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TROY REVISITED by TAMARA STADNYCHENKO In ancient times it could be reached by sea. Today one takes a bus from Canakkale with children on school tours or summer holidays who sing the latest creation of the latest new rock star from Istanbul and proudly show off their English to bemused tourists. They ask about America, complain about the Greeks who were the ancient enemy and are the enemy still. There is, for them, little interest in Virgil or Homer or Schliemann, much in the enormous replica of the famed wooden horse that stands as if to guard the nine cities that were. Istanbul, 160 miles away, cannot be felt here. Ankara, even further, is even less a presence. Gallipoli, just across the Dardanelles Strait, is a new battle ground; the monuments to English and French and Turkish dead cannot compete in splendor with that horse. A square marker on a metal pole identifies Troy I, which was, the guidebook says, destroyed by fire. Pie ces of wall still stand, stone upon stone, enduring. A paved ramp and several tall stone gates comprise the ruins of Troy II, burned by some long forgotten enemy. The next three Troys are difficult. We’re told that the destruction may have been the work of Hittites. If so, they were aided and abetted by Heinrich Schliemann, who dismantled walls and towers and whatever else remained and had them shipped back home to Ger many. No slouches those Germans. They took apart the whole of Pergammon this way, labelled each piece, packed, shipped and then unpacked the lot with loved care, and had the whole rebuilt in no time flat — Per gammon resurrected in Berlin. Unfortunately, the guide books don’t tell where the three missing Troys ended up. But Schliemann left behind most of Troy VI; the damage here was nature’s handiwork — an earthquake. And next we find the Troy of Priam and his brood, now labelled Vila. There is a reverent stillness here. Homer lives. Kassandra’s prophesy is carried on the wind, and then, just barely heard, the all-unheeded warning of old Laocoon, ’’beware of Greeks when they bear gifts”. Well, we all know that people don’t care to be told that their world is coming to an end. Kassandra, for her pains, was called a madwoman. And Laocoon? His end was even messier. Poseidon, who liked the Greeks and didn’t want the old priest to ruin their little scheme, sent two fierce serpents from the sea to stop the warnings and the warner before anyone took them seriously. With eyes closed tight and with imagination freed to soar above the real, one sees. Helen stands on the city battlements. In the three thousand years since Paris brought her here she has not changed. The golden hair Trojan Horse. 20th century replica. Artist unknown. Троянський кінь. Копія 20-го століття. Автор невідомий. still falls in gleaming waves upon her shoulders. Her eyes, still blue as the Aegean, look out upon the force of Agamemnon. And with him are Odysseus, Achilles, her husband Menelaus. We cannot see the thoughts behind the face that launched those thousand ships. Is she relieved? Worried? Bored? And just beyond the ruined fragments of the city wall, a chariot races by, dragging poor Hector. Priam weeps, Hecuba weeps. And in the distance, just barely visible, are the vague shadows of Hera and Athena and Aphrodite, whose vain need to be recognized as the prettiest by that foolish wife-snatcher Paris, started the ten year siege that climaxed in the ruin of Troy Vila. And after it was all done, Helen went back to Sparta with Menelaus. Odysseus took a wrong turn somewhere and ended up lost at sea for another ten years, giving the lie to Homer’s “wily”. Some of the conquering heroes stayed behind and built Troy VIIb atop the rubble of Troy Vila. Then they too were wiped out by fire. More Greeks came (Troy VIII) and then, not to be outdone, the Romans (Troy IX). They stayed a long
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