The Cypria: Reconstructing the Lost Prequel to Homer's Iliad Read online

  A similar document, believed to date from the 5th or early 6th century, is Daretis Phrygii de excidio Trojae historia, or ‘Dares of Phrygia’s History of the Fall of Troy’. This is another supposedly first-hand account, written by a Trojan priest of Hephaestus. It tells the same story from a Trojan perspective, albeit in much less detail than Dictys—the pre-Iliad material is very brief, and I have not quoted any passages in this volume. However, it is still worthy of mention, as it was chiefly through the lens of Dares and Dictys that medieval Europe viewed the Trojan War, with the Iliad and Odyssey inaccessible until the Renaissance.

  The Excidium Troiae or ‘Destruction of Troy’ is ostensibly a medieval text of the late 13th century, rediscovered in 1932 by E. Bagby Atwood of the University of Texas among a quantity of manuscripts collected by Richard Rawlinson, an 18th century clergyman and antiquarian, and bequeathed to the Bodleian Library in Oxford. The work consists of a chronicle of the Trojan War from the wedding of Peleus and Thetis to the death of Achilles, an epitome of Virgil’s Aeneid, and an account of the founding of Rome and its history up to the reign of Augustus. It was immediately clear to Atwood that the Troy portion of the Excidium Troiae did not derive from Dictys or Dares, which at that time were believed to be the only sources available to medieval scholars. Its version of events is much closer to the original Epic Cycle, and contains elements not present in other extant sources (Ovid, Hyginus etc), leading Atwood to conclude that it can only be derived from an unknown Roman work, possibly dating from the time of Augustus, where the chronicle ends. Thus it earns its place here as an ‘indirect’ Classical source.

  To maintain readability and consistency, in the Latin texts I have silently reverted the Roman names to their Greek forms, e.g. Ulysses becomes Odysseus; Jupiter and Jove become Zeus. An exception has been made for names where the Latin form is more common, such as Ajax and Pollux; in such cases this rule has been applied in reverse. Similarly, Paris has been preferred to Alexander/Alexandrus, except when specifically referring to his second name.

  Additionally, I have taken the liberty of changing the first person pronouns in my translation of Dictys Cretensis Ephemeris belli Trojani to third person, substituting ‘us’, ‘we’ and ‘our’ for ‘them’, ‘they’ and ‘their’ (or simply ‘the Greeks’). This was deemed preferable to the narrative voice suddenly switching perspective at certain points, and does not alter the content in any meaningful way.

  —D. M. Smith, 2017

  CHRONOLOGY

  Mycenaean Age

  c. 1200 BC | Proposed date of the Trojan War.

  Archaic Period

  c. 760-710 BC | The Iliad and Odyssey.

  c. 700 BC | Hesiod.

  c. 650-610 BC | The Cypria.

  Classical Period

  480 BC | Battle of Thermopylae.

  c. 450 BC | Pindar’s Nemean Ode X.

  431-404 BC | Peloponnesian War.

  405 BC | Euripides’ Iphigenia at Aulis.

  Hellenistic Period

  323 BC | Death of Alexander the Great.

  Roman Period

  146 BC | Roman conquest of Greece.

  c. 50 BC - 14 AD | Parthenius’ Erotica Pathemata.

  c. 40 BC - 17 AD | Hyginus’ Fabulae.

  27 BC | Augustus Caesar is named Princeps by the Roman Senate, marking the beginning of the Roman Empire.

  19 BC | Virgil’s Aeneid.

  8 AD | Ovid’s Metamorphoses.

  c. 100 AD | Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca.

  c. 120-170 AD | Pausanias’ Description of Greece.

  c. 350 AD | Dictys Cretensis Ephemeris belli Trojani published in Latin. Greek original believed to date from c. 100 AD.

  c. 350-390 AD | Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica.

  476 AD | Fall of the Western Roman Empire.

  Byzantine Period

  c. 500 AD | Colluthus’ The Rape of Helen.

