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ESSAYS   ON   GREEK   LITERATURE 


MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW    YORK    •    BOSTON    •   CHICAGO 
ATLANTA    •    SAN   FRANCISCO 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.   OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


v^'^ 


*-  / 


ESSAYS 

ON 

GREEK  LITERATURE 


BY 

ROBERT  YELVERTON   TYRRELL 

LiTT.D.  Dublin,  Cambridge,  Durham,  and  Queen's  University  ; 
D.C.L.  Oxford;  LL.D.  Edinburgh  and  St.  Andrews; 

FELLOW   OF    BRITISH   ACADEMY  ; 

FELLOW   OF   TRINITY  COLLEGE   AND   FORMERLY   REGIUS   PROFESSOR 

OF   GREEK   IN   THE   UNIVERSITY   OF   DUBLIN 


MACMILLAN   AND   CO.,   LIMITED 

ST    MARTIN'S   STREET,   LONDON 

1909 


GLASGOW  :    PRINTED   AT  THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 
BY  ROBERT  MACLEHOSE  AND  CO.    LTD. 


PREFACE 

It  will  be  seen  that  none  of  the  five  Essays  here 
brought  together  has  been  written  within  the  last 
five  years,  while  the  earliest  of  them  was  published 
more  than  twenty  years  ago.  For  permission  to 
republish  the  first  four  my  thanks  are  due  to  the 
well-known  courtesy  of  the  proprietor  of  the 
*  Quarterly  Review.'  The  fifth  is  reprinted  by  the 
kind  permission  of  the  '  International  Quarterly,' 
Messrs.  Duffield   &  Co.,  Publishers,  New  York. 

I  harboured  for  many  years  the  project  of 
producing  these  five  Essays  on  Greek  together  with 
others  on  Latin  and  English  Literature  ;  but  I  have 
been  advised  on  good  authority  that  such  a  collection 
would  be  incongruous  and  unacceptable.  I  had 
thought  of  endeavouring  to  bring  the  studies  more 
up-to-date  ;  but  in  some  cases  there  seemed  little  to 
add,  and  in  others  such  an  attempt  would  have  run 
counter  to  the  original  design. 

In  reference  to  the  first  Essay  I  venture  to  think 
that  Professor  Bury's  arguments  against  the  nomic 
basis  of  Pindar's  '  Odes  of  Victory,'  though  brilliant 
like  all  the  work  of  that  most  versatile  and  eminent 
scholar,  are  not  convincing.  The  Essay  has  to  a 
great  extent  dealt  with  them  in  anticipation  ;  while 


vi  PREFACE 

the  Editors  who  see  in  the  Poems  an  elaborate 
system  of  *  responsions '  have  hardly  succeeded  in 
recommending  their  views  to  students  of  Pindar. 

In  the  essay  on  Sophocles,  pp.  60-63,  the  question 
is  discussed  whether  Haemon  did  really  spit  in  his 
father's  face,  and  whether  he  was  justified  in  so 
doing — whether  irTvcrag  irpoa-wircpQAnt!  1232)  means 
'  spitting  in  his  face '  or  '  with  loathing  in  his  looks,' 
as  the  scholiast  explains  the  words,  followed  by 
nearly  all  Editors,  but  not  by  Jebb.  It  is  interesting 
to  observe  that  Aristotle  in  referring  to  this  very 
passage  ('Poet'  1454a)  has  not  a  word  to  say  about 
Haemon's  'splendida  bills,'  but  condemns  as  inartistic 
the  abortive  lunge  which  Haemon  made  at  his  father 
before  he  plunged  the  cross-handled  sword  in  his 
own  body.  Nowadays  the  abortive  lunge  would  be 
accepted  as  a  good  piece  of  business,  the  spitting 
would  be  (as  we  have  seen)  condemned  by  nearly  all 
modern  critics.  The  passage  in  the  *  Poetics '  in 
Butcher's  admirable  translation  runs  thus  : — 

*  Of  all  these  ways,  to  be  about  to  act,  knowing 
the  consequences,  and  then  not  to  act,  is  the  worst. 
It  is  shocking  without  being  tragic,  for  no  disaster 
follows.  It  is  therefore  never  or  very  rarely  found 
in  poetry.  One  instance,  however,  is  in  the  "Antigone," 
where  Haemon  intends  to  kill  Creon.' 

In  impugning  the  Aristotelean  authorship  of  the 
treatise  on  the  '  Constitution  of  Athens '  I  am  aware 
that  I  am  putting  myself  in  opposition  to  the 
majority  of  English  scholars,  but  I  have  not  found 
in  the  champions  of  the  Aristotelean  origin,  even  in 
the  exhaustive  and  most  scholarly  edition  by  Dr. 
Sandys,    any    answer     to     my    arguments     or     any 


PREFACE  vii 

solution  of  the  difficulties  which  I  have  pointed  out, 
founded  on  the  style  and  diction  of  the  tract  as  well 
as  on  the  non-recognition  of  this  specific  treatise  by 
Plutarch  and  subsequent  writers.  On  the  Continent 
the  belief  in  the  authenticity  of  the  '  Constitution  of 
Athens '  is  by  no  means  so  general  as  in  England. 
The  following  extract  from  the  Preface  of  the  brilliant 
edition  of  H.  van  Herwerden  and  J.  van  Leeuwen 
(1891),  Englished  from  his  very  elegant  Latin, 
expresses  the  views  of  some  scholars  in  Great 
Britain   and  of  many  on  the  Continent : — 

*  The  importance  of  the  Treatise  on  the  '  Consti- 
tution of  Athens,'  long  lost  but  recently  edited  by 
Kenyon  from  Papyri  in  the  British  Museum,  depends 
in  a  very  large  measure  on  the  crucial  question 
whether  it  is  really  the  work  of  Aristotle,  to  whom 
it  is  ascribed  by  antiquity  as  far  as  we  know,  as  well 
as  by  the  majority  (apparently)  of  modern  critics 
since  its  recent  discovery  ;  or  whether,  like  so  many 
other  works  ascribed  to  the  great  Stagirite,  it  falsely 
claims  the  sanction  of  his  commanding  name.  The 
latter  view  was  held  by  Valentine  Rose,  even  when 
the  work  was  known  to  us  only  in  fragments  ;  and, 
now  that  we  have  it  in  its  entirety  (or  nearly  so,  for 
it  is  defective  at  the  beginning  and  at  the  end),  the 
same  judgment  has  been  pronounced  and  fortified 
with  strong  arguments  hy  such  critics  as  Fr.  Cauer, 
J.  van  Leeuwen,  H.  Droysen,  Fr.  Ruehl,  J.  Schwarcz. 
But,  even  though  by  further  research  of  the  learned 
world  it  should  be  proved  well  nigh  to  demonstration 
that  the  recently  discovered  '  Constitution  of  Athens  ' 
is  wholly  unworthy  of  the  Arch-Philosopher,  even 
though  this  should  be  established  beyond  all  doubt. 


viii  PREFACE 

no  judicious  reader  will  readily  deny  that  the  new 
Treatise  is  from  many  points  of  view  a  boon  to 
students  of  the  History  and  Antiquities  of  Athens 
and  of  Greek  literature  as  a  whole.' 

The  judgment  of  such  scholars  as  Herwerden  and 
those  whom  he  cites  must  not  be  lightly  set  aside. 
But  we  cannot  accept  his  statement  as  to  the  belief 
of  the  ancient  world  in  the  authenticity  of  the  tract. 
We  know  that  they  recognised  a  Treatise  on  the 
Constitution  of  Athens  by  Aristotle  ;  but  we  submit 
that  there  is  abundant  evidence  that  it  was  not  the 
Treatise  now  before  us. 

Allusion  is  made  in  the  paper  on  Plutarch  to  the 
surviving  traces  of  the  hedge-schoolmaster  among 
the  Irish  peasantry.  The  blurred  fashion  in  which 
the  heroes  of  Greek  mythology  are  fused  with  vague 
memories  of  biblical  personages  is  well  indicated  in 
the  familiar  Irish  song  which  celebrates 

'  Homer,  Plutarch,  and  Nebudchadnezzar, 
All  standing  naked  in  the  open  air.' 

It  is  hoped  that  the  volume  may  commend  itself 
to  such  readers  as  may  take  an  interest  in  critical 
questions  and  may  desire  to  have  before  them  in  a 
concise  form  the  most  interesting  portions  of  the 
more  recent  finds,  '  The  Constitution  of  Athens '  and 
the  *  Poems  of  Bacchylides.'  All  the  translations 
from  the  latter  were  published  before  the  appearance 
of  Jebb's  monumental  edition. 


CONTEiNTS 

FINDAR   V>^/^,    iH~^'    Z^*^ 

Estimate  of  Pindar  in  ancient  times  and  in  modern — Difficulty  in      *iu«  ^Cv#^ 
placing    him — Voltaire,    Mr.   J.    A.    Symonds — Points   of   contact  g,,,^^  ' 

between  English  and  ancient  Greek  mind — Greek  public  games  O^^^JJ^,^] 
— Character  of  the  Odes — Metzger's  theory  about  their  structure — 
Analogy  of  Terpandrian  nome — Catchword  serving  as  a  kind  of 
rubric — Structure  suggested  by  the  pediment  in  architecture — 
Relation  to  strophic  constitution— Characteristics  of  Pindar's  style 
— Recoil  from  the  commonplace — Matthew  Arnold,  Villemain,  Sir 
Francis  Doyle,  Froude,  E.  B.  Browning,  Rossetti,  Keble         -       i 

SOPHOCLES 

Fortunate  career  of  Sophocles — Aristophanes  on  Sophocles — Criticism 
of  Sophocles  on  his  two  great  rivals — Tragedy  ancient  and  modern 
— Stateliness  of  Sophoclean  diction — Jebb  as  editor — Jebb  on 
German  athetising — The  German's  knife — Jebb  as  a  translator — 
i  Compared  with  Paley — His  aesthetic  sense — Shown  in  various 
\  passages — Antigone's  defence  of  her  contumacy — Was  Haemon 
'  justified  in  spitting  in  his  father's  face  ? — Lord  Lytton's  version 
of  the  scene  of  Haemon's  death — Minute  felicities  pointed  out 
by  Jebb — Dr.  Benjamin  Hall  Kennedy — Sophocles  as  Strategus 
— Absence  of  the  passion  of  Love  from  Greek  tragedy — Character 
of  Creon  in  the  three  Theban  plays — Comic  verses  in  the  Watch- 
man in  the  *  Antigone ' — Irony  in  '  Oedipus  Rex  '—Jebb  as  a 
textual  critic — Use  of  conjecture — The  MS.  reading  Kbvi'i  in 
'  Antigone '  and  the  conjecture  acott^s — Allusiveness  of  Greek  lyric 
poetry  and  mixed  metaphor — ^Jebb's  contributions  to  the  text  of 
Sophocles  41 


X  CONTENTS  ^  ^^^ 

THE   RECENTLY-DISCOVERED   PAPYRI         ' 

Discoveries  during  the  nineteenth  century — Forgeries — The  pursuit  of 
the  Unecht — Egyptian  Papyri — Great  antiquity  claimed  for  them 
by  Dr.  Mahaffy  questionable — The  Athenian  Constitution — Falls 
into  two  divisions — Discrepancies  with  Thucydides,  Plutarch, 
Aristotle's  *  Politics ' — Can  this  have  been  the  treatise  used  by 
those  critics? — The  Pisistratidae — New  Athenian  Worthies — Fresh 
light  on  the  character  of  Themistocles — The  Four  Hundred,  Five 
Thousand,  and  the  Thirty— Rhino  and  Archinus  new  figures  in 
the  history  of  Athens — The  twelve  Athenian  constitutions — 
Machinery  of  state— Minute  urban  legislation — Crepuertint  fores 
— Female  dancers  and  flute-players — Lucian  vindicated — The 
Eleven— Curious  blunder  of  a  lexicographer — Lessons  to  be 
gathered  from  the  study  of  the  fortunes  of  a  democracy — Dis- 
cussion of  the  Aristotelean  authorship — Evidence  against  Arist. 
authorship  from  Style,  Diction,  Syntax — From  quotations  which 
are  made  by  subsequent  writers  from  a  '  Constitution  of  Athens, ' 
but  which  are  inconsistent  with  the  present  treatise       -         -     85 

BACCHYLIDES 

Work  of  Dr.   Kenyon,   and   the  late  Professors  Jebb  and  Palmer  on 

the  editio  princeps — ^Judgment  of  antiquity  on  Bacchylides  borne 

out  by  the  finds — ^Judgment  founded  on  fragments  unused — Com- 

^  parison  of  Bacchylides  with  Pindar — Ode  III.,  Death  of  Croesus^  ili^ 

Lhy^^C^^^WJ^      —Ode  v..  Story  of  Meleager— Ode  XL,  Daughters  of  Proetus— 

fl^l^  Ode  XIIL,  Strange  coincidence  with  a  simile  in  'Paradise  Lost' 

— Poems    of   a    new  genre — Theseus — Despotic   lust,    coincidence 

between  Bacchylides   and    Shakespeare — His   religious   creed — No 

nomic   structure  —  Emphatic    phrases  —  Syntax  —  Critical    obss. — 

Diction — Accidence — Simplicity  of  metrical  systems — No  conflicting 

imagery  such  as  we  find  in  Pindar,  Aeschylus,  and  Sophocles   -   134 

PLUTARCH 

World-wide  fame  of  *  Plutarch's  Lives ' — Meagre  biographical  details 
— Slight  knowledge  of  Latin — Allusion  to  Horace— His  relation 
to  Christianity — Anecdote  about  Mestrius  Florus — Symposiaca — 
Patriotism    of    Plutarch — Respects    in   which    they   fall    short    of 


CONTENTS  xi 

perfection — Merivale  on  the  '  Lives ' — Lack  of  political  insight 
— His  aim,  as  set  forth  in  *  Paullus  Aemilius' — Popularity — 
Tribute  by  Amyot — Significant  anecdotes — Impressive  descriptions 
— Plutarch  and  Tacitus  on  the  same  theme — Plutarch  and  Thucy- 
dides — Plutarch  and  Shakespeare — Especially  in  death  of  Cleopatra 
— In  *  Antony  and  Cleopatra '  —In  '  Coriolanus  ' — Minor  loans  from 
North's  '  Plutarch ' — Plutarch  as  a  psychologist — Compared  with 
Seneca — Most  suggestive  moral  treatises — Unjust  judgments  on 
Plutarch — Method  and  style 171 


PINDAR'S   ODES   OF   VICTORY 

It  is  perhaps  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  no 
student  has  ever  come  to  the  first  reading  of  Pindar 
without  disappointment — without  a  more  or  less 
pronounced  feeling  that  he  does  not  realize  what  the 
quality  was  in  Pindar  which  made  him  an  inspired 
sage  in  the  eyes  of  Hellas,  a  saint  with  a  niche 
beside  Homer ;  which  consecrated  even  his  most 
casual  utterances  to  Plato  and  to  Cicero  ;  and  which 
made  Horace  select  his  art  as  the  very  type  of  the 
inimitable. 

Not  only  has  the  sober  judgment  of  antiquity 
given  to  the  Theban  lyrist  a  place  only  second  to 
Homer,  but  the  airy  tongue  of  legend  has  singled 
him  out  as  the  special  favourite  of  the  gods.  It  was 
on  his  lips,  as  he  slept  in  childhood,  that  a  bee  lit 
and  gathered  honey.  He  it  was  who  taught  Pan  his 
song,  and  to  whom  Persephone  came  in  a  dream,  ten 
days  before  he  died,  and  told  him  that  he  would 
soon  be  with  her  to  make  a  song  for  her.  And 
honours  almost  meet  for  a  god  were  paid  to  him. 
His  iron  chair  was  preserved  as  a  sacred  relic  at 
Delphi ;  and  every  night  as  the  priest  closed  the 
doors  of  Apollo's  temple  he  cried  aloud,  *  Let  the 
poet  Pindar  come  in  to  the  supper  of  the  God/ 

A 


2  PINDAR 

Such  being  the  extraordinary  reverence  paid  by 
antiquity  to  the  poet,  it  seems  strange  that  among 
us  so  many  should  fail  to  see  his  greatness,  and  that 
even  his  admirers  should  often  feel  constrained  to 
mix  apologies  with  his  eulogies,  burning  incense 
with  one  hand,  and  snapping  the  fingers  with  the 
other.  The  fact  is,  the  character  of  the  '  Odes  of 
Victory '  as  a  literary  phenomenon  has  been  very 
imperfectly  apprehended.  It  is  hard  for  us  to  figure 
to  the  imagination  a  form  of  art  which  partakes 
in  nearly  equal  parts  of  the  nature  of  a  collect,  a 
ballad,  and  an  oratorio  ;  or  to  enter  into  the  mind  of 
a  poet  who  is  partly  also  a  priest,  a  librettist,  and  a 
ballet  master  ;  who,  while  celebrating  the  victory  of 
(perhaps)  a  boy  in  a  wrestling  match,  yet  feels  that 
he  is  not  only  doing  an  act  of  divine  service  and 
worship,  but  preaching  the  sacred  truth  of  the  unity 
of  the  Hellenes  and  their  common  descent  from  gods 
and  heroes.  The  Odes  of  Pindar  have  their  source 
in  a  religious  feeling,  almost  as  alien  from  ours  as  it 
IS  from  that  which  sent  the  children  through  the  fire 
to  Moloch,  or  strewed  with  corpses  the  path  of 
Juggernaut's  car.  We  find  ourselves  confronted  with 
poems,  which  seem  to  us  to  deal  with  very  incon- 
siderable events,  but  which  are  conceived  in  a  strain 
almost  burthened  with  a  sense  of  the  importance  and 
dignity  of  the  subject — poems  of  which  the  salient 
feature  is  their  wild  freedom  and  abandon,  but  which 
reveal  to  the  closer  gaze  a  strong  sense  of  conscious 
art,  and  a  singular  conformity  to  technicality. 

It  is  the  utter  absence  of  any  modern  analogue  to 
the  '  Odes  of  Victory,'  which  has  on  the  one  hand 
piqued  and  stimulated  the  interest,  and  on  the  other 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  3 

hand  retarded  and  dwarfed  the  achievement,  of 
successive  generations  of  scholars  from  the  revival 
of  learning  to  the  present  day.  And  this  is  the 
reason  why  English  writers  have,  to  a  great  extent, 
refrained  from  characterizing  the  poetry  of  Pindar. 
Voltaire  has  spoken  of  him  as  'this  inflated  Theban,' 
adding  that  his  French  translator  had  imparted  to 
his  poetry  all  the  clearness  and  beauty  which  it 
could  claim.  We  have  not  seen  the  version  of 
M.  de  Chaumont,  but  we  fancy  it  must  be  a  strange 
piece  of  work  if  he,  as  well  as  Voltaire,  looked  on 
Pindar  as  being  merely  a  '  chantre  de  combats  a 
coups  de  poing,'  or,  at  best,  a  First  Violin  in  the 
court  of  Hiero.  France  may  indeed  be  said  to 
have,  in  her  own  phrase,  'the  courage  of  her  con- 
victions,' since  through  Voltaire  she  has  condoled 
with  England  on  having  had  her  taste  spoiled  for 
two  hundred  years  by  Shakespeare ;  and,  by  the 
mouth  of  La  Harpe,  has  called  the  Divina  Commedia 
'  une  amplification  stupidement  barbare.'  English 
writers  about  Pindar  have  not  been  so  outspoken. 
But  their  enthusiasm  is  often  qualified  and  half- 
hearted. Historians  of  Greek  literature  in  England 
— even  editors  of  Pindar — have  shown  a  tendency 
to  make  large  concessions  to  unbelief  when  they  are 
called  on  to  give  an  answer  to  the  question.  Was 
Pindar  one  of  the  poets  of  the  world  ?  Even  those 
whose  panegyrics  have  been  most  eloquent — and 
among  these  Mr.  Symonds  naturally  assumes  a 
foremost  place — have  a  habit  of  tempering  their 
eulogies  with  excuses  for  '  turgidity '  and  *  bombast.' 
We  shall  afterwards  endeavour  to  show  that  Pindar 
is  not  turgid  nor  bombastic.      Here  we  would  fain 


4  PINDAR 

offer  some  considerations  to  those  who  regard  Pindar 
as  '  the  poet  of  the  ring,'  and  who  give  his  poems 
a  place  only  among  prize  verses  and  installation 
odes. 

Pindar's  *  Odes  of  Victory '  are  sui  generis^  and  so 
were  the  occasions  which  called  them  into  being. 
Local  fetes^  in  their  events  and  prizes  more  or  less 
resembling  the  four  great  national  festivals  of  Hellas, 
are  mentioned  in  large  numbers  by  Pindar.  But  the 
four  great  national  festivals  will  here  furnish  enough 
to  engage  our  attention.  How  is  it  that  they  excited 
in  Pindar  as  deep  an  interest,  and  kindled  in  him  as 
vivid  a  flame  of  inspiration,  as  have  been  awakened 
in  other  poets  by  love,  hate,  war,  destiny,  patriotism, 
religion  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  is  difficult.  It  is 
hard  to  reconstruct  for  our  imagination  the  feelings 
with  which  the  games  were  regarded  by  Hellas. 
Yet  we  may  perhaps  fairly  say  that  it  is  easier  for 
us  than  for  other  nations.  First,  the  English  love 
for  athletics,  the  English  glorification  of  physical 
prowess,  has  its  good  as  well  as  its  bad  side,  and  in 
its  best  aspect  has  an  Hellenic  affinity.  If  we  could 
take  away  from  it  all  that  savours  in  any  way  of 
gate-money  and  the  betting  ring  ;  and  if  it  were 
possible  (or  indeed  desirable)  to  add  to  the  English 
sentiment  in  favour  of  athletics,  that  worship  of  the 
body  which  struck  its  root  so  deep  in  Hellas  ;  the 
feeling  thus  modified  would  be  akin  to  that  which 
inspired  Pindar.  Physical  strength  has  not  now  that 
practical  weight  in  battle  which  it  had  when  the 
ancient  Greek  warriors  *  bare  up  the  war  against  the 


ODES   OF   VICTORY  5 

hedge  of  spears.'^  Yet  Wellington  said  that  Water- 
loo was  won  in  the  playgrounds  of  Eton,  and 
Kinglake  seems  disposed  to  think,  that  but  for  the 
hard  riding  practised  in  the  English  shires,  our 
cavalry  would  never  have  been  able  to  win  the 
heights  above  the  Alma. 

But  there  is  another,  and  a  still  closer,  point  of 
contact  between  the  English  and  the  ancient  Greek 
mind.  With  both  the  desire  to  keep  up  the  breed 
of  horses  assumed  the  proportions  of  a  social — 
almost  a  religious — duty.  In  eulogizing  Xenocrates 
of  Acragas,  Pindar  writes — 

'  August  was  he  in  his  converse  with  citizens,  and  upheld  the 
breed  of  horses  after  the  Hellenic  wont.^  ^ 

Could  such  an  eulogy  have  been  uttered  by  any  other 
save  an  English  poet,  or  on  any  other  save  an 
English  noble?  To  win  a  great  race,  to  keep  the 
hounds,  to  maintain  the  breed  of  horses,  undoubtedly 
does  give  or  add  prestige  to  an  English  gentleman. 
But  to  a  Greek  LTTTrorpocpia  was  still  more  important 
as  a  road  to  distinction.  There  were  no  great  land- 
holders in  ancient  Greece,  nor  could  one  become 
eminent  by  surrounding  himself  with  rare  works  of 
art.  At  the  time  of  Pindar,  the  works  of  art  which 
existed  were  the  property  of  states,  not  of  private 
individuals.^     Much  splendour,  no  doubt,  embellished 

*  Nem.  8,  29,  Myers'  trans. 

^Isthm.  2,  37.  Myers'  translation.  In  every  place  where  we 
have  used  Mr.  Myers'  most  tasteful  and  spirited  version,  we  have 
acknowledged  our  debt  in  a  note. 

^This  observation  has  been  well  developed  by  the  Rev.  F.  D. 
Morice  in  his  *  Pindar  for  English  Readers.'  We  have  derived  much 
pleasure  from  his  book,  which  is  plainly  the  work  of  a  highly  cultured 


6  PINDAR 

the  courts  of  Hiero  and  Arcesilaus,  but  the  chief 
opportunity  for  display,  without  any  violation  of  good 
taste,  was  afforded  by  the  games,  and  the  festivities 
of  which  they  were  the  occasion.  Pindar  declares 
constantly  that  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of 
cultured  opulence  is  the  readiness  to  enter  for  the 
games — best  of  all  the  chariot  race  at  Olympia ;  that 
the  next  best  thing  to  success  in  the  games  is  failure 
in  them ;  that  if  a  man  be  so  blest  as  to  achieve  vic- 
tory, it  is  his  glorious  privilege  to  spend  and  spare  not 
on  the  feast,  and  the  triumphal  ode  which  is  its  chief 
ornament ;  but  *  if  one  at  home  store  hidden  wealth 
and  laugh  at  them  that  spend,  such  an  one  recketh 
not  that  inglorious  he  giveth  up  his  soul  to  death.'  ^ 

The  public  games  were  to  the  Greeks  something 
like  what  the  great  public  schools  and  the  Universities 
are  to  an  Englishman.  In  both  cases  the  imagination 
was  touched  by  the  antiquity — real  or  supposed — of 
the  institution,  and  both  institutions  gradually  came 
to  be  a  social  test.  Pindar  is  often  fain  to  tell  how 
the  victor's  family  had  competed  at  the  games — 
whether  successfully  or  not — for  many  generations  ; 
just  as  an  Englishman  might  congratulate  himself 
that  his  ancestors,  generation  after  generation,  had 
gone  to  Eton  and  Oxford,  even  though  none  of  them 
might  have  attained  any  signal  distinction  at  the 
school  or  the  University. 

To  a  Greek  the  public  games  were  all  that  we 
have  said,  and  more,  for  we  must  not  forget  that  the 

scholar,  and  is  admirably  fitted   to  meet  the  needs  of  the   English 
student,  while  there  are  few  classical  scholars  who  will  not  derive 
much  instruction  from  it. 
^Isthrn.  I,  67. 


ODES   OF   VICTORY  7 

right  to  compete  was  the  test  and  proof  of  nationality. 
The  Macedonian  princes  were  obliged  to  afford 
satisfactory  proof  of  Hellenism  before  they  were 
allowed  to  enter  the  contests.  It  was  no  small  thing 
which  moved  Hiero  and  Arcesilaus  to  transport  their 
chariots  and  teams  from  Sicily  or  Cyrene  to  Olympia. 
The  phrases  in  which  Pindar  dilates  on  the  supreme 
blessedness  of  the  Olympian  victor  surprise  us,  until 
we  remember  that  Cylon  is  said  to  have  owed  his 
political  prominence  to  a  triumph  at  Olympia,  and 
that  Alcibiades  was  borne  over  a  very  ugly  political 
quicksand  by  the  tide  of  enthusiasm  which  rose 
when  the  '  Heralds  of  the  Seasons '  declared  the 
brilliant  young  Athenian,  who  had  entered  no  less 
than  seven  chariots,  to  be  winner  of  the  first  and 
second  prizes  on  the  Elean  plain. 

To  gain  some  conception  of  an  Olympic  festival, 
we  must  not  only  figure  to  ourselves  the  great 
English  festival  of  the  Derby  day,  with  both  Houses 
of  Parliament  adjourning;  but  we  must  remember 
the  sacred  truce  which  the  Heralds  proclaimed 
throughout  Greece  for  five  days  ;  we  must  bear  in 
mind  that  the  games  were  a  religious  rite,  which 
became  even  a  starting-point  for  chronology ;  we 
must  impart  to  the  mind  of  the  Greek  at  the  games 
the  feeling  with  which  a  man  listens  to  an  anthem, 
as  well  as  that  with  which  he  witnesses  the  victory  or 
defeat  of  his  old  school  at  cricket ;  we  must  think  of 
the  busy  traffic  which  went  on  along  the  banks  of  the 
Alpheus  by  day — the  Greek  of  Cyrene,  for  instance, 
who  came  with  the  horses  of  Arcesilaus,  brought 
with  him,  no  doubt,  good  store  of  the  much-prized 
silphium  from  the  *  Garden  of  Aphrodite ' — and  we 


8  PINDAR 

must  think  of  the  festal  joy  on  which  the  midmonth 
moon  looked  down  ;  and  to  all  this  one  must  add  a 
sort  of  Christmas  feeling,  a  sentiment  of  peace  on 
earth,  goodwill  towards  men,  which  with  us  is  called 
forth  by  the  great  festivals  of  the  Church.^ 

Therefore,  to  Greeks  at  all  events,  he  was  not  a 
mere  '  glorifier  of  fisticuffs,'  whose  highest  imaginings 
were  kindled  by  the  great  Hellenic  festivals.  So 
infinitely  important  were  these  festivals  to  the  Greeks 
that  they  were  not  remitted  even  when  '  the  Stone 
of  Tantalus  hung  over  their  heads.'  ^  When  Xerxes 
was  advancing  on  Boeotia,  and  the  combined  fleet 
was  retiring  from  Artemisium,  the  Greeks  were 
celebrating  the  Olympic  games.  How  to  us  Pindar's 
'Odes  of  Victory' — without  the  Hellenic  associations, 
unglorified  by  their  connection  with  the  founders, 
Heracles  or  Adrastus — should  appeal,  will  afterwards 
be  more  fully  considered.  We  now  pass  to  an 
examination  of  the  poems  themselves. 

The  poetry  of  Pindar  now  more  than  ever  fascinates 
the  scholars  of  Germany,  England,  and  America. 
The  main  object  of  this  paper  is  to  set  forth  and 
discuss  a  theory  concerning  the  structure  of  the  odes, 
which  has  found  much  favour  in  Germany,  but  has 
hardly  been  noticed  at  all  in  England;^  and  which 

^The  points  on  which  Isocrates  {Panegyr.  44)  chiefly  dwells  are — 
the  general  truce,  the  sense  of  unity  and  common  descent,  the  common 
prayer  and  sacrifice,  the  renewing  of  old  friendships  and  the  forming 
of  new  ones,  and  the  general  feeling  of  mutual  good-will  and  charity. 

^Isthm.  7,  10. 

^Prof.  Gildersleeve,  of  the  Johns  Hopkins  University,  Baltimore, 
has  made  an  important  contribution  to  Pindaric  literature  in  his 
edition  of  *  The  Olympian  and  Pythian  Odes,'  a  work  showing  much 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  9 

puts  in  a  new  and  very  interesting  light  the  poetry 
of  Pindar  as  a  literary  phenomenon.  To  do  this,  we 
must  take  a  short  retrospect. 

Before  the  epoch  made  by  the  labours  of  Bockh 
and  his  follower  Dissen,  Pindar  was  without  form 
and  void.  His  '  Odes  of  Victory '  seemed  a  strange 
medley  of  disjointed  proverbial  philosophy  and  dark 
mythic  allusion,  bursting  now  and  then  into  a  grand 
flash  of  semi-epical  ballad.  To  Dissen  mainly  is 
due  the  view  now  held  by  all  scholars,  that  Pindar's 
odes  are  by  no  means  mere  prize  poems  or  installa- 
tion odes,  but  marvellous  specimens  of  the  highest 
constructive  skill  and  the  fullest  lyrical  inspiration — 
where  every  phrase,  every  allusion,  fits  as  aptly  into 
its  own  place  as  each  bit  in  a  piece  of  mosaic  work, 
yet  the  whole  poem  rushes  on  with  the  impetuous 
volume  of  a  lava  stream.-^  Pindar's  matchless 
mastery  of  construction  is  now  duly  appreciated,  and 
a  great  poet  of  our  own  day  has  described  him  as 
thoroughly  intoxicated  with  the  spirit  of  style.^  But 
his  precise  relation  to  his  age  and  his  art  is  hardly 
yet  sufficiently  apprehended.  Mr.  Symonds  compares 
the  body  of  lost  Greek  lyric  poetry  to  the  mass  of 
church  music  which  exists  in  Germany  and  Italy, 
in    MS.    and    print.       Lyric    poetry    was    as    indis- 

vigorous  scholarship  and  brightness  of  style,  together  with  a  thorough 
mastery  of  the  result  of  German  industry  on  Pindar  up  to  the  present 
date.  He  has  briefly  noticed  the  theory  referred  to  in  the  text,  but 
he  is  not  disposed  to  accept  it. 

^d-n-Xdrov  irvpbs  dyvdrarai  irayal,   Pyth.   I,  21. 

^  '  A  sort  of  intoxication  of  style — a  Pindarisvi,  to  use  a  word  formed 
from  the  name  of  the  poet,  on  whom,  above  all  other  poets,  the  power 
of  style  seems  to  have  exercised  an  inspiring  and  intoxicating  effect.' — 
Matthew  Arnold,  'On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature,'  p.  144. 


lo  PINDAR 

pensable  to  the  life  of  the  Greek  as  music  to  the 
churches  of  Europe.  As  every  church  in  Europe 
now  has  its  organist,  so  every  town  in  Greece  had  its 
professional  poet  and  chorus.  But  the  poet  was  not 
merely  the  organist,  he  was  also  the  celebrant  of  the 
rite,  the  conductor  of  the  cantata^  and  the  preacher 
of  the  word,  whose  duty  it  was  to  set  forth 
impressively  the  glory  of  the  god  who  gave  the 
victory,  and  the  virtues  whereby  the  victor  won  his 
favour.  For  this  the  poet  received  pay,  just  as  our 
clergy  receive  pay  in  their  capacity  of  professional 
conductors  of  public  worship.  When  we  remember 
that  the  professed  lyric  poet  was  bound  not  only  to 
produce  in  his  poem  a  work  of  art,  but  also  to 
compose  appropriate  music,  and  to  superintend  the 
dancing  as  well  as  the  singing  of  the  chorus,  we 
can  understand  how  Pindar  found  full  occupa- 
tion in  his  art  through  the  troublous  times  of 
the  Persian  wars  ;  and  we  are  not  surprised  to  learn 
that  he  sometimes  had  to  postpone,  even  for  years, 
a  commemorative  ode  which  he  had  undertaken  to 
execute. 

Though  Pindar's  odes  formed  the  chief  part  of  a 
ceremony  which  was  always  more  or  less  an  act  of 
worship,  nothing  could  be  a  greater  mistake  than 
to  look  on  them  as  religious  poems.  Their  main 
characteristic  is  their  exuberant  buoyancy.  The 
poet  often  speaks  of  his  craft  in  terms  which  recal 
the  *  gay  art '  of  the  Middle  Ages.^     The  Ode  is  a 

^The  very  phrase  for  'gaiety'  is  used  in  Isthm.  3,  57, 
Acara  pa^8bp  ^(ppacev 
deaTrealuv  iiriiav  Xoiirois  dd  {>  peiv. 
Cp.  KWfiov .  .  .*AwoWi!>viop  &dvpfjt.a,   Pyth.   5,  20. 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  ii 

main  ingredient  in  the  revel,  an  appanage  of  luxury 
and  the  feast — 

'Behold  I  send  thee  this  honey  mingled  with  white  milk, 
and  the  foam  of  the  mixing  hangeth  round  about  it,  to  be  a 
drink  of  minstrelsy  distilled  in  breathings  of  vEolian  flutes.'  * 

The  lay  is  more  comforting  to  the  victor  than  the 
warm  bath  to  his  limbs  strained  with  the  conflict.^ 
To  Chromius  he  says,^ 

'Victory  burgeons  into  fresh  bloom  by  the  lay  that  falls 
so  soft  on  his  ear  ;  with  the  bowl  the  singer's  voice  rises  brave  ; 
mix  now  the  bowl,  sweet  inspirer  of  revel  lays,  and  hand  round 
in  the  goblets  the  vine's  lusty  son.' 

Very  often  the  poem  is  itself  called  a  draught  of 
wine,  and  once  the  ode's  twofold  character  as  a 
prayer  and  a  work  of  art  is  exquisitely  indicated  in 
the  words  '  a  suppliant  I  bear  a  Lydian  crown 
wrought  cunningly  with  sound  of  song.'* 

Thus,  it  only  requires  a  little  reflection  to  recon- 
struct the  feelings  which  inspired  the  poetry  of 
Pindar,  and  the  occasions  which  gave  rise  to  it ; 
and  to  recognize  broadly  the  fact,  that  Pindar  was 
no  improvisatore,  but  a  careful  and  cunning  artist. 
But  as  to  the  precise  method  of  the  poet's  art,  as  to 
the  material  structure  of  his  odes,  a  theory  has  been 
recently  put  forward  which  certainly  has  the  merit  of 

^Nem.  3,  76,  Myers'  trans. 

2  Nam.  4,  4.     We  shall  afterwards  have  to  quote  a  splendid  com- 
parison of  his  verse  to  a  crown  of  ivory,  gold  and  coral. 
^Nem.  9,  48. 
^  l/c^raj  .   .  .  (^kpwv 

Av8iav  fxlrpav  Kavaxv^^  TreiroiKiKfJLivav. 

Nam.  8,  15,  Myers'  trans. 


12  PINDAR 

definiteness,  and  which  in  many  ways  must  attract 
and  fascinate  students  of  Pindar. 

The  work  of  Professor  Mezger  has  undoubtedly 
made  an  epoch  in  the  study  of  Pindar.  He  is  a 
willing  follower  of  Dissen  in  the  elaborate  ingenuity 
with  which  he  seeks  to  unearth  the  Grundgedanken 
of  the  odes.  But  he  introduces  entirely  new 
principles  in  his  theory  about  the  structure  of  the 
poems.  R.  Westphal,^  by  a  very  searching  examina- 
tion of  the  choric  odes  of  Aeschylus,  was  led  to  the 
conclusion,  that  each  ode  consists  of  four  choric 
songs  and  one  lament  or  connnos  (the  latter  some- 
times replaced  by  a  processional  hymn).  Of  the 
choric  songs  Westphal  held,  that  the  real  model  was 
f$^the  old  Terpandrian  nome^  which,  starting  from  a 
, .'  central  point  (ojuLcpaXo^)^  expanded  itself  into  pairs  of  jf^ 
members  on  each  side  of  the  SfxipaXo^.  This  fact 
seems  to  be  recognized  by  Aristophanes  (Ran.  1281) 
when  Euripides  checks  the  threatened  departure  of 
Dionysus  in  the  words, 

fx-q'  irptv  y'  aKovcrrjs  ^drepav  (TTdircv  /xeAwi/ 

and  follows  up  this  description  of  the  melic 
inspiration  of  Aeschylus  with  the  celebrated  travesty 
of  the  first  choral  ode  in  the  '  Agamemnon '  to 
the  accompaniment  of  TocpXaTToOparrocpiXaTToOpaT. 
The  names  of  the  various  members  of  the  Terpan- 
drian name  are  given  by  Pollux,^  and  are  thus 
enumerated  by  Mezger : 

^  'Prolegg.  zu  Aesch.  Trag.  1869.' 

*The  irpoolfiiop  was  not  mentioned  by  Pollux,  because  it  was  common 
to  other  artists  with  Terpander.  By  some  the  iirapxd  is  called  jxeTapxd, 
and  the  i^65iov  the  4iri\oyos. 


ODES   OF   VICTORY  13 

irpooifiLoVf 
eirapxa, 
APXA, 
C-/    /Jy     KaraTpoTrd, 
0  OM^AAOS, 

^y    /tj^     fieTaKaraTpoTTOL, 
^  2*PAri2, 

Of  these  the  cLp-^d,  o/mcpaXog  and  crcppayig  must  be 
present  in  every  ode.  The  others  may  be  present  or 
absent,  just  as  the  surface  of  a  lake,  broken  by  a 
stone  thrown  into  it,  may  spread  itself  into  more  or 
fewer  concentric  circles  of  retreating  water.  Mezger 
maintains  that  Pindar,  in  his  '  Odes  of  Victory,'  in 
nearly  every  case  ^  takes  for  his  model  the  Terpan- 
drian  nome.  The  kernel  of  the  poem  is  the  o/uLcpaXo^^ 
which  very  nearly  always  contains  the  myth.  There 
are  six  exceptions.  In  Pyth.  i  and  9,  Nem.  i  and 
10,  and  Isthm.  2  and  6,  the  myth  is  not  in  the 
o/iKpaXo^  ;  and  sometimes  there  is  no  myth  at  all,  as 
in  01.  5,  II,  12,  Isthm.  2.  But  in  every  other  ode 
the  myth  is  an  elaborately  executed  vignette^  set  in 
the  o/uLcpaXog,  with  the  other  parts  of  the  ode  for  its 
massive  frame.  From  the  ofxipakog  expand  the  cip-)(a 
and  cr(ppayig,  one  on  each  side.  These  deal  with  the 
glorification  of  the  victor  and  his  family.  They  are 
connected  with  the  SjucpaXog  by  transition-pieces^  the 
KaTarpoTrd  on  one  side,  and  the  lULeTaKaraTpoird  on' t  'io 
the  other,  in  which  the  poet  refers,  under  the  guise  of 
metaphor,  to  himself  and  his  song.  For  instance,  in 
Pyth.  4,  247,  he  compares  the  course  of  his  ode  to  a 

^The  exceptions  are  six  odes  of  very  small  compass,  Ol.  4,  ii,  12,  14; 
Pyth.  7  ;  Nem.  2.     Nem.  1 1  is  not  an  Epinician  Ode. 


14  PINDAR 

highway,  and  declares  that  he  knows  a  short  cut  to 
his  goal ;  in  Pyth.  i  o,  5  I  the  ode  is  figured  as  a  bark 
on  the  sea;  in  Pyth.  11,  38,  both  metaphors  are 
combined.  When  Lord  Tennyson  wrote  a  '  random 
arrow  from  the  brain/  he  used  a  figure  under  which  o^ 
Pindar  in  the  Kararpoird  and  the  jULeraKaTarpoTra/^^ 
constantly  refers  to  the  products  of  his  Muse.  These 
two  transition-pieces  rarely  lack  a  certain  corre- 
spondence with  each  other,  whether  of  sentiment  or 
expression.^  For  instance,  in  Nem.  7  the  KaTarpoira 
(17-24)  contains  a  splendid  eulogy  on  the  power  of 
poesy — 

*  Rich  and  poor  alike  wend  their  way  to  ultimate  death.  But 
I  hold,  that  the  fame  of  Odysseus  was  greater  than  his  suffer- 
ings by  reason  of  the  minstrelsy  of  Homer.  For  on  his  fiction 
and  his  soaring  craft  a  kind  of  majesty  is  stamped,  and  his 
art  beguiles  us  and  carries  us  away.' 

Closely  connected  with  this  is  the  /uLeraKaraTpowd 
(75-80),  which  describes  in  words  of  magic  beauty 
the  meed  of  poesy  itself  under  the  figure  of  a  crown 
of  gold,  and  ivory,  and  coral : — 

'  Let  me  be  :  if  I  soared  too  high  when  I  shouted  the  victor's 
praise,  no  niggard  am  I  in  paying  my  due.  To  weave  wreaths 
is  a  light  matter.  Strike  the  prelude  !  For  thee  the  Muse 
welds  together  gold  and  stainless  ivory  and  the  lily-flower  that 
she  hath  filched  from  the  ocean's  foam.' 

In  Isthm.  6  the  KaTarpoTrd  (16— 19)  says  : — 

'Sleeps  the  fair  deed  of  olden  time,  clean  gone  from  the 
minds  of  men,  save  what  hath  attained  unto  the  perfect  meed 
that  poesy  can  give,  being  wedded  to  the  tide  of  song.' 

^The  exceptions,  curiously,  are  all  in  the  Pythian  odes.  No  corre- 
spondence between  KaTarpoird  and  fieTaKaTaTpoird  can  be  traced  in  Pyth. 
2,  3>  4>  8,  9,  11;  but  it  appears  in  all  the  others. 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  15 

To  which  the  antiphonal  response  of  the  /meraKara-  y  f^ 
Tpoira  (39-42)  rings  clear  in  the  passage  beginning 

*  I  will  twine  my  hair  with  wreaths  and  sing.' 

In  Isthm.  7  the  poet  in  the  Kararpoird  (15—18) 
introduces  the  myth  with  a  promise  that  he  will 
'give  first  to  Aegina  the  fairest  boon  of  the  Charites;' 
while  the  /meTaKaraTpoTrd  (59  ff.)  leads  us  away  from 
the  myth  by  the  reflection,  'So  this  thing  found  favour 
with  the  Gods  ^00 — to  give  over  a  hero  even  dead  to 
the  hymning  of  the  Heliconian  maids.'  The  promise  . 
of  the  poet  in  the  KaTarpoird  receives  in  the  ineraKara- 
rpoTrd  the  sanction  of  the  example  of  the  Gods. 

That  this  method  of  structure  was  not  in  any 
sense  a  caprice  of  the  poet — neither  a  Uur  de  force 
of  his  youth,  nor  an  affectation  of  his  decline — may 
be  seen  by  examining  three  odes,  corresponding 
respectively  to  the  beginning,  the  middle,  and  the 
close  of  his  poetic  activity.  In  Pyth.  10,  the  earliest 
of  Pindar's  odes,  written  about  502  B.C.,  at  the  age  of 
twenty — verses  27—30  and  51—54,  proclaim  them- 
selves to  be  KaTarpoird  and  /uLeTaKararpoTra.  Both 
have  the  metaphor  taken  from  a  voyage  by  sea,  to 
which  the  poet  so  often  turns  ;  and  between  the  two 
the  myth  is  set  in  the  6iui<pa\6^  as  a  precious  stone 
within  the  bevil  of  a  ring.  After  the  /uLeTaKararpoTrd 
the  cr<ppayL9  (55— 7 1)  resumes  the  theme  of  the 
victor's  praise  which  the  cip)(d  (4—26)  had  begun. 
Finally,  while  the  Trpool/unop  (1-3)  had  glorified  the 
nobles  of  Thessaly,  the  e^oSiov  (71  f)  declares  that 
*  in  the  hands  of  good  men  lieth  the  good  piloting  of 
the  cities  wherein  their  fathers  ruled.'  ^ 

^  Myers'  translation. 


i6  PINDAR 

The  structure  of  the  ode  may  be  thus  exhibited  to 
the  eye : — 

3  (7r.)  +  23  (a.) +  4  (k.)  +  20  (d.)  +  4  (mO  +  i^  (o-)  +  2  (L). 

V       ^    " '     y 

The  fifth  Isthmian  ode  coincides  with  about  the 
middle  of  the  poet's  artistic  h'fe  (B.C.  482).  It 
displays  the  very  same  structural  phenomena,  save 
that  the  irpoolfxiov  and  e^oSiov  are  absent,  as  is  often 
the  case.  It  will  not  be  requisite  again  to  enter  into 
details.  The  reader,  on  referring  to  the  ode,  will  see 
that  its  form  is  this  : — 

18  (a.) +  5  (k.)  +  32  (o.)  +  4  (/^.)+i6  (cr.). 

The  thirteenth  Olympian  ode  belongs  to  the  close 
of  the  lyrist's  career,  composed  about  464  B.C.  The 
Trpooljuiiov  in  this  ode  is  a  prelude  in  the  strictest 
sense  of  the  word.  The  ode  proper  begins  with  the 
€7rap-)(a  (24-29)  and  its  prayer  to  Zeus,  which  has 
its  antiphone  in  the  e^oSiov  (114  f ).  This  is  its 
structure : — 

23  (tt.)  +  6(€7r.)  +  I7(a.)  +  6(/c.)  +  40(0.)  +  Sih')  +  l6(o-.)  +  2(6.) 

V     ^    ^         - — ^    y 

In  the  cases  which  we  have  hitherto  examined,  the 
very  substance  and  matter  of  the  Kararpoira  and 
/jLeraKaTarpoTrd  show  their  transitional  function.  But, 
in  many  cases,  there  is  no  such  clear  note  of  their 
character.  This  would  seem,  at  first  sight,  fatal  to 
the  theory  of  Westphal  and  Mezger.  For  how  are 
we  to  disentangle  the  KararpoTra  and  fieTaKararpoTrd 
from  the  rest  of  the  poem  ?  The  hymn  composed 
on  the  Terpandrian  model  has  been  compared,  as  a 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  17 

whole,  to  the  pediment  of  a  Greek  temple.  Take 
away  from  the  sculptured  pediment  the  groups  on 
each  side  of  the  central  figure,  and  all  the  symmetry 
is  gone.  The  central  sculpture  must  be  flanked,  on 
both  sides,  by  corresponding  pairs  of  designs,  until 
the  whole  pediment  is  embellished.  So  the  central 
S/uLipaXog  of  the  hymn  must  shade  off  into  a/>x«  ^^^ 
a-(f)payi9  through  the  transitional  KaTairpoira  and 
/uLeraKaraTpoTrd.  The  hearer  must  feel  the  transition, 
else  his  ear,  or  his  sense  of  symmetry,  will  be  hurt, 
as  his  eye  would  be  hurt  by  want  of  symmetry  in  the 
sculptured  pediment. 

Now  these  are  the  very  cases  in  which  Mezger 
sees  the  strongest  proofs  of  the  soundness  of  his 
theory.  When  the  transitional  pieces  do  not  by 
their  subject  matter  declare  themselves  to  be  such,  it 
is  the  habit  of  the  poet  to  mark  the  place  of  the 
transition  by  the  repetition  in  the  lULeTaKaraTpoTrd  of 
some  particular  word  in  the  KararpoTrd,  and  that  in 
the  same  foot  of  the  same  verse  in  the  strophe. 
Thus  in  Olymp.  7,  of  which  the  form  is  : — 

19  (a.) +  7  (k.)  +  5o  (o.)  +  4  (/^O+is  (o-.). 
the  myth  is  introduced  (verse  20)  by  the  words — 

^vvov  dyyeWoyv  Siopdiocrai  Xoyov. 

There  is  nothing  here  to  show  the  transitional 
character  of  the  KaraTpoird,  nothing  to  show  that 
this  is  the  Kararpoird.  So  the  poet  in  the  first  line 
of  the  jLieraKaTaTpoTrd  introduces  in  the  same  foot  of 
the  same  strophic  verse  the  word  TXa7roXe/xw,  to 
serve  as  a  sort  of  cue  or  catchword.     As  the  myth, 


1 8  PINDAR 

which  forms  as  usual  the  ojuLcjyaXog  of  the  ode,  was 
introduced  in  verse  20  by  the  word  TXaTroXe^ov,  so 
by  TXaTToXeVft)  in  the  same  foot  of  verse  77  is  the 
myth  dismissed, 

toOl  Xvrpov  (TVfJL(f)opas  oiKrpas  yXvKV  TAaTroXe/xo) 
MTTarat  ^ipvvdioiv  ap\aykT(}.. 

Thus  this  device  of  the  poet  would  serve  as  a 
kind  of  rubric.  The  KaTarpoird  would  say  '  here 
beginneth  the  oyu^aXoV  and  the  fxeTaKararpoira 
would  say  *  here  endeth  the  o/uLCpaXog.'  No  doubt, 
moreover,  the  repetition  of  this  was  emphasized  by 
traditional  modifications  of  the  music  and  the  dance. 

On  first  meeting  these  acute  observations  of 
Mezger,  one  is  disposed  to  exclaim  with  Horatio, 
*  'Twere  to  consider  too  curiously  to  consider  so.' 
But  we  must  again  call  to  mind  the  circumstances 
under  which  Pindar's  odes  were  composed.  Such  a 
device  might  seem  childish  to  us,  with  our  complete 
array  of  typographical  expedients.  The  mere  em- 
ployment of  a  different  type,  or  the  setting  in  or 
out  of  the  same  type,  would  call  attention  to  a 
correspondence  between  two  parts  of  a  poem.  But 
the  poems  of  Pindar,  if  they  were  written  at  all, 
were  certainly  not  written  to  be  read  but  to  be 
heard,  and  could  not  possibly  have  recourse  to  any 
structural  device  save  such  as  would  appeal  to  the  ear. 

Professor  Mezger  has  pointed  out  many  cases  in 
which  Pindar  thus  employs  a  recurrent  word  to 
guide  the  hearer  to  the  proper  apprehension  of  the 
nomic  march  in  his  poems  ;  and  Mezger  is  himself 
so  strongly  convinced  of  the  soundness  of  the  prin- 
ciple, that  he  is  guided   by  it  in  the  arrangement, 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  19 

the  explanation,  and  even  the  criticism  of  the  odes. 
He  shows,  for  instance,  that  Bergk  is  wrong  in  still 
protesting,  now  in  his  fourth  edition,  against  the 
fusion  of  the  third  and  fourth  Isthmians  into  one 
ode — an  arrangement  which  was  long  ago  proposed 
by  Heyne,  and  has  been  accepted  by  all  subsequent 
editors,  except  Bergk.  That  the  two  odes  are  really 
one  is  clearly  shown  by  verses  19-24,  which, 
according  to  the  pre-Heynian  arrangement,  were 
verses  1-6  of  Isthm.  4.  These  verses  are  the 
KararpoTrd  of  the  whole  poem  made  up  by  com- 
bining Isthm.  3  and  4.  They  correspond  to  verses 
60—63,  which  are  the  /uLeraKarar powd.  This  is 
made  certain,  in  the  opinion  of  Mezger,  by  the  fact, 
that  the  name  Melissus  is  introduced  as  a  catchword 
in  the  same  foot  of  the  same  strophical  verse  in  the 
KaTarpoTrd  and  the  juLeTaKararpoTrd. 

In  the  eighth  Olympian  ode  the  narrative  is  sud- 
denly interrupted  at  verse  28  by  the  exclamation — 

6  S'  €7ravT€XXiov   \p6vos 
TOVTO  TTpdcrcrayv  jxy   Kapoi. 

The  explanation  of  this,  Mezger  ingeniously  observes, 
is  that  the  reOjuLo^  of  the  Epinician  ode  here  demands 
the  Kararpoira,  which  is  ushered  in  by  the  words 
quoted.  The  catchword  is  irpda-a-wv^  which  finds  its 
echo  in  Trpd^aig  (verse  73)  in  the  same  foot  of  the 
same  strophical  verse  in  the  juLeTaKaTarpoTrd  : — 

'AtSa  TOL  XdOeraL 
ap/JLcva  7rpd^aL<s  dvrjp. 

These  two  places  also  correspond  in  their  subject 
matter,  dealing  with  the  ways  of  fate,  and  leading 
on  to  a  new  topic. 


20  PINDAR 

In  the  ninth  Nemean,  verse  28  : — 

TTCLpav  fikv  dydvopa  ^oiViKOCTToXoiv 
cyvewi/  ravrav  davaTOV  inpl  kol  ^(ods  dvaf^akkofxat  tos 
iropa-LCTTa, 

Mezger  sees  in  ravrav  a  catchword  corresponding  to 
ravrav  in  54  : — 

eu^o/xat  ravrav  dperav  KeXaSrjcraL  (tvv  Xaptrecrcriv, 

and  founds  on  this  basis  a  quite  new  interpretation 
of  this  difficult  passage.  He  regards  (poivtKocrroXcov 'l,^ 
not  as  a  proper  name,  but  as  a  characteristic  epithet 
of  €y)(€wv,  '  mit  Roth  d.  h.  mit  Blut  iiberzogen.'  The 
poet  having  described  the  destruction  of  the  Argive 
host  at  Thebes,  and  thinking  of  the  recent  Persian 
invasion,  prays  that  far  from  him  may  be  '  such  high 
arbitrament  by  blood-boultered  spears,  where  Hfe 
and  death  are  the  stake.' 

Naturally  enough  Pindar  is  satisfied,  according  to 
the  view  of  Mezger,  with  any  catchword  that  will 
lead  back  his  hearers  to  the  desired  point.  He  does 
not  feel  it  necessary  to  employ  in  the  /meraKararpoTra 
the  very  same  expression  as  he  had  used  in  the 
Kararpoira.  In  the  same  way,  some  of  the  greatest 
of  our  modern  poets  content  themselves  with  an 
assonance  instead  of  a  complete  consonance.  Mrs. 
Browning  is  satisfied  with  the  degree  o^  similarity  in 
sound  which  subsists  between  turret  and  chariot^ 
when  she  writes — 

'  Crowned  Cybele's  great  turret 
Rolls  and  quivers  on  her  head  ; 
Roar  the  lions  of  her  chariot 
Toward  the  wilderness  unfed.' 

