Summary
The climactic confrontation between Achilles and Hector unfolds with devastating inevitability. Despite desperate pleas from his parents Priam and Hecuba to retreat behind Troy's walls, Hector chooses to face Achilles alone. Yet when the godlike warrior approaches in blazing armor, Hector's courage fails and he flees. Three times they circle Troy's walls in a deadly chase, like a falcon pursuing a dove. The gods debate Hector's fate, but Zeus allows it to proceed. Athena tricks Hector by appearing as his brother Deiphobus, giving him false confidence to make his final stand. In single combat, Hector fights bravely but falls to Achilles' spear. Even in death, he prophesies Achilles' own doom at the hands of Paris and Apollo. Achilles, consumed by rage and grief over Patroclus, refuses Hector's dying request for proper burial rites. Instead, he desecrates the body by dragging it behind his chariot around Troy's walls. The sight devastates Hector's parents and sends his wife Andromache into a fainting spell when she witnesses her husband's corpse being dragged through the dust. This chapter reveals how even heroes can be reduced to their most primal emotions - fear, rage, and grief - and how the consequences of our choices in these moments echo far beyond ourselves, affecting entire communities and future generations.
Coming Up in Chapter 23
As Troy mourns its greatest defender, the gods themselves begin to question whether Achilles has gone too far in his desecration of Hector's body. Divine intervention may be the only thing that can restore honor to the dead and bring peace to the living.
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An excerpt from the original text.(complete · 5342 words)
ARGUMENT.
THE DEATH OF HECTOR.
The Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppose
Achilles. Priam is struck at his approach, and tries to persuade his
son to re-enter the town. Hecuba joins her entreaties, but in vain.
Hector consults within himself what measures to take; but at the
advance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and he flies. Achilles
pursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The gods debate concerning
the fate of Hector; at length Minerva descends to the aid of Achilles.
She deludes Hector in the shape of Deiphobus; he stands the combat, and
is slain. Achilles drags the dead body at his chariot in the sight of
Priam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and despair. Their cries
reach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into
the inner part of the palace: she mounts up to the walls, and beholds
her dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her excess of grief and
lamentation.
The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under the walls,
and on the battlements of Troy.
Thus to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear,
The herded Ilians rush like driven deer:
There safe they wipe the briny drops away,
And drown in bowls the labours of the day.
Close to the walls, advancing o’er the fields
Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields,
March, bending on, the Greeks’ embodied powers,
Far stretching in the shade of Trojan towers.
Great Hector singly stay’d: chain’d down by fate
There fix’d he stood before the Scæan gate;
Still his bold arms determined to employ,
The guardian still of long-defended Troy.
Apollo now to tired Achilles turns:
(The power confess’d in all his glory burns:)
“And what (he cries) has Peleus’ son in view,
With mortal speed a godhead to pursue?
For not to thee to know the gods is given,
Unskill’d to trace the latent marks of heaven.
What boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain?
Vain thy past labour, and thy present vain:
Safe in their walls are now her troops bestow’d,
While here thy frantic rage attacks a god.”
The chief incensed—“Too partial god of day!
To check my conquests in the middle way:
How few in Ilion else had refuge found!
What gasping numbers now had bit the ground!
Thou robb’st me of a glory justly mine,
Powerful of godhead, and of fraud divine:
Mean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain,
To cheat a mortal who repines in vain.”
Then to the city, terrible and strong,
With high and haughty steps he tower’d along,
So the proud courser, victor of the prize,
To the near goal with double ardour flies.
Him, as he blazing shot across the field,
The careful eyes of Priam first beheld.
Not half so dreadful rises to the sight,[274]
Through the thick gloom of some tempestuous night,
Orion’s dog (the year when autumn weighs),
And o’er the feebler stars exerts his rays;
Terrific glory! for his burning breath
Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death.
So flamed his fiery mail. Then wept the sage:
He strikes his reverend head, now white with age;
He lifts his wither’d arms; obtests the skies;
He calls his much-loved son with feeble cries:
The son, resolved Achilles’ force to dare,
Full at the Scæan gates expects the war;
While the sad father on the rampart stands,
And thus adjures him with extended hands:
“Ah stay not, stay not! guardless and alone;
Hector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son!
Methinks already I behold thee slain,
And stretch’d beneath that fury of the plain.
Implacable Achilles! might’st thou be
To all the gods no dearer than to me!
Thee, vultures wild should scatter round the shore,
And bloody dogs grow fiercer from thy gore.
