τε καί έγχεος έξέρυσ αιχμήν. Patroclus put his foot on his chest and withdrew the spear from his flesh. The innards came with it: he had drawn out the spear-point and the man’s life together. No one has come up with a good explanation for 504. φρένες, when used in a strict anatomical sense, is normally taken as the midriff, that is the diaphragm. This is how Willcock takes it, and how Ham­ mond translates it. The diaphragm is a single dome-shaped musculofibrous structure which separates the thoracic and abdominal cavities. It is attached to the breast-bone in front, to the ribs at the sides, and to the spine and paraspinal muscles at the back. Clearly it could not be extracted on a spear-point. Janko argues that φρένες here means lungs, which also fits with 481, άλλ’ έβαλ’ ένθ’ άρα τε φρένες έρχαται άμφ’ άδινόν κήρ, (he is hit) ‘where the lungs are shut in around the dense heart’ (Janko’s translation). Janko gives other reasons for this position, including the possibility that Sarpedon’s noisy breath­ ing (βεβρυχώς 486) fits with a pulmonary wound.69It does not solve the problem, however, since lungs are just as tightly attached as the diaphragm, and the extraction of the lungs, or even one lung, through a spear wound would be an early and brilliant example of key-hole surgery. There seem to me two possible approaches. First, as I have argued that όδόντες in (9) Erym as 16.348 means not ‘all the teeth’but 160

Appendix by K.B. Saunders some of the teeth’, so here I suggest that φρένες means ‘a bit of lung’, which would be perfectly realistic. Here Ovid is on my side, if he was thinking of this passage when he wrote Metamorphoses 6.252ff.60 Debus ibi intima fatifero rupit praecordia ferro, quod sinful eductum est, pars et pulmonis in hamis eruta cpmque anima eruor est effusus in auras. The Delian god pierced his diaphragm with deadly steel, and, as the shaft was drawn out, part of his lung, caught on the barb, was drawn out too. Blood and life poured from his body together (trans. M.M. Innes).61 Second, I find it hard to ignore the unique zeugma in 505 where both spear and life are extracted at once, and more than coincidental that in the preceding bne, the spear is extracted together with the φρένες, of which the abstract meaning is mind, the seat of both perception and will. Janko finds this interpretation repetitious, and so it is, but it gets us out of an almost insuperable anatomical problem.62 Conclusions As medical science developed in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Homerists with medical backgrounds were enthralled by the ease with which their accumulating knowledge could be used to explain and illuminate passages in the Iliad which had puzzled previous scholars. But Küchenmeister, Fröhch and Körner, for exam­ ple, went too far. Frölich’s confidence that Homer must have been an army surgeon, and Körner’s explanation of the Mydon episode, are no longer credible at any level. Homer had a practical knowledge of anatomy. He knew where the major organs were. He did not know what their function was. Nobody did, then. He was quite good in the abdomen (bladder wounds, Phereclus, Harpalion), and around the hip (Aeneas), but not around the spine (Thoon). He had no idea what the difference was between what we now call tendons, ligaments and nerves, nor of the varieties or functions of the various hollow conduits which conduct fluids around the body. How could he have? Yet his apparently detailed and accurate description of the anat­ omy and pathophysiology of wounds has convinced listeners/readers and fascinated scholars since the Alexandrians. How does he do this? I suggest that the rapidity of his narrative style enables him to operate around the limits of credibility - what Friedrich called 161

