Iliad

Homer

• Éditeur: HarperTorch
• Année: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781443440820
• Sujet: Literature
• Sous-sujet: Classics

It is the tenth year of the Trojan War. The Greek allies have laid siege to the city of Troy, but the leaders of the Greek factions are beginning to turn on one another. When Agamemnon, the king of Mycenae, angers Achilles, leader of the Myrmidons, the gods begin to intervene more directly in the conflict, and the war becomes even more dangerous for the heroes of Greece and Troy.

The Iliad is attributed to the poet Homer and is the earliest surviving work of Western literature. Composed sometime around the eighth century BC, the ancient Greek poem has since been translated into many languages and serves as an important source of information on ancient Greek culture and mythology. The story of the Trojan War was adapted for the 2004 film Troy, which starred Brad Pitt and Eric Bana.

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Book V

Argument
The Acts of Diomed

Diomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day’s battle. Pandarus wounds him with an arrow, but the goddess cures him, enables him to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits him from contending with any of the former, excepting Venus. Æneas joins Pandarus to oppose him; Pandarus is killed, and Æneas in great danger but for the assistance of Venus; who, as she is removing her son from the fight, is wounded on the hand by Diomed. Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and at length carries off Æneas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of Pergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a stand. In the meantime Æneas is restored to the field, and they overthrow several of the Greeks; among the rest Tlepolemus is slain by Sarpedon. Juno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the latter incites Diomed to go against that god; he wounds him, and sends him groaning to heaven.

The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same as in the former.

But Pallas now Tydides’ soul inspires,

Fills with her force, and warms with all her fires,

Above the Greeks his deathless fame to raise,

And crown her hero with distinguish’d praise.

High on his helm celestial lightnings play,

His beamy shield emits a living ray;

The unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies,

Like the red star that fires the autumnal skies,

When fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight,

And, bathed in ocean, shoots a keener light.

Such glories Pallas on the chief bestow’d,

Such, from his arms, the fierce effulgence flow’d:

Onward she drives him, furious to engage,

Where the fight burns, and where the thickest rage.

The sons of Dares first the combat sought,

A wealthy priest, but rich without a fault;

In Vulcan’s fane the father’s days were led,

The sons to toils of glorious battle bred;

These singled from their troops the fight maintain,

These, from their steeds, Tydides on the plain.

Fierce for renown the brother-chiefs draw near,

And first bold Phegeus cast his sounding spear,

Which o’er the warrior’s shoulder took its course,

And spent in empty air its erring force.

Not so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain,

But pierced his breast, and stretch’d him on the plain.

Seized with unusual fear, Idaeus fled,

Left the rich chariot, and his brother dead.

And had not Vulcan lent celestial aid,

He too had sunk to death’s eternal shade;

But in a smoky cloud the god of fire

Preserved the son, in pity to the sire.

The steeds and chariot, to the navy led,

Increased the spoils of gallant Diomed.

Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew,

Or slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view;

When by the blood-stain’d hand Minerva press’d

The god of battles, and this speech address’d:

“Stern power of war! by whom the mighty fall,

Who bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall!

Let the brave chiefs their glorious toils divide;

And whose the conquest, mighty Jove decide:

While we from interdicted fields retire,

Nor tempt the wrath of heaven’s avenging sire.”

Her words allay the impetuous warrior’s heat,

The god of arms and martial maid retreat;

Removed from fight, on Xanthus’ flowery bounds

They sat, and listen’d to the dying sounds.

Meantime, the Greeks the Trojan race pursue,

And some bold chieftain every leader slew:

First Odius falls, and bites the bloody sand,

His death ennobled by Atrides’ hand:

As he to flight his wheeling car address’d,

The speedy javelin drove from back to breast.

In dust the mighty Halizonian lay,

His arms resound, the spirit wings its way.

Thy fate was next, O Phaestus! doom’d to feel

The great Idomeneus’ protended steel;

Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy)

From fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy.

The Cretan javelin reach’d him from afar,

And pierced his shoulder as he mounts his car;

Back from the car he tumbles to the ground,

And everlasting shades his eyes surround.

Then died Scamandrius, expert in the chase,

In woods and wilds to wound the savage race;

Diana taught him all her sylvan arts,

To bend the bow, and aim unerring darts:

But vainly here Diana’s arts he tries,

The fatal lance arrests him as he flies;

From Menelaus’ arm the weapon sent,

Through his broad back and heaving bosom went:

Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound,

His brazen armour rings against the ground.

Next artful Phereclus untimely fell;

Bold Merion sent him to the realms of hell.

Thy father’s skill, O Phereclus! was thine,

The graceful fabric and the fair design;

For loved by Pallas, Pallas did impart

To him the shipwright’s and the builder’s art.

Beneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose,

The fatal cause of all his country’s woes;

But he, the mystic will of heaven unknown,

Nor saw his country’s peril, nor his own.

The hapless artist, while confused he fled,

The spear of Merion mingled with the dead.

Through his right hip, with forceful fury cast,

Between the bladder and the bone it pass’d;

Prone on his knees he falls with fruitless cries,

And death in lasting slumber seals his eyes.

From Meges’ force the swift Pedaeus fled,

Antenor’s offspring from a foreign bed,

Whose generous spouse, Theanor, heavenly fair,

Nursed the young stranger with a mother’s care.

How vain those cares! when Meges in the rear

Full in his nape infix’d...