  Medieval Period

  c. 1250 AD | Excidium Troiae. Probably based on a lost Roman text.

  1453 AD | Fall of Constantinople to the Ottoman Turks, marking the end of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire.

  I.

  Zeus plans with Themis[3] to bring about the Trojan war. Eris arrives while the gods are feasting at the marriage of Peleus and starts a dispute between Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite as to which of them is fairest. The three are led by Hermes at the command of Zeus to Paris on Mount Ida for his decision, and Paris, lured by his promised marriage with Helen, decides in favour of Aphrodite.

  —Proclus, Chrestomathy

  The Plan of Zeus

  There was a time when the countless tribes of men, though wide-dispersed, oppressed the surface of the deep-bosomed earth, and Zeus saw it and had pity and in his wise heart resolved to relieve the all-nurturing earth of men by causing the great struggle of the Ilian war, that the load of death might empty the world. And so the heroes were slain in Troy, and the plan of Zeus came to pass.[4]

  —Scholiast on Homer, Iliad, I

  Peleus and Thetis

  To Thetis, aged Proteus once had said, “Oh goddess of the waves, you shall conceive, and you shall be the mother of a youth who by heroic actions will surpass the deeds of his own father, and your son shall be superior to his father’s power.” So Zeus, although the flame of love for Thetis burned his breast, would not embrace the lovely daughter of the sea, and urged his grandson Peleus, son of Aeacus, to wed the green-haired maid without delay.[5] There is a curved bay of Haemonia, where like an arch, two bending arms project out in the waves, as if to form a harbour; but the water is not deep—although enough to hide a shoal of sand. It has a firm shore which will not retain a foot’s impression, nor delay the step—no seaweeds grow in that vicinity.

  There is a grove of myrtle near that place thick-hung with berries, blended of twin shades. A cave within the middle of that grove is found, and whether it was formed by art or nature is not known, although it seems a work of art. There Thetis often went, quite naked, seated on her dolphin, which was harnessed. Peleus seized her there when she was fast asleep; and after he had tried to win her by entreaties, while she long continued to resist him, he resolved to conquer her by violence, and seized her neck with both arms. She resorted then to all her usual art, and often changed her shape as it was known, so that he failed in his attempt. At first she was a bird, but while she seemed a bird he held her fast; and then she changed herself to a large tree, and Peleus clung with ardour to the tree; her third disguise was as a spotted tigress, which frightened him so that he lost his hold.

  Then, as he poured wine on the heaving sea, he prayed unto the sea-green gods and gave them sacrifice of sheep entrails, and smoke of frankincense. He ceased not, till at last the prophet of Carpathia, as he rose up from a deep wave, said, “Hark unto me, oh son of Aeacus and you shall have the bride your heart desires! When she at rest lies sleeping in the cool wave, you must bind her while she is unwary, with strong cords and complicated bonds. And never let her arts deceive you when she imitates a hundred varied forms, but hold her fast, whatever she may seem, until she shall at length assume the shape she had at first.” So Proteus cautioned him, and hid his face beneath the waves as his last words were said.[6]

  Now Helios was descending and the pole of his bright chariot as it downward bent illuminated the Hesperian main; and at that time the lovely Nereid, Thetis, departing from her ocean wave, entered the cavern for desired repose. Peleus was waiting there. Immediately, just as he seized upon the virgin’s limbs, she changed her shape and persevered until convinced she could not overcome his hold—for her two arms were forced apart—she groaned and said, “You could not overcome me in this way, but some divinity has given you the power.”

  Then she appeared as Thetis; and, when Peleus saw her now deprived of all deceptions, he embraced her and was father of the great Achilles.

