Though Mr. Leaf has failed to fit Book XI. to any point in Book II., of course it does not follow that Book XI. cannot be a continuation of the original _Wrath_ of _Achilles_ (version B). If so, we understand why Agamemnon plucks up heart, in Book XI., and is the chief cause of a temporary Trojan reverse. He relies on the Dream sent from Zeus in the opening lines of Book II., the Dream which was not in kernel A; the Dream which he communicated to n.o.body; the Dream conveying the promise that he should at once take Troy. This is perhaps a tenable theory, though Agamemnon had much reason to doubt whether the host would obey his command to arm, but an alternative theory of why and wherefore Agamemnon does great feats of valour, in Book XI., will later be propounded. Note that the events of Books XL.-XVIII., by Mr. Leaf"s theory, all occur on the very day after Thetis (according to kernel B)" [79] obtains from Zeus his promise to honour Achilles by the discomfiture of the Achaeans; they have suffered nothing till that moment, as far as we learn, from the absence of Achilles and his 2500 men: allowing for casualties, say 2000.
So far we have traced--from Books I. and II. to Book XI.--the fortunes of kernel B, of the supposed later of two versions of the opening of the _Iliad_. But there may have been a version (A) probably earlier, we have been told, in which Achilles did not appeal to his mother, nor she to Zeus, and Zeus did not promise victory to the Trojans, and sent no false Dream of success to Agamemnon. What were the fortunes of that oldest of all old kernels? In this version (A) Agamemnon, having had no Dream, summoned a peaceful a.s.sembly to discuss the awkwardness caused by the mutiny of Achilles. The host met (_Iliad,_ II. 87-99). Here we pa.s.s from line 99 to 212-242: Thersites it is who opens the debate, (in version A) insults Agamemnon, and advises flight. The army rushed off to launch the ships, as in II. 142-210, and were brought back by Odysseus, who made a stirring speech, and was well backed by Agamemnon, urging to battle.
Version A appears to us to have been a version that no heroic audience would endure. A low person like Thersites opens a debate in an a.s.sembly called by the Over-Lord; this could not possibly pa.s.s unchallenged among listeners living in the feudal age. When a prince called an a.s.sembly, he himself opened the debate, as Achilles does in Book I. 54-67. That a lewd fellow, the buffoon and grumbler of the host, of "the people,"
nameless and silent throughout the Epic, should rush in and open debate in an a.s.sembly convoked by the Over-Lord, would have been regarded by feudal hearers, or by any hearers with feudal traditions, as an intolerable poetical license. Thersites would have been at once pulled down and beaten; the host would not have rushed to the ships on _his_ motion. Any feudal audience would know better than to endure such an impossibility; they would have asked, "How could Thersites speak--without the sceptre?"
As the poem stands, and ought to stand, n.o.body less than the Over-Lord, acting within his right, ([Greek: ae themis esti] II. 73), could suggest the flight of the host, and be obeyed.
It is the absolute demoralisation of the host, in consequence of the strange test of their Lord, Agamemnon, making a feigned proposal to fly, and it is their confused, bewildered return to the a.s.sembly under the persuasions of Odysseus, urged by Athene, that alone, in the poem, give Thersites his unique opportunity to harangue. When the Over-Lord had called an a.s.sembly the first word, of course, was for to speak, as he does in the poem as it stands. That Thersifes should rise in the arrogance bred by the recent disorderly and demoralised proceedings is one thing; that he should open the debate when excitement was eager to hear Agamemnon, and before demoralisation set in, is quite another. We never hear again of Thersites, or of any one of the commonalty, daring to open his mouth in an a.s.sembly. Thersites sees his one chance, the chance of a life time, and takes it; because Agamemnon, by means of the test--a proposal to flee homewards--which succeeded, it is said, in the case of Cortes,--has reduced the host, already discontented, to a mob.
Before Agamemnon thus displayed his inept.i.tude, as he often does later, Thersites had no chance. All this appears sufficiently obvious, if we put ourselves at the point of view of the original listeners. Thersites merely continues, in full a.s.sembly, the mutinous babble which he has been pouring out to his neighbours during the confused rush to launch the ships and during the return produced by the influence of Odysseus.
