tomb before sleeping, ‘but with Hector’s corse his rage had never done’. The gods take pity on the violated body. Apollo condemns Achilles for being excessive, for lacking both restraining shame and the capacity to endure that is part of man’s lot. He is angering the gods and dishonouring the earth. Thetis, unable to face the gods in sorrow for a mortal, is summoned by Zeus to hear that Hector’s body must be ransomed. She tells Achilles, while Iris goes to Priam to reassure him and offer Hermes as guide. Priam asks his wife, Hecuba, what he should do, as if the message from the gods were immaterial and his earlier intention to beg the body from Achilles had come back to him. This, like many other turning-points in the action, is prompted in parallel both by the gods’ intervention and by the individual’s nature. Hecuba scorns his proposal, saying that Achilles is savage and will neither pity nor respect him. But Priam is determined. He goes with an omen, and Hermes as guide, into the enemy camp.
Trembling, he enters Achilles’ tent and in supplication grasps
. . . fast holding the bent knee
Of Hector’s conqueror, and kiss’d that large man-slaught’ring hand,
That much blood from his sons had drawn.
He speaks to him as a suppliant, reminding him of his father and offering gifts beyond number.
‘Achilles, fear the gods,
Pity an old man, like thy sire, different in only this,
That I am wretcheder, and bear that weight of miseries
That never man did, my curs’d lips enforc’d to kiss that hand
That slew my children.’
His words stirs a passion of grieving for his own father in Achilles, who cries now for him, now for Patroclus. A tragic sympathy binds the two bitter enemies: they grieve for their common, human lot. He sets the old man on his feet: ‘Sit, And settle we our woes, though huge, for nothing profits it. Cold mourning wastes but our lives’ heats.’ Achilles describes the way the gods spin life for unfortunate mortals, lying in unhappiness while the gods themselves have no sorrows. There are two urns at the door of Zeus, from which he dispenses evils and blessings. Peleus was given all blessings, but only one son:
‘One blossom but myself; and I, shaken as soon as blown.
Nor shall I live to cheer his age, and give nutrition
To him that nourish’d me . . . Thyself that did enjoy
(As we have heard) a happy life . . . but when the gods did turn
Thy blest state to partake with bane, war and the bloods of men
Circled thy city, never clear – sit down and suffer then,
Mourn not inevitable things; thy tears can spring no deeds
To help thee, nor recall thy son . . . ’
‘Give me no seat, great seed of Jove, when yet unransomed
Hector lies riteless in thy tents; but deign with utmost speed
His resignation, that these eyes may see his person freed,
And thy grace satisfied with gifts. Accept what I have brought.’
This request provokes Achilles, though already minded to give Hector back. He masters himself and thoughtfully orders that the corpse be washed, anointed and dressed, himself lifting the body on to the litter. He weeps, then:
Cried out for anger, and thus pray’d: ‘O friend, do not except
Against this favour to our foe (if in the deep thou hear),
And that I give him to his sire; he gave fair ransom.’
He provides food for them both. As even Niobe ate when she was worn out with grieving for the loss of her children, so must they. They gaze at each other in wonder, Priam at Achilles’ beauty and grace, Achilles at Priam’s dignity and power of speech. Priam asks for a bed, worn out as he is with lack of food and sleep; Achilles orders two to be made, asking Priam how long a truce he would like for the proper celebration of Hector’s funeral. Eleven days is agreed.
Priam returns with Hector’s body, which is lamented by Cassandra, Andromache, Hecuba and finally Helen, who remembers that he was always kind to her. During the truce they mourn for Hector,
Trembling, he enters Achilles’ tent and in supplication grasps
. . . fast holding the bent knee
Of Hector’s conqueror, and kiss’d that large man-slaught’ring hand,
That much blood from his sons had drawn.
He speaks to him as a suppliant, reminding him of his father and offering gifts beyond number.
‘Achilles, fear the gods,
Pity an old man, like thy sire, different in only this,
That I am wretcheder, and bear that weight of miseries
That never man did, my curs’d lips enforc’d to kiss that hand
That slew my children.’
His words stirs a passion of grieving for his own father in Achilles, who cries now for him, now for Patroclus. A tragic sympathy binds the two bitter enemies: they grieve for their common, human lot. He sets the old man on his feet: ‘Sit, And settle we our woes, though huge, for nothing profits it. Cold mourning wastes but our lives’ heats.’ Achilles describes the way the gods spin life for unfortunate mortals, lying in unhappiness while the gods themselves have no sorrows. There are two urns at the door of Zeus, from which he dispenses evils and blessings. Peleus was given all blessings, but only one son:
‘One blossom but myself; and I, shaken as soon as blown.
Nor shall I live to cheer his age, and give nutrition
To him that nourish’d me . . . Thyself that did enjoy
(As we have heard) a happy life . . . but when the gods did turn
Thy blest state to partake with bane, war and the bloods of men
Circled thy city, never clear – sit down and suffer then,
Mourn not inevitable things; thy tears can spring no deeds
To help thee, nor recall thy son . . . ’
‘Give me no seat, great seed of Jove, when yet unransomed
Hector lies riteless in thy tents; but deign with utmost speed
His resignation, that these eyes may see his person freed,
And thy grace satisfied with gifts. Accept what I have brought.’
This request provokes Achilles, though already minded to give Hector back. He masters himself and thoughtfully orders that the corpse be washed, anointed and dressed, himself lifting the body on to the litter. He weeps, then:
Cried out for anger, and thus pray’d: ‘O friend, do not except
Against this favour to our foe (if in the deep thou hear),
And that I give him to his sire; he gave fair ransom.’
He provides food for them both. As even Niobe ate when she was worn out with grieving for the loss of her children, so must they. They gaze at each other in wonder, Priam at Achilles’ beauty and grace, Achilles at Priam’s dignity and power of speech. Priam asks for a bed, worn out as he is with lack of food and sleep; Achilles orders two to be made, asking Priam how long a truce he would like for the proper celebration of Hector’s funeral. Eleven days is agreed.
Priam returns with Hector’s body, which is lamented by Cassandra, Andromache, Hecuba and finally Helen, who remembers that he was always kind to her. During the truce they mourn for Hector,
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