The Fall of Troy (Barnes & Noble Digital Library)

By Quintus of Smyrna and Geoffrey W. Bakewell

This edition includes a modern introduction and a list of suggested further reading.  The Iliad ends in a cliffhanger. People in antiquity wanted to know exactly what had happened after the funeral of "Hector the breaker of horses" and before the Greeks returned home in triumph. Quintus of Smyrna undertook to tell the story anew in The Fall of Troy.

Reinforcements bring hope to the beleaguered city of Troy, even as new champions arise for the besiegers. Amid the ferocity of the ensuing battles more than physical survival is at stake. The very definition of human heroism hangs in the balance. When the Greeks climb down from the wooden horse and fire the city, the flames illuminate something truly timeless: what gives meaning to mortal life within the constraints set by Fate and the divine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barnes & Noble
• Release date: Mar 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9781411467996

Book preview

INTRODUCTION

THE FALL OF TROY IS AN EPIC POEM ABOUT THE DESTRUCTION OF A CITY. Made famous by Homer and buried by the passage of time, Troy was rediscovered in the 1860s and 70s by the pioneering archaeologists Frank Calvert and Heinrich Schliemann. As their excavations near Hisarlik, Turkey, revealed layers of a citadel once consumed by fire, the modern world awoke to an interest that had long preoccupied the ancient. What had become of the civilization of King Priam? The Iliad, the most authoritative literary source, ends in a cliffhanger. With its most famous defender dead, Troy itself gamely fights on. People in antiquity wanted to know exactly what had happened after the funeral of Hector the breaker of horses and before the Greeks returned home in triumph. At first this need was met by a series of poems known as the Epic Cycle. By the time of the later Roman Empire these works had faded from general knowledge, and Quintus of Smyrna undertook to tell the story anew. Reinforcements bring hope to the beleaguered city of Troy, even as new champions arise for the besiegers. Amid the ferocity of the ensuing battles more than physical survival is at stake. The very definition of human heroism hangs in the balance. When the Greeks climb down from the wooden horse and fire the city, the flames illuminate something truly timeless: What gives meaning to mortal life within the constraints set by Fate and the divine.

Very little is known about Quintus. Passages from The Fall of Troy suggest he was a native of Asia Minor who wrote toward the end of the third century CE. In book 12 he describes himself as a youthful shepherd. The reality was likely more complex; he may well have been a teacher with students for ‘sheep.’ His invocation of the Muses shows that Quintus viewed himself as the ambitious successor of Homer, Hesiod, and other poets whose literary challenges and accomplishments were enormous. Help from these goddesses of song was thus indispensable, and elevated a man far above his mortal peers. Quintus’ embrace of this pagan tradition is all the more interesting given his family circumstances. He likely had a son Dorotheus who became a Christian priest and was put to death during the persecutions of the emperor Diocletian.

To understand the magnitude of Quintus’ achievement, consider the task he set himself. Emulating Homer meant that every line of The Fall of Troy had to be written in archaic Greek verse of a sort known as dactylic hexameter. This regular alternation of long and short syllables (as measured by the length of their vowels) limited the poet’s vocabulary and complicated his syntax. Nor did Quintus have a free hand in choosing his theme. Unlike Homer, he could not shape a unified topic like the wrath of Achilles or Odysseus of many turns to suit his purposes. The basic outlines and events of his story had been set by his predecessors centuries ago and could not be omitted or drastically altered. His solution was to write what we might term an episodic (or chronological) epic.

The Fall of Troy begins with the arrival of a pair of unusual Trojan allies: a woman (the Amazon queen Penthesilea) and a black man (Memnon, from Ethiopia). These two are in turn slain by Achilles, who does not long savor his victory. He is shot by Apollo, burned and buried by the Greeks, and honored with funeral games. Ajax and Odysseus soon fight over his armor; Ajax loses and commits suicide. Thereafter Paris, the Trojan who brought Helen to Troy, dies in battle. Unable to capitalize on their temporary advantage, the Greeks send emissaries to fetch unlikely reinforcements, Achilles’ young son Neoptolemus and the crippled Philoctetes. Despite the valiant exploits of these two, the Greeks remain stymied until they turn from force to guile. On the advice of Odysseus, they build the infamous wooden horse, and the sack of the city follows. Helen is reunited with her husband Menelaus and the Greeks set sail homeward, some to happiness and others to grief.