How many valiant sons I late enjoy’d,
Valiant in vain! by thy cursed arm destroy’d:
Or, worse than slaughtered, sold in distant isles
To shameful bondage, and unworthy toils.
Two, while I speak, my eyes in vain explore,
Two from one mother sprung, my Polydore,
And loved Lycaon; now perhaps no more!
Oh! if in yonder hostile camp they live,
What heaps of gold, what treasures would I give!
(Their grandsire’s wealth, by right of birth their own,
Consign’d his daughter with Lelegia’s throne:)
But if (which Heaven forbid) already lost,
All pale they wander on the Stygian coast;
What sorrows then must their sad mother know,
What anguish I? unutterable woe!
Yet less that anguish, less to her, to me,
Less to all Troy, if not deprived of thee.
Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall;
And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all!
Save thy dear life; or, if a soul so brave
Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save.
Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs;
While yet thy father feels the woes he bears,
Yet cursed with sense! a wretch, whom in his rage
(All trembling on the verge of helpless age)
Great Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain!
The bitter dregs of fortune’s cup to drain:
To fill with scenes of death his closing eyes,
And number all his days by miseries!
My heroes slain, my bridal bed o’erturn’d,
My daughters ravish’d, and my city burn’d,
My bleeding infants dash’d against the floor;
These I have yet to see, perhaps yet more!
Perhaps even I, reserved by angry fate,
The last sad relic of my ruin’d state,
(Dire pomp of sovereign wretchedness!) must fall,
And stain the pavement of my regal hall;
Where famish’d dogs, late guardians of my door,
Shall lick their mangled master’s spatter’d gore.
Yet for my sons I thank ye, gods! ’tis well;
Well have they perish’d, for in fight they fell.
Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best,
Struck through with wounds, all honest on the breast.
But when the fates, in fulness of their rage,
Spurn the hoar head of unresisting age,
In dust the reverend lineaments deform,
And pour to dogs the life-blood scarcely warm:
This, this is misery! the last, the worse,
That man can feel! man, fated to be cursed!”
He said, and acting what no words could say,
Rent from his head the silver locks away.
With him the mournful mother bears a part;
Yet all her sorrows turn not Hector’s heart.
The zone unbraced, her bosom she display’d;
And thus, fast-falling the salt tears, she said:
“Have mercy on me, O my son! revere
The words of age; attend a parent’s prayer!
If ever thee in these fond arms I press’d,
Or still’d thy infant clamours at this breast;
Ah do not thus our helpless years forego,
But, by our walls secured, repel the foe.
Against his rage if singly thou proceed,
Should’st thou, (but Heaven avert it!) should’st thou bleed,
Nor must thy corse lie honour’d on the bier,
Nor spouse, nor mother, grace thee with a tear!
Far from our pious rites those dear remains
Must feast the vultures on the naked plains.”
So they, while down their cheeks the torrents roll;
But fix’d remains the purpose of his soul;
Resolved he stands, and with a fiery glance
Expects the hero’s terrible advance.
So, roll’d up in his den, the swelling snake
Beholds the traveller approach the brake;
When fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins
Have gather’d half the poisons of the plains;
He burns, he stiffens with collected ire,
And his red eyeballs glare with living fire.
Beneath a turret, on his shield reclined,
He stood, and question’d thus his mighty mind:[275]
“Where lies my way? to enter in the wall?
Honour and shame the ungenerous thought recall:
Shall proud Polydamas before the gate
Proclaim, his counsels are obey’d too late,
Which timely follow’d but the former night,
What numbers had been saved by Hector’s flight?
That wise advice rejected with disdain,
I feel my folly in my people slain.
Methinks my suffering country’s voice I hear,
But most her worthless sons insult my ear,
On my rash courage charge the chance of war,
And blame those virtues which they cannot share.
No—if I e’er return, return I must
Glorious, my country’s terror laid in dust:
Or if I perish, let her see me fall
In field at least, and fighting for her wall.
And yet suppose these measures I forego,
Approach unarm’d, and parley with the foe,
The warrior-shield, the helm, and lance, lay down,
And treat on terms of peace to save the town:
The wife withheld, the treasure ill-detain’d
(Cause of the war, and grievance of the land)
With honourable justice to restore:
And add half Ilion’s yet remaining store,
Which Troy shall, sworn, produce; that injured Greece
May share our wealth, and leave our walls in peace.
But why this thought? Unarm’d if I should go,
What hope of mercy from this vengeful foe,
But woman-like to fall, and fall without a blow?
