Nestor’s Speech to Patroklos in Iliad 11

This is one of a few posts dedicated to Iliad 11. As a reminder, these posts will remain free, but there is an option to be a financial supporter. All proceeds from the substack are donated to classics adjacent non-profits on a monthly basis. I’ll be taking the rest of the year off, so expect a return to Iliad 12 in January.

As I mentioned in an earlier post, one of the most important parts of book 11 is when Nestor tells a long story to Patroklos that seems result in Patroklos volunteering to take Achilles’ place in battle. As we learn from Zeus’ speeches, this is an essential part of re-targeting Achilles’ rage toward Hektor and completing the plot of the Iliad. Whether or not persuading Patroklos is Nestor’s goal has at times been a hot topic of Homeric scholarship. Karl Reinhardt would not be the first or the last scholar to sense something insidious in Nestor’s story.

Nestor’s speech in book 11 provides the longest persuasive story from myth (a paradeigmata) in the Iliad, longer still than Phoenix’s story of Meleager. Julia Haig Gaisser does a great job of laying out the structure of the speech (9-13) and emphasizes the difference in style between the somewhat confusing story he tells and the relatively direct advice he provides at the end.

But on what criteria to we base an evaluation of Nestor’s speech? I have posted before about persuasive examples in Homeric speeches—so-called paradeigmata—and have argued that they rarely result in what the speaker intends. This helps to demonstrate to external audiences that narrative often goes awry and that its effect on the world and listeners can be unpredictable because audiences bring experiences and knowledge to the story that the teller may not anticipate. As I discuss in post on Iliad 9, one cognitive approach to literature can be useful in helping to understand what is going on here.

In his book The Literary Mind, Mark Turner argues that when we hear (or read) a story, we cannot experience the narrative created by the teller of the tale. Instead, the story unfolds in a cognitive blend in a space between the world of the narrative and the reader’s mind. What this means, in effect, is that our actual mental picture of narrative blends our own experiences and memories with the sketches we receive from stories and generates a new thing, a tale wholly in our own minds.

My general approach to all of the stories told by Homeric speakers is to try to understand that tension between the story that is told and the reaction it elicits by imagining how other characters might mis-read or re-read the story they hear based on their own perspectives or desires. At the same time, however, if we are thinking about Homeric characters telling stories, we also have to think of the way they blend traditional elements with their current circumstances and their own desired outcomes. This tripling and then doubling again of perspectives in turn provides really useful lessons in how to read Homeric poetry which is a prolonged adaptation of received material in particular contexts for diverse and changing audiences.

Let’s get to Nestor: he is positioned by the Iliad as an effective if not an ideal speaker. He has previously used paradigmatic narratives to persuade his audiences to different outcomes. In book 1, he fails to reconcile Achilles and Agamemnon; in book 7 he shames Achaeans into standing up to face Hektor’s challenge. When Nestor speaks to Patroklos, he takes a personal approach: he dismisses Achilles’ concern and provides a catalogue of the wounded Greeks. His opening assertion—that Achilles has no concern for the Greeks—is then balance by a wish to be young again the way he was during some cattle wars. He tells a story of a cattle raid in his youth that led to the Epeians attacking Pylos following the seizure of herds to make up for some stolen horses. Neleus, Nestor’s father, would not allow him to go to war, but he did it any way and killed many men, earning glory for himself.

Nestor moves from his long story to  dismiss Achilles as someone whose bravery is only for himself—he “toils for his virtue alone” (αὐτὰρ ᾿Αχιλλεὺς / οἶος τῆς ἀρετῆς ἀπονήσεται, 11.763). Nestor then reminds Patroklos of his own father Menoitios who advised Patroklos to calm Achilles, to advise him. So Nestor asks him to try to persuade Achilles to return or, if Achilles is holding back for some secret reason, to go to war himself and provide some respite to the Greeks. The narrative lets us know that Nestor “raised the spirit in Patroklos’ chest” (     ῝Ως φάτο, τῷ δ’ ἄρα θυμὸν ἐνὶ στήθεσσιν ὄρινε,) with this speech. Stanley Lombardo translates this line as “This speech put great notions in Patroclus’ head”.

Before thinking about Patroklos, I think it is useful to focus first on how Nestor is adapting this story. The scholia have a few summaries of the events contextualizing Nestor’s tale:

Schol. D ad Hom. Il. 11.672

“Neleus was the son of Poseidon was the best equestrian of his time and he sent horses to Elis for the contest conducted by Augeas. When those horses were victorious, Augeas became envious and took them. He sent the charioteers off untouched. When Neleus learned of this, he maintained peace. But Nestor, his youngest child, gathered an army and attached Elis. He killed many people and regained the horses. They also took more than a little booty from the enemy. Pherecydes tells this story.”

᾿Αμφὶ βοηλασίης. Περὶ βοῶν ἀπελασίας.῞Οτ’ ἐγὼ κτάνον ᾿Ιτυμονῆα. Νηλεὺς ὁΠοσειδῶνος, ἱππικώτατος τῶν καθ’ αὑτὸν γενόμενος, ἔπεμψεν εἰς ῏Ηλιν ἵππους ἐς τὸν ὑπ’ Αὐγέου συντελούμενον ἀγῶνα. Νικησάντων δὲ τούτων, φθονήσας Αὐγέας, ἀπέσπασε τούτους, καὶ τοὺς ἡνιόχους ἀφῆκεν ἀπράκτους. Νηλεὺς δὲ γνοὺς, ἡσυχίαν ἦγε. Νέστωρ δὲ, ὁ τῶν παίδων αὐτοῦ νεώτατος, στρατὸν ἀθροίσας, ἐπῆλθεν ῎Ηλιδι. καὶ πολλοὺς ἀποκτείνας, ἀπέλαβε τοὺς ἵππους. καὶ οὐκ ὀλίγην τῶν πολεμίων ἀπέσυραν λείαν. ῾Η ἱστορία παρὰ Φερεκύδῃ.

I am not sure how much this little narrative does for us! (and if you want much, much more on this, I think Doug Frame’s Hippota Nestor will never be surpassed) I do think we can see the opening and closing of Nestor’s speech as instructive. He focuses on responsibility, friendship, and community in framing his narrative: then, he tells a story about individual glory that seems to redound positively on the community. The most important detail that jumps out is his selection of a particular course of action against his father’s wishes. (Indeed, Patroklos as somehow a child to Achilles, despite his older age, is important to the opening scene in book 16 where Achilles compares him to a little girl tugging at her mother’s apron strings).

Nestor’s request/advice near the end is couched in the caveat: unless Achilles has special knowledge. I think if we remember book 9 correctly, we have no reason to believe that Nestor knows Achilles has sworn an oath not to return to battle. Patroklos, however, certainly knows this. Given his own experience of Achilles’ character and Nestor’s story plus the option of leading the Achaeans to battle, we have to imagine Patroklos as accepting that advice as the only option.

Victoria Pedrick usefully contextualizes this speech in the scholarship of paradeigmata and addresses the question of the ‘lesson’s’ target. According to pedtrick Nestor’s speech in book 11 differs from other persuasive speeches: She notes that “The absence of both command and direct comparison is not normal in paradigmatic speeches and it makes Nestor’s exhortation in 11 unusually indirect” and suggests that “The implicit character of Nestor’s exhortation can be explained by the fact that Nestor is talking not to Achilles, but to Patroklos. The observation is obvious, but it ought to be emphasized”(59). This interpretation, as she implies, is not fully in accord with the situation: Nestor’s long description of his own accomplishments in battle amount to an aristeia that may be scene as an example of heroic behavior for Achilles. The lesson, Pedrick concludes following Karl Reinhardt, is for Patroklos, or, at least he takes it as a model. One of the difficulties in this argument for me, is following the conclusion (67-68) that Achilles has “misread the situation” and expects an appeal from the Greeks. Achiles has perhaps correctly read the situation, he just does not expect Patroklos to appeal to him and make the request he does.

One of the bugbears stalking this debate is to what extent Nestor adapts or innovates in the telling of his tale and, to make it more complex, how much we can imagine the Homeric narrator adapting and innovating in positioning Nestor to do so. There was a time in Homeric scholarship when some argues that innovation or ‘ad hoc’ invention was difficult to imagine for traditional poetry. This is where cognitive approaches have been helpful in showing how narrative moves and changes based on the audience. Elizabeth Minchin’s article on this speech is especially good: she concludes that “his episode reflects the narrator’s skill in turning traditional material to communicative advantage” (285). Nestor is shown here arguing for two possible outcomes: Achilles returns and receives glory through his aristeia (not through goods, as Phoinix argues), or, if he cannot return for some reason, Patroklos takes his place and wins glory too, providing a break to the Greeks.