The poet says so himself (_Iliad_, II. 212). "The rest sat down ...
only Thersites still chattered on." No original poet could manage the situation in any other way.
We have now examined Mr. Leaf"s two supposed earliest versions of the beginning of the _Iliad_. His presumed earlier version (A), with no Thetis, no promise of Zeus, and no Dream, and with Thersites opening debate, is jejune, unpoetical, and omits the gentler and most winning aspect of the character of Achilles, while it could not possibly have been accepted by a feudal audience for the reasons already given. His presumed later version (B), with Thetis, Zeus, and the false Dream, cannot be, or certainly has not been, brought by Mr. Leaf into congruous connection with Book XI., and it results in the fighting of the _unarmed_ Agamemnon, which no poet could have been so careless as to invent. Agamemnon could not go into battle without helmet, shield, and spears (the other armour we need not dwell upon here), and Thersites could not have opened a debate when the Over-Lord had called the a.s.sembly, nor could he have moved the chiefs to prepare for flight, unless, as in the actual _Iliad_, they had already been demoralised by the result of the feigned proposal of flight by Agamemnon, and its effect upon the host. Probably every reader who understands heroic society, temper, and manners will, so far, agree with us.
Our own opinion is that the difficulties in the poem are caused partly by the poet"s conception of the violent, wavering, excitable, and unstable character of Agamemnon; partly by some accident, now indiscoverable, save by conjecture, which has happened to the text.
The story in the actual _Iliad_ is that Zeus, planning disaster for the Achaeans, in accordance with his promise to Thetis, sends a false Dream, to tell Agamemnon that he will take Troy instantly. He is bidden by the Dream to summon the host to arms. Agamemnon, _still asleep_, "has in his mind things not to be fulfilled: Him seemeth that he shall take Priam"s town that very day" (II. 36, 37). "Then he awoke" (II. 41), and, obviously, was no longer so sanguine, once awake!
Being a man crushed by his responsibility, and, as commander-in-chief, extremely timid, though personally brave, he disobeys the Dream, dresses in civil costume, and summons the host to a _peaceful_ a.s.sembly, not to war, as the Dream bade him do. Probably he thought that the host was disaffected, and wanted to argue with them, in place of commanding.
Here it is that the difficulty comes in, and our perplexity is increased by our ignorance of the regular procedure in Homeric times. Was the host not in arms and fighting every day, when there was no truce? There seems to have been no armistice after the mutiny of Achilles, for we are told that, in the period between his mutiny and the day of the Dream of Agamemnon, Achilles "was neither going to the a.s.sembly, nor into battle, but wasted his heart, abiding there, longing for war and the slogan"
(I. 489, 492). Thus it seems that war went on, and that a.s.semblies were being held, in the absence of Achilles. It appears, however, that the fighting was mere skirmishing and raiding, no general onslaught was attempted; and from Book II. _73_, 83 it seems to have been a matter of doubt, with Agamemnon and Nestor, whether the army would venture a pitched battle.
It also appears, from the pa.s.sage cited (I. 489, 492) that a.s.semblies were being regularly held; we are told that Achilles did not attend them. Yet, when we come to the a.s.sembly (II. 86-100) it seems to have been a special and exciting affair, to judge by the brilliant picture of the crowds, the confusion, and the cries. Nothing of the sort is indicated in the meeting of the a.s.sembly in I. _54-5_ 8. Why is there so much excitement at the a.s.sembly of Book II.? Partly because it was summoned _at_ dawn, whereas the usual thing was for the host to meet in arms before fighting on the plain or going on raids; a.s.semblies were held when the day"s work was over. The host, therefore, when summoned to an a.s.sembly _at dawn_, expects to hear of something out of the common--as the mutiny of Achilles suggests--and is excited.