We greet not here, as man conversing man,
Met at an oak, or journeying o’er a plain;
No season now for calm familiar talk,
Like youths and maidens in an evening walk:
War is our business, but to whom is given
To die, or triumph, that, determine Heaven!”
Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh;
His dreadful plumage nodded from on high;
The Pelian javelin, in his better hand,
Shot trembling rays that glitter’d o’er the land;
And on his breast the beamy splendour shone,
Like Jove’s own lightning, or the rising sun.
As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise,
Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies.
He leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind:
Achilles follows like the winged wind.
Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies
(The swiftest racer of the liquid skies),
Just when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey,
Obliquely wheeling through the aerial way,
With open beak and shrilling cries he springs,
And aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings:
No less fore-right the rapid chase they held,
One urged by fury, one by fear impell’d:
Now circling round the walls their course maintain,
Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain;
Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad,
(A wider compass,) smoke along the road.
Next by Scamander’s double source they bound,
Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground;
This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise,
With exhalations steaming to the skies;
That the green banks in summer’s heat o’erflows,
Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows:
Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills,
Whose polish’d bed receives the falling rills;
Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm’d by Greece)
Wash’d their fair garments in the days of peace.[276]
By these they pass’d, one chasing, one in flight:
(The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might:)
Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play,
No vulgar victim must reward the day:
(Such as in races crown the speedy strife:)
The prize contended was great Hector’s life.
As when some hero’s funerals are decreed
In grateful honour of the mighty dead;
Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame
(Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame)
The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal,
And with them turns the raised spectator’s soul:
Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly.
The gazing gods lean forward from the sky;
To whom, while eager on the chase they look,
The sire of mortals and immortals spoke:
“Unworthy sight! the man beloved of heaven,
Behold, inglorious round yon city driven!
My heart partakes the generous Hector’s pain;
Hector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain,
Whose grateful fumes the gods received with joy,
From Ida’s summits, and the towers of Troy:
Now see him flying; to his fears resign’d,
And fate, and fierce Achilles, close behind.
Consult, ye powers! (’tis worthy your debate)
Whether to snatch him from impending fate,
Or let him bear, by stern Pelides slain,
(Good as he is) the lot imposed on man.”
Then Pallas thus: “Shall he whose vengeance forms
The forky bolt, and blackens heaven with storms,
Shall he prolong one Trojan’s forfeit breath?
A man, a mortal, pre-ordain’d to death!
And will no murmurs fill the courts above?
No gods indignant blame their partial Jove?”
“Go then (return’d the sire) without delay,
Exert thy will: I give the Fates their way.”
Swift at the mandate pleased Tritonia flies,
And stoops impetuous from the cleaving skies.
As through the forest, o’er the vale and lawn,
The well-breath’d beagle drives the flying fawn,
In vain he tries the covert of the brakes,
Or deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes;
Sure of the vapour in the tainted dews,
The certain hound his various maze pursues.
Thus step by step, where’er the Trojan wheel’d,
There swift Achilles compass’d round the field.
Oft as to reach the Dardan gates he bends,
And hopes the assistance of his pitying friends,
(Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below,
From the high turrets might oppress the foe,)
So oft Achilles turns him to the plain:
He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain.
As men in slumbers seem with speedy pace,
One to pursue, and one to lead the chase,
Their sinking limbs the fancied course forsake,
Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake:
No less the labouring heroes pant and strain:
While that but flies, and this pursues in vain.
What god, O muse, assisted Hector’s force
With fate itself so long to hold the course?
Phœbus it was; who, in his latest hour,
Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with power:
And great Achilles, lest some Greek’s advance
Should snatch the glory from his lifted lance,
Sign’d to the troops to yield his foe the way,
And leave untouch’d the honours of the day.
Jove lifts the golden balances, that show
The fates of mortal men, and things below:
Here each contending hero’s lot he tries,
And weighs, with equal hand, their destinies.
Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector’s fate;
Heavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weight.
Then Phœbus left him. Fierce Minerva flies
To stern Pelides, and triumphing, cries:
“O loved of Jove! this day our labours cease,
And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece.
Great Hector falls; that Hector famed so far,
Drunk with renown, insatiable of war,
Falls by thy hand, and mine! nor force, nor flight,
Shall more avail him, nor his god of light.
See, where in vain he supplicates above,
Roll’d at the feet of unrelenting Jove;
Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on,
And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun.”
Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind
Obey’d; and rested, on his lance reclined
While like Deiphobus the martial dame
(Her face, her gesture, and her arms the same),
In show an aid, by hapless Hector’s side
Approach’d, and greets him thus with voice belied:
“Too long, O Hector! have I borne the sight
Of this distress, and sorrow’d in thy flight:
It fits us now a noble stand to make,
And here, as brothers, equal fates partake.”
Then he: “O prince! allied in blood and fame,
Dearer than all that own a brother’s name;
Of all that Hecuba to Priam bore,
Long tried, long loved: much loved, but honoured more!
Since you, of all our numerous race alone
Defend my life, regardless of your own.”
Again the goddess: “Much my father’s prayer,
And much my mother’s, press’d me to forbear:
My friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay,
But stronger love impell’d, and I obey.
Come then, the glorious conflict let us try,
Let the steel sparkle, and the javelin fly;
Or let us stretch Achilles on the field,
Or to his arm our bloody trophies yield.”
Fraudful she said; then swiftly march’d before:
The Dardan hero shuns his foe no more.
Sternly they met. The silence Hector broke:
His dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke:
“Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view’d
Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued.
But now some god within me bids me try
Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die.
Yet on the verge of battle let us stay,
And for a moment’s space suspend the day;
Let Heaven’s high powers be call’d to arbitrate
The just conditions of this stern debate,
(Eternal witnesses of all below,
And faithful guardians of the treasured vow!)
To them I swear; if, victor in the strife,
Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life,
No vile dishonour shall thy corse pursue;
Stripp’d of its arms alone (the conqueror’s due)
The rest to Greece uninjured I’ll restore:
Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more.”
“Talk not of oaths (the dreadful chief replies,
While anger flash’d from his disdainful eyes),
Detested as thou art, and ought to be,
Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee:
Such pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine,
Such leagues as men and furious lions join,
To such I call the gods! one constant state
Of lasting rancour and eternal hate:
No thought but rage, and never-ceasing strife,
Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life.
Rouse then thy forces this important hour,
Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power.
No further subterfuge, no further chance;
’Tis Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance.
Each Grecian ghost, by thee deprived of breath,
Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death.”
He spoke, and launch’d his javelin at the foe;
But Hector shunn’d the meditated blow:
He stoop’d, while o’er his head the flying spear
Sang innocent, and spent its force in air.
Minerva watch’d it falling on the land,
Then drew, and gave to great Achilles’ hand,
Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy,
Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy.
“The life you boasted to that javelin given,
Prince! you have miss’d. My fate depends on Heaven,
To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown,
Or what must prove my fortune, or thy own.
Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind,
And with false terrors sink another’s mind.
But know, whatever fate I am to try,
By no dishonest wound shall Hector die.
I shall not fall a fugitive at least,
My soul shall bravely issue from my breast.
But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart
End all my country’s woes, deep buried in thy heart.”
The weapon flew, its course unerring held,
Unerring, but the heavenly shield repell’d
The mortal dart; resulting with a bound
From off the ringing orb, it struck the ground.
Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain,
Nor other lance, nor other hope remain;
He calls Deiphobus, demands a spear—
In vain, for no Deiphobus was there.
All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh;
“’Tis so—Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh!
I deem’d Deiphobus had heard my call,
But he secure lies guarded in the wall.
A god deceived me; Pallas, ’twas thy deed,
Death and black fate approach! ’tis I must bleed.
No refuge now, no succour from above,
Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove,
Propitious once, and kind! Then welcome fate!
’Tis true I perish, yet I perish great:
Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire,
Let future ages hear it, and admire!”
Fierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew,
And, all collected, on Achilles flew.
So Jove’s bold bird, high balanced in the air,
Stoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare.
Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares:
Before his breast the flaming shield he bears,
Refulgent orb! above his fourfold cone
The gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun.
Nodding at every step: (Vulcanian frame!)
And as he moved, his figure seem’d on flame.
As radiant Hesper shines with keener light,[277]
Far-beaming o’er the silver host of night,
When all the starry train emblaze the sphere:
So shone the point of great Achilles’ spear.
In his right hand he waves the weapon round,
Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound;
But the rich mail Patroclus lately wore
Securely cased the warrior’s body o’er.
One space at length he spies, to let in fate,
Where ’twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate
Gave entrance: through that penetrable part
Furious he drove the well-directed dart:
Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power
Of speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour.
Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies,
While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries:
“At last is Hector stretch’d upon the plain,
Who fear’d no vengeance for Patroclus slain:
Then, prince! you should have fear’d, what now you feel;
Achilles absent was Achilles still:
Yet a short space the great avenger stayed,
Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid.
Peaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn’d,
For ever honour’d, and for ever mourn’d:
While cast to all the rage of hostile power,
Thee birds shall mangle, and the gods devour.”
Then Hector, fainting at the approach of death:
“By thy own soul! by those who gave thee breath!
By all the sacred prevalence of prayer;
Ah, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear!
The common rites of sepulture bestow,
To soothe a father’s and a mother’s woe:
Let their large gifts procure an urn at least,
And Hector’s ashes in his country rest.”
“No, wretch accursed! relentless he replies;
(Flames, as he spoke, shot flashing from his eyes;)
Not those who gave me breath should bid me spare,
Nor all the sacred prevalence of prayer.
Could I myself the bloody banquet join!
No—to the dogs that carcase I resign.
Should Troy, to bribe me, bring forth all her store,
And giving thousands, offer thousands more;
Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame,
Drain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame:
Their Hector on the pile they should not see,
Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee.”
Then thus the chief his dying accents drew:
“Thy rage, implacable! too well I knew:
The Furies that relentless breast have steel’d,
And cursed thee with a heart that cannot yield.
Yet think, a day will come, when fate’s decree
And angry gods shall wreak this wrong on thee;
Phœbus and Paris shall avenge my fate,
And stretch thee here before the Scæan gate.”[278]
He ceased. The Fates suppress’d his labouring breath,
And his eyes stiffen’d at the hand of death;
To the dark realm the spirit wings its way,
(The manly body left a load of clay,)
And plaintive glides along the dreary coast,
A naked, wandering, melancholy ghost!
Achilles, musing as he roll’d his eyes
O’er the dead hero, thus unheard, replies:
“Die thou the first! When Jove and heaven ordain,
I follow thee”—He said, and stripp’d the slain.
Then forcing backward from the gaping wound
The reeking javelin, cast it on the ground.
The thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes
His manly beauty and superior size;
While some, ignobler, the great dead deface
With wounds ungenerous, or with taunts disgrace:
“How changed that Hector, who like Jove of late
Sent lightning on our fleets, and scatter’d fate!”
High o’er the slain the great Achilles stands,
Begirt with heroes and surrounding bands;
And thus aloud, while all the host attends:
“Princes and leaders! countrymen and friends!
Since now at length the powerful will of heaven
The dire destroyer to our arm has given,
Is not Troy fallen already? Haste, ye powers!
See, if already their deserted towers
Are left unmann’d; or if they yet retain
The souls of heroes, their great Hector slain.
But what is Troy, or glory what to me?
Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee,
Divine Patroclus! Death hath seal’d his eyes;
Unwept, unhonour’d, uninterr’d he lies!
Can his dear image from my soul depart,
Long as the vital spirit moves my heart?
If in the melancholy shades below,
The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow,
Yet mine shall sacred last; mine, undecay’d,
Burn on through death, and animate my shade.
Meanwhile, ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring
The corpse of Hector, and your pæans sing.
Be this the song, slow-moving toward the shore,
“Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more.””
Then his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred;
(Unworthy of himself, and of the dead;)
The nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound
With thongs inserted through the double wound;
These fix’d up high behind the rolling wain,
His graceful head was trail’d along the plain.
Proud on his car the insulting victor stood,
And bore aloft his arms, distilling blood.
He smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies;
The sudden clouds of circling dust arise.
Now lost is all that formidable air;
The face divine, and long-descending hair,
Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand;
Deform’d, dishonour’d, in his native land,
Given to the rage of an insulting throng,
And, in his parents’ sight, now dragg’d along!
The mother first beheld with sad survey;
She rent her tresses, venerable grey,
And cast, far off, the regal veils away.
With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans,
While the sad father answers groans with groans,
Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o’erflow,
And the whole city wears one face of woe:
No less than if the rage of hostile fires,
From her foundations curling to her spires,
O’er the proud citadel at length should rise,
And the last blaze send Ilion to the skies.
The wretched monarch of the falling state,
Distracted, presses to the Dardan gate.
Scarce the whole people stop his desperate course,
While strong affliction gives the feeble force:
Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.
At length he roll’d in dust, and thus begun,
Imploring all, and naming one by one:
“Ah! let me, let me go where sorrow calls;
I, only I, will issue from your walls
(Guide or companion, friends! I ask ye none),
And bow before the murderer of my son.
