commentary on the dream sent by Zeus to Agamemnon in the form of Nestor

contrast between Nestor who affirms the positive sign from Zeus regarding the Achaeans return and Agamemnon who denies it

comment on the formulaic language of Zeus’ promising and nodding in assent in response to prayer (of returning from Troy)

in the context of interpreting Menelaos as “he who incites the warfolk”; example of laos as referring to one’s own even with ōlese

commentary on Odysseus’ restraining and Nestor’s inciting the Achaeans, corresponding to the contrast between them on their nostos (as the mortal and immortal twins, respectively)

commentary on Odysseus’ restraining and Nestor’s inciting the Achaeans, corresponding to the contrast between them on their nostos (as the mortal and immortal twins, respectively)

commentary on Odysseus’ restraining and Nestor’s inciting the Achaeans, corresponding to the contrast between them on their nostos (as the mortal and immortal twins, respectively)

commentary on Odysseus’ restraining and Nestor’s inciting the Achaeans, corresponding to the contrast between them on their nostos (as the mortal and immortal twins, respectively)

commentary on Odysseus’ restraining and Nestor’s inciting the Achaeans, corresponding to the contrast between them on their nostos (as the mortal and immortal twins, respectively)

in the context of discussing the interpretation of Nestor’s name and the meaning of forms from the root *nes- as “safe return home” or without “home” where it needed to be specified

commentary on Odysseus’ restraining and Nestor’s inciting the Achaeans, corresponding to the contrast between them on their nostos (as the mortal and immortal twins, respectively)

in the context of discussing the contrast between Odysseus and Nestor in terms of their referring to signs from gods (Odysseus recalls one interpreted by Calchas, Nestor one he saw for himself)

commentary on Odysseus’ restraining and Nestor’s inciting the Achaeans, corresponding to the contrast between them on their nostos (as the mortal and immortal twins, respectively)

comment on the formulaic language of Zeus’ promising and nodding in assent in response to prayer (of returning from Troy) and the variation on it in this passage

in the context of discussing the contrast between Odysseus and Nestor in terms of their referring to signs from gods (Odysseus recalls one interpreted by Calchas, Nestor one he saw for himself)

in the context of discussing the contrast between Odysseus and Nestor in terms of their referring to signs from gods (Odysseus recalls one interpreted by Calchas, Nestor one he saw for himself)

example of laos as referring to one’s own in contexts where there is a contrast between “leader(s)” and those who “follow”

citation of formulaic use of haloûsá te perthoménē te as example where halṓō means “to be seized” in Homer

discussion of the singularity of the Athenian entry in the Catalogue of Ships and comparison with other entries (here, Boeotia)

The narrative of Rhapsody 2 now follows up on the dire consequences of the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon as narrated in Rhapsody 1. Achilles has already withdrawn from the war because of his anger. So, now that this greatest hero of the Achaeans is out of the picture, what will happen next? How will the absence of Achilles affect the story of the Trojan War? Many new doubts and fears set in, and the resolve of the Achaeans is harshly tested. There is negative talk, and there are omens. Thus the story of the Trojan War, as told and retold countless times in the distant past, must now be retold yet again, and Rhapsody 2 will set the terms for the retelling still to come. For setting the terms, Rhapsody 2 will need a new Catalogue of Ships, now happening in the tenth year of the war, as a replacement for any old Catalogue that would have logically happened already in the first year. This new Catalogue is of course not really new: rather, it is the oldest possible Catalogue that is now being renewed for the newest possible retelling of the Trojan War, reconsidered in the glaring light of the grim consequences facing the Achaeans now that Achilles has withdrawn from the war. With these consequences in view, the Catalogue will reassess all the Achaean heroes involved in the Trojan War. Of special interest will be the role of Protesilaos, who had been the first Achaean to die in the war, as a model for Achilles. As the Master Narrator notes most ruefully, Protesilaos is now terribly missed by his fellow warriors. So too will Achilles be missed.

On the reverse side of the coin: Inscription: ΘΗΒΑΙΩΝ. Pictured: the Greek hero Protesilaos, the first Achaean to step on Trojan soil and, according to the myth, the first to die in the Trojan War. The myth is retold in Iliad 2.695–709.

The False Dream, personified, describes himself here as the Dios angelos ‘messenger of Zeus’. Later on, at I.02.063, Agamemnon himself describes the personified False Dream as the Dios angelos ‘messenger of Zeus’. Still later on, at I.02.93, the False Dream will be equated with Ossa, personification of an ossa ‘oracular voice’. And this personified Ossa is then described at I.02.94 as Dios angelos ‘messenger of Zeus’.

The False Dream tells Agamemnon that he will capture Troy ‘now’. It is a promise of instant gratification.