The sheer diversity of his material required Quintus to draw on a wide variety of sources. The most important of these were Greek: the poems of Homer and Hesiod; Jason and the Argonauts, by Apollonius of Rhodes; and the tragedies of Sophocles (Ajax, Philoctetes) and Eurip ides (Hecuba, Suppliant Women). He also relied on summaries of ancient mythological handbooks (the Library of Apollodorus and the Chrestomathia of Proclus). He may have made use of Latin literature as well, especially epic (Virgil’s Aeneid and Ovid’s Metamorphoses) and Senecan tragedy (The Trojan Women). Quintus’ lasting achievement was to link a series of self-contained, individual episodes within an elegant framework organized by repetition and symmetry, contrast and chiasmus (ABBA order). He also relied on traditional epic devices such as ring composition, formulaic epithets, similes, and foreshadowing to smooth out any remaining disparities. The result is a brilliant mosaic which is at once an accomplished imitation of Quintus’ Homeric models and a literary success in its own right.

The most striking feature of The Fall of Troy is its ability to innovate successfully while remaining faithful to the complex traditions of ancient epic. Quintus’ quiet originality shows up consistently in ways both large and small. Consider the role of the gods. As in Homer, they debate on Mt. Olympus, back the Greeks or Trojans, whisk their mortal favorites to safety under the veil of cloud, and even take part in the fighting. Yet Quintus’ Zeus is distinctly un-Homeric in that his authority is generally immune to challenge. Once he makes his displeasure or desires known, other immortals like Dawn, Ares, and Athena swiftly fall into line. Moreover, even the great Father of gods and men is not himself a totally free agent, because to Fate the might of Zeus must bow. Many scholars have linked Quintus’ concept of an all-powerful Fate to the influence of Stoicism. Indeed, The Fall of Troy is filled with the moralizing observations known in antiquity as sententiae. Some of these are uttered by the characters, others by the narrator. Taken together, they demonstrate Quintus’ familiarity with both contemporary philosophical thought and the rhetorical commonplaces of the time. Similarly, Nestor’s supportive speech to Podalirius, whose brother has been slain, bears the strong imprint of the Roman philosopher Seneca’s Consolation to Marcia.

The Fall of Troy’s treatment of its characters is likewise innovative. Quintus has a clear tendency to idealize his most important heroes. For instance, when the Greeks compete for Achilles’ armor, the slow wittedness of Ajax, the duplicity of Odysseus, and the pettiness of Agamemnon familiar from other accounts are all substantially toned down. Quintus’ attention to more minor characters is also telling. He is keenly aware of the sufferings which the war brings to people in general, combatants and non-combatants alike. And some of the poem’s most important moments are brought into focus by otherwise unimportant figures. As Troy begins to totter, it is an unnamed sailor at sea who spots the flames and reads in them the sign of the times: For strong Fate oversees all works of men,/ And the renownless and obscure to fame/ She raises, and brings low the exalted ones./ Oft out of good is evil brought, and good/ From evil, mid the travail and change of life. One of the poem’s strengths is to have taken the heroic world and linked it to that of Everyman in a way that elevates the latter without sullying the former.

The originality of The Fall of Troy is also apparent at the level of individual detail. At the beginning of book 5 Quintus describes the shield made for Achilles by the god Hephaestus. This passage is indebted to other ecphraseis (lengthy descriptions of works of art) contained elsewhere in ancient epic. The Iliad, for instance, contains a depiction of the very same shield. Quintus’ shield is similar to Homer’s in that both contrast two very different places, a city of war and a city of peace. But Quintus has made two significant changes within this framework. First, he has placed at the very center of the shield a steep mountain where Virtue sits enthroned upon a palm tree and reaches toward heaven: All round her, paths broken by many rocks/ Thwarted the climbers’ feet; by those steep tracks/ Daunted ye saw returning many folk:/ Few won by sweat of toil the sacred height. Byre notes that this image clearly derives from the long tradition in which the alternative courses of human life are symbolized by paths leading to, or over which one is lead [sic] by, personifications representing good and evil. Unlike Homer, Quintus does not stress the universality of humanity, whereby all are subject to the fortunes of war and share in the fruits of peace. Instead, he offers a moral allegory emphasizing the differences among us: The paths to Virtue are steep, and few make it to the top. Moreover, Virtue (or, differently translated, Excellence) is not, as so often in Homer, a function of noble birth or divine favor. It is accessible to all, comes at the price of hard labor, and is rewarded in the afterlife with ease and comfort

The second major change to Achilles’ shield is in the marriages it depicts. In Homer, several unnamed brides are led through a city with torchlight and song, while Quintus shows preparations for a specific match, that of Peleus and Thetis. In this way he establishes a direct thematic connection which is central to much of the sorrow in The Fall of Troy. First of all, Thetis frequently regrets her own wedding, which leads to the birth of Achilles. Achilles in turn uses the shield while slaying Trojans. After his demise, it becomes a source of strife among the Greeks and leads to Ajax’ death. Finally, the shield protects Achilles’ son Neoptolemus as he cuts down King Priam and sacks Troy. Thus in Quintus’ hands the ecphrasis becomes a powerful means of linking shield and story.

