文集列錶
伊利亞特 The Iliad
伊利亚特
    在西方文學史上,希臘史詩《伊利亞特》和《奧德賽》是現存最早的精品。一般認為,這兩部史詩的作者是西方文藝史上第一位有作品傳世的天才、飲譽全球的希臘詩人荷馬。荷馬史詩的歷史背景是曠時十年、規模宏偉、給交戰雙方造成重大創傷的特洛伊戰爭。像許多重大事件一樣,這場戰爭,用它的血和火,給文學和藝術提供了取之不盡的素材。英雄們的業績觸發了詩人的靈感,給他們安上了想像的翅膀,使他們在歷史和現實之間找到一片文學的沃土,在史實和傳聞之上架起五光十色的橋梁,用才華的犁頭,耕耘在刀槍碰響的田野,指點戰爭的風雲,催發詩的芳草,歌的香花。
  
               特洛伊戰爭和史詩係列
  
    久逝的歲月給特洛伊戰爭蒙上了一層神秘的色彩。但是,包括希羅多德和修昔底得在內的歷史學家們一般都不否認這場戰爭的真實性,雖然對它進行的年代,自古以來便沒有一種統一的定說。按希羅多德推測,特洛伊戰爭進行的年代約在公元前1250年左右,[●]而根據Mor Pchum的記載,希臘人攻陷特洛伊的時間應在前1290—8年間。近代某些學者將破城時間估放在前1370年左右。希臘學者厄拉托塞奈斯(Eratosthenes,生於前275年)的考證和提法得到一批學人的贊同——他的定取是前1193—84年。大體說來,西方學術界一般傾嚮於將特洛伊戰爭的進行年代擬定在公元前十三到十二世紀,即慕凱奈(或邁錫尼)王朝(前1600—1100年)的後期。
    ●《歷史》或《希波戰爭史》2·145·4。
    根據故事和傳說,特洛伊(即伊利昂)是一座富有的城堡,坐落在小亞細亞的西北部,瀕臨赫勒斯龐特的水流。國王普裏阿摩斯之子帕裏斯(即亞歷剋山德羅斯)曾出遊遠洋,抵斯巴達,備受王者墨奈勞斯的款待。其後,他將墨奈勞斯之妻海倫帶出斯巴達,返回特洛伊。希臘(包括它的“殖民地”)各地的王者和首領們於是風聚雲集,意欲進兵特洛伊,奪回海倫。艦隊彙聚奧利斯,由慕凱奈國王阿伽門農統領。經過一番周折,希臘聯軍登岸特洛伊,兵臨城下,但一連九年不得破獲。在第十年裏,阿伽門農和聯軍中最好的戰將阿基琉斯發生爭執,後者由此罷兵不戰,使特洛伊人(由赫剋托耳統領)節節獲勝,兵抵希臘人的海船和營棚。赫剋托耳陣殺帕特羅剋洛斯後,阿基琉斯重返戰場,逼回特洛伊軍伍,戰殺赫剋托耳。其後,阿基琉斯亦戰死疆場。按照神意,阿開亞人(即希臘人)最終攻下特洛伊,蕩劫了這座城堡。首領們歷經磨難,回返傢園,面對新的挑戰,新的生活。
    如果說特洛伊戰爭是一件確有其事的史實,世代相傳的口述和不可避免的“創新”已使它成為一個內容豐富、五彩繽紛、充滿神話和傳奇的故事或故事係列。繼荷馬以後,詩人們又以特洛伊戰爭為背景,創作了一係列史詩,構成了一個有係統的史詩群體,即有關特洛伊戰爭(或以它為背景)的史詩係列。[●]“係列”中,《庫普利亞》(Kypria,十一捲)描寫戰爭的起因,即發生在《伊利亞特》之前的事件;《埃西俄丕斯》(Aethiopis,五捲)和《小伊利亞特》(Ilias Mikra,四捲)以及《特洛伊失陷》(Niupersis,兩捲)續補《伊利亞特》以後的事件;《回歸》(Nosti,五捲)敘講返航前阿伽門農和墨奈勞斯關於回返路綫的爭執,以及小埃阿斯之死和阿伽門農回傢後被妻子剋魯泰奈絲特拉和埃吉索斯謀害等內容。很明顯,這三部史詩填補了《伊利亞特》和《奧德賽)之間的“空缺”。緊接着俄底修斯回歸的故事(即《奧德賽》),庫瑞奈詩人歐伽蒙(Eugamon)創作了《忒勒戈尼亞》(Telegonia,兩捲),講述俄底修斯和基耳凱之子忒勒戈諾斯外出尋父並最終誤殺其父,以後又婚娶裴奈羅佩等事件。《庫普利亞》和《小伊利亞特》等史詩內容蕪雜,結構鬆散,缺少必要的概括和提煉,其藝術成就遠不如荷馬的《伊利亞特》和《奧德賽》。亞裏斯多德認為,史詩詩人中,惟有荷馬擺脫了歷史的局限,着意於摹仿一個完整的行動,避免了“流水賬”式的平鋪直敘,擯棄了“散沙一盤”式的整體佈局。[●]從時間上來看,《庫普裏亞》等明顯的晚於荷馬創作的年代,它們所描述的一些情節可能取材於荷馬去世後開始流行的傳說。
    ●除了荷馬的《伊利亞特》和《奧德賽》外,其他史詩均已失傳。此外,這些作品或史詩衹是古希臘史詩係列(epikos kuklos)中的一部分。為了便於區分和對比,傳統上,人們一般不把荷馬史詩列入epic cycle的範圍。
    ●《詩學》8·1451a16—30,26·1462B8—11。
  
                   荷馬
  
    歷史上是否確曾有過荷馬其人,希臘人的回答是肯定的。生活在公元前七世紀上半葉的厄菲索斯詩人卡利諾斯(Callinos)曾提及史詩《塞拜德》,認為它是荷馬的作品;生活在前六世紀的色譜法奈斯(Xenophanes)和開俄斯詩人西摩尼得斯(Simonides,約前556—468年)也曾提及荷馬的名字。
    希臘人相信,荷馬(Homeros)出生在小亞細亞,可能在伊俄尼亞(Ionia),也可能在埃俄利斯(Aeolis)。古時候,至少有七個地方或城市競相爭奪荷馬的“所有權”,包括和小亞細亞隔海相望的雅典和阿耳戈斯。在衆多的競爭者中,人們較為傾嚮於接受的有兩個,即伊俄尼亞的基俄斯(Chios)和埃俄利亞的斯慕耳納(Smuma)。開俄斯詩人西摩尼得斯稱荷馬為Chios aner(基俄斯人)[●],品達則認為基俄斯和斯慕耳納同為荷馬的故鄉。[●]哲學家阿那剋西墨奈斯(Anaximenes)認定荷馬的家乡在基俄斯;史學家阿庫西勞斯(Acusilaos)和赫拉尼科斯(Hellanikos)也表示過同樣的意嚮。此外,在古時歸於荷馬名下的“阿波羅頌”裏,作者稱自己是個“盲人”,來自“山石嶙峋的基俄斯。”[●]
    ●片斷85,Bergk;另見片斷8,West
    ●古時候,人們傳統上將斯慕耳納定為荷馬的出生地,而將基俄斯看作是他創編《伊利亞特》的地方,即《伊利亞特》的“故鄉”。
    ●《荷馬詩頌》,“阿波羅頌”172。
    薩摩斯史學家歐伽昂(Eugaion)相信荷馬為斯慕耳納人,荷馬問題專傢、薩索斯人斯忒新勃羅托斯(Stesimbrotos,生活在前五世紀)不僅認定荷馬是斯慕耳納人,而且還說那裏有詩人的詞龕,受到人們像敬神般的崇仰。在早已失傳的《論詩人》裏,亞裏斯多德稱荷馬卒於小島伊俄斯(Ios),這一提法可能取自當時流行的傳聞。
    按希羅多德推算(以每百年三代人計),荷馬的生活年代,“距今至多不超過四百年”,換言之,大約在公元前850年左右。[●]希羅多德將荷馬和黑西俄得歸為同時代的詩人,[●]而色諾法奈斯則以為荷馬的活動年代早於黑西俄得。[●]修昔底得對此有過間接的提述,認為荷馬生活在特洛伊戰爭之後,其間不會有太久遠的年隙。[●]至遲在公元前七至六世紀,已有人引用荷馬的詩句;至前五世紀,荷馬已是傢喻戶曉的名字。由此可見,將荷馬的生活年代推定在公元前八世紀(至七世紀初),應當不能算是太過草率的。一般認為,《伊利亞特》的創編時間可能在公元前750至675年間。
    ●《歷史》2·53·2。
    ●《歷史》2·53·2。
    ●片斷B13,Diels—Kranz。
    ●《伯羅奔尼撒戰爭史》l·3·3。
  
                 《伊利亞特》
  
    荷馬既不是古希臘惟一的、也不是最早的史詩詩人。《伊利亞特》基本上取用古老的伊俄尼亞方言,同時亦包容大量的埃俄利斯方言的用語、變格和其他語法特徵,有的甚至可以追溯到古老的慕凱奈時代。此外,阿耳卡底亞一塞浦路斯方言也在《伊利亞特》中留下了它的印跡。很明顯,關於特洛伊戰爭的史詩起源於古遠的年代,(可能)以不太長的故事形式流傳於宮廷、軍營和民間。荷馬的功績,不在於首創描述特洛伊戰爭的故事或史詩,而在於廣徵博採,巧製精編,苔前人之長,避衆傢之短,以大詩人的情懷,大藝術傢的功力,創作了《伊利亞特》和《奧德賽》這兩部不朽的詩篇。
    Ilaias,即《伊利亞特》,意為“關於伊利昂的故事”或“伊利昂詩記”,作為詩名,最早見之於希羅多德的著作。《伊利亞特》共二十四捲(係後人所分),15,693(±)行,各捲的長度從429到999行不等。荷馬史詩采用六音步長短短格(即揚抑抑格),取其前長後短的下衝之勢。但是,荷馬史詩又不是長短短格的“一統天下”。實際上,除第五音步外,其他音步亦可接受長長格(即揚揚格);此外,第六音步更是長短短格的“禁區”,一般用長短格(即揚抑格)取而代之。這樣,我們可用下列符號或符號組合,表示荷馬史詩(或六音步長短短格敘事詩,英雄史詩)的格律或節奏形式:
    —UUI—UUI—UUI—UUI—UUI—UUI—U
    荷馬是一位吟誦詩人(aoides),生活在一個還沒有書面文字,或書面文字已經失傳、尚未復興或重新輸入(至少尚不廣泛流行)的時代。所以,《伊利亞特》首先是一部口頭文學作品。口誦史詩的一個共同和顯著的特點是采用一整套固定或相對固定的飾詞、短語和段落。顯然,這一創作方式有助於詩人的構製。記憶以及難度很大的臨場吟誦和不可避免的即興發揮。在《伊利亞特》裏,阿伽門農是“軍隊的統帥”(或“兵衆的首領”),墨奈勞斯是“嘯吼戰場的”戰將;我們讀到“沉雷遠播的”宙斯。“白臂膀的”赫拉、“足智多謀的”俄底修斯、“頭盔閃亮的”赫剋托耳、“捷足的”阿基琉斯、“脛甲堅固的”阿開亞人、“酒藍色的”大海和“土地肥沃的”特洛伊。這些程式化用語(form.lae)不僅點出了被修飾者(名詞,人或物)的某個或某些特點。屬性和品類,而且有助於渲染和墨飾史詩凝重、宏偉和肅穆的詩品特徵。英雄們“高大”、“魁偉”、“英俊”,在滿足了吃喝的欲望後雄辯滔滔,送吐“長了翅膀的話語”,或躺下享受睡眠的香甜。英雄們敢作敢為,盛怒時“惡狠狠地盯着”對手,陣亡後淬然倒地,“轟然一聲,鎧甲在身上鏗鏘作響”。他們先是全副武裝,接着衝上戰場,跳下戰車,和對手互駡一通,撂倒數名戰將,把敵人趕得遑遑奔逃,然後自己受挫負傷,舉手求告神佑,重新獲得勇氣和力量,繼續戰鬥,陣殺敵方的猶首。接着,兩軍圍着屍體展開惡戰,傷亡慘重,憑藉神的助佑,從槍林箭雨下救出陣亡的將領和伴友。《伊利亞特》中描述了五次這樣的“壯舉”(aristeiai),用了類似的模式,雖然在某些單項上略有出入。大段的復述(如 2·11—15, 23—33, 60—70,9·123—57,354—99等)有助於減輕詩人的勞動強度,加長史詩的篇幅,深化聽衆對某些內容的印象。
    程式化用語的形成和發展經歷了漫長的歲月。某些用語,尤其是某些神祗的指稱,如阿耳吉豐忒斯(赫耳墨斯)、阿特魯托奈(雅典娜)等,在荷馬生活的年代可能已是“化石”或“古董”。作為飾詞,“牛眼睛的”可能産生於崇拜圖騰的時代,在荷馬史詩裏已失去它的字面意義,成為“美麗的”、“漂亮的”同義語。
    一位神或英雄往往有一個以上、甚至幾十個飾詞或程式化用語。詩人可以根據格律和音步的需要選用合適的飾詞。以對宙斯為例,在不同的上下文和格律組合裏,詩人用了不同的修飾成分,包括“多謀善斷的”、“彙聚烏雲的”、“沉雷遠播的”等等。同樣,根據格律和音律的需要,詩人有時用“長發的”,有時則用“脛甲堅固的”,偶爾也用“身披銅甲的”修飾阿開亞人。格律和音律原則製約着詩人的用詞,同時也豐富了史詩的語言,增強了它的表現力。衆多的飾詞使詩人有可能不僅根據格律的要求,而且還能照顧到意思或語義的需要,選用合適的用語。當阿基琉斯籌備帕特羅剋洛斯的葬禮時,他就不再是“捷足的”英雄,而是“心胸豪壯的”夥伴,因為在這一語境中,後者似乎比前者更具莊重肅穆的色彩。然而,有時,為了照顧格律和句式的規整,也為了維護史詩中程式化用語的穩定性,詩人亦會有意識地“忽略”飾詞的原意,而把它們當做純粹的格律成分,附加在名詞或被修飾成分之上。例如,我們一般不會把惡魔波魯菲摩斯看作是“神一樣的”(《奧德賽》l·70)英雄,也不會傾嚮於認為“尊貴的母親”符合乞丐伊羅斯娘親的身份(《奧德賽10·5)。有的程式化飾詞明顯地不符合被修飾成分當時的狀態和處境。比如,阿芙羅底忒在冤訴時仍然是“歡笑的”(5·375),白日的晴空是“多星的”(8·46),而骯髒的衣服照舊是“閃光的”(《奧德賽》6·26)等等。
    荷馬是一位功底深厚、想像豐富、善於創新的語言大師。《伊利亞特》“詞章華麗,妙語迭出,精彩、生動的用詞和比喻俯拾皆是。荷馬知用暗喻(如“戰鬥的屏障”(喻善戰的壯勇)。“羊群的母親”(喻山地),但卻更為熟悉,也更善使用明喻。《伊利亞特》中的明喻分兩類,一類為簡單型,另一類則是從簡單型的基礎上發展而來的復雜型。簡單型明喻的結構特徵是A像B。埃阿斯的戰盾“像一堵墻”,兵勇們像狼或獅子似地戰鬥。阿波羅從俄林波斯上下來,“像黑夜一般”(l·47);塞提絲從海裏出來,“像一層薄霧”(l·359)。此類明喻,荷馬用來得心應手,熨貼自如,其技巧可謂已達爐火純青的地步。
    另一類明喻,即復雜型明喻,在其他民族早期的史詩中絶少出現,但在荷馬史詩中卻是個用例衆多、趨於普通的語言現象。此類明喻的結構特徵是在A像B之後附加一整段完整的內容,其修飾或解說對象不是接受喻示的A,而是作為喻象物的B。例如:
    如同一位邁俄尼亞或卡裏亞婦女,用鮮紅的顔料
    塗漆象牙,製作馭馬的頰片,儘管許多馭手
    為之唾涎欲滴,它卻靜靜地躺在
    裏屋,作為王者的佳寶,受到雙重的
    珍愛,既是馬的飾物,又能為馭者增添榮光。(4·141-45)
    通常,詩人以“就像這樣……”結束明喻,繼續故事的進程:
    就像這樣,墨奈勞斯,鮮血浸染了你強健的
    大腿,你的小腿和綫條分明的踝骨。(4·146—47)
    一般說來,史詩屬敘事詩的範疇。《伊利亞特》中的敘述分兩種,一種是詩人以講敘者的身份所作的敘述,另一種是詩人以人物的身份所進行的表述、表白和對話。亞裏斯多德稱第一種形式為“描述”,稱第二種形式為“表演”。[●]《伊利亞特》中,直接引語約占一半左右,而直接引語即為人物的敘述(包括復述),近似於劇中人(dramafis personae)的話白。毫無疑問,此類語言形式為表演式敘述提供了現成的材料。從這個意義上來說,《伊利亞特》是介於純粹的敘事詩(即詩人完全或基本上以講述者的身份敘述)和戲劇(詩)之間的一種詩歌形式。柏拉圖認為,荷馬史詩屬於悲劇的範疇,[●]而荷馬是“第一個悲劇詩人”。[●]
    ●《詩學》3·1448a21—24。
    ●《共和國》10·595C。
    ●《共和國》10·607A。
    《伊利亞特》描述了一場轟轟烈烈的戰爭中最悲壯的一頁。它展示了戰爭的暴烈,和平的可貴;抒表了勝利的喜悅,失敗的痛苦;描述了英雄的業績,徵戰的艱難。它闡釋人和神的關係,審視人的屬性和價值;它評估人在戰爭中的得失,探索催使人們行動的內外因素;在一個神人匯雜、事實和想像並存、過去和現在交融的文學平面上對影響人的生活、决定人的思想、製導人的行為的一係列重大問題,進行了嚴肅的、認真的、有深度的探討。
    《伊利亞特》所觸及的一個最根本的問題是人生的有限和在這一有限的人生中人對生命和存在價值的索取。和平時期的生活是美好的。牛羊在山坡上漫步,姑娘們在泉溪邊浣洗;年輕人穿梭在笑語之中,喜氣洋洋地采擷豐産的葡萄。詩人彈撥竪琴,動情的引吭高歌;姑娘小夥們穿着漂亮的衣衫,跳出歡快的舞步(18·561—72)。然而,即便是典型意義上的幸福生活,也不可避免地包孕着悲愁的種子,人的屬類使他最終無法擺脫死的迫脅。人是會死的,不管他願不願意見到死的降臨。人生短暫,短得讓人不寒而慄:
    裂地之神,你會以為我頭腦發熱,
    倘若我和你開打,為了可憐的凡人。
    他們像樹葉一樣,一時間風華森茂,
    如火的生機,食用大地催産的碩果;然而好景不長,
    他們枯竭衰老,體毀人亡。(21·462—6)
    人生如同樹葉的催發和枯亡;在第六捲第145—49行裏,荷馬已表述過這一思想。在戰爭中,在你死我活的絞殺中,死亡每時每刻都在發生;人們尖叫着紛紛倒地,“頭臉朝下”,“手抓泥塵”。死神把成百上千的壯勇拖人陰暗的地府;戰爭張開血盆大口,吞噬年輕的鬥士,啐嚼蓬勃的人生。即便勇烈如阿基琉斯,最終也將走上戰死疆場的辛酸路:
    但現在,誰也甭想死裏逃生,倘若神3氏把他送到
    我的手裏,在這伊利昂城前……所以,
    我的朋友,你也必死無疑。既如此,你又何必這般疾首痛心?
    帕特羅剋洛斯已經死去,一位遠比你傑出的戰勇。
    還有我——沒看見嗎?長得何等高大、英武,
    有一位顯赫的父親,而生我的母親更是一位不死的女神。
    然而,就連我也逃不脫死和強有力的命運的迫脅,
    將在某一天拂曉、黃昏或中午,
    被某一個人放倒,在戰鬥中,
    用投槍,或是離弦的箭鏃。(21·103—13)兵勇們知曉他們的使命,他們的歸宿;那是戰鬥的人生。正如俄底修斯慷慨陳辭的那樣:……我們,按着
    宙斯的意志,歷經殘酷的戰爭,從青壯
    打到老年,直至死亡,誰也不能幸免。(且485—87)生命短暫,戰爭無情。但是,壯勇們並沒有悲觀失望,消極頽廢,也沒有因此貪生怕死,畏縮不前。不錯,凡人的生聚就像樹葉一樣,秋風一起,籟籟落地,一去不返。但是,倘若
    ……一日
    春風拂起,枝幹便會抽發茸密的新緑。
    人同此理,新的一代崛起,老的一代死去。(6·147—49)
    人生充滿生機,充滿創建功業的希望和喜悅。世代的更替給傢族帶來的不是悲生厭世的情緒,不是怨天尤人的悲嘆,不是無所作為和默默無聞,而是槍馬創立的霸業,汗血澆鑄的英名,世代相傳的美談。戰勇們不厭其煩地對着敵人大段地宣講自己的宗譜,從中享受作為英雄後代的光榮和驕傲。戰爭誠然無情,死亡確實可怕,但戰士的責職是效命疆場,戰士的榮譽是拼殺擄掠,戰士的喜悅是千古留芳:
    我的朋友啊,要是你我能從這場戰鬥中生還,
    得以長生不死,拒老抗衰,與天地同存,
    我就再也不會站在前排裏戰鬥,
    也不會再要你衝嚮戰場,人們爭得榮譽的地方。
    但現在,死的精靈正挨站在我們身邊,
    數千陰影,誰也逃生不得,躲不過它的擊打——
    所以,讓我們衝上前去,要麽為自己爭得榮光,要麽把它
    拱手讓給敵人!(12·322—28)在嚮對手挑戰時,赫剋托耳高聲喊道,倘若讓他得手,他將把遺體交還長發的阿開亞人,使他們得以禮葬死者,堆墳築墓,在靠海的地方。他預言:
    將來,有人路經此地,駕着帶坐板的海船,
    破浪在酒藍色的洋面,眺見這個土堆,便會出言感嘆:
    “那裏埋着一個戰死疆場的古人,
    一位勇敢的壯士,倒死在光榮的赫剋托耳手下。”
    將來,有人會如此說告,而我的榮譽將與世長存。
    (7·87—91) 今生匆忽,所以在所必爭;生命可貴,所以必須珍惜。財富可以通過掠劫獲取,但人的魂息,一經滑出齒隙,就無法“再用暴劫掠回,也不能通過易賈復歸”。阿基琉斯寧可做一個農人的幫工,也不願當冥府裏鬼魂的王者(《奧德賽》12·489—21)。然而,對生命的摯愛,沒有使英雄成為生命的奴僕——除開神的因素,他們始終是它的主人。明知命運險厄,但卻拒不嚮它屈服;明知徵戰艱難,但即使打到頭破血流,也要拼個你死我活。活要活得揚眉吐氣,死要死得明明白白。在黑霧彌漫的戰場上,忒拉蒙之子埃阿斯喊出了悲憤的呼號:
    哦,父親宙斯,把阿開亞人的兒子們拉出迷霧吧!
    讓陽光照瀉,使我們重見天日!把我們殺死吧,
    殺死在燦爛的日光裏,如果此時此刻,毀滅我們能使你歡悅!
    (17·645—47) 用有限的生命抗拒無限的困苦和磨難,在短促的一生中使生命最大限度地獲取和展現自身的價值,使它在抗爭的最熾烈的熱點上閃爍出勇力、智慧和進取的光華。這便是荷馬的勇士們的人生,凡人試圖衝破而又無法衝破自身的局限的悲壯(另見“英雄”節)。很明顯,這是人生的悲劇,也是人生的自豪。雖然這一主題在後世的悲劇作傢、尤其是索福剋勒斯的作品中得到了淋漓盡致的發揮——我們不要忘記,是荷馬和他的《伊利亞特》首先教我們看到人生的悲苦,人生的英烈,人生的渺小和偉大。
  
