The Tamed Tiger: Achilles and Xanthos
Attributed to the circle of Pompeo Batoni (1708–1787)
Oil on canvas, circa 1760
Possibly commissioned for a Roman patron with antiquarian interests.
Baroque Revelation
Combining the moral grandeur of late Baroque allegory with the serene clarity of early Neoclassicism, this work depicts Achilles, the mortal hero consumed by pride and violence, and Xanthos, the divine river of the Troad — at once adversary and mirror of the hero’s own conscience. The muscular idealization of both figures, rendered with Batoni’s characteristic lucidity, reflects the artist’s fascination with antique heroism tempered by Christian introspection. The setting—mountainous, yet infused with supernatural light—evokes Salvator Rosa’s sublimity while maintaining a classical order reminiscent of Poussin.
Embrace of the Waters
Homeric tales recount the combat between Achilles and Xanthos, the river of the Troad also called Scamander¹. In the best-known version (Iliad, Book XXI), the river god rises against the murderous hero and attempts to engulf him beneath its waves. Yet another interpretation can be glimpsed, where the gesture of the river, rather than one of hostility, takes the form of an embrace, suggesting a different outcome to the hero’s epic. Perhaps Xanthos, the “blond,” the “tawny,” is nothing other than a living, luminous reflection of Achilles’ own conscience², questioning his moral choices.
In this vision, Achilles holds a branch of laurel in his left hand — an emblem of victory transformed into peace, the triumph of wisdom over wrath. The laurel, sacred to Apollo, marks not conquest but purification: it unites the hero’s martial past with the divine harmony that now calls him to yield.
(To discover a Homeric Variation with erotic tones, where daddy Xanthos tames his good boy Achilles, see further on in this publication.)
The Surrender of the Hero
Xanthos joins his current to Achilles’ body, not to destroy him but to possess him, to turn him away from his fury. The water closing over the hero, the liquid arms that tighten around him, the whirlpools drawing him into the riverbed—all become signs of a divine force compelling him to yield, to abandon his violence, blurring the boundaries between his warrior nature and the tranquil power of the river. Achilles lets himself be carried away, unable to resist a force greater than his own — a mere mortal before the divinity of the waters.
Desire as Redemption
But this hold is not that of death: it is that of desire. The embrace becomes fusion, and in the humid, burning contact of the waters, Achilles recognizes a power more vast than his pride — a body of wave and light that demands his own.
Under Apollo’s Light
In this interpretation, Apollo appears in the background, tutelary and watchful. Protector of the Trojans and enemy of Achilles, he perceives in this union a chance to turn the hero’s destiny toward appeasement. Through the river’s embrace, Achilles faces a moral choice: to abandon the violence of the warrior’s role and embrace a peaceful path. The light of Apollo sanctifies the moment, giving Xanthos’s embrace a sacred and prophetic dimension. Apollo thus shows a paradoxical benevolence, seeking not to destroy, but to reopen the way of peace, protecting Troy while turning Achilles away from his war frenzy.
The Choice of the World
Thus, the myth stages far more than a duel. It suggests another possible path—one where passion and attachment open the way to tranquility. This vision resonates with Jean Giraudoux’s meditation in Tiger at the Gates: what if, instead of surrendering to the fatality of war, the heroes had allowed peace to triumph? Under Apollo’s gaze, the embrace of Xanthos and Achilles recalls that the world’s destiny may be borne as much by love as by violence, and that from peace may arise greatnesses as enduring as those forged in war.
Details
The Surrender of Achilles
The faces of Achilles and Xanthos meet in an intense silent confrontation, where the river’s gaze, first imperious, suddenly becomes tender. Achilles, the invincible hero, allows himself to be seduced by the power of the divine element. His gaze, almost disoriented, meets that of Xanthos, and their encounter is no longer one of violence, but of appeasement through embrace. After repeated assaults, Xanthos’s hand gently caresses Achilles’ body — a gesture of silent victory, where the river’s strength is no longer hostile but reassuring. The intensity of the scene lies in the closeness of the bodies: after the harshness of combat, the warrior now yields, submissive to a force greater than his own. War is set aside, and it is in this silent transformation, in this physical contact mingling calm and strength, that peace begins to take form. Achilles now accepts a new path, far from bloody battles.
The Hero Laid Bare
The Greek warrior’s helmet, stranded near Xanthos, is a powerful image of stripping away and transformation. Further off, his shield and broken spear lie as witnesses to a renunciation of violence. Achilles is divested of his martial attributes, abandoning his armor and the belligerent intent it carried. The armor that once defined his power is removed under the weight of the river’s embrace, symbolizing his passage from war to the possibility of inner peace. His body, now unprotected, surrenders to the gentle current. Filled by the caress of Xanthos’s blond waters³, Achilles will soon reach a divine and absolute climax, the perfect symbiosis of body and soul at peace.