Quintus’ poem does more than innovate within the epic tradition; it also reflects his own cultural circumstances. Several sections of The Fall of Troy touch on important concerns of the day such as the observation and treatment of disease. Book 5 describes in agonizing detail the stages of Ajax’ madness, book 12 those of Laocoon’s blindness. Elsewhere wounds are bled with leeches and bandaged with a variety of salves. Quintus’ attention to anatomical detail reaches its height in the battle scenes of the later books. In macabre moments reminiscent of Lucan, a severed head rolls away while straining to speak, and Hellus’ arm, shorn from its body, convulsively brandishes its spear. In a lighter vein, several references suggest that the author was fond of a recent technical manual on fishing, Oppian’s Halieutica. The most topical section of The Fall of Troy occurs in book 4. Here Quintus alters the games honoring the dead Achilles to reflect the order and nature of contests in his own day. Like all successful literary works, the poem is not only a product of an artistic tradition, but of a particular time and place as well.

The Fall of Troy was a popular success, and rapidly became the standard supplement to Homer. Manuscripts of the poem were recopied and preserved throughout late antiquity and the medieval period, especially in the Byzantine East. One such manuscript was eventually discovered by Cardinal Bessarion in the monastery of St. Nicholas of Casoli near Otranto in Italy shortly after 1453. This find reintroduced Quintus to the West, and led to many editions and translations of his work. The Fall of Troy had an impact on several European writers, including Alfred Lord Tennyson, whose 1833 poem Oenone explores the situation of Paris’ first wife, jilted in favor of Helen. Struck by an arrow in battle, Paris had begged Oenone to save him with her healing arts. She had refused, and he had crawled off to die. Tennyson focuses on Oenone’s subsequent remorse as she travels to Mt. Ida to fling herself atop her faithless husband’s funeral pyre. The English translation printed here is that of Arthur Sanders Way, which was first published in 1913. The most authoritative Greek text of The Fall of Troy is now that of Vian.

Quintus too-often suffers by comparison with Homer. Yet if we want to take the true measure of his achievement, we need to look beyond the shadow cast by his gigantic predecessor. Shaped by modernism and postmodernism, we should feel a particular empathy for the shepherd of Smyrna and the difficulties he faced in confronting and appropriating a daunting literary legacy. The Fall of Troy stands out in this regard, and not simply as a sturdy link in the great chain of ancient epics. In its capacity for unassuming innovation and its fidelity to its own cultural roots, the poem is an unqualified literary success.

Geoffrey W. Bakewell holds a Ph.D. in Classical Philology from Brown University and is the Michael W. Barry Professor at Creighton University, where he directs the Honors Program and teaches in the Department of Classical and Near Eastern Studies. His publications include works on ancient Greek history, literature, and philosophy.

BOOK ONE

HOW DIED FOR TROY THE QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS, PENTHESILEIA

WHEN GODLIKE HECTOR BY PELEIDES SLAIN

Passed, and the pyre had ravined up his flesh,

And earth had veiled his bones, the Trojans then

Tarried in Priam’s city, sore afraid

Before the might of stout-heart Aeacus’ son:

As kine they were, that midst the copses shrink

From faring forth to meet a lion grim,

But in dense thickets terror-huddled cower;

So in their fortress shivered these to see

That mighty man. Of those already dead

They thought—of all whose lives he reft away

As by Scamander’s outfall on he rushed,

And all that in mid-flight to that high wall

He slew, how he quelled Hector, how he haled

His corse round Troy; yea, and of all beside

Laid low by him since that first day whereon

O’er restless seas he brought the Trojans doom.

Ay, all these they remembered, while they stayed

Thus in their town, and o’er them anguished grief

Hovered dark-winged, as though that very day

All Troy with shrieks were crumbling down in fire.

Then from Thermodon, from broad-sweeping streams,

Came, clothed upon with beauty of Goddesses,

Penthesileia—came athirst indeed

For groan-resounding battle, but yet more

Fleeing abhorred reproach and evil fame,

Lest they of her own folk should rail on her

Because of her own sister’s death, for whom

Ever her sorrows waxed, Hippolytè,

Whom she had struck dead with her mighty spear,

Not of her will—’twas at a stag she hurled.