Appendix by K.B. Saunders pseudo-realism. It is not only wounds which fall into this stylistic area. The following topics are on the borders of the realistic: The mechanics of duelling with spears Sudden death Wound healing The vibration of missiles when they impact Decapitations and limb-lopping Boulder wounds Some of the wounds which Friedrich lists Some of all of these cross the border into fantasy. Which ones? It depends on the reader/listener. Are they ancient or modern? What personal experience of warfare - or medicine - do they have? For moderns, are they ‘general readers’who read in translation, or in Greek without commentary, or ‘informed readers’who read with commentaries and thus cannot escape the controversies discussed above? The scholiasts bothered about rapid death following a wound in the thigh"(Amphiclus), and whether a man on the ground could hit a charioteer on the head with a sword (Mydon). Eyeballs falling to the ground did not worry them (Peisandrus, Cebriones). As a late twentieth-century physician, I take precisely the opposite view. And I would classify as phantasmata wounds which Friedrich does not thus categorise, for example Thoon. This is because I happen to know that there is no hollow vessel, let alone vein, which runs all the way up the back to the neck. This has inescapable implications for Homeric style, which Frie­ drich’s categories oversimplified, though he had the main point, which is that Homer uses pseudo-realism to create excitement, and he gets away with it because he takes us through it, or past it, at such speed. Of course we experience the ‘suspension of disbelief’. But not the ‘willing suspension’. We feel it willy-nilly because Homer is a transcendental poet. Notes 1. Dr Küchenmeister (sic), 1855: ‘Ueber das im Homer in Betreff der verschiedenen Arten der Wunden niedergelegte, physiologisch-medizinische Material, zunächst in Rücksicht der Beschreibung der Art des Fallens getrof­ fener Krieger’, Zeitschrift für klinische Medizin, Breslau, 31-57. O. Körner, 1929: Die Ärztlichen Kenntnisse in Ilias und Odysee, München. 2. J. Baumann, 1923: ‘Über kataleptische Totenstarre’, Dtsch. Z. gerichtl. Med. 2, 647-70. He quotes J.M. Rossbach, 1870: ‘Ueber eine unmittelbar mit dem Lebensende beginnende Todtenstarre’, Virchows Arch. 51, 558-69. 3. J.F. Malgaigne, 1842: Etudes sur Vanatomie et la Physiologie d ’Homère,

Appendix by K.B. Saunders Paris. Ch. Daremberg, 1865: La médicine dans Homère, Paris. A.R. Thompson, 1952: ‘Homer as a surgical anatomist’, Proc. R. Soc. Med. 45, 765-7. 4. M.D. Grmek, 1989: Diseases in the Ancient Greek World, trans. M. Muellner and L. Muellner. Baltimore. 5. K.B. Saunders, 1999: ‘The wounds in Iliad 13-16’, CQ 49, 345-63 (= Saunders A). K.B. Saunders, 2000: ‘A note on the strange death of Mydon in Riad 5’, Symbolae OMoenses 75, 24-33 (= Saunders B). 6. W. Leaf, 1902?^The Iliad (2nd ed.), London. M.M. Willcock, 1978: The Riad of Homer Books 1-12; 1984: Books 13-24, London. G.S. Kirk, 1985: The Riad: A Commentary, voi. I: Books 1-4, Cambridge. G.S. Kirk, 1990: The Riad: A Commentary, voi. II: Books 5-8, Cambridge. R. Janko, 1991: The Riad: A Commentary, voi. IV: Books 13-16, Cambridge. M.W. Edwards, 1991: The Riad: A Commentary, voi. V: Books 17-20, Cambridge. Problematic wounds are not evenly distributed throughout the battle scenes. They occur in Books 4, 5, 13,14, 16,17 and 20. E.V. Rieu, 1950: Homer, The Riad, revised by Peter Jones, 2003, Harmondsworth. M. Hammond, 1987: Homer: The Riad, Harmondsworth. 7. In modern times patients have survived such wounds, but with modern medical attention. 8. There are in the Riad at least thirty such words or phrases in the semantic field of ‘kill’. 9. There are several occasions when Homer nods in this respect. An Erymas is spectacularly killed by Idomeneus at 16.345-50 - and another by Patroclus at 16.415-18 - ‘re-used’ as Janko says. 10. H. Frölich, 1879: Die Militärmedicin Homer’s, Stuttgart, p. 60, re­ printed in B. Hainsworth, 1993: The Riad: A Commentary, voi. Ill: Books 9-12, Cambridge, p. 253, and in Grmek (see n. 4 above), p. 28. It seems that these figures have never been checked. For boulder wounds, in the first column of his table, Frölich found a total of thirteen. I used computer word searches for χερμάδιον, λίθος, πέτρος and λ&ας, and find thirteen strikes, eleven wounds. They are as follows, with the names of thrower and victim, site of impact, and whether the result is fatal (F), non-fatal (NF) or uncertain (U), the last two columns being the same information as that in the published table. 4.517 Diores NF, but then killed Peirous leg with a spear 5.305 Aeneas leg (hip) Diomedes NF 5.580 Mydon arm NF, but then killed Antilochus with a sword 7.264 Hector Ajax shield NF 7.268 Hector Ajax shield NF 8.321 Teucer Hector collar-bone NF Epicles 12.378 Ajax head F Hector 14.410 Ajax chest NF 16.411 Erylaus head F Patroclus 16.578 Hector Epeigeus head F 16.587 Patroclus Sthenelaus neck U