But  the  catchword  must  have  sufficient  resemblance 


ODES   OF   VICTORY  21 

to  serve  as  a  mnemonic  for  the  hearer.  For  instance, 
in  the  tenth  Nemean  ode,  the  phrase  inoipav  ecrXwj/ 
(verse  20)  in  the  KararpoTrd  is  recalled  by  /moipav 
aycovcov  (verse  53)  in  the  /uLeraKaTarpoTrd.  In  the 
fifth  Nemean,  ^(^pucreav  l^ripijlScov  (verse  7)  finds  its 
echo  in  y^pva-akaKdrwv  l^tjpe'iScop  (verse  36).  In  the 
twelfth  Pythian,  the  discovery  of  the  vojuLog  iroXvKeipaXog 
is  described  in  the  Kararpoird  ;  then  comes  the  myth 
of  Medusa  ;  then  in  the  jULeTaKaraTpoTrd  we  are  led 
back  to  the  Kararpoird  by  the  word  SovdKwv. 

It  would  be  tedious  here  to  pursue  Mezger's 
system  any  further  in  its  application  to  each  ode. 
That  it  is  not  merely  fanciful  we  have  said  enough 
to  show.  The  reader  will,  we  think,  find  that  to 
read  Pindar  from  Mezger's  point  of  view  will  certainly 
not  detract  from  his  interest  in  the  poems,  and  will 
probably  dispose  him  to  look  more  favourably  on 
the  hypothesis  itself. 

On  this  fascinating  theory,  the  first  reflection 
which  will  occur  to  the  reader  is  that  it  presents  to 
us  Pindar,  not  as  a  singer  whose  lawless  imagination 
sweeps  him  on  in  unshackled  numbers,  but  as  the 
most  painstaking  of  artists,  bound  by  more  rules 
than  those  of  the  sonnet,  the  ballade,  or  the  chant 
royal  \  yet  supremely  successful  in  giving  to  these 
laboured  poems  all  the  outward  semblance  of  a 
strain  of  unpremeditated  art,  as  profuse  as  the  song 
of  the  skylark.  Is  then  the  theory  a  just  one? 
Did  Pindar  really  model  his  ode  on  the  Terpandrian|-cU<^  /5^ 
nome,  and  use  all  the  art  which  Mezger  ascribes  to 
him  to  emphasize  his  method  ? 

It  has  been  already  remarked,  that  a  Pindaric  ode 


22  PINDAR 

so  constructed  might  be  compared  to  the  sculptured 
designs  on  the  pediment  of  a  Greek  temple.  Now 
Pindar  frequently  boasts  that  he  has  introduced 
some  novelty  into  the  melic  art.  The  novelty 
introduced  seems,  from  the  way  in  which  he  refers 
to  it,  to  have  been  some  new  method  employed  in 
the  structure  of  his  odes.  For  instance,  in  Olymp. 
3,  4,  he  declares — 

'  Hereunto  hath  the  Muse  been  with  me,  in  the  finding  of  a 
glossy-new  device,  to  fit  to  the  Dorian  step  the  voice  of  the 
hymn.'i  '    "^^tk^^ 

In  Pyth.  4,  247,  he  exclaims — 

'  I  show  the  way  in  the  poet's  craft.' 

Some  innovation  of  Pindar's  was  attacked  by  his 
rival,  Simonides.  This  innovation  seems  to  have 
been  in  the  structure  of  his  odes.  It  can  hardly 
have  been  (as  has  been  suggested)  the  employment 
of  mythical  narrative,  though  this  is  so  leading  a 
feature  in  his  poetry.  The  one  statement  which 
tradition  gives  us  on  this  question  is,  that  it  was  his 
rival  Corinna  who  recommended  to  him  the  use  of 
the  myth  ;  and  she  no  doubt  had  employed  it  herself 
on  the  seven  occasions  on  which  she  defeated  him 
in  trials  of  poetic  skill.  She  even  censured  him  for 
a  misuse  of  her  teaching,  when  she  curbed  his 
youthful  exuberance  by  telling  him  *  to  sow  with  the 
hand,  not  with  the  whole  sack.' 

Now  Pindar's  poetry  is  informed  with  an  en- 
thusiasm for  Greek  art.  His  *  Odes  of  Victory '  are 
*  an  embodied  joy '  in  the  great  past  and  present  of 

^TAoiffa  5'  oIjtu)  toi  irapiara  fxoi  veoalyaXov  evpbvrt,  Tpbirov 


ODES   OF   VICTORY  23 

Hellas,  which  now,  after  repelling  the  barbarian,  was 
awaking  to  a  buoyant  sense  of  new  life,  national  and 
artistic,  *  even  as  the  earth  after  the  murk  of  the 
changeful  months  burgeons  anew  with  red  roses,' ^  or 
as  '  when  the  chamber  of  the  crimson-clad  hours  is 
opened,  and  the  harbinger  gales  usher  in  the  incense- 
breathing  spring.'^  Of  this  sense  of  a  new  and  great 
existence,  Pindar  was  full  to  overflowing.  It  is 
alien  from  the  genius  of  the  Greek  poets  to  *give 
elaborate  descriptions  of  nature  and  natural  objects  ; 
but  chance-dropt  expressions  here  and  there  show, 
that  Pindar  looked  on  nature  with  a  painter's  eye, 
and  lead  us  to  infer  that  he  must  have  been  deeply 
impressed  by  the  painter's  art.  '  The  midmonth 
moon  in  car  of  gold  lit  up  right  before  him  the  eye 
of  eve,'^  is  what  would  now  be  called  a  word-picture ; 
and  so  is  the  phrase  in  which  he  describes  the  infant 
lamus  as  'bathed  in  the  yellow  and  purple  glow'^ 
of  the  flowers  which  gave  him  his  name.  The 
description  of  the  eagle  of  Zeus  in  the  beginning 
of  the  first  Pythian  ode  reads  as  if  the  poet  had  a 
picture  before  his  mind's  eye ;  and  we  have  in  another 
place  the  simile  of  the  eagle  with  his  prey  in  his 
talons — a  favourite  device  on  the  coins  of  his  time.^ 

ilsthm.  3,  36.  2  Frag.  75.     Bergk,  ed.  4. 

^Olymp.  3,  20.  ^Olymp.  6,  55. 

^Nem.  8,  80.  This  subject  is  magnificently  treated  by  Sophocles  in 
the  first  choral  ode  in  the  'Antigone,'  where  the  Argive  invasion  of 
Thebes  is  described  as  a  fight  between  an  eagle  and  a  serpent.  The 
skill  with  which  the  poet  suggests  the  picture  of  the  eagle  and  the 
serpent  while  telling  of  the  actual  invasion  seems  peculiar  to  the  Greek 
poets  and  Swinburne,  in  whose  '  Erechtheus '  the  human  warriors 
who  invade  Attica  seem  to  loom  larger  than  men,  and  the  onset  of  the 
assailants  merges  itself  into  the  onset  of  the  elemental  hosts  which  war 


24  PINDAR 

But  while  the  poet's  work  was  deeply  coloured  by 
the  kindred  arts  of  painting  and  sculpture  (to  which 
he  so  often  refers)  ;  while  we  find  him  even  alluding, 
in  a  noble  passage  already  quoted,  to  the  triumph  of 
the  goldsmith's  craft  ;^  there  is  only  one  art  which 
he  explicitly  and  in  plain  terms  sets  forth  as  the 
analogue  of  his  own.  This  art  is  Architecture.  A 
remarkable  passage  of  this  kind  is  the  opening  of 
the  sixth  Olympian  ode,  where  he  likens  his  poem 
to  \:}ci^  facade  of  a  noble  building  : — 

'  Golden  pillars  will  we  set  up  in  the  porch  of  the  house  of 
our  song,  as  in  a  stately  palace-hall ;  for  it  beseemeth  that  in 
the  forefront  of  the  work  the  entablature  shoot  far  its  splendour.'  ^ 

Again,  he  exclaims  : — 

'  Lo,  a  basement  of  gold  has  been  fashioned  for  our  lays  ; 
come,  let  us  build  a  fair  work  of  art  with  words  wrought 
cunningly.' 3 

He  calls  a  promised  ode  now  completed  '  a  god-built 
debt,'*  in  close  connection,  moreover,  with  his  most 
explicit  assertion  of  his  claim  to  rank  as  a  discoverer 
in  the  melic  art.  He  speaks  of  a  treasure-house  of 
song  being  built,  and  of  its  fair  fagadeJ"  Even  the 
expression  '  poet-builders,'^  though  it  does  not  seem 
unnatural  to  us  who  are  familiar  with  Milton's  'build 
the  lofty  rhyme/  must  have  been  a  significant 
expression  when  it  was  used  by  Pindar;  since  we 

against  the  Attic  coast.  Pindar  finely  describes  the  elemental  hosts  as 
a  'fierce  levy  of  storm  battalions  from  the  thunderous  cloud-rack.'— 
Pyth.  6,  10. 

^Nem.  7,  77.  ^Qiymp.  6,  i,  Myers'  trans. 

3  Frag.  194,  Bergk,  ed.  4  ^Olymp.  3,  7. 

«»Pyth.  6,  8-14.  6  Pyth.  3,  113. 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  25 

find  it  parodied  by  Aristophanes  and  Cratinus.^  But 
perhaps  the  most  striking  passage  in  which  the  poet 
speaks  of  a  connection  between  Architecture  and  his 
own  Art  is  the  following  (Olymp.  13,  17) : — 

'  To  the  inventor  belongeth  every  work.  Whence  was  revealed 
that  enhancement  of  the  rite  of  Dionysus  that  came  with  the 
Dithyramb?  Who  to  the  gear  of  steeds  added  that  wherewith 
to  curb  their  course  ?  Who  placed  on  the  shrines  of  the  Gods 
the  twin  eagle ^  king  of  birds  ? ' 

Surely  this  is  a  very  remarkable  coincidence,  if  it  is 
nothing  more.  In  close  connection  with  an  invention 
in  the  melic  art,  the  poet  places  the  first  employment 
of  the  pediment  in  Greek  Architecture  ;  for  of  course 
he  refers  to  the  two  pediments  of  the  temples  them- 
selves, in  referring  to  the  eagles  which  were  placed  as 
finials  on  each  gable,  and  from  which  the  pediment 
itself  was  called  aeT6<i^  aeTdifxa} 

It  seems  then  not  an  unwarranted  inference,  that 
it  was  some  architectural  device — most  probably  the 
treatment  of  the  pediment — which  suggested  some 
striking  feature  in  the  structure  of  his  odes.  Now, 
Pindar  must  often  have  admired  the  sculptured 
pediments  of  the  temple  of  Athene  at  Aegina.  And 
it  is  very  remarkable,  that  those  very  pediments 
furnish  the  themes  of  some  of  his  most  beautiful 
episodes.  The  following  instructive  passage  from  a 
paper  on  Pindar  by  the  late  Professor  Jebb,^  though 

^  Aristoph.  Equites^  530,  and  Schol. 

2  There  is,  indeed,  very  considerable  authority  for  the  theory,  that  the 
field  of  the  gable  was  itself  called  cteros  from  the  resemblance  of  the 
whole  pediment  to  an  eagle  with  outstretched  wings ;  see  Schol.  on 
Aristoph.  Aves  mo,  and  Bekk.  Anecd.  p.  348.  3,  y]  yap  ivl  .rots 
irpoirvXaloLS  KaraaKevrj  deroO  fic/jLeiTai  (rxvf^'^  axoTeraKdros  to,  iTTepd. 

^' Hellenic  Journal/ iii.  I,  177.  _^ 


26  PINDAR 

not  written  with  any  reference  to  the  theories  of 
Westphal  and  Mezger,  seems  to  us  greatly  to 
strengthen  their  hypothesis  : — 

'  But  the  school  of  Aegina  is  that  of  which  we  naturally  think 
first  in  connection  with  Pindar.  Of  his  extant  epinicia,  Sicily 
claims  15  ;  the  Epizephyrian  Locrians  2  ;  Cyrene  3  ;  the  main- 
land of  Greece  13,  of  which  4  are  for  Thebes  ;  Aegina,  11  .  .  . 
The  temple  of  Athene  at  Aegina  had  groups  of  sculpture  on  both 
pediments,— the  east  (which  was  the  front),  and  the  west.  The 
Aeginetan  marbles  at  Munich  are  statues  which  formed  part  of 
these  groups.  Their  date  falls  within  Pindar's  lifetime.  The 
subject  of  the  east  pediment  (it  is  unnecessary  to  enter 
on  controverted  details  of  restoration)  was  that  war  against 
Lacedaemon,  in  which  Heracles  was  helped  by  Telamon.  The 
subject  of  the  west  pediment  was  one  probably  connected  with 
the  death  of  Patroclus,  and  the  chief  figure  was  Ajax,  son  of 
Telamon.  All  through  Pindar's  Odes  for  Aeginetan  victors,  the 
dominant  mythical  theme  is  fitly  the  glory  of  the  Aeacidae, 
Telamon,  Ajax,  Peleus,  Achilles.  In  the  fifth  Isthmian  Ode, 
Pindar  gives  a  most  brilliant  treatment  to  the  initial  episode  of 
the  very  theme  which  occupied  the  east  pediment  of  the  temple 
at  Aegina,— Heracles  coming  to  seek  the  aid  of  Telamon 
against  Troy,  when  Telamon  gave  his  guest  a  wine-cup  rough 
with  gold,  and  Heracles  prophesied  the  birth  and  the  prowess 
of  Ajax.  Here  then  is  a  case  in  which  we  can  conceive,  that 
the  poet's  immediate  theme  may  have  occurred  to  his  mind  as 
he  gazed  on  the  sculptor's  work  in  the  splendid  entablature  of 
the  temple  ;  and  we  recal  Pindar's  own  comparison  of  an  open- 
ing song  to  the  front  of  a  stately  building, — dpxofievov  8'  e/oyov 
Xpt)  TrpoartoTTOV  Oifxev  Tr]\avy€sJ 

What  then  could  be  more  probable  than  that  the 
poet,  to  beautify  (SaiSdWeiv)  his  own  poems,  should 
seek  to  achieve  in  their  structure  some  approximation 
to  the  kind  of  embellishment,  which  he  must  often 
have    admired    in    the    temple,   which  adorned    the 


ODES   OF   VICTORY  27 

favoured  home  of  Greek  athletes  ?  Since  he  has 
treated  with  the  highest  efforts  of  his  genius  the 
themes  which  occupied  its  pediments,  is  it  not  natural 
that  he  should  have  tried  to  make  each  poem  itself 
a  kind  of  pediment  of  song?  The  same  complete 
regularity  of  detail  would  not,  of  course,  be  attained 
in  ordering  the  parts  of  a  poem,  but  the  principle 
at  least  might  be  employed.  Before  leaving  this 
part  of  our  subject,  we  will  make  another  extract 
from  the  same  brilliant  essay  of  Professor  Jebb 
(P-  179))  showing  how  much  Pindar  owed  to 
Architecture  with  its  handmaid  Sculpture  : — 

'The  Gigantomachia  (Pindar,  Nem.  i,  67)  adorned  the  pedi- 
ment of  the  Megarian  'Treasury' at  Olympia  ;  next  to  Zeus, 
Poseidon,  and  Ares,  the  chief  figure  was  Heracles,  whom  Pindar 
also  makes  prominent.  The  wedding  of  Heracles  with  Hebe 
(Pind.  ib.  and  Isthtn.  3,  78)  was  the  subject  of  a  relief  (of 
Pindar's  age)  on  the  low  wall  round  the  mouth  of  a  well 
(TT^pLa-To/xLov)  found  at  Corinth.  Pindar  may  have  lived  to  see 
the  eastern  pediment  of  the  temple  of  Zeus  at  Olympia,  by 
Paeonius,  though  not  the  western,  by  Alcamenes  ;  the  subject  of 
the  eastern  was  the  chariot  race  of  Pelops  and  (Enomaus  (Pind. 
01.  I,  76) ;  of  the  western  the  war  of  the  Centaurs  with  the 
Lapithae.  Pindar's  mention  of  the  ^'' fair-ihro7ted  Hours  "  {Pyth. 
9,  62),  reminds  us  that  the  Heraion  at  Olympia  possessed  a 
chryselephantine  group  of  the  Horae  seated  on  thrones  by 
Smilis  of  Aegina,  whose  date  has  been  referred  to  the  earlier 
half  of  the  sixth  century.' 

Whether  Pindar  really  did  borrow  from  the  sister 
art  of  Architecture  cannot  be  ascertained  for  certain. 
If  he  did,  it  is  only  in  the  last  few  years  that 
scholarship  has  discovered  the  mechanism  of  the 
wonderful  '  toy/  which  is  all  the  more  beautiful  since 
we  have  learned  the  secret. 


28  PINDAR 

If  the  attractive  theory  of  Mezger  be  accepted,  a 
^  further    question    suggests    itself       The    model    of 

WM^  /S^  Aeschylus  and  Pindar  being  a  Terpandrian  nome, 
why  did  they  employ  the  division  into  strophe, 
antistrophe,  and  epode?  Is  not  this  a  kind  of 
cross  division  ?  Is  not  each  ode  built  on  two 
frameworks  ?  *  We  cannot,'  writes  Prof  Gilder- 
sleeve,  'admit  a  logical  division  which  shall  ruthlessly 
run  across  all  the  lines  of  the  artistic  structure.  We 
must  seek  the  symmetry  of  thought  where  the 
symmetry  of  the  form  is  revealed  in  strophe,  in 
triad.'  In  search  of  a  solution  for  this  problem  we 
turn  to  the  odes  of  Aeschylus  and  Pindar,  and  at 
]/\{  •  (ylov  #^C^  lonce  notice  that  the  strophic  framework  has  nothing 
whatever  to  correspond  to  it  in  the  odes  themselves. 
The  strophic  modification  does  not  conform  to  any 

^vLt-X/'i^  <ctMilP^^^^^^^^°'^  ^"  ^^^  sense,  the  tone,  or  the  construc- 

^     .        '  tion  of  the  poem.      A  new  train  of  thought,  a  new 

bX»^v*  /narrative,  a  new  clause,  will  begin  in  the  last  verse  of 

^ylAJtAjt^  \r^  U  strophic  system  and  flow  over  into  the  next,  which 

^^^^;J*v/f<^      (  will  then  take  quite  a  new  turn.      Conformity  with 

^y^jCCat^\^  i^L    the  strophic  division  seems  even   to  be  avoided  by 

a-i  ^    'J     Pindar.       No   approach   to   it   appears   save   in    the 

thirteenth  Olympian  ode,  where  the  five  strophical 

systems     do     coincide     curiously    with     the    nomic 

divisions,  and  where,  moreover,  the  normal  structure 

of  the  ode  on  the  basis  of  a  Terpandrian  nome  is 

very  clearly  marked  thus  :  ^ — 

23  (tt.)  +  6(c7r.)  +  i7(a.)  +  6{k.)  +  40(0.)  +  5(/A.)  +  16(0-.)  +  2 (I.) 

V      "^^ — ^  '      y     J 

^The  6th  Olympian,  written  probably  about  467  B.C.,  exhibits  a 
greater  conformity  than  is  usual  between  the  end  of  the  clause  and  the 
end  of  the  strophe ;  and  the  individual  strophes,  antistrophes,  epodes 


ODES   OF   VICTORY  29 

If,  then,  Aeschylus  and  Pindar  did  not  take  any 
account  of  the  incidence  of  strophe  and  antistrophe 
as  regards  the  subject  matter,  or  construction  of  their 
poems,  why  did  they  write  in  strophe  and  antistrophe 
at  all  ?  When  they  employed  the  strophic  system, 
why  did  they  not  make  the  end  of  it  a  halting  point 
for  the  thought  and  the  clause,  as  well  as  for  the  feet 
of  the  dancers  ?  We  cannot  suggest  any  answer  to 
this  question,  save  that  the  Stesichorean  recurrence 
of  strophe  and  antistrophe  had  become  de  7'iguetir. 
Aeschylus  and  Pindar,  who  did  not  frame  their  odes 
on  this  basis,  were  forced  to  employ  it,  and  their 
r  successors,  finding  that  the  strophic  arrangement  was 
I  demanded  by  the  public,  wisely  resolved  to  make  it 
the^Jranaework  of  their  choral  odes.  Lasus  of 
Hermione,  the  teacher  of  Pindar,  threw  off  the 
shackles  of  strophe  and  antistrophe :  perhaps  he 
found  that  his  experiment  was  a  failure.^  At  all 
events  it  is  significant  that  Timocreon  the  Rhodian, 
abandoning  the  simple  stanza  of  Alcaeus  and 
Sappho,   clothed   his   satires    and    lampoons   in    the 

correspond  to  some  extent  with  the  nomic  structure  ;  the  Trpooifxiov 
exactly  coincides  with  the  first  strophe ;  the  dpxd  includes  the  whole  of 
the  first  antistrophe  and  epode ;  the  KararpoTrd  coincides  with  the 
second  strophe  ;  the  6/j,(pa\6s  with  the  third  and  fourth  strophes  and  the 
second  and  third  antistrophes  and  epodes.  At  this  point  the  coincidence 
fails.  There  is  no  real  connection  between  the  nomic  divisions  of  this 
poem  and  the  systems  consisting  each  of  strophe,  antistrophe,  epode ; 
save  that  the  first  system  coincides  with  the  irpoolfiiov  and  dpxd,  and 
therefore  with  real  factors  of  the  ode.  This  phenomenon,  as  well  as  the 
circumstance,  that  the  individual  strophes,  antistrophes,  and  epodes  in 
this  Ode  often  end  with  a  clause,  is  no  doubt  due  to  chance. 

^Mr.  Fennell  on  Olymp.  13,  18,  dirav  5'  evpbvros  ^pyov  (a  passage 
already  referred  to),  suggests  that  some  reaction  against  the  recitative 
character  of  the  Doric  dithyramb  is  alluded  to  in  Fra^.  79  (Bergk),  irplv 
fi^v  dpire  (TXocpoTiveia  t'  doidd  Sidvpdfi^ujv. 


30  PINDAR 

elaborate  garb  of  choral  strophe  and  antistrophe. 
I  The  Stesichorean  discovery  of  the  sequence  of 
\  strophe,  antistrophe,  epode,  was  originally  for  the 
convenience  of  the  dancers,  and  possibly  the  dancers 
were  unwilling  to  dispense  with  its  aid  even  when 
the  poet's  art  had  taken  a  higher  flight.  The 
innovation  of  Aeschylus  and  Pindar  demanded 
qualities  not  to  be  found  in  the  ordinary  chorus. 
However  this  may  be,  it  would  certainly  seem  that 
in  the  odes  of  Aeschylus  and  Pindar  the  nomic 
division  was  the  real  division,  the  antistrophic 
structure  being  perhaps  a  concession  to  fashion. 

We  have  already  referred,  in  passing,  to  some 
characteristics  of  Pindar's  style ;  and  we  have 
adverted  to  the  strange  circumstance,  that  English 
writers — even  the  most  enthusiastic — seem  to  find 
themselves  obliged  to  apologize  for  his  '  turgidity ' 
and  '  bombast'  It  is  not  easy  to  reconcile  the 
enthusiasm  with  the  apology.  If  the  poetry  of 
Pindar  does  not  satisfy  the  taste  of  the  critic,  either 
the  poetry  is  at  fault,  or  the  taste  is  at  fault,  or  the 
poetry  is  misapprehended. 

George  Eliot  has  observed,  that  there  are  very 
few  who  can  glory  in  what  is  actually  very  great 
and  beautiful,  without  putting  forth  cold  reservations 
and  incredulities  to  save  their  credit  for  wisdom. 
We  began  this  paper  by  admitting,  that  Pindar  is 
essentially  a  writer  of  whose  study  it  may  be  said 
that  Vappetit  vient  en  mangeant.  Those  qualities 
in  his  style,  which  some  describe  as  bombast  and 
turgidity,  are  really  splendid  proofs  of  a  keen  instinct 
for  style  that  enabled  him  always  to  maintain   his 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  31 

poetic  elevation,  though  dealing  with  events  which, 
however  glorified  by  associations,  were  in  them- 
selves not  considerable.  Pindar  does  say,  '  reft  from 
the  beardless  ones,'  ^  where  he  might  have  said, 
'  immediately  on  emerging  from  boyhood  ; '  the 
'  vaulting  ambition '  of  Shakespeare  is  with  him, 
the  '  huntress  craving ; '  ^  while  the  English  poet 
writes,  *  the  labour  we  delight  in  physicks  pain,'  the 
Theban  more  boldly  calls  a  cloak  *  warm  physick 
'gainst  the  winds  of  heaven  ; '  ^  '  Nemea  never  failed 
him '  is  with  Pindar,  '  Nemea  clave  to  him  ; '  *  com- 
pare the  Biblical  phrase,  '  sticketh  closer  than  a 
brother.'  The  savoury  smoke  of  the  sacrifice  puffing 
up  at  irregular  intervals  is  said  to  '  kick  the  air  ; '  ^ 
the  fruitful  fields  after  lying  fallow  '  clutch  back  their 
strength  ; '  ^  the  glory  of  the  family  of  Melissus  which 
had  '  fallen  on  sleep '  is  said  in  Miltonic  phrase  to 
'  awake  and  trick  its  beams  like  the  Daystar.'  '^  We 
call  to  mind — 

'  Or  to  take  arms  against  a  sea  of  troubles,' 
when  we  meet  such  mixed  metaphors  as — 

'  Methinks  a  whetstone  shrills  at  my  lips  ;  it  draws  me  on 
right  fain  with  a  current  of  sweet  breath  composed.'  ^ 

Here  the  poet  means,  that  the  thought  of  the  relation- 
ship between  Thebes  and  Stymphalus  (where  a 
branch  of  the  lamidae  whom  he  is  celebrating  had 

^  Olymp,  9,  89.  2  Olymp.  2,  60.  ^  Olymp.  9,  97. 

*d  'Ne/j.iafJL^v  dpapev,  Nem.  5,  44. 

^XaKTi^oiaa,  Isthm.  3,  84.  ^^fiapxpav,  Nem.  6,  II. 

"^  dveyeipofiipa  xp^o.  Xd/nrei,  'Aooatpopos  darjrbs  ojs  darpoLS  iu  fiXXots, 
Isthm.  3,  41. 

^01.  6,  82;  compare  Hamlet  iii.  i,  98,  'and  with  them  words  of 
such  sweet  breath  composed.' 


32  PINDAR 

settled)  makes  *  founts  of  inspiration  well  through 
all  his  fancy.'  This  thought  takes  the  garb  of  three 
different  figures  in  the  exuberant  fancy  of  the  lyrist. 
It  can  better  be  felt  than  expressed.  And  this  is 
true  of  many  of  the  expressions  which  have  been 
called  turgid.  To  a  question  as  to  the  meaning 
of  the  Miltonic 

'  Smoothing  the  raven  down  . 

Of  darkness  till  it  smiled,'      (    A  fS  '> '  ^  ^"^ '  '  * ' ' '  ^'^ 

ft^cUlAaJi^  ^^^  ^^^^  answer  is  sz  non  rogas  intellego.     We  feel, 

jlL     '  rather  than  think,  about  such  passages.      If  we  plead 

j|vil;     /  '      that    night   may   be   compared    to   a    bird    of  black 

.    /La.        ^    plumage,   and   that   melody   might   be  conceived   to 

y  CT^t'*'^-*'         soothe  the  night  as  stroking  would  soothe  a  bird  ; 

^/^vir*v^'v^  Ck  tjig  critic  has  only  to  urge,  that  neither  a  bird  nor 

HfyxjSXf^Y^'^-iki^  darkness  can  smile.     We  are  silenced,  but  the 

thought  affects  the  imagination  as  powerfully  as  ever. 

*  That  two-handed  engine  at  the  door '  is  probably 

the  more  impressive  because  we  do  not  know  what 

it  means. 

A  main  source  of  the  obscurity  and  apparent 
turgidity  of  Pindar's  language  is  a  recoil  from  the 
commonplace.  He  has  to  tell  of  a  boy  who  won 
the  prize  for  wrestling  after  vanquishing  four  com- 
petitors, and  thus  escaped  the  humiliation  which 
attended  on  defeat.  He  thus  expresses  it — to  render 
quite  literally,  for  that  is  here  the  point  of  the 
quotation — 

'  He  put  off  from  himself  on  four  lads'  bodies  the  return 
home  most  painful,  the  tongue  to  dispraise  turned,  and  the 
furtive  path.'  ^ 


1  Olymp.  8,  68. 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  33 

Pindar  refuses  to  draw  from  many  of  those  sources 
to  which  moderns  go  for  their  effect  He  never 
enters  into  the  details  of  the  combat  ;  never  more 
than  vaguely  hints  at  a  particular  incident  of  the 
particular  victory  commemorated,  sometimes,  even 
by  a  single  word,  by  using  SvcrTraXeg  for  '  difficult ' 
in  an  ode  which  celebrates  a  victory  in  wrestling, 
or  '^Gv^ai  jueXog  in  commemoration  of  a  chariot  race. 

On  many  sides  his  art  offers  contrasts  to  modern 
methods.  He  does  not  make  use  of  descriptions 
of  nature  to  beautify  his  themes,  as  a  modern  writer 
would  certainly  do.  Yet  who  can  have  read  the 
Olympian  Odes  without  feeling  the  soft  splendour 
of  the  scenes  through  which  wended  the  comus- 
procession  under  the  full  moon  ?  Nay,  so  sensitive 
is  the  poet  to  the  touch  of  nature  that  we  miss  the 
influence  of  the  Altis  and  the  smiling  banks  of  the 
Alpheus,  when  we  read  the  odes  which  celebrate 
victories  won  in  Nemea,  a  wild  glen  surrounded  by 
'  bleak  barren  hills  worn  by  the  winter  torrents  into 
a  thousand  furrows.'  ^  He  does  not  dwell  even  on 
the  tender  passion,  save  on  '  love's  sanctities '  ^  and 
the  sweet  alSwg  and  mutual  adoration  of  lovers, 

'  The  exalted  portion  of  the  pain 
And  power  of  love,' 

as  in  the  exquisite  tale  of  the  love  of  Apollo  and  the 
nymph  Cyrene,  in  the  beginning  of  the  ninth  Pythian 
— surely  the  most  beautiful  of  all  his  odes,  not  even 
the  fourth  Pythian  or  the  sixth  and  seventh  Olympian 
being  excepted.     It  is  indeed  marvellous  that  Pindar, 

^  Clark,  '  Peloponnesus,'  p.  65. 

^  KpvirTal  KXatSes  ivrl  (rotpas  ireidous  lepav  (pikoTdTWV,  Pyth.  9,  39, 
'secret  are  wise  Persuasion's  keys  unto  love's  sanctities.' — Myers'  trans. 

C 


34  PINDAR 

neglecting  so  many  sources  of  poetic  effect,  could 
have  produced  such  poetry. 

Again,  we  must  not  forget  that  words  or  expres- 
sions in  an  ancient  language,  if  they  happen  to 
coincide  with  some  modern  argot  or  vulgarism,  take 
on  a  grotesque  association  which  is  not  due  at  all 
to  the  phrase  itself,  but  which  makes  the  phrase  seem 
much  bolder  than  it  really  is.  In  telling  why  Ajax 
slew  himself,  Pindar  says,  'it  was  envy  that  wrapt  him 
round  his  brand,'  ^ — that  is,  *  made  him  sheathe  his 
sword  in  his  body.'  To  this  phrase  clings  a  remini- 
scence of  the  American  'humoristic'  expression,  accord- 
ing to  which  a  man  'puts  himself  outside'  that  which 
he  eats  or  drinks.  This  is  the  reason  why  slang  is  to 
be  protested  against.  It  does  violence  to  language 
which  ought  to  be  sacrosanct.  It  is  '  verbicide '  in  a 
higher  sense  than  that  in  which  Oliver  Wendell 
Holmes  applied  the  term  to  punning.  When 
Achilles  *  shows  the  door  of  Persephone '  ^  to  the 
Trojan  heroes,  we  are  reminded  of  a  vulgar  synonyme 
for  dismissing  an  intruder.  Even  within  the  limits 
of  our  own  language  and  literature,  we  meet  with 
cases  where  a  word  has  in  the  lapse  of  time  assumed 
grotesque  associations.  Who  could  now  read  the 
passage  in  which  Chaucer  speaks  of 

'  That  conceited  clerk  Homere,' 

without  a  mental  picture  of  the  Foreign  Office  dandy, 
or  the  humbler  velvet-coated  cigar-smoking  func- 
tionary of  the  Bank  or  Post  Office?  Yet  the 
contemporaries  of  Chaucer  knew  that  he  meant 
*  that  learned  poet  so  full  of  imagination.' 

*0o<r7(li'V  d/i0i/cvM(rats,  Nem.  8,  23.  ^  jsthm.  7,  55. 


ODES  OF  VICTORY  35 

We  must  remember  too  that  Pindar  aims  at 
making  his  language  *  caviare  to  the  general.'  ^  Like 
Thomas  Carlyle,  he  exults  in  phrases  which  seem 
to  be  the  birth  of  a  moment,  the  outcome  of 
exuberant  carelessness,  but  are  really  the  product 
of  careful  invention. 

We  have  already  referred  to  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold's 
phrase  about  the  style  of  Pindar.  The  same  critic 
describes  the  true  spirit  of  style  as  '  a  peculiar 
recasting  and  heightening,  under  a  certain  condition 
of  spiritual  excitement,  of  what  a  man  has  to  say, 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  add  dignity  and  distinction  '^ 
to  it ' ;  and  again  as  '  an  ever-surging  yet  bridled 
excitement  in  the  poet  giving  a  special  intensity 
to  his  way  of  delivering  himself  No  words  could 
be  devised  more  fit  to  depict  the  peculiar  faculty 
of  Pindar.  Not  Cowper,  nor  even  Wordsworth, 
succeeded  in  maintaining  elevation  of  style  on  com- 
paratively trivial  themes.  To  be  stilted  is  not  to 
be  dignified.  '  Those  who  live  in  glass-houses  should 
not  throw  stones,'  is  at  least  as  elevated  as 

'  Let  those  in  vitreous  tenements  who  dwell. 
Forbear  the  flinty  missile  to  propel.' 

M.  Villemain,  in  a  comparison  between  the  genius 
of  Pindar  and  of  the  great  French  orator  Bossuet, 
dwells  on  their  common  possession  of  'un  instinct  de 
la  grandeur  sous  toutes  les  formes,  un  gout  pour  les 
choses  eclatantes.'  The  sun,  the  splendour  of  kings 
and  their  palaces,  the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  war, 
set  the  imagination  of  both  on  fire  ;  and  to  both  the 
eloquent  words  of  Villemain  are  singularly  applicable 
— 'ce  qui   semblerait   parfois   image   vulgaire   brille 

1  Olymp.  2,  85. 


36  PINDAR 

toujours  nouveau  sous  leurs  paroles  de  feu.'  Their 
common  characteristic  is  *  naivete  dans  la  magni- 
ficence.' Their  sometimes  common-place  themes  are 
'  hid  under  flowers  of  fire,'  to  use  the  picturesque  words 
of  Sir  Francis  Doyle  in  a  translation  of  the  second 
Olympian  ode,  from  which  we  give  an  extract  (6 1-74), 
tempted  by  the  extreme  beauty  of  the  passage,  which, 
by  its  easeful  flow  mirrors  for  us,  as  in  a  shining  river, 
a  golden  moment  in  the  poet's  inspiration  : — 

'  These  beneath  a  sun  whose  light 
Shines  ever  without  setting  day  and  night 

Their  happy  years  begin  : 
By  their  worn  hands  the  earth  is  vexed  no  more, 
Nor  the  sea  smitten  with  the  toiling  oar, 

A  scanty  meal  to  win  : 
Zeus  leads  them  on,  crowning  their  brave  endeavour. 

To  Time's  far  home  of  happy  rest. 
Where  the  soft  ocean  breezes  float  for  ever 

Around  the  Islands  of  the  Blest. 
There  golden  bloom  to  bloom  succeeds. 

Through  Springs  that  never  tire. 
They  fill  with  light  the  ground  below. 
Athwart  the  shining  trees  they  glow  ; 
Their  growth  the  very  water  feeds, 

Hid  under  flowers  of  fire.' 

Froude  justly  characterises  Pindar  as  the  purest 
of  the  Greek  poets.  He  is  of  the  same  order  with 
Phidias  and  Praxiteles,  as  perfect  an  artist  in  words 
as  they  are  in  marble.  '  Hard  he  is,  as  the  quartz 
rock  in  which  gold  is  embedded,  but  when  you  can 
force  your  way  into  his  meaning  it  is  like  glowing 
fire.'  Pindar  is  essentially  (piXdyXao^.  And  his 
natural  love  of  splendour  was  greatly  fostered  by  the 
circumstances  of  his  life.     '  Bold,  electric  Pindar,'  as 


ODES  OF  VICTORY  37 

he  is  called  by  Mrs.  Browning,  intoxicated  with  the 
glories  of  Hellenic  life,  felt  that  '  his  soul  possessed 
the  sun  and  stars.'  He  was  the  public  guest  of  many 
of  the  great  cities  of  Hellas.  The  Rhodians  engraved 
the  seventh  Olympian  ode  on  the  wall  of  the  temple 
of  Lindian  Athene  in  letters  of  gold.  He  was  the 
honoured  guest  of  princes  and  potentates.  Indeed, 
this  '  First  Violin  of  King  Hiero,'  as  Voltaire  called 
him,  seems  to  have  looked  down  on  the  mushroom 
kings  of  Sicily  with  some  degree  of  contempt  He 
never  seeks  to  trace  them  back  to  the  heroes  of 
mythland.  It  is  to  be  observed,  that  in  the  odes 
which  commemorate  their  victories  and  those  of  their 
adherents,  the  myth  takes  its  rise  from  the  locality 
or  other  circumstances  connected  with  the  victory  ;  ^ 
or  it  is  suggested  by  the  character  or  personal 
surroundings  of  the  victor ;  ^  or  else  the  myth  is 
absent  altogether.^  At  Nemea,  the  Isthmus,  and 
Pytho,  the  victors  were  chiefly  of  the  great  families 
of  Aegina  or  the  princely  house  of  the  Battiadae. 
Here  it  is  to  the  victors  themselves,  and  their  descent 
from  the  Aeacidae  and  other  kings  of  mythland,  that 
the  poet  directs  his  hearers'  attention.  But  at 
Olympia  the  parvenu  chiefs  of  Sicily  were  often 
victorious,  and  there  it  is  to  be  noticed,  that  the 
poet  calls  us  away  from  the  person  of  the  victor 
to  tales  associated  with  the  place  of  the  contest,  and 
to  local  Olympian  legends. 

In  truth  Pindar,  proud  in  his  descent  from  the 
Aegeidae,  felt  himself  the  peer  of  any  king.  He  is 
bold   enough  to   reproach  the  representative  of  the 

iQlymp.  I,  3  and  4;  Pyth.  12  ;  Nem.  i. 

2Pyth.  I,  2,  3,  6;  Nem.  9.  ^Qlymp.  5,  ii,  12;  Isthm.  2. 


38  PINDAR 

Battiadae  with  harshness  to  a  relative,  and  the  despot 
of  Syracuse  with  his  accessibility  to  flattery  and  his 
avarice.  Among  the  apophthegms  attributed  to 
Pindar  is  one  to  the  effect,  that  he  would  not  (like 
Simonides  and  Bacchylides)  live  at  a  tyrant's  Court, 
*  because  he  would  rather  live  at  his  own  behest 
than  another's.'  The  Sicilian  princes  have  been 
compared,  as  patrons  of  learning,  literature  and  art, 
to  the  Medici  at  Florence.  Pindar,  when  sojourning 
with  Hiero,  seems  rather  to  have  had  the  feelings 
of  Dante  at  the  Court  of  Can  Grande  della  Scala. 
The  Court  poets  filled  him  with  scorn  : — 

'  And  the  court  poets  (he,  forsooth, 

A  whole  world's  poet  come  to  court  !) 
Had  for  his  scorn  their  hate's  retort. 
He'd  meet  them  flushed  with  easy  youth. 
Hot  on  their  errand.     Like  noon-flies 
They  vex'd  him  in  the  ears  and  eyes.'  ^ 

There  seems  to  have  been  an  Oriental  strain  in  the 
character  of  Hiero,  which  must  have  been  very 
distasteful  to  Pindar.  His  love  of  flattery,  though 
not  his  avarice,  reminds  us  of  the  kings  of  Persia. 
His  plot  against  his  brother  Polyzelus  recals  the 
story  of  David  and  Uriah  the  Hittite.^  Now 
Orientalism  is  hateful  to  Pindar,  whose  great  poetic 
heart  was  Hellenic  to  the  core.  Pindar  was  a 
Theban,  and  Thebes  Medized.  But  Pindar  was 
not  therefore  un-Hellenic.  It  is  impossible  to  be 
Hellenic  or  un-Hellenic  until  there  is  a  Hellas,  and 

^  •  Dante  at  Verona,'  Gabriel  Dante  Rossetti. 

2  Polyzelus  had  married  Damareta,  the  widow  of  Gelo.  Hiero, 
fearing  the  influence  which  this  connection  might  give  his  brother, 
formed  a  scheme  to  send  him  in  command  of  an  expedition  to  a  neigh- 
bouring town,  where,  by  previous  arrangement,  he  was  to  lose  his  life. 


ODES   OF  VICTORY  39 

there  was  no  Hellas  before  the  Persian  invasion. 
When  Hellas  sprang  from  the  blood  of  the  Mapa- 
OoovofJiayaL,  she  had  no  more  devoted  lover  than 
Pindar ;  no  son  more  keenly  alive  to  the  glories  of 
Salamis,  Plataea,  and  Himera;^  or  more  enthusiastic 
in  his  thanksgiving  to  the  god  who  '  put  away  from 
us  the  stone  of  Tantalus  that  hung  heavy  over  our 
heads — a  curse  greater  than  Hellas  could  endure.'^ 

These  odes  of  Victory  give  us  a  unique  picture  of 
the  'sustained  splendour'^  of  Hellenic  thought  and 
life  during  and  after  the  Persian  invasion.  It  is  a 
pity  that  they  are  so  invariably  read  in  the  unnatural 
order  in  which  they  were  placed  by  Aristophanes 
the  grammarian,  and  which  they  have  retained  ever 
since.*  Mezger  has  set  an  excellent  example  in 
dividing  the  odes  into  two  great  classes:  (i)  those 
in  honour  of  princes,  such  as  Hiero,  Thero,  Arcesilaus, 
the  Aleuadse,  and  the  followers  of  all  these,  such  as 
Chromius,  Xenocrates,  Telesicrates,  Hippocles ;  (2) 
odes  in  honour  of  states,  as  Boeotia,  Athens,  Aegina. 
Subordinately  to  this  classification,  the  odes  are 
arranged  by  him  as  nearly  as  possible  according  to 
their  chronological  order,  in  so  far  as  it  can  be 
ascertained. 

But  the  odes,  in  whatever  order  read,  cannot  but 
present  a  stately  picture.  The  poet  of  the  'Christian 
Year'  has  observed  Pindar's  tender  sympathy  with 
human  life  in  all  its  stages,  the  appealing  helplessness 

iPyth.  I,  7S-8o.  2isthm.  7,  10. 

^The  phrase  in  which  Lord  Beaconsfield,  in  *  Lothair,'  described  the 
life  of  the  English  nobility. 

*He  arranged  them  on  this  principle:  (i)  chariot  races;  (2)  boxing 
and  wrestling ;  (3)  running,  etc.  The  victories  of  men  are  given 
priority  to  the  victories  of  boys. 


40  PINDAR 

of  infancy,  the  sensuous  grace  of  ayKa6yvLo<s  rj^a,  the 
sturdy  vigour  of  manhood,  and  the  serene  restfulness 
of  old  age.  Perhaps  no  words  could  be  found  more 
adequate  to  Pindar  and  his  style,  mind  and  life, 
than  the  noble  lines  in  which  the  late  Poet  Laureate 
has  glorified  his  own  art.  The  magnificence  of 
Pindar's  spirit,  the  starry  splendour  of  his  diction, 
and  the  largeness  of  his  human  sympathies,  might 
well  have  been  present  to  the  mind  of  Tennyson 
when  he  wrote  : — 

'  The  poet  in  a  golden  clime  was  born, 

With  golden  stars  above, 
Dower'd  with  a  hate  of  hate,  a  scorn  of  scorn, 
A  love  of  love.' 


SOPHOCLES. 

Whether  there  has  ever  been  a  greater  poet  than 
Sophocles  would  not  be  a  very  profitable  question  to 
ask,  and  the  answer  given  to  it  would  probably  show 
considerable  divergence  of  opinion.  But  that  he  was 
the  most  prosperous  of  poets,  the  most  enviable  both 
for  the  circumstances  of  his  life  and  for  the  triumphs 
of  his  art,  will  be  denied  by  none  who  are  acquainted 
with  his  career.  Such  was  his  personal  beauty  and 
grace,  that  he  was  chosen,  when  sixteen  years  old,  to 
lead  the  choir  which  celebrated  the  victory  of  Salamis 
with  song  and  dance.  The  boy  Sophocles  walked 
naked  in  front  of  the  choir,  bearing  an  ivory  lyre  in 
hand.  He  afterwards  held  high  office^  in  the  State, 
and  died  at  a  great  age,  the  accepted  poet  of  Greece, 
not  least  happy  in  his  death,  by  which,  as  Phrynichus 
wrote  in  an  epitaph  on  his  brother  poet,  he  was 
taken  away  from  the  evil  to  come.^  According  to 
Aristophanes,  the  sweetness  of  disposition,  which  was 
naturally  fostered  by  his  fortunate  lot,  survived  even 
the  grave  and  attended  him  in  the  world  below. 

^He  was  one  of  the  Strategic  B.C.  440,  and  was  among  the  Probuli 
elected  after  the  failure  of  the  Sicilian  Expedition,  B.C.  413. 
^  KaKCii%  ^reXei;TT/<r'  ovhkv  iiirofJt^Lvas  kukSp. 
41 


42  SOPHOCLES 

'  Genial  he  was  above  and  genial  here,' 
says  Dionysus  of  Sophocles  in  the  *  Frogs.'  And 
the  brightness  of  the  gay  and  happy  Athenian — who 
was  the  very  bloom  of  the  brilliant  age  of  Pericles, 
Phidias,  and  Thucydides,  and  the  mirror  of  its  mind; 
who  revelled  in 

'The  bloom  of  young  Desire  and  purple  light  of  Love,' 
and  yet  found  a  calm  pleasure  in  advanced  age  in 
the  sense  of  release^  from  the  passions  which  tore 
his  youth — is  reflected  perfectly  in  the  sparkle  and 
glow  of  his  lyrics.  Where,  even  in  Greek,  can  we 
find  words  that  dance  as  they  burn  like  those  of 
the  matchless  ode  in  which  the  aged  poet  sung  the 
praises  of  Colonus,  and  of  that  Queen  of  Cities 
which  was  his  nursing  mother,  and  set  free  his 
ever-young  fancies  to  sing  with  the  nightingales  in 
the  meadows  aflame  with  crocus  and  narcissus,  amid 
the  olives  and  laurels  which  were  the  girdle  of 
Athens,  and  the  violets  that  crowned  her  brow? 
We  wonder  how  many  thousands  of  readers  of 
Sophocles,  fascinated  by  the  magic  charm  of  this 
immortal  ode — which  for  any  one  who  can  read 
Greek  for  pleasure  at  once  raises  the  standard  of 
what  is  possible  for  human  achievement  in  poetry — 
have  essayed  the  feat  of  transplanting  it  into  their 
own  tongue,  and  have  failed  to  catch  completely  the 
note  of  pure  joy  which  it  utters.  Yet  there  was  in 
this  bright  spirit  a  well  of  tears  deeper  than  that 
which  overflows  in  the  tragedies  of  Euripides,  and 
making  a  rainbow  in  the  sunlight  of  his  genius.  It 
was  not  a  passion-torn,  broken-hearted  Catullus,  a 
sick  and  persecuted  Keats,  but  the  happy  Sophocles, 

^  dafievalraTa  a.'tr^<t>vyov  (Plat.  Rep.  329  c). 


SOPHOCLES  43 

the  idol  of  Greece,  from  whom  was  wrung  that  cry 
of  agony : 

*  Not  to  be  born  is,  past  all  prizing,  best ;  but,  when  a  man 
hath  seen  the  light,  this  is  next  best  by  far,  that  with  all  speed 
he  should  go  thither  whence  he  has  come.'^ 

It   is,   perhaps,   the  great  psychological  range  of 
this  enthusiastic  yet  sober  contemplator, 

*  Who  saw  life  steadily  and  saw  it  whole,' 

which  has  secured  for  him  the  unquestioning  applause 
of  every  age.  As  regards  formal  estimates  of  his 
poetry,  belonging  neither  to  the  Gigantesque  nor  to 
the  Naturalistic  schools,  he  has  missed  the  praises 
which  have  been  poured  on  Aeschylus  and  Euripides, 
and  has  sometimes  been  regarded  as  a  kind  of 
compromise  between  two  rival  ideals.  We  do  not 
propose  to  enter  on  the  oft-instituted  comparison 
between  the  three  great  tragic  poets  of  Greece.  We 
may,  however,  form  a  surmise  as  to  what  Sophocles 
himself  thought  on  this  subject  by  calling  to  mind 
his  own  criticism  on  his  two  great  rivals.  He  is 
reported  to  have  told  Aeschylus  that  *  he  did  what 
he  ought  to  do,  but  did  it  without  knowing ' ;  and  of 
his  younger  rival,  he  said  that  *  Euripides  portrayed 
men  as  they  are,  he  himself  as  they  ought  to  be 
portrayed,'^  that  is,  as  the  laws  of  art  demanded. 
Euripides  produced  photographs,  Sophocles  pictures. 
Thus  he  seems  to  have  proposed  to  himself  as  the 
ideal  temper  of  a  dramatic  poet  a  mind  which  on 
the  one  hand  applies  conscious  principles  of  art  to 

^Oed.  Col.,  1225,  Jebb's  trans. 

^Not  'as  they  ought  to  be':  morally  perfect  characters  would  not 
afford  materials  for  a  drama. 


44  SOPHOCLES 

the  treatment  of  human  affairs,  and  on  the  other 
hand  refuses  to  confine  itself  within  the  narrow  limits 
of  vulgar  experience.  Tragedy  should  have  its  scene 
in  palaces,  not  boudoirs,  and  should  present  to  the 
spectator  not  photographs,  but  pictures,  or  rather 
groups  of  statuary  or  tableaux  vivants,  for  ancient 
Greek  tragedy  had  closer  affinities  with  the  sculptor's 
art  than  the  painter's.^ 

Aristotle  has  told  us  that  'Tragedy  is  a  repre- 
sentation of  an  action  that  is  weighty,  complete, 
and  of  a  due  magnitude,  effecting  through  pity  and 
terror  a  purgation  of  the  like  passions  in  the  mind 
of  the  spectators.'  The  precise  meaning  of  the  term 
'  purgation '  (KoiOapc-ig)  has  puzzled  commentators  ; 
but  it  broadly  indicates  that  the  feelings  should  be 
rightly  excited  about  something  which  is  their  proper 
object ;  and  that  those  feelings  ought  ultimately  to 
be  allayed  artistically.  The  best  among  modern 
tragedies,  and  even  works  of  fiction — *  Hamlet,' 
*  Lear,'  *  Faust,'  '  Romola ' — have  succeeded  in  ex- 
citing the  feelings  rightly,  and  exercising  them  on 
worthy  objects.  Sometimes,  however,  it  is  easier  to 
make  the  nature  of  a  quality  clear  by  pointing  to  a 
case  in  which  it  is  absent  than  by  adducing  one  in 
which  it  is  present — by  appealing  to  an  instantia 
contradictoria,  not  an  instantia  exemplaris.      Of  one 

^The  magnificent  kommoSy  or  amoebean  dirge,  in  which  Antigone 
and  the  Chorus  (Ant.  808-881)  antiphonally  bewail  the  girl's  approaching 
doom,  is,  from  a  dramatic  point  of  view,  certainly  too  long.  Yet  it 
fully  satisfies  another  sense  of  beauty  than  the  dramatic.  It  affects  us 
as  some  stately  frieze  representing  a  slow,  sad  funeral  procession.  The 
action  of  the  piece  stops,  to  give  us  time  to  contemplate  the  girl's  heroic 
self-sacrifice.  It  has  not  even  the  moving  life  of  a  picture,  but  the 
statuesque  repose  of  a  cunning  piece  of  sculpture. 


SOPHOCLES  45 

who  did  not  proceed  in  the  right  way  to  purge  our 
emotions  of  pity,  Thackeray^  gave  a  good  instance 
in  the  late  Mr.  Warren  when  he  told  how  Mrs. 
Aubrey  shed  tears  as  she  reflected  that  it  was  the 
hour  at  which  her  (now  impoverished)  husband  had 
been  accustomed  to  go  out  to  dine  at  the  houses  of 
the  aristocracy.  On  the  other  hand,  modern  art 
neglects  the  due  allaying  of  the  passions  aroused. 
'  Sin  and  suffering — the  old,  old  story — men  are  in  the 
hands  of  chance  and  fate — but  God  is  good' — such 
is  the  broad  lesson  of  Greek  Tragedy.  The  most 
sublime  of  English  dramas  has  no  more  definite 
conclusion  than  *  the  rest  is  silence.'^ 

It  is  not  as  the  representative  of  this  or  that  school 
of  poetry  that  a  great  genius  takes  a  firm  hold  on 
the  mind  of  the  successive  generations.  The  chief 
quality  in  Sophocles  which  fascinates  the  modern 
world,  is  the  sustained  stateliness  of  his  diction, 
which  never  shrinks  into  the  colloquialism  of  Euri- 

*  'In  that  noble  romance  called  "Ten  Thousand  a  Year,"  I  remember 
a  profoundly  pathetic  description  of  the  Christian  manner  in  which  the 
hero,  Mr.  Aubrey,  bore  his  misfortunes.  After  making  a  display  of 
the  most  florid  and  grandiloquent  resignation,  and  quitting  his  country 
mansion,  the  writer  supposes  Aubrey  to  come  to  town  in  a  postchaise 
and  pair,  sitting  bodkin  probably  between  his  wife  and  sister.  It  is 
about  seven  o'clock,  carriages  are  rattling  about,  knockers  are  thun- 
dering, and  tears  bedim  the  fine  eyes  of  Mrs.  Aubrey  and  Kate  as  they 
think  that  in  happier  times  at  this  hour  their  Aubrey  used  formerly  to 
go  out  to  dinner  to  the  houses  of  the  aristocracy,  his  friends.  This  is 
the  gist  of  the  passage — the  elegant  words  I  forget.  But  the  noble, 
noble  sentiment  I  shall  always  remember  and  cherish.'  ('Book  of 
Snobs.') 

^  Some  of  the  latest,  however,  of  Shakspeare's  plays,  *  The  Winter's 
Tale,'  'The  Tempest,'  and  'Cymbeline,'  show  a  feeling  for  the  principle 
of  Aristotle,  and  end  with  'a  resolution  of  the  dissonance — a  recon- 
ciliation,' as  Prof.  Dowden  has  pointed  out. 


46  SOPHOCLES 

pides,  nor  swells  into  the  inflated  bulk  of  Aeschylean 
pomp.  One  is,  indeed,  astonished  and  dazzled  by 
some  of  those  Aeschylean 

'jewels  five  words  long, 
That  on  the  stretch'd  forefinger  of  all  time 
Sparkle  for  ever.' 

Yet  the  English  taste  at  least  will  never  relish  such 
daring  experiments  in  language  as  *  thirsty  Dust, 
near-dwelling  brother  of  Mud,'  or  '  the  maw  of 
Salmydessus,  stepmother  of  ships,'  or  'dumb  children 
of  the  undefiled  one '  as  a  synonym  for  *  fishes.' 
The  language  of  Sophocles  is  never  turgid,  but  it  is 
always  stately.  Dignity  is  never  dropped  even  in 
the  least  elevated  passages  : — 

'  Tall,  and  with  newly  sable-silver'd  head,' 

is  the  answer  of  Jocasta,  when  Oedipus  asks  her  to 
describe  her  former  husband  Laius.  And  when  the 
theme  calls  for  the  sublime  in  diction,  none  can  soar 
on  more  ample  pinion  than  Sophocles.  When  he 
contemplates  cosmic  order,  or  the  high  and  eternal 
verities  of  natural  law,  his  style  is  among  the  stars  : 
one  recalls  : — 

'  Dread  things  and  things  most  potent  bcw  to  office  ; 
Thus  to  lush  Summer  snow-clad  Winter  yields, 
Aye,  and  the  dreary  round  of  Dark  makes  way 
For  blaze  of  Day  on  argent  coursers  horsed. 
And  tempests  let  the  groaning  main  alone  ;'* 

and  the  *  wild  and  whirling  words '  of  Antigone, 

'  Nor  deem'd  I  thy  decrees  had  such  avail 
That  I,  a  mortal,  could  o'erleap  the  laws 
Unwrit,  unfailing,  of  heav'n's  chancery  ; 
^  Ajax,  672. 


