A NEW THEORY OF ACHILLES’ SHIELD.

A distinguished classical authority has remarked that the description of Achilles’ shield occupies an anomalous position in Homer’s ‘Iliad.’ On the one hand, it is easy to show that the poem—for the description may be looked on as a complete poem—is out of place in the ‘Iliad;’ on the other, it is no less easy to show that Homer has carefully led up to the description of the shield by a series of introductory events.

I propose to examine, briefly, the evidence on each of these points, and then to exhibit a theory respecting the shield which may appear bizarre enough on a first view, but which seems to me to be supported by satisfactory evidence.

An argument commonly urged against the genuineness of the ‘Shield of Achilles’ is founded on the length and laboured character of the description. Even Grote, whose theory is that Homer’s original poem was not an Iliad, but an Achilleis, has admitted the force of this argument. He finds clear evidence that from Book II. to Book XX. Homer has been husbanding his resources for the more effective description of the final conflict. He therefore concedes the possibility that the ‘Shield of Achilles’ may be an interpolation—perhaps the work of another hand.

It appears to me, however, that the mere length of the description is no argument against the genuineness298 of the passage. Events have, indeed, been hastening to a crisis up to the end of Book XVII., and the action is checked in a marked manner by the ‘Oplop?ia’ in Book XVIII. Yet it is quite in Homer’s manner to introduce, between two series of important events, an interval of comparative inaction, or at least of events wholly different in character from those of either series. We have a marked instance of this in Books IX. and X. Here the appeal to Achilles and the night-adventure of Diomed and Ulysses are interposed between the first victory of the Trojans and the great struggle in which Patroclus is slain, and Agamemnon, Ulysses, Diomed, Machaon, and Eurypylus wounded.19 In fact, one cannot doubt that in such an arrangement Homer exhibits admirable taste and judgment. The contrast between action and inaction, or between the confused tumult of a heady conflict and the subtle advance of the two Greek heroes, is conceived in the true poetic spirit. The dignity and importance of the action, and the interest of the interposed events, are alike enhanced. Indeed, there is scarcely a noted author whose works do not afford instances of corresponding contrasts. How skilfully, for example, has Shakespeare interposed the ‘bald, disjointed chat’ of the sleepy porter between the conscience-wrought horror of Duncan’s murderers and the ‘horror, horror, horror’ which299 ‘tongue nor heart could not conceive nor name’ of his faithful followers. Nor will the reader need to be reminded of the frequent and effective use of the contrast between the humorous and the pathetic by others.

The laboured character of the description of the shield is an argument—though not, perhaps, a very striking one—for the independent origin of the poem.

But the arguments on which I am disposed to lay most stress lie nearer the surface.

Scarcely anyone, I think, can have read the description of the shield without a feeling of wonder that Homer should describe the shield of a mortal hero as adorned with so many and such important objects. We find the sun and moon, the constellations, the waves of ocean, and a variety of other objects, better suited to adorn the temple of a great deity than the shield of a warrior, however noble and heroic. The objects depicted even on the ?gis of Zeus are much less important. There is certainly no trace in the ‘Iliad’ of a wish on Homer’s part to raise the dignity of mortal heroes at the expense of Zeus, yet the ?gis is thus succinctly described:—
Fring’d round with ever-fighting snakes, though it was drawn to life,
The miseries and deaths of fight; in it frown’d bloody Strife,
In it shone sacred Fortitude, in it fell Pursuit flew,
In it the monster Gorgon’s head, in which held out to view
Were all the dire ostents of Jove.—Chapman’s Translation.

Five lines here, as in the original, suffice for the description of Jove’s ?gis, while one hundred and thirty lines are employed in the description of the300 celestial and terrestrial objects depicted on the shield of Achilles.

Another circumstance attracts notice in the description of Achilles’ armour—the disproportionate importance attached to the shield. Undoubtedly, the shield was that portion of a hero’s armour which admitted of the freest application of artistic skill. Yet this consideration is not sufficient to account for the fact, that while so many lines are given to the shield, the helmet, corselet, and greaves are disposed of in four.