These verses describe most accurately how Agamemnon, dreaming his False Dream, misunderstands the Will of Zeus. As we read at I.02.036 here, Agamemnon is thinking things that will definitely not ‘come to fulfillment’, teleîsthai, through the will of the god. As we read further at I.02.037, Agamemnon thinks that he will now capture Troy in just one day, in accordance with the Will of Zeus. Of course he is wrong to think this, as we read still further at I.02.038–040, since Zeus is now planning to inflict many more algea ‘pains’ in battle not only for the Trojans but also, more pertinently, for the Achaeans. The Trojan War is about to be prolonged for the Achaeans, causing them much more hardship and pain.

• Here and elsewhere, I cite verbs via the infinitive, not via the indicative first person singular.

When Agamemnon wakes up from dreaming the False Dream, he experiences the sensation of an omphē ‘oracular voice’ that has just now been poured all over him. This idea of omphē as an ‘oracular voice’ (the word is cognate with English song) is picked up by the word ossa ‘oracular voice’ at I.02.093, which refers there to the personified False Dream who had announced himself as the Dios angelos ‘messenger’ of Zeus to the sleeping Agamemnon at I.02.026. In the context of Theognis 1.808 and elsewhere, omphē refers to the oracular voice of the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi. Such contexts show that omphē in the sense of ‘oracular voice’ is relevant to the misunderstanding experienced by Agamemnon in Iliad 2. Just as Agamemnon misunderstands the oracular voice that is mediated by the False Dream, so also he misunderstands the oracular voice of the god Apollo himself in the First Song of Demodokos O.08.072–083. At verses 77–78 of that “micro-Iliad,” it is said that Agamemnon was happy to see Odysseus and Achilles quarelling; at verses 79–83, it is said that such a quarrel was predicted by the Oracle of Apollo at Delphi to Agamemnon when this over-king went there for an oracular consultation. And at verses 81–82 it is said that this quarrel was really a sign that foretold a great pēma ‘pain’ that was about to befall the Achaeans as well as the Trojans in the Trojan War.

The skēptron ‘scepter’ that is held by Agamemnon is described as golden, and gold is the symbol for the artificial continuum of immortality as expressed by the epithet aphthito- in the sense of ‘imperishable, unwilting’. But this scepter was originally wooden and then covered over in gold; and wood is a symbol for the natural discontinuity of mortal life as expressed by the verb phthinesthai in the sense of ‘wilt’. This aspect of the skēptron ‘scepter’ as a symbol for the natural discontinuity of mortal life is highlighted by the Oath of Achilles at I.01.233–246.

The False Dream, personified, announces himself to the sleeping Agamemnon, describing himself as the Dios angelos ‘messenger of Zeus’.

Countering the claim of Achilles to be the ‘best of the Achaeans’, Agamemnon here lays claim to the same title, and the verb for expressing such a claim is eukhesthai ‘claim’.

This expression needs to be added to the cumulative evidence showing that a person who holds a skēptron ‘scepter’ speaks with the authority of a king—an authority emanating from Zeus.

In this verse, I.02.094, the epithet Dios angelos ‘messenger of Zeus’ applies to the noun ossa ‘oracular voice’ as found in the previous verse, I.02.093.

In the Homeric Iliad, the hero Pelops figures as an archetype of political power. The sequence of kings in the Peloponnesus is limited to the dynastic lineage starting with Pelops.

This is the second occurrence of the noun therapōn in the Iliad; the plural form here is therapontes. The surface meaning of therapōn in Homeric diction is ‘attendant’, and a fitting example is the word’s first occurrence in the Iliad, at I.01.321; the deeper meaning, however, is ‘ritual substitute’. In contexts where the plural therapontes in combination with Arēos ‘of Ares’ is applied to the Achaeans=Danaans=Argives (at I.02.110, to the Danaans) as a grouping of warriors, the deeper meaning is more evident than in other contexts. When a warrior is killed in war, he becomes a therapōn or ‘ritual substitute’ who dies for Ares by becoming identical to the war god at the moment of death; then, after death, the warrior is eligible to become a cult hero who serves as a sacralized ‘attendant’ of the war god in contexts of hero cult.

The words of this challenge directed against the over-king Agamemnon by Sthenelos, chariot driver of Diomedes, recall the epic traditions of the Epigonoi = Sons-of-the-Seven-against-Thebes. Since Sthenelos figures as a character in two epic traditions, both the Iliadic and the Epigonic, his wording here can be seen as a cross-reference from the Iliadic tradition to the Epigonic. The cross-reference sets up a rivalry between the two epic traditions: the question is, are the Epigonoi as heroic characters superior to the heroic characters of the Iliad?

analysis of the coexistence of the Attic and the Koine usage in this verse and the claim that ‘Homer’ was capable of both

This word indicates the language of blame vs. praise. Such words can refer to blame as a foil for epic.

The expression erizemenai basileusin ‘engage in strife against kings’ is a programmatic way of referring to the language of blame as a challenge to royalty. In the Iliad, Thersites is a prime exponent of blame poetry. He has a “speaking name” (nomen loquens), since Thersī́tēs is related to the noun thersos/thrasos, which refers to a negative kind of ‘boldness’ in contexts of blame poetry: see the comment at O.18.001–004.

