The only glimpse of nobility which Achilles shows throughout the whole scene is in his stoical answer:—
“Die thou! my fate I then shall meet, whene’er
Jove and th’ immortal gods shall so decree.”
What follows is mere brutality. The Greeks crowd round, and drive their weapons into the senseless body.
“And one to other looked, and said, ‘Good faith,
Hector is easier far to handle now,
Than when erewhile he wrapped our ships in fire.’”
Does it need here to do more than recall the too well remembered sequel—how the savage victor pierced the heels of his dead enemy, and so fastened the body to his chariot, and dragged him off to his ships, in full sight of his agonised parents? how
“A cloud of dust the trailing body raised;
Loose hung his glossy hair; and in the dust
Was laid that noble head, so graceful once.”
Or how the miserable Priam, grovelling on the floor of his palace, besought his weeping friends to suffer him to rush out of the gates, and implore the mercy of the merciless Achilles? Less horrible, if not less piteous, is the picture of Andromache:—
“To her no messenger
Had brought the tidings, that without the walls
Remained her husband; in her house withdrawn,
A web she wove, all purple, double woof,
With varied flowers in rich embroidery,
And to her neat-haired maids she gave command
To place the largest caldrons on the fires,
That with warm baths, returning from the fight,
Hector might be refreshed; unconscious she,
That by Achilles’ hand, with Pallas’ aid,
Far from the bath, was godlike Hector slain.
The sounds of wailing reached her from the tower.
* * * * * *
Then from the house she rushed, like one distract,
With beating heart; and with her went her maids.
But when the tower she reached, where stood the crowd,
And mounted on the wall, and looked around,
And saw the body trailing in the dust,
Which the fleet steeds were dragging to the ships,
A sudden darkness overspread her eyes;
Backward she fell, and gasped her spirit away.
Far off were flung th’ adornments of her head,
The net, the fillet, and the woven bands;
The nuptial veil by golden Venus given,
That day when Hector of the glancing helm
Led from Eëtion’s house his wealthy bride.
The sisters of her husband round her pressed,
And held, as in the deadly swoon she lay.” (D.)
The body is dragged off to the ships, and flung in the dust in front of the bier on which Patroclus lies. And now, at last, when he has been fully avenged, the due honours shall be paid to his beloved remains, while the dogs and vultures feast on those of Hector. Thrice in slow procession, with a mournful chant, the Myrmidons lead their horses round the bier. While Achilles sleeps the deep sleep of exhaustion after the long day’s battle, the shade of his dead friend appears to him, and chides him for leaving him so long unburied, a wandering ghost in the gloom below.
“Sleep’st thou, Achilles, mindless of thy friend,
Neglecting not the living, but the dead?
Hasten my fun’ral rites, that I may pass
Through Hades’ gloomy gates; ere those be done,
The spirits and spectres of departed men
Drive me far from them, nor allow to cross
Th’ abhorred river; but forlorn and sad
I wander through the widespread realms of night.
And give me now thy hand, whereon to weep;
For never more, when laid upon the pyre,
Shall I return from Hades; never more,
Apart from all our comrades, shall we two,
As friends, sweet counsel take; for me, stern Death,
The common lot of man, has ope’d his mouth;
Thou too, Achilles, rival of the gods,
Art destined here beneath the walls of Troy
To meet thy doom; yet one thing must I add,
And make, if thou wilt grant it, one request:
Let not my bones be laid apart from thine,
Achilles, but together, as our youth
Was spent together in thy father’s house.” (D.)