the iliad by homer, translated by stephen mitchell

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TOLSTOY CALLED THE ILIAD A miracle; Goethe said that it always thrust him into a state of astonishment. Homer's story is thrilling, and his Greek is perhaps the most beautiful poetry ever sung or written. But until now, even the best English translations haven't been able to re-create the energy and simplicity, the speed, grace, and pulsing rhythm of the original. In Stephen Mitchell's Iliad, the epic story resounds again across 2,700 years, as if the lifeblood of its heroes Achilles and Patroclus, Hector and Priam flows in every word. And we are there with them, amid the horror and ecstasy of war, carried along by a poetry that lifts even the most devastating human events into the realm of the beautiful. Now, thanks to Stephen Mitchell's scholarship and the power of his language, the Iliad's ancient story comes to moving, vivid new life.

TRANSCRIPT

Page 1: The Iliad by Homer, translated by Stephen Mitchell
Page 2: The Iliad by Homer, translated by Stephen Mitchell

Homer

The Iliad

Translated, with an Introduction and Notes, by Stephen Mitchell

FREE PRESS

New York London Toronto Sydney New Delhi

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or one of your brothers’ wives, or Athena’s temple.She went to the tower as soon as she heard the news 390that our army was overwhelmed. She was in a totalfrenzy and rushed off—it seemed as if she was out ofher mind—and the nurse went with her, holding the baby.”

At these words, Hector ran from the house, back alongthe route he had taken, through the broad streets of Troy.He had crossed the city and come to the Scaean Gates,where soon he would make his way out onto the plain,when breathlessly his wife came running to meet him,Andromache, King Ëétion’s noble daughter(he had ruled the Cilícians in Thebē under the wooded 400slopes of Mount Placus). Now she ran up to meet him,and behind her a handmaid came who was holding the childin her arms, an infant, cooing and gurgling, Hector’sbeloved son, as beautiful as a star.Though Hector had named him Scamándrius, everyone called himAstýanax, “Lord of the City,” because his fatherseemed to them all the one defender of Troy.Hector smiled as he looked at the boy in silence.Andromache came even closer and stood beside himweeping and said to him, taking his hand in hers, 410“My dearest, this reckless courage of yours will destroy you.Have pity now on your little boy and on me,your unfortunate wife, who before long will be your widow.Soon the Achaeans will kill you, and when you are gone,it will be far better for me to die and sink downunder the earth, since once you have met your fateI will have no comfort—only unending sorrow.I have no one else. My father and mother are dead.Achilles cut down my father when he took Thebē,though he didn’t strip off his armor—respect touched his heart 420and he couldn’t do that—he burned his body with allhis beautiful war gear and heaped a mound over his ashes,and the nymphs of the mountain planted elm trees around it.I had seven brothers, who lived in my father’s palace,and all of them, on the very same day, went down

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to the realm of Hades; Achilles slaughtered them allwhile they were tending their sheep and their lumbering oxen.As for my mother, the queen of our proud city,he carried her here along with the rest of his spoils,then set her free, in exchange for a huge ransom; 430but Ártemis shot her down in her father’s halls.Hector, you are my everything now: my father,my mother, my brother—and my beloved husband.Have pity on me. Stay with me here on the tower.Don’t make your child an orphan, your wife a widow.”

Hector answered her, “Dearest, what you have saidtroubles me too. Yet I would feel terrible shameat facing the men and the long-robed women of Troyif, like a coward, I shrank from the fighting. Nor can I:my heart would never allow that; it is my place 440to be brave and scorn danger and always fight in the front line,winning great fame for my father and for myself.But however it is, deep in my heart I knowthat a day will come when the sacred city of Troywill be devastated, and Priam, and Priam’s people.And yet it is not their anguish that troubles me so,nor Hecuba’s, nor even my father, King Priam’s,nor the blood of the many brave brothers of mine who will fallin the dirt at the hands of their enemies—that is nothingcompared to your grief, when I picture you being caught 450by some bronze-armored Achaean who claims you and takesyour freedom away and carries you off in tears.Then, all your life, in the Argives’ land, you will worklong days, bent over the loom of some stern mistressor carrying water up from her well—hating itbut having no choice, for harsh fate will press down upon you.And someone will say, as he sees you toiling and weeping,‘That is the wife of Hector, bravest of allthe Trojans, tamers of horses, when the great warraged around Troy.’ And then a fresh grief will flood 460your heart, and you will start sobbing again at the thoughtof the only man who was able to ward off your bondage.

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But may I be dead, with the cold earth piled up upon me,before I can hear you wail as they drag you away.”

Then Hector reached out to take his son, but the childshrank back, screaming, into his nurse’s arms,scared by the flashing bronze and the terrible horsehaircrest that kept shaking at him from the peak of the helmet.At this, his father and mother both burst out laughing;and right away Hector took off his helmet and laid it, 470glittering, on the ground. And he picked up the child,dandled him in his arms and stroked him and kissed himand said this prayer to Zeus and the other immortals:“Zeus and you other gods who can hear my prayer,grant that this child, this boy of mine, may grow upto be as I am, outstanding among the Trojans,strong and brave, and rule over Troy with great power.And let people say of him, ‘He is a better manthan his father was,’ as they see him returning from battle,having killed his enemy, carrying back in triumph 480the gore-stained armor to gladden his mother’s heart.”

He handed the child to his wife then, and she took himto her fragrant breast and smiled with tears in her eyes.And looking at her, her husband was touched with pity,and he stroked her face, and he said, “My foolish darling,please do not take these things so greatly to heart.No man shall send me to Hades before my time,and no man, I promise, has ever escaped his fatefrom the moment that he was born, whether brave man or coward.Go now, return to our house and your daily work 490at loom and spindle; command your women as wellto go about their work. The men must take care of the fighting—all men of Troy, but I more than any other.”

As he said this, Hector picked up his gleaming helmetwith its horsehair crest. Andromache walked home, slowly,and she stopped many times, turning around to look backand bitterly weeping. And when she came to the palace

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of man-killing Hector, she found all her handmaids inside,and they burst into lamentation. So, in his own house,they mourned for Hector even though he was alive, 500for they thought that he would never return from the fightingor escape from the deadly hands of the Achaeans.

Paris did not remain in his palace for long.Once he had put on his beautiful inlaid armorhe rushed through the city, confident of his swift legs.Just as a stabled horse who has fully eatenbreaks his tether and gallops across the plain,eager to have a swim in the fast-flowing river,and exults as he runs—he holds his head high, and his manestreams in the wind, and he runs on, aware of his own 510magnificence, to the fields where the mares are at pasture:so Paris ran down from the height of Pérgamus, shiningin his armor like sunlight, exulting, laughing out loud,and his swift legs carried him onward. And right awayhe caught up with Hector, as he was leaving the spotwhere he just had been speaking so tenderly with his wife.

Paris said, “Here I am, Brother; I must have delayed youby taking so long and not coming as fast as you wished.”

And Hector answered, “What kind of warrior are you?No man of any sense could ever belittle 520your exploits in war, since you are such a brave fighter;but then you slack off and willfully hang back from battleand my heart is grieved when I hear the contemptuous wordsof our men, who endure such hardship because of you.But come. Later on, we will make these things right, if somedayZeus grants that we celebrate, drinking wine in our hallsin thanks to the gods for our freedom—if we should evermanage to drive the Achaeans away from Troy.”

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