                   英雄
  
    按照荷馬的觀點,英雄或壯士是神的後裔,天之驕子,凡人中的寵兒。英雄們具備凡人所羨慕的一切,是阿開亞人中的俊傑(aristees panachaion)。他們出身高貴,人人都有顯赫的門第,可資誇耀的傢族,坐霸一方,王統天下。他們相貌俊美,儀表堂堂,鶴立雞群在蕓蕓衆生之中。阿基琉斯是男性美的典範(《奧德賽》11·470)。前往贖取兒子遺體的普裏阿摩斯,在“滿足了吃喝的欲望後”,凝目阿基琉斯,
    驚慕他的俊美,高大挺拔的身軀,就像
    神明一般……(24·630—31) 在特洛伊城樓上,普裏阿摩斯望着阿伽門農的雄姿,開口問道(對海倫):
    走近些,告訴我他的名字,那個偉岸的勇士,
    他是誰,那位強健、壯實的阿開亞人?
    我從未見過如此出類拔萃的人物,
    這股高豪的氣派——此人必是一位王貴!(3·166—70) 英雄俄底修斯,雖說比阿伽門農矮了一頭,但他的肩膀和胸背卻長得更為寬厚(3·193—94)。
    英雄們膀闊腰圓,力大如牛。埃阿斯的戰盾大得像一面圍墻,而阿基琉斯“僅憑一己之力,即可把它捅入檢孔”的插杠,需要三個阿開亞人方能拴攏和拉開(24·454—56)。碩大的石岩,當今之人,即便站出兩個,也莫它奈何,而圖丟斯之子狄俄墨得斯卻僅憑一己之力,輕鬆地把它高舉過頭(5·303-4)。很自然,在荷馬看來,神的血脈,高貴的王傢子弟,要是沒有過人的勇力,那是荒唐的。英雄是力量的象徵。
    儘管戰爭是“可怕的”、“可恨的”、“屠人的”,壯士們卻嗜戰如命,“渴望着”衝戰殺敵,品味“戰鬥的喜悅”。勇敢戰鬥是祖傳的古訓。格勞斯對秋俄墨得斯嚷道:傢父
    要我英勇作戰,比誰都勇敢,以求出人頭地,
    不致辱沒我的前輩,生長在厄芙拉
    和遼闊的魯基亞的最勇敢的人。(6·208—10)他們不僅嗜戰,而且善戰——天底下哪有英雄不會打仗的道理?面對埃阿斯的威脅,赫剋托耳(在《伊利亞特》裏,他還不是超一流的戰將)針鋒相對,開口作了一番“自我介紹”:
    我請熟格戰的門道,殺人是我精通的絶活。
    我知道如何左抵右擋,用牛皮堅韌的
    戰盾,此乃防衛的高招。
    我知道如何駕着快馬,殺人飛跑的車陣;
    我知道如何攻戰,蕩開戰神透着殺氣的舞步。(7·237—41) 壯士們不僅擅使槍矛,而且能用口舌。荷馬史詩中的英雄是口才出衆的辯者,行動果敢的勇士(9·443,另見2·273,18·105—6,18·252)。勇猛豪強,雄辯滔滔,方為英雄本色,凡人的楷模。會場,如同戰場一樣,是人們“爭得榮譽的地方”(1·490)。作為阿基琉斯的私人教師,福伊尼剋斯負責教授辯說的技巧或本領,因為雄辯“使人出類拔萃”。能謀善辯的俄底修斯之所以受到全軍的愛戴,除了作戰勇敢和受到雅典娜的特別關照外,出衆的辯纔亦是一個不可忽略的原因。特洛伊智者安忒諾耳贊賞墨奈勞斯的表述,認為他用詞精煉,出言迅捷,但卻更為贊賞俄底修斯的穩篤,贊慕他的詞鋒和無與倫比的話辯:
    但是,當洪亮的聲音衝出他的丹田,詞句像鼕天的
    雪片一樣紛紛揚揚地飄來時,凡人中就不會有他的對手;
    誰也不能匹敵俄底修斯的口才!(3·221—23) 文武雙全的奈斯托耳,雖說年紀輕輕(在他年輕時代),卻已能徵戰擄掠,歡悅父親的心胸(11·682—84);用他的如簧之舌,大江奔水般的辯纔,爭得同僚們的慕愛,使他們傾聽他的意見,尊重他的言論(1·273)。年輕的狄俄墨得斯既是戰場上的主將,又是會場上的精英,他的才華博得了老英雄奈斯托耳的稱贊:
    圖丟斯之子,論戰鬥,你勇冠全軍;
    論謀辯,你亦是同齡人中的佼傑。
    阿開亞人中,誰也不能輕視你的意見,
    反駁你的言論……
    ……你,面對阿耳吉維人的
    王者,說話頭頭是道,條理分明。(9·53—59) 不過,狄俄墨得斯的辯纔還沒有臻達登峰造極的水平,因為他還年輕——論年齡,可做奈斯托耳的兒子,“最小的兒子”。
    英雄世界的價值觀的中心內容是time(榮譽、聲譽、面子)。他們把個人的榮譽和尊嚴看作是比生命更重要,因而是更可貴的東西。損害壯士的time,奪走應該屬於他的所有,意味着莫大的刺激和冒犯。維護自己的time亦即維護自己的人格、傢族的名譽和人際關係的公正,即dike。顯然,如果發展不當,誤入歧途,time是把英雄推嚮at6和hubris(見下文)的一個重要的價值觀方面的因素。勇力和辯纔是英雄手中的兩種武器;通過它們,壯土為自己和傢族爭得土地、財富和尊榮,維持、鞏固和捍衛已有的社會地位、分配格局和既得利益。
    毋庸置疑,英雄不是完人的同義詞。他們(至少他們中的許多人)睏於人生的局限,受欲念的支配和time的催激,有着秉性或性格上的弱點或缺點。由於阿伽門農的狂暴,奪走阿基琉斯的女伴,從而導致這位聯軍中最傑出的壯勇挾怒罷戰,使希臘人遭受慘重的傷亡。當帕拉絲·雅典娜從天上下凡,試圖阻止阿基琉斯和阿伽門農火並時,裴琉斯之子開口責問道:
    帶埃吉斯的宙斯的孩子,為何現時降臨?想看看
    阿特柔斯之子,看看阿伽門農的驕橫跋扈(hubris)嗎?
    (l·202-3) 奈斯托耳批評阿伽門農被高傲和狂怒蒙住了雙眼,屈辱了全軍最好的戰勇;阿伽門農接受他的指責,承認“我是瘋了……瞎了眼,聽任惡怒的驅使”(9·116—19),並願拿出豐厚的償禮,彌補過失。他感嘆道,是剋羅諾斯之子把他推入了狂盲(ate)的陷阱(9·18)。同樣,阿基琉斯的悲劇也有他自身方面的原因。他固執、剛愎、狂蠻,連身邊最親密的伴友對他亦不無微言,說他“剛烈、粗暴,甚至可對一個無辜之人動怒發火”(11·654)。“此人全然不顧禮面”——阿波羅駡道——“心胸狂蠻,偏頑執拗,像一頭獅子,沉溺於自己的勇力和高傲”(24·40—42)。面對阿基琉斯重新出戰的嚴酷局面,頭腦冷靜的普魯達馬斯勸說赫剋托耳退兵城堡,以便在城內抗擊阿開亞人的進攻,但赫剋托耳不但不聽忠告,反而“惡狠狠地盯着他”,把他駡得狗血噴頭。赫剋托耳的蠻橫和暴虐造成了嚴重的後果;他葬毀了軍隊的前程,斷送了自己的性命。
  
                    神
  
    荷馬描述了一個好鬥的、擅於辭令而不會或很少進行道德說教的神的群體。荷馬史詩裏的衆神,不是普渡衆生的菩薩,也不是作為道德楷模的基督,亦不是作為凡人的精神寄托的穆罕默德。古希臘詩人以人的形象、性情、心態和行為方式為原型,創造或塑造了一個神的群體。在荷馬史詩裏,神們按人的心理動機思考和行動,有着人的七情六欲,沿用人的社群特點,人的交際模式。神們分享人的弱點和道德方面的不完善——神是不死的凡人。在那個時代,神和人的交往是直接而具體的。神的參與貫穿着整部《伊利亞特》的進程。神可以在他或她需要的任何時候(除非受到宙斯的阻止)下到凡間,尋找任何一個要找的凡人,談論任何想要談論的事情。作為一種溝通的方式,凡人可以通過祈禱求得神的幫助。
    和凡人一樣,神以家庭或傢族的形式存在,而宙斯是神界的傢長或旅長。神界的權威甚至比人間更明顯地取决於單純的、不加掩飾的力或體力。憑藉無與倫比的神力,宙斯推翻了父親剋羅諾斯的統治,奪得神界的王位。俄林波斯衆神中誰也不敢和他抗衡,夢想和他爭霸,因為宙斯的勇力遠非其他諸神所能企及。他獸警告多管閑事的赫拉,用詞相當粗暴、嚴厲:
    閉上你的嘴,靜靜地坐到一邊去。按我說的辦——
    否則,當我走過去,對你甩開我的雙臂,展示不可抵禦的
    神力時,
    俄林波斯山上的衆神,就是全部出動,也幫不了你的忙!
    (1·565—67)
    這是個赤裸裸的力的世界。當然,宙斯不是個有勇無謀的莽漢。他是“工於心計的”剋羅諾斯的兒子,以“能謀善辯”著稱。俄林波斯衆神分作兩派,一派支持阿開亞人,以赫拉和雅典娜為骨幹;另一派幫助特洛伊人,以阿波羅和埃阿斯為核心。宙斯時而偏襢這一方,時而放縱那一方,從中享受權勢帶來的喜悅。他曾嚴厲警告赫拉,也曾一本正經地威脅波塞鼕,儼然一副凌駕於兩派之上的神主模樣。然而,他從來不想認真解决兩派之間的爭端。他喜歡遠離衆神,靜靜地坐在俄林波斯或伊達的峰脊,以此表示自己的獨特和超群——不是嗎,宇宙的孤主,既不同污於凡人,也不合流於他所統管的神群。“他遠遠地坐在那裏,既不關心我們,也不把我們放在眼裏”(15·105—6)。興致上來時,他甚至可以就着某件事由,指令神界的兩派大打出手,攪個天昏地暗,愉悅他的心懷(20·22—25)。這,或許就是神界的政治,而《伊利亞特》中的宙斯是個懂得如何運用權術和擅搞政治平衡的行傢。
    同幸福的神祗相比,凡人是“可憐的”或“可悲的”。人的一個程式化用語是deiloisibrotoisi(悲苦的衆生)。神的生活,由於超越了死的禁限,因而既沒有人生的艱難,也缺少人生的嚴肅和厚重。按照詩人的觀點,神們理所當然地擁有幾人想要而又不那麽容易得獲的東西,並把它們贈送給可憐的、在體力、心力和智力方面都受到極大局限的凡人。對這些不幸的蒼生,神是勇力、智慧和權威的賜造者。阿基琉斯憑着神的賜助而勇冠群雄,阿伽門農則憑藉神賦的權杖得以王統阿耳吉維人。如果說某人特別聰明,那是因為神給了他智慧;相反,倘若有人幹出傻事,那就可能是因為神們奪走了他的睿智。神給了赫爾卡斯卜占的奇術(1·71),給了菲瑞剋洛斯製作的絶藝(5·59—61),使菲彌俄斯獲得唱詩的靈感(《奧德賽》22·347)。好獵手的技藝得之於阿耳忒彌絲的教誨,好射手的強弓得之於阿波羅的饋贈。
    荷馬的史詩世界裏不存在“盲目”、“偶然”或和事態的正常及一般狀態對比而言的“偶發現象”。自然界和人世間的一切事端和現象,如果不是人為的,便是神的手筆。雷電是宙斯送來的,地震是波塞鼕製導的,性愛是阿芙羅底忒驅慫的。《伊利亞特》裏沒有什麽不能解釋的事情。對人物作出的重大决定,荷馬一般采用“雙重動因”的解法(從中我們亦可看到人的作用;在荷馬史詩裏,人,儘管多災多難,但决不是無足輕重的)。阿基琉斯作出奪取阿基琉斯女伴的决定,一則因為自己生性剛蠻,二則也因為受到神力的驅使(19·86—90)。同樣,雅典娜的勸阻和阿基琉斯的抉擇使他避免了和阿伽門農的火並(1·188—218)。在第九捲裏,狄俄墨得斯預言阿基琉斯將重返戰場,受(他自己)心靈的驅使,神明的催督(703)。對一些重大戰事(和賽事)的處理,荷馬亦常常沿用這一方法。帕特羅剋洛斯死於神力和凡人戰力的混合;同樣,赫剋托耳的死亡歸之於阿基琉斯的驍勇和雅典娜的幫忙。
    按照荷馬的神學觀,除了神以外,人生還受到另一種超自然的力量,即命運或命限(moira,aisa)的製約和擺布。對命運,荷馬一般不作人格化的描述;此外,moira亦沒有傢譜,不像一般神祗和神靈那樣,可以找出祖宗三代。Moira的力量主要在於限定人生的長度或限度;凡人在出生的那一刻即已帶上死亡的陰影(20·127—28,23·78—79,24·209—10)。凡人一般不能通過祈禱解脫命運的束縛。至少從理論上來說,命運是可以在一定程度上被衝破或超越的。在第二十捲裏,宙斯對衆神說道,挾着由帕特羅剋洛斯之死引發的暴怒,阿基琉斯可能衝破命運的製約,攻破城堡(29—30)。作為“神和人的父親”,無所不能隨宙斯自然握有衝破命運的神力。在愛子薩耳裴鼕死前,宙斯曾考慮把他救離戰場,衹是因為遭到赫拉的強烈反對而作罷:
    你打算把他救出悲慘的死亡,一個凡人,
    一個命裏註定要死的凡人?
    做去吧,宙斯,但我等衆神絶不會一致贊同。(16·441—43)可見,如果願意,宙斯可以救出薩耳裴鼕,但這麽做可能會引起衆神的反感,帶出一係列連鎖反應,破壞天體的和諧,産生難以預期的結果。
  
                  城堡及兵民
  
    荷馬史詩裏的核心社區單位是城堡或城鎮(polis,astu,Ptoliethron)。Polis既是兵民的集會地點,又是抗禦敵人進犯的堡壘;既是社會活動的中心,又是進行貿易和舉行宗教儀式的場所。阿基琉斯的戰盾上鑄着兩座城市,集中反映了兵民們在戰爭及和平時期的兩種不同的生活景狀。城堡的外圍有一片農野或鄉村地區,即agros或erga;城市和鄉村一起組成“區域”或“地域”(demos,gaia)。廣義上的polis往往包括城鎮、郊區和城裏城外的人民——由此組成荷馬史詩中的一個基本的政治實體。
    城堡的統治者是basileus(國王、王者);某些王者或統治者(如阿伽門農等)擁有一個以上的城鎮,而以王者居住的城堡為政治、軍事和文化的中心。戰時,basileus是本部兵民的統帥,下設若幹分隊,由頭領們管帶(1·171—72)。重要的社會行當包括信使、祭司等。在荷馬史詩裏,先知、醫者、木匠和詩人同屬“工作者”(demiourgoi)的範疇(《奧德賽》17·383—85),即用自己的手藝或本領為民衆服務的人。荷馬用laos、laoi、plethus、demos表示一般民衆(或兵丁),即來自城堡的“公民”。來自外邦的定居者叫metanastes或xeinos(客民)。無業遊民(thetes)似乎亦屬自由人階層,沒有自己的土地,以幫工為生。此外,在一個以軍事民主製為特徵的古代社會裏,當然不會沒有奴隸(dmoes,dmoai)。如同分得的其他戰禮(戰利品)一樣,奴隸一般歸屬個人所有。
  
                王者、辯議會、集會
  
    作為貴族的子弟和代表,王者是城邦或屬地內的最高軍政首長。在《伊利亞特》裏,阿伽門農以希臘聯軍統帥的身份雄居衆王之上,比後者更具决策的權威。“你統領着浩浩蕩蕩的大軍”——奈斯托耳說道——“宙斯把王杖交在你的手裏,使你有了决斷的權力,得以訓導麾下的兵丁”(998—99)。狄俄墨得斯承認,阿伽門農擁有“別人不可企及的尊榮”(9·37)。奈斯托耳勸慰盛怒中的阿基琉斯不要和阿伽門農爭吵,“在榮譽的占有上,別人得不到他的份子”(1·278)。俄底修斯更是直截了當地警告遑遑奔跑的兵勇:阿開亞人不能個個都是王者,“王者衆多不是一件好事——這裏衹應有一個統治者,一個大王”(2·203—5)。王者擁有上好的份地(temenos),享有率先挑取戰禮(geraas)的特權,接受屬民的禮物和貢奉。在宴會上,他們享坐尊位,吃用特份的肉食,喝飲滿杯的醇酒。作為對權力的平衡,王者有義務宴請共事的首領和權貴。在第九捲裏,奈斯托耳——在作過一番明智的勸議後——對阿伽門農說道:現在
    應由你,阿伽門農,作為最高貴的王者,行使統帥的職權。
    擺開宴席,招待各位首領;這是你的義務,和你的
    身份相符。……(9·69—71)
    荷馬史詩裏的王者儘管剛傲不羈、粗莽狂烈,但卻不是典型意義上的暴君。事實上,在政治、司法,甚至在軍事方面,最高統帥的權力都受到辯議會(Boule geronton)的掣肘。與會的gerontes(首領)通常本身即是王者——戰場上,他們是統兵的將帥。他們享有很高的威望,言行舉足輕重。阿伽門農必須認真傾聽他們的意見,按最好的辦法行事(9·74—75)。
    辯議會上商討過的事情,如果事關重大,還要提交大會或集會(agore或agora)的討論和通過。在《伊利亞特》裏,阿開亞人的集會擴大到普通的laioi;而特洛伊人的集會還包括年老體弱的非戰鬥人員。有地位的發言者一般要手握王杖,以得體的方式講話。首領們遵從“言論自由”的原則;在集會上,此乃他們的權利(9·33)。Gerontes可對任何人提出批評(甚至謾駡),包括對最高軍事首長阿伽門農。不過,對地位比較低下的人,情況則不盡相同。卜者卡爾卡斯擔心他的真言會招來阿伽門農的報復,衹是在得到阿基琉斯的承諾後,方纔道出阿波羅為何發怒的原因。對一個身份不夠“吃重”的人,責辱王者衹能替自己招來麻煩和不幸。兵衆們通過呼喊表示他們的傾嚮和意志——是贊成,還是反對。
  
                   穿戴
  
    在荷馬史詩裏,人們穿着十分簡單。男子們巾身穿用一件用亞麻布織製的衣衫(或許可稱之為套衫),即chiton,然後,如果需要的話,罩上一件(或一條)衣篷或披篷(chlaina,pharos)。一般認為,chiton是個外來詞,取自近鄰閃米特人的用語。Chiton卡及膝上腹下,短袖。在第二捲裏,阿伽門農起身後,穿上一件簇新的chiton和一領碩大的pharos。阿開亞人從普裏阿摩斯進送的贖禮中留出一件chiton和一件pharos,作為遮裹遺體的用物(24·588)。赴戰前,雅典娜穿上父親的chiw,然後扣上胸甲chlainai取料羊毛,分單層和夾層(雙層)兩種,用飾針或鈎扣連係(10·133)。披篷上可織出精美的圖紋,並可染成深紅、絳紫等視感莊重的色彩。Chlainai和pharos的具體區別,今人不得而知;但有一點可以肯定,即二者都可作鋪蓋之用。阿基琉斯的僕屬們用chlainai為普裏阿摩斯備床(24·646);慕耳彌鼕兵勇們將帕特羅剋洛斯擡上屍床,蓋上一層薄薄的亞麻布,用一條白色的pharos罩掩全身(18·352—53)。甚至可作風帆的用料(《奧德賽》5·258)。在這些上下文裏,chlaina和pharos似乎和大片的織布沒有什麽兩樣。兵勇們一般足蹬條鞋,可能取料堅韌的牛皮。
    婦女們通常身着裙衫(peplos,heanos),並和男子一樣,穿用pharos。Peplos短袖,需用飾針別連。亞麻布裙衫常取其白亮的本色,亦可織出各種條紋,染出多種色彩(可能係羊毛質料)——荷馬用“黎明抖開金紅色的裙袍”(8·1)表現曙光鋪瀉大地的瑰麗景色。裙衫一般長垂直瀉,hebewi(長裙飄擺的)是好的一個程式化飾語。婦女們幾乎無例外地使用腰帶,紮在peplos。外面——“束腰緊深的”和“束腰秀美的”正是對這一裝束習慣的貼切而又富有詩意的寫照。
    婦女們通常帶用頭巾(kredemnon,kaluptre),可能係一種亞麻布織物。Kredemon從頭頂遮及脖項,甚至可能垂過肩頭。倘若需要,用者可將頭巾掩起臉面,如同裴奈羅珮在走入求婚者們的廳堂。
  