We must ask, then, why does Agamemnon, after the Dream has told him merely to summon the host to arm--a thing of daily routine--call a deliberative morning a.s.sembly, a thing clearly not of routine? If Agamemnon is really full of confidence, inspired by the Dream, why does he determine, not to do what is customary, call the men to arms, but as Jeanne d"Arc said to the Dauphin, to "hold such long and weary councils"? Mr. Jevons speaks of Agamemnon"s "confidence in the delusive dream" as at variance with his proceedings, and would excise II. 35-41, "the only lines which represent Agamemnon as confidently believing in the Dream." [Footnote: _Journal_ of _h.e.l.lenic_ Studies, vol. vii. pp.
306, 307.] But the poet never once says that Agamemnon, awake, did believe confidently in the Dream! Agamemnon dwelt with hope _while_ asleep; when he wakened--he went and called a peaceful morning a.s.sembly, though the Dream bade him call to arms. He did not dare to risk his authority. This was exactly in keeping with his character. The poet should have said, "When he woke, the Dream appeared to him rather poor security for success" (saying so in poetic language, of course), and then there would be no difficulty in the summoning of an a.s.sembly at dawn. But either the poet expected us to understand the difference between the hopes of Agamemnon sleeping, and the doubts of Agamemnon waking to chill realities--an experience common to all of us who dream--or some explanatory lines have been dropped out--one or two would have cleared up the matter.
If I am right, the poet has not been understood. People have not observed that Agamemnon hopes while asleep, and doubts, and acts on his doubt, when awake. Thus Mr. Leaf writes: "Elated by the dream, as we are led to suppose, Agamemnon summons the army--to lead them into battle?
Nothing of the sort; he calls them to a.s.sembly." [Footnote: _Iliad_, vol. ii. p. 46.] But we ought not to have been led to suppose that the waking Agamemnon was so elated as the sleeping Agamemnon. He was "disillusioned" on waking; his conduct proves it; he did not know what to think about the Dream; he did not know how the host would take the Dream; he doubted whether they would fight at his command, so he called an a.s.sembly.
Mr. Jevons very justly cites a parallel case. Grote has remarked that in Book VII. of Herodotus, "The dream sent by the G.o.ds to frighten Xerxes when about to recede from his project," has "a marked parallel in the _Iliad_." Thus Xerxes, after the defection of Artaba.n.u.s, was despondent, like Agamemnon after the mutiny of Achilles, and was about to recede from his project. To both a delusive dream is sent urging them to proceed. Xerxes calls an a.s.sembly, however, and says that he will not proceed. Why? Because, says Herodotus, "when day came, he thought nothing of his dream." Agamemnon, once awake, thought doubtfully of _his_ dream; he called a Privy Council, told the princes about his dream--of which Nestor had a very dubious opinion--and said that he would try the temper of the army by proposing instant flight: the chiefs should restrain the men if they were eager to run away.
Now the epic prose narrative of Herodotus is here clearly based on _Iliad_, II., which Herodotus must have understood as I do. But in Homer there is no line to say--and one line or two would have been enough--that Agamemnon, when awake, doubted, like Xerxes, though Agamemnon, when asleep, had been confident. The necessary line, for all that we know, still existed in the text used by Herodotus. Homer may lose a line as well as Dieuchidas of Megara, or rather Diogenes Laertius. Juvenal lost a whole pa.s.sage, re-discovered by Mr. Winstedt in a Bodleian ma.n.u.script. If Homer expected modern critics to note the delicate distinction between Agamemnon asleep and Agamemnon awake, or to understand Agamemnon"s character, he expected too much. [Footnote: Cf.
Jevons, _Journal of h.e.l.lenic Studies_, vol. vii. pp. 306, 307.] The poet then treats the situation on these lines: Agamemnon, awake and free from illusion, does not obey the dream, does _not_ call the army to war; he takes a middle course.
In the whole pa.s.sage the poet"s main motive, as Mr. Monro remarks with obvious truth, is "to let his audience become acquainted with the temper and spirit of the army as it was affected by the long siege ... and by the events of the First Book." [Footnote: Monro, _Iliad_, vol. i. p.