So came she to the far-famed land of Troy.

Yea, and her warrior spirit pricked her on,

Of murder’s dread pollution thus to cleanse

Her soul, and with such sacrifice to appease

The Awful Ones, the Erinnyes, who in wrath

For her slain sister straightway haunted her

Unseen: for ever round the sinner’s steps

They hover; none may ’scape those Goddesses.

And with her followed twelve beside, each one

A princess, hot for war and battle grim,

Far-famous each, yet handmaids unto her:

Penthesileia far outshone them all.

As when in the broad sky amidst the stars

The moon rides over all preeminent,

When through the thunderclouds the cleaving heavens

Open, when sleep the fury-breathing winds;

So peerless was she mid that charging host.

Cloniè was there, Polemusa, Derinoè,

Evandrè, and Antandrè, and Bremusa,

Hippothoè, dark-eyed Harmothoè,

Alcibiè, Derimacheia, Antibrotè,

And Thermodosa glorying with the spear.

All these to battle fared with warrior-souled

Penthesileia: even as when descends

Dawn from Olympus’ crest of adamant,

Dawn, heart-exultant in her radiant steeds

Amidst the bright-haired Hours; and o’er them all,

How flawless-fair soever these may be,

Her splendour of beauty glows preeminent;

So peerless amid all the Amazons

Unto Troy-town Penthesileia came.

To right, to left, from all sides hurrying thronged

The Trojans, greatly marvelling, when they saw

The tireless War-god’s child, the mailèd maid,

Like to the Blessèd Gods; for in her face

Glowed beauty glorious and terrible.

Her smile was ravishing: beneath her brows

Her love-enkindling eyes shone like to stars,

And with the crimson rose of shamefastness

Bright were her cheeks, and mantled over them

Unearthly grace with battle-prowess clad.

Then joyed Troy’s folk, despite past agonies,

As when, far-gazing from a height, the hinds

Behold a rainbow spanning the wide sea,

When they be yearning for the heaven-sent shower,

When the parched fields be craving for the rain;

Then the great sky at last is overgloomed,

And men see that fair sign of coming wind

And imminent rain, and seeing, they are glad,

Who for their cornfields’ plight sore sighed before;

Even so the sons of Troy when they beheld

There in their land Penthesileia dread

Afire for battle, were exceeding glad;

For when the heart is thrilled with hope of good,

All smart of evils past is wiped away:

So, after all his sighing and his pain,

Gladdened a little while was Priam’s soul.

As when a man who hath suffered many a pang

From blinded eyes, sore longing to behold

The light, and, if he may not, fain would die,

Then at the last, by a cunning leech’s skill,

Or by a God’s grace, sees the dawn-rose flush,

Sees the mist rolled back from before his eyes—

Yea, though clear vision come not as of old,

Yet, after all his anguish, joys to have

Some small relief, albeit the stings of pain

Prick sharply yet beneath his eyelids; so

Joyed the old king to see that terrible queen—

The shadowy joy of one in anguish whelmed

For slain sons. Into his halls he led the Maid,

And with glad welcome honoured her, as one

Who greets a daughter to her home returned

From a far country in the twentieth year;

And set a feast before her, sumptuous

As battle-glorious kings, who have brought low

Nations of foes, array in splendour of pomp,

With hearts in pride of victory triumphing.

And gifts he gave her costly and fair to see,

And pledged him to give many more, so she

Would save the Trojans from the imminent doom.

And she—such deeds she promised as no man

Had hoped for, even to lay Achilles low,

To smite the wide host of the Argive men,

And cast the brands red-flaming on the ships.

Ah fool! But little knew she him, the lord

Of ashen spears, how far Achilles’ might

In warrior-wasting strife o’erpassed her own!

But when Andromache, the stately child

Of king Eetion, heard the wild queen’s vaunt,

Low to her own soul bitterly murmured she:

"Ah hapless! Why with arrogant heart dost thou

Speak such great swelling words? No strength is thine

To grapple in fight with Peleus’ aweless son.

Nay, doom and swift death shall he deal to thee.

Alas for thee! What madness thrills thy soul?

Fate and the end of death stand hard by thee!

Hector was mightier far to wield the spear

Than thou, yet was for all his prowess slain,

Slain for the bitter grief of Troy, whose folk

The city through looked on him as a God.

