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I 


Prof.  Austin  Warren 


FROM    HOMER   TO 
THEOCRITUS 


FROM    HOMER    TO 
i  THEOCRITUS 


A  Manual  of  Greek  Li  i  ■  rrrRE 


EDWARD   'v  Ai  •  :■ 

rmorBsaoR  or  orekk  in  n.-  •  m.>  \  •  .  '4m  aoo 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 

NEW  YORK         CHICAGO  BOSTON 


IT: 

(i  n  ;• 


CorVSIGRT,  igoi,  BT 
CSIARLES  SCRIBHEK'S  SONS 


PREFACE 

This  volume  aims  to  present  a  concise  but  complete 
survey  of  the  Greek  literature  of  the  classical  period, 
extended  so  as  to  include  the  two  branches  of  poetry, 
the  New  Comedy  and  the  Idyll,  which  were  brought  to 
perfection  after  the  overthrow  of  Greek  liberty  by  Alex- 
ander. I  have  tried,  so  far  as  space  would  permit,  to 
place  in  their  proper  setting  each  branch  of  literature 
and  each  author,  keeping  constantly  in  mind  the  course 
of  development  of  the  literature  as  a  whole.  Selections 
from  representative  English  translations  are  quoted  in 
connection  with  the  principal  authors,  more  extensively 
for  the  poets  than  for  the  writers  of  prose.  It  is  hoped 
that  this  feature  of  the  book  will  be  found  acceptable, 
both  to  the  general  reader  who  has  not  the  time,  even 
if  he  has  the  training  and  equipment,  for  comprehen- 
sive readings  in  the  Greek  texts,  and  to  the  average 
student  whose  attainments  in  Greek  are  not  sufficiently 
extensive  to  furnish  an  adequate  background  for  the 
most  profitable  study  of  the  ordinary  manuals.  In  the 
choice  of  selections  I  have  been  guided  mainly  by  my 
own  judgment  of  the  merits  of  existing  translations,  so 
far  as  they  were  known  or  accessible  to  me ;  but  the 
determining  consideration  in  many  instances  has  been 
the  accessibility  of  a  translation  to  the  general  public. 

The  present  edition  is  almost  one-half  larger  than 
the  first  edition,  issued  in  1900.  Extensive  alterations 
have  been  made  in  the  plates,  so  that,  besides  the  in- 
sertion of  three  new  chapters,  considerable  additions 

v 


VI  Preface 

have  been  made  to  almost  all  of  the  former  chapters. 
A  Bibliographical  Appendix  and  an  Index  have  been 
added.  The  latter  has  been  made  very  full,  so  as  to 
include,  in  addition  to  subjects,  brief  indications  as  to 
the  pronunciation  and  identity  of  names  of  persons  and 
places  mentioned  in  the  text  and  in  the  quotations. 

I  am  under  great  obligations  to  Professor  William 
Cranston  Lawton  for  many  helpful  suggestions  and 
criticisms  as  well  as  for  his  generous  permission  to  use 
his  admirable  translations  of  Euripides,  the  hexameter 
poets,  and  the  comic  fragments.  My  indebtedness  to 
the  many  Greek  scholars  and  men .  of  letters  upon 
whom  I  have  drawn  for  facts,  ideas,  and  translations  is 
specifically  acknowledged,  when  possible,  in  the  text, 
and,  in  a  more  comprehensive  manner,  in  the  Biblio- 
graphical Appendix. 

Edward  Capps. 
Chicago,  October  15, 190Z. 


CONTENTS 

CBAPTXB  PAGI 

I.  Introductory, i 

II.  Epic  Poetry.  Introduction  to  the  Iliad,  .      14 

III.  The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad,    ...     35 

IV.  The  Odyssey.    Homer  and  Troy,       .       .      75 
V.  The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod,       .       .119 

VI.  The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets,  .    141 

VII.  Choral  Lyric.    Pindar,       .       .  .  .168 

VIII.  Tragic  Poetry.    i£scHYLUS,        .  •  .182 

IX.  Sophocles, •  .215 

X.  Euripides, •  •    237 

XI.  Comic  Poetry.    Aristophanes,    •  •  .273 

XII.  The  Historians.    Herodotus,     .  •  .301 

XIII.  Thucydides  and  Xenophon,       •  .  .317 

XIV.  The  Orators.    Demosthenes,     •  •  •    339 
XV.  Philosophical  Prose.    Plato,     .  .  .362 

XVI.  Aristotle, 382 

XVII.  The  Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Cen- 
tury,     403 

XVin.  Theocritus  and  His  agb»    •      •       •       •    441 

Bibliographical  Appendix,       •       •      •      •       •    457 

Index,     ••••••••••    465 


Yii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Homer Fnmtispiece 

Ideal  Portrait  Bust;  Naples  Miuemn.  ^ 

J         "  FACIMG 

II         FAGB 

Theatre  op  Dionysus,  Athens i88 

Sophocles ai6 

Portrait  Statue^  Lateran  Muaenm,  Rone.  _.      „,. 