My grief perhaps his pity may engage;
Perhaps at least he may respect my age.
He has a father too; a man like me;
One, not exempt from age and misery
(Vigorous no more, as when his young embrace
Begot this pest of me, and all my race).
How many valiant sons, in early bloom,
Has that cursed hand sent headlong to the tomb!
Thee, Hector! last: thy loss (divinely brave)
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
O had thy gentle spirit pass’d in peace,
The son expiring in the sire’s embrace,
While both thy parents wept the fatal hour,
And, bending o’er thee, mix’d the tender shower!
Some comfort that had been, some sad relief,
To melt in full satiety of grief!”
Thus wail’d the father, grovelling on the ground,
And all the eyes of Ilion stream’d around.
Amidst her matrons Hecuba appears:
(A mourning princess, and a train in tears;)
“Ah why has Heaven prolong’d this hated breath,
Patient of horrors, to behold thy death?
O Hector! late thy parents’ pride and joy,
The boast of nations! the defence of Troy!
To whom her safety and her fame she owed;
Her chief, her hero, and almost her god!
O fatal change! become in one sad day
A senseless corse! inanimated clay!”
But not as yet the fatal news had spread
To fair Andromache, of Hector dead;
As yet no messenger had told his fate,
Not e’en his stay without the Scæan gate.
Far in the close recesses of the dome,
Pensive she plied the melancholy loom;
A growing work employ’d her secret hours,
Confusedly gay with intermingled flowers.
Her fair-haired handmaids heat the brazen urn,
The bath preparing for her lord’s return
In vain; alas! her lord returns no more;
Unbathed he lies, and bleeds along the shore!
Now from the walls the clamours reach her ear,
And all her members shake with sudden fear:
Forth from her ivory hand the shuttle falls,
And thus, astonish’d, to her maids she calls:
[Illustration: ] THE BATH
“Ah follow me! (she cried) what plaintive noise
Invades my ear? ’Tis sure my mother’s voice.
My faltering knees their trembling frame desert,
A pulse unusual flutters at my heart;
Some strange disaster, some reverse of fate
(Ye gods avert it!) threats the Trojan state.
Far be the omen which my thoughts suggest!
But much I fear my Hector’s dauntless breast
Confronts Achilles; chased along the plain,
Shut from our walls! I fear, I fear him slain!
Safe in the crowd he ever scorn’d to wait,
And sought for glory in the jaws of fate:
Perhaps that noble heat has cost his breath,
Now quench’d for ever in the arms of death.”
She spoke: and furious, with distracted pace,
Fears in her heart, and anguish in her face,
Flies through the dome (the maids her steps pursue),
And mounts the walls, and sends around her view.
Too soon her eyes the killing object found,
The godlike Hector dragg’d along the ground.
A sudden darkness shades her swimming eyes:
She faints, she falls; her breath, her colour flies.
Her hair’s fair ornaments, the braids that bound,
The net that held them, and the wreath that crown’d,
The veil and diadem flew far away
(The gift of Venus on her bridal day).
Around a train of weeping sisters stands,
To raise her sinking with assistant hands.
Scarce from the verge of death recall’d, again
She faints, or but recovers to complain.
[Illustration: ] ANDROMACHE FAINTING ON THE WALL
“O wretched husband of a wretched wife!
Born with one fate, to one unhappy life!
For sure one star its baneful beam display’d
On Priam’s roof, and Hippoplacia’s shade.
From different parents, different climes we came.
At different periods, yet our fate the same!
Why was my birth to great Aëtion owed,
And why was all that tender care bestow’d?
Would I had never been!—O thou, the ghost
Of my dead husband! miserably lost!
Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone!
And I abandon’d, desolate, alone!
An only child, once comfort of my pains,
Sad product now of hapless love, remains!
No more to smile upon his sire; no friend
To help him now! no father to defend!
For should he ’scape the sword, the common doom,
What wrongs attend him, and what griefs to come!
Even from his own paternal roof expell’d,
Some stranger ploughs his patrimonial field.
The day, that to the shades the father sends,
Robs the sad orphan of his father’s friends:
He, wretched outcast of mankind! appears
For ever sad, for ever bathed in tears;
Amongst the happy, unregarded, he
Hangs on the robe, or trembles at the knee,
While those his father’s former bounty fed
Nor reach the goblet, nor divide the bread:
The kindest but his present wants allay,
To leave him wretched the succeeding day.