163

Appendix by K B . Saunders 16.734 Patroclus Cebriones head F 21.403 Athene Ares neck NF At 20.285, Aeneas threatens Achilles with a rock, but is spirited away before he can throw it. I don’t count this. At 15.249, Hector recounts his previous wound from a rock thrown by Ajax at 14.410; again I don’t count it. In Frölich’s table, out of thirteen, he found, for example, five head wounds and eight fatal results. I don’t know whether he included 7.264 and 7.268, where Ajax and Hector are struck on their shields but not wounded as such. In short I cannot reconcile my findings with his in several ways, and by a rather long chalk. 11. C.F. Salazar, 2000: The Treatment of War Wounds in Graeco-Roman Antiquity, Leiden; see esp. ch. 6. 12. For a full account of Homeric battle see H. van Wees, 1996: ‘Heroes, knights and nutters: warrior mentality in Homer’, in Battle in Antiquity, ed. A.B. Lloyd, London, esp. pp. 36ff., 50ff. 13. A.M. Snodgrass, 1964: Early Greek Armour and Weapons, Edinburgh, plate 34. 14. R. Drews, 1993: The End of the Bronze Age, Princeton, esp. pp. 192-208 and ch. 14. 15. These points apply to single combat, as in Homer. Weapons like the Persian sarissa, used by massed troop formations, are designed and handled differently. 16. R. Drews (see n. 14 above), plate 8. 17. R. Drews (see n. 14 above), p. 192. 18. Aristarchus’ rule is not invariable. For exceptions, see Saunders B (n. 4 above), p. 31, n. 11. Homer does use βάλλω to mean ‘throw’ but never in battle scenes. 19. Strangely, I find no comment on this elsewhere. But ελαύνω meaning strike, as in 22.326, is not used of missiles, as LSJ point out. This is not true for διελαύνω meaning pierce: see for example 13.595. 20. But cricketers are εύκνήμιδες. 21. R. Drews (see n. 14 above), pp. 180-92. 22. D.R. Morris, 1965: The Washing of the Spears, London, p. 47. 23. Note that the εγχος becomes a δόρυ. 24. See G.S. Kirk (n. 6 above), voi. II, p. 118. 25. See Ramesses II at the battle of Kadesh, from the thirteenth-century relief at the Ramesseum, widely reproduced, for example in Y. Yadin, 1963: The Art of Warfare in Biblical Lands, New York, p. 241. Also M.A. Littauer and J.H. Crouwel, 1983: ‘Chariots in late Bronze Age Greece’, Antiquity 57, 187-92. 26. See A.M. Snodgrass (n. 13 above), plate 34. 27. See G.S. Kirk (n. 6 above), voi. II, p. 118. 28. G. Kurz, 1966: Darstellungsformen menschlicher Bewegung in der Mas, Heidelberg, p. 20, n. 16. 29. See O. Körner (n. 1 above), pp. 40-1. 30. J. van Leeuwen, 1912: Mas, Leiden. 31. H. Erbse, 1971: Scholia Graeca in Homeri Iliadem (Scholia Vetera), Berlin.