                  後器、鎧甲
  
    荷馬本身沒有經歷過特落伊戰爭。荷馬史詩是傳統和天才創作的産物,而不是嚴格意義上的歷史。像對其他一些事物、狀態和現象的描述一樣,荷馬對兵械的描述也帶有“跨時代”的特徵。他所提及的甲械,有的屬於慕凱奈時期的用物,有的則可能出現在以後,甚至晚至荷馬生活的年代。所謂史詩,是詩和史的結合,可以,而且應該有一些不合史實、甚至憑空想像出來的成分。
    (1)脛甲
    “脛甲堅固的”(euknemides)是形容阿開亞士兵的最常用的程式化飾語,在《伊利亞特》中出現了三十一次。早期的脛 甲可能用生牛皮(甚至粗布)製成,類似萊耳忒斯在葡萄園裏工作時所有的皮質護腿(《奧德賽》24·228—29)。在慕凱奈時代,銅脛甲的使用並不普遍。從原文看,knemis(脛甲)本身並不包含“金屬”的意思。在《伊利亞特》裏,“脛甲青銅的(chalkoknemides)阿開亞人”僅出現一次(7·41)。赫法伊斯托斯用白錫為阿基琉斯打過一副脛甲,但這是神工的鑄品,可能與衆不同。脛甲上安着銀質的拌扣,圍係在腳踝邊。脛甲的功用一可擋禦敵人的擊射,二可保護小腿不受盾牌(遮掩全身的巨盾,見“盾牌”節)的擦傷。弓戰者一般用體積較小的圓盾,所以常常不帶脛甲。
    (2)胸甲
    儘管到目前為止,考占學家們還拿不出一件實物,證明慕凱奈王朝的武士們——正如荷馬所描述的那樣——是“身披銅甲的”,但鑒於詩人一而再、再而三地使用這一程式化套語(不少於二十四次)的現實,我們很有必要在這個問題上采取嚴肅、謹慎的態度。“身披銅甲的”原文作chalkochitones(穿青銅chiton的); Chiton在比喻“甲”或“甲衣”。荷馬似乎毫不懷疑阿開亞勇士是“身披銅甲的”(chaleorekon)。赫法伊斯托斯替阿基琉斯打過一副銅甲,歐墨洛斯亦收受過一副銅甲的賞禮。如果說這兩副銅甲一副是神工製作的精品,另一副是饋贈的禮物而不足以說明普通胸甲的質地,那麽,在另一些較為一般的場合,荷馬描述的thorekes(胸甲)亦同樣明顯地包容“金屬製作”的含義。詩人的用詞包括“閃亮的”、“擦得鋥亮的”等等。小埃阿斯和特洛伊人安菲俄斯穿用亞麻布胸甲(中間可能有所充填),但他們並不是一流的戰將。在某些上下文裏,荷馬還提及一種叫做guala的東西(15·530),可能指胸甲前後的銅片,綴嵌在皮革或其他質料的甲面上,以增強thorekes的防護能力。
    (3)盾牌
    Sakose和aspis可能原指兩種不同的戰盾。Aspis通常是“盾面突鼓的”(omphaloessa)、“溜圓的”(pantos eise,而常常是“碩大、堅固的”(mpga te stibaronte)、“用七層牛皮製作的”(haptaboeion)、和“墻面似的”或“塔一般的”(eute purgos)。到了荷馬生活的年代,aspis和sakos很可能已成為可以互換的同義詞。
    據考古發現,慕凱奈時代的戰勇們使用兩種體積碩大、幾可遮掩全身的皮盾,一種為長方形的、雙邊內捲的拱盾,另一種是中腰內收、呈8字形的護盾。二者都有盾帶(telamon),背挎於左肩之上,橫貫於右腋之下;不用時,可以甩至背後。《伊利亞特》中多次提及此類層面碩大的戰盾。埃阿斯身背“墻面似的”巨盾(7·219),而赫剋托耳的盾牌可以遮掩脖子以下、腳踝以上的身體部位(15·646)。荷馬史詩裏的戰後通常是“閃亮的”或“閃光的”,此類飾語明顯地喻指盾面或皮面上的銅層。慕凱奈王朝的後期是否出現帶銅面的皮盾,到目前為止,我們還不能作出確切的答復。
    圓形戰盾體積較小,中心突鼓,帶圖紋,有背帶,出現於慕凱奈王朝的後期,可能亦是公元前九至七世紀的史詩詩人們在生活中常見的盾式。
    (4)頭盔
    荷馬用korus、kunee、truphaleia和pelex等詞表示頭帽或帽盔。這些詞原來可能分指不同的盔樣,但在荷馬史詩裏已具通用的性質。荷馬可在同一個上下文裏,用上述名詞(不是全部)指稱同一頂頭盔。上述四詞中,前二者更較常用。
    早期的頭盔一般為皮料製品,遮蓋頭頂、前額和太陽穴,由盔帶緊扣下頜;冠頂插綴馬鬃(確切地說,應為馬毛,包括馬鬃和馬尾),有的還帶角質的或金屬的突角(Phalos)。
    在荷馬史詩裏,頭盔一般用料金屬,或帶有金屬的護片。某些飾詞,如chalkeres(銅光閃爍的)和phaeinos(錚亮的)等,明顯地告示頭盔的金屬性質。在若幹上下文裏,荷馬幹脆在頭盔前後加上“銅”字,稱其為“銅盔”(chalkeie korus,kunee pagchalkos)。間忽出現的chalko pareios等詞表明頭盔帶有青銅的頰片。自古以來,學者們對phalos的所指難能取得一致的解釋:有的把它解作“突角”或某種形式的突出物,有的則取“冠脊”,還有的把它等同於“頰片”。頭盔的用料和式樣當不衹限於一種。例如,在第十捲裏,斯拉蘇墨得斯給了狄俄墨得斯一頂帽盔,“牛皮做就,無角,也沒有盔冠”(257—58);而墨裏俄奈斯則給俄底修斯戴上一頂皮盔,“外面是一排排雪白的牙片”,“中間墊着一層絨氈”(262—65)。此種皮裏牙片面的頭盔在出土的慕凱奈文物中已有發現。
    (5)劍
    Xiphos、aor和phasganon三詞均喻“劍”,意思上沒有明顯的區別。在同一個上下文裏,荷馬曾用這三個詞表指同一柄利劍。在荷馬史詩裏,劍戰的場合不多,亦沒有大段的描述。“嵌綴銀釘的”(arguloelon)一詞把我們帶到遙遠的慕凱奈時代。戰劍青銅,帶鞘,有背帶,可斜挎肩頭。
    (6)槍矛
    長槍是《伊利亞特》中的主要兵器。在程式化的“武裝赴戰”場景中,阿基琉斯操提一桿長槍(egchos),而阿伽門農和帕特羅剋洛斯則各拿兩支槍矛(doUle)。 EgChO6較為粗重,常以“碩大、粗長、沉重(的)”為飾詞。在第十六捲裏,帕特羅剋洛斯穿起阿基琉斯的鎧甲,但卻不曾抓握他的槍矛,“那玩藝……(除了阿基琉斯)阿開亞人中誰也提拿不得”(141—42)。一般認為,egchos用主要用於近戰刺捅,而douree則主要用於遠距離的投射。不過,在《伊利亞特》裏,這兩個詞通常可以互換使用,其“自由”程度不下於xiphos和phasganon的替換。
    (7)弓箭(和弓手)
    荷馬對弓的描述不多。在第四捲裏,他告訴我們,潘達羅斯的彎弓取自一頭自打的野山羊的叉角(105—6)。在《伊利亞特》裏,尤其是在特洛伊盟軍方面,弓(toxon)的使用相當普遍。在人員龐雜的兵隊裏,agkulotoxoi(弓手)似乎已是一個專門的兵種。魯基亞人、卡裏亞人和邁俄尼亞人都是使弓的兵勇,而魯基亞首領潘達羅斯更是一位知名的好弓手。特洛伊人中,帕裏斯。赫勒諾斯和多隆等都是攜弓的戰將。阿開亞人擅使長槍,弓手相對稀少,主要有菲洛剋忒忒斯、墨裏俄奈斯和丟剋羅斯。在《伊利亞特》裏,弓箭似乎是一種相對古舊的兵器;詩人顯然以為“手對手”的攻戰更能表現英雄搏殺的壯烈。在第十一捲裏,狄俄墨得斯對使弓的帕裏斯似乎頗有微詞(385)。
    箭矢一般為銅頭,但潘達羅斯的羽箭卻以鐵為鏃。
    (8)戰車
    戰車(diphros)一般為木架結構,邊圍和底面用皮條綁紮,既可減輕車身的重量(一人即可頂擡,10·504—5),又可消緩跑動時的顛簸。戰車做工精緻,有的甚至帶有金銀的鑲飾(10·438)。神用的diphros,如赫拉的戰車,幾乎是金、銀、銅的拼合(5·722—31)。
    在《伊利亞特》裏,戰車的作用相當於今天的兵車。馭馬將戰車拉至戰地,壯士(通常衹有一人)從車上跳下,徒步介入戰鬥,而馭手則勒馬留在後面,等待戰勇的回歸。作為一種定型的戰式,它的産生大概多少帶有詩人“創作”的成分。荷馬應該不會不知道diphros的作戰功用(除了運兵以外),但在《伊利亞特》裏,他對這方面的描述卻衹有絶無僅有的一例。在第四捲裏,老輩人物奈斯托耳命囑他的部屬:誰也不許單獨出擊或退卻;交手時,車上的鬥士要用長槍刺捅敵人(303—7)。奈斯托耳宣稱,過去,這是一種相當成功的戰式。