Rather than being a trick or insidious, Nestor is hedging his bets. He is clear about the problem, offers potential solutions, and uses himself as an example of winning glory in messed-up situations. We, as the audience, think there is something off here, because we know (1) what Achilles asked of Zeus (to punish the Achaeans) and (2) that Patroklos’ death will bring Achilles back to war.

Some things to read on Nestor in book 11

Frame, Douglas. 2009. Hippota Nestor. Hellenic Studies Series 37. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. http://nrs.harvard.edu/urn-3:hul.ebook:CHS_Frame.Hippota_Nestor.2009.

Gaisser, Julia Haig. “A Structural Analysis of the Digressions in the Iliad and the Odyssey.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 73 (1969): 1–43. https://doi.org/10.2307/311147.

Louden, D. Bruce. “Iliad 11 : healing, healers, Nestor, and Medea.” Yearbook of Ancient Greek Epic, vol. 2, 2018, pp. 151-164. Doi: 10.1163/24688487-00201005

Minchin, Elizabeth. “Speaker and listener, text and context : some notes on the encounter of Nestor and Patroklos in Iliad II.” Classical World, vol. LXXXIV, 1990-1991, pp. 273-285.

Pedrick, Victoria. “The paradigmatic nature of Nestor’s speech in Iliad 11.” TAPA, vol. CXIII, 1983, pp. 55-68.

Karl Reinhardt, Die Iliad und ihr Dichter (Gottingen 1961) 258-64;

Roisman, Hanna M.. “Nestor the good counsellor.” Classical Quarterly, N. S., vol. 55, no. 1, 2005, pp. 17-38. Doi: 10.1093/cq/bmi002

Strauss Clay, Jenny. “Iliad 1.282-284 and Nestor’s rhetoric of compromise.” Mnemosyne, Ser. 4, vol. 67, no. 6, 2014, pp. 987-993. Doi: 10.1163/1568525X-12301444

Willcock, M. M. “Ad Hoc Invention in the Iliad.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 81 (1977): 41–53. https://doi.org/10.2307/311110.

Some things to read on paradeigmata

Andersen, Øivind. 1987. “Myth Paradigm and Spatial Form in the Iliad.” In Homer Beyond Oral Poetry: Recent Trends in Homeric Interpretation, edited by Jan Bermer and Irene J. F. De Jong. John Benjamins.’

Barker, Elton T. E. and Christensen, Joel P. 2011. “On Not Remembering Tydeus: Agamemnon, Diomedes and the Contest for Thebes.” MD: 9–44.

Brenk, F. 1984 “Dear Child: the Speech of Phoinix and the Tragedy of Achilles in the Ninth Book of the Iliad.” Eranos, 86: 77–86.

Braswell, B. K. 1971. “Mythological Innovation in the Iliad.” CQ, 21: 16-26.

Clark, Matthew. 1997. “Chryses’ Supplication: Speech Act and Mythological Allusion.” Classical Antiquity, 17: 5–24.

Combellack, F.M. 1976. “Homer the Innovator.” CP 71: 44-55.

Edmunds, L. 1997. Myth in Homer, in A New Companion to Homer, edited by I. Morris and B. Powell, 415–441. Leiden.

Held, G. 1987. “Phoinix, Agamemnon and Achilles. Problems and Paradeigmata.” CQ 36: 141-54.

Martin, Richard. 1989. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

Nagy, Gregory. 1996. Homeric Questions, Austin.

—,—. 2009. “Homer and Greek Myth.” Cambridge Companion to Greek Mythology, 52–82.

Toohey, Peter. 1994. “Epic and Rhetoric.” In Persuasion: Greek Rhetoric in Actions edited by Ian Worthington. London: Routledge: 153–75.

Willcock, M.M. 1967. “Mythological Paradeigmata in the Iliad.” Classical Quarterly, 14:141-151.

____,____. 1977, Ad hoc invention in the Iliad, HSCP 81:41–53.

Yamagata, Naoko. 1991. “Phoinix’s Speech: Is Achilles Punished?” Classical Quarterly, 41:1-15.

Characterizing Achilles in Iliad 11

This is one of a few posts dedicated to Iliad 11. As a reminder, these posts will remain free, but there is an option to be a financial supporter. All proceeds from the substack are donated to classics adjacent non-profits on a monthly basis.

Book 11 of the Iliad is one of those battle books that often get lost in conversations about the whole. But the poem does contribute critically to the plot: enough of the prominent Greeks are wounded that the battle begins to turn definitively in the Trojans’ favor. Achilles, watching from the sidelines, notices, and sends Patroklos to investigate. Nestor tells Patroklos a rather long story to persuade him to either convince Achilles to return to war or to lead the Myrmidons to battle in Achilles’ place.

These contributions to the plot make Iliad 11 essential. But the book has some other, more nuanced aspects as well. As I discussed in the first post on book 11, the wounding of heroes, particularly Diomedes, engages with extra-Iliadic traditions in fascinating ways. The book also advances the epic’s strategy of deferring Achilles’ appearance. This time, however, Achilles appears briefly. And what we make of his actions changes how we approach his character.

We find Achilles eagerly watching the action, despite the fact that it is taking place on the other side of the Achaean fortifications.

Homer, Iliad 11.596-615

“So they were struggling like a burning fire
And Neleus’ horses were bringing Nestor out of the war,
Covered in sweat as they also drove Makhaon, the shepherd of the host.
Shining Achilles recognized him when he saw him.
For he was standing on the stern of his huge-hulled ship,
Watching the terrible conflict and the lamentable retreat.
He quickly turned to his companion Patroklos and spoke
To him next to the ship. He heard as he came from their dwelling
Like Ares himself, and this was the beginning of his trouble.

So, the brave son of Menoitios spoke first:
Why are you calling me, Achilles? What need do you have of me?

Swift footed Achilles spoke to him in answer:

“Shining son of Menoitios, most cherished to my own heart,
Now I think that the Achaeans are about to stand begging
Around my knees. For a need comes upon them, and it is no longer tolerable.

But come, now Patroklos dear to Zeus, go ask Nestor
Who that man is he leads wounded from the war.
Certainly he looks from this angle in every way like Makhaon,
Asclepius’ son, bit I cannot see the man’s eyes,
Since the horses raced past me in their eager stride.”

῝Ως οἳ μὲν μάρναντο δέμας πυρὸς αἰθομένοιο·
Νέστορα δ’ ἐκ πολέμοιο φέρον Νηλήϊαι ἵπποι
ἱδρῶσαι, ἦγον δὲ Μαχάονα ποιμένα λαῶν.
τὸν δὲ ἰδὼν ἐνόησε ποδάρκης δῖος ᾿Αχιλλεύς·
ἑστήκει γὰρ ἐπὶ πρυμνῇ μεγακήτεϊ νηῒ
εἰσορόων πόνον αἰπὺν ἰῶκά τε δακρυόεσσαν.
αἶψα δ’ ἑταῖρον ἑὸν Πατροκλῆα προσέειπε
φθεγξάμενος παρὰ νηός· ὃ δὲ κλισίηθεν ἀκούσας
ἔκμολεν ἶσος ῎Αρηϊ, κακοῦ δ’ ἄρα οἱ πέλεν ἀρχή.
τὸν πρότερος προσέειπε Μενοιτίου ἄλκιμος υἱός·
τίπτέ με κικλήσκεις ᾿Αχιλεῦ; τί δέ σε χρεὼ ἐμεῖο;
τὸν δ’ ἀπαμειβόμενος προσέφη πόδας ὠκὺς ᾿Αχιλλεύς·
δῖε Μενοιτιάδη τῷ ἐμῷ κεχαρισμένε θυμῷ
νῦν ὀΐω περὶ γούνατ’ ἐμὰ στήσεσθαι ᾿Αχαιοὺς
λισσομένους· χρειὼ γὰρ ἱκάνεται οὐκέτ’ ἀνεκτός.
ἀλλ’ ἴθι νῦν Πάτροκλε Διῒ φίλε Νέστορ’ ἔρειο
ὅν τινα τοῦτον ἄγει βεβλημένον ἐκ πολέμοιο·
ἤτοι μὲν τά γ’ ὄπισθε Μαχάονι πάντα ἔοικε
τῷ ᾿Ασκληπιάδῃ, ἀτὰρ οὐκ ἴδον ὄμματα φωτός·
ἵπποι γάρ με παρήϊξαν πρόσσω μεμαυῖαι.