The programmatic representation of Thersites as an exponent of blame poetry is summed up in the description of this character as aiskhistos ‘most disgraceful’. In the Poetics of Aristotle (1449a), the semantics of the underlying (a) noun aiskhos ‘disgrace, shame’ and (b) adjective aiskhron ‘disgraceful, shameful’ can be seen as the basic context of blame poetry.

The content of the words of Thersites as blame poetry is matched by the form of the blame poet: just as the content is ugly, the form too is ugly. Thersites actually looks ugly. If we compare the figure of Thersites with the figure of Aesop, who is represented in myth as an exponent of blame as well as praise whenever he performs an ainos ‘fable’, those aspects of Aesop that gravitate toward blame are reflected in the portrayals of this character as markedly ugly.

As an exponent of blame poetry, which is antithetical to the poetry of epic as a vehicle for praising what is good about heroes, Thersites is truly ekhthistos ‘most hateful’ to the primary two heroes of epic poetry as represented by the Homeric Iliad and Odyssey, who are of course Achilles and Odysseus respectively. As we read at I.02.220–221, Thersites has his quarrels especially with these two heroes, and the verb neikeîn ‘quarrel with’ as used here at I.02.221, together with the corresponding noun neikos ‘quarrel’ as used elsewhere, refers programmatically to the poetics of blame.

Besides the noun neikos (plural neikea) ‘quarrel’ and the verb neikeîn ‘quarrel with’, on both of which see the comment on I.02.221, another set of words referring to the poetics of blame as antithetical to the poetics of praise in general and of epic in particular is the noun oneidos (plural oneidea), as here, meaning ‘words of insult’, and the verb oneidein, meaning ‘say words of insult’, as elsewhere.

Here again, the verb neikeîn ‘quarrel with’ refers to the poetics of blame.

Epic quotes here directly the poetry of blame as displayed by Thersites. His words of blame are introduced and concluded at I.02.224 and I.02.243 respectively by way of the word neikeîn ‘quarrel with’. Although Thersites addresses Agamemnon, insulting him directly, he insults indirectly all the Achaeans, including Achilles. Among the specific insults hurled at Agamemnon are accusations of greedy behavior, I.02.237.

Thersites directs his blame at the Achaeans, ridiculing them by feminizing them. The noun elenkhos ‘disgrace’ is meant to shame the persons insulted by the poetics of blame.

Here the words of blame uttered by Thersites insult Achilles, calling into question the motives of that hero. It is as if the anger of Achilles were not real. This kind of misrepresentation by way of blame poetry is described as ekhthrā parphasis ‘invidious side-wording’ in Pindar Nemean 8.32.

Thersites here is insulted by words of blame because he has used the words of blame to insult the noble. Nobility, when insulted by words of blame, can stoop to insult in return by way of using the same words.

The insulting language of Thersites is here being insulted in return: his discourse is described as a-krito-mūthos ‘having words that cannot be sorted out’. So, the blame poetry of Thersites is bad poetry.

Throughout this speech, Thersites is insulted by words of blame because he has used the words of blame to insult the noble.

Here again, the expression erizemenai basileusin ‘engage in strife against kings’ is a programmatic way of referring to the language of blame as a challenge to royalty.

Just as Achilles and Odysseus are the ‘best of the Achaeans’, Thersites is the ‘worst’, according to the insulting words of counter-blame spoken by Oydsseus.

This word kertomeîn ‘say words of insult’ is yet another term referring to the act of insulting by way of blame poetry.

Thersites, by blaming the heroes of the Iliad, had intended to turn them into objects of laughter by way of ridicule. But the blame is reversed, and now it is Thersites who becomes the object of laughter.

This word epes-bolos ‘thrower of words’ is yet another term referring to the act of insulting by way of blame poetry. A possible parallel is Latin iocus, if derived from iaciō / iacere ‘throw’.

one of Watkin’s three passages where menos is used as a functional equivalent of mēnis

The omen of the serpent in Iliad 2 is comparable to the omen of the serpent in Virgil Aeneid 2.199–227.

Here in the Iliad, the telos or ‘fulfillment’ of the plot is being realized only in the form of a prophecy—by contrast with the epic Cycle, where the conquest of Troy is the ultimate telos. On the epic Cycle, see the inventory of Words and Ideas. There are comparable themes in Virgil Aeneid 8.615-629, 729-731, featuring the Shield of Aeneas.

The omen of the serpent that devours the nine birds is a sēma ‘sign, signal’ that calls for interpretation. This interpretation is needed, in terms of the poetry itself, for understanding the plot of the Iliad.

The serpent, once it is petrified, is arizēlon / aridēlon ‘most visible’; according to an alternative version, the serpent does not get petrified but rather is made suddenly aïzēlon ‘invisible’.