261.] The poet could not obtain his object if Agamemnon merely gave the summons to battle; and he thinks Agamemnon precisely the kind of waverer who will call, first the Privy Council of the Chiefs, and then an a.s.sembly. Herein the homesick host will display its humours, as it does with a vengeance. Agamemnon next tells his Dream to the chiefs (if he had a dream of this kind he would most certainly tell it), and adds (as has been already stated) that he will first test the spirit of the army by a feigned proposal of return to Greece, while the chiefs are to restrain them if they rush to launch the ships. Nestor hints that there is not much good in attending to dreams; however, this is the dream of the Over-Lord, who is the favoured of Zeus.
Agamemnon next, addressing the a.s.sembly, says that posterity will think it a shameful thing that the Achaeans raised the siege of a town with a population much smaller than their own army; but allies from many cities help the Trojans, and are too strong for him, whether posterity understands that or not. "Let us flee with our ships!"
On this the host break up, in a splendid pa.s.sage of poetry, and rush to launch the ships, the pa.s.sion of _nostalgie_ carrying away even the chiefs, it appears--a thing most natural in the circ.u.mstances.
But Athene finds Odysseus in grief: "neither laid he any hand upon his ship," as the others did, and she encouraged him to stop the flight.
This he does, taking the sceptre of Agamemnon from his unnerved hand.
He goes about reminding the princes "have we not heard Agamemnon"s real intention in council?" (II. 188-197), and rating the common sort. The a.s.sembly meets again in great confusion; Thersites seizes the chance to be insolent, and is beaten by Odysseus. The host then arms for battle.
The poet has thus shown Agamemnon in the colours which he wears consistently all through the _Iliad_. He has, as usual, contrasted with him Odysseus, the type of a wise and resolute man. This contrast the poet maintains without fail throughout. He has shown us the temper of the weary, home-sick army, and he has persuaded us that he knows how subtle, dangerous, and contagious a thing is military panic. Thus, at least, I venture to read the pa.s.sage, which, thus read, is perfectly intelligible. Agamemnon is no personal coward, but the burden of the safety of the host overcomes him later, and he keeps suggesting flight in the ships, as we shall see. Suppose, then, we read on from II. 40 thus: "The Dream left him thinking of things not to be, even that on this day he shall take the town of Priam.... But he awoke from sleep with the divine voice ringing in his ears. (_Then it seemed him that some dreams are true and_ some _false, for all do_ not _come through the Gate of_ Horn.) So he arose and sat up and did on his soft tunic, and his great cloak, and grasped his ancestral sceptre ... and bade the clear-voiced heralds summon the Achaeans of the long locks to the deliberative a.s.sembly." He then, as in II. 53-75 told his Dream to the preliminary council, and proposed that he should try the temper of the host by proposing flight--which, if it began, the chiefs were to restrain--before giving orders to arm. The test of the temper of the host acted as it might be expected to act; all rushed to launch the ships, and the princes were swept away in the tide of flight, Agamemnon himself merely looking on helpless. The panic was contagious; only Odysseus escaped its influence, and redeemed the honour of the Achaeans, as he did again on a later day.
The pa.s.sage certainly has its difficulties. But Erhardt expresses the proper state of the case, after giving his a.n.a.lysis. "The hearer"s imagination is so captured, first by the dream, then by the brawling a.s.sembly, by the rush to the ships, by the intervention of Odysseus, by the punishment of Thersites--all these living pictures follow each other so fleetly before the eyes that we have scarcely time to make objections." [Footnote: _Die Enstehung der Homerische Gedichte_, p.
29.]. The poet aimed at no more and no less effect than he has produced, and no more should be required by any one, except by that anachronism--"the a.n.a.lytical reader." _He_ has "time to make objections": the poet"s audience had none; and he must be criticised from their point of view. Homer did not sing for a.n.a.lytical readers, for the modern professor; he could not possibly conceive that Time would bring such a being into existence.
To return to the character of Agamemnon. In moments of encouragement Agamemnon is a valiant fighter, few better spearmen, yet "he attains not to the first Three," Achilles, Aias, Diomede. But Agamemnon is unstable as water; again and again, as in Book II., the lives and honour of the Achaeans are saved in the Over-Lord"s despite by one or other of the peers. The whole _Iliad_, with consistent uniformity, pursues the scheme of character and conduct laid down in the two first Books. It is guided at once by feudal allegiance and feudal jealousy, like the _Chansons de Geste_ and the early sagas or romances of Ireland. A measure of respect for Agamemnon, even of sympathy, is preserved; he is not degraded as the kings and princes are often degraded on the Attic stage, and even in the Cyclic poems. Would wandering Ionian reciters at fairs have maintained this uniformity? Would the tyrant Pisistratus have made his literary man take this view?