SOPHOCLES  47 

Their  life  is  not  to-day's  or  yesterday's, 

But  of  all  Time  the  birth  :  and  no  man  knows 

When  first  they  were  revealed  ; '  ^ 

and  the  lyrical  glorification  of 

'those  laws  of  range  sublime,  called  into  life  throughout  the 
high  clear  heaven,  whose  father  is  Olympus  alone ;  their 
parent  was  no  race  of  mortal  men,  no,  nor  shall  oblivion  ever 
lay  them  to  sleep.'  ^ 

Such  passages  as  these,  especially  when  we 
remember  that  they  were  written  considerably  more 
than  two  thousand  years  ago,  encourage  us  to 
indulge,  not  without  hope,  the  thought  that  after  all 
men  may  not  be  descended  from  apes  ;  and  they 
find  a  ready  welcome  with  a  nation  which  shows  so 
clear  traces  of  a  kindred  spirit,  for  instance  in 
Shakspeare's 

'The  heavens  themselves,  the  planets,  and  this  centre 
Observe  degrees,  priority,  and  place  ; '  ^ 

and  Wordsworth's  '  Ode  to  Duty  ' : 

'  Thou  dost  preserve  the  stars  from  wrong. 
And  the  most  ancient  heavens  through  thee  are  fresh  and  strong.' 

But  it  is  time  to  cease  dwelling  on  the  broad 
characteristics  of  the  Sophoclean  muse,  a  subject  on 
which  it  is  equally  difficult  to  come  to  the  end  of 
what  may  be  said,  and  to  begin  to  suggest  any 
reflections  which  have  not  been  made  often  already. 
Our  special  purpose  at  present  is  to  welcome  an 
edition  of  Sophocles  which  bids  fair  to  be  one  of  the 
very  brightest  ornaments  of  English  scholarship. 
Some  forty  years  ago  the  late  Prof.  J  ebb  produced 
school    editions    of   the   *  Electra '   and    the   '  Ajax.' 

1  Ant.  453.  2  0ed.  R,  865  (Jebb's  trans.). 

^  Troilus  and  Cressida,  i.  3,  85. 


48  SOPHOCLES 

which  were  models  of  what  commentaries  for 
beginners  should  be,  and  which  have  without  doubt 
permanently  raised  the  standard  of  such  books. 
His  other  splendid  contributions  to  classical  learning 
are  too  well  known  to  call  for  mention  here.  His 
'  Characters  of  Theophrastus/  and  his  '  Attic  Orators,' 
are  recognized  as  showing  all  those  qualities  which 
go  to  make  up  the  ideal  of  scholarship  in  England, 
and — what  by  no  means  follows  of  course — they  have 
been  received  in  Germany  with  unstinted  welcome 
and  praise.  Jebb  was  known  as  the  most  per- 
fect master  of  the  art  of  composing  in  Greek  and 
Latin,  before  he  showed  himself  to  be  the  most 
sound  and  brilliant  of  editors.  We  think  his  career 
has  done  much  to  vindicate  a  most  scholarly 
accomplishment  from  the  charge  of  dilettantism, 
which  it  has  become  fashionable  to  launch  against 
it ;  and  no  observant  reader  of  his  commentaries  and 
translation  can  fail  to  see  in  almost  every  line  the 
rich  fruit  of  that  exquisite  taste  and  feeling  for 
beauty  which  have  gained  for  him  the  first  place 
among    modern    composers.^      His    powers    in    this 

*  We  will  do  ourselves  the  pleasure  of  quoting  some  excellent  remarks 
on  this  subject  by  Jebb  in  his  Introduction  to  the  *  Oed.  Col.,' 
p.  liii :  —  *  Here  it  may  be  permissible  to  observe,  since  the  practice  of 
classical  composition  has  been  subject  in  late  years  to  some  ignorant 
and  silly  disparagement,  that  not  a  few  of  the  conjectures  which  we 
sometimes  see  put  forward  are  such  as  could  not  have  been  suggested, 
if  their  proposers  had  profited,  even  a  little,  by  the  discipline  of  Greek 
verse  composition.  It  is  earnestly  to  be  hoped  that  the  day  will  never 
come  when  that  exercise — duly  reserved  for  those  to  whom  it  is 
congenial — shall  cease  to  have  a  place  among  the  studies  which  belong 
to  the  English  conception  cf  classical  scholarship.  When  cultivated 
sympathetically  and  maturely — as  a  delight,  not  as  a  mechanical  task — 
the  accomplishment  is  one  which  necessarily  contributes  not  a  little 
towards  the  formation  of  a  correct  feeling  for  the  idiom  of  classical 


SOPHOCLES  49 

direction  have  won  for  him  a  very  signal  distinction 
— the  dedication  to  him  by  Lord  Tennyson  of  his  last 
poem,  '  Demeter  and  Persephone,'  with  a  curiously 
exquisite  allusion  to  Jebb's  Pindaric  Ode  in  honour 
of  Bologna  and  her  University  : — 

'  Fair  things  are  slow  to  fade  away, 
Bear  witness  you,  that  yesterday 

From  out  the  ghost  of  Pindar  in  you 
Roll'd  an  Olympian  ;  and  they  say 
That  here  the  torpid  mummy  wheat 
Of  Egypt  bore  a  grain  as  sweet 

As  that  which  gilds  the  glebe  of  England, 
Sunn'd  with  a  summer  of  milder  heat. 
So  may  this  legend  for  awhile, 
If  greeted  by  your  classic  smile, 

Tho'  dead  in  its  Trinacrian  Enna, 
Blossom  again  on  a  colder  isle.' 

To  one  of  this  scholar's  works  we  would  direct 
special  attention,  not  because  it  is  superior  to  the 
others,  but  because  it  seems  to  us  so  thoroughly 
characteristic  of  the  English  school  of  classics  at 
its  best.  One  can  hardly  conceive  the  existence 
outside  England  of  such  a  combination  of  ripe 
scholarship,  sound  judgment,  and  high  literary  skill, 
as  is  presented  by  his  '  Introduction  to  Homer.'  It 
is  as  learned  as  if  it  hailed  from  the  Fatherland, 
and  as  brilliant  as  if  it  bore  '  Hachette  et  Cie.'  on  its 
title-page  ;  and  it  is  marked  by  a  judiciousness,  a 
moderateness,   a    delicacy   of  criticism,   and    a   pure 

poetry.  In  relation  to  the  criticism  of  poetical  texts,  its  positive  merit 
is  not  so  much  that  it  sharpens  a  faculty  of  emendation  as  that  it  tends 
to  keep  verhal  ingenuity  under  the  restraints  of  good  sense.  But  it  has 
another  influence,  and  one  which  (especially  in  our  time)  is  perhaps  not 
less  useful.  It  helps  to  educate  an  instinct  which  will  usually  refrain 
from  change  where  no  change  is  required.' 

P 


50  SOPHOCLES 

desire  to  attain  the  truth  rather  than  surprise  the 
reader,  which  we  hold  to  be  characteristic  of  the 
English  school  of  criticism  at  its  best. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  he  took  in  hand  the 
edition  of  Sophocles  that  he  had  an  opportunity 
of  showing  fully  his  characteristic  excellences  as  a 
scholar  and  a  critic.  Perhaps  no  classic — not  even 
Virgil — demands  in  his  exponent  such  minute  faculty 
for  observation,  such  delicate  feeling  for  expression, 
and  such  refined  aesthesis,  as  are  required  for  the 
complete  apprehension  and  appreciation  of  the  subtle 
elements  so  kindly  mixed  in  the  genius  of  Sophocles. 
These  are  the  very  qualities  which  we  have  learned 
to  expect  from  the  present  editor,  and  which  we  never 
look  for  in  vain.  The  combination  of  these  good 
gifts  with  great  literary  ability  and  the  most  complete 
mastery  over  the  province  of  the  grammarian  is  so 
rare  as  to  give  these  editions  a  marked  pre-eminence 
in  an  age  which  has  been  rich  in  valuable  work  on 
Sophocles — an  age  which  has  produced  the  complete 
edition  of  the  plays  and  fragments  by  Prof. 
Campbell,  the  '  Studia  Sophoclea '  of  the  late  Prof. 
Kennedy,  and  the  verse-translations  of  Prof.  Camp- 
bell, Sir  C.  Young,  Dean  Plumptre,  and  Mr. 
Whitelaw. 

We  must  not  defer  the  payment  of  a  debt  of 
gratitude  to  the  Editor  for  setting  his  face  against 
the  hacking  and  slashing  of  the  Greek  masterpieces 
which  is  now  fashionable  in  Germany,  and  which 
seems  to  be  there  regarded  as  the  whole  duty  of 
scholastic  man.  On  this  subject  Jebb  has  written 
judiciously  and  pointedly  in  the  Preface  to  the 
*  Oedipus  Coloneus  ' : — 


SOPHOCLES  51 

*  It  is  allowed  on  all  hands  that  our  traditional  texts  of  the 
Attic  dramatists  have  been  interpolated  here  and  there  with  some 
alien  verses  or  parts  of  verses.  But  there  has  been  a  tendency 
in  much  of  recent  criticism  to  suspect,  to  bracket,  or  to  expel 
verses  as  spurious,  on  grounds  which  are  often  wholly  in- 
adequate, and  are  sometimes  even  absurd.  In  this  play 
upwards  of  ninety  verses  have  been  thus  suspected  or  con- 
demned by  different  critics,  without  counting  that  part  of  the 
last  kommos  (1689-1747)  in  which  it  is  certain  that  the  text  has 
been  disturbed.'  [About  eighty  verses  in  the  'Antigone,'  not 
counting  the  certainly  corrupt  904-920,  have  been  indicted  on 
similar  grounds.  Jebb  here  gives  a  list  of  the  supposed  inter- 
polations in  the  '  Oed.  Col.,'  and  then  adds  :]  '  I  know  not 
whether  it  is  too  much  to  hope  that  some  reader  of  these  pages 
will  take  the  trouble  to  go  through  the  above  list  of  rejections  or 
suspicions,  and  to  consider  them  in  the  light  of  such  aid  as  this 
edition  seeks  to  offer  towards  the  interpretation  of  the  play.  If 
any  one  will  do  that,  he  will  form  a  fair  idea  of  the  manner  in 
which  a  certain  school  of  criticism  (chiefly  German,  but  not 
without  imitators  elsewhere)  is  disposed  to  deal  with  the  texts  of 
the  Greek  dramatists.  When  an  interpolation  is  surmised  or 
assumed,  it  is  usually  for  one  (or  more)  of  the  following 
reasons : — (i)  because  something  in  the  language  appears 
strange  ;  (2)  because  the  verse  seems  inconsistent  with  the 
immediate  context,  or  with  the  character  of  the  speaker;  (3) 
because  the  verse  seems  inconsistent  with  something  in  another 
part  of  the  play  ;  (4)  because  it  seems  weak  or  superfluous.  In 
dealing  with  the  first  class  of  objections — those  from  language 
—the  grammarian  is  on  his  own  ground.  But  the  second,  third, 
and  fourth  classes  of  objections  demand  the  exercise  of  other 
faculties — literary  taste,  poetic  feeling,  accurate  perception  of 
the  author's  meaning,  insight  into  his  style,  sympathy  with  his 
spirit.  Consider,  for  instance;  why  Nauck  suspects  two  of  the 
finest  verses  in  a  beautiful  passage  of  this  play  (610  f.) : 
* "  Earth's  strength  decays,  the  body's  strength  decays, 
Faith  dies,  distrust  is  born." 
He  ascribes  them  to  an  interpolator  because  only  the  second  is 
pertinent ;  the  decay  of  faith  is  in  point ;  but  what  have  we  to  do 


52  SOPHOCLES 

with  the  decay  of  earth  or  of  the  body  ?  This  is  not  a  whit 
worse  than  very  many  of  the  examples  in  the  above  Hst.  Could 
Sophocles  come  back  and  see  his  text  after  all  these  expurgators 
had  wreaked  their  will,  he  might  echo  the  phrase  of  the  worthy 
Acharnian,  as  he  held  up  his  ragged  garment  to  the  light — 

(5  ZiV  StOTTTa.' 

We  have  done  as  the  Editor  has  suggested,  we 
have  gone  through  the  list,  and  we  share  completely 
his  confidence  in  the  soundness  of  the  passages 
impugned.  When  we  consider  the  reckless  way  in 
which  the  critical  knife  is  now  being  flourished  in 
Germany,  and  reflect  further  on  the  loose  hold 
which  German  savants  seem  to  have  of  the  metrical 
discoveries  of  Porson  and  his  school,  and  think  of 
the  portentous  things  which  they  and  their  imitators 
put  forward  (and  print  in  their  text-books)  as 
emendations,  we  are  fain  to  protest  against  the 
obsequiousness  with  which  many  English  (and  nearly 
all  American)  editors  bow  their  neck  to  the  yoke  of 
German  authority.  We  are  disposed  to  recommend 
jan  adjunct  to  the  Decalogue  for  the  guidance  of  our 
'ising  scholars  :  Thou  shalt  not  covet  the  German's 
:nife,  nor  his  readings,  nor  his  metres,  nor  his  sense, 
lor  his  taste,  nor  anything  that  is  his. 

As  a  translator  Jebb  years  ago  set  an  example 
which  has  already  brought  about  a  complete  change 
in  the  point  of  view  from  which  translation  is 
regarded.  The  scholars  of  the  last  generation,  of 
whom  we  take  the  excellent  Paley  as  a  fair  type, 
thought  only  of  the  letter  that  killeth,  not  of  the 
spirit  that  giveth  life.  The  Greek  or  Latin  passage 
was  never  regarded  as  the  expression  of  the  thought 
of  a  great  mind,  but  as  a  mere  exercise  in  grammar. 


SOPHOCLES  53 

Let  the  bare  construction  of  the  sentence  be  indicated, 
and  no  matter  how  ludicrous  the  contrast  between 
the  spirit  of  the  rendering  and  of  the  original. 
When,  in  a  scene  of  an  almost  horrible  intensity  in 
the  *  Eumenides,'  the  Awful  Goddesses  sing  the 
mingled  pain  and  humiliation  which  they  feel  at 
their  victim's  escape,  and  say  it  is  as  the  cruel 
doomsman's  lash,  we  recognize  that  the  thought  is 
fine  and  impressive  ;  but  what  did  the  more  intelli- 
gent schoolboy  think  of  the  art  of  Aeschylus,  when 
the  footnote  presented  to  him  this  translation — 

'  There  is  present  for  us  to  feel  (or  perhaps  "  one  may  feel ") 
the  severe,  the  very  severe  chill  (smart),  of  a  hostile  public 
executioner '  ?  ^ 

We  do  not  doubt  that  Paley  could  have  devised 
a  far  more  worthy  rendering  of  the  fine  words  of 
Aeschylus.  His  great  success  in  the  kindred,  but 
more  difficult,  art  of  turning  English  into  Greek  or 
Latin  poetry  precludes  the  theory  of  incompetence. 
No  :  he  thought  the  attempt  to  preserve  the  spirit 
of  the  original  neither  necessary  nor  even  desirable, 
a  mere  trifling  with  grammar.  Like  the  young 
Hamlet,  though  not  in  quite  the  same  sense,  he  held 
it  '  a  baseness  to  write  fair.'  The  more  intelligent 
schoolboy,  we  doubt  not,  secretly  despised  his  Virgil 
and   Sophocles,  preferred  the  battle-pieces  of  Rider 

^  irdpeari  fiaarlKTopos,  da'tov  da/xiov, 
^apd,  t6  TTepipapv  Kpios  ^€i.v.  (Eum.  154. ) 
'Hostile'  always  struck  us  as  a  humorous  touch,  implying  that  the 
public  executioner  might  sometimes  be  a  pleasant  friendly  fellow  whose 
society  one  might  enjoy ;  just  as  an  invitation  to  dine  'quietly'  with  a 
friend  seems  to  imply  a  possibility  of  dining  turbulently,  or  '  eating  with 
tumult,'  like  huge  Earl  Doorm  and  his  lusty  spearmen,  '  feeding  like 
horses  when  you  hear  them  feed.' 


54  SOPHOCLES 

Haggard  to  those  of  the  '  Aeneid '  and  the  *  Ih'ad,' 
and  thought  Claude  Melnotte  less  stilted  than  Haemon. 
When  he  listened  to  elaborate  eulogies  on  these  stiff 
and  frigid  writers  in  the  class-room  or  the  lecture- 
room,  he  thought,  no  doubt,  that  an  affected 
admiration  for  them  was  one  of  the  duties,  not 
the  most  pleasant,  of  the  lecturer,  as  to  whom  the 
pupil's  real  sentiments  were  probably  those  of  the 
Northern  Farmer  towards  the  Parson,  when  he 
summed  them  up  in  the  words  : — 
'I  thowt  a  said  whot  a  owt  to  'a  said,  and  I  coomed  awaay.' 
Jebb's  school  editions  of  the  '  Electra '  (1867) 
and  the  '  Ajax '  (1869)  showed  that  English  scholar- 
ship had  become  awake  to  the  considerations  on 
which  we  have  been  dwelling.  Since  then  we  have 
had  Conington's  prose  translation  of  Virgil,  Myers' 
of  Pindar,  Butcher  and  Lang's  of  the  Odyssey, 
Lang's  of  Theocritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus,  and  other 
admirable  prose  renderings  of  ancient  poetry,  which 
are  in  themselves  high  works  of  art,  which  bring  the 
English  reader  as  near  to  the  ancient  masters  as  he 
can  hope  to  come  without  learning  the  language  in 
which  they  wrote,  and  which  give  the  scholarly 
student  as  pleasing  a  sense  of  successful  artistic 
effort  as  any  which  could  be  produced  by  a  metrical 
version.^  Jebb's  prose  rendering  of  the  most 
subtile  of  the  Attic  tragic  poets  seems  to  us  the 
most  poetical  version  of  those  plays  which  has 
yet  appeared,  and  it  is  not  likely  to  be  surpassed 
unless    some    great    poet,    who    is    also    completely 

^  We  can  hardly  conceive  as  possible  the  publication  at  the  present 
time  of  such  a  translation  of  *  Pindar '  as  Paley's,  of  which  the  diction 
was  really  that  of  a  provincial  daily  newspaper. 


SOPHOCLES  55 

equipped  with  scholarship,  applies  his  genius  to 
the  task  of  giving  Sophocles  a  poetical  garb  in 
English — a  consummation  not,  perhaps,  devoutly  to 
be  wished,  and  certainly  not  likely  to  be  realized. 
Meanwhile  Jebb's  prose  version  is  not  more  likely 
to  be  superseded  by  a  metrical  one  than  the  Prayer 
Book  version  of  the  Psalms  and  Job,  which  has 
hitherto  successfully  resisted  the  attempt  to  hitch  it 
into  verse.  It  would  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that 
the  task  of  the  prose  translator  is  the  easier.  Rhythm 
is  really  a  harder  task-master  than  metre,  and  the 
presence  of  the  latter  often  disguises  the  absence 
of  the  former.  We  are  inclined  to  think  that  it 
would  not  be  quite  so  hopeless  an  attempt  to  try 
to  reproduce  the  effect  of  Hamlet's  verse-soliloquies 
as  of  the  prose  one  beginning,  '  I  have  of  late — but 
wherefore  I  know  not — lost  all  my  mirth.'  Now  we 
confidently  point  to  Jebb's  version  as  a  triumph  of 
rhythm  throughout,  and  his  freedom  from  metrical 
shackles  has  enabled  him  to  express  in  it  the  nicest 
shades  of  meaning  in  the  Greek,  and  to  make  his 
translation  discharge  to  a  great  extent  the  function 
of  a  commentary  as  well.  What  we  have  said  will 
be  made  good  by  our  citations  from  his  translation 
from  time  to  time.-^  We  would  gladly  add  here,  if 
space  allowed,  many  examples  of  his  dexterous 
dealing  with  single  words  and  phrases,  and  of  his 
power  of  sustaining  the  dignity  of  style  in  long  and 

^We  have  used  throughout  Jebb's  renderings  when  our  extracts 
have  been  from  the  three  plays  which  his  edition  includes  so  far.  In 
some  cases  we  have  modified  the  order  of  the  words,  so  as  to  produce 
a  metrical  effect  in  line-to-line  dialogue.  Even  in  those  cases  we  have 
moulded  our  version  on  his,  but  in  the  longer  prose  extracts  we 
reproduce  his  translation  word  for  word. 


56  SOPHOCLES 

impassioned  speeches.  We  must,  however,  for  further 
confirmation  of  our  estimate  of  his  skill  in  the 
execution  of  his  task,  refer  our  readers  to  the  books 
themselves  ;  those  v^ho  have  ears  to  hear  will  not  say 
that  we  have  expressed  too  high  an  opinion  of  the 
translation  as  a  work  of  art,  or  as  an  exact  equivalent 
for  the  Greek. 

Minute  grammatical  accuracy  and  happy  critical 
insight  have  been  far  more  characteristic  of  English 
editions  than  a  marked  feeling  for  the  artistic  beauty 
of  the  ancient  masterpieces.  We  would  gladly  invite 
attention  to  the  scores  of  places  in  which  the  keen 
observation  of  Jebb  has  detected  delicacies  of 
expression  and  construction  hitherto  unnoticed  ; 
but  our  readers  will  perhaps  feel  greater  interest  in 
those  comments  which  illustrate  in  the  Editor  the 
rarer  quality  of  aesthetic  sense.  We  will  therefore 
point  to  certain  passages  in  these  plays  where  the 
question  involved  is  wholly  or  mainly  an  aesthetic 
one,  and  show  how  the  Editor  has  dealt  with  the 
problem  in  each  case. 

In  'Antigone'  (904-920)  the  heroine  defends  her 
defiance  of  Creon's  edict,  that  the  corse  of  Polynices 
should  lie  unburied  a  prey  to  carrion-birds  and 
beasts,  by  a  feeble  and  sophistical  exaggeration  of 
the  nearness  of  the  fraternal  tie,  an  argument  involv- 
ing a  complete  abandonment  of  the  high  ground 
which  she  has  already  taken,  that  she  had  given 
her  brother  burial  rites  in  defiance  of  Creon,  because 
no  mortal  decree  could  override  the  unwritten  but 
unfailing  statutes  of  heaven.  The  passage,  which 
closely  resembles  that  in  which  the  wife  of  Inta- 
phernes   in   Herodotus  (iii.    1 1 9)   defends   a   similar 


SOPHOCLES  57 

preference  of  a  brother  before  a  husband  or  a  child, 
runs  thus  in  Jebb's  translation  : — 

'And  yet  I  honoured  thee,  as  the  wise  will  deem,  rightly. 
Never,  had  I  been  a  mother  of  children,  or  if  a  husband  had 
been  mouldering  in  death,  would  I  have  taken  this  task  upon 
me  in  the  city's  despite.  What  law,  ye  ask,  is  my  warrant  for 
that  word  ?  The  husband  lost,  another  might  have  been  found, 
and  child  from  another,  to  replace  the  first-born  ;  but,  father  and 
mother  hidden  with  Hades,  no  brother's  life  could  ever  bloom 
for  me  again.  Such  was  the  law  whereby  I  held  thee  first 
in  honour  ;  but  Creon  deemed  me  guilty  of  error  therein,  and 
of  outrage,  ah,  brother  mine  !  And  now  he  leads  me  thus, 
a  captive  in  his  hands  ;  no  bridal  bed,  no  bridal  song  hath  been 
mine,  no  joy  of  marriage,  no  portion  in  the  nurture  of  children  ; 
but  thus,  forlorn  of  friends,  unhappy  one,  I  go  living  to  the 
vaults  of  death.' 

Eckermann  has  preserved  an  utterance  of  Goethe 
on  this  scene  which  best  describes  the  impression 
which  the  passage  first  produces — 

'  In  the  course  of  the  piece  the  heroine  has  given  the  most 
admirable  reasons  for  her  conduct,  and  has  shown  the  noble 
courage  of  a  stainless  soul ;  but  now  at  the  end  she  puts  forward 
a  motive  which  is  quite  unworthy  of  her,  and  which  almost 
borders  on  the  comic.  I  should  like  a  philologist  to  show  us 
that  the  passage  is  spurious.' 

If  a  husband,  then,  or  child   had    lain    unburied, 
Antigone  would  not  have  defied  Creon's  edict.      And 
why  ?     Because  she  might  have  another  husband  and 
child,  but  her  parents  being  dead,  she  could  not  hope  j^^^h^S^-  tt^A- 
for   another   brother.      Could   any   respectable   poet,  \Lk^^eti 
not  to  speak  of  Sophocles,  have  put  such  a  sentiment     ^  ^J^    f  ^ 
into  the  mouth  of  such  a  woman  as  Antigone  ?     Yet  ^j^-mt^^^fii* 
Aristotle   (Rhet.  iii.    i6)   recognizes   this   passage   as  fvlfXJUiL^fj^ 
coming  from   the  '  Antigone,'  so  that,  if  the  verses/ /a-  Q    f  f" 


58  SOPHOCLES 

are  spurious,  the  interpolation  must  have  found  its 
way  into  the  text  not  later  than  seventy  years  after 
the  death  of  Sophocles.  Hence  vigorous  efforts  have 
been  made  to  bring  the  sentiment  into  harmony  with 
the  principles  of  art  and  the  character  of  Antigone. 
Bellermann's  theory  is  that  Antigone  still  occupies 
the  high  ground  of  religious  obligation,  but  feels  that 
that  obligation  has  degrees.  She  merely  says,  '  I  can 
imagine  breaking  that  command  in  any  case  sooner 
than  in  that  of  a  brother.'  She  knows  the  feelings 
of  a  sister,  she  had  never  known  those  of  a  wife  or  a 
mother.  Boeckh  thinks  that  Antigone  has  abandoned 
her  lofty  ground  ;  she  has  attained  to  a  perception 
that  she  did  wrong  in  breaking  Creon's  law,  and 
when  that  noble  illusion  fails  her,  the  poet  permits 
her  to  catch  at  such  support  as  sophistry  can  lend  to 
despair.  Seyffert  also  finds  in  the  passage  a  note 
of  despair ;  her  troubled  thoughts  fall  back  on  the 
one  thing  of  which  she  still  feels  sure,  the  deep 
human  affection  which  bound  her  to  her  brother. 
Jebb's  criticism  on  these  theories  must  be  given 
in  his  own   words  : — 

'  Bellermann's  sliding  scale  of  the  religious  duty  here  involves 
a  fallacy  from  the  Greek  point  of  view.  Greeks  distinguished 
between  the  obligation  in  respect  to  dvpaXoi  and  in  respect  to 
oi'/cetot.  A  husband  and  child  are  on  the  same  side  of  that  line 
as  a  brother.  Besides,  Bellermann's  subtlety  invests  the  crude 
and  blunt  sophistry  of  the  text  with  an  imaginative  charm  which 
is  not  its  own.  If  the  psychological  phase  which  he  supposes 
in  the  heroine  had  been  expressed  by  the  poet,  such  an  expres- 
sion must  have  preserved  the  essential  harmony  between  her 
recent  and  her  present  attitude  of  mind. 

'  Of  Seyffert's  view  we  may  say  first  what  has  been  said  ot 
Bellermann's — that  it  is  an  idealizing  paraphrase  of  a  crude  text. 


SOPHOCLES  59 

But  there  is  a  further  and  yet  graver  objection— one  which  applies 
alike  to  Seyffert  and  to  Boeckh.  After  this  disputed  passage, 
and  at  the  very  moment  when  she  is  being  led  away  to  death, 
she  says,  "  If  these  things  are  pleasing  to  the  gods,  when  I  have 
suffered  my  doom  I  shall  come  to  know  my  sin  ;  but  if  the  sin 
is  with  my  judges,  I  could  wish  them  no  fuller  measure  of  evil 
than  they  on  their  part  mete  wrongfully  to  me."  Here  the  poet 
identifies  his  heroine,  in  one  of  her  latest  utterances,  with  the 
principle  on  which  the  catastrophe  turns.  Creon  is  punished  by 
the  gods  ;  and  his  punishment  is  the  token  that  they  approve 
of  Antigone's  conduct.  In  the  very  last  words  which  she  speaks 
she  describes  herself  as  t7]v  eme^lav  ae^iaaa-a  (943).  Thus  in  two 
different  places — both  of  them  subsequent  to  the  suspected 
passage — she  stands  forth  distinctly  as  the  representative  of 
the  great  law  which  had  inspired  her  act.  Is  it  probable — 
would  it  be  endurable — that  at  a  slightly  earlier  moment  (in  vv. 
905-912)  she  should  speak  in  the  tone  of  one  to  whom  that  divine 
law  had  proved  a  mockery  and  a  delusion — who  had  come  to 
feel  that  thence  at  least  no  adequate  vindication  of  her  conduct 
could  be  derived — and  who  was  now  looking  around  her  for  such 
excuse  or  such  solace  as  could  be  found  on  a  lower  range  of 
thought  and  feeling?' 

We  entirely  agree  with  Jebb  that  the  passage 
is  spurious,  and  was  probably  introduced  into 
the  play,  after  the  death  of  Sophocles,  by  his  son 
lophon,  who  earned  from  his  contemporaries  the 
nickname  of  *  the  tasteless '  (o  '^v)(p6g).  Further, 
the  diction  seems  to  us  to  warrant  a  surmise 
that  the  interpolator  had  recently  been  reading  the 
*  Medea.'  We  would  include  in  the  spurious  passage 
verses  920-924,  which  are  weak  in  themselves,  and 
contain  another  suspicious  echo  of  the  same  play  of 
Euripides.-^ 

^  The  strange  use  of  the  genitive  KaTdavbvros  in  v.  909  is  exactly  like 
that  of  irapefAiroXCjvTos  in  Med.  910 ;  in  both  cases  a  genitive  has  to  be 
evolved  to  agree  with  the  participle,  and  in  both  cases  from  the  same 


6o  SOPHOCLES 

In  another  still  more  interesting  scene  in  the 
'  Antigone,'  again  a  question  arises  which  must  be 
decided  mainly  by  considerations  of  taste.  Antigone 
is  condemned  to  die  for  her  defiance  of  Creon's 
decree.  Her  sister  Ismene  seeks  to  share  her  fate, 
but  Antigone  disavows  all  complicity  with  her,  and 
takes  the  sole  responsibility  for  her  act.  Ismene 
then  seeks  to  move  Creon.  She  appeals  to  the 
betrothal  of  his  son  Haemon  to  Antigone.  *  Nay,' 
says  Creon,  'there  are  other  fields  for  him  to  plough.' 
'  But  no  such  bond,'  urges  Ismene,  '  as  bound  those 
two  together.'  '  Out  on  such  rebel  wives  for  sons 
of  mine  ! '  retorts  the  tyrant ;  and  this  draws  from 
Antigone  the  only  tender  cry  that  her  proud  lips 
suffer  to  escape  from  a  woman's  heart,  '  O  Haemon, 
O  my  love,  thy  father  wrongs  thee.'  In  no  other 
part  of  the  play  does  she  unpack  with  words  of  love 
a  heart  set  fast  only  on  the  stern  thought  of  duty. 
Then  Haemon  enters  with  expressions  of  filial  piety 
and  sweet  reasonableness.  He  urges  his  own  deep 
concern  for  his  father's  fair  name,  the  essential  nobility 
of  Antigone's  moral  attitude,  the  public  sympathy 
with  her  pious  contumacy,  the  beauty  and  dignity  that 
would  be  in  Creon's  control  of  a  cruel  passion  born 
of  absolute  power,  the  moral  hideousness  of  tyranny. 
He  receives  for  answer  only  flouts  and  gibes  :  *  Am 
I,  a  signior,  to  be  schooled  by  lads?'  and  *0  dastard, 
following  a  woman's  lead,'  and  '  Wheedle  me  not 
with  words,  thou  woman's  slave.'      Haemon,  who  at 

word,  or  from  some  word  signifying  '  husband ' ;  irdaews  would  fit  both 
places,  if  there  were  any  justification  for  the  form. 

The  suspicious  echo  is  to  be  found  in  iKT-rjadfjLrjv,  924,  *  I  have  earned 
///<r  name  of ;  iKT-fjaavro  is  found  in  exactly  the  same  sense  in  Med.  218. 


SOPHOCLES  6i 

first  uses  only  the  language  of  temperate  argument 
and  respect,  is  gradually  stung  into  petulant  expos- 
tulations, such  as,  '  A  desert  were  the  realm  for  thee 
to  rule.'  At  last  the  pent-up  fire  flashes  into  flame, 
and  the  youth  leaves  the  stage  with  a  hint  that  he 
will  not  survive  his  bride.  Haemon  never  sees  his 
father  again,  till  the  latter,  terrified  by  the  prophecies 
of  Teiresias,  who  announces  to  him  that  he  shall 
atone  for  his  sin  with  the  life  of  his  son,  has  resolved 
to  pay  the  due  rites  to  the  corse  of  Polynices,  and, 
this  done,  repairs  to  the  tomb  in  which  Antigone  is 
immured,  resolved  to  spare  her,  and  thus  save  his 
son.  He  finds  her  dead,  and  Haemon  is  embracing 
her  lifeless  body.     Then 

'his  father  when  he  saw  him  cried  aloud  with  a  dread  cry,  and 
went  in  and  called  to  him  with  a  voice  of  wailing,  "  Unhappy, 
what  a  deed  hast  thou  done  !  What  thought  hath  come  to 
thee  ?  What  manner  of  mischance  hath  marred  thy  reason  ? 
Come  forth,  my  child  I  I  pray  thee — I  implore!  "  But  the  boy 
glared  at  him  with  fierce  eyes,  spat  in  his  face,  and,  without  a 
word  of  answer,  drew  his  cross-hilted  sword  :  as  his  father 
rushed  forth  in  flight  he  missed  his  aim  :  then,  hapless  one, 
wroth  with  himself,  he  straightway  leaned  with  all  his  weight 
against  his  sword,  and  drove  it  half  its  length  into  his  side  :  and 
while  sense  lingered  he  clasped  the  maiden  to  his  faint  embrace, 
and  as  he  gasped  sent  forth  on  her  pale  cheek  the  swift  stream 
of  the  oozing  blood.  Corpse  enfolding  corpse  he  lies  ;  he  hath 
won  his  nuptial  rites,  poor  youth  !  not  here,  yet  in  the  halls  of 
Death.' 1 

Was  not  Haemon  right  in  spitting  in  his  father's 
face?  We  think  he  was.  At  all  events  he  did  so. 
And  Jebb  rightly  refuses  to  force  on  Sophocles, 
in  defiance  of  the  Greek,  a  refinement  of  sentiment 

^Ant.  1226-1241, 


62  SOPHOCLES 

alien  from  the  ancient  world  everywhere,  and  from 
the  Southern  races  even  now,  and  to  make  Haemon 
merely  *  express  loathing  in  his  looks.'  Yet  the 
editors,  with  hardly  an  exception,  reject  with  ridicule, 
or  suppress  all  mention  of,  an  interpretation  in  itself 
robust  and  natural,  in  favour  of  one  which  does 
violence  not  only  to  the  language  but  to  the  dramatic 
effect.^  Jebb  has  the  editors  against  him,  but  he 
has  on  his  side  a  master  of  dramatic  effect,  and 
one  who  would  be  the  first  to  reject  a  coarse  touch 
in  a  fine  passage.  In  '  Athens,  its  Rise  and  Fall,' 
Lord  Lytton  has  translated  this  scene,  and  it  does 
not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  the  author  of  'Richelieu' 
to  reject  the  natural  translation  of  Trrvaag  irpoa-coTra) : 

'  Then  glaring  on  his  father  with  wild  eyes, 
The  son  stood  dumb  and  spat  upon  his  face. 
And  clutch'd  the  unnatural  sword  :  the  father  fled  ; 
And  wroth  as  with  the  arm  that  miss'd  a  sire 
The  wretched  son  drove  home  into  his  heart 
The  abhorrent  steel ;  yet  ever,  while  dim  sense 
Struggled  within  the  fast  expiring  soul. 
Feebler  and  feebler  still  his  stiffening  arms 
Clung  to  that  virgin  form  ;  and  every  gasp 
Of  his  last  breath  with  bloody  dews  distain'd 
The  cold  white  cheek  that  was  his  pillow.     So 
Lies  death  embracing  death.' 

We  cannot  see  any  reason  for  the  view  which  the 
editors  have  preferred  except  one  that  the  Village 
Maiden  in  '  Ruddygore '  might  have  urged— spitting 
is  nowhere  justified  in  the  '  Book  of  Etiquette.'  A 
similar  robustness  of  explanation,  due  to  an  abiding 
clearness  in  his  conception  of  the  ancient  world  as 

*  We  cannot  find  that  any  modern  editors  except  Mitchell  and  Bothe 
are  willing  even  to  consider  the  natural  interpretation. 


SOPHOCLES  63 

distinguished  from  the  modern,  is  to  be  found  in  a 
note  on  'Oedipus  Coloneus/  v.  1250,  where  Jebb 
rejects  the  rendering,  '  weeping  as  no  man  weeps ' 
(but  only  women),  on  the  ground  that  this  view  of  the 
unmanliness  of  weeping  is  essentially  modern.  Aeneas 
and  Achilles  do  not  think  it  womanish  to  weep. 

The  same  unerring  feeling  for  artistic  beauty, 
which  leads  Jebb  into  the  right  path  missed  by 
others,  points  out  to  him,  and  to  those  whom  he 
guides,  charms  before  unnoticed.  It  greatly  enhances 
our  enjoyment  of  a  great  work  of  art  to  have  our 
attention  called  to  minute  felicities,  which  only  a 
very  close  and  appreciative  study  reveals,  and  which 
at  once  commend  themselves  to  us  as  not  imported 
into  the  play  by  the  ingenuity  of  the  commentator, 
but  discovered  there  by  his  sympathy  with  the  mind 
of  the  poet.  How  many,  in  reading  the  '  Oedipus 
Rex,'  have  ever  thought  of  comparing  v.  950  with 
v.  1447?  In  the  first  passage,  Oedipus,  still  a  happy 
man,  and  hopeful  of  future  happiness,  addresses  her 
who  was  so  horribly  linked  with  him  as  '  Jocasta, 
dearest  wife.'  He  does  not  refer  to  her  again  till 
he  gives  directions  for  her  burial  after  the  curse  has 
fallen  on  them  all,  and  she  has  died  by  her  own 
hand ;  and  then  he  will  not  even  utter  the  name  which 
had  become  so  horrible  to  him  :  *  Give  her  that  is 
within  such  burial  as  thou  thyself  wouldest  give,'  is 
his  charge  to  Creon  when  about  to  go  on  his  lonely 
pilgrimage. 

In  '  Antigone,'  465—468,  the  heroine  says  : — 

'So  for  me  to  meet  this  doom  is  trifling  grief;  but  if  my 
mother's  child  in  his  death  had  been  the  imburied  prey  of  dogs, 
that  would  have  grieved  me  ;  for  this,  I  am  not  grieved.^ 


64  SOPHOCLES 

This  is  one  of  the  many  passages  impugned  on 
frivolous  grounds  by  German  editors.  Jebb  has 
given  a  reason  for  believing  the  passage  to  be 
genuine,  which  seems  to  us  as  conclusive  as  it  is 
acute.  What  interpolator  would  have  thought  of 
introducing  the  pathetic  pleonasm  in  the  words  which 
we  have  italicised?  The  third  clause  touchingly 
iterates  the  sense  of  the  first.  This  delicate  piece 
of  work  comes  from  no  common  workshop,  and 
commends  itself  to  no  common  mind.  It  comes 
out  of  the  air,  in  which  great  poets  delicately  walk, 
and  is  almost  intangible.  Interpolators  are  made  of 
sterner  stuff.  A  similar  pathetic  iteration  meets  us 
in  the  'Oedipus  Tyrannus '  (v.  1463),  where  the 
King  bespeaks  Creon's  protection  for  his  two  little 
girls  '  who  never  knew  my  table  spread  apart  from 
theirs  ;  mine  aloof  from  them!^ 

To  dwell  for  a  very  little  on  minute  points,  we 
would  draw  attention  to  Prof.  Jebb's  observation  that 
the  same  petulant  exclamation,  *  Ha  !  Say'st  thou  ? ' 
marks  the  climax  of  the  anger  of  Teiresias  in  the 
*  Oedipus  Rex,'  and  of  Creon  in  the  '  Antigone '  ;^ 

^  The  late  Dr.  Benjamin  Hall  Kennedy,  to  whom  we  owe  many 
valuable  comments  on  Sophocles,  gives  a  strangely  I'rigid  meaning  to 
this  passage.  He  understands  the  final  words  to  mean  'without  my 
special  orders ' :  Oedipus  would  then  say  that  his  daughters  always 
dined  with  him,  *  except  when  I  gave  special  directions  to  the  contrary.' 
This  would  certainly  add  to  the  accuracy  of  the  statement  of  Oedipus, 
but  Oedipus  was  not  in  a  state  of  mind  to  aim  at  accuracy.  A  like 
difficulty  besets  Dr.  Kennedy's  view  of  the  reading  in  'Oed.  R.'  1526. 
We  must  suppose  the  Chorus  suddenly  inspired  by  a  desire  to  make  a 
broadly  true  statement  perfectly  accurate  by  the  insertion  of  a  qualifying 
clause.  (See  Jebb,  Appendix,  on  v.  1526.)  But  the  tragic  poet  will 
generally  find  minute  accuracy  to  be,  like  *  the  idiot  laughter,' 
'  A  passion  hateful  to  his  purposes.' 

2*X9;^e5.     (Oed.  R.  350  ;  Ant.  758.) 


SOPHOCLES  65 

and  that  a  certain  hardness  of  feeling  appears  in  the 
phrase  of  Jocasta  (' Oed.  R.'  987),  '  Howbeit  thy 
father's  death  is  a  great  sign  to  cheer  us '  :  she  was 
softened  by  fear  for  Oedipus  and  the  State  ;  now  she 
is  elated.  Again  in  the  same  play  (1037),  when 
Oedipus  cries,  '  Oh,  for  the  gods'  love — was  the  deed 
my  mother's  or  father's  ? '  the  Editor  points  out  that 
the  question  is  not  the  insignificant  one  whether  it 
was  his  father  or  his  mother  who  inflicted  the 
mutilation  which  gave  Oedipus  his  name,  but  the 
touching  enquiry  whether  it  was  at  the  hands  of  his 
father  or  mother  (or,  on  the  contrary,  at  the  hands 
of  strangers)  that  he  received  this  brand.  In  the 
'Oedipus  Coloneus,'  v.  1680,  Antigone,  speaking  of 
her  father's  death,  which  was  sudden  yet  not  violent, 
says  that  '  death  met  him  not  in  war  or  on  the 
deep.'  But  the  comment  of  the  scholiast  seems  to 
show  that  he  had  before  him  some  word  not  meaning 
'  the  deep '  (ttoVto?),  but  sickness.  Wecklein,  with  that 
bluntness  of  perception  which  sometimes  characterizes 
German  criticism,  suggests  fever  (Trvpero^).  '  This,' 
writes  Jebb,  '  is  too  specific,  as  if  one  said.  Neither 
the  War-God  nor  typhoid!  Even  the  splendid  ode 
in  praise  of  Colonus  in  this  play  takes  on  a  new 
beauty,  when  we  are  reminded  that  the  period  of 
the  year  when  the  nightingale's  song  would  first  be 
heard  in  Attica  coincides  with  the  time,  the  end 
of  March  and  beginning  of  April,  when  the  great 
Dionysia  were  held  at  Athens ;  so  that  the  spectators 
could  hear  '  the  nightingale,  a  constant  guest,  trill 
her  clear  note  in  the  covert  of  green  glades,'  while 
their  eyes  wandered  over  the  olive-groves,  the 
hills,  and  the  distant  girdle  of  mountains,  and  could 


66  SOPHOCLES 

catch   at   one   point   even   a   broad   stretch   of  blue 
sea. 

We  sometimes  find  in  books  on  Greek  literature 
a  tendency  to  disparage  Sophocles  as  one  who 
showed  a  lack  of  military  capacity.  Aeschylus,  we 
know,  fought  at  Marathon  and  Salamis  ;  but,  though 
Sophocles  was  one  of  the  Strategi,  we  do  not  hear 
that  he  showed  any  of  the  qualities  of  a  general :  we 
only  read  that  he  was  genial  and  popular  with  his 
colleagues  and  associates  ;  hence,  it  is  inferred,  he 
was  '  no  soldier.'  This  way  of  looking  at  the  matter 
is  akin  to  that  which,  according  to  '  Punch,'  led  the 
German  to  figure  to  his  mind's  eye  the  Right 
Honourable  Mr.  Smith,  when  he  was  Secretary  of 
State  for  War,  as  a  warrior  bristling  with  offensive 
and  defensive  armour,  and  tugging  fiercely  at  a  huge 
martial  moustache.  In  this  matter  let  Jebb  place 
us  at  the  Athenian  point  of  view  : — 

'Assuming,  then,  that  the  "Antigone"  was  brought  out  not 
long  before  Sophocles  obtained  the  strategia,  we  have  still  to 
consider  whether  there  is  any  likelihood  in  the  story  that  his 
election  was  influenced  by  the  success  of  the  play.  At  first 
sight  a  modern  reader  is  apt  to  be  reminded  of  a  man  of  letters 
who,  in  the  opinion  of  his  admirer,  would  have  been  competent 
at  the  shortest  notice  to  assume  the  command  of  the  Channel 
Fleet.  It  may  appear  grotesque  that  an  important  State  should 
have  rewarded  poetical  genius  by  a  similar  appointment.  But 
here,  as  in  other  cases,  we  must  endeavour  to  place  ourselves  at 
the  old  Athenian  point  of  view.  The  word  "general"  by  which 
we  render  "strategus,"  suggests  functions  purely  military, 
requiring  for  their  proper  discharge  an  elaborate  professional 
training.  Such  a  conception  of  the  Athenian  strategia  would 
not,  however,  be  accurate.  The  ten  strategi,  chosen  annually, 
formed  a  board  of  which  the  duties  were  primarily  military,  but 
also  in  part  civil.     And  for  the  majority  of  the  ten  the  military 


SOPHOCLES  67 

duties  were  usually  restricted  to  the  exercise  of  control  and 
supervision  at  Athens.     They  resembled  officials  at  the  War 
Office,   with  some  added  functions  from  the  province  of  the 
Home  Office.     The  number  of  strategi  sent  out  with  an  army  or 
a  fleet  was  at  this  period  seldom  more  than  three.     It  was  only  in 
grave   emergencies   that  all   the   ten   strategi  went   on   active 
service  together.     In  May  441  B.C. — the  time,  as  it  seems,  when 
Sophocles  was  elected — no  one  could  have  foreseen  the  great 
crisis  at  Samos.     In  an  ordinary  year  Sophocles,  as  one  of  the 
strategi,  would  not  have  been  required  to  leave  Athens.     Among 
his  nine  colleagues  there  were  doubtless,  besides  Pericles,  one  or 
two  more   possessed   of  military  aptitudes,   who   would   have 
sufficed  to  perform  any  ordinary  service  in  the  field.     Demos- 
thenes— in  whose  day  only  one  of  the  ten  strategi  was  ordinarily 
commissioned  for  war — describes  the  other  nine  as  occupied, 
among  other  things,  with  arranging  the  processions  for  the  great 
religious  festivals  at  Athens.     He  deplores,  indeed,  that  they 
should  be  so  employed  ;  but  it  is  certain  that  it  had  long  been 
one  duty  of  these  high  officials  to  help  in  organizing  the  great 
ceremonies.     We  are  reminded  how  suitable  such  a  sphere  of 
duty  would  have  been  for  Sophocles,  who  in  his  boyhood  is  said 
to  have  led  the  chorus  which  celebrated  the  battle  of  Salamis — 
and  we  seem  to  win  a  new  light  on  the  meaning  of  his  appoint- 
ment to  the  strategia.     In  so  far  as  a  strategus  had  to  do  with 
public  ceremonies  and  festivals,  a  man  with  the  personal  gifts  of 
Sophocles  could  hardly  have  strengthened  his  claim  better  than 
by  a  briUiant  success  at  the  Dionysia.     The  mode  of  election 
was  favourable  to  such  a  man.     It  was  by  show  of  hands  in  the 
Ecclesia.      If   the   "Antigone"   was    produced    at   the    Great 
Dionysia  late  in  March,  it  is  perfectly  intelligible  that  the  poet's 
splendid  dramatic    triumph   should   have   contributed    to    his 
election  in  the  following  May.' 

To  enter  minutely  into  a  discussion  of  all  the 
characters  introduced  into  these  plays  would,  perhaps, 
become  tiresome ;  and  in  some  of  them,  especially 
the  character  of  Antigone,  analysis  has  been  pursued 
too  far  by  some  historians  of  literature,  and  has  been 


68  SOPHOCLES 

founded  on  mistaken  principles  by  others.  They  have 
been  misled  by  not  being  able  to  place  themselves 
at  the  ancient  point  of  view.  It  is,  indeed,  difficult 
to  conceive  how  ancient  tragedy,  which  is  such  an 
enduring  monument  of  Attic  genius,  achieved  such  a 
position  without  drawing  from  the  chief  sources  from 
which  modern  tragedy  derives  its  interest.  The  plots 
were  well  known  to  the  spectator  at  the  Dionysia,  and 
some  of  them — it  must  be  owned — contained,  like  all 
folklore,  some  dross  of  triviality  mingled  with  the  gold 
of  fancy.  The  whole  story  of  the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx 
is  redolent  of  the  nursery,  and  there  was  a  childish 
pendant  to  the  Oedipodean  myth,  according  to  which 
Oedipus  in  his  seclusion,  after  he  had  blinded 
himself,  cursed  his  sons  because,  contrary  to  his 
interdict,  they  had  served  him  with  the  silver  table 
and  golden  cup  belonging  to  his  father ;  and 
repeated  the  imprecation  on  another  occasion  when 
his  sons  sent  him  from  the  altar  the  buttock  of  the 
victim  instead  of  the  shoulder.  Not  only  were 
the  plots  hackneyed  and  sometimes  trifling,  but  the 
analysis  of  the  passion  of  love,  on  which  the  modern 
drama  almost  wholly  depends,  was  absent  from  Greek 
tragedy  at  its  perfection.  Aeschylus  follows  Homer; 
it  no  more  occurs  to  him  to  dwell  on  the  passion  of 
Clytaemnestra  for  Aegisthus,  than  it  occurred  to 
Homer  to  analyse  the  feelings  of  Helen  and  Paris. 
It  is  only  the  consequences  of  the  passion  that  have 
an  interest,  and  lend  themselves  to  epic  or  dramatic 
treatment.  In  Homer  love  is  almost  savage ;  the 
woman  is  little  more  than  a  chattel ;  Penelope's  dot 
is  more  than  Penelope ;  and  the  pathos  in  the  death 
of  a  young  warrior,  who  was  cut  off  in  battle  ere 


SOPHOCLES  69 

ever  he  possessed  his  bride,  is  found  in  the  fact  that 
he  had  incurred  considerable  expense  in  procuring 
her.  In  Aeschylus  it  is  cosmical.  In  one  of  the 
fragments  of  his  lost  plays  he  puts  into  the  mouth  of 
Aphrodite  herself  a  passage  which  describes  love  as 
a  cosmic  force,  and  reminds  us  of  the  Lucretian 
invocation  of  Aeneaduin  genetrix.  In  Sophocles  it 
comes  into  the  sphere  of  humanity,  but  only  as  a 
cause  of  effects,  as  a  factor  in  the  evolution  of  destiny. 
In  the  hands  of  Euripides  for  the  first  time  it  is  a 
passion  worth  studying,  analysing,  and  dissecting  for 
its  own  intrinsic  interest.  Hence,  if  the  influence  of 
passion  on  the  female  mind  is  widely  different  in 
Sophocles  and  Euripides,  it  is  not  because  these 
poets  take  a  different  view  of  the  female  mind,  but 
because  they  have  a  completely  different  theory  as  to 
how  far  the  influence  of  love  on  it  should  be  made 
the  object  of  dramatic  treatment.  Aeschylus  is  made 
by  Aristophanes  to  boast  that  he  never  depicted  a 
woman  in  love.  Sophocles  does  not  analyse  the 
passion  of  Antigone  for  Haemon.  Love  returned, 
love  repelled, — on  these  themes  Euripides  dwelt  with 
loving  hand,  and  drew  down  on  himself  the  denuncia- 
tions of  Aristophanes  in  the  '  Thesmophoriazusae ' 
and  the  '  Frogs.'  In  the  former  play,  after  appearing 
successively  as  Menelaus,  Echo,  and  Perseus,  Euripides 
finally  transforms  himself  into  an  old  procuress. 
This,  according  to  the  comic  poet,  is  the  last  incarna- 
tion of  Euripides.  This  is  the  penalty  which  he  paid 
for  bringing  into  a  prominence,  not  before  accorded 
to  it,  a  passion  which  has  ever  since  been  a  well-nigh 
essential  ingredient  in  poetry,  the  drama,  and  the 
romance. 