Frugal compassion! Heedless, they who boast
Both parents still, nor feel what he has lost,
Shall cry, ‘Begone! thy father feasts not here:’
The wretch obeys, retiring with a tear.
Thus wretched, thus retiring all in tears,
To my sad soul Astyanax appears!
Forced by repeated insults to return,
And to his widow’d mother vainly mourn:
He, who, with tender delicacy bred,
With princes sported, and on dainties fed,
And when still evening gave him up to rest,
Sunk soft in down upon the nurse’s breast,
Must—ah what must he not? Whom Ilion calls
Astyanax, from her well-guarded walls,[279]
Is now that name no more, unhappy boy!
Since now no more thy father guards his Troy.
But thou, my Hector, liest exposed in air,
Far from thy parents’ and thy consort’s care;
Whose hand in vain, directed by her love,
The martial scarf and robe of triumph wove.
Now to devouring flames be these a prey,
Useless to thee, from this accursed day!
Yet let the sacrifice at least be paid,
An honour to the living, not the dead!”
So spake the mournful dame: her matrons hear, Sigh back her sighs, and
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Intelligence Amplifier™ Analysis
The Road of Righteous Rage - When Justice Becomes Cruelty
Legitimate anger and justified pain spiral into cruel behavior that transforms the victim into the aggressor.
Why This Matters
Connect literature to life
This chapter teaches how to distinguish between legitimate grief and destructive obsession before you cross the point of no return.
Practice This Today
This week, notice when your hurt feelings start demanding more and more satisfaction—that's the moment to pause and ask what you're really trying to heal.
Now let's explore the literary elements.
Terms to Know
Single Combat
A formal fight between two warriors representing their entire armies, where the outcome often decides the fate of the larger conflict. In ancient warfare, this was seen as a way to minimize casualties while still determining victory through divine will and individual prowess.
Modern Usage:
We see this in sports playoffs where one game determines everything, or in legal battles where two lawyers duke it out to represent their clients' interests.
Divine Intervention
When gods directly interfere in human affairs, often disguising themselves or manipulating events to favor one side. In The Iliad, gods regularly take sides and influence battles, reflecting the belief that human fate is controlled by higher powers.
Modern Usage:
We invoke this concept when we talk about 'acts of God' in insurance claims, or when athletes thank God for their victories, suggesting forces beyond human control shape our outcomes.
Honor Culture
A social system where reputation and respect are more valuable than life itself. Warriors like Hector must choose between safety and maintaining their standing in the community, even when it means certain death.
Modern Usage:
We see this in gang culture, military traditions, or any situation where 'saving face' or protecting reputation becomes more important than personal safety.
Hubris
Excessive pride or arrogance that leads to downfall, especially when humans think they can challenge the gods or fate. Achilles displays this when he desecrates Hector's body, going beyond what even war customs allow.
Modern Usage:
We use this to describe politicians or CEOs whose arrogance leads to scandals, or anyone whose overconfidence causes them to make catastrophic mistakes.
Lamentation
Ritualized mourning involving wailing, tearing of clothes, and public displays of grief. In ancient cultures, this was how communities processed loss and honored the dead, especially for important figures.
Modern Usage:
We see this in funeral traditions, memorial services, or how communities publicly mourn after tragedies like school shootings or natural disasters.
Fate vs. Free Will
The tension between predetermined destiny and personal choice. Hector knows he will likely die but chooses to fight anyway, raising questions about whether we control our lives or simply play out a script.
Modern Usage:
This appears in discussions about whether people can escape poverty, addiction, or family patterns - how much is determined by circumstances versus personal decisions.
Characters in This Chapter
Hector
Tragic hero
Troy's greatest defender who initially flees from Achilles but then makes his final stand. His death represents the fall of Troy itself, and his struggle between duty and survival makes him deeply human despite his heroic status.
Modern Equivalent:
The good cop who stays to face the corrupt system even when everyone tells him to quit
Achilles
Vengeful warrior
Driven by rage over his friend Patroclus's death, he becomes almost inhuman in his fury. His desecration of Hector's body shows how grief can turn even heroes into monsters.
Modern Equivalent:
The grieving parent who becomes obsessed with revenge after losing their child
Priam
Desperate father
The king of Troy who begs his son not to fight, knowing it means death. His anguish watching Hector's body being dragged represents every parent's worst nightmare.