There are some interesting responses from ancient scholars. Variously, they see Achilles’ viewing of the battle as an indication of his character and a creation of suspense.

Schol Tb ad Hom. Il. 11. 600-1 ex

“Achilles is shown to be a lover of war here by his viewing of the battle. Still, the poet crafts this in anticipation for Achilles’ return.”

τὸ φιλοπόλεμον ᾿Αχιλλέως ἐνδείκνυται τῷ θεωρεῖν τὴν μάχην. ἅμα δὲ καὶ ᾠκονόμησε ταύτην ὁ ποιητὴς πρὸς τὴν ἔξοδον ᾿Αχιλλέως.

There is also interest in the action Achilles takes here:

Schol. T ad Hom. Il. 11.611 ex

“It is strange that [Achilles] sends [Patroklos] out to the scene of someone wounded”

ἄτοπον γάρ ἐστιν εἰς τὴν σκηνὴν τοῦ τρωθέντος ἀποστέλλειν αὐτόν.

But many comments attend to the brief narrative foreshadowing “and that was the beginning of evil for him” (κακοῦ δ’ ἄρα οἱ πέλεν ἀρχή).

Schol. bT ad Hom. Il. 11.605 ex

“The declaration makes the audience eager to learn what this evil might be. The poet creates this with a brief indication. If he had done more, he would have ruined the order of events and weakened the poem.”

ἀναπτεροῖ τὸν ἀκροατὴν ἡ ἀναφώνησις ἐπειγόμενον μαθεῖν, τί τὸ κακὸν ἦν. προσοχὴν δὲ ἐργάζεται διὰ βραχείας ἐνδείξεως· εἰ γὰρ πλέον ἐπεξειργάσατο, διέφθειρεν ἂν τὸν ἑξῆς λόγον καὶ ἀπήμβλυνε τὴν ποίησιν.

I think that the comments on Achilles’ character show something of a limited understanding. I think there is an argument to be made throughout the Iliad that when characters who are not engaged in the conflict are watching the battle they function in part as stand-ins for the external audience, helping us to see the action in a different way. In this, I think about the function of the chorus in Greek tragedy—the choruses are far from neutral parties in Athenian drama, but they are nonetheless capable of acting as vehicles between the main story and the audience. Achilles, standing on the stern of his ship, watching with interest both helps us remember that these events are extraordinary and provides us with a few moments respite from the conflict.

Achilles, however, is not like any other character: when he watches, his interest is something altogether different. His stance in part reminds me of those moments when Zeus retreats to watch the battle from somewhere else. A primary difference is that Achilles’ interest is not neutral: as he himself expresses in this passage, the increased suffering of the Achaeans makes it likely that they will appeal to them again. Indeed, ancient scholars have commented on Achilles standing and watching the battle as evidence of his love of war (he just likes to watch fighting, I guess) or his love of honor (is he rooting for the Achaeans to suffer more quickly so that they will offer him more to return?)

As is usually the case, I think that the ambiguity of the scene is part of the point. While Achilles does say that the Greeks will be begging him soon, he swore an oath not to return to battle until the fire reaches his ships in Iliad 9. That recent action makes it difficult to argue that Achilles is simply waiting to be compensated or glorified. He is concerned about a particular person being injured and wants to know what is actually happening in the conflict. Achilles’ limited knowledge here, I think, echoes that part of him that is not super human: his knowledge of others’ deaths and fates. Indeed, this scene’s narrative commentary “and it was the beginning of his trouble” points to the limits of human knowledge. The irony we as the audience know is that Achilles prayed for the Achaeans to suffer to make up for his dishonor and he is just now about to send his own cherished Patroklos out there to become part of the comeuppance.

As Jinyo Kim writes in her 2001 book The Pity of Achilles, the hero’s watching of the conflict is a confirmation of Achilles’ concern for the Greeks: the primary arguments that moved him in the earlier embassy (see especially 103-113). She notes that Achilles’ language about how dire the situation is (λισσομένους· χρειὼ γὰρ ἱκάνεται οὐκέτ’ ἀνεκτός) repeats what Nestor said in the previous book. As Kim notes, Achilles knows the situation is bad and does not need to send Patroklos to confirm it. Instead, he is demonstrating a concern for others that is consonant with his characterization in book 9 and his final turn to empathy in book 24.

Objections to this argument will point out that Achilles himself remains distant: Kim argues that Patroklos here begins to function as a ritual replacement for Achilles in book 11, rather than 16. I think this argument works well to help us understand that Achilles is showing his concern for the Achaeans through Patroklos because he is constrained by the oath he took at the end of book 9. Achilles looks like he is cruel and Nestor expresses criticism to that effect. But I think Patroklos anticipates this when he says to Nestor: “Divine old man, you know what kind of guy that terrible man is. He would quickly blame the blameless” (εὖ δὲ σὺ οἶσθα γεραιὲ διοτρεφές, οἷος ἐκεῖνος / δεινὸς ἀνήρ· τάχα κεν καὶ ἀναίτιον αἰτιόῳτο (11.653-654). A scholiast explains Patroklos’ comments as somewhat self-defensive: “He is pointing to Achilles’ irascibility, gaining for himself some pardon for not persuading him”  ἐπιτείνει δὲ αὐτοῦ τὸ θυμικόν, συγγνώμην ἑαυτῷ ποριζόμενος τοῦ μὴ πεῖσαι αὐτόν, Schol. bT Ad Hom. Il. 11.654).

But suspect that there is something more personal. The adjective deinos—which famously can mean ‘terrible, marvelous, amazing’—is only applied to mortals in limited conditions in the Iliad. At its root, it is related to verbs of fear and amazement. Gods leaving or entering battle often receive this description, but Helen uses it in addressing Priam in book 3 (171). There’s a familiar sense to this personal use, I think, indicating that the speaker is full of amazement and confusion at the target’s behavior. Patroklos not understand Achilles’ behavior, just as the members of the Embassy in book 9 are confused.

Starting to Read Iliad 11

This post is a basic introduction to reading Iliad 11. Here is a link to the overview of book 10 and another to the plan in general. As a reminder, these posts will remain free, but there is an option to be a financial supporter. All proceeds from the substack are donated to classics adjacent non-profits on a monthly basis.

Book 11 of the Iliad returns us to the violence of war and begins one of the longest sequences of battle in ancient literature: although there are moments of respite and distraction, day 19 of the Iliad takes us from dawn at the start of book 11 and goes until dusk at the end of book 19. Counting inclusively, this means that one full third of the epic, a battle sequence that includes the death of Patroklos and the struggle over his body, corresponds to one bloody day on the plains before Troy.

As I see it, the action of this book falls into three very different scenes: the conflict renewed by Zeus, resulting in the wounding of all the major Greek leaders; a brief return to Achilles where we see him responding to their suffering with concern, sending Patroklos to investigate; the long speech Nestor offers to try to persuade Patroklos to convince Achilles to return to war (or come himself in Achilles’ place). Patroklos does not return to report back to Achilles until the beginning of book 16

The plot of this book engages critically with the major themes I have noted to follow in reading the Iliad: (1) Politics, (2) Heroism; (3) Gods and Humans; (4) Family & Friends; (5) Narrative Traditions, but the central themes I emphasize in reading and teaching book 11 are Family & Friends and Narrative Traditions.

Diomedes’ Foot Wound, And a Digression about Monro’s Law

As I have discussed in other posts, part of the art of the Iliad is how it integrates into its narrative arc motifs, scenes, and even episodes that belong to different parts of the Trojan War timeline. There are different ways to view this: the way Elton Barker and I have long thought about it is that the performance of mythical narrative was an essentially competitive market and the Homeric epics developed near the end of a performance tradition that both relied on repeated structures for complex compositions and prized the appropriation of narrative structures and details from rival traditions. 

In establishing itself as the final epic about the war at Troy, the Iliad endeavors to tell the whole story of the war. This helps us to understand Homeric anachronisms, like the integration of episodes proper to the beginning of the whole conflict to the beginning of the story of the 9th year of the war (e.g., the catalogue of ships, the teichoskopia, the dual between Paris and Menelaos, the building of the Greek fortifications). There are somewhat fewer clear adaptations of episodes subsequent to the death of Hektor, but we have already seen in book 7 mention of the destruction of the walls around the ships and earlier in 6 echoes of the future death of Astyanax.