70  SOPHOCLES 

We  may  now  glance  briefly  at  certain  peculiarities 
which  mark  the  ancient  method  of  dealing  with  the 
portraiture  of  character,  a^d  point  out  how  far  in 
this  and  other  matters  the  ancient  poets  recognized 
the  obligation  to  keep  within  the  bounds  of  probability 
and  consistency.  Ancient  tragedy  admits  almost 
any  conceivable  violation  of  the  laws  of  probability, 
provided  that  violation  lies  outside  the  limits  of  the 
play,  outside  the  period  embraced  by  the  action  of 
the  piece.  For  instance,  in  the  '  Agamemnon '  of 
Aeschylus,  almost  immediately  after  the  beacon-signal 
has  announced  the  fall  of  Troy,  we  hear  of  the 
arrival  of  Agamemnon  himself,  though  we  learn  that 
the  return  of  the  Grecian  army  from  Troy  was 
impeded  by  a  tremendous  storm  which  destroyed 
nearly  the  whole  of  the  fleet.  So  in  the  '  Oedipus 
Rex,'  to  which  Aristotle  gives  the  palm  for  construc- 
tion above  all  the  tragedies  known  to  him,  the 
difficulties  outside  the  play  are  very  great,  but  they 
do  not  offend  Aristotle  because  they  do  not  beset 
anything  within  the  limits  of  the  drama  itself  When 
the  action  begins,  Oedipus  must  have  occupied  the 
throne  of  Thebes  for  at  least  sixteen  years  ;  for 
Antigone  and  Ismene,  when  they  appear  in  the  last 
scene,  seem  to  be  children  of  from  ten  to  twelve 
years  of  age,  and  the  two  brothers  were  older.  So 
the  plague,  which  visited  the  city  as  a  token  of  the 
divine  wrath  for  the  murder  of  Laius,  was  not  sent 
until  sixteen  years  after  the  crime  was  committed. 
And  how  did  it  happen  that,  during  all  those  years, 
Jocasta  had  never  questioned  her  husband  about  his 
past  life,  the  story  of  which  she  hears  from  him  for 
the  first  time  during  the  progress  of  the  play  ?     And 


SOPHOCLES  71 

why  had  not  Oedipus  asked  even  what  was  the 
personal  appearance  of  his  predecessor  Laius,  or 
what  were  the  circumstances  of  his  death  ?  To  a 
Greek  tragic  poet  such  questions  would  give  no 
concern  ;  they  refer  only  to  matters  outside  the  scope 
of  the  action, — e^co  rm  TpaycpSiag,  as  Aristotle 
expresses  it.  In  obedience  to  a  similar  view 
concerning  the  obligations  of  art,  Greek  tragedy 
demands  from  each  character  consistency  with  itself 
only  within  the  limits  of  each  play ;  in  different 
plays  it  may  assume  new,  if  not  contrary,  qualities. 
If  we  take  the  three  Theban  dramas  in  the  order  of 
their  appearance,  and  consider  the  character  in  them 
which  is  common  to  them  all,  we  shall  find  that  in 
the  first,  the  '  Antigone,'  when  Creon  is  an  old  man 
he  is  perversely  rigorous.  He  bursts  into  invectives 
against  the  chorus,  when  they  suggest  that  the 
mysterious  funeral  honours  paid  to  Polynices  may 
have  come  from  the  miraculous  interference  of  the 
Gods  :  *  Cease,'  he  cries,  '  ere  thou  fill  me  to  over- 
flowing with  wrath.'  He  goads  his  son  to  madness 
with  his  taunts  ;  and  at  first  he  meets  the  warnings 
of  Teiresias,  by  swearing  that  he  will  never  suffer  the 
burial  of  Polynices,  '  not  though  the  eagles  of  Zeus 
should  bear  the  carrion  morsels  to  their  Master's 
throne.'  Finally  it  is  only  through  base  fear  of  the 
consequences  that  he  consents  too  late  to  remit  the 
cruel  doom  of  Antigone.  In  the  second  of  the  plays, 
'  Oedipus  Rex,'  Creon  is  the  patient  object  of  the 
unjust  suspicions  of  Oedipus.  When  the  tragedy 
had  reached  its  height,  when  Jocasta  has  destroyed 
herself,  and  Oedipus  has  put  out  his  eyes,  the 
language  of  Creon  is  noble  and  magnanimous :   *  I 


72  SOPHOCLES 

have  not  come  to  mock  thee,  Oedipus,  nor  to 
reproach  thee  with  a  bygone  fault ' :  ^  though  he  is 
not  so  generous  afterwards  when  he  reminds  Oedipus 
that  he,  above  all  men,  has  reason  to  be  a  believer  in 
the  fulfilment  of  prophecy;^  and  again,^  that  he  must 
not  count  on  good  fortune  as  likely  to  abide  with 
him, — he  had  already  won  it,  and  it  had  deserted 
him  at  his  need.  In  the  '  Oedipus  Coloneus,'  which 
appeared  last  of  the  three  plays,  and  which  deals 
with  a  period  intermediate  between  the  other  two, 
Creon  is  a  ruffian  without  a  redeeming  trait.  There 
is  not  a  trace  of  the  reasonableness  of  the  Creon 
of  the  '  Oedipus  Rex ' ;  and  the  narrow  but  not 
malevolent  rigour  which  he  shows  in  the  '  Antigone/ 
certainly  does  not  prepare  us  for  the  coarse  truculence 
with  which  he  receives  the  dignified  refusal  of 
Oedipus  to  accompany  him  to  Thebes,  nor  for  his 
subsequent  sulky  submission  to  Theseus.  The  tone 
of  the  refusal  of  Oedipus  is  curiously  suggestive  of 
Dr.  Johnson's  famous  letter  to  Lord  Chesterfield. 
Creon  had  sought  to  cloak  under  the  guise  of  kind- 
ness his  desire  to  secure  for  Thebes  the  blessings 
which,  according  to  prophecy,  should  accrue  to  the 
land  which  should  be  the  burial-place  of  Oedipus. 
The  latter  thus  receives  his  overtures  : — 

*  What  joy  is  there  here— in  kindness  shown  to  us  against  our 
will  ?  As  if  a  man  should  give  thee  no  gift,  bring  thee  no  aid, 
when  thou  wert  fain  of  the  boon  ;  but  after  thy  soul's  desire  was 
sated  should  grant  it  them,  when  the  grace  could  be  gracious  no 
more  :  wouldst  thou  not  find  that  pleasure  vain  ?' 

It  has  often  been  remarked  that  Euripides  is  prone 
to  introduce  into  his  plays  persons  of  humble  posi- 

ly.  1422.  ^y.  1445.  ^y.  1523. 


SOPHOCLES  73 

tion,  and  to  put  into  their  mouths  homely  sentiments 
and  expressions  suited  to  their  low  estate.  Aeschylus 
and  Sophocles,  though  far  more  sparingly,  have  re- 
course sometimes  to  the  same  source  of  dramatic 
vraisemblance.  The  Nurse  in  the  '  Choephoroe '  is 
nearly  as  garrulous  as  the  Nurse  in  '  Romeo  and 
Juliet,'  and  the  reader  will  at  once  call  to  mind  the 
homely  diction  of  the  Watchman  in  the  '  Agamem- 
non,' when  he  says  that  the  beacon-light  which 
announced  the  fall  of  Troy  was  to  him  '  a  throw  of 
triple-sixes '  for  luck.  In  the  same  way  Sophocles 
makes  his  Watchman  in  the  '  Antigone '  adopt  a 
comic  vein  on  his  first  entrance.  Surely  this  ('  Ant.' 
223-236)  is  designedly  comic  : — 

'  My  liege,  I  will  not  say  that  I  come  breathless  from  speed, 
or  that  I  have  plied  a  nimble  foot ;  for  often  did  my  thoughts 
make  me  pause  and  wheel  round  in  my  path,  to  return.  My 
mind  was  holding  large  discourse  with  me  :  "  Fool,  why  goest 
thou  to  thy  certain  doom  ? "  "  Wretch,  tarrying  again  ?  And  if 
Creon  heard  this  from  another,  must  not  thou  smart  for  it  ? " 
So  debating,  I  took  my  time  about  hurrying,^  and  thus  a  short 
road  was  made  long.  At  last,  however,  it  carried  the  day  that  I 
should  come  thither — to  thee  ;  and  though  my  tale  be  nought, 
yet  will  I  tell  it ;  for  I  come  with  a  good  grip  on  one  hope, — 
that  I  can  suffer  nothing  but  what  is  my  fate.' 

Does  not  this  pretentious  prattle  strongly  remind 
one  of  the  first  appearance  of  Launcelot  Gobbo 
('  Merchant  of  Venice/  ii.  2)  in  the  scene  beginning — 

'  Certainly  my  conscience  will  serve  me  to  run  away  from  this 
Jew  my  master.     The  fiend  is  at  my  elbow,  and  tempts  me  .  .  . 


1  We  read  here  ^vvtov  cxoXt;  Taxi>s  with  the  margin  of  L,  regarding 
this  as  a  designedly  comic  expression,  '  'twas  but  a  laggard  haste  I  made,' 
*  I  took  my  time  about  hurrying. '  The  rest  of  the  version  is  Professor 
Jebb's. 


74  SOPHOCLES 

My  conscience  says,  "  Launcelot,  budge  not."     "  Budge,"  says 
the  fiend.     "  Budge  not,"  says  my  conscience.' 

In  'Oedipus  Rex,'  337  f.,  there  is  a  marvellous 
specimen  of  the  poet's  art.  Teiresias  uses  words 
which  have  one  meaning  for  Oedipus  and  another 
for  the  audience :  '  Thou  blamest  my  temper,  but 
what  thou  hast  in  thy  bosom  thou  knowest  not'  By 
'  what  thou  hast  in  thy  bosom  '  Oedipus  would  under- 
derstand  Teiresias  to  mean  '  the  wrath  which  thou 
hast  in  thy  bosom,'  that  wrath  which  the  Seer  had 
upbraided  in  the  King ;  but  the  audience  would 
see  that  the  real  allusion  was  to  his  incestuous 
union  with  his  mother,  'thou  knowest  not  what 
wife  thou  hast  in  thy  bosom.'  In  Greek  not  only 
a  wife  but  a  wrathful  mood  may  be  said  to  '  be 
taken  to  one's  bosom '  (ojuov  valeLv).  Locke,  in 
a  quaint  passage,^  has  a  very  similar  play  of 
fancy  : — 

'  Nothing  being  so  beautiful  to  the  eye  as  truth  is  to  the  mind, 
nothing  is  so  deformed  and  irreconcilable  to  the  understanding 
as  a  lie.  For  though  a  man  may  with  satisfaction  enough 
own  a  no-very-handsome  wife  in  his  bosom,  yet  who  is  bold 
enough  openly  to  avow  that  he  has  espoused  a  falsehood,  and 
received  into  his  breast  so  ugly  a  thing  as  a  lie  i*' 

There  is  a  certain  construction  recognized  by 
grammarians  as  forming  a  feature  in  Attic  usage, 
whereby  between  the  object  and  its  governing  verb 
are  inserted  words  which  must  be  regarded  as  paren- 
thetic in  the  construction,  and  as  not  influencing 
(though  they  seem  to  influence)  the  object  of  the 
sentence.     This  *  non-intervention  '  construction   (^m 

^  'Essay  on  Human  Understanding,'  Book  iv.,  ch.  3,  §  20. 


SOPHOCLES  75 

imecrou,  grammarians  call  it)  is  very  alien  from  English 
usage.  Indeed  we  doubt  if  we  could  illustrate  it  at 
all  except  by  citing  the  (probably  mythical)  advocate, 
who  is  reported  to  have  said,  '  Oh  yes,  indeed,  your 
Lordship  is  quite  right,  (and  I  am  quite  wrong),  as 
your  Lordship  generally  is.'  But  in  Greek  it  is 
common  enough.  Prof  Jebb  considers  that  in  many 
cases  the  applicability  of  this  principle  breaks  down 
on  closer  scrutiny,  and,  as  regards  the  places  to  which 
he  refers,  his  remark  is  fully  justified.  We  would, 
however,  invite  him  to  consider  whether  the  Sia  juecrou 
theory  ought  not  to  be  applied  to  three  passages  in 
these  plays.  In  the  first  ^  it  seems  required  by  the 
construction,  and  in  the  two  others  ^  it  would  obviate 
a  change  in  the  manuscript  reading. 

In  textual  criticism  Jebb  may  be  pronounced  to 
be  conservative  in  the  best — the  only  just — sense 
of  the  word.  He  will  not  revolutionize  either  the 
reading  or  the  interpretation  of  a  passage,  unless  he 
can  make  an  unanswerable  appeal  either  to  the  laws 
of  grammar  or  to  the  canons  of  taste.  In  applying 
the  latter,  an  Editor  should  be  very  cautious.  He 
should    approach   the   ancient   masterpiece   with    the 

^  *  Oed.  Rex,'  1093,  where  unless  /cat  x^P^^eo-^^^^  ''"pos  -nfiQu  is  8c6, 
ixiaov  there  is  no  construction  for  (pepovra. 

^  *  Oed.  Col.'  161,  Tuv  ^he  Trdfx/xop^  eS  (pijXa^ai  fieTaaradi.  Prof. 
Jebb  changes  tQv  to  rb  because  (pvXda-aeadaL,  'to  guard  against,'  takes 
the  accusative,  but  twv  may  be  governed  by  fxerdcrTadL,  the  intervening 
vv^ords  being  did  fiiaov,  *  from  vi^hich  (beware,  poor  wanderer)  avaunt !' 
The  third  is  'Ant.'  II02,  Kai  raCr'  eTraiveis  Kal  doKels  TrapeiKadecv, 
where  Jebb  reads  5o/cet:  but  if  /cat  So/cels  be  regarded  as  5ia  /xeaov 
there  is  no  need  for  change,  'and  dost  advise— and  think'st  I  will — a 
yielding  in  this  matter  ? '  The  validity  of  the  construction  is,  of  course, 
not  denied,  and  it  is  applied  to  several  places  even  in  Attic  prose,  in 
Plato  and  the  Orators  especially. 


76  SOPHOCLES 

feelings  of  Marcellus  in  '  Hamlet '  towards  the  Ghost 
of  '  buried  Denmark  ' : — 

'  We  do  it  wrong,  being  so  majestical, 
To  offer  it  the  show  of  violence.' 

For  his  own  statement  of  his  views  on  this  subject 
we  must  refer  our  readers  to  his  admirably  judicious 
observations  in  his  Introductions  to  'Oedipus  Rex' 
(pp.  Ivii.-lix.)  and  to  '  Oedipus  Coloneus '  (pp.  lii.,  liii.). 
We  would  gladly  quote  the  passages,  but  that  we 
trust  that  Jebb's  monumental  work  is  in  the  hands 
of  all  who  have  a  real  interest  in  the  progress  of 
classical  learning.  We  must,  however,  lay  before 
our  readers  a  few  of  his  excellent  remarks  in  the 
Introduction  to  the  '  Oedipus  Rex '  (p.  Ivii.),  because 
we  mean  to  appeal  to  them  against  his  treatment  of 
a  passage  in  the  '  Antigone,'  the  only  place  in  which 
he  seems  to  us  not  to  have  carried  out  thoroughly 
the  principles  which  he  has  so  clearly  laid  down  : — 

'  The  use  of  conjecture  is  a  question  on  which  an  editor  must 
be  prepared  to  meet  with  large  differences  of  opinion,  and  must 
be  content  if  the  credit  is  conceded  to  him  of  having  steadily 
acted  to  the  best  of  his  judgment.  All  students  of  Sophocles 
would  probably  agree  at  least  in  this,  that  his  text  is  one  in 
which  conjectural  emendation  should  be  admitted  only  with  the 
utmost  caution.  His  style  is  not  seldom  analogous  to  Virgil  in 
this  respect,  that  when  his  instinct  felt  a  phrase  to  be  truly  and 
finely  expressive  he  left  the  logical  analysis  of  it  to  the  discretion 
of  grammarians  then  unborn.  Such  a  style  may  easily  provoke 
the  heavy  hand  of  prosaic  correction  ;  and,  if  it  requires  sym- 
pathy to  interpret  and  defend  it,  it  also  requires,  when  it  has 
once  been  marred,  a  very  tender  and  very  temperate  touch  in 
any  attempt  to  restore  it.  Then  in  the  lyric  parts  of  his  plays 
Sophocles  is  characterized  by  tones  of  feeling  and  passion  which 
change  with  the  most  rapid  sensibility— by  boldness  and  some- 


SOPHOCLES  77 

times  confusion  of  metaphor — and  by  occasional  indistinctness 
of  imagery,  as  if  the  figurative  notion  was  suddenly  crossed  in 
his  mind  by  the  Hteral' 

These  last  words  seem  to  us  to  describe  with  won- 
derful felicity  the  mind  of  Sophocles  as  it  worked  on 
the  passage  to  which  we  refer,  and  in  which  we  think 
the  Editor  has  needlessly  abandoned  the  tradition 
of  the  manuscripts,  and  has  acquiesced  in  a  time- 
honoured  conjecture  which  seems  to  have  occurred 
independently  to  several  scholars,  but  which  is,  in 
our  judgment,  not  only  unnecessary,  but  positively 
objectionable.^  Sophocles,  in  a  wildly  impassioned 
lyric,  makes  the  Chorus  deplore  ('Ant'  599-604) 
that  the  ray  of  hope  (the  survival  of  Antigone  and 
Ismene)  which  was  shed  above  the  last  root  of  the 
house  of  Oedipus,  is  now  extinguished  by  the  heroic 
contumacy  of  Antigone.  But  the  spiritual  excite- 
ment of  the  Chorus  forces  them  into  a  hurly-burly  of 
metaphor  which  would  now  be  condemned,  but  which 
seemed  to  the  ancient  Greek  (rightly,  we  think)  to 
convey  well  a  tumult  of  feeling.  What  the  Chorus 
say  is  :  ^ — 

'  Now  that  ray  of  hope,  which  was  shed  above  the  last  root  of 
the  house  of  Oedipus,  is  mowed  down  in  its  turn  by — a  handful 
of  bloody  dust  due  to  the  gods  below,  wild  whirling  words,  and 
a  fury  in  the  heart.'  ^ 

The  passage  is  aglow  with  all  the  hues  of  a  heated 

^  In  his  last  ed.  Jebb  rejects  the  conjecture  kottIs  and  restores  k6vis 
of  the  MSS. 
^  With  the  reading  of  the  MSS.  k6vi.s,  not  the  conjecture  kottLs. 
^  Lord  Tennyson  has  a  similar  expression  in  the  '  Sailor  Boy ' : — 
*  A  devil  rises  in  my  heart 
Far  worse  than  any  death  to  me.' 


78  SOPHOCLES 

fancy.  The  ray  of  hope  is  figured  as  a  gleam  of 
light  above  a  plant.  A  word  is  applied  to  the  ray 
of  hope  which  is  strictly  suitable  only  to  the  plant. 
It  is  said  to  be  '  cut  down.'  By  what  ?  By  the  act 
of  Antigone — the  dust  cast  on  her  brother's  blood- 
stained corse,  her  wild  words  of  defiance  to  Creon, 
and  the  desperate  resolve  which  upheld  her.  But,  as 
the  hope  is  said  to  be  '  cut  down,'  the  editors,  with 
hardly  an  exception,  demand  something  which  cuts. 
They  regard  k6pl(},  '  dust,'  as  an  error,  and  read 
instead  of  it  /cott/?,  '  a  cleaver '  or  '  chopper.'  This 
change,  in  our  mind,  takes  away  a  great  deal  of  the 
sublimity  of  the  passage,  if  indeed  it  does  not  rob  it 
of  dignity  altogether,  and  still  leaves  behind  a  con- 
fusion of  metaphor,  for  a  light  would  naturally  be 
said  to  be  hidden,  or  extinguished,  rather  than 
'  mowed  down.'  We  do  not  think  that  confusion  of 
metaphor  is  alien  from  Greek  lyric  poetry,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  quite  characteristic  of  it,  conspicuously 
so  in  the  hands  of  Pindar  and  Aeschylus,  from  whom 
it  would  be  easy  to  cite  metaphors  as  mixed  as  that 
which  we  are  now  considering.  Of  course  the  ques- 
tion how  far  such  a  licence  in  the  use  of  language 
may  fitly  be  carried,  must  be  decided  in  each  case 
by  an  appeal  to  the  critic's  taste  and  sense  of  fitness. 
Here  the  indistinctness  of  the  imagery  seems  to  us 
to  be  quite  in  keeping  with  the  mood  of  the  Chorus. 
But  the  conjecture,  kottls,  is  in  itself  objectionable. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  passages  where  the  word 
occurs  to  show  that  it  was  not  a  homely  weapon, 
such  as  '  a  cleaver '  or  '  a  chopper,'  or  at  best  '  a  bill,' 
and  we  do  not  know  that  this  word  would  not  have 
sounded  to  Attic  ears  almost  ludicrous  in  a  highly- 


SOPHOCLES  79 

wrought  passage  like  this.^  The  poetical  aspirant  in 
Lewis  Carroll's  poem  was  grieved  when  told  that 
there  was  some  hidden  want  in 

'  The  wild  man  went  his  weary  way 
To  a  sad  and  lonely  pump.' 

We  are  not  satisfied  that  a  Koiriq  is  not  as  alien  from 
dignified  poetry  as  a  pump.  If  this  were  so,  we 
could  hardly  over-estimate  the  havoc  which  such  a 
word  would  work  in  a  lyrical  passage  of  a  very 
elevated  tone.  Let  us  think  what  would  be  the 
effect  of  the  substitution  of  chopper  for  axe  in  Andrew 
Marvell's  fine  description  of  the  demeanour  of 
Charles  I.  on  the  scaffold  : 

'  He  nothing  common  did  or  mean 
Upon  that  memorable  scene, 
But  with  his  keener  eye 
The  axe's  edge  did  try.' 

It  is  possible  that  the  introduction  of  Koiziq  into  the 
wail  of  the  Chorus  might  be  even  more  fatal  to  the 
effect — as  fatal  as  if  Macbeth  should  cry, 

'  The  beer  of  Life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of;' 

or  Swinburne  should  apostrophise  '  Dolores '  as 

*  Young,  but  with  fancies  as  hoary 
And  grey  as  a  badger? 

Plainly,  then,  the  admissibility  of  Koirlq  as  a  con- 
jectural emendation  turns  on  the  question  whether  it 
can  be  proved  to  be  a  dignified  expression — a  word 
with  the  connotation  of  axe  rather  than  chopper^  or  even 
snickersnee.     We  cannot  find  any  really  trustworthy 

^ A  like  objection  maybe  urged  against  ixbdwv,  a  conjecture  which  has 
ousted  v6du}v  of  the  MSS.  in  Eur.  '  Bacch.'  1060. 


8o  SOPHOCLES 

credentials  for  the  word  in  any  commentary  on  this 
passage.  It  is  common  as  a  kitchen  utensil,  and 
gave  its  name  to  the  Helots'  Festival  at  Sparta.  In 
Euripides  ('  Electra/  8  lo  ff.)  a  sacrifice  is  described,  in 
which  Aegisthus  slays  the  victim  with  a  knife  (orcpayLg)^ 
then  Orestes  asks  for  a  cleaver  or  chopper  (/cott/?)  to 
cut  open  the  brisket.  Plutarch  tells  us  that  Demos- 
thenes used  to  call  Phocion  ^  roov  cjulcov  Xoycov  kottIs. 
This  is  usually  translated  '  the  pruner  of  my  periods.' 
But  such  a  rendering  is  quite  erroneous.  The  word 
does  not  mean  a  *  pruning-knife,'  which  is  Speiravov 
(Plat.  '  Rep.'  i.  353) ;  and,  if  it  did,  no  word  could  be 
more  inapplicable  to  the  oratory  of  Demosthenes, 
who  beyond  all  orators,  past  or  present,  is  absolutely 
free  from  redundancy,  and  never  admits  of  pruning. 
It  is  indeed  the  chasteness  of  the  eloquence  of 
Demosthenes  which  often  conceals  from  the  modern 
reader  his  greatness  as  an  orator.  What  Demos- 
thenes meant  when  he  called  Phocion  '  the  /cott/?  of 
his  arguments,'  was  that  the  plain  matter-of-fact 
common  sense  of  Phocion  often  gave  a  *  knock-down 
blow'  to  his  own  arguments  and  appeals,  which 
would  easily  have  withstood  the  assaults  of  the 
sophistry  and  vulgar  rhetoric  of  his  ether  opponents. 
It  is  not  so  long  since  Lord  Palmerston — straw  in 
mouth,  and  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of  his  waistcoat 
— used  to  direct  a  douche  of  common  sense  on  the 
fires  of  Parliamentary  rhetoric.  Such  a  speaker  was 
Phocion,  and  the  cleaver  of  his  home-spun  mother- 
wit  was  more  formidable  than  the  flaming  sword  of 
eloquence  or  the  nimble  rapier  of  dialectics. 

The  ancients  are  far  less  prone  than  the  moderns 
to   beat  out    the    gold   of   fancy  into    a    thin    leaf. 


SOPHOCLES  8i 

Shakspeare,  it  is  true,  will  compress  into  an  epithet 
the  materials  for  a  sonnet,  as  when  Lear  says, '  Down, 
thou  climbing  sorrow.'  But  his  successors  are  not 
so  lavish,  and  make  their  material  go  further. 
Moore  diffuses  into  four  lines  what  Sophocles  packs 
into  one  word,  TroXvTrXayKTog,  '  flitting  ' : — 

'  Has  Hope,  like  the  bird  in  the  story, 

That  flitted  from  tree  to  tree 
With  the  talisman's  glittering  glory. 
Has  Hope  been  that  bird  to  thee  ?' 

Aeschylus  is  contented  merely  to  allude  in  a  word  ^ 
to  the  '  sullen  seclusion '  which  seems  to  give  per- 
sonality and  volition  to  the  lonely  peak.  Tennyson 
in  the  '  Talking  Oak,'  and  Horace  in  one  of  his 
'  Odes,'  devote  a  couple  of  verses  to  the  expression 
of  a  thought  which  Sophocles  conveys  in  one 
epithet,  '  colt-like  (diJiLiriro^)  o'er  the  steep  hill,'  when 
he  gives  us  ('Ant.'  985  ff.)  that  wonderful  little 
vignette  of  the  daughter  of  Boreas  who  was  nursed 
in  a  cave  remote  amid  the  storms  of  her  sire,  and 
yet  Fate  found  her  out,  and  prevailed  against  her, 
and  made  her  a  hapless  and  scorned  wife,  and  mother 
of  a  persecuted  brood. 

To  put  aside  the  scores  of  places  in  which  Jebb 
has  "xercised  perfect  judgment  in  embodying  in 
his  teX*-  the  suggestions  of  other  scholars,  and  to 
choose  among  his  own  only  those  which  are  at  the 
same  time  most  striking  and  most  certain,  we  would 
point  especially  to  'Oedipus  Rex,'  1218,  where  his 
brilliant  emendation  ^  must,  in  our  opinion,  supersede 
all  other  attempts  to  restore  the  text ;  and  to  '  Oed. 

'^oib<pp<av.     ('Supplices,'  795.) 

^  iba-irep  IdXe/xov  x^^^  ^or  u>s  vepiaWa  (or  ireplaXa)  iaxiuv. 


82  SOPHOCLES 

Col.'  541,  where  by  a  very  slight  modification  of  the 
reading  of  the  manuscripts  -^  he  has  set  right  a  most 
perplexing  passage,  and  restored  beyond  all  reason- 
able doubt  the  very  words  of  the  poet.  We  would 
also  express  our  conviction  that  he  has  completely 
solved  the  problem  presented  by  '  Oed.  R.'  622-627, 
by  that  very  slight  change  of  orav  to  w?  aV,  and  by 
dividing  the  lines  differently  between  Oedipus  and 
Creon.  This,  indeed,  involves  the  hypothesis  that  a 
line  has  fallen  out  in  the  passage,  but  it  provides 
connexion  for  the  thought  and  construction  for  the 
language.  The  ordinary  view  of  the  passage,  we 
may  say,  dispenses  with  a  construction  ;  for  who  will 
grant  that  words  which  mean  '  what  kind  of  thing 
envy  is,'  ^  can  be  rendered  as  if  they  meant  '  what  is 
the  nature  of  your  grudge  against  me  '  ?  We  would 
suggest  that  the  verse  which  fell  out  may  have  been 
very  similar  in  form  to  the  preceding  verse,  which 
would,  of  course,  increase  the  chance  of  its  being 
omitted  by  the  copyists.      It  might  have  run 

ov\  ix)(t6^  v7reLK€Lv  /x'  ovSe  TTLO-TeveLV  Aeyets. 
('Thou  lead'st  me  not  to  yield  or  to  believe.) 

The  question  of  Creon  which  precedes  the  lost  verse  is 

(OS  ovx  VTret^cov  ovSe  Trio-reucrwv  Aeyets  ; 
('  Speak'st  thou  as  one  who'll  yield  not  nor  believe.'^') 

His  other  valuable  contributions  to  the   settling  of 

^  iir<jO(pe\'^aas  for  i-rrwcp^X-qaa.  He  shows  that  in  wishes  the  Greek 
idiom  does  not  demand  a  finite  verb,  or,  in  other  words,  that  the  wish 
may  be  expressed  in  the  infinitive  depending  on  some  such  word  as 
&(pe\op,  understood.  Such  an  infinitive  is  e^eXiadai  in  this  passage. 
The  corruption  arose  from  a  misapprehension,  natural  in  the  copyists, 
of  this  nicety  of  Greek  idiom. 

*  ql6v  icrri  t6  <})dovelp, 


SOPHOCLES  83 

the  text  of  these  plays  would  more  appropriately 
find  mention  in  a  periodical  devoted  especially  to 
recording  the  progress  made  in  classical  studies. 
Several  of  these  seem  certain  to  us,  some  even  of 
those  to  which  he  has  denied  a  place  in  the  text, 
contenting  himself  with  a  modest  mention  of  them  in 
the  notes.^ 

When  these  criticisms  originally  appeared  as  an 
article  in  the  Quarterly  Review  (No.  340,  April, 
1890)  only  the  three  Theban  plays  had  appeared. 
They  are  far  richer  than  the  other  four  plays  in 
interesting  problems  for  the  student  of  psychology 
and  of  criticism.  However,  in  the  latter,  we  would 
recommend  to  our  readers  Jebb's  analysis  of  the 
character  of  Deianira  in  the  *  Trachiniae,'  especially  as 
regards  her  scene  with  Lichas,  where  he  completely 
rebuts  the  view  of  La  Harpe  and  others  that  she  is 
artfully  concealing  her  jealousy  ;  his  comparison  of 
the  '  Electra '  with  the  play  of  the  same  name  by 
Euripides  and  the  '  Choephori '  of  Aeschylus;  and 
his  remarks  on  the  introduction  of  Neoptolemus  into 
the  *  Philostratus  '  and  the  episode  of  the  merchant  in 
that  play.  It  is  curious  to  observe  how  the  burial 
rite  (which  engrosses  more  than  a  third  part  of  the 
'  Ajax  '  and  is  the  keynote  of  the  '  Antigone ')  takes 
the  place  of  the  marriage  tie  in  modern  romantic 
drama,  as  engaging  the  attention  and  interest  of  the 
spectators.  The  heroine's  '  marriage-lines '  in  the 
modern  drama  do  not  play  a  more  important  part 

^  E.g.  fiovdda  for  vofidda,  (*  Oed.  Rex,'  1350),  dyr)d-ns  for  citJ^t/s 
{*Trach.'  869),  ttJs  ^tt'  dXXois  for  rets  diraLbas  {ib.  91 1).  To  the  last  he 
accorded  a  place  in  his  edition  of  Text  and  critical  notes  (Cambridge, 
1897). 


84  SOPHOCLES 

than  the  handful  of  earth  cast  on  the  corse  of 
Polynices,  and  the  question  whether  Ajax  is  to  be 
buried  or  not. 

We  have,  unquestionably,  in  this  edition  of 
Sophocles,  a  splendid  example  of  the  work  which 
can  be  done  by  the  English  school  of  classics  at 
its  best.  The  combination  in  one  person  of  such 
scholarship,  literary  excellence,  and  critical  refine- 
ment must  always  be  rare;  but  we  hope  that  English 
scholars  will  keep  Prof.  Jebb's  work  before  their  eyes 
as  an  ideal  to  be  aimed  at,  and  as  a  model  of  what 
the  editing  of  the  classics  in  England  ought  to  be. 


THE  NEW  PAPYRI. 

The  nineteenth  century  has  been  rich  in  important 
additions  to  our  store  of  classical  knowledge.  In 
1 8 1  5  Niebuhr  found  a  palimpsest  in  the  Library  of 
the  Chapter  at  Verona  containing  a  copy  of  the 
Epistles  of  St.  Jerome ;  under  this  writing  he 
deciphered  the  text  of  the  Institutes  of  Gaius,  and 
thus  immensely  enhanced  the  value  of  what  is  per- 
haps Rome's  greatest  bequest  to  us,  her  system  of 
jurisprudence  and  law.  Shortly  afterwards,  the  dis- 
covery of  a  great  part  of  Cicero's  treatise  '  De 
Republica,'  by  Cardinal  Mai,  in  a  Vatican  palimpsest, 
supplied  a  further  proof  of  the  matchless  powers  of 
the  great  Roman  orator  in  every  department  of 
literary  achievement,  and  contributed  not  a  few 
choice  blossoms  to  a  future  florilegium  of  the  wit 
and  wisdom  of  Cicero.  Hardly  had  this  precious 
piece  of  flotsam  from  the  sea  of  time  received  the 
last  polish  from  the  hands  of  scholarship,  before  the 
four  now  famous  orations  of  Hyperides,  existing 
piecemeal  in  papyri,  purchased  by  Mr.  Harris 
Warden  and  Mr.  Stobart  at  Thebes  in  Egypt  about 
1850,  created  for  us  a  new  figure  in  literature. 
Hyperides  had  hitherto  been  but  a  name  in  lists  and 
lexicons  like  those  of  Harpocration  and  Pollux,  ever 

85 


86  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

since  the  loss  or  destruction  in  the  capture  of  Buda 
Pesth  by  the  Turks  of  the  codex  of  Hyperides, 
which  had  been  the  ornament  of  the  library  of  the 
King  of  Hungary.  Quite  recently  large  additions 
to  his  remains  have  been  made  by  the  papyri  of  the 
Archduke  Rainer.  This  acquisition  was  soon  suc- 
ceeded by  one  which  was  in  some  respects  even 
more  interesting,  the  papyrus  fragment  of  three  pages 
containing  a  portion  of  Alcman's  marvellous  old 
hymn  to  the  Dioscuri,  with  its  strange  laconisms, 
and  its  curious  companion  pictures  of  Agido  and 
Hagesichora.  It  was  found  by  M.  Marietti  in  1855 
in  a  tomb  near  the  second  pyramid  ;  it  is  quite 
unique  among  Greek  poems  in  its  tone  and  style, 
and  affords  a  new  and  amazing  proof  of  the  myriad- 
minded  versatility  of  ancient  Hellas.^ 

A  century  rich  in  real  literary  gains  is  naturally 
also  fertile  of  forgeries,  and  some  of  these  have  had  a 
temporary  success.  As  Ireland's  fictitious  plays  of 
Shakspeare  imposed  on  Garrick,  who  actually  put 
'  Shakspeare's  Vortigern  '  on  the  stage,  so  the  sham- 
antique  ballads  of  Surtees  took  in  even  the  great 
master  of  ballad  lore  and  maker  of  ballad  poetry,  the 
inimitable  Sir  Walter  Scott  himself — a  fact  which 
can  only  be  put  beside  Scaliger's  belief  in  the 
genuineness  of  two  comic  Latin  fragments  of  great 
alleged  antiquity,  submitted  to  him  by  Muretus,  who 
himself  had  written  them.  Ever  since  Onomacritus 
wrote  the  poems  of  Orpheus,  the  literary  forger  has 
been  from  time  to  time  at  work  ;  but  in  recent  ages 
he  has  not  been  so  successful  as  those  artists  whom 

^  It  is  printed  in  the  fourth  edition  of  Bergk's  '  Poetae  Lyrici  Graeci,' 
vol.  iii.  pp.  30-45. 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  87 

some  supposed  to  have  fabricated  the  Homeric  poems 
under  Pericles.  The  Rowley  MSS.  of  Chatterton 
and  the  Ossian  of  Macpherson,  though  they  had 
many  enthusiastic  believers  in  their  authenticity,  had 
however  only  a  temporary  triumph  ;  and  quite  re- 
cently the  Greek  Simonides  and  the  Jew  Shapira 
have  failed  egregiously  in  their  attempts  to  impose 
their  sham  antiques  on  the  learned  world.  We  shall 
again  have  occasion  to  refer  briefly  to  the  Shapira 
MSS.,  to  point  out  the  characteristic  notes  of  dis- 
ingenuousness  which  marked  the  manner  in  which 
they  were  presented  to  the  public,  and  to  put  before 
our  readers,  by  way  of  contrast,  the  history,  so  far 
as  we  know  it,  of  the  leaves  which  contain  the 
'  Constitution  of  Athens,'  and  which  certainly  are 
not  a  modern  forgery.  We  may  here  remark  that 
the  tendency  of  modern  literary  criticism  is  towards 
undue  scepticism  about  the  monuments  of  antiquity 
which  we  possess,  rather  than  too  great  readiness  to 
accept  fabricated  imitations  of  them  as  genuine. 
The  Germans  are  leaving  no  nook  in  Helicon  un- 
rifled  in  their  wild  chase  of  the  '  Unecht'  The 
method  of  Wolfs  Prolegomena  has  fascinated  his 
countrymen.  Kirchhoff  has  dissected  the  Odyssey^ 
as  Wolf  the  Iliad,  and  Fick  has  rewritten  it  in  its 
'  original  Aeolic'  It  has  been  attempted  to  show 
that  the  *  De  Corona '  is  an  awkward  fusion  of  two 
different  speeches  written  on  two  different  occasions, 
and  on  two  incompatible  plans.  Thucydides,  Plato, 
and  Xenophon  have  been  treated  in  the  same  way 
— unskilful  patchwork  all.  Quite  recently  a  book 
was  written  to  show  that  the  '  Annals  '  of  Tacitus 
had  for  their  author  Poggio  Bracciolini,  and  indeed 


88  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

we  are  approaching  the  paradox  of  Hardouin,  who 
maintained  that  all  the  classics  except  a  very  few^ 
were  written  by  a  committee  of  scholars  under 
Severus  Archontius  in  the  thirteenth  century. 

The  scholar's  dream  of  literary  treasure-trove  used 
to  carry  him  to  the  palaces  of  Turkey,  the  monas- 
teries of  Macedonia,  or  the  temples  of  Asia  Minor  ; 
but  of  late  Africa  has  been  asserting  her  claim  to  her 
old  reputation  of  being  the  constant  source  of  sur- 
prises. Egyptian  papyri  have  been  the  vehicle  of 
most  of  our  recent  acquisitions,  and  bid  fair  to  yield 
a  further  and  still  more  abundant  harvest.  Dr. 
Flinders  Petrie  has  recently  exhumed  a  great  pile  of 
mummy-cases  at  Gurob  in  the  Fayoum.  These 
contain  quantities  of  waste  paper  stuffed  into  the 
interstices  between  the  thin  planks  or  strips  of  wood 
which  form  the  walls  of  the  cases,  apparently  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  to  them  a  greater  appearance  of 
solidity,  and  of  enabling  the  carpenter  to  economise 
his  timber.  Among  these  bundles  of  waste  paper 
have  been  lying  for  centuries  parts  of  old  MSS.  of 
Plato's  '  Phaedo '  and  of  the  '  Antiope '  of  Euripides. 
Dr.  Mahaffy  has  succeeded  in  eliciting  from  these 
papyri  some  new  fragments  of  a  play  very  celebrated 
in  antiquity.  He  has  published  them  in  the  Dublin 
'  Hermathena,'  and  in  the  Transactions  of  the  Royal 
Irish  Academy.  The  preliminary  labours  of  de- 
ciphering, involving,  no  doubt,  frequent  appeals  to 
the  art  of  emendation,  have  been  skilfully  performed 
by    Dr.    Mahaffy    and    Dr.    Sayce,    and    have    been 

^  We  believe  the  exceptions  were  Homer,  Herodotus,  Cicero,  Pliny, 
Virgil  (*  Georgics'),  Horace  (*  Satires'  and  '  Epistles  '). 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  89 

supplemented  by  the  critical  sagacity  of  Mr.  (now 
Professor)  Bury,  who  has  made  many  excellent 
corrections  in  the  text.  The  fragment  which 
probably  came  first  in  the  play  contains  a  speech 
in  which  one  of  the  sons  of  Antiope  encourages 
his  mother,  and  bids  her  not  to  fear  the  approach 
of  her  uncle,  the  tyrant  Lycus  :  '  Surely,'  he  urges, 
'  if  Zeus  is  our  father,  as  you  say,  he  will  deliver 
us  in  the  hour  of  peril  ;  the  time  for  escape  is  past, 
the  fresh  blood  of  Dirce  (wife  of  Lycus,  whom 
they  had  slain)  will  convict  us  of  her  murder ;  we 
must  do  or  die  ;  we  must  slay  the  tyrant'  The 
leaf  ends  with  the  entrance  of  Lycus  on  the  stage, 
but  his  speech  is  quite  fragmentary.  The  only 
other  portion  of  the  MS.  which  is  continuously 
legible  presents  to  us  Lycus  a  captive  in  the  hands 
of  his  sons,  and  about  to  be  slain  by  them,  when 
Hermes  appears  as  '  Deus  ex  machina,'  and  forbids 
the  death  of  Lycus,  whom  he  commands  to  hand 
over  the  sceptre  to  Amphion.  This,  as  we  know 
from  the  argument  given  by  Hyginus,  was  the  con- 
cluding scene  of  the  play,  and  there  is  no  doubt 
whatever  that  Dr.  Flinders  Petrie  has  become 
possessed  of  some  new  and  genuine  portions  of  a 
lost  play  of  Euripides,  which  the  affected  phrase  of 
Persius, 

*  Antiope  aerumnis  cor  luctificabile  fulta,' 

would  alone  show  to  have  been  most  pathetic,  and 
to  have  been  admired  as  such  by  the  ancient  world. 
But  the  newly-acquired  portions  of  the  play  have  very 
little  interest  except  of  an  antiquarian  kind,  and 
contrast  badly  with  the  fragments  of  the  *  Antiope/ 


90  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

already  known  and  published.  Naturally  too  :  for 
nearly  all  the  latter  have  owed  their  preservation 
either  to  the  thought  they  conveyed,  or  the  beauty 
of  the  language  in  which  it  was  expressed,  and  have 
come  down  to  us  from  Plato  or  Stobaeus  ;  whereas 
the  recently  found  verses  are  indebted  for  their 
survival  to  the  merest  chance,  and  do  not  happen  to 
contain  any  of  the  characteristic  excellences  of  the 
poetry  of  Euripides,  hardly  indeed  a  thought  or 
expression  which  deserved  to  survive.  We  would 
give  all  the  speeches  of  a  '  Deus  ex  machina '  in 
Euripides  for  that  one  so  Euripidean  half-line  which 
the  taste  of  Stobaeus  has  preserved  for  us  from  this 
very  play, 

KipSos  iv  KttKots  ayi/ojcTia, 

a  pregnant  anticipation  of  Gray's  touching  couplet, 
now  one  of  our  household  words, 

'  Where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'Tis  folly  to  be  wise.' 

Dr.  Mahaffy,  perhaps  feeling  this,  rests  on  its  great 
antiquity  the  claim  of  the  MS.  on  our  attention  : — 

'  The  papers  found  along  with  these  remains  of  Euripides' 
famous  play  are  dated  in  the  early  years  of  Ptolemy  III.,  viz. 
before  230  B.C.  As  we  have  found  no  dates  later  than  this  reign 
in  any  of  the  cases,  it  is  extremely  improbable  that  the  present 
literary  fragments  can  be  more  recent ;  nay  rather,,  the  natural 
inference  that  a  play  of  Euripides  would  take  longer  than 
ephemeral  documents  would  to  turn  into  waste  paper  is  strongly 
corroborated  by  the  character  of  the  writing.  From  a  palaeo- 
graphical  point  of  view  the  hand  is  very  old,  possibly  generations 
older  than  the  company  in  which  it  was  found.' 

But  we  cannot  share  the  confidence  with  which  Dr. 
Mahaffy  claims  such  an  enormous  antiquity  for  the 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  91 

codex.  At  least  we  cannot  admit  the  cogency  of 
the  reasoning  by  which  he  seeks  to  establish  his 
opinion.  The  papers  found  in  the  mummy-cases 
along  with  the  Euripidean  fragments  are  very  numer- 
ous, and  are  all  of  the  same  kind, — wills,  agreements, 
receipts,  leases,  copies  of  statutes  and  decrees  referring 
to  rating  and  taxation  ;  in  a  word,  documents  dealing 
with  property  and  business  transactions.  Mr.  Sayce 
has  given  specimens  of  them  in  the  same  number  of 
'  Hermathena.'  Now  it  seems  to  us  that  nothing  is 
more  likely  than  that  these  documents  once  formed 
the  contents  of  some  Registry  of  Deeds,  which  at 
last  got  rid  of  the  portions  of  its  stock  which  had 
become  useless,  by  selling  them  as  waste  paper,  or 
perhaps  by  throwing  them  away.  Such  documents 
as  these  are  precisely  those  which  retain  longest  a 
right  to  be  preserved.  We  are  far  from  admitting 
that  the  natural  inference  is  that  a  play  of  Euripides 
would  take  longer  than  these  papers,  which  Dr. 
Mahaffy  strangely  calls  ephemeral,  to  turn  into  waste 
paper.  On  the  contrary,  we  think  that  many  years, 
perhaps  hundreds  of  years,  might  elapse  before  the 
officials  of  a  public  Registry  of  Deeds  would  hold 
the  instruments  deposited  with  them  to  be  so  worth- 
less as  to  justify  them  in  throwing  them  away. 
They  may  have  lain  in  the  Registry  for  hundreds 
of  years  after  they  were  deposited  there,  and  then 
at  last  have  become  waste  paper.  Then  it  was  that 
the  old  wills  and  deeds  became  mixed  with  the 
rubbish  of  a  far  later  age,  and  helped  a  mutilated 
copy  of  the  '  Antiope '  and  of  some  dialogues  of 
Plato  to  impart  an  appearance  of  solidity  to  a  jerry- 
mandered coffin.     These  fragments  must  of  course  be 


92 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI 


very  old,  but  they  are  not  necessarily  older  than,  for 
instance,  the  treatise  on  the  *  Constitution  of  Athens  ' ; 
at  least  the  arguments  in  support  of  the  great 
antiquity  which  Dr.  Mahaffy  claims  for  them  must  be 
drawn  from  the  character  of  the  handwriting  alone. 

But  even  if  the  Petrie  papyri  had  all  the  antiquity 
claimed  for  them,  and  a  great  deal  more  interesting 
contents,  they  would  still  have  been  completely  eclipsed 
by  the  extraordinary  '  find '  of  the  British  Museum. 
Whether  the  treatise  on  the  '  Athenian  Constitution  ' 
is  by  Aristotle  or  not,  is  perhaps  to  scholars  the 
most  important  question  connected  with  it,  and  will 
afterwards  be  considered  carefully ;  but  even  if  we 
put  the  questions  of  age  and  authorship  aside,  the 
discovery  is  full  of  interest  and  importance.  It  is  a 
singular,  and  even  unique  incident,  that  some  un- 
known scholar  living  in  Egypt  in  the  time  of 
Vespasian  should  have  copied,  or  employed  persons 
to  copy,  on  the  back  of  a  farm  bailiff's  accounts,  the 
remains  of  what  he  believed  to  be  the  treatise  of 
Aristotle  so  often  quoted  and  so  widely  celebrated, 
and  that  that  MS.  should  have  escaped  all  notice 
until  towards  the  end  of  the  nineteenth  century  it 
came  into  the  hands  of  the  authorities  of  the  British 
Museum,  and  was  by  them  deciphered,  printed  and 
published.  These  authorities  have  not  thought  it 
wise  to  give  us  any  information  as  to  the  person  or 
persons  from  whom  the  MS.  has  been  obtained,  or 
the  place  where  it  has  been  preserved.  We  believe, 
however,  that  their  reticence  is  a  good  sign,  and 
that  it  arises  from  a  conviction  on  their  part  that  the 
same  source  is  likely  to  yield  more  treasures,  and  a 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  93 

desire  not  to  attract  rival  bidders  or  encourage  dis- 
honest manufacture.  For  all  we  know  they  have 
been  obliged  to  be  a  little  lax  in  their  interpretation 
of  certain  Khedival  laws,  and  have  felt  themselves 
constrained  to  give  ear  to  the  crafty  counsel  of 
Ulysses  to  Neoptolemus,  and  to  lend  themselves 
to  frowardness  for  a  brief  space,  with  an  intention  of 
ultimately  becoming  the  most  upright  of  mortals. 
However  this  may  be,  we  are  certainly  disposed  to 
act  on  the  old  Leonine  precept,  '  Si  quis  det  mannos, 
ne  quaeras  dentibus  annos '  :  we  will  not  look  a  gift 
horse  in  the  mouth,  nor  ask  whence  it  came  ;  nor 
will  we  make  much  lament  over  certain  errors  in  the 
editing  hereinafter  to  be  pointed  out.  We  will  at 
once  express  our  hearty  sense  of  gratitude  to  the 
authorities  of  the  British  Museum  for  their  splendid 
gift  to  the  world  of  learning,  and  our  admiration  for 
the  patience  and  skill  which  enabled  them  to 
decipher  a  MS.  of  extraordinary  difficulty.  Com- 
mendation, moreover,  is  due  to  the  insight  of  the 
editor,  Dr.  Kenyon,  into  historical  questions,  and 
to  his  lucid  exposition  of  the  evidence  in  each  case. 
His  weakness  is  that  he  ascribes  some  impossible 
forms  to  the  Greek  text  of  the  papyrus,  but  he  has 
shown  himself  capable  of  ably  handling  questions 
connected  with  history  and  archaeology. 

That  the  treatise  is  not  a  modern  forgery  is,  as 
we  have  said,  certain.  All  the  notes  of  modern 
forgery  are  absent.  An  artist  who  had  the  skill 
to  execute  such  a  MS.  would  have  hawked  his  wares 
all  over  the  Continent,  to  find  out  where  he  could 
get  the  highest  price,  and  would  have  made  the 
learned  world  ring  with  his  name.      Shaplra  carried 


94  THE  NEW  PAPYRI 

his  forged  text  of  Deuteronomy  to  Beyrout,  to 
Leipsic,  all  over  the  Continent,  and  finally  to  Berlin, 
before  he  approached  the  British  Museum.  He 
told  in  detail  the  way  in  which  he  became  possessed 
of  his  MS.,  how  a  sheikh  had  informed  him  that 
some  Arabs  had  little  pieces  of  black  writing  which 
they  believed  to  be  amulets,  and  how  he  had  by  a 
lucky  chance  secured  a  small  residue  of  them.  Above 
all,  he  demanded  for  his  invaluable  MS.  the  sum 
of  one  million  sterling.  And  with  all  his  craft  he 
did  not  impose  on  the  sava^tts  of  the  British  Museum. 
It  is  true  that  their  verdict  was  forestalled  by  the 
ingenious  Frenchman,  M.  Clermont-Ganneau,  who 
had  proved  the  fictitious  character  of  the  codex 
before  Dr.  Ginsburg  made  his  report.  But  there  is 
no  reason  to  doubt  that  they  would  have  detected 
Shapira's  forgery  without  the  help  of  M.  Clermont- 
Ganneau,  though  the  French  press  at  the  time 
showed  a  disposition  to  crow  over  us  as  if  we  had 
only  followed  the  lead  of  their  countryman,  and  over 
the  Germans  for  having  spent  some  years  before 
18,000  thalers  on  the  purchase  from  the  same 
Shapira  of  some  Moabite  pottery  which  the  same 
savant,  M.  Clermont-Ganneau,  demonstrated  to  be 
spurious. 

The  text  of  the  '  Constitution  of  Athens  '  is  written 
on  the  verso  of  the  papyrus  ;  that  is,  on  the  reverse 
side,  on  which  the  fibres  of  the  papyrus  run  per- 
pendicularly. On  the  recto  are  the  accounts  of  a 
farm  bailiff,  of  which  a  specimen  is  given  in  the 
facsimile,  and  they  bear  date  of  the  eleventh  year 
of  Vespasian,  that  is,  78-79  A.D.  As  these  are 
private  accounts  they  would  probably  have  perished 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  95 

within  twenty  years  at  most,  but  for  the  chance 
which  made  our  unknown  benefactor  use  their 
reverse  side  for  the  reception  of  what  he  believed 
to  be  the  famous  tract  of  Aristotle. 

The  writing  on  the  verso  has  marked  points  of 
similarity  to  that  on  the  recto^  and  we  may  safely 
ascribe  the  MS.  to  the  end  of  the  first  century  A.D. 
or  the  beginning  of  the  second.  Almost  every  one 
of  the  existing  fragments  quoted  by  Greek  writers  of 
the  early  Christian  centuries  as  coming  from  '  Aris- 
totle on  the  Constitution  of  Athens,'  or  presumably 
belonging  to  such  a  work,  are  either  found  in  our 
MS.,  or  are  to  be  referred  to  the  lost  portions  of 
it,  for  the  beginning  has  not  come  down  to  us, 
and  the  end  is  much  mutilated.  The  owner  of  the 
MS.  was  not  in  possession  of  the  beginning  of  the 
tract,  and  left  a  blank  space  for  it  in  his  copy,  in 
hopes  that  some  lucky  chance  might  supply  it. 
Four  scribes  were  employed.  The  first,  third,  and 
fourth  hands  are  semi-cursive,  and  very  difficult  to 
decipher ;  the  second,  which  goes  from  the  thirteenth 
column  to  the  middle  of  the  twentieth,  is  uncial,  and 
is  not  quite  so  obscure. 

The  work  falls  into  two  divisions.  In  the  first, 
which  runs  to  the  end  of  c.  41,  our  author  gives  a 
rapid  survey  of  Athenian  constitutional  history  from 
the  mythical  establishment  of  Ion  down  to  the 
restoration  of  the  democracy  in  the  archonship  of 
Euclides,  after  the  overthrow  of  the  Thirty  Tyrants. 
The  second  gives  a  list  of  the  various  magistrates  of 
Athens  and  their  duties.  Much  of  the  second  section 
is  lost ;  but  as  the  later  grammarians,  especially 
Pollux  and   Harpocration,  used   it  very  largely,  our 


96  THE  NEW  PAPYRI 

knowledge  of  its  contents  is  already  considerable. 
The  surviving  portion  of  the  work  opens  at  the  con- 
clusion of  the  narrative  of  the  conspiracy  of  Cylon, 
and  the  purification  of  the  city  by  Epimenides  of 
Crete.  It  plunges  us  at  once  into  a  historical  dis- 
cussion, by  making  the  attempt  of  Cylon  prior  to 
the  legislation  of  Draco,  while  Plutarch  brings  Cylon 
and  Epimenides  into  the  epoch  of  Solon.  Mr. 
Kenyon,  in  an  excellent  note,  gives  reasons  for 
preferring  the  new  chronology,  but  fails  to  draw 
the  natural  conclusion  (which  we  shall  afterwards 
examine)  that  this  was  not  the  edition  of  the  *  Con- 
stitution of  Athens '  which  Plutarch  read. 

The  development  of  the  constitutional  history  is 
then  pursued.  According  to  our  author,  the  people 
were  in  a  state  of  slavery  up  to  the  time  of  Solon, 
and  it  was  economic  not  political  grievances  that 
both  Draco  and  he  were  called  upon  to  redress. 
The  pressure  of  debt  had  reduced  the  poorer  classes 
to  a  state  of  serfdom.  Before  Draco  the  offices 
were  elective,  and  were  retained  for  life.  The 
account  of  the  origin  of  the  Archons  is  quite  new. 
The  ofifice  of  Polemarch  existed  under  the  Kings  ; 
the  Archon  came  into  existence  under  the  Medontid 
dynasty,  and  was  inferior  in  position  both  to  the 
King  and  the  Polemarch.  The  monarchy  was,  in 
fact,  delegated  to  a  board  of  three,  and  the  name 
King  was  for  a  long  time  the  title  of  one  of  them, 
probably  until  the  decennial  tenure  of  the  ofifice  was 
introduced.  After  that  epoch  the  term  was  only 
retained  for  a  sacrificial  function,  and  the  magistrate 
bearing  it  took  rank  below  the  Archon.  Up  to  the 
time  of  Solon  the  Archons  had  only  one  court ;  but 


THE   NEW  PAPYRI  97 

when  their  number  was  raised  to  nine,  the  Archon, 
the  King,  and  the  Polemarch  had  each  a  separate 
court,  while  the  six  Thesmothetae  together  occupied 
another.^ 

The  Areopagus  is  here  said  to  have  existed  before 
Draco,  though  the  account  of  the  Solonian  constitu- 
tion in  the  '  Politics '  of  Aristotle  (ii.  12)  seems  to 
imply  that  it  was  an  institution  of  Solon,  a  view 
which  Plutarch  combats  in  his  'Solon'  (c.  10), 
without,  however,  appealing  to  the  '  Constitution  of 
Athens '  in  support  of  his  opinion,  as  he  certainly 
would  have  done,  if  he  had  had  our  treatise  before 
him.  It  was  very  powerful,  being  recruited  from  ex- 
Archons,  and  exercising  control  over  all  the  offices  of 
the  State.  Draco  was  not  merely  a  jurist,  as  has  been 
hitherto  supposed,  but  a  political  reformer — a  state- 
ment strongly  opposed  to  a  passage  in  the  '  Politics ' 
(ii.  12)  which  speaks  of  him  as  solely  a  codifier. 
He  gave  a  share  in  the  government  to  all  who  could 
afford  to  provide  themselves  with  a  military  equip- 
ment, and  required  for  each  of  the  offices  a  different 
property  qualification  proportionate  to  its  importance. 
Both  the  property  qualification  and  the  Council  of 
400,  institutions  usually  ascribed  to  Solon,  are  here 
treated  as  belonging  to  the  period  of  Draco  ;  the 
Draconian  Council  consisting  of  401  members 
chosen  by  lot  from  the  whole  body  of  the  citizens. 
From  the  Strategi  and  Hipparchi  was  required 
much  the  largest  property  qualification,   100  minae 

^  The  Court  of  the  King  was  in  the  BovkoKlov.  Hence  Dr.  Sandys 
has  ingeniously  proposed  to  emend  a  corrupt  passage  in  Athenaeus, 
p.  235,  where  iK  ttjs  /3ou/coXias  has  been  wrongly  corrected  to  iKrbs 
povKoXLas,  and  absurdly  translated  absque  dolo. 