But the argument on which I am inclined to lay most stress is the occurrence elsewhere of a description which is undoubtedly only another version of the ‘Shield of Achilles.’ The ‘Shield of Hercules’ occurs in a poem ascribed to Hesiod. But whatever opinion may be formed respecting the authorship of the description, there can be no doubt that it is not Hesiod’s work. It exhibits no trace of his dry, didactic, somewhat heavy style. Elton ascribes the ‘Shield of Hercules’ to an imitator of Homer, and in support of this view points out those respects in which the poem resembles, and those in which it is inferior to, the ‘Shield of Achilles.’ The two descriptions are, however, absolutely identical in many places; and this would certainly not have happened if one had been an honest imitation of the other. And those parts of the ‘Shield of Hercules,’ which have no counterparts in the ‘Shield of Achilles,’ are too well conceived and expressed to be ascribed to a very inferior poet—a poet so inferior as to be reduced to the necessity of simply reproducing301 Homer’s words in other parts of the poem. Those parts which admit of comparison—where, for instance, the same objects are described, but in different terms—are certainly inferior in the ‘Shield of Hercules.’ The description is injured by the addition of unnecessary or inharmonious details. Elton speaks, accordingly, of these portions as if they were expansions of the corresponding parts of the ‘Shield of Achilles.’ This appears to me a mistake. It seems far more likely that both descriptions are by the same poet. It is not necessary for the support of my theory that this poet should be Homer, but I think both descriptions show undoubted traces of his handiwork. Indeed, all known imitations of Homer are so easily recognisable as the work of inferior poets, that I should have thought no doubt could exist on this point, but for the attention which the German theory respecting the ‘Iliad’ has received. Assigning both poems to Homer, the ‘Shield of Hercules’ may be regarded, not as an expansion (in parts) of the ‘Shield of Achilles,’ but as an earlier work of Homer’s, improved and pruned by his maturer judgment, when he desired to fit it into the plan of the ‘Iliad.’ Or rather, each poem may be looked on as an abridgment (the ‘Shield of Hercules’ the earlier) of an independent work on a subject presently to be mentioned.

It is next to be shown that in the events preceding the ‘Oplop?ia,’ there is a preparation for the introduction of a separate poem.

In the first place, every reader of Homer is familiar with the fact that the poet constantly makes use, when302 occasion serves, of expressions, sentences, often even of complete passages, which have been already applied in a corresponding, or occasionally even in a wholly different relation. The same epithets are repeatedly applied to the same deity or hero. A long message is delivered in the very words which have been already used by the sender of the message. In one well-known instance (in Book II.), not only is a message delivered thus, but the person who has received it repeats it to others in precisely the same terms. In the combat between Hector and Ajax (Book VI.), the flight of Ajax’s spear and the movement by which Hector avoids the missile, are described in six lines, differing only as to proper names from those which had been already used in describing the encounter between Paris and Menelaus (Book III.).

This peculiarity would be a decided blemish in a written poem. Tennyson, indeed, occasionally copies Homer’s manner—for instance, in ‘Enid,’ he twice repeats the line—

As careful robins eye the delver’s toil;—

but with a good taste which prevents the repetition from becoming offensive. The fact is, that the peculiarity marks Homer as the singer, not the writer, of poetry. I would not be understood as accepting the theory, according to which the ‘Iliad’ is a mere string of ballads. I imagine that no one who justly appreciates that noble poem would be willing to countenance such a theory. But that the whole poem303 was sung by Homer at those prolonged festivals which formed a characteristic peculiarity of Achaian manners seems shown, not only by what we learn respecting the later ‘rhapsodists,’ but by the internal evidence of the poem itself.20

Homer, reciting a long and elaborate poem of his own composition, occasionally varying the order of events, or adding new episodes, extemporized as the song proceeded, would exhibit the peculiarity invariably observed in the ‘improvisatore,’ of using, more than once, expressions, sentences, or passages which happened to be conveniently applicable. The art of extemporizing depends on the capacity for composing fresh matter while the tongue is engaged in the recital of matter already composed. Anyone who has watched a clever improvisatore cannot fail to have noticed that, though gesture is aptly wedded to words, the thoughts are elsewhere. In the case, therefore, of an improvisatore, or even of a rhapsodist reciting from memory, the occasional recurrence of a well-worn form of words serves as a relief to the strained invention or memory.