The reading aïdēlon ‘invisible’ at I.02.318, adduced by Aristarchus, is incompatible with this verse, I.02.319, which is accordingly athetized by him. On athetesis, see the inventory of Words and Ideas.

comparison of the petrified serpent with Aeneas’ Shield, as prophecies of the story of Troy and the story of Rome, respectively

The expression kleos oupot’ oleitai ‘its glory [kleos] will never perish’ (κλέος οὔποτ’ ὀλεῖται), as here at I.02.325, is parallel with kleos aphthiton estai (κλέος ἄφθιτον ἔσται) at I.09.413, which can be translated ‘the glory [kleos] will be imperishable [aphthiton]’. This parallelism shows that aphthito- at I.09.413 and elsewhere was understood to be not just long-lasting, as some have thought, but eternal. As for the interpretation ‘the glory [kleos] will be imperishable [aphthiton]’, we will see in the comment on I.09.413 that an alternative interpretation is also possible: ‘and there will be a glory [kleos] that is imperishable’.

The petrified serpent is equated with the story of Troy, and the word teleîn ‘reach an outcome’ here conveys the inevitable outcome of that story. The prophecy expressed by teleîn reveals a poetics of unchangeability in narrating the story. And the concretization of such unchangeability is visualized as the petrifaction of the serpent. The imperfective aspect of the verb teleîn ‘reach an outcome’ here is referring to the story of Troy as it is still being told, as it is still in progress.

The expression mōlos Arēos ‘struggle of Ares’ refers to a war-dance. It is as if the violence of warfare were primarily a war-dance. To be compared is the Arcadian festive event of the Mōleia, which is a ritualized dramatization of martial biē ‘force, violence, strength’.

Epitome from Nagy 2015§85. Here at I.02.402–429, when Agamemnon sacrifices an ox to Zeus, I.02.402–403, 422, he makes a wish-in-prayer, as expressed by the verb eukhesthai, I.02.411, that he will conquer the city of Troy, I.02.414–415, and kill Hector together with as many other enemies as possible, I.02.416–418—all within the space of one single day, I.02.413. But Zeus refuses to bring this prayer to fulfillment, I.02.419—even though the god accepts the offering of the sacrifice, I.02.420, and even though Agamemnon and his guests go ahead and cook the meat after killing the ox, dividing the beef among themselves and then feasting on it together, I.02.421–429. Although the narrative leaves it open whether, one fine day, Agamemnon will still succeed in his wish to conquer the city, I.02.419, it is made clear that the present wish-in-prayer, as performed by the hero on the occasion of this particular sacrifice, is a failure, I.02.419. To paraphrase in Latin terms: the vōtum as a ‘wish-in-prayer’ is not granted here.

Epitome from Nagy 2015§§103:

Menelaos seems to be idiosyncratic in his arrivals at sacrifices. A striking example is the passage here at I.02.402–429 where Agamemnon sacrifices an ox to Zeus, I.02.402–403, 422, and makes a wish-in-prayer, as expressed by the verb eukhesthai, I.02.411, that he will conquer the city of Troy, I.02.414–415, and kill Hector together with as many other enemies as possible, I.02.416–418. To attend this sacrifice as well as the feast that follows the sacrifice, Agamemnon invites six heroes, I.02.404–407. But the hero Menelaos is not included in this group of six. Nevertheless, Menelaos does manage to attend, arriving as the seventh hero, without having been invited to the sacrifice, I.02.408–409: rather, he comes automatos, which is conventionally interpreted to mean ‘of his own accord’, or, to put it into popular idiom, ‘automatically’, I.02.408. But the reason that is given here to explain why Menelaos comes automatos is uncanny: it is because, the narrative says, Menelaos can read the mind of his brother, I.02.408–409.

Epitome from Nagy 2015 §104:

Point 1. The ability of Menelaos to read the mind of Agamemnon indicates a special meaning for the adjective automatos here. On the one hand, if Menelaos comes to the feast ‘on his own’, then we can expect his mind to be ‘operating by itself’—which is the meaning built into automatos as a compounding of the element auto- ‘self’ with the element ma-t-, derived from the root men-*/mn- meaning ‘mind’. So, Menelaos has a mind of his own. On the other hand, something unexpected is going on here: this mind of Menelaos, exceptionally, can read the mind of the brother, and so automatos in this context means not only ‘having a mind of his own’ but also ‘having the same mind’ as the brother has. In terms of this interpretation, Agamemnon and Menelaos have the same mind because they share their own selves with each other. We can find mythological patterns of twin-like behavior in Homeric descriptions of Agamemnon and Menelaos, and these patterns affect even their thinking. See Frame 2009:177, with a further reference at pp. 72–73 n. 156. More from Frame pp. 209–215: Also, Menelaos in the Iliad* consistently fails to take the initiative whenever he undertakes an activity together with his brother. In such situations, Menelaos is recessive in his twinned thinking, while Agamemnon is dominant.