There’s a ‘law’ about Homeric representation (Monro’s Law, perhaps better called Niese’s) that goes something like this in its simplest form: the Homeric epics do not directly refer to actions contained in each other; the Odyssey will frequently refer to prior events of the Trojan War. D. B. Monro added that the Odyssey appears to demonstrate “tacit recognition” of the Iliad, while the Iliad reveals almost no recognition of the events of Odyssey. Scholars have often taken this observation to help support arguments for the later composition of the Odyssey.

I suspect that if we tally up references to narratives outside the scope of each epic we would find instead that both display a marked tendency to refer to antecedent events and only limited, often occluded knowledge of any futures. I think that rather than being an indication of later composition, this is a reflection of human cognition, a limited sense of realism that roots each epic in its own events but makes the stories before them active motifs in informing and shaping the narrative at hand. This is, I suggest, an extension of human narrative psychology. For the participants of the Iliad and its audiences, certain references are available only to what has already happened. Events posterior to the story being told, even when known, are obscured and refracted.

This digression helps us think in part about the way book 11 engages with narrative traditions. Frequently, when I read the Iliad with people for the first time, they express surprise that the poem has neither the death of Achilles nor the trick of the wooden horse. The Iliad strains at logic to refer to Achilles’ death many times without actually showing it: From Thetis’ mention in book 1, Achilles’ own in book 9, to echoes of Achilles’ death through Patroklos’, the epic provides ample evidence that Achilles’ death at the hands of Paris and Apollo was well known (and predicted by Hektor!) But while the scene itself must be left aside, the Iliad can’t resist toying with it in the wounding of Diomedes in book 11.

It is fairly well established in Homeric scholarship that Diomedes functions as a “replacement Achilles” from books 2 through 15 (see Von der Mühll 1952, 195-6; Lohmann 1970, 251; Nagy 1979, 30-1; Griffin 1980, 74; and Schofield 1999, 29 for a recent bibliography). In Iliad 11, after Paris wounds Diomedes in the right foot, he boasts and Diomedes flips out, before departing the battlefield.  This curious scene has served has been seen as echoing  the death of Achilles in the Aithiopis (based on Paris’ agency, the wound location and the substitution of Diomedes for Achilles elsewhere in the Iliad: see cf. Kakridis 1949, 85-8; Kakridis 1961, 293 n.1; and Burgess 2009, 74-5.)

Homer, Il. 11. 368-83

Then Alexander, the husband of well-coiffed Helen,
stretched his bow at Tydeus’ son, the shepherd of the host,
as he leaned on the stele on the man-made mound
of Ilus the son of Dardanios, the ancient ruler of the people.
While [Diomedes] took the breastplate of strong Agastrophes
from his chest and the shining shield from his shoulders
along with the strong helmet. Paris drew back the length of his bow
and shot: a fruitless shot did not leave his hand,
he hit the flat of his right foot, and the arrow stuck straight through
into the earth. Paris laughed so very sweetly
as he left his hiding place and spoke in boast:
“You’re hit! The shot did not fly in vain! I wish that
I hit you near the small of you back and killed you:
that way the Trojans would retreat from their cowardice,
those men who scatter before you like she-goats before a lion!”

αὐτὰρ ᾿Αλέξανδρος ῾Ελένης πόσις ἠϋκόμοιο
Τυδεΐδῃ ἔπι τόξα τιταίνετο ποιμένι λαῶν,
στήλῃ κεκλιμένος ἀνδροκμήτῳ ἐπὶ τύμβῳ
῎Ιλου Δαρδανίδαο, παλαιοῦ δημογέροντος.
ἤτοι ὃ μὲν θώρηκα ᾿Αγαστρόφου ἰφθίμοιο
αἴνυτ’ ἀπὸ στήθεσφι παναίολον ἀσπίδα τ’ ὤμων
καὶ κόρυθα βριαρήν· ὃ δὲ τόξου πῆχυν ἄνελκε
καὶ βάλεν, οὐδ’ ἄρα μιν ἅλιον βέλος ἔκφυγε χειρός,
ταρσὸν δεξιτεροῖο ποδός· διὰ δ’ ἀμπερὲς ἰὸς
ἐν γαίῃ κατέπηκτο· ὃ δὲ μάλα ἡδὺ γελάσσας
ἐκ λόχου ἀμπήδησε καὶ εὐχόμενος ἔπος ηὔδα·
βέβληαι οὐδ’ ἅλιον βέλος ἔκφυγεν· ὡς ὄφελόν τοι
νείατον ἐς κενεῶνα βαλὼν ἐκ θυμὸν ἑλέσθαι.
οὕτω κεν καὶ Τρῶες ἀνέπνευσαν κακότητος,
οἵ τέ σε πεφρίκασι λέονθ’ ὡς μηκάδες αἶγες.

I think this speech indicates in part a Homeric dismissiveness against the death of Achilles in the tradition, as I argue in a paper from around a decade ago. Paris tries to boast wishes that Diomedes were actually killed. This is not a standard battlefield taunt; even as Paris celebrates a the wound everyone in the audience knows is fatal for others, he asserts that it is not so now. The nervous laughter and admission of Trojan cowardice highlights the awkwardness of this scene and its lack of verisimilitude. 

Diomedes’ response supports this, to an extent

Homer, Il. 11.384-400

Unafraid, strong Diomedes answered him:
“Bowman, slanderer shining with your horn, girl-watcher—
if you were to be tried in force with weapons,
your strength and your numerous arrows would be useless.
But now you boast like this when you have scratched the flat of my foot.
I don’t care, as if a woman or witless child had struck me—
for the shot of a cowardly man of no repute is blunt.
Altogether different is my sharp shot:
even if barely hits it makes a man dead fast;
then the cheeks of his wife are streaked with tears
and his children orphans. He dyes the earth red with blood
and there are more birds around him than women.”

So he spoke, and spear-famed Odysseus came near him
and stood in front of him. As he sat behind him, he drew the sharp shaft
from his foot and a grievous pain came over his skin.
He stepped into the chariot car and ordered the charioteer
to drive to the hollow ships since he was vexed in his heart.

Τὸν δ’ οὐ ταρβήσας προσέφη κρατερὸς Διομήδης·
τοξότα λωβητὴρ κέρᾳ ἀγλαὲ παρθενοπῖπα
εἰ μὲν δὴ ἀντίβιον σὺν τεύχεσι πειρηθείης,
οὐκ ἄν τοι χραίσμῃσι βιὸς καὶ ταρφέες ἰοί·
νῦν δέ μ’ ἐπιγράψας ταρσὸν ποδὸς εὔχεαι αὔτως.
οὐκ ἀλέγω, ὡς εἴ με γυνὴ βάλοι ἢ πάϊς ἄφρων·
κωφὸν γὰρ βέλος ἀνδρὸς ἀνάλκιδος οὐτιδανοῖο.
ἦ τ’ ἄλλως ὑπ’ ἐμεῖο, καὶ εἴ κ’ ὀλίγον περ ἐπαύρῃ,
ὀξὺ βέλος πέλεται, καὶ ἀκήριον αἶψα τίθησι.
τοῦ δὲ γυναικὸς μέν τ’ ἀμφίδρυφοί εἰσι παρειαί,
παῖδες δ’ ὀρφανικοί· ὃ δέ θ’ αἵματι γαῖαν ἐρεύθων
πύθεται, οἰωνοὶ δὲ περὶ πλέες ἠὲ γυναῖκες.
῝Ως φάτο, τοῦ δ’ ᾿Οδυσεὺς δουρικλυτὸς ἐγγύθεν ἐλθὼν
ἔστη πρόσθ’· ὃ δ’ ὄπισθε καθεζόμενος βέλος ὠκὺ
ἐκ πόδος ἕλκ’, ὀδύνη δὲ διὰ χροὸς ἦλθ’ ἀλεγεινή.
ἐς δίφρον δ’ ἀνόρουσε, καὶ ἡνιόχῳ ἐπέτελλε
νηυσὶν ἔπι γλαφυρῇσιν ἐλαυνέμεν· ἤχθετο γὰρ κῆρ.