G 


98  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

against  lo  demanded  from  the  Archons,  and  these 
military  officers  could  only  be  chosen  from  such  as 
had  legitimate  children  over  ten  years  of  age.  These 
children  were,  apparently,  handed  over  to  the  Pry- 
tanes  to  be  kept  as  hostages  for  their  fathers'  good 
conduct  during  office.  On  its  expiry  the  same  Pry- 
tanes  took  the  officers  themselves  under  their  charge 
until  their  accounts  should  be  passed,  unless  they 
could  find  bondsmen  to  take  their  place.^  No  one 
was  allowed  to  hold  any  office  a  second  time  until 
every  qualified  person  had  sat  once,  a  rule  which 
greatly  modifies  the  apparent  irrationality  of  election 
by  lot,  which,  with  this  proviso,  really  only  deter- 
mines the  order  in  which  the  qualified  persons  shall 
hold  office.  Thus  the  people  were  admitted  to  a 
greatly  increased  share  of  power  by  Draco,  but  their 
condition  was  still  miserable.  Political  reforms  do 
not  redress  economic  grievances.  The  comment 
with  which  the  reforms  of  Draco  are  dismissed  is 
significant,  '  but  their  bodies  were  pledged  for  their 
debts,  and  the  land  was  in  the  hands  of  a  coterie.' 

Hence  a  revolution,  which  ended  in  an  appeal  to 
Solon  as  arbitrator.  He  had  already  made  himself 
eminent  by  his  patriotic  poems,  in  which  he  appealed 
to  the  classes  to  give  up  their  oppression  of  the 
masses,  and  to  the  latter  to  refrain  from  violence. 
We  find  in  Solon  no  tendency  to  encourage  or 
palliate  breach  of  the  law  by  the  masses,  with  a  view 
to  justify  the  invasion  of  the  rights  of  the  classes. 

^According  to  the  ingenious  suggestion  of  Mr.  W.  R.  Paton,  we 
read:  Toi>roi's  5^  diarr] peiy  roi/s  TrpvTaveii,  Kal  toi)s  aTparriyoiis  Kal 
Toi)s  iirirdpxovs  t  oi>s  ^p  ovs  fiexpl  evdvvCov,  fXT]  iyyvrjTas  5  e/c  tou  aiirov 
TiXovs  dexo/xivovi  k.t.X. 


wnanrnrsm 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  99 

Athens  had  already  wrested  back  Salamis  from  the 
Megarians,  stung  by  the  trenchant  elegiacs  in  which 
Solon  wished  he  were  a  citizen  of  any  state,  however 
humble  or  insignificant,  so  that  he  might  not  hear 
the  galling  taunt  that  now  dogged  the  name 
Athenian, — 

'  One  of  the  Athenians  this 
Who  surrendered  Salamis  ! '  ^ 

He  adopted  the  popular  vehicle  of  elegiac,  iambic, 
and  trochaic  verse  to  recommend  his  opinions  to  his 
countrymen  at  large,  much  as  modern  politicians 
publish  signed  articles  in  the  monthly  magazines, 
but  apparently  with  greater  success.  The  present 
treatise  preserves  for  us  some  twenty  new  verses  to 
be  added  to  those  collected  in  Bergk's  '  Poetae 
Lyrici  Graeci.'  Solon  at  once  addressed  himself  to 
the  relief  of  the  economic  distress  which  prevailed, 
by  legalising  the  repudiation  of  all  debts,  a  measure 
which  he  ('  euphemistically,'  says  Plutarch)  called  the 
'  Disburthenment'  Some  of  his  friends,  catching 
some  inkling  of  his  intention,  borrowed  largely,  and 
invested  the  borrowed  money  in  land.  '  This,'  says 
the  writer,  '  gave  rise  to  an  attempt  to  blacken  his 
character  by  representing  that  he  had  profited  per- 
sonally by  the  Disburthenment  ;  but  he  was  in  other 
transactions  so  fair,  that,  though  by  tampering  with 
the  laws  he  could  easily  have  made  himself  tyrant, 
he  faced  the  animosity  of  both  parties,  and  preferred 
the  public  good  to  his  private  aggrandizement ;  so  it 
is  not  likely  that  for  a  mere  trifle  he  would  soil  his 
fair  name.' 

^  'ATTtff6s  oCros  dvT]p  tCjv  lioKafiLvaipeTCiv. 


100  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

We  have,  however,  no  mention  of  Plutarch's  alle- 
gation that  he  was  a  loser  by  his  own  measure  to  the 
extent  of  five  talents.  The  '  Disburthenment '  was 
followed  by  the  repeal  of  all  Draco's  laws  except 
those  relating  to  murder ;  but  among  OecriuLol  our 
author  cannot  include  political  institutions  such  as 
the  Council  and  the  property  qualification,  for  these 
certainly  existed  under  Solon,  and  indeed  are  com- 
monly supposed  to  have  originated  with  him.  Prob- 
ably Solon  altered  the  relation  of  these  institutions 
to  the  rest  of  the  constitution.  Perhaps  now  for  the 
first  time  the  division  into  classes  resting  on  a 
property  qualification  was  brought  into  direct  con- 
nexion with  the  franchise  and  eligibility  to  office. 
On  this  matter  not  only  Plutarch  but  Harpocration 
appears  to  have  used  a  redaction  of  the  '  Constitu- 
tion of  Athens '  different  from  that  before  us,  for 
they  both  distinctly  ascribe  the  origin  of  these  insti- 
tutions to  Solon.  Aristotle  in  the  '  Politics'  (ii.  12) 
tells  us  that  Solon  '  gave  the  people  the  irreducible 
minimum  of  political  power,  namely,  the  election  of 
the  magistrates  and  the  right  to  call  them  to  account 
on  the  expiry  of  their  office.'  It  is  proposed  to 
elicit  the  same  sentiment  from  the  words  of  our 
treatise, '  he  gave  the  lowest  class,  the  Thetes,  a  share 
in  the  Dicasteries  onlj^,'  ^  but  to  us  it  seems  impos- 
sible to  ascribe  such  a  sense  to  the  words  used.  Again, 
the  appointment  of  Archons  under  Solon  is  here 
described  as  a  combined  process  of  election  and 
sortition,  the  four  tribes  electing  ten  persons  each, 
and  nine  being  chosen   by  lot  from   the  forty  thus 

^  rois  5^  rb  drjriKbv  rcXovaiv  iKK\r]<xlas  Kai  SiKaarTjpicov  fier^SuKe  fi&uop 
(c.  7). 


■  UiiSiMWM.  Jill,  JUL 


THE   NEW    PAPYRI  loi 

elected ;  now  Aristotle  says  that  Solon  made  no 
change  in  the  election  of  magistrates.  In  primitive 
times,  this  tract  tells  us,  the  Archons  were  elected 
by  the  Areopagus.  We  have  just  referred  to  the  pas- 
sage in  which  Aristotle  speaks  of  the  right  of  electing 
the  magistrates  and  of  calling  them  to  account  as 
the  minimum  of  political  influence,  and  says  that 
these  powers  were  conferred  on  the  people  by  Solon  : 
here  the  writer  summarizes  the  democratic  features 
in  the  Solon ian  constitution  as  (i)  the  prohibition  of 
lending  money  on  the  security  of  the  person  ;  (2) 
the  right  of  access  to  the  law  courts  ;  (3)  the  right 
of  appeal  to  the  Dicastery  against  the  decisions  of 
magistrates  ;  and  Dr.  Kenyon  endeavours  to  recon- 
cile the  doctrine  of  Aristotle  and  the  writer  of  the 
treatise.  But,  though  it  be  granted  that  the  right  of 
election  is  here  omitted  because  as  a  matter  of  fact 
under  Draco  the  election  of  magistrates  was  in  the 
hands  of  all  who  could  furnish  a  military  equipment, 
yet  it  is  impossible  to  believe  with  the  editor  that 
the  calling  of  magistrates  to  account  (to  evOupeiv) 
is  expressed  or  even  implied  in  the  words  ^  €19  to 
^LKaoTT-npiov  ecpearig.  In  our  opinion  the  two  sum- 
maries are  in  no  point  coincident,  and  the  Dicasteries 
are  here  distinctly  regarded  as  a  Court  of  Appeal  in 
the  time  of  Solon.  Our  treatise  confirms  the  opinion 
of  Boeckh  against  that  of  Grote,  that  Solon  reformed 
the  system  of  weights  and  measures  ;  the  reform  of 
the  currency  standard  had  the  purely  commercial 
aim  of  facilitating  business  transactions  with  the 
cities  of  Euboea  and  Ionia,  which  used  the  Euboeic 
standard. 

Solon  having  so  far  succeeded  in  the  furtherance 


102  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

of  his  political  views,  thought  it  prudent  to  retire 
from  public  life,  and  left  Athens  for  ten  years'  foreign 
travel.  Meantime,  the  feud  between  the  factions  of 
the  Plain,  the  Shore,  and  the  Mountain,  burned  or 
smouldered  at  Athens.  These  local  distinctions 
corresponded  to  a  difference  of  classes,  and  hence 
became  a  basis  for  political  divisions.  The  rich 
landlords  of  the  plain  were  the  old  aristocracy,  the 
shore  was  occupied  by  the  well-to-do  commercial 
classes,  and  the  rough  uplands  were  the  home  of  the 
poor  farmers.  An  attempt  made  by  Damasias  to 
grasp  the  tyranny  in  the  year  581  failed,  and  led  to 
the  appointment  of  a  Directory  of  Ten, — five  Eupa- 
tridae,  three  Geomori,  and  two  Demiurgi, — which 
does  not  seem  to  have  outlasted  the  year  in  which  it 
was  created.  In  Damasias  (hitherto  a  mere  name) 
we  have  a  new  notable  added  to  Athenian  history  ; 
the  same  may  be  said  of  Cedo  and  Rhino,  of  whom 
we  afterwards  read,  and  the  tract  somewhat  brightens 
our  picture  of  the  Athenian  Archinus  and  the  Spartan 
Callibius. 

The  next  twenty  years  were  marked  by  incessant 
party  warfare.  The  immediate  results  of  the  Sol- 
onian  legislation  are  justly  estimated  by  Dr.  Kenyon 
in  a  note  on  c.  13  : — 

*  The  reforms  of  Solon  were  very  far  from  producing  a  peace- 
ful settlement  of  affairs.  Except  for  the  four  years  immediately 
after  his  term  of  office,  there  was  almost  perpetual  dissension 
until  the  establishment  of  the  tyranny  of  Pisistratus  ;  and  that 
in  time  led  immediately  to  the  reforms  of  Cleisthenes.  In  fact, 
the  Solonian  Constitution,  though  rightly  regarded  as  the 
foundation  of  the  democracy  of  Athens,  was  not  itself  in  satis- 
factory operation  for  more  than  a  very  few  years.  In  this 
respect  it  may  be  compared  with  the  constitutional  crisis  of  the 


THE   NEW  PAPYRI  lo^ 

Great  Rebellion  in  England.  The  principles  for  which  the 
Parliament  fought  the  King  were  not  brought  into  actual  prac- 
tice until  after  a  return  to  Stuart  rule  and  a  fresh  revolution  ; 
and  yet  the  struggle  of  the  earlier  years  of  the  Long  Parliament, 
and  the  principles  of  EHot  and  Pym,  are  righly  held  to  be  the 
foundation  of  the  modern  British  Constitution.' 

The  account  of  the  establishment  of  Pisistratus 
in  the  Tyrannis  is  beset  by  serious  difficulties.  He 
is  said  to  have  owed  his  prominence  to  a  campaign 
against  Megara  in  which  he  took  Nisaea.  But  if 
this  was  the  war  against  Megara  undertaken  under 
the  auspices  of  Solon,  then  the  eminence  of  Pisis- 
tratus among  Athenians  was  based  on  a  victory 
achieved  nearly  forty  years  before,  when  he  was  a 
youth  of  eighteen,  and  he  must  have  been  fifty-eight 
years  of  age  when  he  founded  his  dynasty.  We 
must,  therefore,  assume  that  there  must  have  been 
another  campaign  against  Megara  some  thirty-five 
years  later  than  the  Solonian,  though  no  account  of  it 
has  survived  elsewhere.  But  this  is  not  the  only  diffi- 
culty. We  read  here  (c.  1 4)  that  the  periods,  during 
which  Pisistratus  lived  in  exile,  added  together,  make 
twenty-one  years,  which  would  leave  only  twelve  for 
the  actual  enjoyment  of  power,  for  the  two  extreme 
dates  560  and  527  are  certain,  so  that  we  know 
that  thirty-three  years  intervened  between  his  first 
accession  to  power  and  his  death.  Now  we  read 
in  c.  17  that  he  ruled  for  nineteen  years,  and  was 
in  exile  during  the  rest  of  the  thirty-three,  and  in 
the  '  Politics '  (v.  i  2)  that  he  was  in  actual  possession 
of  the  Tyrannis  for  seventeen  years.  The  account 
of  his  first  restoration  from  exile  adds  nothing  to 
that    of    Herodotus,    except    that    Phya,   whom    he 


104  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

dressed  up  to  represent  Athena,  was  a  flower-girl ; 
but  we  have  fuller  details  of  his  second  exile  and  of 
his  sojourn  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Mount  Pangaeus, 
where  he  acquired  wealth  sufficient  to  raise  an  army, 
and  to  bring  about  his  restoration.  The  story  of 
the  stratagem  by  which  he  deprived  the  people  of 
their  arms  is  amusing.^  Pisistratus  summoned  a 
meeting  of  the  people  under  arms  in  the  temple  of 
the  Dioscuri,  and  began  to  address  them.  He  spoke 
low  on  purpose  ;  and  when  the  people  complained 
that  they  could  not  hear,  he  invited  them  to  follow 
him  to  the  porch  of  the  Acropolis,  where  they  could 
hear  better.  They  did  so,  and  while  he  harangued 
them,  his  emissaries  carried  off  their  arms,  which 
they  had  left  behind  them,  stacked  according  to 
custom.  When  he  had  intelligence  that  his  orders 
had  been  carried  out,  he  told  the  people  what  he 
had  done,  adding  that  they  ought  not  to  feel  any 
surprise  or  annoyance  :  '  their  business  was  to  attend 
to  their  private  affairs,  and  he  would  look  after 
matters  of  state.'  His  policy  was  to  keep  the  people 
busy,  and  not  too  well  off.  He  imposed  a  tax  of 
I  o  per  cent,  on  the  produce  of  the  land,  about  which 
an  entertaining  anecdote  is  related.  One  day,  when 
Pisistratus  was  on  one  of  those  tours  of  inspection 

^  Polyaenus  tells  the  same  tale :  but  his  narrative  does  not  dispose 
us  to  think  that  he  had  read  our  tract.  A  somewhat  similar  tale  is  told 
of  Hippias  by  Thucydides,  vi.  58.  Our  author  (c.  18)  expressly  denies 
the  truth  of  the  Thucydidean  account  of  the  assassination  of  Hipparchus, 
and  especially  of  the  stratagem  by  which  Hippias  is  said  to  have  dis- 
armed the  people  and  discovered  the  conspirators.  The  whole  narrative 
of  Thucydides  falls  to  the  ground,  if  it  is  true  that  the  practice  of  carrying 
arms  at  the  Panathenaea  belongs  to  a  later  age,  as  the  treatise  avers. 
It  further  states  that  the  conspirators  were  numerous,  Thucydides 
having  expressly  referred  to  the  smallness  of  their  number. 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  105 

which  he  used  to  make  through  the  country,  he  saw 
an  old  man  digging  hard  in  a  very  rocky  soil.  He 
stopped,  and  asked  the  old  man  what  did  his  farm 
produce.  '  Nothing,'  he  replied,  'except  every  variety 
of  worry  and  ache,  and  of  these  I  owe  a  tenth  to 
Pisistratus.'  The  tyrant  was  so  pleased  at  the 
industry  and  the  independence  of  the  old  farmer 
that  he  conferred  on  him  a  complete  exemption 
from  all  taxes.  It  was  this  geniality  of  disposition, 
reminding  us  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  which,  in  spite 
of  the  Athenian  detestation  of  the  very  name  of 
Tyrant,  made  Pisistratus  popular,  and  gave  to  the 
period  of  his  rule  the  name  of  the  Golden  Age,  or 
the  Good  Old  Time.^  We  learn  that,  besides  his 
sons  by  his  first  wife,  Hippias  and  Hipparchus,  he 
had  two  sons,  lophon  and  Hegisistratus,  surnamed 
Thessalus,  by  a  second  wife,  Timonassa  of  Argos. 
Hegisistratus  is  mentioned  by  Herodotus,  and 
Thessalus  by  Thucydides,  but  our  author  is  the 
first  authority  for  the  fact  that  the  two  are  one  and 
the  same  individual.  Further,  he  corrects  the  state- 
ment of  Herodotus  that  Timonassa  was  the  concubine 
of  Pisistratus  ;  his  alliance  with  her  is  said  to  have 
brought  about  the  treaty  with  Argos,  and  cannot 
therefore  have  been  an  illicit  connexion. 

The  history  of  the  Pisistratidae  presents  some 
new  features.  Hippias  is  described  as  serious,  while 
Hipparchus  was  devoted  to  pleasure  and  art,  and 
filled  his  court  with  poets,  Anacreon  and  Simonides 
among  the  rest.  It  was  Thessalus,  however,  not 
Hipparchus,  who  by  his  folly  and  licentiousness 
brought  about  the  exploit  of  Harmodius  and  Aris- 

^  6  iwl  Kp6vov  pios  (c.  i6). 


io6  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

togiton.  He  it  was  (not  Hipparchus,  as  Thucydides 
tells  us)  who  insulted  the  sister  of  Harmodius,  and 
drew  on  the  Pisistratidae  the  furious  hatred  of  the 
people  ;  such  is  the  plain  meaning  of  our  text,  unless 
we  assume  that  there  is  a  most  unusual  and  un- 
accountable parenthesis.  The  conspirators  succeeded 
only  in  killing  Hipparchus,  not  Thessalus,  which 
accounts  for  the  phrase,  '  they  muddled  the  whole 
matter.'^  Harmodius  was  at  once  cut  down  by  the 
bodyguards,  but  Aristogiton  was  subjected  to  pro- 
longed torture,  under  which  he  implicated  in  the 
plot,  truly  or  falsely,  many  of  the  intimate  friends 
of  the  tyrants.  The  description  of  his  death  is 
graphic  : — 

'  He  could  not  get  them  to  put  him  out  of  his  agony,  so, 
promising  to  disclose  many  new  names,  he  called  on  Hippias 
to  give  him  his  hand  as  a  token  of  good  faith.  When  he  got 
hold  of  the  tyrant's  hand,  he  began  to  taunt  him  for  his  un- 
natural conduct  in  shaking  hands  with  his  brother's  murderer, 
and  finally  lashed  Hippias  into  such  a  fury  that  he  could  no 
longer  contain  himself,  but  drew  his  sword  and  slew  him.' 

The  hatred  in  which  the  rule  of  Hippias  was  held 
found  expression  in  a  fine  scolion^  beginning — 

aiat  AiXpvSpLOV  TrpoSioa-eTatpov, 

in  which  an  unsuccessful  attempt  on  the  part  of  the 
Alcmaeonidae  to  establish  a  garrison  against  Hippias 
at  Lipsydrium  is  glorified  as  an  act  of  the  highest 
heroism : — 

'  Woe  worth  Lipsydrium,  the  faithless  hold 

That  saved  not  from  defeat  those  champions  true  : 


^  TTjp  8\r}v  iXvfii^vauTO  vpa^iv  (c.  l8). 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  107 

Bold  sons  of  Athens,  sprung  from  sires  as  bold,  ^ 
They  proved  the  aspiring  blood  from  which  their 
life  they  drew  ! ' 

Before  this  there  had  been  another  brilliant  failure 
to  dislodge  Hippias.  It  is  associated  with  the  name 
of  the  otherwise  unknown  Cedo,  who  must  have  won 
a  high  place  in  the  estimation  of  Athens,  as  his  fame 
too  is  embalmed  in  a  scolion  or  drinking  song — 

'  Here's  Cedo's  memory  :  may  it  never  fade, 
As  long  as  to  the  brave  our  festal  dues  are  paid.'  ^ 

When  Hippias  was  finally  expelled  by  the  help  of 
Sparta  in  510,  the  democracy  was  re-established. 
The  Alcmaeonidae  had  always  held  an  intermediate 
policy,  that  of  the  Shore  or  the  moderate  oligarchs, 
between  the  extreme  aristocracy  of  the  Plain  under 
Lycurgus,  and  the  democracy  of  the  Mountain  with 
which  Pisistratus  had  thrown  in  his  lot.  The  Alcmae- 
onid  Clisthenes  now  resolved  to  make  a  bid  for  the 
support  of  the  democracy,  and  succeeded  in  securing 
a  position  from  which  the  abortive  emeute  of  Cleo- 
menes  and  Isagoras  was  able  to  dislodge  him  only 
for  a  very  brief  space.  The  legislation  of  Clisthenes 
is  referred  to  the  year  508,  and  is  made  subsequent 
to  the  attempt  of  Isagoras  and  Cleomenes.  Clisthenes 
broke  up  the  old  tribal  divisions,  and  raised  the 
number  of  the  tribes  to  ten  (and  consequently  that 
of  the  Council  to  five  hundred),  purposely  choosing 
a  number  which  was  not  a  multiple  of  four,  so  that 
the  new  tribes  might   not  be  based  on  subdivisions 

^  We  read,  d7a^oi/s  re  ko.^  einraTpLdSiv  for  the  metre. 
ei  xpv  TOL^  dyadofii  dudpacriv  olpoxoeiv. 


io8  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

of  the  old.  By  his  deme-system  he  abolished  the 
local  factions,  but  we  learn  nothing  new  about  his 
constitution  except  that  he  did  not  create  the  office 
of  Strategus,  which  was  as  old  as  the  period  of  Draco, 
and  that  under  him  the  Archons  were  directly  elected 
by  the  people  in  the  Ecclesia.  He  is  not  in  any  way 
connected  with  any  modification  of  the  dicasteries. 

We  find  the  name  of  Xanthippus  among  the 
Athenian  statesmen  who  suffered  ostracism  ;  and 
while  this  subject  is  under  treatment,  the  name  of 
Themistocles  is  suddenly  introduced  in  connexion 
with  his  proposal  to  apply  to  the  building  of  a  fleet 
the  money  available  from  the  newly  discovered  mines 
at  Laurium,  or  Maroneia,  as  they  are  here  called 
from  the  name  of  a  town  in  the  neighbourhood.  We 
read  here  of  a  law  that  an  ostracised  person  must 
not  live  between  the  promontories  of  Scyllaeum  in 
Argolis  and  Geraestus  in  Euboea.  The  text  gives 
ej/To?  TepaicTTOu  koI  UKuWalov  KaroiKeiv,  but  we  must 
read  ckto^  or  /utj  ej/roy,  for  Themistocles  when  under 
ostracism  lived  in  Argos,  which  is  west  of  Scyl- 
laeum, and  Hyperbolus  in  Samos,  which  is  east  of 
Geraestus.  This  would  have  been  contrary  to  the 
law  as  described  by  Dr.  Kenyon's  reading,  which 
indeed  would  have  permitted  an  ostracised  person  to 
live  at  Athens. 

We  read  that  at  a  critical  moment  just  before 
Salamis  the  Areopagus  had  come  forward  with  a 
donation  of  money,  which  procured  crews  to  man 
the  fleet  which  saved  Greece.  Thus  Athens  was 
raised  to  a  commanding  position  in  Greece,  and  the 
Areopagus  in  Athens.  The  leading  statesmen  there 
were  Aristides  and   Themistocles,  to  the   former  of 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  109 

whom  our  author  attributes  the  greater  importance. 
Alcibiades  is  not  mentioned  at  all,  and  Pericles 
receives  merely  a  passing  notice.  But  we  read  much 
of  Themistocles,  of  whose  tortuous  character  and 
policy  instances  are  given  which  are,  perhaps,  more 
striking  than  any  of  those  already  familiar  to  us  in 
Thucydides,  Herodotus,  and  Plutarch.  He  is  closely 
associated  with  Ephialtes  in  the  movements  which 
led  to  the  downfall  of  the  Areopagus,  which  accord- 
ing to  the  writer  of  the  '  Constitution  of  Athens,' 
must  be  referred  to  some  time  in  the  year  462,  and 
in  which  he  assigns  no  part  whatever  to  Pericles, 
though  afterwards  (c.  27)  he  speaks  of  him  as  having 
deprived  that  Court  of  some  of  its  privileges.  But 
the  chronology  of  this  part  of  the  treatise,  which 
would  make  the  date  of  the  Periclean  pre-eminence 
later  than  has  been  hitherto  supposed,  cannot  be 
reconciled  with  that  of  Thucydides.  Themistocles' 
flight  took  place  during  the  investment  of  Naxos, 
which  was  reduced  before  the  victory  of  Cimon  at 
the  Eurymedon,  and  accordingly  the  attack  on  the 
Areopagus  must  have  been  at  least  three  years 
earlier,  unless  we  are  to  remodel  the  chronology  of 
Thucydides  completely.  The  story,  however,  which 
is  quite  new  (though  it  was  evidently  known  to  the 
writer  of  the  argument  to  the  '  Areopagitica '  of 
Isocrates,^  who  quotes  '  Aristotle  on  the  Constitu- 
tion of  Athens'),  runs  thus  : — Themistocles  laboured 
under  a  charge  of  Medism  which  the  Areopagus  was 

1  Yet  some  of  his  words  appear  to  imply  a  slightly  different  version  of 
the  story  ;  for  instance,  the  writer  of  the  argument  to  the  '  Areopagitica ' 
refers  Themistocles'  action  to  his  pecuniary  embarrassment,  not  to  the 
charge  of  Medism. 


no  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

investigating.  He  saw  that  his  only  chance  lay  in 
the  destruction  of  that  Court,  and  he  determined  to 
force  the  hand  of  Ephialtes,  whom  he  knew  to  be 
eager  for  a  revolution.  Accordingly  he  denounced 
Ephialtes  before  the  Areopagus,  of  which  he  was 
himself  a  member,  and  then  warned  Ephialtes  that 
he  was  about  to  be  arrested.  Failing  to  convince 
him  of  the  truth  of  his  warning,  and  knowing  well 
that  the  Areopagus  were  not  prepared  for  so  decided 
a  step  as  his  arrest,  Themistocles  resorted  to  a  ruse. 
He  managed  to  engage  some  members  of  the  Court 
in  conversation  in  the  vicinity  of  the  house  of 
Ephialtes,  and  assumed  an  earnestness  of  demeanour 
which  quite  convinced  Ephialtes  that  he  was  indeed 
in  imminent  peril.  Ephialtes  fled  for  refuge  to  the 
altar,  but,  finding  himself  unmolested,  he  seems  to 
have  thought  that  his  enemies  were  drawing  back 
for  a  spring.  Accordingly  he  concentrated  all  his 
efforts  on  the  arraignment  of  the  Areopagus  before 
the  Council  of  Five  Hundred  and  the  Ecclesia,  and, 
aided  by  Themistocles,  he  finally  succeeded.  The 
characteristic  craftiness,  whereby  Themistocles  man- 
aged to  keep  up  appearances  with  both  sides  until  the 
moment  came  when  he  saw  he  could  strike  a  decisive 
blow,  is  quite  in  accordance  with  his  character  as 
drawn  by  Plutarch,  and  we  cannot  believe  that  that 
most  anecdotical  of  biographers  would  have  omitted 
so  apt  a  narrative  if  he  had  known  it.  Yet,  as  we 
have  seen,  there  is  good  evidence  that  there  was  an 
edition  of  *  Aristotle  on  the  Athenian  Constitution  ' 
which  related  that  anecdote,  probably  an  edition 
different  both  from  Plutarch's  and  from  that  which 
has  recently  come  into  our  own  hands. 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  iii 

Cimon  and  Pericles  are  dealt  with  very  hastily. 
The  latter  is  said  to  have  instituted  paid  dicasteries. 
His  fortune  did  not  permit  him  to  rival  the  private 
munificence  of  Cimon,  so  he  determined  to  be  lavish 
at  the  public  expense,  and  to  expend  the  public 
money  on  the  dicasteries — a  most  unsympathetic 
review  of  the  policy  of  the  statesman  whom  Thucy- 
dides  has  made  so  commanding  a  figure  in  Athenian 
history.  From  the  death  of  Pericles  dates  the  rise 
of  low  demagogy,  and  the  description  of  Cleon 
bawling  abuse  from  the  rostrum  is  quite  in  accord- 
ance with  the  pictures  drawn  by  Thucydides  and 
Aristophanes.  The  only  statesmen  amongst  the 
successors  of  Pericles  whom  our  author  commends 
are  Nicias,  Thucydides,  and  Theramenes.  Of  the 
two  former  he  says,  '  Nearly  every  one  acknowledges 
them  to  have  been  not  only  high-minded  gentlemen 
but  statesmen  and  patriots '  ;  the  latter  he  takes  a 
second  occasion  to  praise  highly,  though  his  own 
account  of  his  career  shows  him  to  have  been  no 
more  than  an  opportunist  with  aristocratic  leanings. 

We  have  a  very  full  account  of  a  constitution  pro- 
posed under  the  rule  of  the  Four  Hundred  after  the 
crisis  of  411.  Indeed  the  disproportionate  ample- 
ness  of  this  portion  of  the  narrative  would  lead  us  to 
conjecture  that  the  writer  had  strong  oligarchical 
sympathies,  and  wished  to  exaggerate  the  importance 
of  the  Four  Hundred,  or  else  that  he  had  some 
special  source  of  information  on  this  very  dull  sub- 
ject, and  was  anxious  to  make  as  much  use  of  it  as 
possible.  As  the  proposed  constitution  never  became 
an  actuality,  it  is  hard  to  see  any  other  reason  for 
the  care  with  which  he  dwells  on   it.      We  do   not 


112  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

find  this  false  perspective  in   the  genuine   works  of 
Aristotle. 

The  government  of  the  Five  Thousand,  which  rose 
under  Theramenes  and  Aristocrates  on  the  ruins  of 
the  oligarchy,  elicits  from  the  writer  as  from  Thucy- 
dides  terms  of  the  warmest  commendation.  He  tells 
us  there  was  a  subsequent  restoration  of  the  demo- 
cracy, which  may  have  taken  place  after  the  victory 
of  Cyzicus  in  410;  but  he  is  certainly  mistaken 
when  he  refers  to  the  trial  of  ten  generals  after 
Arginusae  :  two  were  never  put  on  their  trial,  two 
did  not  appear,  and  only  six  were  tried.  The  state- 
ment made  by  a  scholiast  on  Aristophanes  ('  Ran.' 
1532),  and  disbelieved  by  Grote,  that  the  Spartans 
made  proposals  of  peace  after  Arginusae,  is  confirmed 
by  the  present  treatise ;  and  the  refusal  of  the 
Athenians  to  entertain  these  proposals  is  ascribed 
to  the  evil  influence  of  Cleophon,  who  came  drunk 
into  the  Ecclesia,  and  persuaded  the  people  to  insist 
on  the  surrender  of  her  whole  empire  by  Sparta,  as 
the  only  condition  of  peace. 

The  history  of  the  government  of  the  Thirty  set 
up  by  Lysander  after  Aegospotami  throws  some  new 
light  on  its  character.  They  repealed  the  law  of 
Solon  which  annulled  the  will  of  a  testator  who 
could  be  shown  to  be  of  unsound  mind  or  under 
undue  influence.  In  this  law  there  is  nothing  which 
calls  for  reprobation.  These  provisions  against  in- 
capacity and  undue  influence  were  reasonable  in 
themselves,  but  they  led  to  vexatious  litigation,  and 
did  more  harm  than  good,  as  may  be  gathered  from 
some  of  the  speeches  of  Isaeus.  The  way  in  which 
they  compassed  the  destruction  of  Theramenes  shows 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  113 

the  Thirty  Tyrants  to  have  been  rather  adroit  evaders 
of  the  laws,  who  sought  to  give  a  constitutional 
appearance  to  their  most  unconstitutional  acts,  than 
open  violators  of  all  law  and  custom,  such  as 
Xenophon  describes.  They  induced  the  Council  to 
sanction  two  laws,  one  giving  the  Thirty  power  of 
life  and  death  over  all  persons  not  on  the  roll  of  the 
three  thousand  citizens  which  they  were  about  to 
issue,  a  second  declaring  that  no  one  could  be  placed 
on  that  roll  who  had  helped  in  the  demolition  of  the 
fort  at  Eetionea  (of  which  we  now  hear  for  the  first 
time  in  the  treatise)  or  had  taken  any  part  against 
the  Four  Hundred  ;  ^  in  both  which  Theramenes  had 
a  hand,  so  the  result  was  that  he  was  outside  the 
constitution,  and  they  had  full  warrant  for  putting 
him  to  death,'  which  they  immediately  did.  It  was 
then,  not  at  an  earlier  stage  in  the  career  of  the 
Thirty  (as  Xenophon  says),  that  they  admitted  into 
the  Acropolis  a  Spartan  garrison  under  Callibius. 

The  overthrow  of  the  Thirty  by  Thrasybulus  was 
followed  first  by  the  appointment  of  a  Board  of  Ten 
who  failed  to  realize  the  seriousness  of  the  situation, 
and  sought  only  to  establish  their  own  power.  A 
second  Board  of  Ten  subsequently  constituted  were 
more  successful.  The  moderation  of  Rhino,  another 
addition  to  the  roll  of  Athenian  worthies,  and  the 
tact  of  Archinus,  worked  wonders.  All  citizens  who 
felt  themselves  unsafe  at  Athens  were  allowed  to 
retire  to  Eleusis,  and  articles  were  drawn  up  between 
the  secessionists  and  those  who  remained.  The 
former  were  obliged,  in  order  to  secure  their  rights, 
to  enter  their  names  on  a  roll  before  a  certain  day. 
Archinus  succeeded  in  curtailing  without  any  notice 

H 


114  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

the  period  within  which  the  enrolment  might  be 
made,  and  thus  kept  in  Athens  perforce  several 
citizens  who  intended  to  secede  to  Eleusis,  but  had 
put  off  their  enrolment  with  that  tendency  to  pro- 
crastination '  which  is  such  a  common  trait  in  human 
nature.'  This  is  a  remark  somewhat  in  the  manner 
of  Aristotle ;  two  other  such  reflections  may  be 
noticed,  one  when  the  writer  speaks  of  the  character- 
istic clemency  of  a  democracy '  (p.  59),  and  the  other 
when  he  observes  (p.  79)  that  '  though  a  mob  can  be 
cajoled  easily  enough,  yet  it  is  apt  to  vent  its  hatred 
afterwards  on  those  who  have  led  it  into  wrong 
doing.'  So  children  rarely  love  and  never  trust  those 
who  spoil  them  by  undue  indulgence. 

Two  years  afterwards  the  secessionists  at  Eleusis 
were  received  back  into  the  community  of  Athenians, 
and  this  was  the  last  change  in  the  constitution  of 
Athens.  Of  these  changes  eleven  are  enumerated  in 
the  treatise,  so  that  there  existed  on  the  whole  twelve 
constitutions  in  Athens,  namely: — (i)  The  original 
mythical  establishment  under  Ion,  (2)  Theseus,  (3) 
Draco,  (4)  Solon,  (5)  Pisistratus,  (6)  Clisthenes,  (7) 
Areopagus,  (8)  Aristides  and  Ephialtes,  (9)  the  Four 
Hundred,  (10)  the  restoration  of  the  Democracy  after 
Cyzicus,  (i  i)  the  Thirty  and  the  two  Boards  of  Ten, 
(12)  the  final  restoration  of  the  Democracy.  The 
name  of  Pericles  has  no  place  in  the  list  of  the  suc- 
cessive statesmen  who  left  their  mark  on  the 
constitution. 

The  remainder  of  the  'Constitution  of  Athens' 
deals  solely  with  the  machinery  of  the  State,  and 
completely   avoids   all    appeals   to    principles,    never 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  115 

even  approaching  that  tendency  to  generalization 
which  is  so  marked  a  feature  in  the  '  Politics '  of 
Aristotle.  Yet  it  is  by  no  means  without  interest 
for  the  modern  reader.  Individualists  will  be  sur- 
prised to  find  how  little  favour  their  views  found  in 
the  eyes  of  ancient  Athens,  and  how  the  private  life 
of  ever}^  Athenian  was  fenced  about  with  statutes 
restricting  his  liberty  of  action  on  every  side.  One 
cannot  fail  to  be  struck  by  the  minuteness  and  com- 
pleteness of  the  legislation  which  provided  for  the 
relief  of  helpless  and  disabled  paupers  and  the  re- 
jection of  disqualified  applicants  for  charity,  for  the 
inspection  of  weights  and  measures  and  the  preven- 
tion of  adulteration,  and  for  the  supervision  of  horses 
by  the  establishment  of  a  regular  corps  of  veterinary 
surgeons,  whose  duty  it  was  to  affix  certain  marks  to 
disqualified  animals,  the  mark  apparently  being  the 
figure  of  a  circle  stamped  on  the  animal's  jaw. 
Furthermore,  the  city  traffic  was  under  strict  super- 
vision, and  there  were  statutes  compelling  the  removal 
of  nuisances  from  public  thoroughfares,  and  forbidding 
structures  which  would  impede  the  free  use  of  the 
streets.  Such  structures  as  the  old  Temple  Bar, 
stretching  across  the  street,  are  expressly  prohibited, 
and  it  is  clear  that  sky-signs  would  not  have  been 
tolerated.  In  connexion  with  this  subject  we  learn 
that  the  Board  which  had  charge  of  the  street  traffic 
were  bound  to  see  that  no  householder  had  a  hall- 
door  opening  on  the  street,  a  provision  which  throws 
light  on  a  question  which  presents  itself  to  the 
readers  of  Menander,  Plautus,  and  Terence.  The 
Grammarians,  as  well  as  Plutarch,  tell  us  that  in 
Greek   cities  the  doors   opened   outwards,   and  that 


n6  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

persons  about  to  leave  the  house  were  in  the  habit 
of  rapping  on  the  inside  of  the  door,  to  warn  passers- 
by  that  some  one  was  coming  out.  Of  late,  this 
statement  has  been  treated  by  Becker,  Guhl  and 
Koner,  and  others  as  a  mere  figment  of  the  Gram- 
marians, and  we  are  taught  that  such  phrases  as 
r}  Qvpa  y^oipel  and  crepuerunt  fores  refer  only  to  the 
noise  made  by  the  door  in  opening.  We  do  indeed 
read  of  water  being  poured  on  the  hinge  (or  rather 
wooden  pivot)  on  which  the  door  moved,  when  the 
inmate  of  the  house  wished  to  conceal  his  egress, 
which  would  be  in  favour  of  the  modern  view.  But 
on  the  other  hand  we  have  in  this  passage  ^distinct 
evidence  that  the  doors  of  private  houses  did  at  all 
events,  at  one  time,  open  outwards.  If,  however, 
such  a  method  of  constructing  doors  was  forbidden 
by  law,  it  can  hardly  have  been  common  in  the  time 
of  Menander.  We  may  perhaps  infer  that  Menander 
introduced  into  his  plays  an  archaic  and  disused 
practice,  and  was  followed  by  his  imitators.  The 
passage  in  our  tract,  so  far  as  it  goes,  discredits  the 
modern  interpretation,^  which  indeed  somewhat  rashly 
set  aside  the  distinct  evidence  of  Plutarch  and  the 
Grammarians. 

The  same  Board  had  the  strange  duty  of  seeing 
that  female  dancers  and  flute-players  should  not 
receive  more  than  two  drachmas  as  pay  for  their 
services  at  entertainments ;  and  if  two  or  more 
entertainers  were  anxious  to  secure  the  same  girl, 

^  It  is  to  be  observed  that  dvpides  generally  means  'windows,'  not 
*  doors  ; '  but  the  latter  meaning  is  quite  natural,  and  is  found  in  Plato 
and  Plutarch  ;  moreover  it  is  incredible  that  it  should  have  been  against 
the  law  to  open  windows  looking  on  the  street. 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  117 

it  was  the  duty  of  the  Board  to  arrange  for  the 
decision  of  the  question  by  lot.  The  forms,  whereby 
the  youthful  Athenian  on  coming  of  age,  when  he 
was  called  Ephebus,  was  admitted  to  his  place  in 
the  State,  are  given  at  great  length,  and  show  how 
completely  the  community  dominated  the  individual, 
and  how  the  interference  with  private  liberty  was 
carried  to  the  verge  of  socialism.  The  functions  of 
the  Ecclesia,  the  Council,  and  the  various  magis- 
trates, are  dwelt  on  with  wearisome  detail.  It 
appears  that  in  early  times  the  Council  had  a  sum- 
mary jurisdiction  over  the  property,  liberty,  and  life 
of  the  citizens,  but  that  it  lost  this  power  on  the 
occasion  of  the  arrest  of  one  Lysimachus,  whose 
cause  was  taken  up  by  one  Eumelides.  But  as  we 
know  nothing  more  about  either  of  these  persons, 
the  whole  statement  must  await  confirmation.  It  also 
had  the  selection  of  plans  for  public  buildings,  but 
was  afterwards  deprived  of  this  privilege  for  a  corrupt 
use  of  the  power.  So  also  they  were  accused  of 
jobbery  in  the  appointment  of  the  girls  chosen  to 
weave  the  peplus  to  be  carried  in  the  great  Pana- 
thenaic  festival,  under  the  supervision  of  two  maidens 
of  high  family  called  apprjcpopoi.  Both  these  privi- 
leges were  in  consequence  transferred  from  the 
Council  to  a  jury  chosen  by  lot. 

It  is  interesting  to  learn  that,  while  the  lot  was 
used  for  the  appointment  of  the  other  magistrates, 
Athens  resorted  to  election  in  the  case  of  the  super- 
intendents of  the  commissariat  for  the  army,  of  the 
theoric  fund,  and  of  the  water  supply.  A  piece  of 
evidence  bearing  on  a  very  curious  statement  about 
the   Areopagus    has    been    elicited    from    a    corrupt 


ii8  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

passage  in  c.  57,  where  we  have  the  half-obliterated 
reading  SiKai[^o[vcri]  .  .  .  a£[o]o.  We  can  testify  our- 
selves that  in  the  facsimile  at  least  nothing  more 
than  this  can  be  read  ;  indeed  we  cannot  ourselves 
make  out  the  i.  Dr.  Sandys,  the  public  Orator  of 
Cambridge,  has  made  the  certain  emendation 
SiKaiC^ova-i   (TKoraioi,  quoting    the   passage   in    Lucian's 

*  Hermotimus '  (c.  64),  which  says  that  the  Areo- 
pagus in  some  cases  held  their  court  at  night,  that 
they  might  not  be  able  to  see  the  speakers  on  either 
side,  but  only  to  hear  their  arguments.  Thus  the 
learning  and  ingenuity  of  a  scholar  of  our  own  day 
have  elicited  from  the  newly-discovered  document  a 
strong  proof  of  the  literal  truth  of  a  statement  which 
has  hitherto  been  regarded  as  being  merely  one  of 
Lucian's  jokes. 

An  interesting  passage  (c.  52)  saves  the  reputation 
of  Athenian  legislators.  A  fragment  from  an  ancient 
lexicographer,  apparently  founded  on  a  curious  mis- 
translation of  Pollux,  tells  us  that  it  was  the  duty  of 

*  the  Eleven '  to  keep  watch  and  ward  over  persons 
apprehended  on  charges  of  murder,  robbery,  and  the 
like,  and  that,  further,  they  were  empowered  to 
execute  at  once  such  prisoners  as  confessed  their 
guilt,  but  were  bound  to  reserve  for  trial  those  who 
pleaded  '  not  guilty.'  Such  a  law,  the  effect  of  which 
would  be  that  no  one  would  ever  suffer  death  at  the 
hands  of  the  Eleven  except  perhaps  some  harmless 
lunatic,  might  prevail  perhaps  in  the  realm  of  a 
Queen  of  Wonderland  or  Mr.  Gilbert's  Mikado,  but 
did  not  seem  characteristic  of  the  Attic  mind  at  any 
period  of  its  history.  We  now  find  that  the  condi- 
tion under  which  death  could  be  summarily  inflicted, 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  119 

was  not  that  the  prisoners  should  confess  their  guilt, 
but  that  the  Eleven  should  agree  in  thinking  the 
summary  process  requisite.  The  word  used  {ojxo- 
Xoyeip),  meaning  both  '  to  confess '  and  '  to  agree/ 
imported  an  ambiguity  into  a  passage  of  Pollux,  on 
which  apparently  the  lexicographer  based  his  note. 
It  is  easy  to  believe  that  there  may  have  been  occa- 
sions on  which  it  was  quite  requisite  to  execute  at 
once  a  murderer  or  robber  whose  guilt  seemed  clear 
to  all  the  Eleven  without  exception,  and  whose 
rescue  might  perhaps  have  been  successfully  attempted 
by  powerful  partisans.  The  editor  strangely  seems 
to  take  the  passage  in  our  tract  in  the  whimsical 
sense  of  the  fragment  from  the  lexicon.  The  mean- 
ing is  quite  clear  :  the  Eleven  are  to  put  to  death 
robbers,  murderers,  and  such  like,  '  if  they  are  unani- 
mous, but  if  there  is  any  difference  of  opinion  they 
are  to  bring  them  to  trial.'  ^  We  cannot  help  re- 
flecting on  the  many  dangers  which  beset  the  trans- 
mission of  historical  knowledge  from  the  ancient 
world.  The  mere  chance,  that  an  ambiguous  word 
was  used  in  recording  an  actual  fact,  has  given  rise 
to  an  almost  ludicrous  error,  which  has  had  to  wait 
about  sixteen  centuries  for  correction,  if  we  reckon 
from  the  time  of  Pollux.  And  yet  the  blunder  did 
not  imply  at  all  abnormal  stupidity  on  the  part  of 
the  lexicographer,  merely  the  choice  of  the  wrong 
one  of  two  equally  common  meanings  of  a  Greek 
verb. 

^  Slv  fxeu  dfioXoyuKTt  .  .  .  hv  d^  afKpKr^rirQffi.  Pollux,  viii.  102,  has  el 
fih  ofioXoyoUu  davanJoaovTes,  el  d^  /xtj  elad^ovTei  els  rb  diKacrirrjpiov.  The 
words  of  the  lexicographer  are  d/jLoXoyovvras  fiev  airoKTivvvovaLV,  dvri- 
X^yovras  8^  (if  they  object  !)  eladyovaiv  eh  rb  diKaaT-qpiov. — '  Lexica 
Segueriana,'  p.  310,  14. 


I20  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

The  last  chapter  of  the  tract  (c.  63)  takes  up  the 
subject  of  the  procedure  in  the  law  courts,  and  when 
he  had  written  it  the  fourth  scribe  had  evidently 
reached  the  end  of  his  task,  which  is  resumed  by 
the  third  hand  who  had  already  written  part  of  the 
foregoing  MS.  He  took  an  earlier  portion  of  the 
farm-bailiff's  accounts  as  the  vehicle  of  his  MS.,  but 
the  condition  in  which  this  portion  of  the  papyrus  has 
survived  makes  continuous  decipherment  hopeless. 

Dr.  Kenyon,  in  the  end  of  his  Introduction,  points 
out  that  we  had  no  right  to  look  for  a  discussion  of 
the  spirit  and  principles  of  the  Athenian  Constitution 
in  a  work  which  professes  only  to  be  a  collection  of 
facts  ;  and  moreover  that  the  Greeks  had  not  that 
genius  for  organization  nor  that  tenderness  for  old 
formulas  which  have  marked  the  Romans  and  the 
English.  Consequently  the  influence  of  their  example 
on  the  modern  world  has  been  very  slight.  Yet  he 
thinks  that  for  the  English,  especially,  the  concrete 
lessons  which  may  be  gathered  from  the  study  of  the 
fortunes  of  a  democracy  ought  to  have  an  interest : — 

'  The  Athenian  Ecclesia  was  responsible  to  no  other  power  or 
person,  and  it  had  no  other  interests  to  consider  except  its  own  ; 
and  though  no  modern  nation  can  have  a  sovereign  assembly 
which  includes  every  adult  man  in  the  community,  yet  a  Parlia- 
ment whose  members  are  delegates  or  mouthpieces  of  their  con- 
stituencies, and  not  representatives  with  independent  judgments, 
embodies  a  form  of  democracy  which  is  sufficiently  parallel  with 
that  of  Athens  to  make  it  worth  while  to  study  the  history  of 
that  State,  and  the  observations  thereupon  of  so  acute  a  critic 
as  Aristotle.  This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss  the  conclusions 
which  may  be  derived  from  it.  Grote  has  drawn  one  series  of 
judgments  from  it ;  other  critics  have  drawn  others  of  a  different 
character.     The  only  point  which  concerns  us  here  is  that  the 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  121 

evidence  of  Aristotle  on  such  a  matter  is  no  unimportant  addi- 
tion to  our  knowledge  of  the  subject.' 

This  is  very  true  :  and  it  brings  us  face  to  face 
with  an  enquiry  which,  as  we  have  said,  is,  for 
scholars  at  least,  the  most  important  and  interesting 
of  those  which  the  treatise  suggests, — the  enquiry 
whether  this  is  really  likely  to  be  the  work  of 
Aristotle,  or  even  of  his  age. 

The  hypothesis  of  a  modern  forgery  having  been 
shown  to  be  quite  groundless,  the  next  question 
concerning  authorship  is,  whether  the  treatise  before 
us  is  by  Aristotle,  or  by  a  pupil  or  immediate 
successor,  or  by  a  later  historian  writing  some  time 
in  the  last  two  centuries  before  Christ,  or  even  in 
the  first  century  of  the  Christian  era.  The  internal 
evidence,  as  will  afterwards  be  seen,  does  not 
negative  even  the  last  hypothesis.  Dr.  Kenyon 
would  naturally  wish  to  believe  the  work  to  be  the 
celebrated  tract  of  Aristotle.  It  is  a  singular  dis- 
tinction to  be  the  editor  of  an  editio  princeps  of  a 
work  of  Aristotle.  We  are  quite  sure,  however,  that 
his  expressed  opinion  in  favour  of  Aristotelian 
authorship  is  the  result  of  a  careful  estimate  of  the 
evidence  as  it  presented  itself  to  him,  and  we  are 
ready  to  accord  much  weight  to  his  opinion.  Those 
portions  of  his  task  as  editor,  which  called  for  insight 
into  complicated  questions  in  history  and  lucid 
review  of  evidence,  have  been  adequately  executed. 
Such  faults  as  may  be  found  in  his  editing  are  not 
connected  with  matters  of  history.  However,  we 
cannot  share  his  opinion  that  the  treatise  before  us 
is  the  work  of  Aristotle. 


122  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

The  question  as  to  the  Aristotelian  canon — as  to 
what  may  be  the  undoubted  works  of  Aristotle — is  a 
very  complicated  one,  and  we  should  not  think  of 
forcing  a  discussion  of  it  on  readers  of  this  Review. 
Those  who  wish  to  see  how  thorny  it  is  may  consult 
the  great  work  of  Grote  on  Aristotle.  Even  the  far 
simpler  enquiry,  how  far  the  authenticity  of  a  work 
ascribed  to  Aristotle  may  be  decided  by  considera- 
tions of  style,  is  far  more  difficult  than  the  same 
question  concerning  Plato  or  Cicero.  For  we  know 
broadly  the  salient  features  of  the  style  of  Plato  and 
Cicero,  while  as  regards  Aristotle  we  are  puzzled  by 
a  curious  discrepancy  on  the  part  of  the  best  judges 
in  referring  to  the  way  in  which  his  writings  have 
impressed  them.  Cicero,  an  undoubted  authority, 
uses  expressions  about  it  which  make  us  rub  our  eyes 
and  ask  ourselves,  are  we  dreaming  ?  The  words 
'  flumen  orationis  aureum '  ^  seem  about  the  most 
inappropriate  which  could  be  chosen  to  represent  to 
us  the  unadorned  phrases  in  which  the  great  Stagirite 
was  wont  to  throw  a  flood  of  driest  keenest  light  on 
the  most  profound  questions  in  ethics,  logics,  and 
politics.  Again  we  read  of  his  'orationis  ornamenta,'^ 
of  his  '  dicendi  incredibilis  quaedam  cum  copia  turn 
etiam  suavitas,'^  and  of  '  Aristotelia  pigmenta.'*  Now 
these  are  by  no  means  the  qualities  which  we  look 
for  in  his  style.  We  expect  the  shrewd  and  con- 
cisely expressed  suggestion  of  genius,  unillumined  by 
a  ray  of  fancy,  unspoiled  by  an  attempt  at  brilliancy, 
but  often  disclosing  a  mind  two  thousand  years 
ahead    of   its    contemporaries,    and    striking    us    by 

1  '  Acad.'  ii.  38,  §  1 19.  ^  '  Fin.'  i.  5,  §  14. 

^  'Topica,'  i.  3.  *  *  Epp.  ad  Att.'  ii.  i,  §  i. 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  123 

unmistakable  anticipations  of  views  which  began  to 
be  propounded  some  twenty  centuries  after  the 
philosopher  was  dead.  Hence  it  has  been  suggested 
that  in  some  of  his  works  lost  to  us,  especially  his 
dialogues,  he  set  free  a  fancy  which  was  curbed  in 
his  more  formal  essays.  But  is  this  view  tenable  ? 
Then, '  le  style  ce  n'est  pas  I'homme.'  Could  Cousin 
write  sometimes  like  Kant,  and  Butler  occasionally 
like  Bossuet  ?  We  think  not,  and  we  are  disposed 
to  believe  that  we  have  in  Aristotle  a  fountain  of 
light  which  has  come  to  us  through  many  a  distort- 
ing medium,  sometimes  making  our  eyes  ache  with 
its  dry  frosty  clearness,  and  sometimes  (in  the  lost 
works  which  Cicero  read)  displaying  the  rainbow 
hues  of  imagination.  These  last  have  certainly  not 
shone  on  us,  and  it  may  be  doubted  (in  view  of  what 
we  do  know  about  the  successors  of  Aristotle) 
whether  Cicero  did  not  mistake  tinsel  for  gold  when 
he  spoke  of  the  '  flumen  orationis  aureum  '  ;  but  this 
is  certain,  that  Cicero  read  as  the  works  of  Aristotle 
pieces  which  he  described  in  terms  which  we  should 
not  think  of  applying  to  our  Aristotle. 

These  considerations  fall  in  very  aptly  with  a 
theory,  which  does  not  depend  on  them  alone,  that 
many  of  the  great  treatises  of  Aristotle  have  been 
preserved  by  means  of  notes  taken  at  his  lectures  by 
his  pupils,  and  have  been  rescued  from  the  fate 
which  would  naturally  attend  such  a  vehicle  of  trans- 
mission, only  by  the  amazing  originality  of  the 
master's  genius,  and  the  generally  high  intellectual 
level  of  the  pupils.  If  this  theory  could  be  accepted 
as  tenable — and  it  has  found  many  able  and  authori- 
tative supporters — we  should  not  be  surprised  to  find 


124  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

that  the  celebrated  treatise  on  the  Athenian  Con- 
stitution had  assumed  even  half-a-dozen  dififerent 
forms  within  a  hundred  years  after  the  death  of  the 
master.  This  would  account  for  a  great  many  things 
which  puzzle  us  in  the  tract  now  under  consideration. 
The  first  and  most  remarkable  is  that  it  seems  certain 
that  Plutarch  had  not  read  this  particular  edition  of 
the  '  Constitution  of  Athens.'  In  his  '  Life  of  Solon,' 
Plutarch  only  once  mentions  Aristotle  by  name,  and 
then  it  is  to  make  him  an  authority  for  an  incident 
in  the  career  of  Solon  which  he,  Plutarch,  does  not 
believe,  but  for  which  he  quotes  the  evidence  of 
'  Aristotle  the  philosopher  ' — the  statement  that  Solon 
desired  that  after  his  death  his  ashes  should  be 
scattered  round  Salamis.  There  is  no  such  state- 
ment in  the  *  Constitution  of  Athens  '  which  has  just 
been  published.  This,  however,  is  not  at  all  decisive, 
for  '  Aristotle  the  philosopher '  might  have  recorded 
the  anecdote  elsewhere  ;  but  what  shall  we  say  of 
the  new  and  remarkable  instances  of  the  versatility 
(to  use  a  euphemism)  of  Themistocles  which  the 
editio  princeps  affords  us  ?  Is  it  credible  that  Plut- 
arch would  have  omitted  all  mention  of  a  narrative  so 
striking  in  itself,  and  so  eminently  suited  to  his  vivid 
way  of  portraying  character,  if  he  had  for  it  the 
authority  of  Aristotle  the  philosopher,  whom  he  is 
glad  to  quote  even  when  he  differs  from  him  ?  The 
conclusion  is  irresistible  that  Plutarch  had  never 
read  the  work  before  us.  But  he  had  certainly  read 
some  treatise  ascribed  to  Aristotle  on  the  '  Athenian 
Constitution  ' ;  therefore  there  must  have  been  other 
editions  of  the  '  Athenian  Constitution '  circulating 
under  the  name  of  Aristotle  beside  the  one  which 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  125 

has  recently  come  into  our  hands.  If  so,  there  may 
have  been  many  recensions,  one  issued  perhaps  in 
each  succeeding  generation,  each  introducing  fresh 
knowledge  required  on  the  subjects  treated  in  the 
tract,  but  each  carefully  avoiding  the  pursuit  of  the 
subject  beyond  the  time  of  Aristotle,  under  whose 
name  it  was  issued  ;  and  some  of  these  might  have 
been  even  two  hundred  years  posterior  to  Aristotle. 