We have reason then for supposing that if Homer had, in his earlier days, composed a poem which was applicable, with slight alterations, to the story of the304 ‘Iliad,’ he would endeavour, by a suitable arrangement of the plan of his narrative, to introduce the lines whose recital had long since become familiar to him.

Evidence of design in the introduction of the ‘Shield of Achilles’ certainly does not seem wanting.

It is by no means necessary to the plot of the ‘Iliad’ that Achilles should lose the celestial armour given to Peleus as a dowry with Thetis. On the contrary, Homer has gone out of his way to render the labours of Vulcan necessary. Patroclus has to be so ingeniously disposed of, that while the armour he had worn is seized by Hector, his body is rescued, as are also the horses and chariot of Achilles.

We have the additional improbability that the armour of the great Achilles should fit the inferior warriors Patroclus and Hector. Indeed, that the armour should fit Hector, or rather that Hector should fit the armour, the aid of Zeus and Ares has to be called in—
To this Jove’s sable brows did bow; and he made fit his limbs
To those great arms, to fill which up the war-god enter’d him
Austere and terrible, his joints and every part extends
With strength and fortitude.—Chapman’s Translation.

It is clear that the narrative would not have been impaired in any way, while its probability and consistency would have been increased, if Patroclus had fought in his own armour. The death of Patroclus would in any case have been a cause sufficient to arouse the wrath of Achilles against Hector—though certainly the hero’s grief for his armour is nearly as poignant as his sorrow for his friend.

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It appears probable, then, that the description of Achilles’ Shield is an interpolation—the poet’s own work, however, and brought in by him in the only way he found available. The description clearly refers to the same object which is described (here, also, only in part) in the ‘Shield of Hercules.’ The original description, doubtless, included all that is found in both ‘shields,’ and probably much more.

What, then, was the object to which the original description applied? An object, I should think, far more important than a warrior’s shield. I imagine that anyone who should read the description without being aware of its accepted interpretation, would consider that the poet was dealing with an important series of religious sculptures, possibly that he was describing the dome of a temple adorned with celestial and terrestrial symbols.

In Egypt there are temples of a vast antiquity, having a dome, on which a zodiac—or, more correctly, a celestial hemisphere—is sculptured with constellation-figures. And we now learn, from ancient Babylonian and Assyrian sculptures, that these Egyptian zodiacs are in all probability merely copies (more or less perfect) of yet more ancient Chald?an zodiacs. One of these Babylonian sculptures is figured in Rawlinson’s ‘Ancient Monarchies.’ It seems probable that in a country where Sab?anism, or star-worship, was the prevailing form of religion, yet more imposing proportions would be given to such zodiacs than in Egypt.

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My theory, then, respecting the shield of Achilles is this—

I conceive that Homer, in his eastern travels, visited imposing temples devoted to astronomical observation and star-worship; and that nearly every line in both ‘shields’ is borrowed from a poem in which he described a temple of this sort, its domed zodiac, and those illustrations of the labours of different seasons and of military or judicial procedures which the astrological proclivities of star-worshippers led them to associate with the different constellations.

I think there are arguments of some force to be urged in support of this theory, fanciful as it may seem at a first view.

In the first place, it is necessary that the constellations recognised in Homer’s time (not necessarily, or probably, by Homer) should be distinguished from later inventions.

Aratus, writing long after Homer’s date, mentions forty-five constellations. These were probably derived, without exception, from the globe of Eudoxus. Remembering the tendency which astronomers have shown, in all ages, to add to the list of constellations, we may assume that in Homer’s time the number was smaller. Probably there were some fifteen northern and ten southern constellations, besides the twelve zodiacal signs. The smaller constellations mentioned by Aratus doubtless formed parts of larger figures. Anyone who studies the heavens will recognise the fact that the larger constellations have been307 robbed of their just proportions to form the smaller asterisms. Corona Borealis was the right arm of Bootes, Ursa Minor was a wing of Draco (now wingless, and no longer a dragon), and so on.