The Iliad is, together with the Odyssey, one of two ancient Greek epic poems traditionally attributed to Homer. The poem is commonly dated to the 8th or 7th century BC, and many scholars believe it is the oldest extant work of literature in the ancient Greek language, making it the first work of European literature. The existence of a single author for the poems is disputed as the poems themselves show evidence of a long oral tradition and hence, possible multiple authors. The poem concerns events during the tenth and final year in the siege of the city of Ilion, or Troy, by the Greeks (See Trojan War). The word Iliad means "pertaining to Ilion" (in Latin, Ilium), the city proper, as opposed to Troy (in Turkish "Truva", in Greek, Τροία, Troía; in Latin, Troia, Troiae, f.), the state centered around Ilium, over which the names Ilium and Troy are often used interchangeably.
The story of the Iliad The Iliad begins with these lines: Sing, goddess, the rage of Achilles the son of Peleus, the destructive rage that sent countless pains on the Achaeans... The first word of Homer's Iliad is the ancient Greek word μῆνιν (mēnin), rage or wrath. This word announces the major theme of the Iliad: the wrath of Achilles. When Agamemnon, the commander of the Greek forces at Troy, dishonors Achilles by taking Briseis, a slave woman given to Achilles as a prize of war, Achilles becomes enraged and withdraws from the fighting until Book XIX. Without him and his powerful Myrmidon warriors, the Greeks suffer defeat by the Trojans, almost to the point of losing their will to fight. Achilles re-enters the fighting when his cousin, Patroclus, is killed by the Trojan prince Hector. Achilles slaughters many Trojans and kills Hector. In his rage, he then refuses to return Hector's body and instead defiles it. Priam, the father of Hector, ransoms his son's body, and the Iliad ends with the funeral of Hector. Homer devotes long passages to frank, blow-by-blow descriptions of combat. He gives the names of the fighters, recounts their taunts and battle-cries, and gruesomely details the ways in which they kill and wound one another. Often, the death of a hero only escalates the violence, as the two sides battle for his armor and corpse, or his close companions launch a punitive attack on his killer. The lucky ones are sometimes whisked away by friendly charioteers or the intervention of a god, but Homeric warfare is still some of the most bloody and brutal in literature. The Iliad has a very strong religious and supernatural element. Both sides in the war are extremely pious, and both have heroes descended from divine beings. They constantly sacrifice to the gods and consult priests and prophets to decide their actions. For their own part, the gods frequently join in battles, both by advising and protecting their favorites and even by participating in combat against humans and other gods. The Iliad's huge cast of characters connects the Trojan War to many ancient myths, such as Jason and the Argonauts, the Seven Against Thebes, and the Labors of Hercules. Many ancient Greek myths exist in multiple versions, so Homer had some freedom to choose among them to suit his story. See Greek mythology for more detail. The action of the Iliad covers only a few weeks of the tenth and final year of the Trojan War. It does not cover the background and early years of the war (Paris' abduction of Helen from King Menelaus) nor its end (the death of Achilles and the fall of Troy). Other epic poems, collectively known as the Epic Cycle or cyclic epics, narrated many of these events; these poems only survive in fragments and later descriptions. See Trojan War for a summary of the events of the war.
Synopsis As the poem begins, the Greeks have captured Chryseis, the daughter of Apollo's priest Chryses, and given her as a prize to Agamemnon. In response, Apollo has sent a plague against the Greeks, who compel Agamemnon to restore Chryseis to her father to stop the sickness. In her place, Agamemnon takes Briseis, whom the Achaeans had given to Achilles as a spoil of war. Achilles, the greatest warrior of the age, follows the advice of his goddess mother, Thetis, and withdraws from battle in revenge. In counterpoint to Achilles' pride and arrogance stands the Trojan prince Hector, son of King Priam, a husband and father who fights to defend his city and his family. With Achilles on the sidelines, Hector leads successful counterattacks against the Greeks, who have built a fortified camp around their ships pulled up on the Trojan beach. The best remaining Greek fighters, including Odysseus and Diomedes, are wounded, and the gods favor the Trojans. Patroclus, impersonating Achilles by wearing his armor, finally leads the Myrmidons back into battle to save the ships from being burned. The death of Patroclus at the hands of Hector brings Achilles back to the war for revenge, and he slays Hector in single combat. Hector's father, King Priam, later comes to Achilles alone (but aided by Hermes) to ransom his son's body, and Achilles is moved to pity; the funeral of Hector ends the poem.
Book summaries Book 1: Nine years into the war, Agamemnon seizes Briseis, the concubine of Achilles, since he has had to give away his own; Achilles withdraws from the fighting in anger; in Olympus, the gods argue about the outcome of the war Book 2: Agamemnon pretends to order the Greeks home to test their resolve; Odysseus encourages the Greeks to keep fighting; Catalogue of Ships, Catalogue of Trojans and Allies Book 3: Paris challenges Menelaus to single combat over Helen while she watches from the walls of Troy with Priam; Paris is quickly overmatched by Menelaus, but is rescued from death by Aphrodite, and Menelaus is seen as the winner. Book 4: The truce is broken and battle begins Book 5: Diomedes has an aristeia (a period of supremacy in battle) and wounds Aphrodite and Ares Book 6: Glaucus and Diomedes greet each other during a truce; Hector returns to Troy and speaks to his wife Andromache Book 7: Hector battles Ajax Book 8: The gods withdraw from the battle Book 9: Called The Embassy to Achilles. Agamemnon retreats; his overtures to Achilles are spurned Book 10: Called the Doloneia. Diomedes and Odysseus go on a spying mission, kill the Trojan Dolon. Book 11: Paris wounds Diomedes; Achilles sends Patroclus on a mission Book 12: The Greeks retreat to their camp and are besieged by the Trojans Book 13: Poseidon encourages the Greeks Book 14: Hera helps Poseidon assist the Greeks; Deception of Zeus Book 15: Zeus stops Poseidon from interfering Book 16: Called the Patrocleia. Patroclus borrows Achilles' armour, enters battle, kills Sarpedon and then is killed by Hector Book 17: The armies fight over the body and armour of Patroclus Book 18: Achilles learns of the death of Patroclus and receives a new suit of armour. The Shield of Achilles is described at length Book 19: Achilles is reconciled with Agamemnon and enters battle Book 20: The gods join the battle; Achilles tries to kill Aeneas Book 21: Achilles does battle with the river Scamander and encounters Hector in front of the Trojan gates Book 22: Achilles kills Hector and drags his body back to the Greek camp Book 23: Funeral games for Patroclus Book 24: Called The Ransoming of Hector. Priam, the King of the Trojans, secretly enters the Greek camp. He begs Achilles for Hector's body. Achilles grants it to him, and it is taken away and burned on a pyre
After the Iliad Although the Iliad scatters foreshadowings of certain events subsequent to the funeral of Hector, and there is a general sense that the Trojans are doomed, Homer does not set out a detailed account of the fall of Troy. For the story as developed in later Greek and Roman poetry and drama, see Trojan War. The other Homeric poem, the Odyssey, is the story of Odysseus' long journey home from Troy; the two poems between them incorporate many references forward and back and overlap very little, so that despite their narrow narrative focus they are a surprisingly complete exploration of the themes of the Troy story.
Major characters The Iliad contains a sometimes confusingly great number of characters. The latter half of the second book (often called the Catalogue of Ships) is devoted entirely to listing the various commanders. Many of the battle scenes in the Iliad feature bit characters who are quickly slain. See Trojan War for a detailed list of participating armies and warriors. The Achaeans (Ἀχαιοί) - the word Hellenes, which would today be translated as Greeks, is not used by Homer. Also called Danaans (Δαναοί) and Argives ('Aργεĩοι). The Trojan men Polydamas, a young Trojan commander who sometimes figures as a foil for Hector by proving cool-headed and prudent when Hector charges ahead. Polydamas gives the Trojans sound advice, but Hector seldom acts on it. Agenor, a Trojan warrior who attempts to fight Achilles in Book 21. Agenor delays Achilles long enough for the Trojan army to flee inside Troy's walls. Dolon (Δόλων), a Trojan who is sent to spy on the Achaean camp in Book 10. Antenor (mythology), a Trojan nobleman, advisor to King Priam, and father of many Trojan warriors. Antenor argues that Helen should be returned to Menelaus in order to end the war, but Paris refuses to give her up. Polydorus, a Trojan prince and son of Priam and Laothoe. The Trojan women Hecuba (Ἑκάβη), Queen of Troy, wife of Priam, mother of Hector, Cassandra, Paris etc Helen (Ἑλένη), former Queen of Sparta and wife of Menelaus, now espoused to Paris Andromache (Ἀνδρομάχη), Hector's wife and mother of their infant son, Astyanax (Ἀστυάναξ) Cassandra (Κασσάνδρα), daughter of Priam, prophetess, first courted and then cursed by Apollo. As her punishment for offending him, she accurately foresees the fate of Troy, including her own death and the deaths of her entire family, but does not have the power to do anything about it. The Olympian deities, principally Zeus, Hera, Apollo, Hades, Aphrodite, Ares, Athena, Hermes and Poseidon, as well as the lesser figures Eris, Thetis, and Proteus appear in the Iliad as advisers to and manipulators of the human characters. All except Zeus become personally involved in the fighting at one point or another (See Theomachy).
Technical features The poem is written in dactylic hexameter. The Iliad comprises 15,693 lines of verse. Later ancient Greeks divided it into twenty-four books, or scrolls, and this convention has lasted to the present day with little change. Themes Nostos Nostos (Greek: νόστος) (pl. nostoi) is the ancient Greek word for homecoming. The word νόστος is used seven times in the Iliad (2.155,251, 9.413,434,622, 10.509, 16.82) and the theme is heavily explored throughout Greek literature, especially in the fortunes of the Atreidae returning from the Trojan War. The Odyssey, dealing with the return of Odysseus, is the most famous of these stories, but many surrounding other characters such as Agamemnon and Menelaus exist as well. In the Iliad, nostos cannot be obtained without the sacking of Troy, which is the driving force behind Agamemnon's will to win at any cost. Kleos Kleos (Greek: κλέος) is ancient Greek concept of glory that is earned through battle.[1] For many characters, most notably Odysseus, their kleos comes with their victorious return home (Nostos).[2] However, Achilles must choose between the two. In one of the most poignant scenes in the Iliad (9.410-416), Achilles tells Odysseus, Phoenix, and Ajax about the two fates (διχθαδίας κήρας 9.411) he must choose between.[3]. The passage reads: μήτηρ γάρ τέ μέ φησι θεὰ Θέτις ἀργυρόπεζα (410) διχθαδίας κῆρας φερέμεν θανάτοιο τέλος δέ. εἰ μέν κ’ αὖθι μένων Τρώων πόλιν ἀμφιμάχωμαι, ὤλετο μέν μοι νόστος, ἀτὰρ κλέος ἄφθιτον ἔσται• εἰ δέ κεν οἴκαδ’ ἵκωμι φίλην ἐς πατρίδα γαῖαν, ὤλετό μοι κλέος ἐσθλόν, ἐπὶ δηρὸν δέ μοι αἰὼν (415) ἔσσεται, οὐδέ κέ μ’ ὦκα τέλος θανάτοιο κιχείη.[1] Richmond Lattimore, the renowned classical scholar, translates the passage as follows: For my mother Thetis the goddess of silver feet tells me I carry two sorts of destiny toward the day of my death. Either, if I stay here and fight beside the city of the Trojans, my return home is gone, but my glory shall be everlasting; but if I return home to the beloved land of my fathers, the excellence of my glory is gone, but there will be a long life left for me, and my end in death will not come to me quickly. [2] Here Achilles acknowledges that he must lose his nostos in order to obtain his kleos. However, Achilles is not offered just kleos, but kleos aphthiton (Greek: κλέος ἄφθιτον), or "fame imperishable."[4] The word ἄφθιτον is used five other times throughout the Iliad (2.46, 5.724, 13.22, 14.238, 18.370), each time describing an immortal object, specifically Agamemnon's sceptre, the wheel of Hebe's chariot, the house of Poseidon, Zeus's throne, and the house of Hephaistos, respectively.Lattimore translates the word to mean 'immortal forever' or 'imperishable forever.' Achilles is the only mortal to ever be referred to in this way, which highlights the immense glory that awaits him if he stays and fights at Troy. Timê Related to kleos is the concept of timê (Greek: тιμή), usually translated as "respect" or "honor". One's timê is properly determined by one's station in life, or one's accomplishments (e.g., on the battlefield). The Greeks' troubles begin when Agamemnon dishonors (Book 1.11) the priest Chryses' attempt to ransom back his captive daughter; this insult prompts Chryses to call a plague down on the Achaeans. Later, Achilles' ruinous anger with Agamemnon stems from the disrespect (1.171) he feels the Argive king has shown him despite Achilles' obvious value to the Greek army.
The Wrath of Achilles As mentioned above, the first word of the Iliad is the Greek μῆνιν (mēnin), meaning rage or wrath. In this Homer is immediately announcing a main theme throughout the epic, the wrath of Achilles. Achilles' rage and vanity, which sometimes seem almost childlike, drive the plot, from the Greeks' faltering in battle and the death of Patroclus to the slaying of Hector and the eventual fall of Troy, which is not explicitly depicted in the Iliad but is alluded to numerous times. The wrath of Achilles is first displayed in Book I in a meeting between the Greek kings and the seer Kalchas. Agamemnon had dishonored Chryses, the Trojan priest of Apollo, by taking his daughter Chryseis and refusing to return her even when offered "gifts beyond count."[3] Chryses then prayed to Apollo for help, who rained arrows upon the Greeks for nine days. At the meeting Achilles accuses Agamemnon of being "greediest for gain of all men."[4] At this Agamemnon replies: "But here is my threat to you. Even as Phoibos Apollo is taking away my Chryseis. I shall convey her back in my own ship, with my own followers; but I shall take the fair-cheeked Briseis, your prize, I myself going to your shelter, that you may learn well how much greater I am than you, and another man may shrink back from likening himself to me and contending against me."[5] After this remark Achilles' anger can only be stayed by Athena and he vows to never take orders from Agamemnon again. Later, Achilles cries to his mother Thetis, who convinces Zeus on Olympus to favor the Trojans until Agamemnon restores Achilles' rights. This dooms the possibility of Greek victory in the near future, and the Trojans under Hector almost push the Greeks back into the sea in Book XII, causing Agamemnon to contemplate a defeated return to Greece. "The Wrath of Achilles" turns the tide of the war again when his closest friend and possible lover Patrocles is killed in battle by Hector while wearing Achilles' armor. When Nestor informs him, Achilles mourns grievously, tearing out his hair and dirtying his face. During his mourning, his mother Thetis again comes to comfort him. Achilles tells her: So it was here that the lord of men Agamemnon angered me. Still, we will let all this be a thing of the past, and for all our sorrow beat down by force the anger deeply within us. Now I shall go, to overtake that killer of a dear life, Hektor; then I will accept my own death, at whatever time Zeus wishes to bring it about, and the other immortals.[6] In his desire for vengeance Achilles is even willing to accept the prospect of his own death as a reasonable price to avenge his lost friend. The rage of Achilles over the death of Patrocles persuaded him to enter battle again, dooming both Hector and Troy. After killing and wounding numerous Trojans, Achilles finds Hector on the battlefield in Book XXII and chases him around the walls of Troy three times before slaying him. Achilles, in his final show of rage, then drags the body on the back of his chariot back to the Greek camp where he mourns for Patroclus. Achilles later returns the body of Hector to the Trojan king Priam when he secretly infiltrates the Greek and begs Achilles for the body of his son.
Fate Fate is shown to be a driving force behind many of the events of the Iliad. It is obeyed by both gods and men once it is set, and neither seems able (or willing) to change it. The forming of Fate is unknown, but it is told by The Fates and seers such as Calchas, and mentioned by gods and men throughout the epic. It was considered heroic to accept one's fate honorably and cowardly to attempt to avoid it.[5] However, fate does not predetermine all human action. Instead, it primarily refers to the outcome or end, such as a man's life or a city such as Troy.[6] For instance, before killing him, Hector calls Patroclus a fool for trying to conquer him in battle. Patroclus retorts: No, deadly destiny, with the son of Leto, has killed me, and of men it was Euphorbos; you are only my third slayer. And put away in your heart this other thing that I tell you. You yourself are not one who shall live long, but now already death and powerful destiny are standing beside you, to go down under the hands of Aiakos' great son, Achilleus.[7] Here Patroclus alludes to his own fate as well as Hector's to die at the hands of Achilles. Upon killing Hector, Achilles is fated to die at Troy as well. All of these outcomes are predetermined, and although each character has free will in his actions he knows that eventually his end has already been set. In some places it is ambiguous whether the gods, namely [Zeus], have the ability to alter fate. This situation first appears in Book XVI when Zeus' mortal son, Sarpedon, is about to be slain in battle by Patroclus. Zeus says: 'Ah me, that it is destined that the dearest of men, Sarpedon, must go down under the hands of Menoitios' son Patroclus.[8] When Zeus mentions his dilemma to Hera, she answers him: 'Majesty, son of Kronos, what sort of thing have you spoken? Do you wish to bring back a man who is mortal, one long since doomed by his destiny, from ill-sounding death and release him? Do it, then; but not all the rest of us gods shall approve you.[9] When faced with having to decide between losing his beloved son and abiding by fate, even Zeus, the king of the gods, decides to let the matter pass as it has been already decided. This same motif is used again when Zeus contemplates whether to spare Hector, whom he loves and respects. This time, grey-eyed Athena answers him: 'Father of the shining bold, dark misted, what is this you said? Do you wish to bring back a man who is mortal, one long since doomed by his destiny, from ill-sounding death and release him? Do it, then; but not all the rest of us gods shall approve you.[10] Again Zeus seems able to change fate but does not, choosing instead to abide by the outcomes decided long before that day's events. Fate, working in the other direction, spares Aeneas from death at the hands of Achilles. Apollo convinced Aeneas to confront Achilles during battle, although Achilles was too strong to be defeated. Seeing Aeneas outmatched and in peril, Poseidon speaks out among the immortals: But come, let us ourselves get him away from death, for fear the son of Kronos may be angered if now Achilleus kills this man. It is destined that he shall be the survivor, that the generation of Dardanos shall not die...[11] Aeneas has been fated to survive the Trojan War and because of this is saved in battle from Achilles. Although it is unclear whether the gods have the power to change fate, they repeatedly make a conscious effort to maintain fate even in opposition to their personal allegiances. This shows that although its origins are mysterious, fate plays a huge role in the outcome of events in the Iliad. It is the one power that lies even above the gods and shapes the outcome of events more than any other force in the epic. The question of fate also hints at the primeval division of the world by the three sons of Cronus, when they toppled their father. Zeus was given the air and sky, Poseidon the waters and Hades the Underworld, where the dead go. The earth per se was given jointly to all three, hence Poseidon may flood it, or convulse it with earthquakes, and Hades is free to roam it and claim those who are to die and descend to his own domain. Furthermore the Three Fates, deities of obscure and possibly far older origin than the Olympian gods, were often shown as having the only say as to the length of the lives of mortals, a matter over which the gods were unable to intervene.
The Iliad as oral tradition The Iliad and the Odyssey were considered by Greeks of the classical age, and later, as the most important works in Ancient Greek literature, and were the basis of Greek pedagogy in antiquity. As the center of the rhapsode's repertoire, their recitation was a central part of Greek religious festivals. The book would be spoken or sung all night (modern readings last around 14 hours), with audiences coming and going for parts they particularly enjoyed. Throughout much of their history, scholars of the written word treated the Iliad and Odyssey as literary poems, and Homer as a writer much like them. However, in the late 19th century and the early 20th century, scholars began to question this assumption. Milman Parry, a classical scholar, was intrigued by peculiar features of Homeric style: in particular the stock epithets and the often extensive repetition of words, phrase and even whole chunks of text. He argued that these features were artifacts of oral composition. The poet employs stock phrases because of the ease with which they could be applied to a hexameter line. Specifically, Parry observed that Homer complemented each main character's name with a specific stock epithet such that the two-word unit filled half a line. Therefore, he would only ever have to compose afresh half a line – the other half could be automatically completed with a formulaic phrase like “resourceful Odysseus.”[12] Taking this theory, Parry travelled in Yugoslavia, studying the local oral poetry. In his research he observed oral poets employing stock phrases and repetition to assist with the challenge of composing a poem orally and improvisationally. Parry's line of inquiry opened up a wider study of oral modes of thought and communication and their evolution under the impact of writing and print by Eric Havelock, Marshall McLuhan, Walter Ong and others. In fact, Parry's student Albert Lord, in his landmark work The Singer of Tales, detects similarities between the tragic story of Patroclus and the death of Enkidu in the Sumerian Epic of Gilgamesh. In the book, Lord refutes the idea that the Patroclus story-line upsets the "established" Homeric pattern of "wrath, bride-stealing, and rescue"[13] and says that the structure of the Iliad is dictated by "a careful analysis of the repetition of thematic patterns."[14] It should be noted, however, that the use of repetition and stock phrases has not necessarily been interpreted as a restriction on Homer's originality and capacity to rework the story as he saw fit. Professor James Armstrong, in his paper The Arming Motif in the Iliad, argues that even formulaic sections of Homer's text contain enriched meaning through illustrative word choice. He points to what he refers to as the “arming motif;” characters such as Paris, Agamemnon, Patroclus, and Achilles are all described while being armed in a formulaic, long-winded fashion. Armstrong writes that this is needed to “heighten the importance of…an impressive moment” while the repetition “creates an atmosphere of smoothness.” Yet each time, he modifies elements of the passages – for example, when describing Patroclus[15], he changes from a positive to a negative turn of phrase, which Armstrong explains as demonstrating that Patroclus is not Achilles, foreshadowing Patroclus’ death.[16] One of the effects that oral tradition has had on the Iliad is that the poem sometimes has inconsistency. For example, Aphrodite is described as “laughter-loving” even when she is in pain from the wound given to her by Diomedes (5.375). Oral tradition has also been a reason attributed for the Iliad's break from the view of the gods the Greeks in Homer's time actually had. In the Iliad, Mycenaean elements have become mixed up with Dark Age elements. For example, the most powerful Olympic gods have been compared to the Dark Ages’ hereditary basilees nobles who ruled over lesser social ranks, paralleling lesser gods like Scamander[17]. The relationship of Achilles and Patroclus The precise nature of the relationship between Achilles and Patroclus has been the subject of some dispute in both the classical period and modern times. In the Iliad, it is clear that the two heroes have a deep and extremely meaningful friendship, but the evidence of a romantic or sexual element is equivocal. Commentators from the classical period to today have tended to interpret the relationship through the lens of their own cultures. Thus, in fifth-century Athens the relationship was commonly interpreted as pederastic, since pederasty was an accepted part of Athenian society. Present day readers are more likely to interpret the two heroes either as non-sexual war buddies or as a similarly-aged homosexual couple.
Warfare in the Iliad Even though Mycene was a maritime power that managed to launch over a thousand ships and Troy at the very least had built the fleet with which Paris took Helen,[18] no sea-battle takes place throughout the conflict and Phereclus, the shipbuilder of Troy, fights on foot.[19] The heroes of the Iliad are dressed in elaborate and well described armor. They ride to the battle field on a chariot, throw a spear to the enemy formation and then dismount, use their other spear and engage in personal combat. Telamonian Ajax's carried a large tower-shaped shield (σάκος) that was used not only to cover him but also his brother: Ninth came Teucer, stretching his curved bow. He stood beneath the shield of Ajax, son of Telamon. As Ajax cautiously pulled his shield aside, Teucer would peer out quickly, shoot off an arrow, hit someone in the crowd, dropping that soldier right where he stood, ending his life—then he'd duck back, crouching down by Ajax, like a child beside its mother. Ajax would then conceal him with his shining shield. (Iliad 8.267–272, translated by Ian Johnston) Ajax's shield was heavy and difficult to carry. It was thus more suited for defence than offence. His cousin Achilles on the other hand had a large round shield that he used along with his famous spear with great success against the Trojans. Round or eight-sided was the shield of the simple soldier. Unlike the heroes they rarely had a breast-plate and relied exclusively on the shield for defence. They would form very dense formations: Just as a man constructs a wall for some high house, using well-fitted stones to keep out forceful winds, that's how close their helmets and bossed shields lined up, shield pressing against shield, helmet against helmet man against man. On the bright ridges of the helmets, horsehair plumes touched when warriors moved their heads. That's how close they were to one another. (Iliad 16.213–7, translated by Ian Johnston) Once Homer actually calls the formation phalanx though the true phalanx formation appears in the 7th century BC.[20] Was this the way that the true Trojan War was fought? Most scholars do not believe so.[21] The chariot was the main weapon in battles of the time, like the Battle of Kadesh. There is evidence from the Dendra armor and paintings at the palace of Pylos that the Mycenaeans used two-man chariots, with the principal rider armed with a long spear, unlike the Hittite three-man chariots whose riders were armed with shorter spears or the two-man chariots armed with arrows used by Egyptians and Syrians. Homer is aware of the use of chariots as a main weapon. Nestor places his charioteers in front of the rest of his troop and tells them: In your eagerness to engage the Trojans, don't any of you charge ahead of others, trusting in your strength and horsemanship. And don't lag behind. That will hurt our charge. Any man whose chariot confronts an enemy's should thrust with his spear at him from there. That's the most effective tactic, the way men wiped out city strongholds long ago— their chests full of that style and spirit. (Iliad 4.301–309, translated by Ian Johnston) Mythological Characters in the Iliad Although gods, goddesses, and demi-gods play a large role in the plot of the Iliad, scholars note that the portrayal of gods by Homer represents a break from the ways in which Greeks actually observed their religion. The gods of the Iliad were crafted to suit the author's needs in telling his story instead of to give an ideal representation of how the Greeks viewed their mythological figures. Herodotus, the classical historian, even went so far as to say that Homer and his contemporary, Hesiod, first named and described the characteristics and appearances of the gods.[22] In her book, Greek Gods: Human Lives, scholar Mary Lefkowitz discusses the relevance of the gods' actions in the Iliad and attempts to answer the question of whether their actions are applicable for their own sakes or if they are merely a metaphorical representation of human characteristics. Many classic authors, such as Thucydides and Plato, were only interested in the Homeric characters of gods as "a way of talking about human life rather than a description or a truth."[23] She argues that, if one looks at the Greek gods as religious elements rather than metaphors, their existence is what allowed Greeks to be so intellectually open. Without any established dogma or single holy book, Greeks could design gods that fit any description of religion.[24] The Iliad in subsequent arts and literature Subjects from the Trojan War were a favourite among ancient Greek dramatists. Aeschylus' trilogy, the Oresteia, comprising Agamemnon, The Libation Bearers, and The Eumenides, follows the story of Agamemnon after his return from the war. William Shakespeare used the plot of the Iliad as a source material for his play Troilus and Cressida, but focused the love story of Troilus, a Trojan prince and a son of Priam, and a Trojan woman Cressida. The play, often considered to be a comedy, reverses traditional views on events of the Trojan War and depicts Achilles as a coward, Ajax as a dull, unthinking mercenary, etc. The 1954 Broadway musical The Golden Apple by librettist John Treville Latouche and composer Jerome Moross was freely adapted from the Iliad and the Odyssey, re-setting the action to America's Washington state in the years after the Spanish-American War, with events inspired by the Iliad in Act One and events inspired by the Odyssey in Act Two. Christa Wolf's 1983 novel Kassandra is a critical engagement with the stuff of the Iliad. Wolf's narrator is Cassandra, whose thoughts we hear at the moment just before her murder by Clytemnestra in Sparta. Wolf's narrator presents a feminist's view of the war, and of war in general. Cassandra's story is accompanied by four essays which Wolf delivered as the Frankfurter Poetik-Vorlesungen. The essays present Wolf's concerns as a writer and rewriter of this canonical story and show the genesis of the novel through Wolf's own readings and in a trip she took to Greece. A number of comic series have re-told the legend of the Trojan War. The most inclusive may be Age of Bronze, a comprehensive retelling by writer/artist Eric Shanower that incorporates a broad spectrum of literary traditions and archaeological findings. Started in 1999, it is projected to number seven volumes. The Washington D.C. based painter, David Richardson, began a series of paintings in 2002 based on the Iliad and titled The Trojan War Series. Each painting in the series is intended to be a monument to a character in the Iliad and bears a name taken from the poem. As of October 2007, Richardson had completed over eighty paintings in the series and was still not finished with the body of work. Power metal band Blind Guardian composed a 14 minute song about the Iliad, "And Then There Was Silence", appearing on the 2002 album A Night at the Opera. Power metal band Manowar composed a 28 minute medley "Achilles, Agony and Ecstasy in Eight Parts" in their 1992 album, The Triumph of Steel. An epic science fiction adaptation/tribute by acclaimed author Dan Simmons titled Ilium was released in 2003. The novel received a Locus Award for best science fiction novel of 2003. A loose film adaptation of the Iliad, Troy, was released in 2004, starring Brad Pitt as Achilles, Orlando Bloom as Paris, Eric Bana as Hector, Sean Bean as Odysseus and Brian Cox as Agamemnon. It was directed by German-born Wolfgang Petersen. The movie only loosely resembles the Homeric version, with the supernatural elements of the story were deliberately expunged, except for one scene that includes Achilles' sea nymph mother, Thetis (although her supernatural nature is never specifically stated, and she is aged as though human). Though the film received mixed reviews, it was a commercial success, particularly in international sales. It grossed $133 million in the United States and $497 million worldwide, placing it in the 50 top-grossing movies of all time. S.M. Stirling's Island in the Sea of Time series contains numerous characters who are clearly the "original versions" of those appearing in the Iliad; the twentieth-century characters are quite aware of this and make rather frequent reference to it. One, for example, comments that "a big horse ought to be present at the fall of Troy", and another uses the glory that the poem would have brought its protagonists to turn one of them against his master. Translations into English The Iliad has been translated into English for centuries. George Chapman's 16th century translation was praised by John Keats in his sonnet, On First Looking into Chapman's Homer. Alexander Pope's translation into rhymed pentameter was published in 1715. William Cowper's 1791 version in forceful Miltonic blank verse is highly regarded. In his lectures On Translating Homer Matthew Arnold commented on the problems of translating the Iliad and on the major translations available in 1861. In 1870 the American poet William Cullen Bryant published a "simple, faithful" (Van Wyck Brooks) version in blank verse. There are several twentieth century English translations. Richmond Lattimore's version attempts to reproduce, line for line, the rhythm and phrasing of the original poem. Robert Fitzgerald has striven to situate the Iliad in the musical forms of English poetry. Robert Fagles and Stanley Lombardo both follow the Greek closely but are bolder in adding dramatic significance to conventional and formulaic Homeric language. Lombardo has chosen an American idiom that is much more colloquial than the other translations. Partial list of English translations This is a partial list of translations into English of Homer's Iliad. For a more complete list, see English translations of Homer. George Chapman, 1598 and 1615 - verse John Ogilby, 1660 Thomas Hobbes, 1676 - verse John Ozell, William Broome and William Oldisworth, 1712 Alexander Pope, 1713 - verse: full text James Macpherson, 1773 William Cowper, 1791: full text Lord Derby, 1864 - verse: full text William Cullen Bryant, 1870 Walter Leaf, Andrew Lang and Ernest Myers, 1873 - prose: full text Samuel Butler, 1898 - prose: full text A.T. Murray, 1924 Alexander Falconer, 1933 Sir William Marris, 1934 - verse W.H.D. Rouse, 1938 - prose E.V. Rieu, 1950 - prose Alston Chase and William G. Perry, 1950 - prose Richmond Lattimore, 1951 - verse Ennis Rees, 1963 - verse Robert Fitzgerald, 1974 Martin Hammond, 1987 Robert Fagles, 1990 Stanley Lombardo, 1997 Ian Johnston, 2002 - verse: full text
Notes
  1. Iliad IX 410-416
  2. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951.
  3. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 1.13.
  4. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 1.122.
  5. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 1.181-7.
  6. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 18.111-116.
  7. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 16.849-54.
  8. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 16.433-4.
  9. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 16.440-3.
  10. Homer.The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 22.178-81.
  11. Homer. The Iliad. Trans. Richmond Lattimore. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1951. 20.300-4.
  12. Porter, John. “The Iliad as Oral Formulaic Poetry.” The Iliad as Oral Formulaic Poetry. 8 May 2006. University of Saskatchewan. Accessed 26 November 2007.
  13. Lord, Albert. The Singer of Tales Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960. p. 190
  14. Lord, Albert. The Singer of Tales Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1960. p. 195
  15. Iliad XVI 130-154
  16. Armstrong, James I. The Arming Motif in the Iliad. The American Journal of Philology, Vol. 79, No. 4. (1958), pp. 337-354.
  17. Toohey, Peter. Reading Epic: An Introduction to the Ancient Narrative. New Fetter Lane, London: Routledge, 1992.
  18. Iliad 3.45–50
  19. Iliad 5.59–65
  20. Iliad 6.6
  21. Tomas Cahill, Sailing the Wine Dark Sea, Why the Greeks Matter, New York 2003
  22. Homer's Iliad: Classical Technology Center. http://ablemedia.com/ctcweb/netshots/homer.htm
  23. Lefkowitz, Mary. Greek Gods: Human Lives. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2003
  24. Oliver Taplin. "Bring Back the Gods." The New York Times. 14 December 2003.

評論 (2)

hepingdao 寫到 (2008-03-30 16:27:09):

  《伊裏亞特》集中描寫了戰爭結束前51天的故事:希臘聯軍統帥阿伽門農恃勢當衆辱駡希臘聯軍主將阿喀琉斯,並奪走了他的女俘。阿喀琉斯辱憤交加退出戰鬥,希臘聯軍因而節節敗退。直至阿喀琉斯的好友也被特洛伊主將赫剋托殺死,希臘聯軍面臨崩潰的緊急關頭,阿喀琉斯纔拋棄舊怨,重新上陣,輓回敗局,並殺死赫剋托。史詩在特洛伊人為赫剋托舉行隆重葬禮中結束。《伊裏亞特》以英雄業績為中心,用大量篇幅描寫英雄們的戰鬥,歌頌勇敢,充滿英雄主義氣息。
  
   《荷馬史詩》是希臘最早的一部史詩,包括《伊裏亞特》和《奧德賽》兩部分,相傳是由盲詩人荷馬所作,實際上它産生於民間口頭文學。
  
  伊裏亞特(ΙΛΙΑΣ,Ilias,Iliad, 又譯《伊利昂記》,今譯《伊利亞特》。) 是古希臘盲詩人荷馬(Homer, 800BC-600BC)的敘事詩史詩。是重要的古希臘文學作品,也是整個西方的經典之一。《伊利亞特》共二十四捲(係後人所分),15,693(±)行,各捲的長度從429到999行不等。史詩《伊利亞特》雖然取材於特洛亞戰爭的傳說,卻從希臘聯軍圍攻特洛亞九年零十個月後的一場內訌寫起,並且寫到赫剋托耳的葬禮就結束了。引起這場戰爭的金蘋果的神話,在它描寫海倫和帕裏斯時有所提及,木馬計和特洛亞的陷落,則見於《奧德修紀》(《奧德塞》)中奧德修對往事的回憶。《伊裏亞特》的頭一句是“阿喀琉斯的忿怒是我的主題”。希臘聯軍大將阿喀琉斯性烈如火,他有兩次忿怒的表現。史詩寫道,戰爭已經打了九年零十個月,還是勝負難測,這時希臘聯軍因瘟疫發生內訌。瘟疫是聯軍統帥阿伽門農拒絶歸還一個女俘所引起的,因為這個女俘是日神阿波羅祭司的女兒,阿波羅的祭司請求阿伽門農歸還他的女兒受到拒絶,就祈求阿波羅懲罰希臘聯軍。這場瘟疫蔓延下去就會使希臘聯軍不可收拾,因此阿喀琉斯要求阿伽門農把這個女俘歸還,免得瘟疫繼續蔓延。阿伽門農在很不情願的情況下歸還了這個女俘,卻不公正地奪走了原來分配給阿喀琉斯的另一個女俘,作為他自己損失的補償,阿喀琉斯在忿怒之下拒絶參戰。在希臘聯軍中,衹有阿喀琉斯纔是赫剋托耳的對手,因此他拒絶參戰就必然引起希臘聯軍的失利。希臘聯軍在此情況下抵禦不了特洛亞軍隊的反攻,衹好退而固守海濱的戰船,在那裏構築了防守性的壁壘。阿伽門農這時後悔自己對阿喀琉斯不公,衹好派奧德修和另一位希臘將領去嚮他求和。可是他忿怒未消,堅决不答應回到戰爭。阿喀琉斯衹是在特洛亞軍隊已經突破希臘聯軍的壁壘縱火焚燒他們的戰船的十分危急的情況下,纔把他的盔甲和戰馬藉給他的好友帕特洛剋羅斯,讓帕特洛剋羅斯前去應敵。帕特洛剋羅斯雖然擊退了特洛亞軍隊的攻擊,但終為赫剋托耳所殺,因此阿喀琉斯藉給他的盔甲也丟掉了,這盔甲原是他的母親忒提斯女神請匠神製造的。戰友之死與盔甲被丟引起阿喀琉斯的第二次忿怒,而使他與阿伽門農和解,並且在他母親請匠神給他製造了一副新盔甲之後,重新回到戰爭,最後殺死了赫剋托耳,取得了决定性的勝利。
  