There’s a lot going on in this speech! It simultaneously attempts to minimize Paris’ accomplishment (as minor, as emasculating, etc.) and allows Diomedes to vaunt about his own martial prowess while also acknowledging that the foot wound is still serious enough to sideline Diomedes from battle. Perhaps part of the point is to ridicule Paris and emphasize that Achilles’ future death has more to do with fate and Apollo; on the other hand, I think it can equally position the Iliad as engaging critically with the tradition of the Trojan War. Given the scale of violence in this epic and the brutal loss of life throughout, a foot wound taking out the most powerful warrior may seem absurd. Indeed, in this epic, Achilles takes himself out of the battle. Yet, even given potential mockery, I have to concede that the allusion to Achilles’ death might also acknowledge how the most powerful forces can be undone by surprisingly minor things.

The meaning of Diomedes’ foot wound, however, shifts based on what audiences know and how they are reacting to the story in play. Some might take the familiar details as comforting, as invoking an ending they know well; for others, it may be a moment of consternation, playing on that tension between ‘Homeric realism’ and the fantasy of broader myth.

Reading Questions for Book 11

How are the interventions of the gods different in this book from books 9 and 10? Why?

How do the events of the book shape the characterization of the characters? Pay special attention to speeches from Agamemnon and Diomedes?

What is Nestor’s speech to Patroklos like and how does it influence his action?

A short bibliography on Diomedes and book 11

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Andersen, Öivind. 1978. Die Diomedesgestalt in der Ilias. Oslo.

Barker, E. T.E. and Christensen, Joel P. 2008. “Oidipous of Many Pains: Strategies of Contest in the Homeric Poems.” LICS 7.2. http://www.leeds.ac.uk/classics/lics/).

Burgess, Jonathan. 2001. The Tradition of the Trojan War in Homer and the Epic Cycle. Baltimore.

—,—. 2009. The Death and Afterlife of Achilles. Baltimore.

Christensen, Joel P. 2009. “The End of Speeches and a Speech’s End: Nestor, Diomedes, and the telos muthôn.” in Kostas Myrsiades (ed.). Reading Homer: Film and Text. Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 136-62.

Christensen, Joel P. and Barker, Elton T. E.. “On not remembering Tydeus: Agamemnon, Diomedes and the contest for Thebes.” Materiali e Discussioni per l’Analisi dei Testi Classici, no. 66, 2011, pp. 9-44.

Christensen, Joel P. 2015. “Diomedes’ Foot-wound and the Homeric Reception of Myth.” In Diachrony, Jose Gonzalez (ed.). De Gruyter series, MythosEikonPoesis. 2015, 17–41.

Dunkle, Roger. 1997. “Swift-Footed Achilles.” CW 90: 227-34

Gantz, Timothy. 1993. Early Greek Myth. Baltimore.

Griffin, Jasper. 1980. Homer on Life and Death. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

—,—.2001.  “The Epic Cycle and the Uniqueness of Homer.” in Cairns 2001: 363-84.

Irby-Massie. Georgia. 2009. “The Art of Medicine and the Lowly Foot: Treating Aches, Sprains, and Fractures in the Ancient World.” Amphora 8: 12-15.

Irene J. F. de Jong. “Convention versus Realism in the Homeric Epics.” Mnemosyne 58, no. 1 (2005): 1–22. http://www.jstor.org/stable/4433613.

Kakridis, Johannes Th. 1949. Homeric Researches. Lund.

Kakridis, Phanis, J. 1961. “Achilles’ Rüstung.” Hermes 89: 288-97.

Lohmann, Dieter. 1970. Dieter Lohmann. Die Komposition der Reden in der Ilias. Berlin.

Morris, I. and Powell, B., eds. 1997. A New Companion to Homer. Leiden.

Mühll, Peter von der. 1952. Kritisches Hypomena zur Ilias. Basel.

Nagy, Gregory. 1979. The Best of the Achaeans. Baltimore.

Nickel, Roberto. 2002. “Euphorbus and the Death of Achilles.” Phoenix 56: 215-33.

Pache, Corinne. 2009. “The Hero Beyond Himself: Heroic Death in Ancient Greek Poetry and Art.” in Sabine Albersmeir (ed.).  Heroes: Mortals and Myths in ancient Greece. Baltimore (Walters Art Museum): 89-107.

Redfield, James. 1994. Nature and Culture in the Iliad: The Tragedy of Hektor. Chicago.

Schofield, M.1999. Saving the City: Philosopher Kings and Other Classical Paradigms. London.

Vernant, J.-P. 1982.  “From Oidipous to Periander: Lameness, Tyranny, Incest, in Legend and History.” Arethusa 15: 19-37.

—,—. 2001. “A ‘Beautiful Death’ and the Disfigured Corpse.” in Cairns 2001: 311-41.

Willcock, M. 1977. 1977. “Ad hoc invention in the Iliad.” HSCP 81: 41-53.

Politics and Iliad 10

This is one of a few posts dedicated to Iliad 10. As a reminder, these posts will remain free, but there is an option to be a financial supporter. All proceeds from the substack are donated to classics adjacent non-profits on a monthly basis.

As I have implied in the last two posts, confusion about whether or not Iliad 10 is an essential part of the epic is rooted in part to different concepts of textuality, fixity, and unity. The primary issues scholars have with book 10 are (1) we have a scholion saying it is “Homer’s” but not “part of the Iliad, (2) the action of the book does not advance the main part of the story; and (3) the events of the book are not mentioned in other books. To this, we can add (4) West’s insistence that “Nothing suggests that the story of the night foray and the killing of Rhesos had any traditional basis. Rhesos achieves nothing at Troy and therefore has no place in the war.”

Each of these points relies in some way on core assumptions about what the Iliad is. Qualm 4 posits that a story requires traditional basis to be part of our Iliad. This is not at all true of a lot of the Iliad and patently absurd in the face of our limited evidence. The Iliad is best where it capitalizes on a tension between what people think they know about the Trojan War and what happens in the poem. For issue #3: there are also many, many parts of the epic that are not mentioned anywhere else in the poem. For #1, well, ancient scholiasts say lots of things: perhaps Iliad 10 was not a well-known and common part of the Iliad as some audiences knew it: but it has been around and part of our poem long enough that Alexandrian scholars framed it as a Peisistratean interpolation. All of our texts of the Iliad went through some kind of an Athenian ‘recension’!

The only substantial argument I can see is #2, that the book does not advance the main part of the story. This is an entirely subjective statement, supposing that there is a main story to advance and, further, that “advancing the story” is the chief purpose of any book of the epic. As I discuss in an earlier post, I think that book 10 does important work in creating suspense after book 9 and the embassy to Achilles; in addition, Dolon himself offers some interesting echoes of Achilles.

Thinking about those echoes has made me reflect again on exactly how book 10 “advances” the poem. It is not necessarily about the action—since the death of Dolon, Rhesos, and the loss of those marvelous horses does not change the balance of the war at all. But the actions do advance the plot of the epic.

Let me address this by starting from the first line of the poem: Μῆνιν ἄειδε θεὰ Πηληϊάδεω ᾿Αχιλῆος. “Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles.” I think we are so familiar with this opening that we forget it could have gone another way. Imagine knowing about Achilles as a man of rage, a demigod with superhuman strength and overflowing emotions. In art, he appears poised in a game with his cousin, killing Penthesileia, ambushing Troilos, abusing Hektor’s body. His rage may have been primarily known as a reaction to the death of Patroklos (in the Iliad) or over Antilokhos (in the lost Aethiopis). The opening line could have introduced any number of a range of stories.

Here’s a translation of the proem that goes through it line by line:

Goddess, sing the rage of Achilles, the son of Peleus,
The ruinous [rage] which made countless griefs for the Achaeans
And sent many stout souls to Hades
And made the heroes’ bodies pickings for the dogs
And all the birds, while Zeus’ plan was being fulfilled,
From the time indeed when those two first stood apart in conflict
The son of Atreus, lord of men, and shining Achilles.

Note how new details are added with each line. We don’t actually hear who suffers from Achilles’ rage until halfway through the second line. Audiences hearing this version of the story of Achilles’ rage may not have been shocked at its focus, but they certainly would have been clued in to the fact that this song is not necessarily about the death of a friend. This is a poem about Achilles’ anger against his own people and the deaths he causes among them. It becomes about his friend’s death because Achilles causes it.

So let’s go back to book 10. Or, let’s start a little earlier: book 8 ends a day of fighting with the trojans camping outside their city for the first time in the war. This act prompts Agamemnon to suggest going home, but results in political assembly and council to send the embassy to Achilles. This action and the embassy itself is a product of a political consensus, of group activity. When Achilles refuses, the group does not fracture. The main players—Diomedes, Nestor, Odysseus, and Agamemnon—maintain the Achaean coalition despite Achilles’ absence.