Such,  we  are  strongly  disposed  to  believe,  is  the 
present  treatise.  The  style  is  neither  that  of  Aris- 
totle as  we  know  him,  nor  that  of  Aristotle  as  he 
seems  to  have  been  known  to  Cicero,  whose  Aristotle 
no  doubt  included  many  works  really  written  by  his 
pupils  and  successors.  It  is  between  both,  and  far 
removed  from  each.  We  have  already  pointed  out 
a  few  reflections  in  the  treatise  which  have  caught 
something  of  the  manner  of  the  master,  but  they 
have  not  his  originality  nor  his  profundity.  The 
style  is  easy  and  simple,  far  from  striking,  and  some- 
times (as  for  instance  in  the  description  of  the  attack 
of  Themistocles  and  Ephialtes  on  the  Areopagus) 
very  bald  and  feeble  ;  and  the  vocabulary  of  this 
short  tract  makes  many  additions,  and  quite  need- 
less additions,  to  the  already  enormous  vocabulary 
of  Aristotle.  The  language  is  redolent  of  the 
epoch  of  Diodorus  Siculus.  Dr.  Kenyon  has  en- 
deavoured to  prove  that  the  year  307  must  be 
regarded  as  the  latest  limit  of  its  composition, 
because  the  writer  speaks  of  the  Athens  of  his 
own  time  as  having  only  ten  tribes,  whereas  the 
number  was  raised  to  twelve  in  that  year.  Another 
ingenious  critic  would  make  the  tract  prior  to  325, 
because  in  that  year  the  Athenians  began  to  build 


126  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

quinqueremes,  while  the  tract  only  mentions  triremes 
and  quadriremes.  But  minute  considerations  of  this 
kind  are  of  little  moment  when  weighed  against  the 
counter-evidence  supplied  by  the  whole  character  of 
the  style  and  diction.  Each  successive  redacteur 
would  be  careful  to  preserve  in  his  edition  the 
appearance  of  Aristotelian  authorship,  and  would  be 
on  his  guard,  so  far  as  his  erudition  served  him,  not 
to  introduce  anachronisms  which  would  betray  a 
post-Aristotelian  origin.  The  editors  of  these  suc- 
cessive recensions  of  a  supposed  tract  of  Aristotle 
did  not  trouble  themselves  to  try  to  achieve  any 
imitation  of  his  style,  or  even  to  secure  congruity 
with  his  opinions  as  expressed  in  his  other  works, 
but  were  satisfied  if  they  could  avoid  the  mention 
of  institutions  which  would  distinctly  disprove  the 
Aristotelian  authorship.  In  the  same  way  a  literary 
man  of  our  own  time,  in  trying  to  pass  off  an  essay 
of  his  own  as  the  work  of  Hallam,  might  not  have 
the  ability  to  produce  a  good  imitation  of  his  style, 
or  the  learning  to  avoid  some  conflict  with  his 
opinions,  but  certainly  he  would  be  intelligent 
enough  not  to  mention  political  phenomena  which 
have  appeared  since  Hallam's  time,  such  as  the 
Caucus,  the  '  one  man  one  vote '  agitation,  the 
cry  for  the  taxation  of  ground-rents,  or  the  demand 
for  female  suffrage. 

An  imposing  array  of  positive  proofs  can  be 
drawn  from  the  language  of  the  treatise  that  it 
was  not  written  before  the  century  preceding  the 
Christian  era.  These  can  be  disregarded  only  on 
the  theory  that  the  MS.  is  vitiated  throughout  by 
errors  of  scribes  who  introduced  into  it  the  literary 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  127 

mannerisms  of  their  own  time.     Such  a  hypothesis 
has  never  been  applied  to  the  criticism  of  the  remains 
of  antiquity.      If  applied,  it  would  render  all  literary 
criticism  based  on  style  irrelevant,  and,  if  pushed  far 
enough,  it  might  prove  the  genuineness  of  the  letters 
of    Phalaris.      We   have    only   to   alter    the    dialect 
throughout,  and  to  regard  as  adscripts  those  passages 
which   Bentley  showed   to   refer  to  institutions   ages 
posterior  to   Phalaris,  and   we  have  a  set  of  letters 
which  might  have  been  written  by  the  Sicilian  tyrant. 
Nay,  by  a  consistent  remodelling  of  the  spelling  and 
phraseology,  we  might  show  that  Queen  Victoria's 
'  Tour   in    the    Highlands '    was    by   James    I.      The 
changes  required  for  these  feats  would   certainly  be 
more   sweeping   than   those  demanded  to  bring   the 
present    treatise    into   conformity    with    Aristotelian 
usage  ;   but   the   alterations    requisite   for   the    latter 
purpose  would  be  so  great  to  justify  fully  the  state- 
ment, that  it  would  require  to  be  virtually  rewritten. 
Of  the  proofs  drawn   from   diction   we  will   only 
give  the  most  striking.      A   list  of  post-Aristotelian 
words   and    phrases,    including    many   beside    those 
which  we  had  already  noticed  and  which  must  have 
been  observed  by  every  student  of  Aristotle,  is  given 
by  the  Editor  of  the  'Classical  Review'  in  the  March 
number  (1891)  ;  in  it  are  most  of  the  following  : — 

P.  14,  1.  2,  eXeyeia,  *a  poem  in  elegiac  verse'; 
the  form  eXeyela  is  found  in  Plutarch  and  Strabo, 
but  not  in  early  writers,  who  use  only  eXeyelov. 
In  the  same  page  (pvcrei  (which  Dr.  Kenyon  now 
recognises  as  the  right  reading)  is  employed  in  the 
non- Aristotelian  sense  of  *  birth '  (noble  by  birth), 
and  is  so  used  again  in  p.  48,  1.  10. 


128  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

P.  1 6,  1.  4,  irapacrTparrjyelv,  'to  out-general'; 
Plutarch  and  Dionysius  Halicarnasseus  use  it  in  the 
sense  of  '  to  interfere  with  the  general.' 

P.  17,  1.  4,  Karacpart'C^eLi/,  'to  declare  publicly' 
(Plutarch). 

P.  20,  1.  8,  l^euyiariop,  '  rating  of  Zeugitae'  (Pollux). 

P.  32,  1.  6,  nieiiiy^i/uLoipLa,  '  fault-finding'  (Lucian). 

P.  36,  1.  7,  irpocTKoa/uLeia-OaL,  *  to  be  ranged  on  the 
same  side  with.'  Plutarch  and  Josephus  have  irpoa-- 
Koo-jiieiv,  but  in  the  sense  of  *  to  adorn  further.' 

P.  36,  1.  10,  SiacprjiuLia-juLo^,  *a  proclamation,'  formed 
from  SiacprjiuLi'l^a),  which  is  used  by  Dionysius  Hal. 

P.  65,  1.  7,  e^airopeiv,  'to  be  in  great  want' 
(Polybius,  Diodorus,  Dionysius  Hal.). 

P.  90,  1.  II,  oruvapea-KecrOai,  '  to  be  pleased  with ' 
(Sextus  Empiricus). 

P.  95,  1.  I,  inaviav,  'to  be  mad  '  (Josephus). 

P.  1 1 1, 1.  7,  yiiiiepa  acpeon/uLo^,  'a  holiday'  (Aristides). 

P.  117,1.  I ,  evcrtjiuLLa,  '  a  favourable  state  of  the 
auspices,'  used  by  Hippocrates  in  the  sense  of  '  a 
good  prognostic' 

P.  12  1,1.  3,  eTTLrrrvXiov^  used  in  Plutarch  and  other 
late  writers  for  '  architrave '  ;  here  either  '  a  column  ' 
(of  accounts),  or  a  mistake  for  e-Tria-ToXiov,  a  late 
diminutive  of  cTria-ToXri. 

P.  135,  1.  ult,  eKOu/uLa,  'a  sin-offering,'  used  by 
Hippocrates  in  the  sense  of '  a  pustule.' 

Here  are  half-a-dozen  phrases  and  constructions 
(for  the  most  part  Latinisms)  which  seem  to  point 
to  a  period  long  post-Aristotelian  : — 

P-  33»  1-  5)  0Lp-)(aiai/  eTToirja-av,  possibly  a  translation 
of  the  Latin  antiquare. 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  129 

P.  65,  1.  4,  ovSevi  Soy /man  Xa^oucra  rrjP  ^yejULovlav, 
'  having  obtained  the  supremacy  without  any  decree.' 

P.  76,  1.  9,  rjTTOLTo  SiSovai,  *  he  was  not  equal  to 
giving/ 

P.  100,  1.  4,  eV)  irepag  V/yaye  rrjv  eipyjvtjv,  *  he  con- 
cluded the  peace.' 

P.  103,  1.  ult,  ov-^  oLov  .  .  .  aWa  Kai,  not  found 
before  Polybius,  and  condemned  by  Phrynichus. 

P.  109,  1.  penult,  irpay/JLacTL  (tv/j.  inly  wad  ai^  'to  be 
mixed  up  in  affairs.' 

To  these  may  be  added  the  use  of  eav  for  the 
conditional  particle  aV  in  pp.  84,  ^y,  140,  and  the 
utterly  post-classical  apostrophising  of  the  reader  in 
SiayvwQi^  'observe,'  p.  29,  1.  12.  Both  these  usages 
are  certainly  in  the  facsimile  ;  eav  is  quite  clear,  and 
^Layvwdi  certainly  seems  to  be  the  reading  ;  Si-  is 
certain,  and  -wOi  nearly  so  ;  at  all  events,  Sij  aXXoOi, 
Srj  erepcoOi,  the  ingenious  emendations  proposed,  are 
not  in  the  facsimile.  The  reading  seems  to  be 
SiayvwQi  oTTov  Xeyei  Trepi,  '  observe  where  he  speaks 
about,' ^  and  the  usage  is  quite  that  of  Siaa-Koirei  in 
Plutarch  ('  Solon.'  xix.),  where  he  addresses  the 
reader  and  says,  '  However,  turn  over  the  question 
in  your  own  mind.'  The  word  opa,  '  observe,'  is 
constantly  so  used  by  late  writers. 

We  have  already  given  reasons  for  believing  that 
Plutarch  had  not  read  the  particular  edition  of  the 
'  Constitution  of  Athens '  which  is  now  in  our  hands. 
This  conviction  will  be  strengthened  by  a  comparison 
of  the  places  in  which  the  same  anecdote  is  told  by 

^  It  maybe  observed  that  even  diayvwdi  irov,  for  'observe  where,' 
may  be  paralleled  in  post-classical  Greek ;  cp.  the  title  of  a  work  of 
Lucian,  ttws  Set  <Tvyypd<p€LP,  quomodo  historia  conscribenda  sit. 


I30  THE   NEW  PAPYRI 

the  two  writers.  The  shrewd  comment  of  Solon  on 
the  request  of  Pisistratus  for  a  body-guard,  that  he 
(Solon)  was  wiser  than  those  who  did  not  see  the 
design  of  the  tyrant  and  braver  than  those  who 
seeing  it  held  their  peace,  is  given  by  both,  but 
there  is  not  a  word  in  the  narrative  of  Plutarch  to 
suggest  that  he  derived  the  anecdote  from  our 
treatise.  On  the  other  hand,  Aelian  (viii.  i6)  gives 
the  same  tale  in  very  similar  language,  which  would 
quite  justify  the  theory  that  he  had  before  him  the 
very  same  text  which  has  recently  been  published. 
In  telling  the  story  how  Pisistratus  inflicted  wounds 
on  himself,  and  persuaded  the  people  that  he  had 
received  them  from  his  political  opponents,  our 
treatise  has  the  same  participle,  KaTarpavjuaTLo-ag, 
which  Diodorus  Siculus  uses  in  telling  the  same 
tale;  there  is  no  coincidence  of  expression  in  Plutarch, 
whose  account  seems  to  be  derived  from  another 
source. 

To  these  evidences  for  the  existence  of  various 
recensions  of  a  work  used  by  many  subsequent 
writers  on  politics,  the  following  considerations 
should  be  added.  There  is  no  early  authority  for 
the  existence  of  a  work  called  IloXireiaL  by  Aristotle. 
The  passage  of  Polybius  referred  to  by  Dr.  Kenyon 
(Introd.  p.  xvii),  as  containing  an  allusion  by  Timaeus 
to  Aristotle's  HoXiTciai,  does  not  really  mention  such 
a  work  ;  it  only  tells  us  that  Aristotle  wrote  a  work 
about  the  Locrian  constitution,  and  was  criticised  by 
Timaeus,  but  does  not  tell  us  what  work  of  Aristotle 
was  so  criticised.  Hence  it  is  possible  that  there 
never  was  an  Aristotelian  archetype,  but  that  the 
different  editions  of  the  tract  were  different  efforts 


THE   NEW   PAPYRI  131 

to  produce  something  which  Aristotle  might  have 
written.  We  are,  however,  disposed  to  believe  that 
there  was  an  original  work  by  Aristotle  himself. 
Some  of  the  fragments  which  quote  the  'Constitution 
of  Athens  by  Aristotle '  give  a  statement  distinctly 
different  from  the  teaching  of  our  text.  Zenobius 
tell  us  that  '  Aristotle  in  the  Constitution  of  Athens ' 
related  how  Callicrates  had  increased  inordinately 
the  pay  of  the  dicasts,  and  that  hence  arose  a 
proverb  i^Tre^o  ra  JLaXXiK parous,  '  to  out-Callicrates 
Callicrates,'  which  denoted  unreasonable  excess.  The 
account  of  Callicrates  in  our  treatise  contains  no 
such  statement  nor  anything  like  it.  The  scholiast 
on  Aristophanes  (' Vesp.'  502)  says  that  Aristotle 
ascribed  to  the  dynasty  of  the  fisistratidae  a  duration 
of  forty -one  years  ;  here  '  Aristotle '  distinctly  states 
that  it  lasted  forty-nine.  Heraclides  Ponticus,  a 
pupil  of  Aristotle,  wrote  a  work  called  Trepl  HoXitcimv, 
which  is  admitted  to  have  been  a  compilation  from  the 
works  of  his  master,  and  which  in  some  cases  pre- 
serves statements  found  elsewhere  only  in  the  tract 
before  us,  yet  he  did  not  profess  to  give  us  Aristotle's 
'  Constitution  of  Athens,'  but  only  a  work  based  on 
Aristotle.  Probably  it  differed  from  many  other 
similar  essays  only  in  the  fact  that  it  did  not  claim 
Aristotelian  authorship. 

While  we  have  nothing  but  congratulations  and 
praise  for  the  skill  and  diligence  with  which  an 
extremely  difficult  MS.  has  been  deciphered,  and 
while  we  recognise  as  really  valuable  the  judgment 
which  has  been  brought  to  bear  on  the  historical 
materials  presented,  we  cannot  but  express  regret  at 
a   certain    carelessness   as    regards   Greek    accidence 


132  THE   NEW   PAPYRI 

and  syntax  which  disfigured  the  first  edition,  and 
even  marred  the  second  to  some  extent.  But  it 
would  be  a  task  both  useless  and  ungrateful  to  point 
to  these  blemishes,  which  have  been  corrected  in  the 
subsequent  editions  of  the  treatise. 

We  are,  however,  under  such  deep  obligations  to 
the  authorities  of  the  British  Museum,  that  we  are 
unwilling  to  judge  too  harshly  these  defects.  They 
have  been  the  occasion  of  bringing  out  some  fine 
scholarship,  and  showing  that  England  can  still  hold 
the  great  position  she  has  won  in  the  art  of  brilliant 
and  certain  emendation.  We  have  already  men- 
tioned SiKal^ova-i  cTKoraioi  (p.  1 45),  the  admirable 
conjecture  of  Dr.  Sandys.  It  would  be  a  pleasure 
to  record  here,  if  space  permitted,  the  many  excellent 
suggestions  which  have  been  made  by  various 
scholars,  by  Wyse,  Richards,  the  two  Mayors, 
Bywater,  Jackson,  Rutherford,  and  many  others, 
since  the  publication  of  the  tract.  We  have,  how- 
ever, already  given  reasons  for  the  belief  that  the 
treatise  is,  in  parts  at  least,  of  an  age  considerably 
later  than  the  Aristotelian  epoch,  that  post-classical 
usages  are  interwoven  into  the  very  warp  and  woof 
of  it,  and  that  to  emend  it  into  strict  accordance 
with  the  Greek  of  Aristotle's  age  would  be  almost 
equivalent  to  rewriting  the  work.  Further,  we  are 
disposed  to  think  that  even  after  all  the  violations 
of  classical  usage  had  been  pruned  away,  not  even 
then  would  the  essay  produce  on  a  judicious  reader 
with  an  ear  for  style  the  impression  of  being  the 
work  of  Aristotle,  or  even  of  one  of  his  immediate 
successors ;  and  that  wholesale  emendation  might  do 
more  harm   than  good   by  disguising   from   us  the 


THE   NEW  PAPYRI  133 

real  character  of  an  essay  which,  though  ancient  and 
full  of  interest  and  instruction,  does  not  seem  to 
have  emanated  from  Aristotle,  nor  from  any  of  the 
pupils  whom  he  taught  in  person. 


THE    POEMS   OF    BACCHYLIDES. 

Again  the  land  of  surprises,  the  proverbial  home  of 
plagues,  pyramids,  and  now  of  papyri,  justifies  nobly 
her  ancient  reputation.  It  is  just  seven  years  since 
we^  congratulated  the  British  Museum  on  its  splendid 
gift  to  the  world  of  letters,  when  it  published  from 
certain  Egyptian  papyH  a  very  ancient  and  valuable 
treatise  on  the  '  Constitution  of  Athens,'  which  many 
(indeed  most)  scholars  believe  to  be  the  work  of 
Aristotle.  We  now  owe  to  the  cultured  enterprise 
and  antiquarian  insight  of  the  same  eminent  institu- 
tion a  very  substantial  portion  of  the  work  of  a  poet 
to  whom  the  Alexandrian  critics  gave  a  place  among 
the  nine  lyric  bards  of  ancient  Hellas,  and  of  whom 
we  have  till  now  had  but  a  few  scanty  fragments — 
due  chiefly  to  chance,  not  selection — about  a  hundred 
lines,  and  these,  as  we  can  now  see,  by  no  means 
characteristic  of  the  mind  and  art  of  their  author. 
In  the  case  of  the  present  find,  there  is  no  room  at 
all  for  the  slightest  doubt  about  the  authenticity  and 
genuineness  of  the  recovered  treasure  ;  and  hardly 
anything  could  be  more  interesting  than  the  various 
literary  and  archaeological  aspects  of  these  odes 
exhumed  from  a  sepulture  of  nearly  a  millennium 

^  *  Quarterly  Review,'  No.  344,  April  1891. 
134 


THE    POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        135 

and  a  half.  There  is  evidence  that  the  poems  of 
Bacchylides  survived  in  some  form  till  about  500 
A.D.,  but  *  since  that  date,'  writes  Dr.  Kenyon,  *  we 
have  no  certain  warrant  that  any  eye  has  seen  a 
complete  poem  of  Bacchylides  for  a  space  of  fourteen 
hundred  years.' 

If  we  justly  congratulated  the  British  school  of 
classics  seven  years  ago  on  its  achievement  in  de- 
ciphering and  editing  the  '  Constitution  of  Athens,' 
still  more  hearty  felicitations  are  due  on  the  present 
performance.  The  editio  prmceps  is  well  worthy  of 
the  great  traditions  of  English  classical  learning. 
Dr.  Kenyon  shows  his  former  erudition,  acuteness, 
and  marvellous  skill  in  deciphering ;  but,  beside  these 
high  qualities,  he  has  brought  to  bear  on  his  present 
task  gifts  of  pure  scholarship,  of  which  we  certainly 
saw  but  little  evidence  seven  years  ago  ;  and  he  has 
had  by  his  side  some  of  the  most  accomplished 
scholars  of  England  and  Ireland.  Great  as  have 
been  the  services  of  Jebb  to  learning,  we  doubt 
if  he  has  ever  given  more  incontestable  proofs  of 
his  kinship  with  the  spirit  of  Greek  poetry  and  his 
mastery  of  its  instruments  than  in  his  labours  on  the 
editio  pjHnceps.  Indeed,  in  many  places  where  the 
surviving  record  of  the  MS.  is  so  slight  as  to  afford 
but  the  scantiest  clue,  we  are  persuaded  that  that 
admirable  scholar,  '  from  out  the  ghost  of  Pindar  in 
him,'  has  drawn  the  very  sentiment,  and  perhaps  in 
many  cases  the  very  words,  of  which  Time  has  spared 
only  a  letter  here  and  there.  When  Tennyson,  in 
dedicating  to  Jebb  his  '  Demeter  and  Persephone,' 
addressed  to  him  the  words  just  quoted,  in  happy 
allusion    to    his    exquisite    version    of    Browning's 


136       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

*  Abt  Vogler '  in  the  measures  of  Pindar's  fourth 
Pythian,  he  little  thought  that  that  very  ghost  of 
Pindar  in  him  would  soon  be  invoked  to  manifest 
itself  in  a  work,  which  not  even  those  ultra-modern 
utilitarians  who  sneer  at  modern  Greek  versification 
would  venture  to  decry  as  useless — the  work  of 
fitting  together  with  skilful  and  reverent  hands  the 
disiecti  me^nbra  poetae^  and  giving  to  our  age  poems 
written  about  five-and-twenty  centuries  ago,  and  lost 
to  the  world  for  fully  fourteen.  Next  to  the  editor 
and  the  Regius  Professor  of  Greek  in  Cambridge, 
among  others  who  have  shown  much  skill  in  brush- 
ing the  dust  of  ages  off  the  golden  words  of  the  last 
of  the  Greek  lyrists,  comes  the  late  Professor  Palmer 
of  Trinity  College,  Dublin.  The  Universities  of 
Oxford,  Cambridge,  and  Dublin  have  thus  been 
associated  in  a  task  which  has  been  executed  in  a 
manner  reflecting  the  highest  lustre  on  all  three. 
Dr.  Kenyon  was  fortunate  enough  to  secure  the  co- 
operation of  Professor  Palmer  at  a  very  early  stage 
in  the  process  of  constituting  the  text.  He  entrusted 
to  him  the  odes  while  yet  in  manuscript,  and  the 
result  is  that  every  page  illustrates  the  taste,  the 
insight,  the  genius  of  one  whose  death  at  a  compara- 
tively early  age  the  learned  world  with  good  reason 
deplores,  of  one  whose  many  excellent  gifts  of  intellect 
and  temperament  won  him  the  universal  admiration 
of  scholars  and  the  affectionate  regard  of  all  his 
associates. 

Other  scholars,  notably  Dr.  Sandys,  whose  work 
in  connexion  with  the  former  find  was  so  eminent, 
have  ably  assisted  the  brilliant  editor,  and  since  the 
appearance  of  the  editio  princeps,  such  improvements 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        137 

in  the  text  and  in  its  interpretation  have  been 
suggested  that  of  the  lines  (more  than  a  thousand) 
rescued  from  the  sands  of  Egypt  there  is  hardly  one 
which  is  not  already  thoroughly  understood  and 
adequately  illustrated.  And  no  doubt  we  may  con- 
fidently look  for  still  more  light  from  the  same  and 
other  sources. 

Now  that  we  have  quite  sufficient  materials  for 
forming  a  judgment  on  the  literary  merits  of  Bacchy- 
lides,  and  assigning  to  him  his  place  among  the 
poets,  it  is  very  interesting  to  review  the  estimates  of 
the  ancients  as  well  as  those  of  modern  critics,  based 
as  the  latter  have  hitherto  been  on  quite  inadequate 
data. 

The  judgment  of  antiquity  is  absolutely  borne  out 
by  the  poems  which  Egypt  has  at  last  rendered  up 
to  the  modern  world.  Sweetness,  and  an  equable 
excellence  of  execution,  which  never  rises  very  high 
or  falls  much  below  its  natural  level,  are  always 
present.  Longinus  denied  to  Bacchylides  any  claim 
to  true  greatness  as  a  poet ;  but,  comparing  him  and 
Ion  with  such  poets  as  Pindar  and  Sophocles,  he 
observes  that  the  former  are  *  equable  and  have  all 
the  charm  of  elaborate  workmanship,'^  while  the 
latter  sometimes  '  fall  miserably.'^  We  may  take 
leave  to  say  that  if  Pindar  and  Sophocles  have  ever 
fallen  miserably  it  must  be  in  poems  which  have  not 
come  down  to  us  ;  but  we  recognize  the  justice  of 
the  criticism  on  Bacchylides,  which  is  quite  in  har 
mony  with  that  of  the  editor  :  '  his  art  is  shown  in 

MStdirrarrot  Acai  iv  t(^  ^\a(f>vpi^  irdvTrj  KCKaWiypacfyqixivoi.     (Longin. 
'  De  Sublim.'  xxxiii.) 

' iriiTTOvffiv  drvx^ffTara.     (Ibid.) 


138       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

graceful  expression,  in  craftsmanship  rather  than  in 
invention,' 

The  poet  himself,  though  he  ventures  in  one 
passage  to  arrogate  the  title  of  eagle,^  which  so  fitly 
belongs  to  his  great  Theban  rival,  calls  himself  else- 
where with  more  justice  '  the  Ceian  nightingale/  and 
*  the  island  bee  of  dulcet  note '  ;  and  sweetness  is  the 
quality  that  epigrams  in  the  Anthology  ascribe  to 
him  in  designating  him  as  XaXo<i  '^eiprfv  and  calling 
his  songs  Xapa.  Dionysius,  again,  credits  him  with 
absolute  correctness  and  uniform  elegance  ;  and  so 
true  is  this  of  the  odes  now  before  us  that  there  is 
hardly  a  difficult  expression  or  a  tortuous  construc- 
tion in  them  all.  Indeed,  in  the  few  places  where 
the  editio  princeps  shows  anything  like  a  strained  use 
of  a  word  or  a  harsh  phrase,  we  may  ascribe  it  to  an 
error  in  the  MS.  (though  the  MS.  is  quite  unusually 
accurate) ;  and  we  shall  generally  find  that  in  those 
cases  some  natural  misapprehension  misled  the 
copyist,  and  that  a  slight  emendation  restores  the 
uniform  correctness  and  elegant  simplicity.  We  can 
well  understand  how  Hiero  and  the  Emperor  Julian 
preferred  the  trim  parterre  of  the  Ceian  to  the 
Theban's  '  flowers  of  fire.'  There  will  always  be 
those  who  will  prefer  Southey  to  Shelley,  and  who 
will  not  try  to  force  their  way  into  the  quartz  rock 
in  quest  of  the  gold  which  is  imbedded  in  it  ? 
Bacchylides   seems  to  have   proposed   to   himself  as 

^Some  critics  think  that  it  is  Hiero,  not  himself,  whom  the  poet 
compares  to  an  eagle  in  the  fifth  ode.  But  we  are  persuaded  that  they 
are  mistaken.  As  applied  to  Hiero  the  whole  passage  16-30  would  be 
a  piece  of  tasteless  exaggeration.  Besides,  the  word  XiyOtpdoyyoi  ap- 
plied to  the  lesser  birds  shows  that  the  comparison  is  between  himself 
and  minor  poets. 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        139 

his  model  the  art  of  his  uncle  Simonides  rather  than 
that  of  his  great  rival  Pindar.  Though  he  has  never 
approached  the  beauty  of  the  exquisite  ode  of 
Simonides  on  Danae  and  the  infant  Perseus,  he  has 
often  succeeded  (as  we  shall  see)  in  telling  a  tale 
very  simply,  powerfully,  and  gracefully.  It  is  chiefly 
in  his  apt  comments  on  every-day  life  that  he  recalls 
the  manner  of  Simonides  rather  than  that  of  Pindar, 
who  in  this  department — if  it  is  a  department — of 
poesy  must  be  admitted  to  be 

'  Too  bright  and  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food.' 

Where  should  we  find  in  Pindar  an  aphorism  at  once 
so  shrewd  and  so  unconventional  as  that  which 
Bacchylides  puts  into  the  mouth  of  Apollo  address- 
ing Admetus  ?  ^ 

'  It  is  meet  that  thou,  as  a  man  born  of  woman,  should  have 
two  minds  about  life  :  one,  that  to-morrow's  sun  shall  be  thy 
last,  and  another,  that  thou  shalt  live  in  wealth  full  fifty  years  : 
be  righteous,  therefore,  and  make  merry  :  in  all  thy  getting  this 
is  best.' 

Another  passage  reminds  us  of  old  Adam  in  '  As 
you  like  it,'  with  his  praise  of  health  and  aspiration 
for  some  *  settled  low  content,'  while  it  also  recalls  a 
celebrated  couplet  of  Pope.  It  is  remarkably  free 
from  the  conventionality  which  generally  blunts  the 
edge  of  proverbial  philosophy  : — 

'  Virtue  giveth  a  man  heart,  and  piety  bringeth  a  nobler  cheer- 
fulness and  courage ;  if  a  man  hath  health  and  substance 
whereby  to  live,  then  can  he  challenge  the  foremost  among 
men.  No  delight  is  wanting  to  life,  if  distempers  and  desperate 
poverty  hold  aloof.     The  rich  man  hath  his  great  cravings,  as 

1  in.  78-84. 


140       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

the  humble  his  humbler.  Plenty  in  all  things  bringeth  no 
delight  to  mortals  ;  they  ever  strive  to  overtake  that  which 
fleeth  away.'  ^ 

And  here  is  another  sample  of  mitis  sapientia  : — ^ 

*  Man  hath  a  thousand  good  gifts,  but  only  one  hath  in  it  the 
promise  of  bliss,  even  for  him  whoso  by  uprightness  ordereth 
his  daily  life.  Not  with  cruel  frays  sorteth  the  voice  of  the  harp 
and  the  loud  lay  of  the  choir,  not  with  revels  the  ring  of  steel  on 
steel.  Each  deed  hath  its  own  fit  season.  Him  that  doeth 
justice  doth  God  too  lift  up.' 

This  simple  belief  in  the  sanctity  of  duty  and  the 
blessedness  of  contentment  had  no  attractions  for  the 
splendour-loving  ((piXdyXao^)  Pindar,  in  whose  veins 
ran  the  noble  blood  of  the  Aegidae,  and  whose  creed 
was  complicated  by  the  ardent  longings  for  future 
bliss  and  the  bitter  sorrow  for  present  misery  which 
the  Mysteries  inculcated  on  the  initiated.  This 
difference  between  the  minds  of  Pindar  and  Bacchy- 
lides  is  well  illustrated  by  the  attitude  of  each  to- 
wards the  superior  beings  of  Greek  mythology. 
The  third  Olympian  ode  was  sung  at  the  feast  of  the 
Theoxenia  given  by  Theron  in  the  name  of  the 
Dioscuri  to  the  other  gods.  We  are  struck  by  the 
respect,  even  awe,  with  which  the  Dioscuri  are  in- 
vested with  the  somewhat  mundane  character  of 
hosts.  A  fragment  of  Bacchylides  preserved  by 
Athenaeus  invites  these  same  deities  to  a  feast. 
They  are  regarded  as  ordinary  mortals,  and  are 
warned  that  there  awaits  them  '  no  ox  roasted  whole, 

*  I.  25-39. 

*  XIV.  8-18.  We  read  Ss  rb  trap  X"P<5s,  with  Messrs.  Headlam, 
Pearson,  and  Richards,  in  the  '  Classical  Review,'  and  Dr.  von 
Wilamovitz-MoellendorfF,  in  the  '  Gottingischen  gelehrten  Anzeigen.' 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        141 

no  gold  nor  cloths  of  purple  ;  only  a  merry  heart,  a 
tuneful  song,  and  sweet  wine  in  Boeotian  flagons.' 

The  poems  before  us  afford  a  signal  proof  how 
dangerous  it  is  to  attempt  to  characterize  a  writer 
known  to  us  only  in  fragments.  '  The  genius  and 
art  of  Bacchylides,'  writes  K.  O.  Miiller  in  his  '  His- 
tory of  Greek  Literature,'  '  were  chiefly  devoted  to 
the  pleasures  of  private  life,  love,  and  wine ;  and, 
when  compared  with  those  of  Simonides,  appear 
marked  by  greater  sensual  grace  and  less  moral 
elevation.'  This  judgment,  we  can  now  see,  is  quite 
unjustified,  but  it  is  easy  to  perceive  its  genesis. 
Among  the  few  fragments  of  Bacchylides  hitherto 
known  to  us  almost  the  longest  is  a  description  of 
the  influence  of  wine,  under  which  a  man  is  '  o'er  all 
the  ills  of  life  victorious.'  It  is  interesting  to  com- 
pare it  with  a  fragment  of  Pindar  ^  on  the  same 
theme.      Bacchylides  is  easy  and  pleasant : — 

'  Straightway  as  he  drinks  he  is  a  triumphant  conqueror,  soon 
to  be  king  of  all  the  world,  his  halls  gleam  with  ivory,  his 
argosies  are  laden  with  Egyptian  bales  :  so  soars  his  spirit  as  he 
quaffs  the  beaker.' 

Pindar   is   less   concrete,   but  the   phrase   '  shore   of 
illusion  '  (-\lrevSrj  irpog  aKrdv)  is   a  monogram   on   the 
fragment,  that  '  note  of  distinction '  which   Matthew  ^  ^ 
Arnold  bids  us  to  look  for,  and  which  in  Pindar  we 
never  seek  in  vain  : 

*  The  cares  that  oppress  us  leave  the  breast,  and  o'er  a  sea  of 
golden  store  we  sail  all  alike  to  a  shore  of  illusion.  The  poor 
man  is  rich,  and  the  rich  are  gladder  at  heart,  javelled  through 
by  the  arrows  of  the  vine.' 


218  Bergk. 


142       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

Admirable  as  was  the  art  of  Simonides,  graceful 
and  refined  as  was  that  of  Bacchylides,  we  do  not 
meet  in  them  that  '  ever  surging  yet  bridled  excite- 
ment recasting  and  heightening  what  a  man  has 
to  say,'  in  such  a  manner  as  to  give  special  intensity, 
dignity,  and  distinction  to  it,  that  spirit  of  style, 
which  Matthew  Arnold  finds  in  Pindar  above  all 
poets,  and  which  distinguishes  him  from  even  the 
best  of  his  contemporaries  by  the  same  qualities 
which  make  Shakespeare's  work  different  from  and 
conspicuous  above  that  of  the  other  poets  of  the 
Elizabethan  age. 

Before  analysing  more  closely  the  style  of  the 
re-arisen  lyrist,  and  considering  what  light  is  thrown 
by  the  poems  on  the  personality  and  mind  of  their 
author,  it  will,  perhaps,  be  interesting  to  examine 
the  odes  in  detail,  and  to  place  before  our  readers 
some  of  their  most  characteristic  features.  An 
excellent  analysis  of  the  subject  matter  of  each  ode 
is  given  by  Dr.  Kenyon  in  the  introduction  (pp. 
xxvi  xliii),  and  the  dates  of  each  and  the  structural 
arrangement  are  discussed  in  the  notes  prefixed  to 
each.  We  will  address  ourselves  rather  to  striking 
passages  in  the  poems  themselves. 

In  the  third  ode  the  poet  celebrates  a  victory 
won  by  Hiero  in  the  chariot-race  at  Olympia.  In 
dwelling  on  the  splendour  of  that  prince's  offerings 
to  the  god,  he  adduces  the  example  of  Croesus  to 
show  that  such  piety  is  not  thrown  away,  and  that 
the  god  is  true  to  his  faithful  votaries.  This  ode, 
written  less  than  eighty  years  after  the  fall  of 
Sardis,  and  before  the  publication  of  the  history 
of  Herodotus,  is  the  earliest  version  of  the  legend  of 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        143 

Croesus,^  and  differs  materially  from  the  narrative  of 
Herodotus,  in  omitting  all  mention  of  Solon,  and 
making  the  self-immolation  of  Croesus  with  his  wife 
and  daughters  the  voluntary  act  of  the  defeated 
sovereign.  It  is  to  be  observed  that  Croesus  was 
not  for  the  ancients  the  type  of  wealth,  as  with  us, 
but  of  pious  munificence  and  undeserved  reverse 
of  fortune.  Midas  and  Cinyras  were  the  typical 
millionaires  for  Pindar  and  Theognis.  This  is  the 
way  in  which  Bacchylides  tells  the  tale  : — ^ 

Lo,  Croesus,  when  Sardis  fell  before  the  Grecian  host,  that 
the  ordinance  of  Zeus  might  be  fulfilled,  Croesus,  the  Lord  of 
knightly  Lydia,  found  his  tutelar  in  Apollo  of  the  golden  falchion. 
For,  when  he  came  to  the  day  of  his  undoing  that  he  looked  not 
for,  he  would  not  brook  bitter  thraldom,  but  he  builded  him  a 
pyre  in  the  fenced  close,  and  went  up  thereon  with  his  faithful 
wife  and  his  fair-tressed  daughters  weeping  sore.  "  O,  jealous 
God!"  he  cried,  and  lifted  his  hands  to  the  high  welkin,  "where 
is  the  gratitude  of  Heaven  ?  Where  is  that  great  Lord,  Leto's 
son  ?  .  .  .  Our  women  are  haled  despitefully  from  the  stately 
halls.  What  was  once  horrible  now  is  welcome.  Death  is  our 
best  boon."  So  spake  he  and  bade  his  henchman  Habrobates 
fire  the  pile  of  wood.  The  girls  screamed,  and  threw  their  arms 
round  their  mother  ;  for,  most  horrible  is  death  when  it  cometh  to 
us  face  to  face.  But,  lo  !  when  the  strong  blaze  began  to  course 
through  the  wood,  Zeus  brought  up  a  black-stoled  cloud  and  ^i 
quenched  the  yellow  flame.  Nothing  is  past  belief  that  the  fsi^ 
l|//5i^will  of  God  bringeth  about.  So  the  Delian  god  carried  the  old 
J  king  and  his  lissome  daughters  to  the  land  of  the  Hyperboreans, 
and  there  he  stablished  them,  for  the  king's  piety  and  for  that 
beyond  all  mortal  men  he  had  sent  goodly  gifts  to  sacred  Pytho.' 

^  That  is,  the  earliest  in  literary  tradition.  The  red-figured  Amphora, 
No.  194  in  the  Louvre,  implies  a  pre-Herodotean  version  of  the  legend 
of  Croesus,  according  to  Mr.  H.  Stuart  Jones  in  *  Classical  Review,' 
XII.  i.  p.  84. 

2  III.  23-62. 


144       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

The  fourth  ode  commemorates  the  victory  of 
Hiero  with  which  Pindar  dealt  in  the  sublime  first 
Pythian.  It  is  preserved  only  in  part,  and  does  not 
seem  to  have  been  an  ambitious  effort,  having  been 
probably  designed  to  be  sung  on  the  spot,  while 
Pindar's  triumphal  chant  was  reserved  for  the  cele- 
bration of  the  victory  at  the  court  of  Hiero.  It  is  in 
the  next  ode  that  the  two  poets  are  brought  into  a 
direct  rivalry,  of  which  both  show  a  consciousness — 
Bacchylides  in  his  elaborate  comparison  of  himself  to 
an  eagle,  Pindar  when  he  boasts  of  his  close  associa- 
tion with  kings  and  winners  in  the  games,  and  hints 
that,  as  for  Hiero  in  human  fortune,  so  for  him  in  his 
art,  there  is  no  higher  height ;  their  prayer  should 
only  be  that  they  may  maintain  their  present  state. 

While  Pindar  chose  for  his  theme  the  legend  of 
Pelops,  the  founder  of  the  Olympian  games,  Bacchy- 
lides strangely  selected  the  story  of  Meleager,  whom 
he  expressly  adduces  as  an  illustration  of  the  fact 
that  no  mortal  man  can  expect  to  be  completely 
happy.  We  can  only  suppose  that  the  allusion  is  to 
the  delicate  health  of  Hiero,  and  we  cannot  regard 
the  choice  of  the  theme  as  felicitous,  but  the  ease  and 
grace  with  which  this  story  is  told  are  conspicuous 
even  among  Greek  writers.^  When  Heracles  went 
to  Hades  in  quest  of  Cerberus — 

*  There  he  marked  the  shades  of  poor  mortals  beside  Cocytus' 
stream,  thick  as  leaves  which  the  wind  scatters  o'er  the  gleam- 
ing headlands  of  sheep-dotted  Ida  ;  and  among  them  towered 
the  ghost  of  the  dauntless  champion  of  Porthaon's  line.  When 
Alcmena's  wondrous  son  descried  him  gleaming  in  his  harness, 
he  hooked  on  the  bow-tip  the  twanging  string,  and  oped  his 

1  V.  63-175. 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        145 

quiver's  lid,  and  took  therefrom  a  brazen-tipped  shaft.  But  the 
shade  of  Meleager  upspake  to  him  face  to  face,  for  he  knew  him 
well,  "  Son  of  Great  Zeus,  be  still,  and,  calming  thy  spirit,  launch 
not  thy  fierce  bolt  at  the  sprites  of  the  dead  and  gone.  It  hath 
no  terrors  for  them."  So  spake  he,  and  the  son  of  Amphitryon 
was  astonied  and  said,  "  What  god  or  mortal  reared  up  so  fair  a 
sapling,  and  in  what  clime  ?  Who  took  thy  life  ?  Ah,  such  an 
one  as  thy  slayer  will  girdled  Hera  send  for  my  undoing.  But 
nay,  of  a  surety,  golden-haired  Pallas  maketh  my  life  her  care." 
Then  Meleager  weeping,  said,  "  Hard  it  is  for  mortals  to  turn 
aside  the  mind  of  the  gods  ;  else  would  my  sire  the  good  knight 
Oeneus  with  prayer  and  sacrifice  of  many  goats  and  russet  kine 
have  laid  the  wrath  of  Artemis  divine,  white-armed,  flower- 
crowned.  But  the  goddess  nursed  her  wrath  not  to  be  van- 
quished, and  set  upon  fair  Calydon  a  merciless  brute,  a  mighty 
boar,  that  in  the  plenitude  of  his  strength  hewed  into  the  fruit 
trees  with  his  tusk,  and  slaughtered  the  sheep  and  whatso 
mortal  wight  withstood  him.  We  lords  of  the  Greeks  fought 
with  him  a  hard  fight  amain  six  days  continually  ;  and  when 
God  gave  the  battle  to  our  hands  we  buried  those  whom  the 
hoarse-grunting  brute  ^  had  slain  in  his  rushings,  even  Ancaeus 
and  Agelaus,  best  of  my  brave  brothers,  whom  Althaea  bore  in 
Oeneus'  storied  halls.  Most  of  these  ^  death  took,  for  not  yet 
did  the  angry  huntress-queen  stay  her  wrath  ;  and  for  the  tawny 
fell  with  the  staunch  Curetes  we  fought  amain.  Then  slew  I, 
among  others  many,  Iphiclus  and  Aphareus,  my  mother's  stout 
brothers  ;  for  cruel  Ares  distinguisheth  not  a  friend  in  time  of 
fighting  ;  sightless  fly  the  arrows  at  the  foemen's  lives,  and  deal 
death  to  whom  God  listeth.     Now  my  hapless  mother,  the  wily 


^  The  epithet  epi^pvxo-^  seems  hardly  suitable  to  the  wild  boar,  the 
characteristic  of  which  is  its  silence,  and  sullen  dauntlessness  :  '  Over  on 
his  back  the  monster  rolls,  and  dies  without  a  groan — dies  as  only  a  wild 
hog  can  die,  in  silence.' — Major  Shakspear's  'Wild  Sports  of  India.' 
'Pigsticking,'  by  that  eminent  shikari,  Colonel  Baden-Powell,  also 
bears  witness  to  the  sullen  silence  of  the  hog  in  its  combats  Lfjth  with 
man  and  with  beast. 

2  We  read  irK^vvw. 


146       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

daughter  of  Thestius,  not  taking  count  of  this,  devised  my 
destruction — a  dame  undaunted.  The  log  that  bare  in  it  my 
untimely  death  she  took  from  the  figured  chest  wherein  she  had 
shut  it/  and  burned  it  in  the  fire.  Fate  had  woven  in  her  web 
at  my  birth  that  by  it  should  be  meted  the  measure  of  my  life. 
I  was  spoiling  Clymenus,  brave  son  of  Deipylus,  for  I  had  come 
on  him,  a  goodly  wight,  before  the  ramparts,  and  the  foemen 
were  flying  to  the  strong  town  of  Pleuron,  ancient  hold.  And 
my  sweet  life  was  minished^  in  me,  and  I  knew  I  was  fainting 
away.  Ah,  as  I  drew  my  last  breath  I  feel  aweeping  in  my 
anguish,  for  that  I  was  leaving  my  glorious  prime."  Men  say 
that  then,  and  never  afore  or  after,  did  the  son  of  Amphitryon, 
dauntless  in  the  fray,  let  the  tear  down  fall  in  ruth  for  the  hap- 
!  less  wight,  and  thus  in  answer  he  spake,  "  For  men  it  is  best 
i<^  I  never  to  have  been  born,  nor  ever  to  have  looked  upon  the  light 
of  the  sun.  But  ah,  it  boots  not  to  weep  for  these  things  ;  rather 
is  it  meet  to  speak  of  that  which  the  future  hath  in  store.  Hast 
thou  in  the  halls  of  doughty  Oeneus  a  virgin  sister  like  unto  thee 
in  favour  ?  Her  would  I  fain  make  my  buxom  bride."  To  him 
spoke  the  ghost  of  staunch  Meleager.  "  I  left  behind  me  in 
those  halls  Deianeira  of  the  dark-pale  neck,  and  not  yet  hath 
she  felt  the  spell  of  the  golden  goddess  of  love." ' 

Thus    abruptly^    ends   what    may    be   called    the 

^  We  read  i-yKkq-aaaa  for  iyKXaiJcraaa  of  the  MS.  Jebb's  dyKXatjaaaa 
would  make  Althaea  weep  while  she  did  her  son  to  death.  This  would 
be  a  pretty  touch,  and  Ovid,  Met.  viii.  462-511,  dwells  on  the  con- 
flicting emotions  of  the  mother  and  the  sister.  But  the  poet  would  have 
made  more  of  the  thought  here  if  he  had  touched  on  it  at  all,  and  he 
would  not  have  pointedly  called  her  arctp/Sa/cros  yvvd.  Besides,  Althaea 
was  a  terrible  woman  as  depicted  in  II.  ix.  566-572. 

^  The  form  fjuvijvdd  undoubtedly  represents  efiivivdr]  from  fXLvvvoi  (cp. 
^apijpio  beside  ^apudo)),  a  verb  which  should  be  restored  again  in  ill.  90 
for  jMvvdeL,  which  could  not  by  any  means  have  the  penult  long.  In 
that  passage  the  verb  is  intransitive  like  8r)d6vo},  while  here  it  is  transi- 
tive, like  most  verbs  in  -iJi'a;.  For  the  termination  -d  cp.  i^iKeaOav, 
Pind.  N.  64,  KTL<T(rdadav,  O.  ix.  45. 

^  Such  abruptness  is  characteristic  of  Greek  lyric  poetry.  Pindar  in 
the  fourth  Pythian,  having  devoted  nearly  two  hundred  and  fifty  lines 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        147 

ballad  of  Heracles  and  Meleager  in  Hades,  a  clear 
flash  of  epic  narrative  in  the  great  vein,  not  rising  to 
the  dizzy  heights  of  splendour  which  Pindar's  stories 
of  myth-land  sometimes  achieve,  but  characteristi- 
cally maintaining  an  equable  flow  of  tender  senti- 
ment and  pure  and  elevated  diction.  Many  points 
of  interest  (none  of  them  neglected  in  Dr.  Kenyon's 
excellent  footnotes)  may  be  noticed  in  the  passage 
which  we  have  rendered.  The  comparison  of  the 
shades  of  the  dead  to  perished  leaves  whirled  about 
by  the  wind  appears  again  in  poets  ancient  and 
modern,  the  modern  of  course  being  quite  ignorant  ^^^ 
of  the  Bacchylidean  source  of  the  simile.  As  Homer's 
simile,^  like  that  of  Apollonius  Rhodius,^  relates  to 
men,  not  disembodied  spirits,  it  was  probably  the 
Bacchylidean  ode  which  suggested  to  Virgil  the 
graceful  passage,^  which  in  its  turn  gave  birth  to 
Milton's  '  Thick  as  leaves  in  Vallombrosa '  ;  to 
Shelley's  converse  comparison  in  the  '  Ode  to  the 
West  Wind,'  where  the  '  leaves  dead '  are  likened 
to— 

'  Ghosts  from  an  enchanter  fleeing, 

Yellow  and  black,  and  pale  and  hectic  red, 

Pestilence-stricken  multitudes '  ; 


to  the  story  of  the  Argonauts  up  to  the  finding  of  the  serpent  that 
guarded  the  golden  fleece,  finishes  the  tale  in  eight  verses,  premising 
the  words,  '  Long  were  it  for  me  to  go  hy  the  beaten  track,  for  the  time 
is  nigh  out,  and  I  know  a  certain  short  path,  and  many  others  look  to 
me  for  skill'  (Myers'  Tran.).  It  has,  however,  been  suggested  that 
the  abruptness  in  the  Bacchylidean  ode  would  be  justified  by  the  hypo- 
thesis that  there  is  some  reference  to  some  wedding  then  pending  at 
Hiero's  court ;  and  the  theory  gains  plausibility  from  a  comparison  with 
Pind.  01.  i.  69-89,  written  for  the  same  occasion. 

^  B.  468.  '^Arg.  iv.  216.  ^Aen   yi   309,,  310. 


\ 


148       THE   POEMS   OF  BACCHYLIDES 

and  finally  perhaps  to  Rossetti's  fine  expression  in 
one  of  his  sonnets  : — 

'The  ground- whirl  of  the  perished  leaves  of  Hope, 
The  wind  of  Death's  imperishable  wing.' 

Dr.  Kenyon  acutely  notices  that  in  his  localiza- 
tion of  the  simile  Milton  has,  unconsciously  of  course, 
approached  nearest  to  the  fountain  passage,  which 
speaks  not  merely  of  leaves,  but  of  leaves  on  the 
wind-swept  peaks  of  Ida.  It  is  stated  by  a  scholiast 
on  Homer,  $  194,  that  Heracles  met  Meleager  in 
Hades  and  was  besought  by  Meleager  to  take  his 
sister  Deianeira  to  wife,  and  that  the  scene  was  in- 
troduced by  Pindar  into  one  of  his  poems.  It  would 
be  interesting  to  read  the  poem  of  Pindar,  on  which 
we  have  perhaps  in  the  ode  before  us  a  covert 
criticism,  like  that  of  Euripides  on  Aeschylus  in 
the  '  Electra.'  The  characteristic  multiplication  of 
epithets  will  strike  the  reader,^  as  well  as  the  fact 
Jhi>  that  the  epithet' arajO^a/cTo?  (1.  139)  is  rehabilitated, 
a  word  expelled  by  Hermann  from  Pind.  Pyth.  iv. 
84  with  such  success  that  it  does  not  even  appear 
in  the  lexicon  of  Liddell  and  Scott,  which,  by  the 
way,  in  these  piping  times  of  papyri  must  give  up 
its  claim  to  be  '  definitive.'  In  Bacchylides  some 
one  hundred  words  are  marked  as  new,  and  nearly 
all  of  them  will  hold  their  places  as  good  words  and 
,  ,  true.  The  sad  lines,  160-163,  which  at  once  recall 
the  famous  Sophoclean  yu^  (pvvai  top  diravTa  vikol^ 
\6yov  again  illustrate  the  danger  of  theorizing  about  j 
fragments.       The    lines    were,  ascribed    by    Bergk, 

^  Artemis,  who  in  11.  98,  99  has  three  epithets,  has  no  less  than  four 
i»  XI.  37-39. 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        149 

apparently  on  irrefutable  grounds,  to  Silenus  as 
their  speaker.^ 

Ode  VI.,  addressed  to  Lacon  of  Ceos,  a  fellow- 
countryman  of  the  poet's,  contains  a  play  on  the 
name  of  the  Victor,^  which  reminds  us  of  a  similar 
jeu  d'esprit  on  the  part  of  Simonides,  when  he  told 
how  one  Crius  (or  Ram,  Kpioi)  was  vanquished  by 
an  Athenian  wrestler :  '  rightly  hath  the  Ram  got 
himself  shorn  by  venturing  into  the  sanctuary  of 
Jove's  bower.'  In  a  passage  in  Aristophanes^  Strep- 
siades  bids  his  son  sing  this  song,  which  the 
patriotism  of  Athenians  had  adopted  as  a  popular 
'  Trink  -  Lied.'  Apparently  the  highly  -  cultured 
Athenians,  no  more  than  the  learned  Cicero,  could 
resist  the  baleful  attraction  of  a  play  on  a  name. 

The  eleventh  ode  is  interesting  as  supplying  a 
reference  to  the  poet's  family  history,  if  an  acute 
conjecture  by  Palmer  on  line  120  is  accepted, 
according  to  which  the  poet  claims  that  his  ances- 

^  It  was  this  famous  passage  in  the  *  Oedipus  Coloneus '  which  sup- 
plied Macaulay  with  what,  Sir  G.  Trevelyan  writes,  '  was  acknowledged 
without  dissent  to  be  the  best  applied  quotation  that  ever  was  made 
within  five  miles  of  the  Fitzwilliam  Museum.'  Sir  G.  Trevelyan  con- 
sidered it  *  too  strictly  classical '  to  be  reproduced  in  his  pages.  Perhaps, 
however,  it  is  not  *  too  strictly  classical '  to  be  conveyed  in  a  learned 
language.  Let  us  fancy  ourselves  to  be  reading  some  unpublished 
letter  of  a  latter-day  Cicero  :  '  Ferunt  poetam  Wordsworthium  apud 
nobilem  quemdam  commorantem,  cum  post  ientaculum  quotidie  ^s 
airbirarov  se  recepisset,  solitum  esse  ibi  horas  duas  vel  etiam  tres  inter- 
dum  consumere.  Quam  rem  cum  Macaulaeo  e  familiaribus  nescio  quis 
narrasset  et  insuper  dixisset  morem  esse  poetae  in  sella  familiarica 
versibus  componendis  operam  dare,  ferunt  hominem,  verbis  Sophocleis 
in  versus  tam  spurco  in  loco  factos  sceleste  coUatis,  salso  risu  clamasse, 
/S'^j'ttt  Ktid^v  bdevirep  t^kci .     Scis  reliqua.' 

^  Adxwi'  Albs  fieylaTov  Xdx^  (p^prarov  irSSeaaL  Kvdos. 

'•Nubes,'  1356. 


ISO       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

tors  returning  from  the  siege  of  Troy  consecrated  to 
Artemis  a  grove  by  the  river  Casa,  where  afterwards 
Metapontum  stood.  It  also  contains  an  outspoken 
charge  against  the  false  decision  of  the  judges  at 
Olympia,  which  robbed  the  Metapontine  Alexida- 
mus,  a  traveller  from  far  Magna  Graecia,  of  the  prize 
which  was  his  due — a  charge  at  which  Pindar  would 
barely  have  allowed  himself  to  hint.  The  myth  is 
very  characteristic  of  the  sirnple  and  graceful  note  of 
the  Ceian  nightingale.  The  daughters  of  Proetus, 
who  had  offended  Hera,  were  smitten  with  madness 
by  that  spiteful  goddess,  and  wandered  away  from 
Tiryns  to  the  hills  : —  ^ 

'  Then  grief  gat  hold  of  the  heart  of  Proetus,  and  a  pang  that 
was  strange  to  him  smote  him,  and  he  doubted  whether  to  drive 
his  two-edged  brand  into  his  heart.  But  his  squires  with  soft 
words,  yea,  and  main  force,  constrained  him.  For  a  year  and  a 
month  full  told,  through  the  bosky  wildwood  they  fared  far  and 
wide,  and  kept  their  flight  through  the  pasture  lands  of  Arcady. 
But  when  he  came  to  the  fair-flowing  Lusus,  then  did  the  father, 
after  ablution  due,  call  upon  the  full-eyed  daughter  of  Leto 
crimson-crowned,  stretching  out  his  hands  to  the  beams  of  the 
fleet-horsed  sun  :  "  Oh,  bring  my  children  out  of  the  cruel  deray 
of  their  frenzy,  and  I  will  sacrifice  on  thy  altar  a  score  of  russet 
kine  never  yoked."  Then  the  huntress-queen,  daughter  of  a  sire 
most  excellent,  heard  his  prayer,  and  she  prevailed  on  Hera, 
and  made  them  quit  of  their  frantic  fits,  those  flower-crowned 
damsels.  And  they  ^  straightway  builded  for  her  a  shrine  and 
an  altar  therewith,  and  stained  it  with  the  blood  of  sheep,  and 
round  about  they  ordained  dances  and  songs  of  women.' 