Secondly, it is necessary that the actual appearance of the heavens, with reference to the position of the pole in Homer’s time should be indicated. For my present purpose, it is not necessary that we should know the exact date at which the most ancient of the zodiac-temples were constructed (or to which they were made to correspond). There are good reasons, though this is not the proper place for dwelling upon them, for supposing that the great epoch of reference amongst ancient astronomers preceded the Christian era by about 2200 years. Be this as it may, any epoch between the date named and the probable date at which Homer flourished—say nine or ten centuries before the Christian era—will serve equally well for my present purpose. Now if the effects of equinoctial precession be traced back to such a date, we are led to notice two singular and not uninteresting circumstances. First, the pole of the heavens fell in the central part of the great constellation Draco; and, secondly, the equator fell along the length of the great sea-serpent Hydra, in one part of its course, and elsewhere to the north of all the ancient aquatic constellations,21 save that one-half of the northernmost fish (of the zodiac pair) lay north of the equator. Thus,308 if a celestial sphere were constructed with the equator in a horizontal position, the Dragon would be at the summit, Hydra would be extended horizontally along the equator—but with his head and neck reared above that circle—and Argo, Cetus, Capricornus, Piscis Australis, and Pisces—save one-half of the northernmost—would lie below the equator. It may also be mentioned that all the bird-constellations were then, as now, clustered together not far from the equator—Cygnus (the farthest from the equator) being ten degrees or so nearer to that circle than at present.

Now let us turn to the two ‘shields,’ and see whether there is anything to connect them with zodiac-temples, or to remind us of the relations exhibited above. To commence with the ‘Shield of Achilles,’ the opening lines inform us that the shield showed—
The starry lights that heav’n’s high convex crown’d,
The Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern team,
And great Orion’s more refulgent beam.

And here, in Achilles’ shield, the list of constellations closes; but it is remarkable that in the ‘Shield of Hercules,’ while the above lines are wanting, we find lines which clearly point to other constellations. Remembering what has just been stated about Draco, it seems at the least a singular coincidence that we should find the centre or boss of the shield occupied by a dragon:—
The scaly horror of a dragon, coil’d
Full in the central field, unspeakable,
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With eyes oblique retorted, that aslant
Shot gleaming flame.22—Elton’s Translation.

We seem, also, to find a reference to the above-named relations of the aquatic constellations, and specially to the constellation Pisces:—
In the midst,
Full many dolphins chased the fry, and show’d
As though they swam the waters, to and fro
Darting tumultuous: two23 of silver scale
Panting above the wave.

For we learn from both ‘shields’ that the waves of ocean were figured in a position corresponding with the above-mentioned position of the celestial equator, beneath which—that is, in the ocean, on our assumption—the aquatic constellations were figured. The310 description of the ocean in the ‘Shield of Hercules’ contains also some lines, in which we seem to see a reference to the bird-constellations close above the equator:—
Rounding the utmost verge the ocean flow’d
As in full swell of waters, and the shield
All variegated with whole circle bound.
Swans of high-hovering wing there clamour’d shrill,
Who also skimm’d the breasted surge with plume
Innumerous; near them fishes midst the waves
Frolick’d in wanton bounds.

In the ‘Shield of Achilles’ no mention is made of Perseus, but in the ‘Shield of Hercules’ this well-known constellation seems described in the lines—
There was the knight of fair-hair’d Danae born,
Perseus; nor yet the buckler with his feet
Touch’d nor yet distant hover’d, strange to see,
For nowhere on the surface of the shield
He rested; so the crippled artist-god
Illustrious fram’d him with his hands in gold.
Bound to his feet were sandals wing’d; a sword
Of brass, with hilt of sable ebony,
Hung round him from the shoulders by a thong.
. . . . . . . . The visage grim
Of monstrous Gorgon all his back o’erspread;
. . . . . . . . the dreadful helm
Of Pluto clasp’d the temples of the prince.

I think that one may recognise a reference to the twins Castor and Pollux (the wrestler and boxer of mythology) in the words—
But in another part
Were men who wrestled, or in gymnic fight
Wielded the cestus.

Orion is not mentioned by name in the311 ‘Shield of Hercules,’ as in the other; but Orion, Lepus, and the two dogs seem referred to:—
Elsewhere men of chase
Were taking the fleet hares; two keen-toothed dogs
Hounded beside; these ardent in pursuit,
Those with like ardour doubling in their flight.