  —Ovid, Metamorphoses, XI

  Achilles

  And he married her on Pelion, and there the gods celebrated the marriage with feast and song.
And Chiron gave Peleus an ashen spear, and Poseidon gave him horses, Balius and Xanthus, and these were immortal.[7]

  When Thetis had got a babe by Peleus, she wished to make it immortal, and unknown to Peleus she used to hide it in the fire by night in order to destroy the mortal element which the child inherited from its father, but by day she anointed him with ambrosia. But Peleus watched her, and, seeing the child writhing on the fire, he cried out; and Thetis, thus prevented from accomplishing her purpose, forsook her infant son and departed to the Nereids.[8]

  Peleus brought the child to Chiron, who received him and fed him on the innards of lions and wild swine and the marrows of bears, and named him Achilles, because he had not put his lips to the breast; but before that time his name was Ligyron.[9]

  —Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, III

  The Birth of Paris

  Podarces, who was called Priam, came to the throne, and he married first Arisbe, daughter of Merops, by whom he had a son Aesacus, who married Asterope, daughter of Cebren, and when she died he mourned for her and was turned into a bird. But Priam handed over Arisbe to Hyrtacus and married a second wife Hecuba, daughter of Dymas, or, as some say, of Cisseus, or, as others say, of the river Sangarius and Metope. The first son born to her was Hector; and when a second babe was about to be born Hecuba dreamed she had brought forth a firebrand, and that the fire spread over the whole city and burned it.

  When Priam learned of the dream from Hecuba, he sent for his son Aesacus, for he was an interpreter of dreams, having been taught by his mother’s father Merops. He declared that the child was begotten to be the ruin of his country and advised that the babe should be exposed. When the babe was born Priam gave it to a servant to take and expose on Ida; now the servant was named Agelaus. Exposed by him, the infant was nursed for five days by a bear; and, when he found it safe, he took it up, carried it away, brought it up as his own son on his farm, and named him Paris.

  When he grew to be a young man, Paris excelled many in beauty and strength, and was afterwards surnamed Alexander, because he repelled robbers and defended the flocks.[10]

  —Apollodorus, Bibliotheca, III

  Paris Among the Herdsmen

  When he had grown into a young man, his foster father clothed him in the garb of a herdsman and set him to work herding the sheep and cattle, and among the herdsmen he was soon held in high esteem. Now it came to pass that a bull of uncommon size was born into Paris’ herd, and when it had matured it would fight with the bulls of the other herds, and had the better of each and every one of them. And after every victory Paris would place upon its head a golden crown, between the horns.

  Seeing this, the war-god Ares assumed the likeness of a bull and came down to challenge the bull of Paris. And Ares, in the shape of a bull, did contest with the bull of Paris and emerged the victor. Now Paris, seeing that Ares had defeated his champion bull, placed the crown between the war-god’s horns to acknowledge his victory. Word of this contest spread, and because of his impartiality, as a judge he was said to be just.

  Thus Paris was chosen by Zeus to adjudicate upon the three goddesses.

  —Anonymous, Excidium Troiae

  Paris and Oenone

  When Paris, Priam’s son, was tending his flocks on Mount Ida, he fell in love with Oenone the daughter of [the river god] Cebren; and the story is that she was possessed by some divinity and foretold the future, and generally obtained great renown for her understanding and wisdom. Paris took her away from her father to Ida, where his pasturage was, and lived with her there as his wife, and he was so much in love with her that he would swear to her that he would never desert her, but would rather advance her to the greatest honour.

  She however said that she could tell that for the moment indeed he was wholly in love with her, but that the time would come when he would cross over to Europe, and would there, by his infatuation for a foreign woman, bring the horrors of war upon his kindred. She also foretold that he must be wounded in the war, and that there would be nobody else, except herself, who would be able to cure him; but he used always to stop her, every time that she made mention of these matters. Time went on, and Paris took Helen to wife; Oenone took his conduct exceedingly ill, and returned to Cebren.[11]

  —Parthenius, Love Romances, IV

  The Funeral Games

  One day servants sent by Priam came to choose a bull for the forthcoming games in remembrance of Paris, and they began to lead away his favourite bull. And Paris went after them and asked them where they were taking it. They informed him that they were leading it to Priam, to be awarded to whomever should come first in the funeral games.