164

Appendix by K.B. Saunders 32. The only things in the Iliad which do stand upright head-down are the spears at 11.574 and 15.317. (πολλά δέ δοΰρα) ... έν γαίηι ϊσταντο λιλαιόμενα χροός ασαι. Significantly, Homer does not use the stative in this context. The spears have ‘gone and stood’in the earth. They are personified by their ‘eagerness to taste flesh’, bùt also by the morphology of ΐστημι (see (21) Pylaim enes and n. 57 below). 33. In the calte report, there is a picture of the chest opened, with the knife passing down*t>y the side of the heart, as well as the picture reproduced in Saunders A. 34. Küchenmeister (see n. 1 above, p. 40) used calculations made by German physiologists (unreferenced) to the effect that the mechanical work during a single heart beat at heart-rate 60 beats/min was 0.035 kilogrammetres. This is equivalent, as he said, to lifting about 3.5 ounces to a height of one foot. (The German Pfund, I assume, was then as now 0.5 kg, and the Unze one-sixteenth of that.) Then the heart could lift to the height of a quarter of an inch a spear weighing 48 x 3.5 = 168 ounces, or 10.5 German pounds, or 5.25 kg. Friedrich seems to have misunderstood him in that he seems to think that Küchenmeister specifies a spear of weight 15 lb (p. 14), and it is not clear where this number comes from. The concept is in any case oversimplified. To make relevant calculations, one would need to know how the heart’s force was applied to the spear - not a matter of simple lifting. 35. As an example of a missile which will vibrate on impact, take an arrow with a flexible shaft shot into a tree - as those who saw early Robin Hood films may recall. 36. B. Fenik, 1968: Typical Battle Scenes in the Iliad, Hermes Einzel­ schritten 21, Wiesbaden, p. 133. 37. There are several ways of bending forward. 38. C.F. Salazar (see n. 11 above), pp. 114-15 notes that φλέψ is later used to describe vessels carrying, variously, arterial or venous blood, πνέυμα, milk or semen. 39. For Körner, see p. 34. 40. See Küchenmeister (n. 1 above), p. 44. 41. C.G. Heyne, 1834: Homeri Ilias, Oxford. 42. C.F. Salazar (see n. 38 above). 43. τένοντε also at 4.521, 5.307, 10.456, 17.290 and 22.396. τένοντες at 16.587 and 20.478. νεϋρα only in this passage. 44. B. Fenik (see n. 36 above), p. 196. 45. They are called the coronary, and right and left triangular ligaments. 46. See H.L. Lorimer, 1950: Homer and the Monuments, Oxford, pp. 196-211, 245-50; and Leaf Appendix B. 47. Friedrich makes this point elsewhere (p. 60). 48. With (16) Tros a slashing sword has made an appropriate wound for the liver to slip out of —but it can’t. 49. A.R. Thompson (see n. 3 above). He thinks that Homer’s anatomical knowledge is such that he specifies the right buttock for H arpalion’s wound, since if it had gone from the left, the arrow would have damaged the rectum as well as the bladder. This is anatomically true, but I think it goes too far.