Point 2. There is an allusion in Plato Symposium 174b-d to the wording here in I.02.408. And, on the basis of Athenaeus 1.8a, we can reconstruct a relevant proverb, to which Plato’s text is also alluding. This proverb can be reconstructed as αὐτόματοι δ’ ἀγαθοὶ ἀγαθῶν ἐπὶ δαῖτας ἴασι ‘automatically do the noble go to the feasts of the noble’. In such a context, I add, not only does each noble person have ‘a mind of his own’: that mind is also the ‘same’ mind that the other noble persons have. The point is, ‘like-minded’ or ‘same-minded’ people congregate with each other automatically at dinners.

Menelaos in his thūmos ‘heart, mind’ knows what Agamemnon is feeling.

reference to report of Demetrius’ negative judgment of ethos reflected in this line in Athenaeus 5.4 Kaibel (177ef)

lemmatizing: ἔσπετε νῦν μοι Μοῦσαι Ὀλύμπια δώματ' ἔχουσαι

In this verse, which can be translated ‘tell me now, you Muses who have your dwellings on Mount Olympus’, we see a rhyming of … Mousai, situated before the primary mid-verse word-break, with … ekhousai, situated before the verse-final word-break. Such rhyming is rare and archaizing. (On archaic patterns of rhyming in early Greek poetry, see Nagy 1974:99–101.) On the poetics of re-invocation here, there will be more to say in the comments on I.02.761, Ι.11.218, I.14.508, I.16.112. For now, it suffices to observe that the re-invocation of the Muses here at I.02.484 pictures these goddesses in the plural, by contrast with the singular Muse who had been initially invoked at I.01.001. There will be another invocation of the singular Muse at I.02.761, to be followed by invocations of plural Muses at Ι.11.218, I.14.508, and I.16.112. In the case of each invocation, there is a heightened level of poetic self-awareness about the importance of what is about to be narrated. Here at I.02.484, for example, the Master Narrator shows his concern about the need for accuracy in re-creating a comprehensive catalogue of essentially all the cultural ancestors of the Greek-speaking world. On other occasions of re-invocation, there will be comparable poetic concerns, as we will see in comments still to come.

The immediacy of the Master Narrator’s performance here is counterbalanced by an attitude of remoteness from the composition. Such a counterbalance indicates the Narrator’s deference to the epic tradition of Homeric poetry. The Narrator does not claim that he knows the tradition: instead, he says he just ‘hears’ it from the Muses, goddesses of poetic inspiration, and this act of ‘hearing’ is kleos, I.02.486, derived from the verb kluein ‘hear’. The literal meaning of kleos as ‘the thing heard’ has an enormous prestige that translates into the idealized meaning of ‘glory, fame’ as applied to the composition and performance of Homeric poetry. The Narrator of Homeric poetry is proud of his capacity to ‘hear’. To hear what? To hear ‘the thing heard’, which is kleos. This capacity translates into ‘glory, fame’ not only for Homeric poetry but also for the poet who performs the poetry. Such a poet claims access to both the form and the content of what he ‘hears’ the Muses tell him.

The ‘I’ of Homer is interchangeable with ‘we’. The ellipsis of successive ‘I’-s in this ‘we’ indicates a vertical succession of performers.

|488 πληθὺν δ’ οὐκ ἂν ἐγὼ μυθήσομαι οὐδ’ ὀνομήνω, |489 οὐδ’ εἴ μοι δέκα μὲν γλῶσσαι, δέκα δὲ στόματ’ εἶεν, |490 φωνὴ δ’ ἄρρηκτος, χάλκεον δέ μοι ἦτορ ἐνείη, |491 εἰ μὴ Ὀλυμπιάδες Μοῦσαι Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο |492 θυγατέρες μνησαίαθ’ ὅσοι ὑπὸ Ἴλιον ἦλθον· |493 ἀρχοὺς αὖ νηῶν ἐρέω νῆάς τε προπάσας.

|488 But the number [of Achaeans] I could not tell nor name |489 (not even if I had ten tongues and ten mouths |490 and a voice that was unbreaking, and if a heart of bronze were within me) |491 if the Muses of Olympus, of Zeus the aegis-bearer |492 the daughters, did not mentally connect [mimnēskein] me, (about) how many came to Troy. |493 But now I will say the leaders [arkhoi] of the ships, and all the ships.

The performer here is re-experiencing the here-and-now of his own performance. See further the comment at I.02.492.

What the Muses do is ‘put the mind in touch’: the translation of mnē- as ‘mentally connect’ is more accurate than ‘remind’, since the idea of ‘reminding’ in a language like English restricts the idea of mental contact to the past. But the idea ‘mentally connect’ as conveyed by the word mnē- is broader. This Greek word refers to mental contact not only with the past but also with the present and even with the future. The Muses have the power to put the mind in touch with times and places other than one’s own.