In  the  thirteenth  ode  we  have  again  a  theme 
treated  by  both  Pindar  and  Bacchylides,  the  victory 
at    Nemea  of  Pytheas,  son   of  Lampon   of  Aegina. 

1 XI.  85-1 12.  2  We  read  rat. 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        151 

The  magic  grace  of  the  Pindaric  ode,  that  '  sea- 
saturate  '  song,  which  tells  how  Peleus  won  his  sea- 
bride  ;  the  note  of  gold  that  clangs  through  it ;  the 
Sea-God  coming  in  his  car  from  Aegae,  and  the 
gladsome  company  that  welcome  him  with  song  and 
sound  of  rebeck — all  these  touches,  so  true  and  so 
light,  make  the  fifth  Nemean  almost  unique  among 
all  the  poems  of  the  world.  Prof.  Bury  in  his  admir- 
able edition  has  gone  as  near  as  any  one  could  go 
to  doing  it  justice,  in  an  introduction  which  is  a 
model  of  what  comment  on  Pindar  should  be.  But 
it  is  really  an  '  unexpressive '  song,  beyond  analysis, 
and  above  praise.  In  it,  for  once,  Pindar  has 
avoided  the  theme  of  unrequited  merit  in  Ajax, 
which  so  often  furnishes  the  material  for  his  Aeginetan 
lays.  Bacchylides  has  chosen  the  Ajax  motif,  but  it  is 
Ajax  triumphant  that  he  celebrates,  not  Ajax  humili- 
ated and  balked  of  the  arms  of  Achilles  by  the  guile 
of  Odysseus  and  the  ingratitude  of  the  Greeks. 
The  ode  is  in  a  very  corrupt  condition,  but  we  can 
see  that  it  did  not  take  a  very  high  flight,  though  it 
contains  an  elaborate  simile  ending  with  a  pretty 
expression.  The  simile,  admirably  restored  by  Jebb 
(whose  suggestions  we  accept,  though  he  does  not 
venture  to  put  them  in  the  text),  runs  thus  : — 

'As  on  the  dark-burgeoning ^  main  the  north  wind  from  Thrace 
rendeth  a  bark  by  the  violence  of  the  waves,  coming  on  it  in  the 
night-watches  when  men  take  their  rest,  but  with  bright  dawn 
the  wind  leaves  to  blow,  and  a  fair  breeze  lays  the  main  to  rest, 
and  with  sail  swelling  'neath  the  gentle  South  right  fain  they 
win  to  the  haven  that  was  beyond  their  hopes.     So  when  the 


^  xni.  91-107  :  Kvavavd^'C,  a  new  and  strange  epithet.     As  the  earth 
blooms  into  flowers,  so  the  sea  heaves  up  into  dark  billows. 


152       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 


tl'^ 


vi9 


Trojans  heard  that  the  doughty  Achilles  was  abiding  in  his 
tent  for  the  sake  of  the  yellow-haired  Briseis  with  limbs  of 
young  desire,^  then  did  they  raise  up  to  heaven  their  hands, 
when  they  descried  a  bright  gleam  of  light  'neath  the  storm- 
rack.' 

Prof.  Piatt,  in  the  'Classical  Review'  (XII.  i.  p.  62), 
aptly  compares  for  the  simile  Milton's  '  Paradise  Lost/ 
ii.  286:— 

'  As  when  hollow  rocks  retain 
The  sound  of  blust'ring  winds,  which  all  night  long 
Had  roused  the  sea,  now  with  hoarse  cadence  lull 
Seafaring  men  o'erwatch'd,  whose  bark  by  chance, 
Or  pinnace,  anchors  in  a  craggy  bay 
After  the  tempest.' 

Prof.  Piatt  naturally  observes,  '  You  would  have 
sworn  Milton  was  copying  Bacchylides.'  Yet  that, 
we  know,  was  absolutely  impossible ;  and  hence, 
perhaps,  we  may  be  led  to  doubt  whether  many  of 
the  parallelisms  observed  between  Milton  and  Pindar 
are  not  coincidences — whether  some  of  the  great 
Puritan  poet's  supposed  borrowings  from  Paganism 
are  not  rather  draughts  on  his  own  copious  and 
splendid   store. 

But  the  papyrus  has  not  only  conferred  on  us 
poems  belonging  to  a  class  already  familiar  to  us. 
It  offers  examples  of  a  quite  new  genre^  which  we 
may  call  lyrical  idylls  or  dramatic  lyrics.  Ancient 
critics  ascribe  to  Pindar  compositions  which  they 
call  rpayiKo.  Spd/uLara,  none  of  which  have  come  down 
to  us.  Hitherto  the  very  designation  has  been  a 
puzzle.  We  now  have  excellent  specimens  of  com- 
positions which  may  well  have  been  so  styled,  and 


^  In  l/aepoyviov  we  have  another  new  and  strange  epithet. 


THE    POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        153 

which  we  might  compare  to  the  libretto  of  an  opera 
or  an  oratorio,  not,  however,  such  as  we  are  familiar 
with,  but  such  as  a  real  artist  might  have  written. 
The  first,  in  which  Menelaus  before  the  assembled 
Trojans  demands  the  restoration  of  Helen,  and  the 
second,  which  touches  on  Deianira's  fatal  gift  to 
Heracles,  are  fragmentary,  as  also  are  the  two  last. 
The  poem  about  Heracles  has  one  pretty  expression 
which  reminds  us  of  a  well-known  phrase  in  Camp- 
bell's '  LochieL'  Deianira  could  not  foretell  the 
consequences  of  her  act  in  sending  to  Heracles  her 
fatal  gift :  '  Her  undoing  was  o'er-mastering  jealousy, 
and  the  thick  cloud  of  darkness  that  covers  the 
things  to  come.'  But  the  seventeenth  and  eigh- 
teenth are  of  the  highest  interest,  the  former  for 
its  contents,  the  latter  for  its  form  as  well.  We 
think  we  shall  not  do  wrong  in  placing  the  two 
before  our  readers  in  their  entirety.  The  story  of 
the  first  is  given  by  Pausanias  and  Hyginus.  It 
was  the  subject  of  a  painting  by  Micon  on  the  walls 
of  the  Theseum  ;  and  it  has  received  copious  illus- 
tration from  the  ceramic  art,  as  it  forms  the  subject 
of  (amongst  others)  the  cylix  of  Euphronius  in  the 
Louvre,  and  of  the  Francois  vase  at  Florence,  on 
which  Dr.  Kenyon  (who  describes  these  works  of 
art  in  some  detail)  remarks  that  '  it  is  difficult  not 
to  trace  a  direct  indebtedness  of  the  poet  to  the 
artist.'  The  piece,  which  the  final  invocation  of 
Apollo  would  seem  to  place  among  the  Paeans,  is 
entitled,  '  The  Youths  and  Theseus.'  The  '  youths  ' 
are  the  captives  (seven  male  and  seven  female) 
brought  from  Athens  by  Minos.  Theseus  went  with 
them  to  slay  the  Minotaur,  and  so  to  save  them. 


154       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

'  Cleaving  the  Cretan  main  sped  the  dark-prowed  bark,  bearing 
staunch  Theseus  and  the  youth  of  Ionia  twice  seven.  Hard  on 
her  gleaming  canvas,  by  the  grace  of  Athena  with  her  targe  of 
war,  blew  the  gale  of  the  North.  Now  stings  that  come  baleful 
from  the  love-crowned  goddess  smote  the  heart  of  Minos,  and 
he  withheld  not  his  hand  from  the  maiden  Eriboea,  but  pinch'd 
wanton  on  her  cheek.^  Then  she  screamed  for  Pandion's  son, 
Theseus  of  the  hauberk  of  brass.  He  saw,  and  his  dark  eye 
flashed  'neath  his  brows,  and  a  pang  rent  his  heart  as  he  spake, 
"  Son  of  Zeus  most  high,  thou  guidest  not  in  right  governance 
the  motions  of  thy  spirit.  Chieftain  though  thou  art,  stay  thou 
thy  rude  tyranny.  What  resistless  fate  hath  approved,  and  the 
turn  of  the  scale  of  justice,  that  weird  will  we  dree  in  its  appointed 
hour.  Quell  thou  thy  reprobate  desire.  If,  indeed,  to  a  great 
lordship  thou  wast  born  of  the  far-famed  daughter  of  Phoenix, 
a  damsel  that  came  to  the  arms  of  Zeus  on  Ida's  slope  ;  behold, 
I  too  have  to  my  mother  the  daughter  of  Pittheus  boon,  that 
lay  with  Poseidon  ;  and  the  dark-tressed  nymphs  gave  her  her 
marriage  veil.  Wherefore,  thou  war-lord  of  the  Cnossians,  I 
charge  thee  to  put  down  thy  baleful  lechery,^  for  I  would  not 
look  again  on  the  sweet  light  of  God's  dawn  if  thou  hadst  out- 
raged by  foul  enforcement  any  one  of  this  fair  bevy  of  youth. 
Sooner  shall  we  show  how  strong  are  our  arms,  and  God  will 
decide  the  issue."  So  spake  the  high-souled  Lord,  and  the 
mariners  were  astonied  at  his  proud  defiance.  And  Minos, 
kinsman  of  the  Sun,^  was  wroth,  and  he  wove  for  Theseus  a 
snare  quick- wrought,  and  said,  "  Zeus,  father  almighty,  O  hear. 
If  the  white-armed  Phoenissa  bore  me  to  thee  in  good  sooth, 


^  A  passage  from  '  Hamlet '  (iii.  4)  is  interesting  as  showing  that  two 
great  impressionists  hit  on  the  same  touch,  as  true  as  it  is  unconven- 
tional, in  a  picture  of  despotic  lust : — 

'  Let  the  bloat  king  tempt  you  again  to  bed  ; 
Pinch  wanton  on  your  cheek  ;  call  you  his  mouse  ; 
And  let  him,  for  a  pair  of  reechy  kisses, 
Or  paddling  in  your  neck  with  his  damn'd  fingers, 
Make  you  to  ravel  all  this  matter  out. ' 
'-'  ii^piv  is  '  lust ' ;    cp.  ij^pip  opdiav  KvuiddXuv,  Pind.  P.  x.  36. 
*  His  wife  Pasiphae  was  daughter  of  Helios. 


THE   POEMS    OF   BACCHYLIDES        155 

send  thou  now  from  heaven  a  flash  of  lightning  in  ringlets  of 
flame,  to  be  for  a  clear  token.  And  do  thou,  Theseus,  if  in  good 
sooth  Aethra  of  Troezen  bore  thee  to  earthshaking  Poseidon,  do 
thou,  casting  thy  body  without  fear^  into  thy  sire's  abode,  bring 
up  from  the  deep  sea  this  golden  ring,  my  finger's  splendid 
gawd.  Thou  shalt  see  whether  the  lord  of  the  thunder,  the 
God  of  Gods,  heareth  my  orison."  Great  Zeus  gave  ear  unto 
his  inordinate  prayer,  and  wrought  for  Minos  a  great  boon, 
right  fain  to  make  manifest  to  all  in  what  favour  he  held  his 
beloved  son.  Flashed  the  lightning,  and  the  doughty  chief 
stretched  forth  his  hands  to  the  bright  firmament,  seeing  the 
welcome  sign,  and  said,  "  Now,  Theseus,  canst  thou  clearly  see 
the  boons  that  are  of  Zeus  ;  plunge  thou  into  the  roaring  deep  ; 
surely  thy  father,  King  Poseidon,  son  of  Cronus,  will  make  for 
thee  a  name  which  shall  be  highest  throughout  all  the  world's 
fair  woodlands."  So  spake  he,  and  the  heart  of  the  other  quailed 
not,  but,  standing  up,  he  plunged  from  the  firm  deck,  and  the 
yielding  ocean-floor  received  him.  Now  Minos  was  glad  at 
heart,^  and  bade  them  let  the  good  ship  go  with  the  breeze. 
Howbeit,  fate  ordained  an  issue  far  from  his  thoughts.  So  the 
swift  bark  sped  on  her  way,  and  vehement  was  the  North  that 
blew  upon  her  astern.  Trembled  the  bevy  of  captives  for  fear 
when  the  hero  leapt  into  the  sea,  and  from  their  lily-soft  eyes 
they  let  the  tear  down  fall,  as  they  thought  of  the  heavy  dule 
that  must  be.  Now  the  dolphins,  denizens  of  the  deep,  swiftly 
bare  great  Theseus  to  the  abode  of  his  sire,  the  God  that  made 
the  steed,  yea,  he  came  to  the  dwelling  of  the  Gods.  And  he 
was  afeared  when  he  descried  the  daughters  debonair  of  Nereus 
blest ;  for  from  their  lovely  limbs  a  light  shined  as  of  burning 
fire,  and  in  their  tresses  were  twined  ribands  of  braided  gold, 
and  with  frolic  footfall  they  disported  in  the  dance.  Yea,  he 
saw  his  sire's  dear  spouse,  the  blessed  Amphitrite,  in  the  delect- 
able halls.     She  flung  round  him  a  floating  robe  of  purple,^  and 

1  We  read  dpdaei  aiiv. 

^  We  read  yadev  with  Jebb.  The  '  issue  far  from  his  thoughts '  was 
the  miraculous  preservation  of  Theseus,  whose  destruction  Minos  sought 
in  sailing  away. 

^  We  read  aWKav  Tropcp^pav. 


r 


/fV 


156       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

placed  on  his  thick  locks  a  chaplet  very  perfect,  darkling  with 
red  roses,  which  arch  Aphrodite  gave  her  at  her  marriage.  No^  /^j 
^  deed  of  the  Gods,  whatsoever  they  list,  is  past  belief  to  them  '- 
that  have  understanding.  By  the  ship's  taper  stern  he  appeared. 
Ah,  what  were  the  thoughts  of  the  Cnossian  lord  that  he  brake 
upon  as  he  came  from  the  sea  unwet,  a  very  miracle.  On  his 
limbs  gleamed  the  divine  gifts  ;  the  throned  maidens  shouted 
together  in  new-found  joy.  The  sea  roared,  and  the  bevy  of 
youth  hard  by  sang  the  blithe  song  of  triumph  with  dulcet  voice. 
O  God  of  Delos,  be  thy  heart  gladdened  by  the  chorus  of 
Ceians,  and  vouchsafe  unto  us  thy  blessing  from  on  high.' 

The  next  poem  again  has  Theseus  for  its  hero. 
It  is  strictly  a  rpayiKov  Spajua,  being  lyrical  in 
structure  and  dramatic  in  expression.  It  is  a 
dialogue  between  Aegeus,  King  of  Athens,  and 
(probably)  his  Queen  Medea,  and  was  sung  at  some 
Athenian  festival  by  two  semi-choruses  representing 
the  two  interlocutors. 

'  Medea.  Lord  of  sacred  Athens,  King  of  the  gay  lonians, 
why  but  now  hath  the  trump  with  note  of  brass  brayed  a  tocsin 
of  war?  Doth  some  captain  of  foemen  beset  the  bounds  of  our 
land  ?  Do  crafty  robbers  drive  off  by  force  our  flocks  of  sheep 
despite  their  shepherds  ?  Or  what  is  tormenting  thy  soul  ? 
Speak.  For  I  ween  that  thou,  if  any  man,  hast  valiant  youth 
to  come  to  thine  aid,  thou  son  of  Pandion  and  Creiisa. 

Aegeus.  But  now  hath  come  a  herald  :  far  hath  he  fared 
along  the  road  from  Corinth,  and  passing  strange  are  the  deeds 
he  tells  of  a  mighty  man  of  valour  ;  how  that  he  hath  slain  the 
overweening  Sinis,  who  was  mightiest  of  mortal  men,  even  the 
son  of  the  Earthshaker,  Cronides,  the  Lord  of  Lytae  ;  yea,  and 
the  ravening  boar  in  the  dells  of  Cremmyon,  and  the  ogre  Sciron 
hath  he  laid  low,  and  made  an  end  of  the  wrestling-place  of 
Cercyon  ;  yea,  and  Procoptes  hath  let  fall  from  his  hand  the  huge 
mallet  of  Polypemon  his  sire,  having  met  one  that  is  mightier 
than  himself     I  misdoubt  me  to  what  issue  it  will  come. 

Medea.     Whom  doth  he  report  him  to  be,  and  whence,  and 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        157 

in  what  raiment  clad  about  ?  Cometh  he  with  a  great  host  and 
weapons  of  war,  or  unattended  and  unarmed,  even  as  a  way- 
faring merchant,  to  a  foreign  farland- — being  so  strong  and 
brave  and  dauntless  that  he  hath  put  under  him  the  violence  of 
these  men  ?  Of  a  surety  he  is  sent  of  God  to  do  justice  on 
froward  men.  For  hard  is  it  for  a  man  in  all  his  feats  to  meet 
no  harm.     In  process  of  time  all  things  have  their  issue. 

Aegeus.  But  two  squires,  he  saith,  follow  him,  he  hath  a 
sword  slung  round  his  stout  shoulders,  and  in  his  hand  two 
bright  steel  darts  ;  a  fair  Spartan  casque  on  his  ruddy  locks, 
and  on  his  body  a  purple  doublet  and  a  woolly  cloak  of  Thessaly. 
From  his  eyes  is  distilled  the  red  flame  of  Lemnos.  He  is  in 
the  bloom  of  his  early  youth,  and  hath  a  mind  for  the  playthings 
of  Ares,  even  war  and  the  brass-clanging  melley ;  and  for 
Athens  that  doteth  on  things  splendid  he  is  bound.' 

We  have  already  quoted  some  passages  illustrative 
of  the  simple  philosophy  of  life  which  found  favour 
with  this  refined  young  Ceian,  who,  if  he  was  not  in 
the  very  highest  sense  a  born  poet,  was  at  all  events 
brought  up  to  be  a  poet  by  the  example,  and  no 
doubt  by  the  training,  of  his  truly  inspired  uncle, 
and  whose  genius  was  fostered  and  fondled  in  courts 
of  princes,  where  he  does  not  seem  to  have  felt  the 
reluctance  of  his  illustrious  rival  Pindar  '  to  live  at 
the  behest  of  another.'  His  religious  creed  was  as 
simple  as  his  theory  of  life.  All  good  gifts  come 
from  God,  whom  it  is  meet  to  glorify  with  all  our 
heart.  ^  He  is  something  of  a  fatalist,  but  a  firm 
believer  in  the  moral  government  of  the  world  ^  and 
its  benevolence  : — ^ 

'  Zeus  on  high  who  seeth  all  things  bringeth  not  on  men  sore 
travail.  It  is  open  to  all  to  find  the  straight  road  of  righteous- 
ness. Righteousness  is  the  servant  of  Order  and  wise  Law  ; 
blessed  are  they  that  take  her  to  their  breast.' 

^iii.  22.  2  XIV.  1-18.  3  XV.  51-56. 


158       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

Yet  fate  is  above  all  : — ^ 

'Nor  weal  nor  stern  war  nor  red  ruin  and  the  breaking  up  of 
laws  are  for  men  to  take  or  leave.  F'ate  hath  all  things  in  her 
hands,  and  now  to  this  land  now  to  that  she  bringeth  disaster's 
flaw.' 

No    doubt   in   the   passage   just   quoted    he   thought 
of  his  exile  ;  but  the  Ceian  poet  rarely  brings  before 
us  his  own  personality.      Pindar  often  does,  chiefly  in 
those  strange  little  symphonies  in  his  odes  which  im- 
mediately precede  and  follow  the  myth,  the  KaraTpOTra  /  \ 
/J>and  /uLeraKaTarpOTrd  of  the  Grammarians,  which  have 
been  compared  to  a  kind  of  rubric  proclaiming  'here 
,  I-     beginneth     the     o/uLCpcikog '    and    '  here    endeth     the 
'  "^     oiucpoXo^.'     And  we  would  here  step  a  little  out  of 
our  way  to  call  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  newly- 

k|  discovered  poems  do  not  lend  the  slightest  colouj;^tiii. 

I  what  has.  been  called  the  nomic  theory  of  structure.* 
//.     Whether  Pindar  did  or  did  not  construct  his  odes  on 
2.  i        the  model  of  a  Terpandrian  nome,  and  with  a  refer- 
ence to  the  design  of  a  temple-pediment,  is  a  question 
about  which  critics  differ,  and  which  has  been  fully 

I  discussed  in  the  paper  on  Pindar.  But  certainly 
Bacchylides  shows  no  sign  of  any  acquaintance 
with  any  such  method,  nor  yet  with  that  system  of 
catchwords  and  responsions  by  which  some  editors 
suppose  that  Pindar  called  attention  to  a  certain 
correlation  between  the  different  structural  elements 
of  his  odes.  We  have  before  pointed  to  a  supposed 
reference  of  Bacchylides  to  an  exploit  of  his  ancestors 
on  their  return  from  Troy,  and  we  have  commented 
on  his  claim  to  the  proud  title  of  eagle,  and  on  the 
greater   appropriateness    of    his    other    self-bestowed 

^Frag.  62. 


THE   POEMS   OF    BACCHYLIDES        159 

designations,  the  '  Ceian  nightingale '  and  '  the 
islanders'  singing  bee/  the  latter  of  which  probably 
suggested  to  Horace  a  well-known  simile.  When 
he  does  put  forward  his  own  opinion  he  is  apt  to  use 
an  emphatic  phrase,  such  as  (paiul  kui  ^acro)/  and 
ya  S'  eTricFKrfTrrcDV  TTLcpavcrKco.  In  praising  Pherenicus, 
Hiero's  victorious  steed,  he  exclaims  : — ^ 

'  Lo  !  I  lay  my  hand  on  earth  and  utter  my  voice.  Never,  as 
he  galloped  to  the  goal,  was  he  defiled  by  the  dust  of  steeds 
that  were  before  him.^  For,  like  a  rushing  mighty  wind, 
marking  well  the  pilot  of  his  course,  he  sped,  winning  for 
gracious  Hiero  victory  with  rattling  din  of  cars.'^ 

And  again  in  VIII.  3-9  : — 

'  Laying  on  earth  my  hand  I  will  make  a  high  vaunt — where 
truth  is,  everything  shows  clear — no  mortal  man  ere  now,  being 
of  such  an  age  as  he,  e'er  won  more  triumphs  both  as  man  and 
boy.' 

The  syntax  of  Bacchylides  is,  as  we  have  already 
observed,  extremely  simple  and  normal.  Perhaps 
eOrjKav  .  .  .  Kvprjaai  (ill.  9),  '  brought  about  that  he 
should  obtain,'  and  TiKrei  .  .  ,  eipyva  .  .  .  irXovrop  .  .  . 
KOI  .  .  .  aiOecrOai  /Socov  .  .  .  lutjpa  (Frag.  46,  I -3), 
*  Peace  begets  wealth  and  the  burnt  sacrifice  of 
beeves,'  might  puzzle  a  beginner.  And  the  order 
of  words  is  sometimes  a  little  anomalous,  as,  for 
instance,  in  XVII.  62,  where  a  parenthesis  is  inter- 
posed between  an  adjective  and  its  substantive.  In 
places  where  strange  constructions  are  met,  we  shall 
generally  find  that  either  the  interpretation  of  the 
text  or  its  reading  is  in   fault.      In  IX.   36   there  is 

^1.21.  2^42-48. 

^Cp.  Juv.  viii.  61,  'clara  fuga  ante  alios  et  primus  in  aequore  pulvis.' 
^  We  read  i'er'  dcpvedKporov  with  Professor  Housman  in  the  '  Athenaeum.' 


i6o       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

no  reason  why  ajULapuy/ma  TraXa?  should  not  be  the 
direct  object  of  wrpwe  instead  of  a  very  anomalous 
accusative  of  respect.  The  editor's  explanation  of 
X.  43,  involving  a  very  strange  construction,  must 
certainly  be  rejected  for  that  of  Jebb  given  in  the 
note.  The  extraordinary  position  of  yap  in  III.  2  2 
plainly  points  to  another  reading,  which  is  indeed  as 
near  to  the  MS.: — 

deov  OeXovTcs 
dyXat^d\  w  Trap'  apLcrros  6X/3(i)V. 

Nor  could  Si'  oara-a  in  VI.  4  mean  '  on  account  of 
which.'  We  should  probably  read  Afo?  ^e  irapoiQev^ 
'  before  the  face  of  Zeus.'  That  victory  was  cele- 
brated at  Olympia  '  before  the  face '  of  Olympian 
Jove.  With  it  is  contrasted  a  new  Olympian  victory, 
which  is  now  being  celebrated,  not,  however,  at 
Olympia,  but  at  the  victor's  house  in  Ceos.  Again, 
in  XI.  32  Te-^vaig  irekacra-ev  is  explained  'made  him 
acquainted  with  his  skill.'  Now  this  is  by  no  means 
justified  by  Homer's  /ca/c^?  oSvvhctl  ireXoXeiv^  '  to  bring 
into  sore  pains.'      The  whole  passage  runs  : — 

TraiS'  iv  x^ovl  KaXkixopio 
iroLKL\.aL<s  T€XvaL<s  TTcXaa-crev. 

The  meaning  is  that  the  young  wrestler  '  brought 
to  the  ground  by  his  cunning '  the  boy  opposed  to 
him.  The  figure  Unesis,  by  which  the  preposition  is 
separated  from  the  verb  in  eyUTreXa^o),  is  common  in 
Pindar  and  very  common  in  the  epic  style  with 
which  Bacchylides  is  so  strongly  tinged. 

In  two  places  a  very  strange  use  of  the  dative  is 
postulated.      In  xvii.  62  Opdarei  is  taken  adverbially, 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        i6i 

as  meaning  '  bravely,'  and  in  the  same  ode,  1.  90, 
a-Oevei  is  interpreted  '  strongly.'  In  the  first  passage 
[a-vu]  may  be  restored  instead  of  [to],  which  is  not 
required,  in  the  lacuna.  In  the  second  the  reading 
is  very  doubtful,  and  such  a  construction  ought  not 
to  be  introduced  into  a  conjectural  emendation. 

The  same  may  be  said  as  regards  diction.  The 
only  really  difficult  use  of  a  word  which  can  fairly 
be  ascribed  to  the  poet  is  that  of  TreraXov  in  V.  186. 
It  seems  to  mean  '  a  vote,'  as  in  Pind.  '  Isthm.'  viii. 
(vii.)  46  ;  and  it  is  a  strange  use  of  language 
whereby  a  winning  horse  is  said  to  '  give  his  vote ' 
for  his  master's  prosperity,  because  this  is  the  horse's 
'  contribution  '  to  the  sum  of  his  master's  good  things. 
Yet  iriraXov  could  no  more  mean  a  wreath  or  crown 
of  victory  than  folium  could  stand  for  corona,  so  that 
we  cannot  understand  evSaijuovia^  ireraXov  as  '  the 
coveted  wreath.'  It  is  idle  to  compare  o\j3ov  avOea 
in  III.  92.  It  is  the  use  of  the  singular  which 
makes  ireToKov  impossible  as  Greek  for  '  a  crown.' 
The  strange  word  veoKporov  in  V.  48  must,  as  we 
have  seen,  disappear  from  the  list  of  new  words, 
though  only  to  make  room  for  another  newcomer  in 
cKpveoKpoTov.  The  word  crrecpamg  could  not  mean 
(still  less  (TTecpavoi)  corona  in  the  sense  of  a  band  or 
troop,  as  a  note  on  II.  10  would  seem  to  imply. 
The  meaning  is,  *  He  has  brought  to  our  minds  all 
the  brave  deeds  at  the  Isthmus  which  we,  the  chorus 
of  seventy  voices,  held  up  to  view  together  with  his 
crowns  of  victory.' 

In  IX.  10  we  meet  a  new  and  strangely-formed 
word,  viKaa-in^efi.  But,  standing  as  it  does  after  a 
lacuna,  it  doubtless  represents  a  much  more  natural 

L 


1 62       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

word,  (poiviKda-TTiSeg.  Bacchylides  affects  words  com- 
pounded with  (poivi^,  and  Pindar  has  (poiviKoo-roXcov  XO 
ey)(e(t)v,  N.  ix.  28.  It  is  true  that  the  tragic  poets 
call  the  Argives  Xef/cao-Trtfe,  but  Professor  Housman, 
to  whom  the  correction  is  due,  points  to  alOag  eir' 
aa-TriSog  (Pind.  P.  viii.  46),  '  a  fiery  shield.'  We  do 
not  believe  that  Trora/uLol  "Apt]09  (ix.  45)  could  mean 

*  rivers  of  blood.'  The  passage  has  not  yet  been 
explained.  Professor  Housman's  ingenious  notes  in 
the  '  Classical  Review '  (for  February  and  March)  are 
on  the  right  track.  The  river  in  1.  39  is  certainly 
the  Asopus.  We  should  probably  read  (tmv  .  .  . 
eyyovwv,  the  reference  being  to  Achilles  and  Ajax, 
whose  prowess  the  Amazons  felt  before  Ilium.  As 
ancestor  of  these  very  eminent  champions  Asopus 
might  be  called  *  King  of  rivers.' 

In  XI.  65  the  learning  of  the  editor  has  supplied 
a  passage  from  Apollodorus  which  certainly  gives 
the  key  to  the  meaning.  Proetus  and  Acrisius  were 
at  feud  '  from  their  very  infancy.'  But  could  this  be 
expressed  by  the  phrase  /SXrj-^pag  air'  apyaf;}  We 
think    not.      Surely   these   words   could    only   mean 

*  from  a  trivial  origin,'  which  is  plainly  not  the  sense 
required.  We  would  propose  to  read  ^Xrj-^ag  air 
cLKpag  *  from  their  first  baby-cry,  a  primo  vagitu, 
from  the  time  before  they  were  airaWayevrefi  a(Ty]fXDov 
KwXvifxaTwvl  as  Herodotus  has  it.  For  aKpav  =  '  first,' 
cp.  Pind.  P.  V.  8,  alwvog  aKpav  airo  /BaO/uLlScov,  and 
id.  xi.  10,  aKpa  avv  ea-n-ipa.  The  editor  cannot 
consistently  refuse  to  admit  emendation.  He  has 
himself  made  a  palmary  emendation  in  this  very 
ode,  line  54,  where  by  reading  votj/ma  for  o/mjuLa  he 
has    perfectly    restored    sense,    metre,    and    poetry ; 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        163 

TraXlvrpoTTov  potjima,  '  wits  warped  '  or  '  turned  awry/ 
is  an  excellent  expression  for  madness. 

In  V.  190  ff.  the  poet  quotes  from  Hesiod,  as 
Pindar  does  twice.^  But  while  it  is  easy  to  localize 
the  quotation  in  the  case  of  Pindar,^  no  passage  is 
to  be  found  in  the  extant  works  of  Hesiod  which 
gives  the  sentiment  here  required,  namely,  that  they 
whom  the  gods  delight  to  honour  have  also  fair 
fame  with  men.^  The  editor,  in  filling  up  the 
lacuna,  gives  to  e7r\i]orau  a  sense  which  it  could  not 
bear.  The  passage  is  thus  ingeniously  restored  by 
Professor  Housman  in  the  '  Athenaeum,'  December 
25,  1897:— 

ov  av  addvaroi  Tt[/^wa-t,  tovt(j^ 
KoX  fSpoTMV  cfiTf'jfiav  €7r[€o-^at]. 

As  regards  accidence,  his  chief  peculiarity  is  the 
employment  of  infinitive  forms  in  -ev,  like  epvKcv, 
(pvXda-crev,  '1(t')(€v^  and  perhaps  rlev  (XIX.  15).  It  is 
remarkable  that  the  papyrus  nowhere  shows  those 
forms  in   -rjimi  for  o)  or  w  of  the  pres.   indie,  which 

IN.  vii.  88,  'Isthm.'  v.  67. 

^  Trrjfia  KUKbs  yelrojv  Saaov  r'  dyadbs  fiiy'  6veiap, 
^fifjiopi  Toi  Tifiijs  6tXT'  ^fx/xope  yelrovos  iadXou, — 0/>.  346. 
/xeX^TT]  8i  Toi  ipyov  ocpiWei.  —  Op.  412. 

^Professor  Blass  in  the  '  Literarisches  Centralblatt '  for  December  25 
quotes  a  close  parallel  from  Theognis,  169  (Bergk)  : — ov  5e  deol  Tifida', 
ov  Kal  fiio/xe^fievos  alvei.  It  would  seem  as  if  Bacchylides  had,  by  a 
lapse  of  memory,  ascribed  to  Hesiod  a  sentiment  of  Theognis,  which, 
by  the  way,  should  rather  run  : — 6v  bk  deol  tlixCxtiv  6  kuI  fiu/j-eOfxevos 
aivei,  '  whom  God  delights  to  honour  even  the  most  captious  critic 
commends.'  Dr.  von  Wilamovitz-Moellendorff  has  proposed  in  the 
'  Gottingischen  gelehrten  Anzeigen '  the  emendation  of  Prof.  Housman, 
with  Kebcj}  for  roijTip.  He  and  Prof.  Blass  have  more  than  once  arrived 
independently  at  restorations  suggested  by  English  scholars  in  the 
•  Athenaeum  '  and  the  *  Classical  Review.' 


i64       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

Bacchylides,  Frag.  56  (27  Bgk.),  presents  in  6aX7rf](Ti, 
Pindar  (Frag.  155  Bgk.)  in  alrrjiuLi,  Simonides  in 
eiralvriiJLi,  and  Ibycus  in  e-^^rja-L  and  iyelprjcri.  The 
diction  is  even  more  penetrated  with  epic  phraseology 
than  that  of  Pindar,  though  we  do  not  meet  those 
synonymes  for  epic  tags,  those  Homeric  jewels  reset, 
which  are  so  characteristic  of  the  style  of  the 
Theban  lyrist.  Perhaps  ayXaav  7J/3ai/  irpoXelirwv  in 
V.  154  is  a  reminiscence  of  Xnrova  aSporrjTix  koi 
i'/^rjp^  and  aa-ia-ToiraTpa  (XI.  1 06)  and  /uLeyicTTOTraTcop 
(v.  199)  may  have  been  suggested  by  Homer's 
SucrapiG-TOTOKeia,  but  we  do  not  find  that  delicate 
remodelling  of  epicisms  which  in  Pindar  has  the 
same  charming  aesthetic  effect  as  Milton's  classicisms 
and  Swinburne's  hebraisms.  Bacchylides  is  fond  of 
compounds  with  apicTTo-,  and  to  the  list  of  these 
must  be  added  apicrTa\Ke<},  which  must  certainly 
be  read  instead  of  epiaraXKeg  in  VII.  7.  He  has 
introduced  some  words  in  which  two  substantives 
are  anomalously  compounded  together,  instead  of  an 
adjective  or  verb  and  substantive.  Such  are  TroXe- 
fjLaiyig,  IjULepa/uLirv^,  i/uLepoyvio^y  aperai^iULOs,  ao-TvOefiig, 
TTvpieOeipa,  v/uLvodvacrcra.  His  extreme  proneness  to 
new  and  strangely  formed  epithets  would  almost 
seem  to  show  a  consciousness  of  a  certain  humble- 
ness in  his  diction,  which  he  thus  seeks  to  elevate. 

It  is  very  remarkable  that  in  addition  to  the 
hundred  or  so  of  new  words  which  Bacchylides 
gives  us,  there  are  a  good  many  (perhaps  about  a 
score)  which  we  have  been  accustomed  to  regard 
as  post-classical  words  (and  even  constructions,  such 
as  ?joa  prepositional,  *  on  account  of)  which  have 
hitherto  had   the   authority  only  of  Quintus    Smyr- 


THE   POEMS   OF    BACCHYLIDES        165 

naeus,  Oppian,  Nonnus,  Tzetzes,  or  the  ancient 
lexicographers,  the  Anthology,  and  inscriptions.  It 
is  a  fair  inference  from  this  that  the  post-classical 
writers  were  not  at  all  so  ready  as  we  have  hitherto 
believed  to  coin  new  words,  but  oftener  drew  on 
ancient  authors  not  now  extant.  It  is  further  ob- 
servable that  the  irregular  compounds  to  which  we 
have  already  referred  were  avoided  by  the  late 
writers.  Not  one  of  them  appears  except  in  Bacchy- 
lides,  though  many  of  them  are  metrically  most 
convenient,  especially  for  writers  in  hexameters. 

Even   more  pronounced   than  the  prevailing  sim- 
plicity of  the  style  of  Bacchylides   is  the   singular 
simplicity  of  his  metrical  systems.      The  wild    anti-    , 
spastic   movements  and  constant  resolution  of  long    \ 
syllables,  which   make  the  metres  so  complicated  in    i 
Pindar's  odes,  especially  those  in  the  Aeolian  mood, 
of  which  the  second  Olympian   is  a  good   example, 
were  never  dreamed  of  in   the  Bacchylidean  theory 
of  structure.     There  is  hardly  a  poem  in  which  the 
metre  does  not  catch  the  ear  at  once,  and  the  very  \ 
close  antisjtrophic_jcorrespQndence   greatly  simplifies  \  /6G 
the  problem  of  constituting  the  text.      It  is  true  that 
here    and    there    we    meet    the   case   of   a  deficient 
or  superfluous   syllable   in   violation    of   antistrophic 
correspondence,    but    this    generally    points    to    the 
easily  corrected  error  of  the  copyist.      In   the  fifth 
ode,  11.    14,   29   contain   a  syllable  more  than   they 
ought  to  have,  but  the   changes  which   bring   them 
into    conformity   are    quite    easy.      LI.    1 1    and    26 
exhibit  the  same  phenomenon  ;  but  here  the  omission 
of  a  syllable  does  not  at  all  commend  itself      How- 
ever, when  we  come  to  examine  the  corresponding 


i66       THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES 

antistrophic  verses,  eight  in  number,  we  find  that 
there  is  in  every  case  some  evidence  that  a  syllable 
has  dropped  out,  and  that  therefore  they  originally 

(agreed  perfectly  with  11.  1 1  and  26.  Conformity 
between  the  strophes  and  antistrophes  ought  certainly 
to  be  demanded,  especially  in  a  poet  who  resorts 
so  little  even  to  resolution  of  long  syllables,  a  licence 
which  he  rarely  allows  himself,  except  in  the  long 
ode  XVII.,  where  we  find  also  other  slight  laxities, 
such  as  the  correspondence  of  a  long  and  a  short 
syllable  elsewhere  than  at  the  end  of  a  verse.  For 
the  last  syllable  of  every  line  is  common.  To  call 
attention  to  this  fact,  whenever  the  line  ends  with  an 
elided  syllable  the  letter  before  the  elision  is  brought 
over  to  the  beginning  of  the  next  verse,  to  show  that 
there  is  no  synapheia,  as  there  is  in  tragic  anapaestic 
systems,  and  as  there  would  seem  to  be  in  these 
odes  if  elision  were  allowed  at  the  end  of  a  verse. 
Thus  we  have  KoXuSm/v  (v.  106),  viJLvoava(rj(T  (xil. 
i),  (pSyjO'  (XVI.  15),  6e\oi/iuL'  (xvil.  41).  This,  be  it 
observed,  is  in  no  way  due  to  exigencies  of  space. 
There  would  always  be  room  for  the  letter  brought 
over,  sometimes  for  many  more.  Moreover,  ex- 
amples of  hiatus  after  a  long  syllable  at  the  end  of 
a  line  are  frequent,  and  we  have  it  even  after  short 
syllables  in  v.  172,  177,  ix.  40,  XL  12,  XIII.  82,  120. 
We  have  said  that  the  metres  used  are  simple, 
»  the  lines  short,  the  strophic  correspondence  well/^J^ 
j  maintained,  the  resolution  of  long  syllables  rare, 
and  still  rarer  any  variation  in  the  quantity  of 
corresponding  syllables,  except  at  the  end  of  each 
line.  There  no  quantitative  uniformity  is  required, 
inasmuch  as  the  last  syllable  of  each  verse  is  treated 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        167 

as  common.  There  is  not  a  single  ode  which  does 
not  illustrate  this  truth  (many  of  them  again  and 
again)  save  one,  the  second,  a  very  short  ode  contain- 
ing only  one  strophe  (with  its  antistrophe)  of  but  five 
lines.  The  seventh  and  twelfth  odes  have  only  one 
metrical  system,  and  so  are  not  antistrophic  at  all. 
The  fourth  is  too  corrupt  to  afford  any  evidence. 
Therefore  the  whole  theory  denying  the  syllaba 
-  anceps  at  the  end  of  the  line  is  borne  out  only  by 
one  strophe  and  antistrophe  five  lines  long.  It  is 
invalidated  by  all  the  other  poems.  Surely  it  is 
mere  chance  which  has  here  produced  the  conformity 
in  one  ode.  And  is  this  fortuitous  conformity, 
maintained  for  but  five  lines,  to  be  set  up  as  the 
standard,  while  the  practice  illustrated  by  all  the 
other  odes  is  to  be  set  down  to  error  and  altered 
by  arbitrary  correction  ?  Surely  not.  What  would 
be  said  of  a  scientific  observer  who,  professing  to 
found  a  law  of  nature  on  induction,  should  then 
reject  or  garble  every  datum  of  observation  or  experi- 
ment which  conflicted  with  his  own  preconceived 
hypothesis?  Yet  this  is  what  some  critics  have 
attempted  in  applying  wholesale  correction  in  order 
to  bring  about  a  conformity  against  which  the  MS. 
— our  only  evidence — everywhere  protests.  These 
arbitrary  changes  are  sometimes  slight  enough,  some- 
times considerable  and  highly  improbable,  sometimes 
impossible.  And  be  it  noted  that  if  in  one  place  a 
short  syllable  at  the  end  of  a  line  corresponds  strophi- 
cally  to  a  long  one,  then  the  principle  is  established 
that  the  last  syllable  is  common,  and  correction 
ignoring  the  principle  is  shown  to  be  quite  un- 
scientific.     We  will  take  only  one  case.      In  XI.  119 


i68       THE   POEMS   OF  BACCHYLIDES 

a  short  syllable  at  the  end  of  the  line  corresponds  to 
a  long  syllable  in  the  two  other  epodes.  The  reading 
is  undoubtedly  sound.  The  attempt  to  restore  irpo 
yovjvoV  for  irpoyo/voi  can  have  hardly  commended 
itself  even  to  its  author,  who  essays  no  explanation 
or  defence  of  it  except  a  quite  irrelevant  reference  to 
III.  19,  apparently  to  prove  that  irpo  means  'in  front 
of,'  which  we  readily  concede.  Other  attempts,  such 
as  TTpoa/yov,  carry  with  them  their  own  refutation. 
The  true  state  of  the  case  is  that  irpoyovoi  here  is 
right  and  indispensable,  and  that  a  short  syllable  at 
the  end  of  a  line  corresponds  strophically  to  a  long 
one  here  as  in  some  fifty  other  places  in  the  poems. 
To  make  the  poems  before  us  conform  to  the  rules 
laid  down  in  some  treatises  on  metre,  we  must  either 
rewrite  the  poems  or  rewrite  the  treatises.  The 
latter,  we  submit,  is  the  more  reasonable  proceeding. 
Sut  when  the  MS.,  with  a  very  slight  correction, 
presents  a  reading  against  which  nothing  can  be 
urged  except  that  it  records  an  incident  not  else- 
where mentioned  (so  far  as  we  know),  could  anything 
be  more  absurd  than  to  reject  it,  and  give  instead  a 
statement  that  '  they '  (who  ?  the  'A;(afo/  mentioned 
in  1.  114?)  'instituted  a  precinct  to  be  in  front  of 
(or  in  preference  to)  a  knoll  (slope) '  ;  for  no  other- 
wise can  we  render  if  we  read  irpo  yovvoV  "ia-arav  ejuev  ? 
There  are  in  Bacchylides  none  of  those  impressive 
complications  of  conflicting,  or  at  least  exuberant, 
imagery — those  maelstroms  of  metaphor  —  which 
flash  from  Pindar,  Aeschylus,  and  Sophocles,  at 
those  moments — 

*  When  a  great  thought  strikes  along  the  brain 
And  flushes  all  the  cheek.' 


THE   POEMS   OF   BACCHYLIDES        169 

There  is  no  hurly-burly  of  feeling,  like  that  in  which 
Pindar  cries^ — '  Methinks  a  whetstone  shrilleth  on 
my  lips  ;  right  fain  it  draws  me  on  with  a  current 
of  sweet  breath ' ;  or  in  which  Sophocles  ^  makes 
,  the  chorus  say  that  '  the  ray  of  hope  which  was  shed  , 
]over  the  last  root  of  the  house  of  Oedipus  is  mowed  \ 
^down  by  a  handful  of  bloodstained  dust '  cast  on 
the  corse  of  Polynices  ;  or  in  which  Cassandra  in 
the  *  Agamemnon  '^  exclaims,  '  Lo,  the  oracle  will 
no  more  peer  from  behind  a  veil  like  a  bride  new- 
wedded  ;  nay,  it  is  like  to  come  and  clear  the  welkin 
with  a  blast  that  will  roll  up  against  the  bright 
horizon,  like  a  surging  billow,  a  horror  far  worse 
than  this.'  We  should  look  in  vain  in  Bacchylides 
for  such  spiritual  excitement  or  its  outward  and 
visible  sign  in  the  style.  He  must  suffer  from  that 
comparison  with  Pindar  which  Dr.  Kenyon  depre- 
cates, but  which  is  really  forced  upon  us.  We  hope, 
however,  that  the  specimens  of  his  work  which  we 
have  put  before  our  readers  will  have  shown,  even 
to  those  who  do  not  propose  to  study  the  poems 
in  the  original,  that  our  newly-found  lyrist  is  a 
shrewd  observer  of  life,  and  a  masterly  artist  in 
verse,  with  remarkable  command  of  limpid  and 
graceful  narrative.  In  the  closing  words  of  the 
third  ode,  which  commemorates  the  victory  of  Hiero 
in  the  chariot  race  in  468  B.C.,  words  which  may 
have  been  his  latest  utterance,  and  which  are  certainly 
the  latest  utterance  to  which  a  date  has  been  assigned, 
the  poet  exclaims  : — 

'  Hiero,  thou  hast  held  up  to  the  view  of  men  all  that  most 
gloriously  adorns  an  high  estate.     On  such  triumphs  as  thine 

1 0.  vi.  82.  2  c  Ant.'  600  ff.  3  1 180  ff. 


170       THE   POEMS    OF   BACCHYLIDES 

silence  bringeth  no  honour.  In  telling  them  therewithal  will 
men,  launching  the  shafts  of  truth,i  glorify  too  the  meed  of 
praise  which  the  honeyed  nightingale  of  Ceos  could  bestow.' 

We  gladly  join  our  voice  to  the  chorus  which 
hails  the  resurrection  of  the  Ceian  lyrist,  and  add 
the  heartiest  expression  of  our  sense  of  gratitude 
to  the  trustees  of  the  British  Museum,  to  the  editor, 
and  to  the  scholars  who  have  given  him  their  aid, 
for  bestowing  on  us  a  gift  which  is  a  precious 
addition  to  the  literature  of  the  world. 

^  We  read  fiaXivv  for  koXQp 


PLUTARCH. 

'  And  would  they  take  the  poor  boy's  life  for  the 
like  o'  that  ? '  '  Bedad  they  would,  if  he  had  as 
many  lives  as  Plutarch.'  This  little  dialogue  was 
overheard  not  long  ago  in  an  Irish  county.  It  may, 
perhaps,  fitly  introduce  the  present  paper,  as  show- 
ing what  a  world-wide  fame  has  been  won  by 
'  Plutarch's  Lives.'  It  will  be  observed  that  the 
phrase  '  Plutarch's  Lives,'  coming  down  to  the 
peasantry  from  a  distant  and  obscure  tradition  of 
the  Hedge-Schoolmaster,  had  lost  its  meaning  for 
them,  and  Plutarch  had  become  not  the  author  but 
the  possessor  of  many  lives.  Mr.  Strachan  Davidson 
in  his  '  Cicero '  couples  the  '  Lives '  with  the  philo- 
sophical works  of  Cicero,  as  having  exercised  the 
greatest  and  most  constant  influence  on  subsequent 
literature ;  and  when  we  remember  Shakespeare's 
large  indebtedness  to  North's  *  Plutarch,'  we  must 
admit  that  the  Dean  of  Balliol  has  not  accorded 
to  the  '  Lives '  an  unduly  high  place  among  epoch- 
making  works. 

But  though  Plutarch  has  exercised  so  great  an 
influence  on  literature,  we  know  very  little  about  his 
life,  and  that  little  chiefly  gleaned  from  his  own 
writings.     The    chief    of    biographers    has    had    no 

171 


172  PLUTARCH 

biographer.  The  legends  which  have  gathered  round 
him,  such  as  the  tradition  that  he  was  made  consul 
by  Trajan,  have  no  historical  basis.  He  was  born  a 
Boeotian,  in  that  crass  atmosphere  of  which  Juvenal 
speaks  as  the  very  home  and  centre  of  dulness, 
though  it  produced  Pindar,  perhaps  the  most  truly 
'  inspired '  of  all  poets  ancient  or  modern.  His 
native  place  was  Chaeronea,  the  town  which  com- 
manded the  Boeotian  plain,  and  which  so  often  pro- 
vided a  field  for  contending  hosts  to  meet  and  put  the 
destinies  of  Hellas  to  '  battle's  brute  arbitrament. 
As  Belgium  in  modern  history  has  earned  the  name 
of  *  the  cockpit '  of  Europe,  so  Chaeronea  (as 
Plutarch  tells  us)  was  called  more  pleasantly  by 
Epaminondas  '  Mars'  ballroom,'  so  often  did  it 
invite  the  states  of  Greece  to  the  carnival  of  war. 
His  birth  may  be  placed  about  50  A.D.  He  studied 
at  Athens,  visited  Alexandria,  and  must  have  spent 
some  time  in  Asia  Minor.  Rome,  '  beautiful  Rome/ 
as  he  calls  it,  was  visited  by  him  at  least  twice, 
probably  oftener.  He  delivered  lectures  there  in  the 
Greek  tongue,  and  many  of  his  treatises,  as  they  have 
come  down  to  us,  seem  to  have  been  little  more  than 
expanded  notes  of  these  lectures.  He  could  not 
have  lectured  in  Latin, — a  language  of  which  he  had 
very  little  knowledge,  only  enabling  him  to  take  in 
the  general  meaning  of  a  sentence  which  he  could  not 
have  construed  word  by  word.  His  knowledge  of  Latin 
literature  is  very  small,  extending  only  to  histories 
and  memoirs  essential  for  his  '  Lives.'  To  Virgil  he 
never  refers,  nor  to  Ovid,  whose  *  Fasti '  would  have 
been  so  useful  to  him  for  his  *  Roman  Questions.' 
His  only  reference  to  Latin  poetry  is  one  to  Horace. 


PLUTARCH  173 

It  is  in  his  life  of  Lucullus,  where  he  tells  the  story 
to  which  Horace  refers  in  his  '  Epistles.'  ^  Accord- 
ing to  Horace,  Lucullus,  being  asked  if  he  could 
supply  a  hundred  purple  cloaks  for  a  certain  scenic 
representation,  said  that  he  thought  he  had  some, 
and  would  see.  After  a  while  he  sent  back  a  mes- 
sage that  he  found  he  had  some  five  thousand,  of 
which  the  '  entrepreneur '  might  have  as  many  as  he 
wanted.  Horace  adds  the  reflection,  'it  is  a  poor 
establishment  in  which  there  is  not  much  gear  of 
which  the  owner  knows  nothing  and  in  which  the 
thief  finds  his  account'  Plutarch  seems  to  have 
read  the  passage.  The  way  in  which  he  tells  the 
anecdote  is  this  :  *  When  the  "  entrepreneur  "  said  he 
wanted  a  hundred,  Lucullus  told  him  to  take  twice 
as  many ;  on  which  the  poet  Flaccus  made  the  com- 
ment that  a  man  is  not  really  rich  unless  he  has 
more  property  that  is  overlooked  and  unsuspected 
than  that  which  is  seen  and  recognized.'  The  com- 
ment, however,  is  more  like  that  of  a  man  who  had 
been  told  that  Horace  had  used  the  incident  to  point 
a  moral  than  of  one  who  had  read  the  actual  words 
of  the  poet.  However,  the  passage  is  interesting 
as  showing  that  the  great  Gibbon  nodded  when  he 
said  that  between  Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus  and 
Libanius, — between  the  century  before  Christ  and  the 
fourth  century  after, — there  is  not  in  the  whole  of 
Greek  literature  a  single  allusion  to  Horace  or 
Virgil.  Plutarch  was  equally  ignorant  of  the  prose 
literature  of  Rome,  including  the  philosophical  works 
of  Cicero  which,  as  we  have  seen,  contest  with  the 
*  Lives '  the  dominion  of   the  intellect  of   posterity. 

1  i.  6,  40-46. 


174  PLUTARCH 

The  two  passages  in  Plutarch's  life  of  Cicero  which 
seem  to  show  some  knowledge  of  Cicero's  philoso- 
phical works,  are  more  likely  to  have  come  from 
Tiro's  *  Life  of  Cicero/  When  asked  which  of  the 
speeches  of  Demosthenes  he  admired  the  most,  Cicero 
replied,  the  longest.^  Again,  Plutarch  quotes  the 
remark  of  Cicero  when  Caesar  ordered  the  restoration 
of  the  statues  of  Pompey  which  had  been  thrown 
down,  *  he  is  erecting  the  statues  of  Pompey,  but 
he  is  planting  his  own.' 

It  is  an  interesting  observation  of  the  late  Dr. 
Richard  Chenevix  Trench,  Archbishop  of  Dublin,  in 
his  admirable  lectures  on  Plutarch,^  delivered  in  Dublin 
thirty-six  years  ago,  that  Plutarch  never  broke  a 
lance  against  the  truth  which  was  higher  than  any 
which  he  had  ever  heard,  the  truth  which  in  two  cen- 
turies was  to  dominate  the  world.  He  knew  nothing 
of  Christianity.  Even  such  passing  notices  as  we 
have  in  Tacitus,  Pliny,  Suetonius,  and  Epictetus  are 
sought  in  vain  in  Plutarch.  If  we  are  right,  and 
we  cannot  be  far  wrong,  in  placing  his  birth  about 
50  A.D.,  long  before  he  began  to  write,  St.  Peter  and 
St.  Paul  had  fulfilled  their  mission.  All  around  him 
there  were  flourishing  Christian  churches,  but  he 
knew  nothing  of  them.  If  he  had  ever  heard  of  the 
perverse  superstition,  as  Pliny  calls  it,  he  confounded 
it  with  Judaism,  of  which  he  knew  little  and  only 
the  least  attractive  side.  *  He  can  tell  us  how  the 
Jewish  high  priest  was  clothed,'  writes  Dr.  Mahaffy 
in  his  excellent  study  of  Plutarch  in  *  The  Greek 
World  under  Roman  Sway'  (p.  321),  *  but  as  to 
Jewish  dogmas  he  manifests  the  grossest  ignorance.' 

*  Cic.  xxiv.  2  «  Plutarch,'  four  lectures,  1873. 


