By Noah Apter

 

The opening lines of the Iliad could not capture the essence of the text more. The imagery of Apollo storming down from Olympus, the rattling of the arrows on his back, and the audible twang of the silver bow all give rise to immense feelings of dread, fear, and despair. These emotions lie at the heart of the Iliad, and it feels appropriate to highlight the first passage where we as readers are meant to experience them.

 

33. ὣς ἔφατ᾽, ἔδεισεν δ᾽ ὃ γέρων καὶ ἐπείθετο μύθῳ:

βῆ δ᾽ ἀκέων παρὰ θῖνα πολυφλοίσβοιο θαλάσσης:

πολλὰ δ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ἀπάνευθε κιὼν ἠρᾶθ᾽ ὃ γεραιὸς

Ἀπόλλωνι ἄνακτι, τὸν ἠΰκομος τέκε Λητώ:

κλῦθί μευ ἀργυρότοξ᾽, ὃς Χρύσην ἀμφιβέβηκας

Κίλλάν τε ζαθέην Τενέδοιό τε ἶφι ἀνάσσεις,

Σμινθεῦ εἴ ποτέ τοι χαρίεντ᾽ ἐπὶ νηὸν ἔρεψα,

ἢ εἰ δή ποτέ τοι κατὰ πίονα μηρί᾽ ἔκηα

ταύρων ἠδ᾽ αἰγῶν, τὸ δέ μοι κρήηνον ἐέλδωρ:

τίσειαν Δαναοὶ ἐμὰ δάκρυα σοῖσι βέλεσσιν.

 

So he spoke, and the old man fearfully obeyed his word and went silently alongside the murmuring sea. The old man constantly prayed to the lord Apollo, whom fair-haired Leto bore, as he left: 

 

“Listen to me, lord of the silver bow who guards Chryse and sacred Killa, who rules over Tenedos by force, O’ Smintheus, if I ever built a temple to your liking, if it ever pleased you that I burned the rich thighs of bulls and goats, then accomplish this deed I pray for: let your arrows make the Danaans pay for the tears I shed.”

43. ὣς ἔφατ᾽ εὐχόμενος, τοῦ δ᾽ ἔκλυε Φοῖβος Ἀπόλλων,

βῆ δὲ κατ᾽ Οὐλύμποιο καρήνων χωόμενος κῆρ,

τόξ᾽ ὤμοισιν ἔχων ἀμφηρεφέα τε φαρέτρην:

ἔκλαγξαν δ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ὀϊστοὶ ἐπ᾽ ὤμων χωομένοιο,

αὐτοῦ κινηθέντος: ὃ δ᾽ ἤϊε νυκτὶ ἐοικώς.

ἕζετ᾽ ἔπειτ᾽ ἀπάνευθε νεῶν, μετὰ δ᾽ ἰὸν ἕηκε:

δεινὴ δὲ κλαγγὴ γένετ᾽ ἀργυρέοιο βιοῖο:

οὐρῆας μὲν πρῶτον ἐπῴχετο καὶ κύνας ἀργούς,

αὐτὰρ ἔπειτ᾽ αὐτοῖσι βέλος ἐχεπευκὲς ἐφιεὶς

βάλλ᾽: αἰεὶ δὲ πυραὶ νεκύων καίοντο θαμειαί.

 

So he spoke in prayer, and Phoebus Apollo heard him, down from the peak of Olympus he strode, harboring anger in his heart, carrying across his shoulders his bow and covered quiver; the arrows rattled on the shoulders of the enraged god as he strode forth. He came down like the night. Then he kneeled opposite the ships, and let an arrow fly. Terrible was the twang of the silver bow; first he went after the mules and the swift-footed hounds, but then he sent forth a piercing arrow against the men themselves and it was true: constantly did the funeral pyres of the dead burn thick.

 

Photo Caption Credits: Alexander Rothaug (1870–1946), Apollo Sending Out the Plague Arrows, oil on canvas, 185 x 236 cm, c. 1920.

 

Noah Apter (College ‘25) is a student at the University of Pennsylvania majoring in Classical Studies and Philosophy.