CHAPTER V
AGAMEMNON IN THE LATER "ILIAD"
In the Third Book, Agamemnon receives the compliments due to his supremacy, aspect, and valour from the lips of Helen and Priam. There are other warriors taller by a head, and Odysseus was shorter than he by a head, so Agamemnon was a man of middle stature. He is "beautiful and royal" of aspect; "a good king and a mighty spearman," says Helen.
The interrupted duel between Menelaus and Paris follows, and then the treacherous wounding of Menelaus by Pandarus. One of Agamemnon"s most sympathetic characteristics is his intense love of his brother, for whose sake he has made the war. He shudders on seeing the arrow wound, but consoles Menelaus by the certainty that Troy will fall, for the Trojans have broken the solemn oath of truce. Zeus "doth fulfil at last, and men make dear amends." But with characteristic inconsistency he discourages Menelaus by a picture of many a proud Trojan leaping on his tomb, while the host will return home-an idea constantly present to Agamemnon"s mind. He is always the first to propose flight, though he will "return with shame" to Mycenae. Menelaus is of much better cheer: "Be of good courage, [blank s.p.a.ce] ALL THE HOST OF THE [misprint]"--a thing which Agamemnon does habitually, though he is not a personal poltroon. As Menelaus has only a slight flesh wound after all, and as the Trojans are doomed men, Agamemnon is now "eager for glorious battle." He encourages the princes, but, of all men, rebukes Odysseus as "last at a fray and first at a feast": such is his insolence, for which men detest him.
This is highly characteristic in Agamemnon, who has just been redeemed from ruin by Odysseus. Rebuked by Odysseus, he "takes back his word" as usual, and goes on to chide Diomede as better at making speeches than at fighting! But Diomede made no answer, "having respect to the chiding of the revered King." He even rebukes the son of Capaneus for answering Agamemnon haughtily. Diomede, however, does not forget; he bides his time. He now does the great deeds of his day of valour (Book V.).
Agamemnon meanwhile encourages the host.
During Books V., VI. Agamemnon"s business is "to bid the rest keep fighting." When Hector, in Book VII., challenges any Achaean, n.o.body volunteers except Menelaus, who has a strong sense of honour. Agamemnon restrains him, and lots are cast: the host pray that the lot may fall on Aias, Diomede, or Agamemnon (VII. 179-180). Thus the Over-Lord is acknowledged to be a man of his hands, especially good at hurling the spear, as we see again in Book XXIII.
A truce is proposed for the burial of the dead, and Paris offers to give up the wealth that he brought to Troy, and more, if the Achaeans will go home, but Helen he will not give up. We expect Agamemnon to answer as becomes him. But no! All are silent, till Diomede rises. They will not return, he says, even if Helen be restored, for even a fool knows that Troy is doomed, because of the broken oath. The rest shout acquiescence, and Agamemnon refuses the compromise. Apparently he would not have disdained it, but for Diomede"s reply.
On the following day the Trojans have the better in the battle, and Agamemnon "has no heart to stand," nor have some of his peers. But Diomede has more courage, and finally Agamemnon begins to call to the host to fight, but breaks down, weeps, and prays to Zeus "that we ourselves at least flee and escape;" he is not an encouraging commander-in-chief! Zeus, in pity, sends a favourable omen; Aias fights well; night falls, and the Trojans camp on the open plain.
Agamemnon, in floods of tears, calls an a.s.sembly, and proposes to "return to Argos with dishonour." "Let us flee with our ships to our dear native land, for now shall we never take wide-wayed Troy," All are silent, till Diomede rises and reminds Agamemnon that "thou saidst I was no man of war, but a coward." (In Book V.; we are now in Book IX.) "Zeus gave thee the honour of the sceptre above all men, but valour he gave thee not.... Go thy way; thy way is before thee, and thy ships stand beside the sea. But all the other flowing-haired Achaeans will tarry here until we waste Troy."