  《伊裏亞特》敘述了特洛伊戰爭第十年(也是最後一年)中幾個星期的活動,特別是“阿基裏斯(Achilles,古希臘傳說中勇士)的力量”。史詩以阿基裏斯和阿伽門農(Agamemnon)的爭吵開始,以赫剋托耳的葬禮結束,故事的背景和最最終的結局都沒有直接敘述。
  
  伊裏亞特和奧德賽都衹是更宏大的敘事詩傳統的一部分,此外還有許多不同長度不同作者的敘事詩作,衹不過衹有一些片段流傳下來。
  
  《伊利亞特》是荷馬史詩中直接描寫特洛亞戰爭的英雄史詩。希臘聯軍主將阿喀琉斯因喜愛的一個女俘被統帥阿伽門農奪走,憤而退出戰鬥,特洛亞人乘機大破希臘聯軍。在危急關頭,阿喀琉斯的好友帕特洛剋羅斯穿上阿喀琉斯的盔甲上陣,被特洛亞大將赫剋托耳殺死。阿喀琉斯悔恨已極,重上戰場,殺死赫剋托耳。特洛亞老王以重金贖還兒子屍體。史詩在赫剋托耳的葬禮中結束。
  
  《伊利亞特》的主題是贊美古代英雄的剛強威武、機智勇敢,謳歌他們在同異族戰鬥中所建立的豐功偉績和英雄主義、集體主義精神。
  
  《伊利亞特》塑造了一係列古代英雄形象。在他們身上,既集中了部落集體所要求的優良品德,又突出了各人的性格特徵。阿喀琉斯英勇善戰,每次上陣都使敵人望風披靡。他珍愛友誼,一聽到好友陣亡的噩耗,悲痛欲絶,憤而奔嚮戰場為友復仇。他對老人也有同情之心,允諾白發蒼蒼的特洛亞老王歸還赫剋托耳屍體的請求。可是他又傲慢任性,為了一個女俘而和統帥鬧翻,退出戰鬥,造成聯軍的慘敗。他暴躁兇狠,為了泄憤,竟將赫剋托耳的屍體拴上戰車繞城三圈。與之相比,特洛亞統帥赫剋托耳則是一個更加完美的古代英雄形象。他身先士卒,成熟持重,自覺擔負起保衛傢園和部落集體的重任。他追求榮譽,不畏強敵,在敵我力量懸殊的危急關頭,仍然毫無懼色,出城迎敵,奮勇廝殺。他敬重父母,摯愛妻兒,决戰前告別親人的動人場面,充滿了濃厚的人情味和感人的悲壯色彩。
  
  《伊利亞特》結構嚴謹,佈局精巧。它以“阿喀琉斯的憤怒”作為全書的主綫,其他人物、事件都環繞這條主綫展開,形成嚴謹的整體。史詩善於用動物的動作,或用自然景觀、生活現象作比喻,構成富有情趣的“荷馬式比喻”。例如書中寫到阿喀琉斯退出戰鬥,赫剋托耳打得希臘軍隊四處奔逃,史詩用了這樣的比喻:“好像一隻野蠻的獅子攻進牛群,吃了一頭而嚇得其餘的紛紛逃竄。”其中有名句“我的生命是不能賤賣的, 我寧可戰鬥而死去, 不要走上不光榮的結局, 讓顯赫的功勳傳到來世 ”史詩節奏強烈,語調昂揚,既適於表現重大事件,又便於口頭吟誦。《伊利亞特》高超的藝術手法常為後人所稱道。
hepingdao 寫到 (2008-03-31 10:12:00):

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license
  
  Title: The Iliad of Homer
  
  Author: Homer
  
  Release Date: September 2006 [Ebook #6130]
  
  Language: English
  
  The Iliad of Homer
  
  
  Translated by Alexander Pope,
  
  with notes by the
  Rev. Theodore Alois Buckley, M.A., F.S.A.
  
  and
  
  Flaxman's Designs.
  
  1899
  
  Contents
  INTRODUCTION.
  POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER
  BOOK I.
  BOOK II.
  BOOK III.
  BOOK IV.
  BOOK V.
  BOOK VI.
  BOOK VII.
  BOOK VIII.
  BOOK IX.
  BOOK X.
  BOOK XI.
  BOOK XII.
  BOOK XIII.
  BOOK XIV.
  BOOK XV.
  BOOK XVI.
  BOOK XVII.
  BOOK XVIII.
  BOOK XIX.
  BOOK XX.
  BOOK XXI.
  BOOK XXII.
  BOOK XXIII.
  BOOK XXIV.
  CONCLUDING NOTE.
  
  INTRODUCTION.
  Scepticism is as much the result of knowledge, as knowledge is of scepticism. To be content with what we at present know, is, for the most part, to shut our ears against conviction; since, from the very gradual character of our education, we must continually forget, and emancipate ourselves from, knowledge previously acquired; we must set aside old notions and embrace fresh ones; and, as we learn, we must be daily unlearning something which it has cost us no small labour and anxiety to acquire.
  
  And this difficulty attaches itself more closely to an age in which progress has gained a strong ascendency over prejudice, and in which persons and things are, day by day, finding their real level, in lieu of their conventional value. The same principles which have swept away traditional abuses, and which are making rapid havoc among the revenues of sinecurists, and stripping the thin, tawdry veil from attractive superstitions, are working as actively in literature as in society. The credulity of one writer, or the partiality of another, finds as powerful a touchstone and as wholesome a chastisement in the healthy scepticism of a temperate class of antagonists, as the dreams of conservatism, or the impostures of pluralist sinecures in the Church. History and tradition, whether of ancient or comparatively recent times, are subjected to very different handling from that which the indulgence or credulity of former ages could allow. Mere statements are jealously watched, and the motives of the writer form as important an ingredient in the analysis of his history, as the facts he records. Probability is a powerful and troublesome test; and it is by this troublesome standard that a large portion of historical evidence is sifted. Consistency is no less pertinacious and exacting in its demands. In brief, to write a history, we must know more than mere facts. Human nature, viewed under an induction of extended experience, is the best help to the criticism of human history. Historical characters can only be estimated by the standard which human experience, whether actual or traditionary, has furnished. To form correct views of individuals we must regard them as forming parts of a great whole—we must measure them by their relation to the mass of beings by whom they are surrounded, and, in contemplating the incidents in their[pg x] lives or condition which tradition has handed down to us, we must rather consider the general bearing of the whole narrative, than the respective probability of its details.
  
  It is unfortunate for us, that, of some of the greatest men, we know least, and talk most. Homer, Socrates, and Shakespere1 have, perhaps, contributed more to the intellectual enlightenment of mankind than any other three writers who could be named, and yet the history of all three has given rise to a boundless ocean of discussion, which has left us little save the option of choosing which theory or theories we will follow. The personality of Shakespere is, perhaps, the only thing in which critics will allow us to believe without controversy; but upon everything else, even down to the authorship of plays, there is more or less of doubt and uncertainty. Of Socrates we know as little as the contradictions of Plato and Xenophon will allow us to know. He was one of the dramatis personae in two dramas as unlike in principles as in style. He appears as the enunciator of opinions as different in their tone as those of the writers who have handed them down. When we have read Plato or Xenophon, we think we know something of Socrates; when we have fairly read and examined both, we feel convinced that we are something worse than ignorant.
  
  It has been an easy, and a popular expedient, of late years, to deny the personal or real existence of men and things whose life and condition were too much for our belief. This system—which has often comforted the religious sceptic, and substituted the consolations of Strauss for those of the New Testament—has been of incalculable value to the historical theorists of the last and present centuries. To question the existence of Alexander the Great, would be a more excusable act, than to believe in that of Romulus. To deny a fact related in Herodotus, because it is inconsistent with a theory developed from an Assyrian inscription which no two scholars read in the same way, is more pardonable, than to believe in the good-natured old king whom the elegant pen of Florian has idealized—Numa Pompilius.
  
  Scepticism has attained its culminating point with respect to Homer, and the state of our Homeric knowledge may be described as a free permission to believe any theory, provided we throw overboard[pg xi] all written tradition, concerning the author or authors of the Iliad and Odyssey. What few authorities exist on the subject, are summarily dismissed, although the arguments appear to run in a circle. "This cannot be true, because it is not true; and, that is not true, because it cannot be true." Such seems to be the style, in which testimony upon testimony, statement upon statement, is consigned to denial and oblivion.
  
  It is, however, unfortunate that the professed biographies of Homer are partly forgeries, partly freaks of ingenuity and imagination, in which truth is the requisite most wanting. Before taking a brief review of the Homeric theory in its present conditions, some notice must be taken of the treatise on the Life of Homer which has been attributed to Herodotus.
  
  According to this document, the city of Cumae in Æolia, was, at an early period, the seat of frequent immigrations from various parts of Greece. Among the immigrants was Menapolus, the son of Ithagenes. Although poor, he married, and the result of the union was a girl named Critheis. The girl was left an orphan at an early age, under the guardianship of Cleanax, of Argos. It is to the indiscretion of this maiden that we "are indebted for so much happiness." Homer was the first fruit of her juvenile frailty, and received the name of Melesigenes, from having been born near the river Meles, in Boeotia, whither Critheis had been transported in order to save her reputation.
  
  "At this time," continues our narrative, "there lived at Smyrna a man named Phemius, a teacher of literature and music, who, not being married, engaged Critheis to manage his household, and spin the flax he received as the price of his scholastic labours. So satisfactory was her performance of this task, and so modest her conduct, that he made proposals of marriage, declaring himself, as a further inducement, willing to adopt her son, who, he asserted, would become a clever man, if he were carefully brought up."
  
  They were married; careful cultivation ripened the talents which nature had bestowed, and Melesigenes soon surpassed his schoolfellows in every attainment, and, when older, rivalled his preceptor in wisdom. Phemius died, leaving him sole heir to his property, and his mother soon followed. Melesigenes carried on his adopted father's school with great success, exciting the admiration not only of the inhabitants of Smyrna, but also of the strangers whom the trade carried on there, especially in the exportation of corn, attracted to that city. Among these visitors, one Mentes, from Leucadia, the modern Santa Maura, who evinced a knowledge and intelligence rarely found in those times, persuaded Melesigenes to close his school, and accompany him on his travels. He promised not only to pay his expenses, but to furnish him with a further stipend, urging, that, "While he was yet young, it was fitting that he should see with his own eyes the countries and cities which might hereafter be the subjects of his discourses." Melesigenes consented, and set out with his patron, "examining all the curiosities of the countries they visited, and informing himself of everything by interrogating those whom he met." We may also suppose, that he[pg xii] wrote memoirs of all that he deemed worthy of preservation2 Having set sail from Tyrrhenia and Iberia, they reached Ithaca. Here Melesigenes, who had already suffered in his eyes, became much worse, and Mentes, who was about to leave for Leucadia, left him to the medical superintendence of a friend of his, named Mentor, the son of Alcinor. Under his hospitable and intelligent host, Melesigenes rapidly became acquainted with the legends respecting Ulysses, which afterwards formed the subject of the Odyssey. The inhabitants of Ithaca assert, that it was here that Melesigenes became blind, but the Colophomans make their city the seat of that misfortune. He then returned to Smyrna, where he applied himself to the study of poetry.3
  
  But poverty soon drove him to Cumae. Having passed over the Hermaean plain, he arrived at Neon Teichos, the New Wall, a colony of Cumae. Here his misfortunes and poetical talent gained him the friendship of one Tychias, an armourer. "And up to my time," continued the author, "the inhabitants showed the place where he used to sit when giving a recitation of his verses, and they greatly honoured the spot. Here also a poplar grew, which they said had sprung up ever since Melesigenes arrived".4
  
  But poverty still drove him on, and he went by way of Larissa, as being the most convenient road. Here, the Cumans say, he composed an epitaph on Gordius, king of Phrygia, which has however, and with greater probability, been attributed to Cleobulus of Lindus.5
  
  Arrived at Cumae, he frequented the converzationes6 of the old men, and delighted all by the charms of his poetry. Encouraged by this favourable reception, he declared that, if they would allow him a public maintenance, he would render their city most gloriously renowned.[pg xiii] They avowed their willingness to support him in the measure he proposed, and procured him an audience in the council. Having made the speech, with the purport of which our author has forgotten to acquaint us, he retired, and left them to debate respecting the answer to be given to his proposal.
  
  The greater part of the assembly seemed favourable to the poet's demand, but one man observed that "if they were to feed Homers, they would be encumbered with a multitude of useless people." "From this circumstance," says the writer, "Melesigenes acquired the name of Homer, for the Cumans call blind men Homers."7 With a love of economy, which shows how similar the world has always been in its treatment of literary men, the pension was denied, and the poet vented his disappointment in a wish that Cumoea might never produce a poet capable of giving it renown and glory.
  
  At Phocoea, Homer was destined to experience another literary distress. One Thestorides, who aimed at the reputation of poetical genius, kept Homer in his own house, and allowed him a pittance, on condition of the verses of the poet passing in his name. Having collected sufficient poetry to be profitable, Thestorides, like some would-be-literary publishers, neglected the man whose brains he had sucked, and left him. At his departure, Homer is said to have observed: "O Thestorides, of the many things hidden from the knowledge of man, nothing is more unintelligible than the human heart."8
  
  Homer continued his career of difficulty and distress, until some Chian merchants, struck by the similarity of the verses they heard him recite, acquainted him with the fact that Thestorides was pursuing a profitable livelihood by the recital of the very same poems. This at once determined him to set out for Chios. No vessel happened then to be setting sail thither, but he found one ready to Start for Erythrae, a town of Ionia, which faces that island, and he prevailed upon the seamen to allow him to accompany them. Having embarked, he invoked a favourable wind, and prayed that he might be able to expose the imposture of Thestorides, who, by his breach of hospitality, had drawn down the wrath of Jove the Hospitable.
  
  At Erythrae, Homer fortunately met with a person who had known him in Phocoea, by whose assistance he at length, after some difficulty, reached the little hamlet of Pithys. Here he met with an adventure, which we will continue in the words of our author. "Having set out from Pithys, Homer went on, attracted by the cries of some goats that were pasturing. The dogs barked on his approach, and he cried out. Glaucus (for that was the name of the goat-herd) heard his voice, ran up quickly, called off his dogs, and drove them away from Homer. For or some time he stood wondering how a blind man should have[pg xiv] reached such a place alone, and what could be his design in coming. He then went up to him, and inquired who he was, and how he had come to desolate places and untrodden spots, and of what he stood in need. Homer, by recounting to him the whole history of his misfortunes, moved him with compassion; and he took him, and led him to his cot, and having lit a fire, bade him sup.9
  
  "The dogs, instead of eating, kept barking at the stranger, according to their usual habit. Whereupon Homer addressed Glaucus thus: O Glaucus, my friend, prythee attend to my behest. First give the dogs their supper at the doors of the hut: for so it is better, since, whilst they watch, nor thief nor wild beast will approach the fold.
  
  Glaucus was pleased with the advice, and marvelled at its author. Having finished supper, they banqueted10 afresh on conversation, Homer narrating his wanderings, and telling of the cities he had visited.
  
  At length they retired to rest; but on the following morning, Glaucus resolved to go to his master, and acquaint him with his meeting with Homer. Having left the goats in charge of a fellow-servant, he left Homer at home, promising to return quickly. Having arrived at Bolissus, a place near the farm, and finding his mate, he told him the whole story respecting Homer and his journey. He paid little attention to what he said, and blamed Glaucus for his stupidity in taking in and feeding maimed and enfeebled persons. However, he bade him bring the stranger to him.
  
  Glaucus told Homer what had taken place, and bade him follow him, assuring him that good fortune would be the result. Conversation soon showed that the stranger was a man of much cleverness and general knowledge, and the Chian persuaded him to remain, and to undertake the charge of his children.11
  
  Besides the satisfaction of driving the impostor Thestorides from the island, Homer enjoyed considerable success as a teacher. In the town of Chios he established a school where he taught the precepts of poetry. "To this day," says Chandler,12 "the most curious remain is that which has been named, without reason, the School of Homer. It is on the coast, at some distance from the city, northward, and appears to have been an open temple of Cybele, formed on the top of a rock. The shape is oval, and in the centre is the image of the goddess, the[pg xv] head and an arm wanting. She is represented, as usual, sitting. The chair has a lion carved on each side, and on the back. The area is bounded by a low rim, or seat, and about five yards over. The whole is hewn out of the mountain, is rude, indistinct, and probably of the most remote antiquity."
  
  So successful was this school, that Homer realised a considerable fortune. He married, and had two daughters, one of whom died single, the other married a Chian.
  
  The following passage betrays the same tendency to connect the personages of the poems with the history of the poet, which has already been mentioned:—
  
  "In his poetical compositions Homer displays great gratitude towards Mentor of Ithaca, in the Odyssey, whose name he has _insert_ed in his poem as the companion of Ulysses,13 in return for the care taken of him when afflicted with blindness. He also testifies his gratitude to Phemius, who had given him both sustenance and instruction."
  
  His celebrity continued to increase, and many persons advised him to visit Greece, whither his reputation had now extended. Having, it is said, made some additions to his poems calculated to please the vanity of the Athenians, of whose city he had hitherto made no mention,14 he sent out for Samos. Here being recognized by a Samian, who had met with him in Chios, he was handsomely received, and invited to join in celebrating the Apaturian festival. He recited some verses, which gave great satisfaction, and by singing the Eiresione at the New Moon festivals, he earned a subsistence, visiting the houses of the rich, with whose children he was very popular.
  
  In the spring he sailed for Athens, and arrived at the island of Ios, now Ino, where he fell extremely ill, and died. It is said that his death arose from vexation, at not having been able to unravel an enigma proposed by some fishermen's children.15
  
  Such is, in brief, the substance of the earliest life of Homer we possess, and so broad are the evidences of its historical worthlessness, that it is scarcely necessary to point them out in detail. Let us now consider some of the opinions to which a persevering, patient, and learned—but by no means consistent—series of investigations has led. In doing so, I profess to bring forward statements, not to vouch for their reasonableness or probability.
  
  "Homer appeared. The history of this poet and his works is lost in doubtful obscurity, as is the history of many of the first minds who have done honour to humanity, because they rose amidst darkness. The majestic stream of his song, blessing and fertilizing, flows like the Nile, through many lands and nations; and, like the sources of the Nile, its fountains will ever remain concealed."
  
  [pg xvi]
  Such are the words in which one of the most judicious German critics has eloquently described the uncertainty in which the whole of the Homeric question is involved. With no less truth and feeling he proceeds:—
  
  "It seems here of chief importance to expect no more than the nature of things makes possible. If the period of tradition in history is the region of twilight, we should not expect in it perfect light. The creations of genius always seem like miracles, because they are, for the most part, created far out of the reach of observation. If we were in possession of all the historical testimonies, we never could wholly explain the origin of the Iliad and the Odyssey; for their origin, in all essential points, must have remained the secret of the poet." 16
  
  From this criticism, which shows as much insight into the depths of human nature as into the minute wire-drawings of scholastic investigation, let us pass on to the main question at issue. Was Homer an individual?17 or were the Iliad and Odyssey the result of an ingenious arrangement of fragments by earlier poets?
  
  Well has Landor remarked: "Some tell us there were twenty Homers; some deny that there was ever one. It were idle and foolish to shake the contents of a vase, in order to let them settle at last. We are perpetually labouring to destroy our delights, our composure, our devotion to superior power. Of all the animals on earth we least know what is good for us. My opinion is, that what is best for us is our admiration of good. No man living venerates Homer more than I do." 18
  
  But, greatly as we admire the generous enthusiasm which rests contented with the poetry on which its best impulses had been nurtured and fostered, without seeking to destroy the vividness of first impressions by minute analysis—our editorial office compels us to give some attention to the doubts and difficulties with which the Homeric question is beset, and to entreat our reader, for a brief period, to prefer his judgment to his imagination, and to condescend to dry details.
  
  Before, however, entering into particulars respecting the question of this unity of the Homeric poems, (at least of the Iliad,) I must express my sympathy with the sentiments expressed in the following remarks:—
  
  "We cannot but think the universal admiration of its unity by the better, the poetic age of Greece, almost conclusive testimony to its original composition. It was not till the age of the grammarians that its primitive integrity was called in question; nor is it injustice to assert, that the minute and analytical spirit of a grammarian is not the best qualification for the profound feeling, the comprehensive conception of an harmonious whole. The most exquisite anatomist may be no judge of the symmetry of the human frame: and we would take the opinion of Chantrey or Westmacott on the proportions and general beauty of a form, rather than that of Mr. Brodie or Sir Astley Cooper.
  
  [pg xvii]
  "There is some truth, though some malicious exaggeration, in the lines of Pope.—
  
  "'The critic eye—that microscope of wit
  Sees hairs and pores, examines bit by bit,
  How parts relate to parts, or they to whole
  The body's harmony, the beaming soul,
  Are things which Kuster, Burmann, Wasse, shall see,
  When man's whole frame is obvious to a flea.'"19
  Long was the time which elapsed before any one dreamt of questioning the unity of the authorship of the Homeric poems. The grave and cautious Thucydides quoted without hesitation the Hymn to Apollo,20 the authenticity of which has been already disclaimed by modern critics. Longinus, in an oft quoted passage, merely expressed an opinion touching the comparative inferiority of the Odyssey to the Iliad,21 and, among a mass of ancient authors, whose very names22 it would be tedious to detail, no suspicion of the personal non-existence of Homer ever arose. So far, the voice of antiquity seems to be in favour of our early ideas on the subject; let us now see what are the discoveries to which more modern investigations lay claim.
  
  At the end of the seventeenth century, doubts had begun to awaken on the subject, and we find Bentley remarking that "Homer wrote a sequel of songs and rhapsodies, to be sung by himself, for small comings and good cheer, at festivals and other days of merriment. These loose songs were not collected together, in the form of an epic poem, till about Peisistratus' time, about five hundred years after."23
  
  Two French writers—Hedelin and Perrault—avowed a similar scepticism on the subject; but it is in the "Scienza Nuova" of Battista Vico, that we first meet with the germ of the theory, subsequently defended by Wolf with so much learning and acuteness. Indeed, it is with the Wolfian theory that we have chiefly to deal, and with the following bold hypothesis, which we will detail in the words of Grote24—
  
  "Half a century ago, the acute and valuable Prolegomena of F. A. Wolf, turning to account the Venetian Scholia, which had then been[pg xviii] recently published, first opened philosophical discussion as to the history of the Homeric text. A considerable part of that dissertation (though by no means the whole) is employed in vindicating the position, previously announced by Bentley, amongst others, that the separate constituent portions of the Iliad and Odyssey had not been cemented together into any compact body and unchangeable order, until the days of Peisistratus, in the sixth century before Christ. As a step towards that conclusion, Wolf maintained that no written copies of either poem could be shown to have existed during the earlier times, to which their composition is referred; and that without writing, neither the perfect symmetry of so complicated a work could have been originally conceived by any poet, nor, if realized by him, transmitted with assurance to posterity. The absence of easy and convenient writing, such as must be indispensably supposed for long manuscripts, among the early Greeks, was thus one of the points in Wolf's case against the primitive integrity of the Iliad and Odyssey. By Nitzsch, and other leading opponents of Wolf, the connection of the one with the other seems to have been accepted as he originally put it; and it has been considered incumbent on those who defended the ancient aggregate character of the Iliad and Odyssey, to maintain that they were written poems from the beginning.
  