Book 10 continues this long night and the action of book 9. Everyone else goes to sleep, but Agamemnon stays away, stressed about what he’s going to do. He tosses, looking from the Trojan fires to the ships, and calls Nestor to make a plan to protect the Greeks. Nestor gathers the captains together and suggests reconnaissance to see if the Trojans are really going to stay outside the walls. He offers a small prize and the promise of glory in exchange, after describing the task. Diomedes volunteers: a bunch of others do too, but Diomedes picks Odysseus.

Contrast this with what happens on the Trojan side: Hektor is depicted as keeping the Trojans awake at night, calling the best of them together, and then starting with a promise of pay, a “big gift”: the best horses among the Achaeans. Hektor does this without support from a council; Dolon goes forward alone, without help, wholly motivated by the promise of the prize he will receive in return.

These scenes contrast in the way that the assemblies of book 7 do: they show a more collective-focused, collaborative leadership for the Achaean than the authoritarian, limited politics of the Trojans. In this case, in particular, the outcomes of the actions matter as much as the characterization. Dolon’s isolation and vulnerability contrasts with Diomedes and Odysseus.

And his ‘swift feet’ but “wicked form” (ὃς δή τοι εἶδος μὲν ἔην κακός, ἀλλὰ ποδώκης) may just be a subtle commentary on Achilles, who stands alone during book 10 while his people face the danger he put them in. As a method of ‘advancing the Iliad,” this certainly engages critically with  the epic’s themes of politics and heroism. I think it may also engage with the “rage of Achilles” as well. As Lenny Muellner, my first Greek teacher, argues in his book The Anger of Achilles that mênis is a sanctioning response against the violation of cosmic order—and for Achilles it separates him from friendship, from friends. Dolon’s echoing of Achilles may thus be far from accidental: book 10 provides another opportunity to reflect on the importance of communities and friendship.

Like Achilles, Dolon stands alone. Unlike Achilles, he meets a quick death, because, while he may be swift-footed, but he’s far from divine. And the point of book 10 is in part thinking through these contrasts.

Bibliography on book 10 and the Doloneia

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Davidson, Olga Merck. “Dolon and Rhesus in the ‘Iliad.’” Quaderni Urbinati Di Cultura Classica 1 (1979): 61–66. https://doi.org/10.2307/20538562.

Dué, Casey, and Mary Ebbott. 2010. Iliad 10 and the Poetics of Ambush: A Multitext Edition with Essays and Commentary. Hellenic Studies Series 39. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Fenik, B. 1964. Iliad X and the Rhesus: The Myth. Collection Latomus 73. Brussels.

Haft, Adele J. “‘The City-Sacker Odysseus’ in Iliad 2 and 10.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 120 (1990): 37–56. https://doi.org/10.2307/283977.

Sheldon, Rose Mary. “THE ILL-FATED TROJAN SPY.” American Intelligence Journal 9, no. 3 (1988): 18–22. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44325966.

Stagakis, George. “DOLON, ODYSSEUS AND DIOMEDES IN THE ‘DOLONEIA.’” Rheinisches Museum Für Philologie 130, no. 3/4 (1987): 193–204. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41233632.

STEINER, D. “‘Wolf’s Justice’: The Iliadic Doloneia and the Semiotics of Wolves.” Classical Antiquity 34, no. 2 (2015): 335–69. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26362659.

West. M.L. 2011. The Making of the Iliad: Disquisition and Analytical Commentary. Oxford.

Introducing Dolon

This is one of a few posts dedicated to Iliad 10. As a reminder, these posts will remain free, but there is an option to be a financial supporter. All proceeds from the substack are donated to classics adjacent non-profits on a monthly basis.

As I write about in my first post on book 10, the so-called Doloneia has given interpreters fits (why is it there at all?), but I think there are very, very good reasons to consider it part of the whole. One structural reason I argue there, is that it provides a rest and a bit of anticipation of what will come when the fighting begins again. I think there are also important thematic and compositional reasons to consider it an integral part of the Iliad.

In their commentary on book 10 of the Iliad, Casey Dué and Mary Ebbott do a great job of teasing out the meaning available from each phrase. As they discuss in their introduction, the character of Dolon, who appears as the Trojan spy in book 10, is not well-established in the tradition. Part of the way we know that is that he is introduced with a somewhat enigmatic, but detailed passage. Homeric speech introductions can be formulaic—in a way, they are a kind of type scene signaling what kind of speech should be expected. But within the regular patterns, we find room for new, even strange information. When I teach Homer, I tell students to pay particular attention to introductions because they bring in surprising yet almost always relevant information.

In television we have the concept of a ‘red-shirt’, a character from Star Trek who appears and dies shortly after being introduced. Some of them are like NPCs (non-player characters) with barely a name, but others receive longer stories, narratives that engage with the larger story in a way. Dolon’s introduction is a good example of a kind of Homeric redshirt (but he probably deserves some description that rates him a little higher than such disposable characters). And his introduction also helps us think about Homeric composition.  In particular it illustrates how characterization within a speech can be anticipated by the introduction.

Hom. Iliad 10.314-317

“There was among the Trojans a certain son of Eumedes,
The divine herald, a man all about gold, all about bronze, Dolon.
He was pretty base in form, but fleet-footed,
But he was the only son after five sisters.
Then he spoke among the Trojans and to Hektor.
Hektor my heart and proud spirit urges me
To go near the shift ships and learn from them.
But come, raise your scepter to me and swear to me
That you will give the horses and the chariot decorated with bronze,
Those things that usually carry the blameless son of Peleus.
I won’t be a useless spy nor unaccomplished.
I will go straight into the army until I come
To Agamemnon’s ship where I bet that the best men
Are taking counsel over their plans whether they will leave or fight.”

ἦν δέ τις ἐν Τρώεσσι Δόλων Εὐμήδεος υἱὸς
κήρυκος θείοιο πολύχρυσος πολύχαλκος,
ὃς δή τοι εἶδος μὲν ἔην κακός, ἀλλὰ ποδώκης·
αὐτὰρ ὃ μοῦνος ἔην μετὰ πέντε κασιγνήτῃσιν.
ὅς ῥα τότε Τρωσίν τε καὶ ῞Εκτορι μῦθον ἔειπεν·
῞Εκτορ ἔμ’ ὀτρύνει κραδίη καὶ θυμὸς ἀγήνωρ
νηῶν ὠκυπόρων σχεδὸν ἐλθέμεν ἔκ τε πυθέσθαι.
ἀλλ’ ἄγε μοι τὸ σκῆπτρον ἀνάσχεο, καί μοι ὄμοσσον
ἦ μὲν τοὺς ἵππους τε καὶ ἅρματα ποικίλα χαλκῷ
δωσέμεν, οἳ φορέουσιν ἀμύμονα Πηλεΐωνα,
σοὶ δ’ ἐγὼ οὐχ ἅλιος σκοπὸς ἔσσομαι οὐδ’ ἀπὸ δόξης·
τόφρα γὰρ ἐς στρατὸν εἶμι διαμπερὲς ὄφρ’ ἂν ἵκωμαι
νῆ’ ᾿Αγαμεμνονέην, ὅθι που μέλλουσιν ἄριστοι
βουλὰς βουλεύειν ἢ φευγέμεν ἠὲ μάχεσθαι.

The line of introduction itself (ἦν δέ τις ἐν Τρώεσσι Δόλων Εὐμήδεος υἱὸς) has a bit of a meandering suddenness to it: as West notes in his commentary (2011) the opening is “the means for introducing a new character. A scholiast confirms this and then explains the details prefigure what he will do in the text.

Schol. ad Hom. bT ad Il. 10.314 ex 1-3

“There’s a need for some description to explain what is unknown about the man. Nonetheless, he is the kind of person who lusts after Achilles’ horses and turns out to be a turncoat in a little bit.”

διηγήσεως ἐδέησε πρὸς τὸ σημᾶναι τὸ ἄδηλον τοῦ ἀνδρός. ὅμως τοιοῦτος ὢν τῶν ᾿Αχιλλέως ἵππων ἐρᾷ καὶ μετ’ ὀλίγον προδότης γίνεται.