My glory and his noble parents’ glory

Was he while yet he lived—O that the earth

Over my dead face had been mounded high,

Or ever through his throat the breath of life

Followed the cleaving spear! But now have I

Looked—woe is me! On grief unutterable,

When round the city those fleet-footed steeds

Haled him, steeds of Achilles, who had made

Me widowed of mine hero-husband, made

My portion bitterness through all my days."

So spake Eetion’s lovely-ankled child

Low to her own soul, thinking on her lord.

So evermore the faithful-hearted wife

Nurseth for her lost love undying grief.

Then in swift revolution sweeping round

Into the Ocean’s deep stream sank the sun,

And daylight died. So when the banqueters

Ceased from the wine-cup and the goodly feast,

Then did the handmaids spread in Priam’s halls

For Penthesileia dauntless-souled the couch

Heart-cheering, and she laid her down to rest;

And slumber mist-like overveiled her eyes [depths

Like sweet dew dropping round. From heavens’ blue

Slid down the might of a deceitful dream

At Pallas’ hest, that so the warrior-maid

Might see it, and become a curse to Troy

And to herself, when strained her soul to meet

The whirlwind of the battle. In this wise

The Trito-born, the subtle-souled, contrived:

Stood o’er the maiden’s head that baleful dream

In likeness of her father, kindling her

Fearlessly front to front to meet in fight

Fleetfoot Achilles. And she heard the voice,

And all her heart exulted, for she weened

That she should on that dawning day achieve

A mighty deed in battle’s deadly toil—

Ah, fool, who trusted for her sorrow a dream

Out of the sunless land, such as beguiles

Full oft the travail-burdened tribes of men,

Whispering mocking lies in sleeping ears,

And to the battle’s travail lured her then!

But when the Dawn, the rosy-ankled, leapt

Up from her bed, then, clad in mighty strength

Of spirit, suddenly from her couch uprose

Penthesileia. Then did she array

Her shoulders in those wondrous-fashioned arms

Given her of the War-god. First she laid

Beneath her silver-gleaming knees the greaves

Fashioned of gold, close-clipping the strong limbs.

Her rainbow-radiant corslet clasped she then

About her, and around her shoulders slung,

With glory in her heart, the massy brand

Whose shining length was in a scabbard sheathed

Of ivory and silver. Next, her shield

Unearthly splendid, caught she up, whose rim

Swelled like the young moon’s arching chariot-rail

When high o’er Ocean’s fathomless-flowing stream

She rises, with the space half filled with light

Betwixt her bowing horns. So did it shine

Unutterably fair. Then on her head

She settled the bright helmet overstreamed

With a wild mane of golden-glistering hairs.

So stood she, lapped about with flaming mail,

In semblance like the lightning, which the might,

The never-wearied might of Zeus, to earth

Hurleth, what time he showeth forth to men

Fury of thunderous-roaring rain, or swoop

Resistless of his shouting host of winds.

Then in hot haste forth of her bower to pass

Caught she two javelins in the hand that grasped

Her shield-band; but her strong right hand laid hold

On a huge halberd, sharp of either blade,

Which terrible Eris gave to Ares’ child

To be her Titan weapon in the strife

That raveneth souls of men. Laughing for glee

Thereover, swiftly flashed she forth the ring

Of towers. Her coming kindled all the sons

Of Troy to rush into the battle forth

Which crowneth men with glory. Swiftly all

Hearkened her gathering-cry, and thronging came,

Champions, yea, even such as theretofore

Shrank back from standing in the ranks of war

Against Achilles the all-ravager.

But she—in pride of triumph on she rode

Throned on a goodly steed and fleet, the gift

Of Oreithyia, the wild North-wind’s bride,

Given to her guest the warrior-maid, what time

She came to Thrace, a steed whose flying feet

Could match the Harpies’ wings. Riding thereon

Penthesileia in her goodlihead

Left the tall palaces of Troy behind.

And ever were the ghastly-visaged Fates

Thrusting her on into the battle, doomed

To be her first against the Greeks—and last!

To right, to left, with unreturning feet

The Trojan thousands followed to the fray,

The pitiless fray, that death-doomed warrior-maid,

Followed in throngs, as follow sheep the ram

That by the shepherd’s art strides before all.

So followed they, with battle-fury filled,

Strong Trojans and wild-hearted Amazons.

And like Tritonis seemed she, as she went

To meet the Giants, or as flasheth far

Through war-hosts Eris, waker of onset-shouts.

So mighty in the Trojans’ midst she seemed,

Penthesileia of the flying feet.

Then unto Cronos’ Son Laomedon’s child

Upraised his hands, his sorrow-burdened hands,

Turning him toward the sky-encountering fane