The Invisible Axis of Divine Powers
The diagonal running from the lower left corner to the upper right, crossing the entire image, first directs the eye toward Achilles’ shield, where appears the figure of Ares, god of war. His penis and testicles, the very source of his virile strength, are enclosed within a cage, testifying to his constrained power. It is the rejection of this destructive divinity, symbol of a violent hold, that animates the composition. The very structure of the scene marks the transfer of power governing Achilles’ soul. The gaze naturally ascends to the summit of the image, where Apollo triumphs in light. This contrast underscores the choice of peace over violence, a decisive transition within the work.
Foam as Seed
The foam rising from Xanthos’s waves carries a fertile symbolic charge, nourishing the potential of peace. This foam, soft and abundant, is more than water—it embodies the seed of a new era, that of reconciliation and harmony. Like a purifying breath, it spills into the air, a bearer of renewal. The wave sliding along Achilles’ thigh, touching the ground like seed, marks the birth of a new world, where love and unity replace destruction. This poetic image echoes the idea that even the most tumultuous elements can become creators of peace.
The Symbolism of the Acorns
The oak sapling, at the bottom left, bears within it a potent symbol of the union of two male beings. The two acorns hanging from its branches, at once fragile and promising, are the sign of a beginning, a renewal. The oak, an ancient emblem of strength and endurance, offers here a poetic vision of a sacred union, marked by growth and prosperity. These acorns, symbols of fertility and permanence, embody the union of two souls, of two masculine energies, bound by the force of nature and the cycle of life. This discreet detail, placed in the lower right corner, represents the silent alliance between Achilles and Xanthos — a promise of renewal beyond war.
(Read more about the play Tiger at the Gates at the very end of this publication.)
Notes
1 In Homer, the distinction between Scamander (Σκάμανδρος) and Xanthos (Ξάνθος) is not purely stylistic: the former denotes the physical river, known to men, while the latter refers to the divinity inhabiting and personifying it. The gods say “Xanthos” where mortals say “Scamander.”
2 The name Xanthos, derived from the Greek ξανθός, evokes a range from blond to tawny — a shimmering, luminous tone suggestive of sunlight on water. It suggests the erotic and solar dimension of the river—a living emanation of divine desire, a mirror of Achilles’ inner fire.
3 This blond hue of the waters, celebrated by Homer and later ancient commentators, reinforces the analogy with the hero’s hair and skin: the fusion of the two ‘tawnies’, of water and flesh, becomes an union of body and light.
Homeric Variation
The Meeting of Achilles and Xanthos
Sing, O Muse, of the combat between swift-footed Achilles and broad-flowing Xanthos.
He thundered in his beard of foam, rejecting the corpses, heaving his roaring waves.
Then he surged upon the hero, like the wave that breaks the dike,
like the bull that bellows amid the grasses of the meadow.
Once, the waters rose to the knees of the son of Peleus.
He stood firm, brandishing his bronze spear,
but the river seized his mighty legs,
and his gleaming helmet rolled into the depths,
carried off by the invisible hand of the waters.
A second time, Xanthos roared, covering the chest of Achilles,
and the cuirass resounded beneath the liquid fury,
slipping from his strong shoulders.
Then his torso shone beneath the daylight,
and the current passed over his bare skin
like a warm wind gliding over the wheat of the plains.
A third time, the river of great course unleashed its waves.
It clasped the hero up to the neck, scattering his spear and his shield
like autumn leaves swept by the storm.
Arms of foam pressed his sides,
slid along his hands, entered his hollows,
and Achilles, mortal before immortal power, yielded.
Then his heart grew calm, his breath joined the breath of the river.
No shame, no fear: only a gentle intoxication, a peace unknown,
for Xanthos had taken him into his waters, and loved him with all his force.
Thus war fell silent for a moment, suspended in the union of two powers.
Then, from the bright heavens, Apollo looked down.
Protector of the Trojans, enemy of Peleus’ son, he beheld the river’s embrace.
And in that combat turned to union, he discerned not loss, but promise:
for the man of the swift feet, tamed by Xanthos, ceased to kill,
and his arms, emptied of weapons, found rest in the arms of the waters.
“O Xanthos of the wide course,” said the god,
“you turn Achilles from his fury, you calm his ardent soul.
Thus opens a path where war fades away,
and the love of the gods offers to mortals the peace they refuse.”
And the light of the god slid across the waters, consecrating the union,
while Achilles, tamed by the flood, abandoned himself to the immortal river.
(A Homeric variation on Book XXI of the Iliad.)
When Myth Sheds Light on Our Own Time
Tiger at the Gates
What if the great wars could have been avoided? This is the question posed by Jean Giraudoux, French writer and diplomat, in his play La Guerre de Troie n’aura pas lieu (The Trojan War Will Not Take Place), best known in English under the title Tiger at the Gates.
Written in 1935, as Europe already felt the winds of another world war, it shows how the Trojans, despite their debates and their efforts, allow themselves to be drawn into the logic of conflict.
Behind the ancient tale lies a warning: wars are born less from weapons than from words, from pride and blindness. Yet Giraudoux also suggests that another way remains possible: sometimes it takes little for humanity to choose peace.
It is this same mechanism — open to other possibilities — that inspires the work presented here, and that, perhaps, might in turn inspire our own world.