In each ‘shield’ we find a reference to the operations of the year—hunting and pasturing, sowing, ploughing, and harvesting. It is hardly necessary to point out the connection between these operations and astronomical relations. That this connection was fully recognised in ancient times is shown in the ‘Works and Days’ of Hesiod. We find also in Egyptian zodiacs clear evidence that these operations, as well as astronomical symbols or constellations, were pictured in sculptured domes.

The judicial, military, and other proceedings described in the ‘Shield of Achilles’ were also supposed by the ancients to have been influenced by the courses of the stars.

If there were no evidence that ancient celestial spheres presented the constellations above referred to, I might be disposed to attach less weight to the coincidences here presented; but the ‘Phenomena’ of Aratus affords sufficient testimony on this point. In the first place, that work is of great antiquity, since Aratus flourished two centuries and a half before the Christian era; but it is well known that Aratus did not describe the results of his own observations. The positions of the constellations, as recorded by him, accord neither312 with the date at which he wrote nor with the latitude in which he lived. It is generally assumed—chiefly on the authority of Hipparchus—that Aratus borrowed his knowledge of astronomy from the sphere of Eudoxus; but we must go much farther back even than the date of Eudoxus, before we can find any correspondence between the appearance of the heavens and the description given by Aratus. Thus we may very fairly assume that the origin of the constellations (as distinguished from their association with certain circles of the celestial sphere) may be placed at a date preceding, perhaps by many generations, that at which Homer flourished.

Indeed, there have not been wanting those who find in the ancient constellations the record of the early history of man. According to their views, Orion is Nimrod—the ‘Giant,’ as the Arabic name of the constellation implies—the mighty hunter, as the dogs and hare beside him signify. The Centaur bearing a victim towards the altar is Noah; Argo, the stern of a ship, is the ark, as of old it might be seen on Mount Ararat. Corvus is the crow sent forth by Noah, and the bird is placed on Hydra’s back to show that there was no land on which it could set its foot. The figure now called Hercules, but of old Engonasin, or the kneeler, and described by Aratus as ‘a man doomed to labour,’ is Adam. His left foot treads on the dragon’s head, in token of the saying, ‘It shall bruise thy head; ‘and Serpentarius, or the serpent-bearer, is the promised seed.

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Of course, if we accept these views, we have no difficulty in understanding that a poet so ancient as Homer should refer to the constellations which still appear upon celestial spheres. And, in any case, the mere question of antiquity presents, as we have already shown, little difficulty.

But there is one difficulty, a notice of which must close this paper, already carried far beyond the limits I had proposed to myself:—It may be thought remarkable that heroes of Greek mythology, as Perseus and Orion, should be placed by Homer, or even by Aratus, in spheres which are undoubtedly of eastern origin.

Now it may be remarked, first, of Homer, that many acute critics consider the whole story of the ‘Iliad’ to be, in reality, merely an adaptation of an eastern narrative to Greek scenes and names. It is pointed out, that, whereas the Catalogue in Book II. reckons upwards of 100,000 men, only 10,000 fought at Marathon; and, whereas there are counted no less than 1,200 ships in the Catalogue, there were but 271 at Artemisium, and at Salamis but 378. However this may be, we have the distinct evidence of Herodotus that the Greek mythology was derived originally from foreign sources. He says, ‘All the names of the gods in Greece were brought from Egypt,’ an opinion in which Diodorus and other eminent authorities concur. But it is the opinion of acute modern critics that we must go beyond Egyptian—to Assyrian, or Indian, perhaps even to Hebrew sources—for the origin of314 Greek mythology. Layard has ascribed to Niebuhr the following significant remarks: ‘There is a want in Grecian art which neither I, nor any man now alive, can supply. There is not enough in Egypt to account for the peculiar art and the peculiar mythology which we find in Greece. That the Egyptians did not originate it I am convinced, though neither I, nor any man now alive, can say who were the originators. But the time will come when, on the borders of the Tigris and Euphrates, those who come after me will live to see the origin of Grecian art and Grecian mythology.’

(From The Student, June 1868.)

The End