We see here a transition from the prooimion ‘proemium, prelude’ that introduces the Catalogue of Ships to the actual narration of the Catalogue. The transition is formalized by way of picking up a basic idea from the prooimion. This idea, signaled by the word hēgemones ‘leaders’ at I.02.487 in the prooimion, is now picked up by the word arkhoi ‘leaders’ here in the first verse of the actual narration, I.02.493. For the etymology of prooimion ‘proemium, prelude’, see the comment on O.08.074.

argument for the contextual unity of eukhesthai einai + comparative/superlative expressions regarding superiority in age on the one hand and prestige, physical prowess and physical beauty on the other (secular contexts)

in a list of examples of eukhesthai einai + comparative/superlative (secular contexts)

evidence for counting in arithmetic systems that lack a zero as indistinguishable from grouping

example of handing on of the scepter in the context of discussing Achilles’ hurling it to the ground after his oath in I.01

analysis of Agamemnon’s skēptron and gold as symbol for the artificial continuum of immortality (aphthito-) and the relevance of this for Achilles’ oath

analysis of philotēs and timē going together, and here, Odysseus’ misapprehension regarding the object of Zeus’ timē, corrected by Agamemnon’s acknowledgement in I.09.116-118

in a list of instances where phanai substitutes for eukhesthai where it is combined with comparative/superlative

among examples of formal divergence between phrases which are functionally parallel but occur in spoken dialogue as against narrative (transformations of (A) paralleled in a secular series, of which this verse is an example)

analysis of the attestations of eukhesthai + aorist infinitive (and the series to which I.02.401 belongs) [MRBTP: 'f']

analysis of the versatility of poetic technique to report prayers (invocation, grant of favor, request of favor) [MRBTP: 'f']

in a list of passages with eukhesthai + infinitive (aorist) [MRBTP: 'f']

comparison with I.19.100, a non-formulaic attestation of eukhesthai introducing speech (formal parallelism between a sacral (I.02.410) and secular (I.19.100) eukhesthai formulas)

comparison with I.19.100, a non-formulaic attestation of eukhesthai introducing speech (formal parallelism between a sacral (I.02.410) and secular (I.19.100) eukhesthai formulas)

in a list of examples of directly quoted prayers not concluded by formula (A)

in a list of examples of absolute usage of eukhesthai to report prayers (ritual narrative formulas)

analysis of the variant prologue to the Iliad connecting the mēnis of Achilles and of Apollo and its identical line to I.02.484

Homeric epic referring to itself as kleos, like Pindar’s medium

When Odysseus addresses the kings and leaders in the testing scene of Book 2, he uses "mild words (epeessin)" to hold them back (2.188-89): Odysseus speaks to his social equals and uses epea. With the common soldiers he uses a muthos instead (2.198-201) (Martin 1993:23).

With the common soldiers Odysseus uses a different register: "Whatever man of the people he saw or found shouting he would drive on with the scepter and berate with a muthos: 'Strange one, sit still and listen to the muthos of others who are stronger, while you are unwarlike and strengthless'" (2.198-201). When the lines of power are clearly drawn, the speaker who uses a muthos prevails (Martin 1993:23).

The description of Thersites (a foil for Odysseus) concentrates on his inability to organize the discrete small units of his talk, the epea: "he who knew many disordered epea in his mind, rashly, not according to good order" (2.212-14). Muthoi are the large units, epea the small (Martin 1993:17).

Odysseus' speech to the Achaeans in Book 2, recalling the divine sign at Aulis, is introduced by Athena herself restraining the audience so that he may speak the elaborate muthos at 2.284-332 (Martin 1993:63-64). One could score the speech by noting the shifts in genres of muthos within it: Odysseus begins with flyting, comparing the troops to children or women anxious to get home; memory takes over, noting it is the tenth year at Troy; a command intrudes ("Bear up, friends," 2.299-300); and this triggers a long rendition of an earlier prophecy by Kalkhas at Aulis, when the sign of the snake who ate the swallows appeared (Martin 1993:81).

Precise details—the altar and the springs near it, the snake's color, the number of birds and their cries—are remembered in the service of dramatic rhetoric intended to convince the Achaeans of the authenticity of the event, but also to raise the status of the one who remembers it. For Odysseus, in recalling the words of Kalkhas, exhibits a seerlike ability to describe and interpret what is not present. Memory bestows a mantle on its practitioners (Martin 1993:81-82).

The crucial difference between this type of performance and that of Nestor in his long narrative in Book 2 (656-803) has to do with the self-presentation of the speaker. Odysseus foregrounds himself as performer, explicitly quoting another authority—Kalkhas—whom he then can be seen to overcome in the contest of speaking: Kalkhas, as we saw in Book 1, does not even cite his own previous acts, whereas Odysseus remembers all, apparently. Nestor, on the other hand, presents himself not as a speaker but as a heroic performer of both words and deeds. His narrative of personal experience is convincing because it calls for emulation, even challenge (Martin 1993:82).