  "To me it appears, that the architectonic functions ascribed by Wolf to Peisistratus and his associates, in reference to the Homeric poems, are nowise admissible. But much would undoubtedly be gained towards that view of the question, if it could be shown, that, in order to controvert it, we were driven to the necessity of admitting long written poems, in the ninth century before the Christian aera. Few things, in my opinion, can be more improbable; and Mr. Payne Knight, opposed as he is to the Wolfian hypothesis, admits this no less than Wolf himself. The traces of writing in Greece, even in the seventh century before the Christian aera, are exceedingly trifling. We have no remaining inscription earlier than the fortieth Olympiad, and the early inscriptions are rude and unskilfully executed; nor can we even assure ourselves whether Archilochus, Simonides of Amorgus, Kallinus, Tyrtaeus, Xanthus, and the other early elegiac and lyric poets, committed their compositions to writing, or at what time the practice of doing so became familiar. The first positive ground which authorizes us to presume the existence of a manuscript of Homer, is in the famous ordinance of Solon, with regard to the rhapsodies at the Panathenaea: but for what length of time previously manuscripts had existed, we are unable to say.
  
  "Those who maintain the Homeric poems to have been written from the beginning, rest their case, not upon positive proofs, nor yet upon the existing habits of society with regard to poetry—for they admit generally that the Iliad and Odyssey were not read, but recited and heard,—but upon the supposed necessity that there must have been manuscripts to ensure the preservation of the poems—the unassisted memory of reciters being neither sufficient nor trustworthy. But here we only escape a smaller difficulty by running into a greater; for the existence of trained bards, gifted with extraordinary memory,[pg xix] 25 is far less astonishing than that of long manuscripts, in an age essentially non-reading and non-writing, and when even suitable instruments and materials for the process are not obvious. Moreover, there is a strong positive reason for believing that the bard was under no necessity of refreshing his memory by consulting a manuscript; for if such had been the fact, blindness would have been a disqualification for the profession, which we know that it was not, as well from the example of Demodokus, in the Odyssey, as from that of the blind bard of Chios, in the Hymn to the Delian Apollo, whom Thucydides, as well as the general tenor of Grecian legend, identifies with Homer himself. The author of that hymn, be he who he may, could never have described a blind man as attaining the utmost perfection in his art, if he had been conscious that the memory of the bard was only maintained by constant reference to the manuscript in his chest."
  
  The loss of the digamma, that crux of critics, that quicksand upon which even the acumen of Bentley was shipwrecked, seems to prove beyond a doubt, that the pronunciation of the Greek language had undergone a considerable change. Now it is certainly difficult to suppose that the Homeric poems could have suffered by this change, had written copies been preserved. If Chaucer's poetry, for instance, had not been written, it could only have come down to us in a softened form, more like the effeminate version of Dryden, than the rough, quaint, noble original.
  
  "At what period," continues Grote, "these poems, or indeed any other Greek poems, first began to be written, must be matter of conjecture, though there is ground for assurance that it was before the time of Solon. If, in the absence of evidence, we may venture upon[pg xx] naming any more determinate period, the question a once suggests itself, What were the purposes which, in that state of society, a manuscript at its first commencement must have been intended to answer? For whom was a written Iliad necessary? Not for the rhapsodes; for with them it was not only planted in the memory, but also interwoven with the feelings, and conceived in conjunction with all those flexions and intonations of voice, pauses, and other oral artifices which were required for emphatic delivery, and which the naked manuscript could never reproduce. Not for the general public—they were accustomed to receive it with its rhapsodic delivery, and with its accompaniments of a solemn and crowded festival. The only persons for whom the written Iliad would be suitable would be a _select_ few; studious and curious men; a class of readers capable of analyzing the complicated emotions which they had experienced as hearers in the crowd, and who would, on perusing the written words, realize in their imaginations a sensible portion of the impression communicated by the reciter. Incredible as the statement may seem in an age like the present, there is in all early societies, and there was in early Greece, a time when no such reading class existed. If we could discover at what time such a class first began to be formed, we should be able to make a guess at the time when the old epic poems were first committed to writing. Now the period which may with the greatest probability be fixed upon as having first witnessed the formation even of the narrowest reading class in Greece, is the middle of the seventh century before the Christian aera (B.C. 660 to B.C. 630), the age of Terpander, Kallinus, Archilochus, Simonides of Amorgus, &c. I ground this supposition on the change then operated in the character and tendencies of Grecian poetry and music—the elegiac and the iambic measures having been introduced as rivals to the primitive hexameter, and poetical compositions having been transferred from the epical past to the affairs of present and real life. Such a change was important at a time when poetry was the only known mode of publication (to use a modern phrase not altogether suitable, yet the nearest approaching to the sense). It argued a new way of looking at the old epical treasures of the people as well as a thirst for new poetical effect; and the men who stood forward in it, may well be considered as desirous to study, and competent to criticize, from their own individual point of view, the written words of the Homeric rhapsodies, just as we are told that Kallinus both noticed and eulogized the Thebais as the production of Homer. There seems, therefore, ground for conjecturing that (for the use of this newly-formed and important, but very narrow class), manuscripts of the Homeric poems and other old epics,—the Thebais and the Cypria, as well as the Iliad and the Odyssey,—began to be compiled towards the middle of the seventh century (B.C. 1); and the opening of Egypt to Grecian commerce, which took place about the same period, would furnish increased facilities for obtaining the requisite papyrus to write upon. A reading class, when once formed, would doubtless slowly increase, and the number of manuscripts along with it; so that before the time of Solon, fifty years afterwards, both readers and manuscripts, though still comparatively few, might have attained a[pg xxi] certain recognized authority, and formed a tribunal of reference against the carelessness of individual rhapsodes."26
  
  But even Peisistratus has not been suffered to remain in possession of the credit, and we cannot help feeling the force of the following observations—
  
  "There are several incidental circumstances which, in our opinion, throw some suspicion over the whole history of the Peisistratid compilation, at least over the theory, that the Iliad was cast into its present stately and harmonious form by the directions of the Athenian ruler. If the great poets, who flourished at the bright period of Grecian song, of which, alas! we have inherited little more than the fame, and the faint echo, if Stesichorus, Anacreon, and Simonides were employed in the noble task of compiling the Iliad and Odyssey, so much must have been done to arrange, to connect, to harmonize, that it is almost incredible, that stronger marks of Athenian manufacture should not remain. Whatever occasional anomalies may be detected, anomalies which no doubt arise out of our own ignorance of the language of the Homeric age, however the irregular use of the digamma may have perplexed our Bentleys, to whom the name of Helen is said to have caused as much disquiet and distress as the fair one herself among the heroes of her age, however Mr. Knight may have failed in reducing the Homeric language to its primitive form; however, finally, the Attic dialect may not have assumed all its more marked and distinguishing characteristics—still it is difficult to suppose that the language, particularly in the joinings and transitions, and connecting parts, should not more clearly betray the incongruity between the more ancient and modern forms of expression. It is not quite in character with such a period to imitate an antique style, in order to piece out an imperfect poem in the character of the original, as Sir Walter Scott has done in his continuation of Sir Tristram.
  
  "If, however, not even such faint and indistinct traces of Athenian compilation are discoverable in the language of the poems, the total absence of Athenian national feeling is perhaps no less worthy of observation. In later, and it may fairly be suspected in earlier times, the Athenians were more than ordinarily jealous of the fame of their ancestors. But, amid all the traditions of the glories of early Greece embodied in the Iliad, the Athenians play a most subordinate and insignificant part. Even the few passages which relate to their ancestors, Mr. Knight suspects to be interpolations. It is possible, indeed, that in its leading outline, the Iliad may be true to historic fact, that in the great maritime expedition of western Greece against the rival and half-kindred empire of the Laomedontiadae, the chieftain of Thessaly, from his valour and the number of his forces, may have been the most important ally of the Peloponnesian sovereign; the preeminent value of the ancient poetry on the Trojan war may thus have forced the national feeling of the Athenians to yield to their taste. The songs which spoke of their own great ancestor were, no doubt, of far inferior sublimity and popularity, or, at first sight, a Theseid would have been much more likely to have emanated from an Athenian synod of compilers of[pg xxii] ancient song, than an Achilleid or an Olysseid. Could France have given birth to a Tasso, Tancred would have been the hero of the Jerusalem. If, however, the Homeric ballads, as they are sometimes called, which related the wrath of Achilles, with all its direful consequences, were so far superior to the rest of the poetic cycle, as to admit no rivalry,—it is still surprising, that throughout the whole poem the callida junctura should never betray the workmanship of an Athenian hand, and that the national spirit of a race, who have at a later period not inaptly been compared to our self admiring neighbours, the French, should submit with lofty self denial to the almost total exclusion of their own ancestors—or, at least, to the questionable dignity of only having produced a leader tolerably skilled in the military tactics of his age."27
  
  To return to the Wolfian theory. While it is to be confessed, that Wolf's objections to the primitive integrity of the Iliad and Odyssey have never been wholly got over, we cannot help discovering that they have failed to enlighten us as to any substantial point, and that the difficulties with which the whole subject is beset, are rather augmented than otherwise, if we admit his hypothesis. Nor is Lachmann's28 modification of his theory any better. He divides the first twenty-two books of the Iliad into sixteen different songs, and treats as ridiculous the belief that their amalgamation into one regular poem belongs to a period earlier than the age of Peisistratus. This, as Grote observes, "explains the gaps and contradictions in the narrative, but it explains nothing else." Moreover, we find no contradictions warranting this belief, and the so-called sixteen poets concur in getting rid of the following leading men in the first battle after the secession of Achilles: Elphenor, chief of the Euboeans; Tlepolemus, of the Rhodians; Pandarus, of the Lycians; Odius, of the Halizonians; Pirous and Acamas, of the Thracians. None of these heroes again make their appearance, and we can but agree with Colonel Mure, that "it seems strange that any number of independent poets should have so harmoniously dispensed with the services of all six in the sequel." The discrepancy, by which Pylaemenes, who is represented as dead in the fifth book, weeps at his son's funeral in the thirteenth, can only be regarded as the result of an interpolation.
  
  Grote, although not very distinct in stating his own opinions on the subject, has done much to clearly show the incongruity of the Wolfian theory, and of Lachmann's modifications with the character of Peisistratus. But he has also shown, and we think with equal success, that the two questions relative to the primitive unity of these poems, or, supposing that impossible, the unison of these parts by Peisistratus, and not before his time, are essentially distinct. In short, "a man may believe the Iliad to have been put together out of pre-existing songs, without recognising the age of Peisistratus as the period of its first compilation." The friends or literary employes of Peisistratus must have found an Iliad that was already ancient, and the silence of the Alexandrine critics respecting the Peisistratic "recension," goes far[pg xxiii] to prove, that, among the numerous manuscripts they examined, this was either wanting, or thought unworthy of attention.
  
  "Moreover," he continues, "the whole tenor of the poems themselves confirms what is here remarked. There is nothing, either in the Iliad or Odyssey, which savours of modernism, applying that term to the age of Peisistratus—nothing which brings to our view the alterations brought about by two centuries, in the Greek language, the coined money, the habits of writing and reading, the despotisms and republican governments, the close military array, the improved construction of ships, the Amphiktyonic convocations, the mutual frequentation of religious festivals, the Oriental and Egyptian veins of religion, &c., familiar to the latter epoch. These alterations Onomakritus, and the other literary friends of Peisistratus, could hardly have failed to notice, even without design, had they then, for the first time, undertaken the task of piecing together many self existent epics into one large aggregate. Everything in the two great Homeric poems, both in substance and in language, belongs to an age two or three centuries earlier than Peisistratus. Indeed, even the interpolations (or those passages which, on the best grounds, are pronounced to be such) betray no trace of the sixth century before Christ, and may well have been heard by Archilochus and Kallinus—in some cases even by Arktinus and Hesiod—as genuine Homeric matter29 As far as the evidences on the case, as well internal as external, enable us to judge, we seem warranted in believing that the Iliad and Odyssey were recited substantially as they now stand (always allowing for paitial divergences of text and interpolations) in 776 B.C., our first trustworthy mark of Grecian time; and this ancient date, let it be added, as it is the best-authenticated fact, so it is also the most important attribute of the Homeric poems, considered in reference to Grecian history; for they thus afford us an insight into the anti-historical character of the Greeks, enabling us to trace the subsequent forward march of the nation, and to seize instructive contrasts between their former and their later condition."30
  
  On the whole, I am inclined to believe, that the labours of Peisistratus were wholly of an editorial character, although, I must confess, that I can lay down nothing respecting the extent of his labours. At the same time, so far from believing that the composition or primary arrangement of these poems, in their present form, was the work of Peisistratus, I am rather persuaded that the fine taste and elegant mind of that Athenian31 would lead him to preserve an ancient and traditional order of the poems, rather than to patch and re-construct them according to a fanciful hypothesis. I will not repeat the many discussions respecting whether the poems were written or not, or whether the art of writing was known in the time of their reputed author. Suffice it to say, that the more we read, the less satisfied we are upon either subject.
  
  [pg xxiv]
  I cannot, however, help thinking, that the story which attributes the preservation of these poems to Lycurgus, is little else than a version of the same story as that of Peisistratus, while its historical probability must be measured by that of many others relating to the Spartan Confucius.
  
  I will conclude this sketch of the Homeric theories, with an attempt, made by an ingenious friend, to unite them into something like consistency. It is as follows:—
  
  "No doubt the common soldiers of that age had, like the common sailors of some fifty years ago, some one qualified to 'discourse in excellent music' among them. Many of these, like those of the negroes in the United States, were extemporaneous, and allusive to events passing around them. But what was passing around them? The grand events of a spirit-stirring war; occurrences likely to impress themselves, as the mystical legends of former times had done, upon their memory; besides which, a retentive memory was deemed a virtue of the first water, and was cultivated accordingly in those ancient times. Ballads at first, and down to the beginning of the war with Troy, were merely recitations, with an intonation. Then followed a species of recitative, probably with an intoned burden. Tune next followed, as it aided the memory considerably.
  
  "It was at this period, about four hundred years after the war, that a poet flourished of the name of Melesigenes, or Moeonides, but most probably the former. He saw that these ballads might be made of great utility to his purpose of writing a poem on the social position of Hellas, and, as a collection, he published these lays, connecting them by a tale of his own. This poem now exists, under the title of the 'Odyssea.' The author, however, did not affix his own name to the poem, which, in fact, was, great part of it, remodelled from the archaic dialect of Crete, in which tongue the ballads were found by him. He therefore called it the poem of Homeros, or the Collector; but this is rather a proof of his modesty and talent, than of his mere drudging arrangement of other people's ideas; for, as Grote has finely observed, arguing for the unity of authorship, 'a great poet might have re-cast pre-existing separate songs into one comprehensive whole; but no mere arrangers or compilers would be competent to do so.'
  
  "While employed on the wild legend of Odysseus, he met with a ballad, recording the quarrel of Achilles and Agamemnon. His noble mind seized the hint that there presented itself, and the Achilleis32 grew under his hand. Unity of design, however, caused him to publish the poem under the same pseudonyme as his former work: and the disjointed lays of the ancient bards were joined together, like those relating to the Cid, into a chronicle history, named the Iliad. Melesigenes knew that the poem was destined to be a lasting one, and so it has proved; but, first, the poems were destined to undergo many vicissitudes and corruptions, by the people who took to singing them in the streets, assemblies, and agoras. However, Solon first, and then[pg xxv] Peisistratus, and afterwards Aristoteles and others, revised the poems, and restored the works of Melesigenes Homeros to their original integrity in a great measure."33
  
  Having thus given some general notion of the strange theories which have developed themselves respecting this most interesting subject, I must still express my conviction as to the unity of the authorship of the Homeric poems. To deny that many corruptions and interpolations disfigure them, and that the intrusive hand of the poetasters may here and there have inflicted a wound more serious than the negligence of the copyist, would be an absurd and captious assumption, but it is to a higher criticism that we must appeal, if we would either understand or enjoy these poems. In maintaining the authenticity and personality of their one author, be he Homer or Melesigenes, quocunque nomine vocari eum jus fasque sit, I feel conscious that, while the whole weight of historical evidence is against the hypothesis which would assign these great works to a plurality of authors, the most powerful internal evidence, and that which springs from the deepest and most immediate impulse of the soul, also speaks eloquently to the contrary.
  
  The minutiae of verbal criticism I am far from seeking to despise. Indeed, considering the character of some of my own books, such an attempt would be gross inconsistency. But, while I appreciate its importance in a philological view, I am inclined to set little store on its aesthetic value, especially in poetry. Three parts of the emendations made upon poets are mere alterations, some of which, had they been suggested to the author by his Maecenas or Africanus, he would probably have adopted. Moreover, those who are most exact in laying down rules of verbal criticism and interpretation, are often least competent to carry out their own precepts. Grammarians are not poets by profession, but may be so per accidens. I do not at this moment remember two emendations on Homer, calculated to substantially improve the poetry of a passage, although a mass of remarks, from Herodotus down to Loewe, have given us the history of a thousand minute points, without which our Greek knowledge would be gloomy and jejune.
  
  But it is not on words only that grammarians, mere grammarians, will exercise their elaborate and often tiresome ingenuity. Binding down an heroic or dramatic poet to the block upon which they have previously dissected his words and sentences, they proceed to use the axe and the pruning knife by wholesale, and inconsistent in everything but their wish to make out a case of unlawful affiliation, they cut out book after book, passage after passage, till the author is reduced to a collection of fragments, or till those, who fancied they possessed the works of some great man, find that they have been put off with a vile counterfeit got up at second hand. If we compare the theories of Knight, Wolf, Lachmann, and others, we shall feel better satisfied of the utter uncertainty of criticism than of the apocryphal position of Homer. One rejects what another considers the turning-point of his[pg xxvi] theory. One cuts a supposed knot by expunging what another would explain by omitting something else.
  
  Nor is this morbid species of sagacity by any means to be looked upon as a literary novelty. Justus Lipsius, a scholar of no ordinary skill, seems to revel in the imaginary discovery, that the tragedies attributed to Seneca are by four different authors.34 Now, I will venture to assert, that these tragedies are so uniform, not only in their borrowed phraseology—a phraseology with which writers like Boethius and Saxo Grammaticus were more charmed than ourselves—in their freedom from real poetry, and last, but not least, in an ultra-refined and consistent abandonment of good taste, that few writers of the present day would question the capabilities of the same gentleman, be he Seneca or not, to produce not only these, but a great many more equally bad. With equal sagacity, Father Hardouin astonished the world with the startling announcement that the Æneid of Virgil, and the satires of Horace, were literary deceptions. Now, without wishing to say one word of disrespect against the industry and learning—nay, the refined acuteness—which scholars, like Wolf, have bestowed upon this subject, I must express my fears, that many of our modern Homeric theories will become matter for the surprise and entertainment, rather than the instruction, of posterity. Nor can I help thinking, that the literary history of more recent times will account for many points of difficulty in the transmission of the Iliad and Odyssey to a period so remote from that of their first creation.
  
  I have already expressed my belief that the labours of Peisistratus were of a purely editorial character; and there seems no more reason why corrupt and imperfect editions of Homer may not have been abroad in his day, than that the poems of Valerius Flaccus and Tibullus should have given so much trouble to Poggio, Scaliger, and others. But, after all, the main fault in all the Homeric theories is, that they demand too great a sacrifice of those feelings to which poetry most powerfully appeals, and which are its most fitting judges. The ingenuity which has sought to rob us of the name and existence of Homer, does too much violence to that inward emotion, which makes our whole soul yearn with love and admiration for the blind bard of Chios. To believe the author of the Iliad a mere compiler, is to degrade the powers of human invention; to elevate analytical judgment at the expense of the most ennobling impulses of the soul; and to forget the ocean in the contemplation of a polypus. There is a catholicity, so to speak, in the very name of Homer. Our faith in the author of the Iliad may be a mistaken one, but as yet nobody has taught us a better.
  
  While, however, I look upon the belief in Homer as one that has nature herself for its mainspring; while I can join with old Ennius in believing in Homer as the ghost, who, like some patron saint, hovers round the bed of the poet, and even bestows rare gifts from that wealth of imagination which a host of imitators could not exhaust,—still I am far from wishing to deny that the author of these great poems found a rich fund of tradition, a well-stocked mythical storehouse from whence[pg xxvii] he might derive both subject and embellishment. But it is one thing to use existing romances in the embellishment of a poem, another to patch up the poem itself from such materials. What consistency of style and execution can be hoped for from such an attempt? or, rather, what bad taste and tedium will not be the infallible result?
  
  A blending of popular legends, and a free use of the songs of other bards, are features perfectly consistent with poetical originality. In fact, the most original writer is still drawing upon outward impressions—nay, even his own thoughts are a kind of secondary agents which support and feed the impulses of imagination. But unless there be some grand pervading principle—some invisible, yet most distinctly stamped archetypus of the great whole, a poem like the Iliad can never come to the birth. Traditions the most picturesque, episodes the most pathetic, local associations teeming with the thoughts of gods and great men, may crowd in one mighty vision, or reveal themselves in more substantial forms to the mind of the poet; but, except the power to create a grand whole, to which these shall be but as details and embellishments, be present, we shall have nought but a scrap-book, a parterre filled with flowers and weeds strangling each other in their wild redundancy: we shall have a cento of rags and tatters, which will require little acuteness to detect.
  
  Sensible as I am of the difficulty of disproving a negative, and aware as I must be of the weighty grounds there are for opposing my belief, it still seems to me that the Homeric question is one that is reserved for a higher criticism than it has often obtained. We are not by nature intended to know all things; still less, to compass the powers by which the greatest blessings of life have been placed at our disposal. Were faith no virtue, then we might indeed wonder why God willed our ignorance on any matter. But we are too well taught the contrary lesson; and it seems as though our faith should be especially tried touching the men and the events which have wrought most influence upon the condition of humanity. And there is a kind of sacredness attached to the memory of the great and the good, which seems to bid us repulse the scepticism which would allegorize their existence into a pleasing apologue, and measure the giants of intellect by an homeopathic dynameter.
  
  Long and habitual reading of Homer appears to familiarize our thoughts even to his incongruities; or rather, if we read in a right spirit and with a heartfelt appreciation, we are too much dazzled, too deeply wrapped in admiration of the whole, to dwell upon the minute spots which mere analysis can discover. In reading an heroic poem we must transform ourselves into heroes of the time being, we in imagination must fight over the same battles, woo the same loves, burn with the same sense of injury, as an Achilles or a Hector. And if we can but attain this degree of enthusiasm (and less enthusiasm will scarcely suffice for the reading of Homer), we shall feel that the poems of Homer are not only the work of one writer, but of the greatest writer that ever touched the hearts of men by the power of song.
  