Modern Equivalent:
The father watching his son deploy to a war zone, powerless to protect him
Andromache
Grieving widow
Hector's wife who faints upon seeing her husband's corpse being desecrated. Her reaction shows how war's consequences extend far beyond the battlefield to destroy families.
Modern Equivalent:
The military spouse getting the knock on the door with news of their partner's death
Athena
Divine manipulator
Disguises herself as Hector's brother to trick him into fighting, ensuring his death. She represents how even divine forces can be deceptive and how we sometimes get bad advice from trusted sources.
Modern Equivalent:
The fake friend who sets you up to fail by giving terrible advice disguised as support
Key Quotes & Analysis
"There is no running away from Zeus's son; one must stand and fight, or be killed where one stands."
Context: Hector steels himself to face Achilles after initially fleeing
This shows Hector accepting his fate while maintaining his dignity. He realizes that some confrontations are inevitable, and running only delays the outcome while destroying your honor.
In Today's Words:
Sometimes you can't avoid the hard conversation - you either face it head-on or it destroys you anyway.
"My doom has come upon me; let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter."
Context: Hector's final resolve before facing Achilles in combat
Even facing certain death, Hector wants his end to have meaning. This reflects the human need to make our lives matter, especially when we know our time is limited.
In Today's Words:
If I'm going down, I'm going down swinging - I want people to remember I didn't give up.
"Dogs and vultures shall eat you utterly up."
Context: Achilles refuses Hector's dying request for proper burial
This shows how grief and rage can make us cruel beyond reason. Achilles' refusal to honor basic human dignity reveals how pain can turn us into monsters.
In Today's Words:
I hate you so much I want to erase every trace that you ever existed.
Thematic Threads
Identity
In This Chapter
Achilles' identity as a hero becomes corrupted by his need for revenge, turning him into something monstrous
Development
Earlier chapters showed identity through social roles; now we see how trauma can completely reshape who we are
In Your Life:
You might lose yourself in anger after being betrayed, becoming someone your friends don't recognize
Class
In This Chapter
The aristocratic code of honor becomes a justification for inhuman cruelty toward a fellow warrior
Development
Builds on earlier themes of warrior culture, now showing how class privilege can enable unchecked brutality
In Your Life:
You might use your position or status to justify treating someone beneath you with unnecessary harshness
Human Relationships
In This Chapter
Achilles' love for Patroclus becomes so consuming that it destroys his capacity for basic human decency
Development
Continues the exploration of how deep bonds can become destructive when loss enters the equation
In Your Life:
You might hurt innocent people when someone you love has been harmed, spreading the damage outward
Social Expectations
In This Chapter
Hector's parents and community expect him to fight honorably, even when survival would be wiser
Development
Expands on earlier themes about duty versus self-preservation, showing the deadly cost of social pressure
In Your Life:
You might stay in a harmful situation because others expect you to 'tough it out' or maintain appearances
Personal Growth
In This Chapter
Both heroes are trapped by their past selves—Hector by his reputation, Achilles by his grief
Development
Shows how growth becomes impossible when we're locked into patterns of behavior by trauma or expectation
In Your Life:
You might find yourself unable to move forward because you're too invested in who you used to be or what happened to you
You now have the context. Time to form your own thoughts.
Discussion Questions
- 1
What specific actions does Achilles take after killing Hector, and how do the Trojans react?
analysis • surface - 2
Why does Hector initially run from Achilles, and what finally convinces him to turn and fight?
analysis • medium - 3
Where have you seen someone's justified anger spiral into behavior that went too far? What happened?
application • medium - 4
When you're deeply hurt or angry, what strategies help you respond rather than just react?
application • deep - 5
What does this chapter reveal about how grief and rage can change us into people we don't recognize?
reflection • deep
Critical Thinking Exercise
Track Your Anger Escalation
Think of a recent situation where you felt genuinely wronged or hurt. Map out how your feelings evolved from the initial hurt to your eventual response. Write down each stage: what you felt first, what thoughts followed, what actions you considered, and what you actually did. Notice where the turning points were.
Consider:
- •Was there a moment when your justified anger started becoming something else?
- •What would have happened if you had stopped at the first or second stage?
- •How did your response affect others who weren't involved in the original conflict?
Journaling Prompt
Write about a time when you had to choose between getting revenge and protecting your own peace. What helped you decide? What would you do differently now?
Coming Up Next...
Chapter 23: Games of Honor and Glory
What lies ahead teaches us rituals help communities process grief and transition, and shows us healthy competition can unite people after conflict. These patterns appear in literature and life alike.