References

Martin, R. P. 1993. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

The three mediated commands of Zeus called muthoi occur at crucial moments in the Iliad's first half, all relating directly to the promise Zeus made to Thetis. The first, in Book 2, takes the form of a message from Dream telling Agamemnon to arm for battle (2.7-15). Zeus specifies the exact destination, the speed of arming, and an explanation (note the triple gar of 2.12-14). This message is marked as a directive by the formula "winged words" and by the word Zeus uses to send the message, "I order" (2.10). When Zeus speaks here with what seems greatest accuracy, he is in fact contradicting what the audience knows from the previous scene—complete discord among the gods. Zeus speaks ironically in saying that Hera "bent" all the gods to her will (epegnampsen hapantas, 2.14), since this rare verb had described Hera's own fearful submission to Zeus at 1.569 (Martin 1993:51-52).

Dream then becomes creative on his own, modifying the message to persuade Agamemnon by his impersonation of Nestor. Dream's persuasive disguise restrains the self-regarding elder hero from dismissing the message entirely. Zeus' authority has been deconstructed within the first few lines of Book 2 when Homer demonstrates that muthos speech does not require truth so much as an effective representation (Martin 1993:52).

For the ideal of muthos commands as demonstrated by Zeus, see the comment on Iliad 8.5-27.

References

Martin, R. P. 1993. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

Nestor's commands stand out from those of other heroes in the flow of the narrative: five of his six muthoi of command occur between Books 9 and 11, the poem's core, and all mark significant junctures. His first such speech in the poem stands out, though brief, because Agamemnon grants Nestor instant obedience (2.434-41). Nestor's explicit motivation for telling Agamemnon to advance the troops is that "a god grants" the present work (2.436). An audience should recall that the "god" is Zeus, whose messenger Dream had taken the form of Nestor in appearing to Agamemnon (2.21). Nestor is thus both the distant and immediate catalyst for the assault, and his muthos (2.433) depends on the muthos of Zeus (2.16) (Martin 1993:59-60).

For the broader analysis of Nestor as the ideal speaker in the memory genre, see the comment on Iliad 1.259-274.

References

Martin, R. P. 1993. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

The first critical term to examine in the analysis of Thersites' speech is the insult Odysseus throws at him: akritomuthos (2.246). The admiring description of Menelaos' style, ou polumuthos (3.214), was correlated with a style that did not miss the mark by tossing words about aimlessly: oud' apharmatoepēs (3.215). When Thersites appears for the first time, the poet draws attention to qualities in his speech that directly oppose the good style of Menelaos: he speaks a great deal and he does not put his words in good order (epea . . . akosma . . . polla, 2.213). The implication that Thersites misses the mark of proportionate speech comes in Homer's observation that the blamer says whatever he thinks will get a laugh (2.215). In other words, he is just an entertainer, not a "performer" in the heroic sense (Martin 1993:109-10).

Thersites' style deserves no respect because he does not have the heroic martial performance record needed to back up his words: style for the hero is a total notion, a proportion of words and deeds. Because Thersites does not have a valid poetic memory for his own career, the audience of Achaean heroes and epic hearers cannot perform the critical judgment necessary to validate his muthos. It remains "indeterminate" or "undiscriminated." The verbal idea contained in the first part of the compound adjective akritomuthos is one of careful selection, what a commander must exercise to pick out the best troops (2.362, krin'), the opposite of massing things together—in a word, critical ability. The term, then, underscores a performance value: the capacity to judge one's own acts and be judged for them (Martin 1993:110-11).

In the other passage where muthoi are called "undiscriminated," the lack of connection between verbal behavior and martial performance is prominently foregrounded. Iris rebukes Priam (2.796-97): "Old man, to you unjudged words are always dear as once during peace. But war inescapable has arisen." "Unjudged muthoi" is a contradiction in terms; such words would be a masquerade of martial speech in the context of peace. Real muthoi require action (Martin 1993:110-11).

The evidence of meter reinforces the stylistic analysis. When Thersites' speech (2.225-42) is performed aloud, it contains massive correption—the reduction of long vowels and diphthongs from their usual metrical value as "heavy" syllables to "light," short values. A count of correptions per number of lines shows that Thersites' eighteen verses contain this feature ten times, a rate of 55 percent. By contrast, Nestor's correption rate in the speech of 1.254-84 is 30 percent (nine times in thirty lines). The average rate of correption for narrative verses in the poem is 20 percent; for speeches it is 40 percent. Nestor, "of sweet speech," sounds like Homer as we first hear him; Thersites is quite literally "without meter" in his performance, markedly more so than the average hero (Martin 1993:112-13).