Euripides 238 

Portrait  Statue,  Vatican  Museum,  Rone. 

A  Chorus  of  Birds      .        .       .        ^       .  >  276 

Fkom  an  Attic  Vase^  Sixth  Centniy  B.C,  British  Mmram. 

Demosthenes 350 

Portrait  Statue,  Vatican  Museum,  RoBMb 

Socrates •  364 

Portrait  Bns^  Naples  Museum.  ^-g^  v 

Column  op  Papyrus  Manuscript       «       •       •       •        .  406 

Bacchjlides,  Itrst  Century  B.C.,  British  Motemk 


FROM   HOMER  TO  THEOCRITUS 


CHAPTER   1 

INTRODUCTORY 

General  Characteristics  of  Greek  Literature — Originalit^r — 
Universality — Normal  Growth  —  Freedom  from  Outside 
Influences — Influence  Upon  Modem  Literatures  and  Mod- 
em Thought  —  Literature  a  Product  —  The  Greek  People 
— Achaeans — iColians — Dorians — lonians — The  Attic  Dia- 
lect— Political  Organization — Diversity  of  Political  Condi- 
tions—  Physical  Environment — Love  of  Nature — Publica- 
tion of  Greek  Literature — Periods  of  Greek  Literature. 

The  literature  of  ancient  Greece  forms  an  ideal 
introduction  to  the  study  of  literature  in  general,  not 
only  because  it  is  the  earliest  literature  of  Europe  and 
has  exercised  a  powerful  influence  upon  all  succeeding 
literatures,  and  not  simply  because  it  is  still  and  always 
will  be  one  of  the  great  world  literatures,  but  also 
because,  as  an  object  of  study,  it  presents  certain  gen- 
eral characteristics  the  consideration  of  which  cannot 
but  prove  instructive  to  all  students. 

Apart  from  the  intrinsic  excellence  in  form  and 
thought  of  the  Greek  masterpieces,  upon  which  it 
would  be  superfluous  to  dwell  here,  we  may  emphasize 
first  the  originality  of  the  Greek  literature.  Inheriting 
no  literary  traditions,  surrounded  by  peoples  who  could 
furnish  them  no  literary  models,  the  Greeks  wrought 
out,  practically  unaided,   through   the  force  of    their 


2  Homer  to  Theocritus 

own  genius,  most  of  the  literary  forms  which  the  races 
of  Europe  have  accepted  as  typical  and  universal.  To 
appreciate  fully  the  significance  of  this  achievement 
we  must  bear  in  mind  that  even  the  chief  types  of 
prose,  to  say  nothing  of  poetry,  have  of  course  no 
existence  in  the  nature  of  things,  but  are  the  results 
of  repeated  experimentation  and  of  conscious  effort 
to  present  the  subject-matter  in  the  most  appropriate 
and  effective  artistic  form.  Now  the  most  perfect 
orations  of  Demosthenes  and  the  dialogues  of  Plato 
embody  the  results  of  such  experiments  extending 
over  several  generations  in  Greece.  The  orations  of 
Demosthenes  and  the  dialogues  of  Plato  were  accord- 
ingly distinctively  Greek  creations.  Cicero,  on  the 
other  hand,  depended  upon  his  Greek  models  rather 
than  upon  his  predecessors  in  Rome.  Roman  oratory, 
therefore,  and  the  dialogue  as  exemplified  in  Cicero, 
were  not  distinctively  Roman  creations.  The  origi- 
nality of  the  Greeks  in  literature  was  shown  in  every 
branch  which  they  attempted,  both  in  prose  and  in 
poetry. 

But  their  originality  would  not  be  a  matter  of  such 
importance  were  it  not  for  the  further  fact  that  the 
forms  and  types  which  the  Greeks  originated  were 
themselves  of  an  essentially  universal  character. 
Other  races  also  have  brought  certain  literary  forms 
to  perfection.  The  Vedic  hymns  of  the  early  Hindus, 
the  penitential  psalms  of  the  Babylonians,  the 
prophetic  writings  of  the  Hebrews,  and  the  satires  in 
verse  of  the  Romans,  are  all  creations  original  with 
these  peoples,  and  to  them  were  satisfactory  forms  of 
literary  expression.  But  these  types  have  liot  appealed 
to  the  artistic  sense  of  other  races  in  the  ^atxie  way. 


