Chytra with image of Achilles mourning the death of Patroclus, Greece. Wikimedia Commons.
Consumed by grief over the death of Patroclus, Achilles kills Hector and drags his body around in the dust behind his chariot. After twelve days of this desecration, Apollo appeals to the gods for help. Zeus intervenes and asks Thetis to tell Achilles to release Hector’s body to his father, Priam, the king of Troy. Together, Achilles and Priam mourn the loss and recognize the universality of death. Editorial board member Emily Allen-Hornblower shared this excerpt from Book XXIV of Stanley Lombardo’s translation of the Iliad at Lewis Lapham’s memorial in September 2024. Listen to Allen-Hornblower’s reading on the second episode of the new season of The World in Time.
800: Troy
When Achilles had his fill of grief
And the aching sorrow left his heart,
He rose from his chair and lifted the old man
By his hand, pitying his white hair and beard.
And his words enfolded him like wings:
“Ah, the suffering you’ve had, and the courage.
To come here alone to the Greek ships
And meet my eye, the man who slaughtered
Your many fine sons! You have a heart of iron.
But come, sit on this chair. Let our pain
Lie at rest a while, no matter how much we hurt.
There’s nothing to be gained from cold grief.
Yes, the gods have woven pain into mortal lives,
While they are free from care.
Two jars
Sit at the doorstep of Zeus, filled with gifts
That he gives, one full of good things,
The other of evil. If Zeus gives a man
A mixture from both jars, sometimes
Life is good for him, sometimes not.
But if all he gives you is from the jar of woe,
You become a pariah, and hunger drives you
Over the bright earth, dishonored by gods and men.
Now take Peleus. The gods gave him splendid gifts
From the day he was born. He was the happiest
And richest man on earth, king of the Myrmidons,
And although he was a mortal, the gods gave him
An immortal goddess to be his wife.
But even to Peleus the god gave some evil:
He would not leave offspring to succeed him in power,
Just one child, all out of season. I can’t be with him
To take care of him now that he’s old, since I’m far
From my fatherland, squatting here in Troy,
Tormenting you and your children. And you, old sir,
We hear that you were prosperous once.
From Lesbos down south clear over to Phrygia
And up to the Hellespont’s boundary,
No one could match you in wealth or in sons.
But then the gods have brought you trouble,
This constant fighting and killing around your town.
You must endure this grief and not constantly grieve.
You will not gain anything by torturing yourself
Over the good son you lost, not bring him back.
Sooner you will suffer some other sorrow.”
Translation by Stanley Lombardo. Copyright © 1997 by Hackett Publishing Company, Inc.