References

Martin, R. P. 1993. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

Odysseus' description in Book 2 of the divine sign at Aulis (2.308-29) provides one of the most important parallels for Achilles' bird simile in Book 9. In the augury passage, a blood-red snake devours eight sparrows while their mother, soon to be eaten herself, hovered nearby. Odysseus calls the nestlings phila tekna—an example of the pathetic fallacy consistently applied by Homeric augurs—and says the mother was grieved. This description in the discourse of augury is compared by Kalkhas on purely numerical grounds; the Trojan Polydamas similarly combines sentiment with advice in his allegorical reading of a bird-sign (12.209-22). Both augurs draw a prospective moral from the bird image. Achilles, before comparing himself to a bird and drawing conclusions from the equation, uses a phrase similar to Polydamas' preface (autar egōn ereō hōs moi dokei einai arista, 9.314; cf. nun aut' exereō hōs moi dokei einai arista, 12.215). Like Odysseus, Achilles fills out his description of the parent bird in the pathetic manner. But his individual shaping of this piece of description consists in pointing the moral toward himself and toward the past: "So, too, I slept sleepless nights," says Achilles. The fall of Troy, and the outcome of battle, are not his concern, as they are in the other, similar bird auguries (Martin 1993:203-4).

For the bird simile itself and its context in Achilles' speech, see the comment on Iliad 9.323-326. For the broader analysis of Achilles' speech, see the comment on Iliad 9.307-429.

References

Martin, R. P. 1993. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

Homer's recusatio at the threshold of the Catalogue of Ships—"I could not make a muthos or name the entirety, not even if I had ten tongues, ten mouths, an unbreakable voice, and my heart bronze within me, unless the Olympian Muses, daughters of aegis-bearing Zeus, should recall how many came up to Troy" (2.488-92)—has a precise parallel in Achilles' hyperbolic denial at 9.379: "Not even if Agamemnon gives ten and twenty times as much will he persuade me." Although their topics appear to be different, both Achilles and the narrator Homer speak in the same manner: both specify a condition using hyperbolic numbering, then deny the condition by adding a further one—Homer requires the Muses, not merely ten tongues; Achilles demands that Agamemnon pay back his insult, and no other payments will satisfy him. Finally, both Homer and Achilles use this trope to continue their speech-acts: Homer by listing the Panhellenic forces, Achilles by listing his own assets in Phthia. As with the occurrence of the unique formula kleos aphthiton in Achilles' speech, this particularly marked trope is restricted within the rhetoric of the Iliad and given to only one hero to speak—the performer who is most like Homer (Martin 1993:223-24).

This parallel furnishes the most important piece of evidence for the first of two conclusions arising from the analysis of Achilles' speech. First, the "language of Achilles" is none other than that of the monumental composer: Homer fully reveals all the possibilities of his own poetic craft only in the extended speech of Achilles. Homer could have expanded formulaic diction in the speeches of any other hero to produce discourse as complex, inward-looking, and pleonastic as Achilles', but he did not. The effect is to make Achilles sound like a poet, and the similarity arises because Homer, when he constructs Achilles by means of language, employs all his poetic resources and stretches the limits of his formulaic art to make the hero as large a figure as possible. In short, the monumental poem demands a monumental hero; the language of epic, pressed to provide speech for such a man, becomes the "language of Achilles" (Martin 1993:222-23).

The second conclusion is the converse: the rhetoric of Homer as narrator is that of a heroic performer in the role of Achilles. Achilles' performance situation is itself an image for the way in which the poem was composed. Homer's composition of the monumental Iliad starts from the need to outdistance previous epics. The rhetoric of Achilles—his heroic self-performance in an adversary relationship with the past and the present—is at the root of Homer's own composition-in-performance. If the language of Achilles is the undisguised voice and rhetoric of Homer himself, then the converse is equally true (Martin 1993:224-25, 230).

For the specific expansion types that underlie the rhetoric of Achilles' speech, see the comments on Iliad 9.310-314 and Iliad 9.315-316.

References

Martin, R. P. 1993. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.

Homer's invocation of the Muses at 2.484-86—where he makes clear that his narrative has continuity with the past guaranteed by his own contact with the Muses—must be read in contrast with the story of Thamyris at 2.594-600. When Homer says that a poet returning from Oikhalia was deprived of his art, he is making a claim that the Herakles tradition is faulty, that it suffered a break in historical transmission from the event itself. By contrast, Homer in Book 2 makes clear that his narrative has a continuity with the past which is guaranteed by his own contact with the Muses. In other words, although the story of Thamyris is on the surface about an agon between singers and ultimately about antagonism between artist and divinities, it is also a statement about the agon between Homer and previous singers. Just as Achilles is drawn in such a way that he obliterates Herakles, so the poem itself is composed under pressure from the Herakles epics and in response to them (Martin 1993:229-30).

For the recusatio and the claim that Homer composes under agonistic conditions, see the comment on Iliad 2.488-492.

References

Martin, R. P. 1993. The Language of Heroes: Speech and Performance in the Iliad. Ithaca.