165

Appendix by K B . Saunders 50. J.F. Malgaigne (see η. 3 above). M.D. Grmek (see n. 4 above), p. 32. 51. When I wrote the original account in CQ, I used Grmek’s version (translated by the Muellners [see n. 4 above], p. 32) which quoted Malgaigne (see n. 3 above, p. 17) to say that the missile passed through the ‘ischio-pubic foramen’. A foramen is an opening or hole, and the only hole which involves the ischium and pubis is that now known as the obturator foramen. This makes the wound path completely impractical. I had not then been able to trace Malgaigne’s original account —there seems to be no copy in the UK but when I did, I found that he said that the spear went through le grand trou sciatique. In contemporary French textbooks of Anatomy (J. Cloquet, 182131: Anatomie de l’homme, Paris; J-B.M. Bourgery, 1832-54: Traiti complet de l’anatomie de l’homme comprenant la médicine operatoire, Paris; C.L. Bonamy, P. Broca and E. Beau, 1844-66: Atlas d’anatomie descriptive du corps humain, Paris), le grand trou sciatique is nowhere mentioned. We do find le trou sous-pubien, which is the obturator foramen, which is the meaning that Grmek or his translators took, and which makes no anatomical sense. We also find la grande échancrure sciatique, which is the greater sciatic notch, which Thompson pointed out as the true entry point of the weapon into the pelvis. I suspect that this is what Malgaigne intended, but I suppose we should not award him priority. 52/LSJ άπειμι (2) occurs eight times in the Iliad, always as the present participle. Of six occurrences in combat, one definitely refers to departure with the back turned (13.650, where Harpalion is hit in the buttock by Meriones) and four definitely to backing away (13.516, 13.567, 14.409 and 14.461). 53. B. Fenik (see n. 36 above), p. .45. 54. I take άμπνύνθη with Janko, rather than έμπνύνθη. In the Iliad, αναπνέω is normally active in voice and means literally ‘take breath’ or more metaphorically ‘get respite from’, e.g πόνοιο or κακότητος (10 of 11 occur­ rences). άμπνύνθη is unique, and passive, and perhaps close to the middle άμπνυτο, twice in the Odyssey, both times with καί ές φρένα θυμός άγέρθη. The first of these refers to Odysseus’ recovery, when cast up on the beach, from the state of being άπνευστος καί άναυδος, ‘without breath or speech’ but not unconscious. The second refers to the recovery of Laertes who is overcome by the revelation that the stranger is his son. Odysseus catches him as he collapses άποψύχοντα (again unique), but before he loses consciousness. 55. On these four occasions, νύξ έκάλυψε definitely signifies temporary loss of consciousness. At 13.580, where Deipyrus is hit on the head and his helmet struck off, it probably means death. At 5.659, where Tlepolemus is hit by a spear which goes clean through his neck, it almost certainly means death. Once at 10.201 it is used more literally - ‘night covered the battlefield’. 56. Galen, In Hippocratis aphorismos commentarii vi, ed. Kühn. Claudii Galeni Opera Omnia, voi. 17.2, Leipzig, 1821. 57. A.L. Sihler, 1995: A New Comparative Grammar of Greek and Latin, Oxford, pp. 445-8, 564-6. 58. C.F. Salazar (see n. 11 above), p. 143. 59. Lines 481 and 504 are the only two instances in the Iliad (out of 178) where φρένες has an anatomical meaning, and it is therefore appropriate to

166

Appendix by K.B. Saunders use the first to interpret the second. Since the diaphragm is a thin fibromuscular sheet separating the thoracic and abdominal cavities, a wound involving it must pierce it and therefore injure organs both above and below it. On the right, these are lung above and liver below. On the left they are lung or heart above, and stomach or spleen below. Crossing over the boundary between φρήν 1φρένες = mind, and φρένες = some structure, probably the lung here, is the metaphorical wound at 19.125: τον δ’ άχος όξύ κατά φρένα τύψε βαθεΐαν, where όξύ afcd τύψε come straight from the battlefield. 60. C.F. Salazar (see n. 11 above) noted this Ovidian parallel. 61. M.M. Innes, 1955: Ovid, Metamorphoses, Harmondsworth. Ovid clev­ erly gets in both the lung and the diaphragm, according to Innes’translation. 62. Perhaps 504 and 505 are an amalgamation of two originally inde­ pendent and alternative versions.

167