  And it was this supposed unity of authorship which gave these poems their powerful influence over the minds of the men of old.[pg xxviii] Heeren, who is evidently little disposed in favour of modern theories, finely observes:—
  
  "It was Homer who formed the character of the Greek nation. No poet has ever, as a poet, exercised a similar influence over his countrymen. Prophets, lawgivers, and sages have formed the character of other nations; it was reserved to a poet to form that of the Greeks. This is a feature in their character which was not wholly erased even in the period of their degeneracy. When lawgivers and sages appeared in Greece, the work of the poet had already been accomplished; and they paid homage to his superior genius. He held up before his nation the mirror, in which they were to behold the world of gods and heroes no less than of feeble mortals, and to behold them reflected with purity and truth. His poems are founded on the first feeling of human nature; on the love of children, wife, and country; on that passion which outweighs all others, the love of glory. His songs were poured forth from a breast which sympathized with all the feelings of man; and therefore they enter, and will continue to enter, every breast which cherishes the same sympathies. If it is granted to his immortal spirit, from another heaven than any of which he dreamed on earth, to look down on his race, to see the nations from the fields of Asia to the forests of Hercynia, performing pilgrimages to the fountain which his magic wand caused to flow; if it is permitted to him to view the vast assemblage of grand, of elevated, of glorious productions, which had been called into being by means of his songs; wherever his immortal spirit may reside, this alone would suffice to complete his happiness."35
  
  Can we contemplate that ancient monument, on which the "Apotheosis of Homer"36 is depictured, and not feel how much of pleasing association, how much that appeals most forcibly and most distinctly to our minds, is lost by the admittance of any theory but our old tradition? The more we read, and the more we think—think as becomes the readers of Homer,—the more rooted becomes the conviction that the Father of Poetry gave us this rich inheritance, whole and entire. Whatever were the means of its preservation, let us rather be thankful for the treasury of taste and eloquence thus laid open to our use, than seek to make it a mere centre around which to drive a series of theories, whose wildness is only equalled by their inconsistency with each other.
  
  As the hymns, and some other poems usually ascribed to Homer, are not included in Pope's translation, I will content myself with a brief account of the Battle of the Frogs and Mice, from the pen of a writer who has done it full justice37:—
  
  "This poem," says Coleridge, "is a short mock-heroic of ancient date. The text varies in different editions, and is obviously disturbed and corrupt to a great degree; it is commonly said to have been a juvenile essay of Homer's genius; others have attributed it to the same Pigrees,[pg xxix] mentioned above, and whose reputation for humour seems to have invited the appropriation of any piece of ancient wit, the author of which was uncertain; so little did the Greeks, before the age of the Ptolemies, know or care about that department of criticism employed in determining the genuineness of ancient writings. As to this little poem being a youthful prolusion of Homer, it seems sufficient to say that from the beginning to the end it is a plain and palpable parody, not only of the general spirit, but of the numerous passages of the Iliad itself; and even, if no such intention to parody were discernible in it, the objection would still remain, that to suppose a work of mere burlesque to be the primary effort of poetry in a simple age, seems to reverse that order in the development of national taste, which the history of every other people in Europe, and of many in Asia, has almost ascertained to be a law of the human mind; it is in a state of society much more refined and permanent than that described in the Iliad, that any popularity would attend such a ridicule of war and the gods as is contained in this poem; and the fact of there having existed three other poems of the same kind attributed, for aught we can see, with as much reason to Homer, is a strong inducement to believe that none of them were of the Homeric age. Knight infers from the usage of the word deltos, "writing tablet," instead of diphthera, "skin," which, according to Herod. 5, 58, was the material employed by the Asiatic Greeks for that purpose, that this poem was another offspring of Attic ingenuity; and generally that the familiar mention of the cock (v. 191) is a strong argument against so ancient a date for its composition."
  
  Having thus given a brief account of the poems comprised in Pope's design, I will now proceed to make a few remarks on his translation, and on my own purpose in the present edition.
  
  Pope was not a Grecian. His whole education had been irregular, and his earliest acquaintance with the poet was through the version of Ogilby. It is not too much to say that his whole work bears the impress of a disposition to be satisfied with the general sense, rather than to dive deeply into the minute and delicate features of language. Hence his whole work is to be looked upon rather as an elegant paraphrase than a translation. There are, to be sure, certain conventional anecdotes, which prove that Pope consulted various friends, whose classical attainments were sounder than his own, during the undertaking; but it is probable that these examinations were the result rather of the contradictory versions already existing, than of a desire to make a perfect transcript of the original. And in those days, what is called literal translation was less cultivated than at present. If something like the general sense could be decorated with the easy gracefulness of a practised poet; if the charms of metrical cadence and a pleasing fluency could be made consistent with a fair interpretation of the poet's meaning, his words were less jealously sought for, and those who could read so good a poem as Pope's Iliad had fair reason to be satisfied.
  
  It would be absurd, therefore, to test Pope's translation by our own advancing knowledge of the original text. We must be content to[pg xxx] look at it as a most delightful work in itself,—a work which is as much a part of English literature as Homer himself is of Greek. We must not be torn from our kindly associations with the old Iliad, that once was our most cherished companion, or our most looked-for prize, merely because Buttmann, Loewe, and Liddell have made us so much more accurate as to amphikupellon being an adjective, and not a substantive. Far be it from us to defend the faults of Pope, especially when we think of Chapman's fine, bold, rough old English;—far be it from, us to hold up his translation as what a translation of Homer might be. But we can still dismiss Pope's Iliad to the hands of our readers, with the consciousness that they must have read a very great number of books before they have read its fellow.
  
  As to the Notes accompanying the present volume, they are drawn up without pretension, and mainly with the view of helping the general reader. Having some little time since translated all the works of Homer for another publisher, I might have brought a large amount of accumulated matter, sometimes of a critical character, to bear upon the text. But Pope's version was no field for such a display; and my purpose was to touch briefly on antiquarian or mythological allusions, to notice occasionally some departures from the original, and to give a few parallel passages from our English Homer, Milton. In the latter task I cannot pretend to novelty, but I trust that my other annotations, while utterly disclaiming high scholastic views, will be found to convey as much as is wanted; at least, as far as the necessary limits of these volumes could be expected to admit. To write a commentary on Homer is not my present aim; but if I have made Pope's translation a little more entertaining and instructive to a mass of miscellaneous readers, I shall consider my wishes satisfactorily accomplished.
  
  THEODORE ALOIS BUCKLEY.
  
  Christ Church.
  
  
  --------------------------------------------------------------------------------
  
  [pg xxxi]
  POPE'S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER
  Homer is universally allowed to have had the greatest invention of any writer whatever. The praise of judgment Virgil has justly contested with him, and others may have their pretensions as to particular excellences; but his invention remains yet unrivalled. Nor is it a wonder if he has ever been acknowledged the greatest of poets, who most excelled in that which is the very foundation of poetry. It is the invention that, in different degrees, distinguishes all great geniuses: the utmost stretch of human study, learning, and industry, which masters everything besides, can never attain to this. It furnishes art with all her materials, and without it judgment itself can at best but "steal wisely:" for art is only like a prudent steward that lives on managing the riches of nature. Whatever praises may be given to works of judgment, there is not even a single beauty in them to which the invention must not contribute: as in the most regular gardens, art can only reduce beauties of nature to more regularity, and such a figure, which the common eye may better take in, and is, therefore, more entertained with. And, perhaps, the reason why common critics are inclined to prefer a judicious and methodical genius to a great and fruitful one, is, because they find it easier for themselves to pursue their observations through a uniform and bounded walk of art, than to comprehend the vast and various extent of nature.
  
  Our author's work is a wild paradise, where, if we cannot see all the beauties so distinctly as in an ordered garden, it is only because the number of them is infinitely greater. It is like a copious nursery, which contains the seeds and first productions of every kind, out of which those who followed him have but _select_ed some particular plants, each according to his fancy, to cultivate and beautify. If some things are too luxuriant it is owing to the richness of the soil; and if others are not arrived to perfection or maturity, it is only because they are overrun and oppressed by those of a stronger nature.
  
  It is to the strength of this amazing invention we are to attribute that unequalled fire and rapture which is so forcible in Homer, that no man of a true poetical spirit is master of himself while he reads him. What he writes is of the most animated nature imaginable; every thing moves, every thing lives, and is put in action. If a council be called, or a battle fought, you are not coldly informed of what was said[pg xxxii] or done as from a third person; the reader is hurried out of himself by the force of the poet's imagination, and turns in one place to a hearer, in another to a spectator. The course of his verses resembles that of the army he describes,
  
  Hoid' ar' isan hosei te puri chthon pasa nemoito.
  "They pour along like a fire that sweeps the whole earth before it." It is, however, remarkable, that his fancy, which is everywhere vigorous, is not discovered immediately at the beginning of his poem in its fullest splendour: it grows in the progress both upon himself and others, and becomes on fire, like a chariot-wheel, by its own rapidity. Exact disposition, just thought, correct elocution, polished numbers, may have been found in a thousand; but this poetic fire, this "vivida vis animi," in a very few. Even in works where all those are imperfect or neglected, this can overpower criticism, and make us admire even while we disapprove. Nay, where this appears, though attended with absurdities, it brightens all the rubbish about it, till we see nothing but its own splendour. This fire is discerned in Virgil, but discerned as through a glass, reflected from Homer, more shining than fierce, but everywhere equal and constant: in Lucan and Statius it bursts out in sudden, short, and interrupted flashes: In Milton it glows like a furnace kept up to an uncommon ardour by the force of art: in Shakspeare it strikes before we are aware, like an accidental fire from heaven: but in Homer, and in him only, it burns everywhere clearly and everywhere irresistibly.
  
  I shall here endeavour to show how this vast invention exerts itself in a manner superior to that of any poet through all the main constituent parts of his work: as it is the great and peculiar characteristic which distinguishes him from all other authors.
  
  This strong and ruling faculty was like a powerful star, which, in the violence of its course, drew all things within its vortex. It seemed not enough to have taken in the whole circle of arts, and the whole compass of nature, to supply his maxims and reflections; all the inward passions and affections of mankind, to furnish his characters: and all the outward forms and images of things for his descriptions: but wanting yet an ampler sphere to expatiate in, he opened a new and boundless walk for his imagination, and created a world for himself in the invention of fable. That which Aristotle calls "the soul of poetry," was first breathed into it by Homer, I shall begin with considering him in his part, as it is naturally the first; and I speak of it both as it means the design of a poem, and as it is taken for fiction.
  
  Fable may be divided into the probable, the allegorical, and the marvellous. The probable fable is the recital of such actions as, though they did not happen, yet might, in the common course of nature; or of such as, though they did, became fables by the additional episodes and manner of telling them. Of this sort is the main story of an epic poem, "The return of Ulysses, the settlement of the Trojans in Italy," or the like. That of the Iliad is the "anger of Achilles," the most short and single subject that ever was chosen by any poet. Yet this he has supplied with a vaster variety of incidents[pg xxxiii] and events, and crowded with a greater number of councils, speeches, battles, and episodes of all kinds, than are to be found even in those poems whose schemes are of the utmost latitude and irregularity. The action is hurried on with the most vehement spirit, and its whole duration employs not so much as fifty days. Virgil, for want of so warm a genius, aided himself by taking in a more extensive subject, as well as a greater length of time, and contracting the design of both Homer's poems into one, which is yet but a fourth part as large as his. The other epic poets have used the same practice, but generally carried it so far as to superinduce a multiplicity of fables, destroy the unity of action, and lose their readers in an unreasonable length of time. Nor is it only in the main design that they have been unable to add to his invention, but they have followed him in every episode and part of story. If he has given a regular catalogue of an army, they all draw up their forces in the same order. If he has funeral games for Patroclus, Virgil has the same for Anchises, and Statius (rather than omit them) destroys the unity of his actions for those of Archemorus. If Ulysses visit the shades, the Æneas of Virgil and Scipio of Silius are sent after him. If he be detained from his return by the allurements of Calypso, so is Æneas by Dido, and Rinaldo by Armida. If Achilles be absent from the army on the score of a quarrel through half the poem, Rinaldo must absent himself just as long on the like account. If he gives his hero a suit of celestial armour, Virgil and Tasso make the same present to theirs. Virgil has not only observed this close imitation of Homer, but, where he had not led the way, supplied the want from other Greek authors. Thus the story of Sinon, and the taking of Troy, was copied (says Macrobius) almost word for word from Pisander, as the loves of Dido and Æneas are taken from those of Medea and Jason in Apollonius, and several others in the same manner.
  
  To proceed to the allegorical fable—If we reflect upon those innumerable knowledges, those secrets of nature and physical philosophy which Homer is generally supposed to have wrapped up in his allegories, what a new and ample scene of wonder may this consideration afford us! How fertile will that imagination appear, which as able to clothe all the properties of elements, the qualifications of the mind, the virtues and vices, in forms and persons, and to introduce them into actions agreeable to the nature of the things they shadowed! This is a field in which no succeeding poets could dispute with Homer, and whatever commendations have been allowed them on this head, are by no means for their invention in having enlarged his circle, but for their judgment in having contracted it. For when the mode of learning changed in the following ages, and science was delivered in a plainer manner, it then became as reasonable in the more modern poets to lay it aside, as it was in Homer to make use of it. And perhaps it was no unhappy circumstance for Virgil, that there was not in his time that demand upon him of so great an invention as might be capable of furnishing all those allegorical parts of a poem.
  
  The marvellous fable includes whatever is supernatural, and especially the machines of the gods. If Homer was not the first who introduced the deities (as Herodotus imagines) into the religion of[pg xxxiv] Greece, he seems the first who brought them into a system of machinery for poetry, and such a one as makes its greatest importance and dignity: for we find those authors who have been offended at the literal notion of the gods, constantly laying their accusation against Homer as the chief support of it. But whatever cause there might be to blame his machines in a philosophical or religious view, they are so perfect in the poetic, that mankind have been ever since contented to follow them: none have been able to enlarge the sphere of poetry beyond the limits he has set: every attempt of this nature has proved unsuccessful; and after all the various changes of times and religions, his gods continue to this day the gods of poetry.
  
  We come now to the characters of his persons; and here we shall find no author has ever drawn so many, with so visible and surprising a variety, or given us such lively and affecting impressions of them. Every one has something so singularly his own, that no painter could have distinguished them more by their features, than the poet has by their manners. Nothing can be more exact than the distinctions he has observed in the different degrees of virtues and vices. The single quality of courage is wonderfully diversified in the several characters of the Iliad. That of Achilles is furious and intractable; that of Diomede forward, yet listening to advice, and subject to command; that of Ajax is heavy and self-confiding; of Hector, active and vigilant: the courage of Agamemnon is inspirited by love of empire and ambition; that of Menelaus mixed with softness and tenderness for his people: we find in Idomeneus a plain direct soldier; in Sarpedon a gallant and generous one. Nor is this judicious and astonishing diversity to be found only in the principal quality which constitutes the main of each character, but even in the under parts of it, to which he takes care to give a tincture of that principal one. For example: the main characters of Ulysses and Nestor consist in wisdom; and they are distinct in this, that the wisdom of one is artificial and various, of the other natural, open, and regular. But they have, besides, characters of courage; and this quality also takes a different turn in each from the difference of his prudence; for one in the war depends still upon caution, the other upon experience. It would be endless to produce instances of these kinds. The characters of Virgil are far from striking us in this open manner; they lie, in a great degree, hidden and undistinguished; and, where they are marked most evidently affect us not in proportion to those of Homer. His characters of valour are much alike; even that of Turnus seems no way peculiar, but, as it is, in a superior degree; and we see nothing that differences the courage of Mnestheus from that of Sergestus, Cloanthus, or the rest, In like manner it may be remarked of Statius's heroes, that an air of impetuosity runs through them all; the same horrid and savage courage appears in his Capaneus, Tydeus, Hippomedon, &c. They have a parity of character, which makes them seem brothers of one family. I believe when the reader is led into this tract of reflection, if he will pursue it through the epic and tragic writers, he will be convinced how infinitely superior, in this point, the invention of Homer was to that of all others.
  
  [pg xxxv]
  The speeches are to be considered as they flow from the characters; being perfect or defective as they agree or disagree with the manners, of those who utter them. As there is more variety of characters in the Iliad, so there is of speeches, than in any other poem. "Everything in it has manner" (as Aristotle expresses it), that is, everything is acted or spoken. It is hardly credible, in a work of such length, how small a number of lines are employed in narration. In Virgil the dramatic part is less in proportion to the narrative, and the speeches often consist of general reflections or thoughts, which might be equally just in any person's mouth upon the same occasion. As many of his persons have no apparent characters, so many of his speeches escape being applied and judged by the rule of propriety. We oftener think of the author himself when we read Virgil, than when we are engaged in Homer, all which are the effects of a colder invention, that interests us less in the action described. Homer makes us hearers, and Virgil leaves us readers.
  
  If, in the next place, we take a view of the sentiments, the same presiding faculty is eminent in the sublimity and spirit of his thoughts. Longinus has given his opinion, that it was in this part Homer principally excelled. What were alone sufficient to prove the grandeur and excellence of his sentiments in general, is, that they have so remarkable a parity with those of the Scripture. Duport, in his Gnomologia Homerica, has collected innumerable instances of this sort. And it is with justice an excellent modern writer allows, that if Virgil has not so many thoughts that are low and vulgar, he has not so many that are sublime and noble; and that the Roman author seldom rises into very astonishing sentiments where he is not fired by the Iliad.
  
  If we observe his descriptions, images, and similes, we shall find the invention still predominant. To what else can we ascribe that vast comprehension of images of every sort, where we see each circumstance of art, and individual of nature, summoned together by the extent and fecundity of his imagination to which all things, in their various views presented themselves in an instant, and had their impressions taken off to perfection at a heat? Nay, he not only gives us the full prospects of things, but several unexpected peculiarities and side views, unobserved by any painter but Homer. Nothing is so surprising as the descriptions of his battles, which take up no less than half the Iliad, and are supplied with so vast a variety of incidents, that no one bears a likeness to another; such different kinds of deaths, that no two heroes are wounded in the same manner, and such a profusion of noble ideas, that every battle rises above the last in greatness, horror, and confusion. It is certain there is not near that number of images and descriptions in any epic poet, though every one has assisted himself with a great quantity out of him; and it is evident of Virgil especially, that he has scarce any comparisons which are not drawn from his master.
  
  If we descend from hence to the expression, we see the bright imagination of Homer shining out in the most enlivened forms of it. We acknowledge him the father of poetical diction; the first who taught that "language of the gods" to men. His expression is like[pg xxxvi] the colouring of some great masters, which discovers itself to be laid on boldly, and executed with rapidity. It is, indeed, the strongest and most glowing imaginable, and touched with the greatest spirit. Aristotle had reason to say, he was the only poet who had found out "living words;" there are in him more daring figures and metaphors than in any good author whatever. An arrow is "impatient" to be on the wing, a weapon "thirsts" to drink the blood of an enemy, and the like, yet his expression is never too big for the sense, but justly great in proportion to it. It is the sentiment that swells and fills out the diction, which rises with it, and forms itself about it, for in the same degree that a thought is warmer, an expression will be brighter, as that is more strong, this will become more perspicuous; like glass in the furnace, which grows to a greater magnitude, and refines to a greater clearness, only as the breath within is more powerful, and the heat more intense.
  
  To throw his language more out of prose, Homer seems to have affected the compound epithets. This was a sort of composition peculiarly proper to poetry, not only as it heightened the diction, but as it assisted and filled the numbers with greater sound and pomp, and likewise conduced in some measure to thicken the images. On this last consideration I cannot but attribute these also to the fruitfulness of his invention, since (as he has managed them) they are a sort of supernumerary pictures of the persons or things to which they were joined. We see the motion of Hector's plumes in the epithet Korythaiolos, the landscape of Mount Neritus in that of Einosiphyllos, and so of others, which particular images could not have been insisted upon so long as to express them in a description (though but of a single line) without diverting the reader too much from the principal action or figure. As a metaphor is a short simile, one of these epithets is a short description.
  
  Lastly, if we consider his versification, we shall be sensible what a share of praise is due to his invention in that also. He was not satisfied with his language as he found it settled in any one part of Greece, but searched through its different dialects with this particular view, to beautify and perfect his numbers he considered these as they had a greater mixture of vowels or consonants, and accordingly employed them as the verse required either a greater smoothness or strength. What he most affected was the Ionic, which has a peculiar sweetness, from its never using contractions, and from its custom of resolving the diphthongs into two syllables, so as to make the words open themselves with a more spreading and sonorous fluency. With this he mingled the Attic contractions, the broader Doric, and the feebler Æolic, which often rejects its aspirate, or takes off its accent, and completed this variety by altering some letters with the licence of poetry. Thus his measures, instead of being fetters to his sense, were always in readiness to run along with the warmth of his rapture, and even to give a further representation of his notions, in the correspondence of their sounds to what they signified. Out of all these he has derived that harmony which makes us confess he had not only the richest head, but the finest ear in the world. This is so great a truth, that whoever will but[pg xxxvii] consult the tune of his verses, even without understanding them (with the same sort of diligence as we daily see practised in the case of Italian operas), will find more sweetness, variety, and majesty of sound, than in any other language of poetry. The beauty of his numbers is allowed by the critics to be copied but faintly by Virgil himself, though they are so just as to ascribe it to the nature of the Latin tongue: indeed the Greek has some advantages both from the natural sound of its words, and the turn and cadence of its verse, which agree with the genius of no other language. Virgil was very sensible of this, and used the utmost diligence in working up a more intractable language to whatsoever graces it was capable of, and, in particular, never failed to bring the sound of his line to a beautiful agreement with its sense. If the Grecian poet has not been so frequently celebrated on this account as the Roman, the only reason is, that fewer critics have understood one language than the other. Dionysius of Halicarnassus has pointed out many of our author's beauties in this kind, in his treatise of the Composition of Words. It suffices at present to observe of his numbers, that they flow with so much ease, as to make one imagine Homer had no other care than to transcribe as fast as the Muses dictated, and, at the same time, with so much force and inspiriting vigour, that they awaken and raise us like the sound of a trumpet. They roll along as a plentiful river, always in motion, and always full; while we are borne away by a tide of verse, the most rapid, and yet the most smooth imaginable.
  