r 


Introductory  5 

btit  have  remained  peculiar  to  the  peoples  which 
originated  them.  They  are  unique  and  sometimes 
really  great,  but  in  no  sense  universal.  The  great  crea- 
tions of  the  Greeks,  on  the  other  hand,  have  furnished 
the  western  hemisphere  with  its  highest  ideals  in 
literary  form  in  many  branches.  This  is  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  Greeks  had  above  all  other  peoples, 
ancient  or  modern,  an  artistic  sense  for  what  was 
beautiful  in  form  and  appropriate  in  expression,  as  is 
well  illustrated  by  their  temples  and  statues.  They 
did  not  achieve  their  ideals  all  at  once,  but  only 
after  ages  of  effort.  But  every  step  in  the  progress 
toward  perfection  was  directed  by  instincts  which 
rarely  erred. 

Perhaps  the  most  instructive  characteristic  of 
Greek  literature,  considered  in  the  course  of  its  devel* 
opment,  is  the  fact  that  its  progress  toward  perfection 
was  a  normal  growth.  Changes  were  slow  and  regu- 
lar, never  taking  on  the  character  of  a  revolution. 
This  is  the  result,  largely,  of  the  fact  to  which  we 
have  already  alluded,  the  relative  freedom  from  out- 
side influences.  Consequently  the  causes  which 
determined  the  development  of  this  literature  are 
more  easily  discerned  and  the  course  of  the  changes 
traced  with  greater  precision  than  in  the  case  of  any 
other  literature.  The  Greeks  were,  of  course, 
indebted  to  other  nations  in  various  ways,  and  we  may 
not  overlook  such  influences  as  we  may  detect  with 
certainty.  Along  with  the  alphabet  they  doubtless 
received  intellectual  stimulus  from  the  Phoenicians; 
from  the  oriental  races  of  Asia  Minor  they  derived 
;mp/^t*jj|y^»  iM^iai^  f|^  mvisifi  and  ^^^'f**^*  wihirtii  ^^^^r^ic^n 

no   little  influence  upon  their  poetry  and   morals^ 


4  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Eg3rpt,  Assyria,  Persia,  and  Rome  in  tnm  vere  respon- 
sible for  accessions  of  knowledge  and  extended  their 
horizon.  The  Greeks  were  far  from  insensible  to 
the  merits  of  other  peoples,  and  gladly  laid  them 
under  contribution.  But  after  taking  all  these  things 
into  consideration,  Greek  literature  as  a  whole  can  be 
studied  as  essentially  the  product  of  a  single  people; 
for  from  without  they  received  but  impulses,  never  a 
fully  developed  principle  nor  a  perfected  literary  form. 
Consequently  the  growth  of  the  literature  as  a  whole 
was  regular  and  normal,  and  the  various  kinds  of  liter- 
ature, corresponding  to  successive  stages  in  the  social, 
political,  and  moral  development,  were  produced  in 
an  orderly  succession.  Epic  poetry,  for  example, 
reflects  th<»  patriarrhi^l  gfa^i*  in  Greek  civilization; 
Lyric  poetry,  the  aristocratic;  the  Drama,  the  demo- 
cratic; while  Prose,  representing  the  period  of  highest 
popular  culture,  came  to  its  flower  after  Poetry. 

We  have  referred  to  the  influence  of  the  Greek 
literature  upon  the  literatures  of  modem  Europe. 
Directly  or  indirectly,  it  has  been  the  predominating 
influence.  This  influence  has  been  exerted  partly 
through  the  medium  of  the  Latin  literature,  espe- 
cially upon  the  literatures  of  southern  Europe,  and 
for  a  long  time  upon  those  of  northern  Europe, 
and  in  part  directly,  especially  perhaps  during  the 
last  two  centuries,  owing  to  the  revival  of  Greek 
studies  in  England,  Germany,  and  France.  The 
poetry  of  Tennyson  and  Browning,  to  take  English 
examples,  is  permeated  by  Greek  influences,  and  can 
be  properly  studied  and  fully  appreciated  only  by  going 
back  to  the  Greek  masterpieces  which  furnished 
inspiration  and  suggestion  in  rhythms,    style,   and 


Introductory  5 

imagery.  The  same  is  true  of  the  great  classical 
writers  of  Germany  and  France.  Nor  can  we  over- 
look the  value  of  a  knowledge  of  Greek  literature  on 
the  purely  intellectual  side,  for  its  practical  bearing 
on  modern  thought.  Almost  every  department  of 
modern  life  has  received  impulse  and  direction  from 
the  great  thinkers  of  Greece — religion,  ethics,  philos- 
ophy, politics,  and  science. 