There are three themes in this passage: the first is Dolon’s appearance (he is ugly but fast), the second is his relationship to wealth (he likes it!), and the fourth is his status as a single son with five sisters. One scholiast quips that he has so much cash because of the dowries of his sisters! West (again, 2011) suggests that this detail is important because it increases his value in a potential ransom (Cf. Dué and Ebbott: Certainly Dolon’s wealth comes into play after his capture: when he promises Diomedes and Odysseus a great ransom (10.378–381) the traditional characteristic of his wealth indicates that he could indeed pay handsomely in exchange for his life.” As Dué and Ebbott also note, the patronymic here is an indication of some kind of traditional character.

Ancient scholars draw interesting connections between Dolon’s wealth and his interest in Achilles’ horses:

Schol T. ad Hom. Il. 10.315b ex

“All about gold”: This is because he loves gold. Or because of some other boasting he performed for gold. For being wealthy also creates a longing for the raising of horses

πολύχρυσος: καὶ ὅμως ἠράσθη κέρδους. ἢ δι’ ἀλαζονείαν ἕτερόν τι παρὰ χρυσόν· τὸ γὰρ πλουτεῖν καὶ ἱπποτροφίας ἐμ-ποιεῖ πόθον.

But his appearance and his wealth are also related to his sisters and his efficacy in war:

“This shows that he is unmanly because he was raised in wealth.”

ἵνα καὶ ὡς ἐν πλούτῳ τεθραμμένος ἄνανδρος ᾖ,

Schol. In Hom. Il. 10.317b

“Because he is terribly like a woman and reckless”

ὡς γυναικοτραφὴς δειλὸς ἦν καὶ ῥιψοκίνδυνος.

Schol T. ad Hom. Il. 10.316

“He is base in his form: this is so he can sneak by you because he’s unremarkable. But he does want to be conveyed in the place of Achilles on his horses!”

εἶδος μὲν ἔην κακός: ἵνα ὡς ἄσημος λάθῃ. οὗτος δὲ ἤθελεν  ἀντὶ ᾿Αχιλλέως ὀχεῖσθαι τοῖς ἵπποις.

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As I have discussed in connection to Thersites, Greek physiognomy posits an overlap between looks and ethics. An ugly person, the logic goes, is also a bad person. In the mind of the scholiasts, Dolon’s wealth is a marker of Greed and corruption (which is a later belief rather than a Homeric one) and his greed indicates a craven or corruptible character. Again, Dué and Ebbott note “Dolon’s ugliness, by comparison, is not dwelled upon, and does not seem to provoke any particular strong reaction, whether ridicule, repulsion, or irritation.” I think this is a smart observation that points to the kakos (‘ugly, base’) perhaps more indicating a problematic character. The scholiasts take the mention of Dolon’s sisters as a potential indication that he is unmanly (or cowardly) because he was always with girls; while they also use wealth as an explanation for his character.

The striking combination of acknowledging that Dolon is ugly/base but swift-footed also binds him in some way to Achilles who receives a similar description twenty-two times in the epic (again, following Dué and Ebbott). I think this anticipates his speech in inviting us to compare him to Achilles before he makes the hubristic request of receiving the hero’s horses as a reward.

I think one could almost say that Dolon’s entire narrative is anticipated by this speech introduction and the value judgments implied therein. But this passage is not just a good overview of Homeric structures (the device of introducing a new character, value judgments for that character, anticipation of those themes) but it also implies a complexity of composition. I don’t think that we would see such  correlation of speech and introduction nor such significant anticipation of a brief character’s outcome, with a passage that was not in some way repeated or traditional. What I mean by this is that the compositional ties of the Doloneia are integrated enough to suggest strongly that this is a well-structured and planned episode and has been performed on many occasions. For me, this complexity countermands any academic concern that Dolon is ‘untraditional’. (Whatever that really means: Dolon appears in unconnected images like the vase below and he is a rather different character in the Rhesus attributed to Euripides.)

Homeric poetry can introduce or adapt characters and figures to its own ends. I think Dolon here has been set up for a rather particular purpose. Dolon’s relationship to Achilles, moreover, in terms of the shared epithet and the former’s depiction as greedy and cowardly, asks us to think about heroism in response to the actions of book 9. Book 9 deconstructs our notion of Achilles as a hero and leaves us wondering what choice he will make and what he will do if he is not motivated by gold, gifts, or honor. Book 10 sets different models of heroism into play: Dolon contrasts with Diomedes and Odysseus (who are motivated by horses too, in the end!), but he also helps us think about individuals, the war, and communities. Dolon is a straight up mercenary with swift feet: his story functions to help us think about Achilles as a ‘hero’.

(If this doesn’t help explain why book 10 is important to the Iliad, I don’t know what will. Well, except for the political theme too….)

Bibliography on book 10 and the Doloneia

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Davidson, Olga Merck. “Dolon and Rhesus in the ‘Iliad.’” Quaderni Urbinati Di Cultura Classica 1 (1979): 61–66. https://doi.org/10.2307/20538562.

Dué, Casey, and Mary Ebbott. 2010. Iliad 10 and the Poetics of Ambush: A Multitext Edition with Essays and Commentary. Hellenic Studies Series 39. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Fenik, B. 1964. Iliad X and the Rhesus: The Myth. Collection Latomus 73. Brussels.

Haft, Adele J. “‘The City-Sacker Odysseus’ in Iliad 2 and 10.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 120 (1990): 37–56. https://doi.org/10.2307/283977.

Sheldon, Rose Mary. “THE ILL-FATED TROJAN SPY.” American Intelligence Journal 9, no. 3 (1988): 18–22. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44325966.

Stagakis, George. “DOLON, ODYSSEUS AND DIOMEDES IN THE ‘DOLONEIA.’” Rheinisches Museum Für Philologie 130, no. 3/4 (1987): 193–204. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41233632.

STEINER, D. “‘Wolf’s Justice’: The Iliadic Doloneia and the Semiotics of Wolves.” Classical Antiquity 34, no. 2 (2015): 335–69. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26362659.

West. M.L. 2011. The Making of the Iliad: Disquisition and Analytical Commentary. Oxford.

Some things on speech framing

Beck, Deborah. “Speech Introductions and the Character Development of Telemachus.” The Classical Journal 94, no. 2 (1998): 121–41. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3298206.

Beck, Deborah. “Odysseus: Narrator, Storyteller, Poet?” Classical Philology 100, no. 3 (2005): 213–27. https://doi.org/10.1086/497858.

Beck, Deborah. 2005. Homeric Conversation. Hellenic Studies Series 14. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Edwards, Mark W. “Homeric Speech Introductions.” Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 74 (1970): 1–36. https://doi.org/10.2307/310994.

Horn, Fabian. “Ἔπεα Πτερόεντα Again: A Cognitive Linguistic View on Homer’s ‘Winged Words.’” Hermathena, no. 198 (2015): 5–34. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26671604.

Riggsby, Andrew M. “Homeric Speech Introductions and the Theory of Homeric Composition.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 122 (1992): 99–114. https://doi.org/10.2307/284367.

Learning to Love Iliad 10

This post is a basic introduction to reading Iliad 10. Here is a link to the overview of book 9 and another to the plan in general. As a reminder, these posts will remain free, but there is an option to be a financial supporter. All proceeds from the substack are donated to classics adjacent non-profits on a monthly basis.

Book 10 (also called the “Doloneia”) takes into the Achaean and Trojan camps at night after the embassy to Achilles. Both sides are worried about what the other might do, so they send out volunteers to spy. Diomedes and Odysseus meet the Trojan Dolon during their scouting and force him to reveal information about the Trojan troop positions before they kill him. They slaughter some Trojan allies in their sleep and steal their horses. The plot of this book engages critically with the major themes I have noted to follow in reading the Iliad: (1) Politics, (2) Heroism; (3) Gods and Humans; (4) Family & Friends; (5) Narrative Traditions, but the central themes I emphasize in reading and teaching book 9 are politics, heroism, and narrative traditions.

Among all other topics, I find the political contrast between the ‘volunteers’ on both sides to be telling; and I also think there is a lot to say about differences in characterization between the Homeric Hektor in this book and his appearance in the Rhesus attributed to Euripides. But before we can even begin to consider those topics, there is a massive war elephant in the room.

Is Book 10 Homeric?

Schol. T Ad Hom. Il. 10b 1 ex

“People say that this book was privately composed by Homer and was not part of the Iliad, but that it was added to the poem by Peisistratos.”

 ex.(?) φασὶ τὴν ῥαψῳδίαν ὑφ’ ῾Ομήρου ἰδίᾳ τετάχθαι καὶ μὴ εἶναι μέρος τῆς ᾿Ιλιάδος, ὑπὸ δὲ Πεισιστράτου τετάχθαι εἰς τὴν ποίησιν.