  —Hyginus, Fabulae, XCI

  Paris Returns to Troy

  Now a yearning came into the heart of Paris for the great event that was now taking place in Troy—a thing wholly unfamiliar to him. And he made it known to his foster father that he intended to go down to Troy, where King Priam reigned, and witness the spectacle for himself. Fearing danger, his foster father attempted to dissuade him. “You have the spectacle of your cattle,” he said. “How can you long for that which you have not seen?” But Paris’ longing only increased, and seeing that he could not deter him, his foster father at last agreed to accompany him to Troy to watch the games.

  When the charioteers had completed their sixth race, the wrestlers—as was the custom—came before the royal box to fight. And when Paris watched them, in the brashness of his youth he sought to join the fight. His foster father, worrying for his safety, attempted to call him back. But the impetuous youth would not be deterred, and he strode out onto the sand to join in the contest. And by sheer strength in lieu of art he overcame them all and received the crown.

  The wrestlers having departed, the young runners now came forth, darting from mark to mark; into these he ran and won the crown. Then the sons of the king—even his own brothers—were moved to wrath, and came into the arena that they might compete with him. Nevertheless he defeated them, and earned his third crown.

  Now the sons of the king, having been put to shame in view of all the people, began to think of how to murder him. They commanded their soldiers to station themselves at the exits of the arena, so that when the games were dismissed they could easily trap him, and thus fulfil their evil desire.

  But his foster father saw what they were planning to do, and he rushed down into the arena and loudly interrupted the king. “Have mercy, your Royal Highness,” he shouted, “for this child is your own! And you, sons of the king, forget this madness, for he is your brother!”

  And the king did know his son, and his brothers their brother, he went to the palace and was duly recognised as their kinsman. Now when this became known to the priests they began to dread the return of Paris, recalling the dream of his mother, and they said that he ought to be slain. When this reached the ear of the king, he said: “Better the city should perish than the death of our child.”

  —Anonymous, Excidium Troiae

  The Judgement of Paris

  So among the high-peaked hills of the Haemonians, the marriage song of Peleus was being sung while, at the bidding of Zeus, Ganymede poured the wine. And all the race of the gods hasted to do honour to the white-armed bride, own sister of Amphitrite: Zeus from Olympus and Poseidon from the sea. Out of the land of Melisseus, from fragrant Helicon, Apollo came leading the clear-voiced choir of the Muses. On either side, fluttering with golden locks, the unshorn cluster of his hair was buffeted by the west wind. And after him followed Hera, sister of Zeus; nor did the queen of harmony herself, even Aphrodite, loiter in coming to the groves of the Centaur. Came also Peitho,[12] having fashioned a bridal wreath, carrying the quiver of archer Eros. And Athena put off her mighty helmet from her brow and followed to the marriage, albeit of marriage she was untaught. Nor did Leto’s daughter Artemis, sister of Apollo, disdain to come, goddess of the wilds thought she was. And iron Ares, even as, helmetless nor lifting warlike spear, he comes into the house of Hephaestus, in such wise without breastplate
and without whetted sword danced smilingly. But Eris did Chiron leave unhonoured: Chiron did not regard her, and Peleus heeded her not.

  And as some heifer wanders from the pasture in the glen and roams in the lonely brush, smitten by the bloody gadfly, the goad of kine: so Eris, overcome by the pangs of angry jealousy, wandered in search of a way to disturb the banquet of the gods. And often would she leap up from her chair, set with precious stones, and anon sit down again. She smote with her hand the bosom of the earth and heeded not the rock. Fain would she unbar the bolts of the darksome hollows and rouse the Titans from the nether pit and destroy the heaven, the seat of Zeus, who rules on high. Fain would she brandish the roaring thunderbolt of fire, yet gave way, for all her age, to Hephaestus, keeper of quenchless fire and of iron. And she thought to rouse the heavy-clashing din of shields, if haply they might leap up in terror at the noise. But from her later crafty counsel, too, she withdrew in fear of iron Ares, the shielded warrior.