Nestor advises Agamemnon to set an advanced guard, which that martialist had never thought of doing, and to discuss matters over supper. A force of 700 men, under Meriones and the son of Nestor, was posted between the foss and the wall round the camp; the council met, and Nestor advised Agamemnon to approach Achilles with gentle words and gifts of atonement.
Agamemnon, full of repentance, acknowledges his folly and offers enormous atonement. Heralds and three amba.s.sadors are sent; and how Achilles received them, with perfect courtesy, but with absolute distrust of Agamemnon and refusal of his gifts, sending the message that he will fight only when fire comes to his own ships, we know.
Achilles is now entirely in the wrong, and the Over-Lord is once more within his right. He has done all, or more than all, that customary law demands. In Book IX. Phoenix states the case plainly. "If Agamemnon brought thee not gifts, and promised thee more hereafter, ... then were I not he that should bid thee cast aside thine anger, and save the Argives...." (IX. 515-517). The case so stands that, if Achilles later relents and fights, the gifts of atonement will no longer be due to him, and he "will not be held in like honour" (IX. 604).
The poet knows intimately, and, like his audience, is keenly interested in the details of the customary law. We cannot easily suppose this frame of mind and this knowledge in a late poet addressing a late Ionian audience.
The amba.s.sadors return to Agamemnon; their evil tidings are received in despairing silence. But Diomede bids Agamemnon take heart and fight next day, with his host arrayed "before the ships" (IX. 708). This appears to counsel defensive war; but, in fact, and for reasons, when it comes to fighting they do battle in the open.
The next Book (X.) is almost universally thought a late interpolation; an opinion elsewhere discussed (see [blank s.p.a.ce]). Let us, then, say with Mr. Leaf that the Book begins with "exaggerated despondency" and ends with "hasty exultation," in consequence of a brilliant camisade, wherein Odysseus and Diomede ma.s.sacre a Thracian contingent. Our point is that the poet carefully (see _The Doloneia_) continues the study of Agamemnon in despondency, and later, by his "hasty exultation," preludes to the valour which the Over-Lord displays in Book XI.
The poet knows that something in the way of personal valour is due to Agamemnon"s position; he fights brilliantly, receives a flesh wound, retires, and is soon proposing a general flight in his accustomed way.
When the Trojans, in Book XIV., are attacking the ships, Agamemnon remarks that he fears the disaffection of his whole army (XIV. 49, 51), and, as for the coming defeat, that he "knew it," even when Zeus helped the Greeks. They are all to perish far from Argos. Let them drag the ships to the sea, moor them with stones, and fly, "For there is no shame in fleeing from ruin, even in the night. Better doth he fare who flees from trouble than he that is overtaken." It is now the turn of Odysseus again to save the honour of the army. "Be silent, lest some other of the Achaeans hear this word, that no man should so much as suffer to pa.s.s through his mouth.... And now I wholly scorn thy thoughts, such a word hast thou uttered." On this Agamemnon instantly repents. "Right sharply hast thou touched my heart with thy stern reproof:" he has not even the courage of his nervousness.
The combat is now in the hands of Aias and Patroclus, who is slain.
Agamemnon, who is wounded, does not reappear till Book XIX., when Achilles, anxious to fight and avenge Patroclus at once, without formalities of reconciliation, professes his desire to let bygones be bygones. Agamemnon excuses his insolence to Achilles as an inspiration of Ate: a predestined fault--"Not I am the cause, but Zeus and Destiny."
Odysseus, to clinch the reunion and fulfil customary law, advises Agamemnon to bring out the gifts of atonement (the gifts prepared in Book IX.), after which the right thing is for him to give a feast of reconciliation, "that Achilles may have nothing lacking of his right."
[Footnote: Book XIX. 179, 180.] The case is one which has been provided for by customary law in every detail. Mr. Leaf argues that all this part must be late, because of the allusion to the gifts offered in Book IX.