#nisus

Nisus and Euryalus.

as part of my research for classical allusions in homoeroticism in victor hugo's les misérables, not only do i need to look into the relevant texts surrounding nisus and euryalus and orestes and pylades, but my supervisor has also advised that i look specifically into which versions of myth victor hugo would have been most familiar with if that makes sense.

for example, when discussing orestes and pylades, would hugo have been most likely referring to euripides or aeschylus? i need to research the popularity and relevance of different classical authors and their texts in 19th century france to back up my claims. translations don't matter here as i'm sure hugo would have read the texts in the original greek and latin. i'm british for starters so i'm already limited with my knowledge of prominence of classical authors as there's a chance popularity differed in france which is where my research comes in. i also don't speak latin or greek.

if anyone could help me out on this, ideally with references to books and journal articles so i can reference my own claims, that would be amazing as i'm not sure where to start. i've never studied classics and here i am writing my dissertation on them lol i am trying my best

tl;dr: when victor hugo referenced different classical characters in les misérables, which versions of the texts they feature in would he have been most likely to have studied? which classical texts featuring nisus and euryalus and orestes and pylades were most read in 19th century france?

It’s no secret Virgil pulls a lot from Homer, especially with the whole night raid mirroring that of The Iliad—right before it completely backfires.

It kind of exposes something uncomfortable: what counts as “honorable” in war depends entirely on who’s telling the story.

In Book 1, Aeneas is mortified when Juno’s temple shows Odysseus and Diomedes slaughtering Rhesus and his men in their sleep.

It’s framed as dishonorable, only for Nisus and Euryalus to do the exact same thing.

Except instead of having it as some tactical win for the Trojans, it’s Nisus who tells Euryalus to stop after the latter goes too far.

It feels wrong. And it ends wrong.

There’s no glory in it—but what sticks isn’t even the raid. It’s what comes after.

The raid fails. Euryalus is skewered, and Nisus dies right after avenging him.

The whole scene is painfully human, feeling less like a clever Homeric callback and more like a reminder of the victims of war.

Their heads are put on spikes. Taunts are thrown. And Euryalus’ mother cries out in sorrow, hitting too close to Hecuba watching Hector’s body being dragged by Achilles.

And while all of this is happening, there’s Turnus—calling himself another Achilles.

Which… is very frightening.

Because Achilles wasn’t just the greatest warrior in the Greek army.

He was wrathful. His rage rivaled the gods. And it destroyed others and himself. He’s violence pushed too far.

Turnus claiming that role doesn’t just hype him up—it reminds us, and more importantly the Trojans, who killed their prince Hector.

This is their nightmare, brought back to life.

The Trojans are behind another wall. Still losing people. Still watching their future be shaped by violence.

And then you have Ascanius.

A child. Leading. Killing.

He’s the same age Astyanax would have been if he hadn’t died.

Aeneas has been sailing for seven years.

You’ve got this 7–8-year-old being forced to grow up far too fast, fighting his father’s battles—and fate is the only thing keeping him alive.

And if you think about Neoptolemus, you’re reminded of what war does to child soldiers.

This isn’t a new future free from the past.

It’s built out of it.