Walter Leaf, in his commentary on the Iliad quotes this scholion and cites two common reasons that ‘modern’ scholars have accepted the ancient commentary as gospel because the action does not advance the main story and the contents of the book are not mentioned elsewhere in the epic. The ancient scholar, however, does not insist that the book does not belong to ‘Homer’, but instead is a separate story, added by Peisistratos during the so-called Athenian recension.

Martin West in The Making of the Iliad, writes “It is the almost unanimous (and certainly correct) view of modern scholars that this rhapsody is an insertion in Il. by a different poet. The conclusion is based on several considerations:” He later adds: “Nothing suggests that the story of the night foray and the killing of Rhesos had any traditional basis. Rhesos achieves nothing at Troy and therefore has no place in the war.”

These conclusions—from the ancient scholars through to the modern day—betray essential assumptions about what a complete poem is and willfully (in the case of West) dismiss a model of composition that admits change in the performance tradition. Andrew Ford, in his review of West’s 2011 book, marks this dismissal as a disagreement or difference:

“West’s ultimate objective is the text made by that unus maximusque poeta who must stand— nihil ex nihilo fit —as the source of the Iliad. It is easy enough to point out that this corresponds to no empirical reality but is West’s abstraction from the data; but this is only to say that, like any interpreter, West must construct the text as he construes it. Nagy’s ultimate concern, equally ideal, is the Tradition, the ever-evolving medium that generated (in a Chomskyan sense) Homeric poetry.⁵ Hence the difference between them is not simply whether “Homer” wrote but what textualization means. West insists that once the oral versions of the Iliad were written down, the usual processes of textual transmission took over, calling for traditional philological approaches. In Nagy’s sweeping vision, transcription itself is part of the tradition and variation in the written sources is the continuing operation of the system of oral poetics. For Nagy, this system is what needs representing and is best represented as a multi-text. A consequence of this broad view is that P’s poem must be recognized as an “authentic” multiform by an undoubted master of the style (call him W if you like), though Nagy would deny it (and any version) originary status.”

I don’t know how much there is for me to add to this conversation, except that even West concedes the antiquity of both Book 10 and its inclusion in all major manuscripts from antiquity. I think Casey Dué and Mary Ebbott have pretty much made the best case for the traditionality of the Iliad 10 in their Iliad 10 and the Poetics of Ambush: A Multitext Edition with Essays and Commentary. (If you have time, read it: it lays out a detailed view of ‘texts’ in a multiform system and counters well arguments about the propriety of the ambush (it is perfectly ‘heroic’!), the traditionality of the figures (Rhesos is super traditional, Dolon, less so; but for the Iliad and our evidence, what does that really mean), and the utility of taking a multitext approach (do it, it is useful).

Gimmick Episodes and Narrative Contexts

I want to offer another avenue of support, drawing on the basic proposition of the scholion, that “the Doloneia is Homer’s, but someone else added it to this poem.” Part of what I have been suggesting in my re-read of the Iliad—and, indeed, in my teaching over the years—is that we need to distinguish between different ways of experiencing Greek epic for ancient audiences. Ancient audiences rarely read the epic in its entirety and prior to the 4^th century BCE, I suspect most still enjoyed epic in performance. The opportunities for monumental performances—those that presented the ‘whole’ story—would have been rare. The majority of epic performances would likely have been based on episodes. Any major festival performance, like those we reconstruct for the Panathenaia (the major Athenian festival) would have invited maximalist versions of the Iliad or the Odyssey. I think monumental efforts to transcribe and transmit the epic would have been similar.

So part of my interest in looking at Book 10 is what it does: it is, in a way, a classic “side quest”, what some might call a gimmick episode or a theme episode, as in Angel’s “Smile Time”, when everyone gets turned into a puppet or Buffy’s “Once More with Feeling”, one of a group of wonderful musical episodes in fantasy/scifi television. As a viewer I adore these episodes, even though they rarely contribute to the overall plot arc. They allow show creators to experiment with different forms and ideas and they let audience members luxuriate in the extension of the fantasy world. I think there’s a very real connection between fan fiction and engagement with popular narrative and the “throw away” episodes that take us all off the clock. We get to linger a bit in the world slightly turned upside down, yet still in the knowledge that we will return to the story, eventually.

Something I have written about a few times is the tension in our drive to get to the end of a narrative and our desire for a story to never really end. Gimmick episodes expand the boundaries of a tale and temporality feed that latter desire. One of the things that has only recently occurred to me is how much the context for the reception of a story conditions how permeable the narrative boundaries are. A recent tweet sent me into a reverie.

I spent a fair amount of time in graduate school not reading Homer or doing school work but instead either binging DVD seasons of shows like Buffy, Angel, The Wire while also impatiently waiting for the next episode of The Sopranos or Battlestar Galactica. The arc-driven drama of the later seasons of Buffy or every season of The Wire made side-quest episodes useful: they relieve some of the stress of the narrative lurching forward  (I am staring at you, LOST) while they also create suspense and anticipation at the delay of the major tale. Modern television, post streaming, is designed for a different pace: for binge watching and money saving. Major shows have gone from 22 episodes to 12 to 8 (and even fewer). And when we cut away the ‘fat’, we lose the ability to linger in the tale, to explore its world more broadly, to luxuriate in the fictions we create together. Instead, we are driven almost mercilessly towards the conclusion of the plot and the question we all end up asking: what do we watch next!?

If this analogy has value for Homer, I think it is in thinking about that tension between the whole story and the enjoyment of the parts. When we used to enjoy long form narrative television an hour a week, separated by conversation, speculation, surprises, and anticipation, we had more time for a narrative lark, be it a miscue or a standalone piece that allowed for expansion and experimentation. The episodes of the Iliad, I think, reflect that kind of archipelago mapping: distinct miniature narratives, held together by the single journey we take through them.

The Doloneia (book 10) maintains the same characters, advances some essential Iliadic plots, and contributes to the whole by (1) allowing some downtime after the intensity of book 9, (2) suspending the resumption of the action, and (3) allowing us to see characters who aren’t Achilles engaging with each other and the field of battle in surprising ways. It may not be all about the rage of Achilles, but book 10 makes us feel the impact of his rage all the more.

Some Reading Questions for Book 10

What are the motivations for night raids from either side?

What are some of the implications of the characterization and then the treatment of Dolon?

How is Iliad 10 consonant with the themes of the rest of the Epic?

Bibliography on book 10 and the Doloneia

n.b this is not an exhaustive bibliography. If you’d like anything else included, please let me know.

Davidson, Olga Merck. “Dolon and Rhesus in the ‘Iliad.’” Quaderni Urbinati Di Cultura Classica 1 (1979): 61–66. https://doi.org/10.2307/20538562.

Dué, Casey, and Mary Ebbott. 2010. Iliad 10 and the Poetics of Ambush: A Multitext Edition with Essays and Commentary. Hellenic Studies Series 39. Washington, DC: Center for Hellenic Studies. 

Fenik, B. 1964. Iliad X and the Rhesus: The Myth. Collection Latomus 73. Brussels.

Gaunt, D. M. “The Change of Plan in the ‘Doloneia.’” Greece & Rome 18, no. 2 (1971): 191–98. http://www.jstor.org/stable/642655.

Haft, Adele J. “‘The City-Sacker Odysseus’ in Iliad 2 and 10.” Transactions of the American Philological Association (1974-) 120 (1990): 37–56. https://doi.org/10.2307/283977.

Sheldon, Rose Mary. “THE ILL-FATED TROJAN SPY.” American Intelligence Journal 9, no. 3 (1988): 18–22. http://www.jstor.org/stable/44325966.

Stagakis, George. “DOLON, ODYSSEUS AND DIOMEDES IN THE ‘DOLONEIA.’” Rheinisches Museum Für Philologie 130, no. 3/4 (1987): 193–204. http://www.jstor.org/stable/41233632.

STEINER, D. “‘Wolf’s Justice’: The Iliadic Doloneia and the Semiotics of Wolves.” Classical Antiquity 34, no. 2 (2015): 335–69. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26362659.

West. M.L. 2011. The Making of the Iliad: Disquisition and Analytical Commentary. Oxford.

WEST, MARTIN. “The Homeric Question Today.” Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 155, no. 4 (2011): 383–93. http://www.jstor.org/stable/23208780.