PLUTARCH  175 

When,  however,  he  warns  the  wife  not  to  allow 
religious  cults  foreign  to  her  husband  to  creep  into 
the  house,  he  is,  in  the  opinion  of  Dr.  Mahaffy, 
pointing  '  at  Christianity,  as  well  as  at  those  Oriental 
cults  which  we  know  to  have  done  domestic  mischief 
in  those  days.'^ 

The  later  years  of  a  tranquil  and  happy  life  he 
spent  in  his  native  town  of  Chaeronea,  a  small  and 
insignificant  place  of  which  he  says  in  his  life  of 
Demosthenes, — in  one  of  those  few  and  precious 
*  asides '  which  throw  a  rare  and  fitful  ray  of  light 
on  his  private  life, — that  it  was  so  small  that  he  did 
not  like  to  make  it  smaller  by  leaving  it.  Have  we 
here  a  passage  read  and  remembered  by  Juvenal  ^ 
when  he  speaks  of  a  man  repairing  to  Cumae  as 
about  to  present  the  Sibyl  with  one  additional 
citizen,  an  appreciable  addition  to  a  population  so 
limited  ?  But  while  he  made  Chaeronea  his  head- 
quarters he  took  excursions  into  various  parts  of 
Greece,  and  felt  a  pride  in  making  himself  acquainted 
with  her  historical  and  antiquarian  monuments.  It 
is  in  his  '  Symposiaca '  or  '  Table  Talk  '  that  we  see 
most  of  the  man  himself  and  the  society  of  his 
time.  One  of  his  chief  friends  was  Mestrius  Florus, 
a  man  of  consular  rank  and  an  ardent  antiquarian. 
With  him  Plutarch  visited  the  battlefield  of  Bebria- 
cum  where  the  army  of  Otho  was  overthrown.  He 
records  an  occasion  on  which  the  Emperor  VespaiMan 
'scored  off'  the  man  of  learning  in  a  manner  char- 
acteristic in  all  ages  of  the  personage  when  brought 
to  book  by  a  scholar.  Mestrius  Florus  had  corrected 
the  emperor  for  his  mispronunciation  of  the  word  for  a 

^  lb.  328.  "^  Juv.  iii.  3,  Unum  civem  donare  Sibyllae. 


1/6  PLUTARCH 

wagon.  He  had  called  it  plostra  not  plaustra.  The 
emperor  accepted  the  correction,  but  next  day- 
greeted  the  scholar  as  Flaurus  not  Florus.  Now 
Flaurus  in  Greek  means  *  worthless '  (cjyXavpo^). 
Human  nature  is  ever  the  same.  The  boor  in  high 
place  loves  to  have  a  jest  at  the  expense  of  the  poor 
scholar,  and  the  world  laughs  at  the  triumph  of 
material  success  over  mental  endowments.  The 
questions  raised  at  these  symposiaca  were  often  small 
and  trivial,  as,  for  instance,  why  is  A  the  first  letter 
of  the  alphabet,  whether  the  hen  or  the  ^g%  came 
first,  which  hand  of  Venus  Diomede  wounded.  Here, 
again,  is  it  not  possible  that  we  have  evidence  of 
some  knowledge  of  Plutarch  on  the  part  of  Juvenal  ? 
One  recalls  the  passage  ^  where  Juvenal  laughs  at 
the  minute  and  trivial  inquiries  which  engaged  the 
cognoscenti  of  his  day  :  who  was  the  nurse  of  Aeneas, 
the  step-mother  of  Anchemolus,  what  age  did  Acestes 
attain  and  how  many  flasks  of  Sicilian  wine  he 
gave  to  his  Phrygian  guests.  The  symposiaca  are  a 
wonderful  source  of  information  about  the  social  life 
of  the  first  century  of  the  Christian  era,  and  they 
have  not  been  drawn  upon  as  much  as  they  deserve. 
Further,  they  show  the  character  of  Plutarch  in  a 
very  amiable  light,  which  will  be  further  illustrated 
when  we  come  to  consider  his  nature  and  gifts  from 
other  points  of  view. 

We  have  seen, — and  shall  see  even  more  clearly 
when  we  come  to  estimate  Shakespeare's  debt  to 
Pluturch, — that  the  *  Parallel  Lives '  have  on  them 
the  seal  of  immortality.  Before  dwelling  on  their 
greatness  it  may  be  well  to  dispose  of  what  is  much 

1  vii.  234-236. 


PLUTARCH  177 

the  most  trifling  part  of  the  inquiry,  namely,  the 
respects  in  which  they  fall  short  of  perfection.  First 
of  all,  Plutarch  was  a  Greek.  He  was  enamoured  of 
Hellas,  as  Pericles  said  that  every  Athenian  ought 
to  be  of  Athens  ;  and  he  loved  his  birthplace.  He 
hated  those  who  belittled, — even  those  who  did  not 
love  and  worship, — Greece,  nay  even  Chaeronea. 
In  a  strange  passage  in  the  '  De  sera  Numinis 
Vindicta '  ('  The  Deferred  Retribution  of  Heaven  '), 
perhaps  the  most  interesting  of  his  moral  essays,  he 
depicts  Nero  as  suffering  the  tortures  of  Hell,  his 
soul  being  studded  with  red-hot  nails.  But  he  adds 
that  this  torment  is  presently  to  be  remitted,  and 
that  Nero  (in  recognition  of  his  musical  tastes)  is  to 
be  transformed  into  a  marsh  frog  to  make,  we 
suppose,  '  the  punishment  fit  the  crime.'  This  miti- 
gation of  sentence  is  represented  as  being  due  to  his 
treatment  of  Greece  :  'Some  recognition  from  Heaven 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  emancipated  Greece,  the 
best  and  most  pious  of  the  peoples  subject  to  Rome.' 
His  extraordinary  treatise,  '  On  the  Malignity  of 
Herodotus '  (if  really  authentic),  probably  had  its 
rise  from  the  fact  that  Herodotus  has  recorded  some 
ignoble  facts  in  Theban  history.  Yet  what  single 
writer  has  done  more  than  Herodotus  to  paint  in 
unfading  colours  the  grand  tableau  of  the  struggle 
of  the  West  against  the  East?  Marathon,  Ther- 
mopylae, and  Salamis  live  in  his  pages  ;  but  so  does 
the  Theban  Medism,  and  Plutarch  cannot  bear  to  be 
reminded  of  the  blot  on  the  Boeotian  escutcheon. 
Yet  surely  it  was  erased  by  Epaminondas,  and 
Pindar  could  contemplate  it  without  a  blush.  But 
Plutarch  lived  in  a  time  when  Greece  was  politically 

M 


178  PLUTARCH 

a  nullity,  though  she  was  still  able  to  give  laws  in 
literature,  rhetoric,  and  art.  We  have  seen  that  he 
despised,  or  at  least  neglected,  the  great  literature 
which  Rome  had  borrowed  from  her  vassal ;  he  also 
was  somewhat  blind  to  the  solid  qualities  of  Roman 
worthies,  their  steadfastness,  their  devotion  to  their 
country,  their  abnegation  of  self, — qualities  con- 
spicuously absent  in  the  far  more  brilliant  Greek 
men  of  affairs,  such  as  Themistocles,  Alcibiades,  and 
(as  some  would  say)  Demosthenes.  It  is  interesting 
to  observe  that  when  he  has  to  seek  a  Roman 
parallel  for  a  person  so  characteristically  Greek  as 
Alcibiades,  he  is  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the 
semi-mythical  Coriolanus,  and  the  parallel  hardly 
extends  beyond  the  fact  that  each  bore  arms  against 
his  country.  It  is  said  that  he  is  disposed  to  favour 
the  Greek  against  the  Latin  hero.  On  this  subject 
we  would  ask  leave  to  quote  an  eloquent  passage 
(abridged)  from  Dean  Meri vale's  '  History  of  the 
Romans  under  the  Empire  ' : — 

'  Plutarch's  "  Parallel  Lives  "  are  eminently  philo- 
sophy teaching  by  example.  There  is  no  work, 
perhaps,  of  antiquity  that  Christian  parents  can  put 
so  securely  into  the  hands  of  their  children.  The 
author's  object  was  to  draw  a  fair  and  friendly  com- 
parison between  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans,  be- 
tween the  conquered  and  the  conquerors,  the  spoiled 
and  the  spoilers,  the  slaves  and  the  masters,  between 
men  whom  other  censors  would  have  delighted  to 
contrast  as  the  spiritual  Hellene  and  the  brutal 
Italian,  or,  again,  as  the  cringing  Graeculus  and  the 
lofty  Romulides.  Yet  throughout  this  long  series  of 
lives,  this  glittering  array  of  virtues  and  vices,  there 


PLUTARCH  179 

is  no  word,  I  think,  of  subservience  or  flattery,  of 
humiliation  or  triumph,  to  mark  the  position  of  the 
writer  in  the  face  of  his  Roman  rulers.  Whether 
we  consider  the  book  as  addressed  to  the  Greeks  or 
the  Romans,  the  absence  of  any  such  indications  of 
feeling  is  undoubtedly  remarkable.  To  me  it  seems 
most  honourable  both  to  the  one  people  and  to  the 
other.'  ^ 

The  question  is  certainly  one  on  which  there  is  no 
room  for  a  charge  of  undue  bias.  But,  be  it  observed, 
even  if  the  charge  of  favouring  the  Greeks  were  true 
it  would  reflect  great  credit  on  Plutarch  that  in  an 
age  of  assentation  and  servility  he  chose  the  nobler 
part  and  refused  to  avail  himself  of  an  obvious 
means  of  recommending  himself  to  the  emperors 
and  the  great  families  of  Rome.  It  is  true,  indeed, 
that  Plutarch  was  a  born  biographer,  and  as  such  he 
was  no  historian.  His  lives,  for  instance,  of  the 
Gracchi  present  them  to  us  as  living  beings,  but  the 
times  in  which  they  lived  must  be  reconstructed  by 
us  from  other  sources.  The  revolution  which  marked 
that  epoch  had  for  him  no  existence.  A  crucial 
instance  of  his  lack  of  political  insight  is  to  be  found 
in  the  rapture  with  which  he  records  the  proclama- 
tion of  the  liberty  of  Greece  at  the  Isthmian  games 
by  Flamininus.  He  seems  to  believe  that  '  liberty,' 
given  as  that  was,  is  really  liberty  and  not  the  most 
degrading  form  of  servitude,  chains  the  more  humilia- 
ting because  they  are  gilded,  and  because  they  bind 
their  wearers  under  the  semblance  of  ornaments. 
But  though  the  political  outlook  of  the  '  Lives '  is 
but  limited,  their  ethical  aspect  is  invaluable.      His 

1  Ch.  Ixvi. 


i8o  PLUTARCH 

own  account  of  his  aim  may  well  be  quoted  from  his 
'  Paulus  Aemilius,'  in  the  words  of  Sir  Thomas 
North's  translation,  which  must  ever  have  such  a 
deep  interest  for  every  English-speaking  race,  as 
being  the  material  out  of  which  Shakespeare  wrought 
his  magnificent  panorama  of  the  Roman  republic  : — 

'  When  I  first  began  to  write  these  "  Lives  "  my 
intent  was  to  profit  others  ;  but  since  continuing  and 
going  on  I  have  much  profited  myself  by  looking 
into  these  histories  as  if  I  looked  into  a  glass  to 
frame  and  fashion  my  life  to  the  mould  and  pattern 
of  these  virtuous  noblemen.  For,  running  over  their 
manners  in  this  sort  and  seeking  also  to  describe 
their  lives,  methinks  I  am  still  conversant  and 
familiar  with  them,  and  do,  as  it  were,  lodge  them 
with  me,  one  after  another.  I  do  teach  and  prepare 
myself  to  shake  off  and  banish  from  me  all  lewd  and 
dishonest  conditions,  if  by  chance  the  company  and 
conversation  of  them  whose  company  I  keep, — and 
must  of  necessity  haunt, — do  acquaint  me  with  some 
unhappy  or  ungracious  touch.' 

What  is  the  great  secret  of  the  popularity  of  the 
'  Lives,'  which  has  made  them,  in  the  words  of 
Madame  Roland,  '  the  pasture  of  great  souls,'  which 
has  led  Montaigne  to  call  them  a  breviary,  and 
which  has  recommended  the  sage  of  Chaeronea  to 
minds  so  diverse  as  those  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  Bayle, 
Dryden,  Bossuet,  Moliere,  and  Montaigne  ?  A  very 
noble  tribute,  too,  is  paid  to  them  by  Amyot,  the 
author  of  the  sixteenth  century  French  translation 
of  the  '  Lives/  whose  version  North  Englished,  and 
who,  therefore,  at  second  hand  has  fed  the  lamp  of 
our  great  poet's  inspiration  : — 


PLUTARCH  i8i 

'  The  dullest  man  in  the  world  on  reading  or 
hearing  read  such  a  master  must  bend  his  head  in 
humility  and  do  obeisance  to  Truth  herself,  who  can 
make  herself  so  well  heard  in  the  mouth  of  a  poor 
pagan.'  ^  It  is  his  clear  appreciation  of  the  differ- 
ence between  history  and  biography,  his  vivid 
psychological  portraiture,  which  gives  to  every  anec- 
dote, however  apparently  trivial,  a  deep  significance. 
Every  anecdote  illustrates  some  characteristic  trait, 
or  puts  in  a  strong  light  some  striking  fact.  Wit- 
ness the  anecdote  of  the  girl  who,  during  a  gladiator's 
show,  plucked  off  a  thread  from  the  toga  of  Sulla 
that  she  might  get  a  bit  of  his  luck  ;  the  mother  who, 
learning  from  her  husband  that  he  had  betrothed 
their  daughter,  said  angrily,  '  you  have  been  very 
hasty  unless,  of  course,  it  is  to  Tiberius  Gracchus '  ; 
the  refusal  of  Cato,  aged  five,  to  acknowledge  the 
right  of  the  Italians  to  the  franchise,  though  in  the 
grasp  of  a  big  Marsian  who  held  him  out  of  the 
window  by  the  neck  and  threatened  to  drop  him  if 
he  did  not  give  in.  Beside  many  pithy  sentences 
which  have  made  their  way  into  all  the  histories, 
there  is  still  a  rich  harvest  to  be  gleaned.  What 
could  be  better  than  the  reply  of  Sulla  to  the  appli- 
cation for  a  military  command  made  by  Crassus 
whose  family  had  suffered  in  the  Marian  massacre, 
'  I  will  give  the  command,  but  I  can  give  you  as 
support  only  the  ghosts  of  your  father  and  your 
brother ' ;  or  than  Caesar's  summing  up  of  his  mili- 
tary  position    at   a   critical    moment   in    the   words, 

^  *  Le  plus  sourd  du  monde  lisant  ou  oyant  un  tel  maistre  est  con- 
straint de  baisser  le  front  et  donner  gloire  a  la  Verite  se  faisant  si  bien 
ouyr  en  la  bouche  d'un  pauvre  payen. ' 


1 82  PLUTARCH 

*  first  I  must  deal  with  the  army  that  has  no  general, 
then  with  the  general  who  has  no  army.'  Plutarch 
is  keenly  conscious  of  the  psychological  value  of  the 
anecdote  and  sometimes  expressly  claims  it.  In  his 
life  of  Alexander  he  tells  us  that  he  omits  many 
things  of  the  greatest  importance  because  '  the 
noblest  deeds  do  not  always  show  virtues  and  vices  ; 
but  oftentimes  a  light  occasion,  a  word,  or  some 
sport,  make  men's  natural  dispositions  and  manners 
appear  more  plain  than  famous  battles  won,  wherein 
are  slain  ten  thousand  men.'  Plutarch's  object  is 
'  to  decipher  the  man  and  his  nature,'  as  he  says 
in  the  beginning  of  his  '  Nicias,'  when  he  confesses 
that  he  has  lightly  passed  over  many  things  that 
Thucydides  has  told.  He  certainly  neglects  the 
background,  giving  the  life  without  the  times,  even 
to  the  detriment  of  the  decipherment  of  nature  (as 
sometimes  we  cannot  help  feeling)  ;  but  when  he  has 
succeeded  so  wonderfully,  who  shall  dare  to  speak 
of  a  flaw  in  his  method  ?  Who  will  lift  up  his  voice 
against  a  plan  which  has  given  us  such  a  number  of 
delightful  anecdotes,  some  of  which  are  often  attri- 
buted to  authors  much  posterior  to  Plutarch?  It  is 
to  him  we  owe  the  phrase  '  to  call  a  spade  a  spade ' ; 
he  it  is  who  has  told  us  that  when  the  Olynthian 
politicians  complained  to  Philip  that  they  were 
called  traitors  in  Macedon  because  they  had  betrayed 
their  city,  the  king  replied,  '  We  Macedonians  are  a 
rude  folk  ;  we  call  a  spade  a  spade.'  The  same 
king  on  another  occasion  was  silenced  by  a  retort 
also  recorded  by  Plutarch.  He  was  arguing  without 
any  special  knowledge  with  a  musician  on  a  question 
touching  the  musical  art,  when  the  latter  closed  the 


PLUTARCH  183 

discussion  with  the  words,  '  God  forbid  your  Majesty- 
should  know  as  much  about  these  things  as  a  mere 
artist  Hke  myself.'  An  answer  recojded  by  him  as 
given  by  Alexander  the  Great  is  interesting  because 
Seneca^  calls  it  utterly  foolish  though  he  admits 
that  it  sounds  spirited  and  princely.  Spirited  and 
princely  it  certainly  sounds  to  us.  A  humble  friend 
asked  him  for  some  help  towards  a  dowry  for  his 
daughter.  Alexander  gave  him  fifty  talents.  This 
seemed  to  the  applicant  to  be  far  too  much,  and  he 
desired  that  the  gift  should  be  greatly  reduced. 
'  But,'  said  the  king  '  though  such  a  sum  might  be 
enough  for  you  to  receive,  it  would  not  be  enough 
for  me  to  give.'  One  is  reminded  of  the  indignation 
of  another  kingly-minded  man,  Julius  Caesar,  when 
the  pirates  demanded  twenty  talents  for  his  ransom. 
'  Make  it  fifty,'  said  Caesar,  '  you  do  not  know  my 
value,  such  a  small  ransom  would  be  an  insult' 
This  story,  illustrating  so  well  the  soaring  spirit  of 
the  great  Roman,  we  owe  to  Plutarch,  as  well  as 
Alexander's  neat  remark  about  his  vicegerent,  Anti- 
pater.  A  friend  called  attention  to  the  plain  apparel 
of  Antipater,  and  commended  his  modesty  and 
humility.  '  Yes,'  said  Alexander,  *  his  outer  man 
is  plain,  but  his  spirit  is  always  "  en  grande  tenue."  '  ^ 
Very  subtle,  too,  is  the  *  mot '  ascribed  by  him  to 
the  wise  man,  Chilon,  who,  when  some  one  boasted 
to  him  that  he  had  not  an  enemy,  put  to  him  the 
significant  question,  '  Have  you  a  friend  ?  '  Some 
of  his  happy  anecdotes,  happy  as  apt  illustrations  of 

^  Animosa  vox  videtur  et  regia  cum  sit  stultissima^  *De  Beneficiis,' 
ii.  16. 

^  Toi,  5^  ivhov  6\oTr6p<f>vpos. 


1 84  PLUTARCH 

character,  have  already  been  quoted.  Others  would 
be  well  worthy  of  record  if  space  permitted.  So 
would  some  of  his  grand  tableaux,  such  as  those  in 
which  he  depicts  the  defeat  and  death  of  Crassus, 
who  went  deliberately  to  meet  his  doom  because  '  it 
will  be  better  to  have  it  said  that  a  Roman  general 
was  deceived  by  the  enemy  than  abandoned  by  his 
own  men.'  Very  impressive  and  picturesque  is  his 
description  of  the  last  hours  of  Cato  in  Utica,  that 
great  soul  to  whom  Mommsen  refers  as  the  fool  who 
spoke  the  epilogue  in  the  drama  of  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  republic.  If  Cato  was  a  fool  in  any  sense,  it 
was  not  in  the  vein  of  Touchstone  and  Parolles, 
caustic  but  genial  critics  of  life.  It  was  in  the  way 
of  Don  Quixote — a  noble  way,  which  Mommsen  was 
unable  to  understand.  Yet  he  was  no  Don  Quixote 
either.  It  was  not  against  windmills  that  he  tilted, 
though  it  was  against  objects  equally  impervious 
to  his  lance.  The  death  of  Pompey  was  called  by 
Chateaubriand  '  le  plus  beau  morceau  du  Plutarque,' 
and  has  been  reproduced  by  every  historian  of  Rome. 

We  would  here  put  before  our  readers  a  scene  or 
two  in  which  Plutarch's  treatment  of  the  theme  may 
be  compared  with  that  of  a  brother  artist,  and  it  will 
be  seen  that  Plutarch  does  not  suffer  by  the  com- 
parison. The  suicide  of  Otho  is  described  both  by 
Tacitus-^  and  by  Plutarch,^  and  the  two  have  evi- 
dently used  the  same  authorities.  Here  is  the  Taci- 
tean  account  taken  from  Church  and  Brodribb  : — 

'  Towards  evening  he  quenched  his  thirst  with  a 
draught.  Two  daggers  were  brought  to  him.  He 
tried  the  edge  of  both,  and  then  put  one  under  his 

^  '  Hist.' ii.  49.  2  <otho,'xvii. 


PLUTARCH  185 

head.  After  satisfying  himself  that  his  friends  had 
set  out,  he  passed  a  tranquil  night,  and  it  is  even 
said  that  he  slept.  At  dawn  he  fell  with  his  breast 
upon  the  steel.  Hearing  a  groan  from  the  dying 
man  his  freedmen  and  slaves  came  in.  They  found 
but  one  wound.  His  funeral  was  hastily  performed. 
He  had  made  this  the  subject  of  earnest  entreaties, 
anxious  that  his  head  might  not  be  cut  off  and  sub- 
jected to  indignities.  The  Boeotian  cohorts  carried 
his  body  with  praises  and  tears,  covering  his  wound 
and  his  hands  with  kisses.  Some  of  the  soldiers 
killed  themselves  near  the  funeral  pile,  not  moved  by 
remorse  or  fear,  but  by  the  desire  to  emulate  his 
glory  and  by  affection  for  their  prince.' 

Plutarch's  account  of  the  same  scene  has  all  the 
dignity  of  Tacitus,  and  has  preserved  besides,  in  the 
dying  emperor's  concern  for  his  friends  and  his 
freedmen,  some  pathetic  touches  which  the  Tacitean 
narrative  lacks : — 

*  Towards  evening  he  was  athirst  and  drank  a 
little  water.  Then  he  carefully  examined  the  edge 
of  two  daggers  which  were  beside  him,  and  laid  aside 
one,  placing  the  other  under  his  arm.  ...  He 
spent  the  rest  of  the  night  in  repose  so  unbroken 
that  his  chamberlains  were  astonished  at  the  sound- 
ness of  his  sleep.  In  the  morning  he  summoned  a 
freedman  who  had  assisted  him  in  the  division  of  his 
property  among  his  friends,  and,  learning  from  him 
that  each  of  them  had  received  what  he  desired,  said, 
"  go,  then,  and  show  yourself  to  the  troops,  if  you 
do  not  want  to  meet  a  violent  death  at  their  hands 
as  having  helped  to  cause  my  death."  When  the 
man  left,  he  held  the  dagger,  point  upwards,  in  both 


1 86  PLUTARCH 

hands  and  threw  himself  down  on  it.  The  pain 
wrung  from  him  only  one  groan,  which  was  the  first 
notice  the  household  had  of  his  tragic  end.  When 
the  slaves  lifted  up  the  dead  body  and  exposed  it  to 
the  public  view,  the  whole  camp  and  city  were  filled 
with  lamentations.  The  soldiers  burst  noisily  into 
the  house,  and  in  the  excess  of  their  grief  cursed 
their  negligence  in  not  keeping  a  close  watch  on 
their  emperor  and  thus  baffling  his  noble  self- 
immolation  in  their  behalf  Though  the  enemy 
were  hard  by,  not  one  of  the  soldiers  would  leave 
the  corse.  Without  even  removing  their  armour, 
they  made  a  pyre,  and  carried  the  dead  emperor 
out.  Those  who  succeeded  in  outstripping  the 
others  in  the  race  for  the  honour  of  bearing  the  bier 
were  proud  men.  The  less  fortunate  contented 
themselves  with  throwing  themselves  on  the  corse 
and  kissing  the  wound.  Others  clasped  the  dead 
hands,  and  others,  who  could  not  get  near,  prostrated 
themselves  in  adoration.  Some,  after  applying  the 
torch  to  the  pyre,  slew  themselves,  not,  so  far  as  is 
known,  through  gratitude  for  benefits  received,  or 
through  fear  of  the  vengeance  of  the  conqueror. 
No,  never  was  king  or  tyrant  animated  by  a  love  of 
power  so  prodigious  or  so  passionate  as  was  their 
craving  to  be  servants  to  Otho  and  to  do  his  bidding. 
Even  after  his  death  regret  for  his  loss  never  left 
them,  but  endured  in  undying  hatred  of  Vitellius.' 

It  is  hard  to  account  for  this  extraordinary  en- 
thusiasm for  the  effeminate  Otho,  who,  according  to 
Juvenal,  plastered  his  face  with  bread  poultices  and 
carried  his  mirror  with  him  to  the  battlefield.^     He 

^  speculum  civilis  sarcina  belli ^  *  Sat.'  ii.  103. 


PLUTARCH  187 

must  have  had  some  trait  which  appealed  strongly 
to  the  soldiery.  One  recalls  a  somewhat  similar  case 
during  the  Boer  war. 

It  is  no  small  triumph  to  come  with  advantage 
out  of  a  comparison  with  Tacitus.  We  have  not 
space  here  to  set  beside  each  other  the  Plutarchean 
and  Thucydidean  narratives  of  the  last  days  of 
Nicias,  but  a  reader  of  Thucydides  ^  and  of  Plutarch  ^ 
will  find,  we  think,  in  the  former,  fine  as  it  is,  noth- 
ing so  touching  as  the  last  words  of  Plutarch's 
twenty-sixth  chapter  : — 

'  While  all  were  weeping  and  wailing  in  their 
terror  and  agony  of  mind,  Nicias,  sick  though  he  was, 
seldom  broke  down.  When  he  did,  it  was  plain 
that  he  was  not  thinking  of  himself,  but  of  the 
ignominious  issue  of  the  expedition  and  the  collapse 
of  the  soaring  ambition  of  Athens.  What  struck 
people  most  was  the  injustice  of  his  fate, — a  feeling 
that  was  aggravated  when  they  remembered  how  he 
had  argued  and  pleaded  against  the  disastrous  inva- 
sion of  Sicily.  Indeed,  in  some  their  trust  in  Pro- 
vidence experienced  a  severe  shock,  when  they  saw 
a  man  of  such  eminence,  of  such  unimpeachable  life 
and  exemplary  piety,  involved  in  the  same  ruin  with 
the  most  degraded  and  abandoned  of  the  rank  and 
file.' 

But  let  us  no  more  compare  Plutarch  with  the 
artists  of  the  ancient  world.  Let  us  hasten  to  his 
crowning  triumph,  to  the  fact  that  the  Master  Mind 
of  all  time,  the  Artist  of  Artists,  not  only  drew  from 
him  the  materials  for  his  amazing  pictures  of  the 
ancient  world,  but  sometimes  transferred  to  his  plays 

^  vii.  86.  ^  *  Nicias,'  xxvi.-xxviii. 


1 88  PLUTARCH 

whole  scenes  from  the  '  Lives '  with  scarcely  a 
phrase  or  a  word  altered  or  modified.  Had  Plutarch 
never  written  his  '  Lives/  or  had  they  not  been 
translated  by  some  sympathetic  mind  like  Sir 
Thomas  North's,  it  is  very  unlikely  that  the  world 
would  ever  have  had  '  Coriolanus,'  '  Julius  Caesar,' 
or  '  Antony  and  Cleopatra.'  The  whole  play  of 
*  Julius  Caesar '  is  to  be  found  in  Plutarch,  and  often 
the  very  wording  of  North's  version  is  adopted  un- 
altered ;  oftener,  however,  a  happy  touch  is  dwelt  on 
and  developed, — the  lines  deepened  or  the  colour 
heightened.  A  good  example  of  the  latter  mode  of 
dealing  with  the  materials  is  afforded  by  Antony's 
speech  in  *  Julius  Caesar,'  perhaps  the  finest  speci- 
men in  literature  of  the  orator's  art  and  its  influence 
on  an  urban  multitude.  Here  is  the  fine  passage  ^ 
in  Plutarch  which  Shakespeare's  art  has  immor- 
talized : — 

'  To  conclude  his  oration  he  unfolded  before  the 
whole  assembly  the  bloody  garments  of  the  dead, 
thrust  through  in  many  places  with  their  swords, 
and  called  the  malefactors  cruel  and  cursed  mur- 
therers.' 

We  all  know  the  grand  passage  in  *  Julius 
Caesar ' : — 

'  If  you  have  tears,  prepare  to  shed  them  now. 
You  all  do  know  this  mantle  :  I  remember 
The  first  time  Caesar  ever  put  it  on  ; 
'T  was  on  a  summer's  evening  in  his  tent : 
That  day  he  overcame  the  Nervii. 
Look,  in  this  place  ran  Cassius'  dagger  through  : 
See  what  a  rent  the  envious  Casca  made  : 

1  'Ant.'  14. 


PLUTARCH  189 

Through  this  the  well-beloved  Brutus  stabb'd, 

And,  as  he  pluck'd  his  cursed  steel  away, 

Mark  how  the  blood  of  Caesar  followed  it, 

As  rushing  out  of  doors  to  be  resolved 

If  Brutus  so  unkindly  knock'd  or  no. 

For  Brutus,  as  you  know,  was  Caesar's  angel.'  ^ 

The  final  words  in  the  passage  of  Plutarch  about 
'  calling  them  murtherers '  find  their  poetic  conse- 
cration in 

'  O,  pardon  me,  thou  bleeding  piece  of  earth, 
That  I  am  meek  and  gentle  with  these  butchers.' 

Here  we  have  the  original  Greek  passage  treated 
with  great  freedom  and,  perhaps,  in  one  place  a  little 
spoiled  by  one  of  those  conceits  which  were  so  dear 
to  the  Elizabethan  age,  and  which  even  Shakespeare 
could  not  resist.  Throughout  the  play  of  *  Antony 
and  Cleopatra'  the  correspondence  with  Plutarch  is 
modified  by  the  fact  that  Antony,  as  he  was  and  as 
Plutarch  portrayed  him,  would  not  have  made  a 
hero  of  tragedy.  The  coarse  rufifian  and  debauchee 
is  refined  by  Shakespeare  into  the  victim  of  the  spells 
of  an  eastern  enchantress,  a  Ulysses  in  the  toils  of 
Circe  or  Calypso,  but  one  who  is  sober  and  wise 
enough  to  recognize  that  he  has  lost  the  world  for  a 
woman,  even  though  he  count  it  well  lost,  one  who 
is  able  to  sum  up  his  ruined  career  in  the  pathetic 
words,  '  I  have  lost  my  way  in  the  world.' 

But  in  this  play  there  is  one  perfect  example  of 
the  confidence  with  which  the  '  myriad-minded ' 
Englishman  was  content  to  put  himself  into  the 
hands  of  the  simple  Boeotian,  borrowing  from  him 
every  artistic  touch,  and   adding  only  the  dramatic 

1  iii.  2,  174-185. 


190  PLUTARCH 

framework.  Greece  took  captive  her  proud  Roman 
conqueror,  but  never  had  she  a  greater  triumph  over 
posterity  than  when  a  Greek  wrote  a  scene  on  which 
not  even  a  Shakespeare  could  make  an  improve- 
ment. 

The  final  scene  of  Cleopatra's  life  is  thus  told  by- 
Plutarch  (North's  version)  : — 

'  Her  death  was  very  sudden,  for  those  whom 
Caesar  sent  to  her  ran  hither  in  all  haste  possible, 
and  found  the  soldiers  standing  at  the  gate,  mis- 
trusting nothing,  nor  understanding  of  her  death. 
But  when  they  had  opened  the  doors,  they  found 
Cleopatra  stark  dead,  laid  upon  a  bed  of  gold,  attired 
and  arrayed  in  her  royal  robes,  and  one  of  her  two 
women  which  was  called  Iras  dead  at  her  feet,  and 
her  other  woman  (called  Charmian)  half  dead  and 
trembling,  trimming  the  diadem  which  Cleopatra 
wore  upon  her  head.  One  of  the  soldiers,  seeing  her, 
angrily  said  unto  her  "Is  that  well  done,  Charmian?" 
"Very  well,"  said  she  again,  "and  meet  for  a  princess 
descended  from  the  race  of  so  many  noble  Kings." 
She  said  no  more,  but  fell  down  dead  hard  by  the 
bed.' 

Here  is  Shakespeare's  version  accepting  every 
artistic  touch  and  adding  practically  nothing  except 
the  dramatic  form  and  metrical  garb. 

'  Enter  the  Guard  rushing  in. 
First  Guard.     Where  is  the  Queen  ? 

Char.  Speak  softly,  wake  her  not. 

First  Guard.     Caesar  hath  sent  — 

Char.  Too  slow  a  messenger. 

[Applies  an  asp.] 
O,  come  apace,  despatch  !     I  partly  feel  thee. 
First  Guard.     Approach,  ho  !    All's  not  well :  Caesar's  beguil'd. 


PLUTARCH  191 

Sec.  Guard.    There's  Dolabella  sent  from  Caesar  :  call  him. 
First  Guard.     What  work  is  here?     Charmian,   is   this   well 

done? 
Char.       It  is  well  done,  and  fitting  for  a  princess 

Descended  of  so  many  royal  kings. 

Ah,  soldier.  \^Dies^ 

Reenter  Dolabella. 
DoL         How  goes  it  here  ? 
Sec.  Guard.  All  dead. 

Dol.  Caesar,  thy  thoughts 

Touch  their  effects  in  this :  thyself  art  coming 

To  see  perform'd  the  dreaded  act  which  thou 

So  sought'st  to  hinder. 

[  Within?[    A  way  there,  a  way  for  Caesar  ! 
Reenter  Caesar  and  all  his  train  marching. 
Dol.         O,  Sir,  you  are  too  sure  an  augurer. 

That  you  did  fear  is  done. 
Caes.  Bravest  at  the  last, 

She  levell'd  at  our  purposes,  and,  being  royal. 

Took  her  own  way.     The  manner  of  their  deaths  ? 

I  do  not  see  them  bleed. 
Dol.  Who  was  last  with  them  ? 

First  Guard.     A  simple  countryman  that  brought  her  figs  : 

This  was  his  basket. 
Caes.  Poison'd,  then. 

First  Guard.  O,  Caesar, 

This  Charmian  lived  but  now  ;  she  stood  and  spake  : 

I  found  her  trimming  up  the  diadem 

On  her  dead  mistress  ;  tremblingly  she  stood 

And  on  the  sudden  dropp'd.'  ^ 

Such  is  the  tale  as  told  by  Plutarch,  and  such  is 
the  scene  as  dramatized  by  Shakespeare.  Even  the 
soldier's  indignant  question, — probably  resting  upon 
some  basis  of  tradition,  for  who  would  have  imagined 
such  words  from  a  soldier  ? — and  Charmian's  splendid 

^  'Ant.  and  Cleop.'  v.  2,  323-347. 


192  PLUTARCH 

reply  are  hardly  modified.  Shakespeare  takes  here 
and  there  words,  phrases,  even  speeches,  as  by  royal 
right  from  various  writers.  But  we  do  not  elsewhere 
find  so  large  and  beautiful  a  picture  transferred  with 
every  detail  to  his  enduring  canvas.  In  this  proud 
boast  Plutarch  has  no  rivals. 

Shakespeare  is  seen  at  his  worst  when  he  puts 
Holinshed  into  blank  verse,  but  he  rises  to  his 
noblest  heights  in  some  of  his  adaptations  of  Plut- 
arch. It  was  in  his  power  of  realizing  a  character  or 
scene  already  sketched  in  outline,  that  his  consum- 
mate genius  lay. 

The  '  Coriolanus '  not  only  adopts  whole  speeches 
from  North's  '  Plutarch,'  but  is  penetrated  through- 
out with  the  diction  and  thought  of  that  work.  The 
first  sentence  of  the  *  Life '  is  reproduced  almost 
verbally  in  'Coriolanus,'  ii.  3,  244  f.  'Coriolanus,' 
iii.  I,  69  f., 

'  In  soothing  them  we  nourish  'gainst  our  senate 
The  cockle  of  rebellion,  insolence,  sedition' 

has  its  origin  in  North's  *  They  nourished  against 
themselves  the  naughty  seed  and  cockle  of  insolence 
and  sedition.'  Sometimes  Shakespeare  apologizes 
for  an  extravagance  of  fancy  or  diction  in  North,  as, 
for  instance,  where  North  has  '  And  so  the  belly,  all 
this  notwithstanding,  laughed  at  their  folly  and  said.' 
Shakespeare  makes  Menenius  justify  the  figure  : — 

*  With  a  kind  of  smile 
Which  ne'er  came  from  the  lungs,  but  even  thus — 
For,  look  you,  I  may  make  the  belly  smile 
As  well  as  speak — it  tauntingly  replied.' 

We  add  two  passages  showing  how  closely  Shake- 


PLUTARCH  193 

speare  adhered  to  the  text  of  North.  Here  is  the 
passage  on  which  he  built  the  speech  of  Coriolanus 
at  the  house  of  Tullus  Aufidius,  the  general  of  the 
Volscians  : — 

*  I  am  Caius  Marcius,  who  hath  done  to  thyself 
particularly  and  to  all  the  Volsces  generally  great 
hurt  and  mischief,  which  I  cannot  deny  for  my  sur- 
name of  Coriolanus  that  I  bear.  For  I  never  had 
any  other  benefit  or  recompense  of  the  true  and 
painful  service  I  have  done  and  the  extreme  dangers 
I  have  been  in  but  this  only  surname ;  a  good 
memory  and  witness  of  the  malice  and  displeasure 
thou  shouldest  bear  me.  Indeed,  the  name  only 
remaineth  with  me  ;  for  the  rest  the  envy  and  cruelty 
of  the  people  of  Rome  have  taken  from  me  by  the 
sufferance  of  the  dastardly  nobility  and  magistrates 
who  have  forsaken  me  and  let  me  be  banished  by  the 
people.  This  extremity  hath  now  driven  me  to  come 
as  a  poor  suitor,  to  take  thy  chimney-hearth,  not  of 
any  hope  I  have  to  save  my  life  thereby  :  for  if  I 
had  feared  death  I  would  not  have  come  hither  to 
put  myself  in  hazard  :  but  pricked  forward  with 
desire  to  be  revenged  of  them  that  have  thus  ban- 
ished me ;  which  now  I  do  begin  in  putting  my 
person  into  the  hands  of  their  enemies.  Wherefore, 
if  thou  hast  any  heart  to  be  wreaked  of  the  injuries 
thy  enemies  have  done  thee,  speed  thee  now,  and  let 
my  misery  serve  thy  turn,  and  so  use  it  as  my  services 
may  be  a  benefit  to  the  Volsces  :  promising  thee  that 
I  will  fight  with  better  good  will  for  all  you  than  I 
did  when  I  was  against  you,  knowing  that  they  fight 
more  valiantly  who  know  the  force  of  the  enemy 
than  such  as  have  never  proved  it.      And  if  it  be  so 

N 


194  PLUTARCH 

that  thou  dare  not,  and  that  thou  art  weary  to  prove 
fortune  any  more,  then  am  I  also  weary  to  live  any 
longer.  And  it  were  no  wisdom  in  thee  to  save  the 
life  of  him  who  hath  been  heretofore  thy  mortal 
enemy,  and  whose  service  now  can  nothing  help  nor 
pleasure  thee.'  ^ 

Compare  the  following  passage  from  North's 
*  Plutarch '    with    Shakespeare's    *  Coriolanus,'    v.    3, 

94  f. 

'  If  we  held  our  peace,  my  son,  and  determined 
not  to  speak,  the  state  of  our  poor  bodies  and  present 
sight  of  our  raiment  would  easily  bewray  to  thee 
what  life  we  have  led  at  home  since  thy  exile  and 
abode  abroad  ;  but  think  now  with  thyself  how  much 
more  unfortunate  than  all  the  women  living  we  are 
come  hither,  considering  that  the  sight  which  should 
be  most  pleasant  to  all  other  to  behold,  spiteful 
fortune  had  made  most  fearful  to  us,  making  myself 
to  see  my  son,  and  my  daughter  here  her  husband, 
besieging  the  walls  of  his  native  country  :  so  as  that 
which  is  the  only  comfort  to  all  other  in  their  adver- 
sity and  misery,  to  pray  unto  the  gods  and  to  call 
to  them  for  aid,  is  the  only  thing  which  plungeth  us 
into  most  deep  perplexity.  For  we  cannot,  alas ! 
both  together  pray  for  victory  to  our  country  and  for 
safety  of  thy  life  also ;  but  a  world  of  grievous 
curses,  yea  more  than  any  mortal  enemy  can  heap 
upon  us,  are  forcibly  wrapt  up  in  our  prayers.  .  .  . 
Moreover,  my  son,  thou  hast  sorely  taken  of  thy 
country,  exacting  grievous  payments  upon  them  in 
revenge  of  the  injuries  offered  thee  ;  besides,  thou 
hast    not    hitherto    showed    thy    poor    mother    any 

1  'Cor.'iv.  5,  65  f. 


PLUTARCH  195 

courtesy.  And,  therefore,  it  is  not  only  honest,  but 
due  unto  me,  that  without  compulsion  I  should 
obtain  my  so  just  and  reasonable  request  of  thee.' 

The  scene  in  '  Corlolanus,'  v.  3,  where  Volumnia 
employs  the  child  Marcius  to  work  upon  his  father 
has  a  pathetic  touch  not  in  Plutarch  : — 

'  Speak  thou,  boy, 
Perhaps  thy  childishness  will  move  him  more 
Than  can  our  reasons.' 

Minor  loans  from  North's  '  Plutarch '  will  be 
recognized  in  '  Timon  of  Athens '  compared  with 
Plutarch's  '  Antonius,'  38,  and  '  Alcibiades/  4;  and 
in  'Midsummer  Night's  Dream,'  ii.  i,  75-80,  where 
Shakespeare  takes  the  name  Perigenia  from  Plut- 
arch's 'Theseus,'  i,  Ariadne  from  ib.  3,  Aegle  from  ib. 
4,  and  Antiopa  and  Hippolyta  from  ib.  8.  Indeed, 
almost  all  the  foreign  names  in  Shakespeare  come 
from  Plutarch.  The  strange  name  Caphis  in  '  Timon' 
is  found  in  Plutarch's  '  Sulla.'  Hannibal,  in  '  Mea- 
sure for  Measure,'  ii.  i,  no  doubt  comes  from  Plut- 
arch, and  so  does  the  story  of  Alexander  and  Clitus, 
alluded  to  in  'Henry  V.'  iv.  7,  41.  In  'Julius 
Caesar,'  iv.  3,  178,  'Cicero  being  one,'  looks  very 
like  a  reminiscence  of  Plutarch,  '  Brutus,'  20,  '  and 
among  that  number  Cicero  was  one.'  '  Et  tu  Brute' 
appears  in  'Julius  Caesar,'  iii.  i,  "jj^  but  not  in 
Plutarch. 

As  a  psychologist  Plutarch  might  be  compared 
advantageously  with  Seneca,  but  the  latter  is  theo- 
retical while  the  former  is  practical.  Plutarch  thor- 
oughly understands  human  character,  observes  it 
with  great  intelligence,  and  describes  it  luminously  ; 
but  he  observes  as  a  man,  not  as  a  metaphysician,  to 

N  2 


196  PLUTARCH 

borrow  a  shrewd  observation  from  Emerson.  He 
sounds  the  depths  and  scales  the  heights  of  the  great 
problems  of  existence,  but,  like  Tennyson's  shepherd, 
he  loves  not  the  heights, 

*  Nor  cares  to  walk 
With  Death  and  morning  on  the  silver  horns.' 

Like  Love,  Plutarch  is  'of  the  valley '  and  '  by  the 
happy  threshold.'  '  He  has  a  taste,'  writes  Emer- 
son, '  for  common  life.  He  knows  the  farm,  the 
forge,  the  kitchen,  and  every  kitchen  utensil.'  He 
revels  in  'the  little  murmur  of  the  burg'  of 
Chaeronea,  but  he  is  far  from  mistaking  it  for  '  the 
great  wave  that  rolls  around  the  world.'  It  would 
be  pleasant  to  follow  Plutarch  into  his  private  life, 
to  sketch  the  Greek  village  of  the  first  century  after 
Christ,  to  examine  his  views  on  love,  and  on  mar- 
riage, which  he  makes  a  very  prosaic  relation,  en- 
livened only  by  the  excursions  and  alarums  of  the 
mother-in-law,  who  even  at  that  early  period  of  the 
world's  history  had  begun  to  make  herself  felt.  But 
all  this  would  afford  material  enough  for  another 
essay.  We  will  now  make  a  few  observations  on  a 
couple  of  the  best  and  most  suggestive  of  his  moral 
treatises,  that  on  Superstition,  called  by  Wyttenback 
'  liber  vere  Plutarcheusl  and  that  on  the  '  Delays 
in  Divine  Justice,'  concluding  with  some  general 
remarks  on  Plutarch's  method  and  style. 

The  moralists  of  the  ancient  world,  Seneca,  Per- 
sius,  Juvenal,  Lucian,  have  been  bitter  satirists.  Even 
Persius,  when  he  describes  himself  (far  from  accur- 
ately) as  a  laugher  {cachinnd)  adds  '  with  an  angry 
spleen.'      But  Plutarch  is  never  bitter,  never  applies 


PLUTARCH  197 

even  the  light  lash  of  Horace,  under  which  Persius 
says  his  victims  smiled.  He  pities  the  sufferers  from 
the  plague  of  superstition,  and  tries  to  alleviate  their 
miseries  and  excuse  their  weakness.  Superstition  is 
not  so  great  an  error  as  atheism,  but  it  entails  more 
suffering.  He  compares  the  atheist  to  the  man  who  is 
colour  blind.  The  atheist  lacks  a  great  source  of  hap- 
piness, but  he  never  had  it  and  does  not  know  what 
it  is.  The  man  who  is  stone  deaf  does  not  suffer  like 
him  whose  want  of  ear  turns  harmonies  into  discords. 
The  superstitious  man  sees  in  every  little  '  contre- 
temps '  of  every-day  life  a  clear  sign  of  the  anger  of 
Heaven  and  its  determination  to  punish  him.  Even 
sleep  is  turned  into  a  source  of  terror.  '  Reversing 
the  pleasing  remark  of  Pythagoras  that  we  are  made 
better  by  coming  into  the  presence  of  the  gods,  he 
feels  as  if  the  temples  which  he  enters  were  full  of 
serpents.'  He  puts  God  in  a  worse  light  than  the 
atheist.  '  For  my  part,'  says  Plutarch,  '  I  would 
rather  have  a  man  say  of  me  "there  is  no  such  person 
as  Plutarch"  than  ''Plutarch  is  unreasonable,  passion- 
ate, vindictive,  a  man  who,  if  you  left  him  out  of  a 
supper  party  through  inadvertence,  or  had  not  time 
to  pay  him  a  visit,  would  slander  you  and  even  ruin 
you." '  In  fine,  while  the  atheist  says  '  there  is  no 
God,'  the  superstitious  man  says  '  I  would  there 
were  not.'  The  wise  man  he  describes  as  standing 
'  on  sound  solid  ground  between  the  bogs  of  super- 
stition and  the  quagmires  of  atheism.' 

The  treatise  on  the  '  Delays  of  Divine  Justice '  is 
full  of  profound  remarks,  among  which  one  finds  a 
complete  recognition  of  heredity,  and  the  devolution 
on  the  children  of  the  sins  of  the  father.    The  remark 


198  PLUTARCH 

of  Cotton  is  anticipated,  which  we  cannot  accurately 
quote  in  English,  but  of  which  we  happen  to  recollect 
the  late  Benjamin  Hall  Kennedy's  happy  rendering 
in  an  elegiac  couplet : — 

'  Justitia  gaudere  Deum  sic  collige  :  poenas 
Qui  meruere  timent,  qui  timuere  luunt.' 

The  treatise  is  an  attempt  to  lead  an  age,  prone  to 
deny  God,  or  disfigure  Him,  back  to  the  god  of  Plato. 
Plutarch  has  no  doubt  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 
'  Miserable  man,'  he  exclaims,  *  is  he  who  shuts  the 
gates  of  another  life.  He  is  like  a  man  who,  over- 
taken by  a  storm  at  sea,  would  say  to  his  fellow 
voyagers  "  we  have  no  pilot  to  steer  or  star  to  guide 
us.  But  what  matter?  We  shall  soon  be  dashed 
against  the  rocks  or  engulfed  in  the  abyss." '  But  a 
complete  treatment  of  this  delightful  treatise  would 
lead  us  into  a  discussion  about  the  religion  of  the 
first  century  of  the  Christian  era. 

Niebuhr,  to  the  great  injury  of  his  reputation  for 
literary  or  psychological  insight,  called  the  '  Lives ' 
a  collection  of  silly  anecdotes,  and  others  have 
accused  Plutarch  of  not  duly  weighing  his  authori- 
ties. But  the  charge  cannot  be  sustained.  For 
instance,  he  warns  his  readers  of  the  chronologi- 
cal difficulties  which  beset  the  story  of  the  interview 
between  Solon  and  Croesus  ;  but  that  does  not  seem 
to  him  a  sufficient  reason  for  suppressing  a  tale  so 
instructive  and  so  natural.  Besides,  we  find  him 
expressly  weighing  rival  authorities,  as  in  the  forty- 
sixth  chapter  of  his  '  Alexander,'  where  he  recites 
the  evidence  for  and  against  Alexander's  relations 
with  the  Amazonian  queen,  and  decides  against  the 


PLUTARCH  199 

story.  In  a  similar  spirit,  in  '  Lysander,'  he  rejects 
the  tale  of  a  characteristic  correspondence  between 
Lysander  and  the  Ephors,  who,  receiving  from  him 
the  despatch,  '  Athens  is  taken,'  said,  '  taken  would 
have  been  quite  sufficient'  Plutarch's  comment  is, 
in  effect,  that  the  anecdote  is  ben  trovato,  but  that 
there  is  no  positive  evidence  for  its  truth.  It  is  sus- 
piciously like  other  tales  illustrating  the  Spartan  love 
of  laconic  speech.  In  like  manner  in  '  Themistocles,' 
25,  he  rejects  a  statement  of  Stesimbrotus,  quoting 
against  him  Theophrastus  and  Thucydides  ;  and  in 
many  other  places  we  find  him  exercising  the  same 
caution. 

The  style  of  Plutarch  has  been  almost  universally 
admired,  but  there  have  been  dissentients.  Johnson 
found  it  cramped,  and  Boissonade  described  it  as  a 
mosaic,  apparently  because  he  makes  his  style  fit  his 
theme,  and  according  to  its  requirements  employs 
the  language  of  the  historian,  the  poet,  the  naturalist, 
"and  the  metaphysician.  Chateaubriand  said  he  was 
*  un  agreable  imposteur  en  tours  naifs,'  and  another 
French  critic  has  said  that  he  owes  to  his  French 
translator,  Amyot,  any  charm  that  he  possesses.  But 
M.  Greard,  in  his  excellent  work  on  Plutarch's 
'  Morals,'  puts  the  case  in  its  true  light.  Plutarch 
had  a  real  candour  and  geniality  of  spirit.  His 
cultivation  of  rhetoric  modified  these  qualities,  but 
was  very  far  from  eradicating  them.  '  How  is  it,' 
remarked  a  French  statesman,  *  that  French  boys  of 
ten  are  so  charmingly  clever,  and  French  youths  of 
twenty-four  so  intolerably  stupid  ?  It  is  the  effect 
of  education,  I  suppose.'  But  education  did  not 
debauch  the  style  of  Plutarch.      It  left  it  as  simple 


200  PLUTARCH 

as  his  life.  Of  course  we  do  not  find  in  him  the 
nafvete  of  primitive  literature,  but  still  less  are  we 
met  by  the  artificial  simplicity  of  periods  of  literary 
decadence.  The  '  tours  naifs '  of  Plutarch  are  leaps 
of  a  mind  which  lets  itself  out,  not  the  taught  somer- 
saults of  the  gymnasium.  He  does  not  seek  for  his 
effects,  they  drop  from  him,  as  the  jewels  dropped 
from  the  lips  of  the  good  princess  in  the  fairy  tale. 
Plutarch  was  an  enormously  wide  reader,  but  it  can- 
not be  said  of  him,  as  it  can  be  said  of  many  learned 
men,  that  he  put  out  the  fire  by  heaping  on  the  coals. 
He  obeys  the  Horatian  precept : — 

'  Si  vis  me  flere,  dolendum  est 
Primum  ipsi  tibi,' 

and  when  he  is  warmed  by  his  theme  he  never  allows 
his  readers  to  be  cold. 


INDEX. 


The  Index  is  intended  to  supplement  the  Table  of  Contents.  Subjects 
to  be  found  readily  there  are  not  mentioned  in  the  Index,  which  records 
chiefly  references  to  persons. 


A. 
Aelian,  130. 
Ajax,  34,  151. 
Alcibiades,  7. 
Althea,  146. 
Amyot,  180. 
Anecdotes,  181  ff. 
Apollo,  33. 

Apollonius  Rhodius,  147. 
Arcesilaus,  6. 
Archinus,  113. 
Aristotle,  vi.  44,  69,  92  ff. 
Arnold,  M.,  9,  35,  142. 
Atheism,  197, 
Athene,  Temple  at  Aegina,  25. 

B. 
Blass,  163. 

Browning,  E.  B.,  20,  37. 
Burial  rite  and  marriage  tie, 

83- 
Bury,  V.  151. 


Caesar,  183. 
Callibius,  113. 
Cedo,  107. 
Chaucer,  34. 
Chaumont,  3. 
Cicero,  i,  122. 
Conjecture,  76. 
Cylon,  7. 
Cyrene,  7,  33. 


D. 
Davidson  (Strachan),  171. 
Delphi,  I. 
De  Rep.,  85. 
Dissen,  9. 
Doyle,  36. 

E. 
Eliot,  Geo.,  30. 
Eton,  5. 

F. 
Flamininus,  179. 

G. 
Gilbert,  118. 
Gildersleeve,  28. 
Goethe,  57. 

H. 
Haemon,  60  f. 

Hedge  Schoolmaster,  vii.  171. 
Herwerden,  vii. 
Hiero,  6,  138. 
Homer,  i,  68. 
Horace,  i. 
Housman,  162. 
Hyperides,  85. 

J- 
Jebb,  25,  48  ff.,  135. 
Juvenal,  172,  175. 


202 


INDEX 


K. 
Kenyon,  93,  loi,  120,  135. 

L. 
La  Harpe,  3. 
Latinisms,  128. 
Lucullus,  173. 
Lucian,  118. 
Lytton,  62. 

M. 
Mahaffy,  88,  90,  175. 
Merivale,  178. 
Mezger,  12. 

Milton,  32,  147,  148,  152. 
Morice,  5. 
Myers,  5. 

N. 
Niebuhr,  198. 
Nomic  structure,  13  ff. 
'  Non-intervention '     construc- 
tion, 74. 
North,  180,  192,  193,  195. 


Otho,  184,  186. 

P. 

Paley,  53. 
Palmer,  136. 
Paton,  98. 
Petrie,  87. 
Phocion,  80. 
Pisistratidae,  107. 
Plato,  I. 

Plutarch,  96,  100,  129. 
Pollux,  118. 
Polyaenus,  104. 
Proetus,  150. 
Punch,  66. 


'^^4/fp^^^^ 


Rhino,  113. 
Rossetti,  88,  148. 

S. 
Sandys,  132,  136. 
Shakespeare,  31,  45,  T2>^  I39, 

154. 
Shapira,  94. 
Shelley,  147. 
Simonides,  139,  149.^ 
Solon,  98,  102,  103. 
Swinburne,  23.      ^-^^ P^^'^''^^  ^^ 
Symonds,  3,  9.  {ni  ^  jl,^-^ 

T. 

Tacitus,  184,  185. 
Tennyson,  14. 
Terpander,  13. 
Thackeray,  45. 
Theramenes,  112. 
Thrasybulus,  113. 
Thucydides,  107,  187  ff. 
Timocreon,  29,  40,  54. 
Trevelyan,  49. 


V. 


Villemain,  35. 
Voltaire,  3,  'i']. 

W. 

Warren,  45. 
Westphal,  12. 
Wordsworth,  47. 
Wyttenback,  196. 


X. 


Xenocrates,  5. 
Xerxes,  8. 


Z. 


Zenobius,  131. 


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