  Thus on whatever side we contemplate Homer, what principally strikes us is his invention. It is that which forms the character of each part of his work; and accordingly we find it to have made his fable more extensive and copious than any other, his manners more lively and strongly marked, his speeches more affecting and transported, his sentiments more warm and sublime, his images and descriptions more full and animated, his expression more raised and daring, and his numbers more rapid and various. I hope, in what has been said of Virgil, with regard to any of these heads, I have no way derogated from his character. Nothing is more absurd or endless, than the common method of comparing eminent writers by an opposition of particular passages in them, and forming a judgment from thence of their merit upon the whole. We ought to have a certain knowledge of the principal character and distinguishing excellence of each: it is in that we are to consider him, and in proportion to his degree in that we are to admire him. No author or man ever excelled all the world in more than one faculty; and as Homer has done this in invention, Virgil has in judgment. Not that we are to think that Homer wanted judgment, because Virgil had it in a more eminent degree; or that Virgil wanted invention, because Homer possessed a larger share of it; each of these great authors had more of both than perhaps any man besides, and are only said to have less in comparison with one another. Homer was the greater genius, Virgil the better artist. In one we most admire the man, in the other the work. Homer hurries and transports us with a commanding impetuosity; Virgil leads us with an attractive majesty; Homer scatters with a generous profusion;[pg xxxviii] Virgil bestows with a careful magnificence; Homer, like the Nile, pours out his riches with a boundless overflow; Virgil, like a river in its banks, with a gentle and constant stream. When we behold their battles, methinks the two poets resemble the heroes they celebrate. Homer, boundless and resistless as Achilles, bears all before him, and shines more and more as the tumult increases; Virgil, calmly daring, like Æneas, appears undisturbed in the midst of the action; disposes all about him, and conquers with tranquillity. And when we look upon their machines, Homer seems like his own Jupiter in his terrors, shaking Olympus, scattering the lightnings, and firing the heavens: Virgil, like the same power in his benevolence, counselling with the gods, laying plans for empires, and regularly ordering his whole creation.
  
  But after all, it is with great parts, as with great virtues, they naturally border on some imperfection; and it is often hard to distinguish exactly where the virtue ends, or the fault begins. As prudence may sometimes sink to suspicion, so may a great judgment decline to coldness; and as magnanimity may run up to profusion or extravagance, so may a great invention to redundancy or wildness. If we look upon Homer in this view, we shall perceive the chief objections against him to proceed from so noble a cause as the excess of this faculty.
  
  Among these we may reckon some of his marvellous fictions, upon which so much criticism has been spent, as surpassing all the bounds of probability. Perhaps it may be with great and superior souls, as with gigantic bodies, which, exerting themselves with unusual strength, exceed what is commonly thought the due proportion of parts, to become miracles in the whole; and, like the old heroes of that make, commit something near extravagance, amidst a series of glorious and inimitable performances. Thus Homer has his "speaking horses;" and Virgil his "myrtles distilling blood;" where the latter has not so much as contrived the easy intervention of a deity to save the probability.
  
  It is owing to the same vast invention, that his similes have been thought too exuberant and full of circumstances. The force of this faculty is seen in nothing more, than in its inability to confine itself to that single circumstance upon which the comparison is grounded: it runs out into embellishments of additional images, which, however, are so managed as not to overpower the main one. His similes are like pictures, where the principal figure has not only its proportion given agreeable to the original, but is also set off with occasional ornaments and prospects. The same will account for his manner of heaping a number of comparisons together in one breath, when his fancy suggested to him at once so many various and correspondent images. The reader will easily extend this observation to more objections of the same kind.
  
  If there are others which seem rather to charge him with a defect or narrowness of genius, than an excess of it, those seeming defects will be found upon examination to proceed wholly from the nature of the times he lived in. Such are his grosser representations of the gods; and the vicious and imperfect manners of his heroes; but I must here[pg xxxix] speak a word of the latter, as it is a point generally carried into extremes, both by the censurers and defenders of Homer. It must be a strange partiality to antiquity, to think with Madame Dacier,38 "that those times and manners are so much the more excellent, as they are more contrary to ours." Who can be so prejudiced in their favour as to magnify the felicity of those ages, when a spirit of revenge and cruelty, joined with the practice of rapine and robbery, reigned through the world: when no mercy was shown but for the sake of lucre; when the greatest princes were put to the sword, and their wives and daughters made slaves and concubines? On the other side, I would not be so delicate as those modern critics, who are shocked at the servile offices and mean employments in which we sometimes see the heroes of Homer engaged. There is a pleasure in taking a view of that simplicity, in opposition to the luxury of succeeding ages: in beholding monarchs without their guards; princes tending their flocks, and princesses drawing water from the springs. When we read Homer, we ought to reflect that we are reading the most ancient author in the heathen world; and those who consider him in this light, will double their pleasure in the perusal of him. Let them think they are growing acquainted with nations and people that are now no more; that they are stepping almost three thousand years back into the remotest antiquity, and entertaining themselves with a clear and surprising vision of things nowhere else to be found, the only true mirror of that ancient world. By this means alone their greatest obstacles will vanish; and what usually creates their dislike, will become a satisfaction.
  
  This consideration may further serve to answer for the constant use of the same epithets to his gods and heroes; such as the "far-darting Phoebus," the "blue-eyed Pallas," the "swift-footed Achilles," &c., which some have censured as impertinent, and tediously repeated. Those of the gods depended upon the powers and offices then believed to belong to them; and had contracted a weight and veneration from the rites and solemn devotions in which they were used: they were a sort of attributes with which it was a matter of religion to salute them on all occasions, and which it was an irreverence to omit. As for the epithets of great men, Mons. Boileau is of opinion, that they were in the nature of surnames, and repeated as such; for the Greeks having no names derived from their fathers, were obliged to add some other distinction of each person; either naming his parents expressly, or his place of birth, profession, or the like: as Alexander the son of Philip, Herodotus of Halicarnassus, Diogenes the Cynic, &c. Homer, therefore, complying with the custom of his country, used such distinctive additions as better agreed with poetry. And, indeed, we have something parallel to these in modern times, such as the names of Harold Harefoot, Edmund Ironside, Edward Longshanks, Edward the Black Prince, &c. If yet this be thought to account better for the propriety than for the repetition, I shall add a further conjecture. Hesiod, dividing the world into its different ages, has placed a fourth age, between the brazen and the iron one, of "heroes distinct from other[pg xl] men; a divine race who fought at Thebes and Troy, are called demi-gods, and live by the care of Jupiter in the islands of the blessed." Now among the divine honours which were paid them, they might have this also in common with the gods, not to be mentioned without the solemnity of an epithet, and such as might be acceptable to them by celebrating their families, actions or qualities.
  
  What other cavils have been raised against Homer, are such as hardly deserve a reply, but will yet be taken notice of as they occur in the course of the work. Many have been occasioned by an injudicious endeavour to exalt Virgil; which is much the same, as if one should think to raise the superstructure by undermining the foundation: one would imagine, by the whole course of their parallels, that these critics never so much as heard of Homer's having written first; a consideration which whoever compares these two poets ought to have always in his eye. Some accuse him for the same things which they overlook or praise in the other; as when they prefer the fable and moral of the Æneis to those of the Iliad, for the same reasons which might set the Odyssey above the Æneis; as that the hero is a wiser man, and the action of the one more beneficial to his country than that of the other; or else they blame him for not doing what he never designed; as because Achilles is not as good and perfect a prince as Æneas, when the very moral of his poem required a contrary character: it is thus that Rapin judges in his comparison of Homer and Virgil. Others _select_ those particular passages of Homer which are not so laboured as some that Virgil drew out of them: this is the whole management of Scaliger in his Poetics. Others quarrel with what they take for low and mean expressions, sometimes through a false delicacy and refinement, oftener from an ignorance of the graces of the original, and then triumph in the awkwardness of their own translations: this is the conduct of Perrault in his Parallels. Lastly, there are others, who, pretending to a fairer proceeding, distinguish between the personal merit of Homer, and that of his work; but when they come to assign the causes of the great reputation of the Iliad, they found it upon the ignorance of his times, and the prejudice of those that followed: and in pursuance of this principle, they make those accidents (such as the contention of the cities, &c.) to be the causes of his fame, which were in reality the consequences of his merit. The same might as well be said of Virgil, or any great author whose general character will infallibly raise many casual additions to their reputation. This is the method of Mons. de la Mott; who yet confesses upon the whole that in whatever age Homer had lived, he must have been the greatest poet of his nation, and that he may be said in his sense to be the master even of those who surpassed him.39
  
  In all these objections we see nothing that contradicts his title to the honour of the chief invention: and as long as this (which is indeed the characteristic of poetry itself) remains unequalled by his followers, he still continues superior to them. A cooler judgment may commit fewer faults, and be more approved in the eyes of one sort of critics: but that warmth of fancy will carry the loudest and most[pg xli] universal applauses which holds the heart of a reader under the strongest enchantment. Homer not only appears the inventor of poetry, but excels all the inventors of other arts, in this, that he has swallowed up the honour of those who succeeded him. What he has done admitted no increase, it only left room for contraction or regulation. He showed all the stretch of fancy at once; and if he has failed in some of his flights, it was but because he attempted everything. A work of this kind seems like a mighty tree, which rises from the most vigorous seed, is improved with industry, flourishes, and produces the finest fruit: nature and art conspire to raise it; pleasure and profit join to make it valuable: and they who find the justest faults, have only said that a few branches which run luxuriant through a richness of nature, might be lopped into form to give it a more regular appearance.
  
  Having now spoken of the beauties and defects of the original, it remains to treat of the translation, with the same view to the chief characteristic. As far as that is seen in the main parts of the poem, such as the fable, manners, and sentiments, no translator can prejudice it but by wilful omissions or contractions. As it also breaks out in every particular image, description, and simile, whoever lessens or too much softens those, takes off from this chief character. It is the first grand duty of an interpreter to give his author entire and unmaimed; and for the rest, the diction and versification only are his proper province, since these must be his own, but the others he is to take as he finds them.
  
  It should then be considered what methods may afford some equivalent in our language for the graces of these in the Greek. It is certain no literal translation can be just to an excellent original in a superior language: but it is a great mistake to imagine (as many have done) that a rash paraphrase can make amends for this general defect; which is no less in danger to lose the spirit of an ancient, by deviating into the modern manners of expression. If there be sometimes a darkness, there is often a light in antiquity, which nothing better preserves than a version almost literal. I know no liberties one ought to take, but those which are necessary to transfusing the spirit of the original, and supporting the poetical style of the translation: and I will venture to say, there have not been more men misled in former times by a servile, dull adherence to the letter, than have been deluded in ours by a chimerical, insolent hope of raising and improving their author. It is not to be doubted, that the fire of the poem is what a translator should principally regard, as it is most likely to expire in his managing: however, it is his safest way to be content with preserving this to his utmost in the whole, without endeavouring to be more than he finds his author is, in any particular place. It is a great secret in writing, to know when to be plain, and when poetical and figurative; and it is what Homer will teach us, if we will but follow modestly in his footsteps. Where his diction is bold and lofty, let us raise ours as high as we can; but where his is plain and humble, we ought not to be deterred from imitating him by the fear of incurring the censure of a mere English critic. Nothing that belongs to Homer[pg xlii] seems to have been more commonly mistaken than the just pitch of his style: some of his translators having swelled into fustian in a proud confidence of the sublime; others sunk into flatness, in a cold and timorous notion of simplicity. Methinks I see these different followers of Homer, some sweating and straining after him by violent leaps and bounds (the certain signs of false mettle), others slowly and servilely creeping in his train, while the poet himself is all the time proceeding with an unaffected and equal majesty before them. However, of the two extremes one could sooner pardon frenzy than frigidity; no author is to be envied for such commendations, as he may gain by that character of style, which his friends must agree together to call simplicity, and the rest of the world will call dulness. There is a graceful and dignified simplicity, as well as a bold and sordid one; which differ as much from each other as the air of a plain man from that of a sloven: it is one thing to be tricked up, and another not to be dressed at all. Simplicity is the mean between ostentation and rusticity.
  
  This pure and noble simplicity is nowhere in such perfection as in the Scripture and our author. One may affirm, with all respect to the inspired writings, that the Divine Spirit made use of no other words but what were intelligible and common to men at that time, and in that part of the world; and, as Homer is the author nearest to those, his style must of course bear a greater resemblance to the sacred books than that of any other writer. This consideration (together with what has been observed of the parity of some of his thoughts) may, methinks, induce a translator, on the one hand, to give in to several of those general phrases and manners of expression, which have attained a veneration even in our language from being used in the Old Testament; as, on the other, to avoid those which have been appropriated to the Divinity, and in a manner consigned to mystery and religion.
  
  For a further preservation of this air of simplicity, a particular care should be taken to express with all plainness those moral sentences and proverbial speeches which are so numerous in this poet. They have something venerable, and as I may say, oracular, in that unadorned gravity and shortness with which they are delivered: a grace which would be utterly lost by endeavouring to give them what we call a more ingenious (that is, a more modern) turn in the paraphrase.
  
  Perhaps the mixture of some Graecisms and old words after the manner of Milton, if done without too much affectation, might not have an ill effect in a version of this particular work, which most of any other seems to require a venerable, antique cast. But certainly the use of modern terms of war and government, such as "platoon, campaign, junto," or the like, (into which some of his translators have fallen) cannot be allowable; those only excepted without which it is impossible to treat the subjects in any living language.
  
  There are two peculiarities in Homer's diction, which are a sort of marks or moles by which every common eye distinguishes him at first sight; those who are not his greatest admirers look upon them as defects, and those who are, seemed pleased with them as beauties. I speak of his compound epithets, and of his repetitions. Many of the[pg xliii] former cannot be done literally into English without destroying the purity of our language. I believe such should be retained as slide easily of themselves into an English compound, without violence to the ear or to the received rules of composition, as well as those which have received a sanction from the authority of our best poets, and are become familiar through their use of them; such as "the cloud-compelling Jove," &c. As for the rest, whenever any can be as fully and significantly expressed in a single word as in a compounded one, the course to be taken is obvious.
  
  Some that cannot be so turned, as to preserve their full image by one or two words, may have justice done them by circumlocution; as the epithet einosiphyllos to a mountain, would appear little or ridiculous translated literally "leaf-shaking," but affords a majestic idea in the periphrasis: "the lofty mountain shakes his waving woods." Others that admit of different significations, may receive an advantage from a judicious variation, according to the occasions on which they are introduced. For example, the epithet of Apollo, hekaebolos or "far-shooting," is capable of two explications; one literal, in respect of the darts and bow, the ensigns of that god; the other allegorical, with regard to the rays of the sun; therefore, in such places where Apollo is represented as a god in person, I would use the former interpretation; and where the effects of the sun are described, I would make choice of the latter. Upon the whole, it will be necessary to avoid that perpetual repetition of the same epithets which we find in Homer, and which, though it might be accommodated (as has been already shown) to the ear of those times, is by no means so to ours: but one may wait for opportunities of placing them, where they derive an additional beauty from the occasions on which they are employed; and in doing this properly, a translator may at once show his fancy and his judgment.
  
  As for Homer's repetitions, we may divide them into three sorts: of whole narrations and speeches, of single sentences, and of one verse or hemistitch. I hope it is not impossible to have such a regard to these, as neither to lose so known a mark of the author on the one hand, nor to offend the reader too much on the other. The repetition is not ungraceful in those speeches, where the dignity of the speaker renders it a sort of insolence to alter his words; as in the messages from gods to men, or from higher powers to inferiors in concerns of state, or where the ceremonial of religion seems to require it, in the solemn forms of prayers, oaths, or the like. In other cases, I believe the best rule is, to be guided by the nearness, or distance, at which the repetitions are placed in the original: when they follow too close, one may vary the expression; but it is a question, whether a professed translator be authorized to omit any: if they be tedious, the author is to answer for it.
  
  It only remains to speak of the versification. Homer (as has been said) is perpetually applying the sound to the sense, and varying it on every new subject. This is indeed one of the most exquisite beauties of poetry, and attainable by very few: I only know of Homer eminent for it in the Greek, and Virgil in the Latin. I am sensible it is what may sometimes happen by chance, when a writer is warm, and fully[pg xliv] possessed of his image: however, it may reasonably be believed they designed this, in whose verse it so manifestly appears in a superior degree to all others. Few readers have the ear to be judges of it: but those who have, will see I have endeavoured at this beauty.
  
  Upon the whole, I must confess myself utterly incapable of doing justice to Homer. I attempt him in no other hope but that which one may entertain without much vanity, of giving a more tolerable copy of him than any entire translation in verse has yet done. We have only those of Chapman, Hobbes, and Ogilby. Chapman has taken the advantage of an immeasurable length of verse, notwithstanding which, there is scarce any paraphrase more loose and rambling than his. He has frequent interpolations of four or six lines; and I remember one in the thirteenth book of the Odyssey, ver. 312, where he has spun twenty verses out of two. He is often mistaken in so bold a manner, that one might think he deviated on purpose, if he did not in other places of his notes insist so much upon verbal trifles. He appears to have had a strong affectation of extracting new meanings out of his author; insomuch as to promise, in his rhyming preface, a poem of the mysteries he had revealed in Homer; and perhaps he endeavoured to strain the obvious sense to this end. His expression is involved in fustian; a fault for which he was remarkable in his original writings, as in the tragedy of Bussy d'Amboise, &c. In a word, the nature of the man may account for his whole performance; for he appears, from his preface and remarks, to have been of an arrogant turn, and an enthusiast in poetry. His own boast, of having finished half the Iliad in less than fifteen weeks, shows with what negligence his version was performed. But that which is to be allowed him, and which very much contributed to cover his defects, is a daring fiery spirit that animates his translation, which is something like what one might imagine Homer himself would have writ before he arrived at years of discretion.
  
  Hobbes has given us a correct explanation of the sense in general; but for particulars and circumstances he continually lops them, and often omits the most beautiful. As for its being esteemed a close translation, I doubt not many have been led into that error by the shortness of it, which proceeds not from his following the original line by line, but from the contractions above mentioned. He sometimes omits whole similes and sentences; and is now and then guilty of mistakes, into which no writer of his learning could have fallen, but through carelessness. His poetry, as well as Ogilby's, is too mean for criticism.
  
  It is a great loss to the poetical world that Mr. Dryden did not live to translate the Iliad. He has left us only the first book, and a small part of the sixth; in which if he has in some places not truly interpreted the sense, or preserved the antiquities, it ought to be excused on account of the haste he was obliged to write in. He seems to have had too much regard to Chapman, whose words he sometimes copies, and has unhappily followed him in passages where he wanders from the original. However, had he translated the whole work, I would no more have attempted Homer after him than Virgil: his version of whom (notwithstanding some human errors) is the most noble and spirited translation I know in any language. But the fate of great geniuses is like[pg xlv] that of great ministers: though they are confessedly the first in the commonwealth of letters, they must be envied and calumniated only for being at the head of it.
  
  That which, in my opinion, ought to be the endeavour of any one who translates Homer, is above all things to keep alive that spirit and fire which makes his chief character: in particular places, where the sense can bear any doubt, to follow the strongest and most poetical, as most agreeing with that character; to copy him in all the variations of his style, and the different modulations of his numbers; to preserve, in the more active or descriptive parts, a warmth and elevation; in the more sedate or narrative, a plainness and solemnity; in the speeches, a fulness and perspicuity; in the sentences, a shortness and gravity; not to neglect even the little figures and turns on the words, nor sometimes the very cast of the periods; neither to omit nor confound any rites or customs of antiquity: perhaps too he ought to include the whole in a shorter compass than has hitherto been done by any translator who has tolerably preserved either the sense or poetry. What I would further recommend to him is, to study his author rather from his own text, than from any commentaries, how learned soever, or whatever figure they may make in the estimation of the world; to consider him attentively in comparison with Virgil above all the ancients, and with Milton above all the moderns. Next these, the Archbishop of Cambray's Telemachus may give him the truest idea of the spirit and turn of our author; and Bossu's admirable Treatise of the Epic Poem the justest notion of his design and conduct. But after all, with whatever judgment and study a man may proceed, or with whatever happiness he may perform such a work, he must hope to please but a few; those only who have at once a taste of poetry, and competent learning. For to satisfy such a want either, is not in the nature of this undertaking; since a mere modern wit can like nothing that is not modern, and a pedant nothing that is not Greek.
  
  What I have done is submitted to the public; from whose opinions I am prepared to learn; though I fear no judges so little as our best poets, who are most sensible of the weight of this task. As for the worst, whatever they shall please to say, they may give me some concern as they are unhappy men, but none as they are malignant writers. I was guided in this translation by judgments very different from theirs, and by persons for whom they can have no kindness, if an old observation be true, that the strongest antipathy in the world is that of fools to men of wit. Mr. Addison was the first whose advice determined me to undertake this task; who was pleased to write to me upon that occasion in such terms as I cannot repeat without vanity. I was obliged to Sir Richard Steele for a very early recommendation of my undertaking to the public. Dr. Swift promoted my interest with that warmth with which he always serves his friend. The humanity and frankness of Sir Samuel Garth are what I never knew wanting on any occasion. I must also acknowledge, with infinite pleasure, the many friendly offices, as well as sincere criticisms, of Mr. Congreve, who had led me the way in translating some parts of Homer. I must add the names of Mr. Rowe, and Dr. Parnell, though I shall take a further opportunity of doing justice to the last, whose good nature (to[pg xlvi] give it a great panegyric), is no less extensive than his learning. The favour of these gentlemen is not entirely undeserved by one who bears them so true an affection. But what can I say of the honour so many of the great have done me; while the first names of the age appear as my subscribers, and the most distinguished patrons and ornaments of learning as my chief encouragers? Among these it is a particular pleasure to me to find, that my highest obligations are to such who have done most honour to the name of poet: that his grace the Duke of Buckingham was not displeased I should undertake the author to whom he has given (in his excellent Essay), so complete a praise:
  
  "Read Homer once, and you can read no more;
  For all books else appear so mean, so poor,
  Verse will seem prose: but still persist to read,
  And Homer will be all the books you need."
  That the Earl of Halifax was one of the first to favour me; of whom it is hard to say whether the advancement of the polite arts is more owing to his generosity or his example: that such a genius as my Lord Bolingbroke, not more distinguished in the great scenes of business, than in all the useful and entertaining parts of learning, has not refused to be the critic of these sheets, and the patron of their writer: and that the noble author of the tragedy of "Heroic Love" has continued his partiality to me, from my writing pastorals to my attempting the Iliad. I cannot deny myself the pride of confessing, that I have had the advantage not only of their advice for the conduct in general, but their correction of several particulars of this translation.
  
  I could say a great deal of the pleasure of being distinguished by the Earl of Carnarvon; but it is almost absurd to particularize any one generous action in a person whose whole life is a continued series of them. Mr. Stanhope, the present secretary of state, will pardon my desire of having it known that he was pleased to promote this affair. The particular zeal of Mr. Harcourt (the son of the late Lord Chancellor) gave me a proof how much I am honoured in a share of his friendship. I must attribute to the same motive that of several others of my friends: to whom all acknowledgments are rendered unnecessary by the privileges of a familiar correspondence; and I am satisfied I can no way better oblige men of their turn than by my silence.
  
  In short, I have found more patrons than ever Homer wanted. He would have thought himself happy to have met the same favour at Athens that has been shown me by its learned rival, the University of Oxford. And I can hardly envy him those pompous honours he received after death, when I reflect on the enjoyment of so many agreeable obligations, and easy friendships, which make the satisfaction of life. This distinction is the more to be acknowledged, as it is shown to one whose pen has never gratified the prejudices of particular parties, or the vanities of particular men. Whatever the success may prove, I shall never repent of an undertaking in which I have experienced the candour and friendship of so many persons of merit; and in which I hope to pass some of those years of youth that are generally lost in a circle of follies, after a manner neither wholly unuseful to others, nor disagreeable to myself.

平等、自由、开放的文学净土 Wonderland of Chinese Literature