The  life  of  a  great  man  can  not  be  rightly  under- 
stood without  a  knowledge  of  his  ancestry,  early 
training,  the  social,  political,  and  religious  conditions 
of  his  time — in  short,  all  of  the  influences  which 
helped  to  mould  his  character  and  determine  his  con- 
duct. A  mere  chronological  account  of  his  doings 
would  be  wholly  inadequate  as  a  biography.  So  it  is 
with  the  literature  of  a  people.  While  we  may  get 
enjoyment  and  profit  from  the  reading  of  a  certain 
book  without  knowing  its  author  or  the  age  whose 
characteristics  are  reflected  in  it,  yet  the  advantage 
of  this  sort  of  reading  is,  after  all,  but  slight  in  com- 
parison with  that  to  be  had  from  a  study  of  the  same 
book  as  the  expression  of  an  individual  and  of  a 
people,  the  product  of  a  certain  civilization.  The 
more  remote  from  our  own  time  the  people  whose  lit- 
erary products  we  study,  and  the  more  extensive  and 
varied  the  literature,  the  more  necessary  it  becomes 
to  gain  the  vantage-ground  from  which  our  view  will 
be  least  obstructed,  our  vision  most  true.  To  this 
end  we  should  know  as  much  as  possible  of  the  people, 
of  their  racial  characteristics  as  moulded  by  their  envi- 
ronmentj  their  religious  beliefs  and  practices,  their 
view  of  nature,  their  social  and  family  life,  their  insti- 
tutions, language,  art,  history.     Within  the  limits  of 


6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

this  book  we  shall  have  to  confine  ourselves  to  a  few 
suggestions  and  general  topics^  and  to  short  accounts 
of  the  various  branches  of  literature  and  of  the  several 
authors.  But  the  right  point  of.  view  should  be  con- 
stantly kept  in  mind,  and  the  reader  should  have  fre- 
quent recourse  to  some  of  the  manuals  of  history,  art, 
mythology^  and  social  life  to  which  reference  is  made 
in  the  bibliographical  appendix  to  this  volume. 

In  prehistoric  times,  probably  as  late  as  fifteen  hun- 
dred years  before  Christ,  the  branch  of  the  Indo-Euro- 
pean race  which  we  know  as  the  Greeks  was  confined  to 
the  little  peninsula  of  Greece  and  the  outlying  islands, 
to  which  they  had  migrated  at  some  earlier  period. 
But  Greece  is  small  and  it'^rinil  tnn  pon^r  to  support  a 
large  population.  The  surplus  population  soon  took  to 
the  sea,  and  planted  colonies  on  the  most  inviting  sites 
all  over  the  shores  of  the  Mediterranean.  Southern 
Italy  and  Sicily,  the  Ionian  and  iEgsean  islands  were 
occupied;  colonies  were  established  far  up  the  Nile 
and  along  the  northern  shores  of  Africa,  a^  far  west 
asj^^rseilles  and  beyond  the  Dardanelles  in  the  east. 
Greek  civilization  followed  each  colony,  and  inter- 
course with  the  mother  country,  intellectual  as  well 
as  commercial)  was  never  allowed  to  cease.  All  the 
important  otfshoots  of  the  early  stock  contributed 
something  to  Greek  culture  and  to  the  common 
literature. 

Before  the  period  of  emigration  and  colonization 
the  dominant  people  in  Greece  were  the  Achsans. 
This  is  the  name  by  which  Homer  designates^ht  p^og. 
pie  who  went  against  Troy.  In  the  historical  period^ 
however,  we  find  three  great  divisions  of  the  Greeks, 
distinguished  from  each  other  by  dialect,  customS| 


Introductory  7 

and  racial  qualities — iEolians>  Dorians,  and  lonians. 
Since  each  of  these  families  had  its  own  distinctive 
part  in  Greek  literature,  it  is  necessary  to  know  where 
they  were  settled,  and,  briefly,  how  they  differed  from 
each  other. 

The  main  seat  of  the  iEolians,  when  literary  his- 
tory begins,  was  the  island  of  Lesbos  and  the  adjoin- 
ing coasts  of  Asia  Minor.  But  the  early  home  of  the 
stock  was  in  northern  Greece,  where  the  Thessalians, 
Bceotians,  and  iEtoIians  remained  their  chief  represen- 
tatives. Only  the  JEo\\3,ns  of  Asia  Minor  and  the 
Bceotians  on  the  mainland  were  fertile  in  literature, 
and  these  two  branches,  through  being  long  separated 
and  subject  to  widely  different  conditions,  had  retained 
few  common  characteristics,  except  in  speech,  at  the 
time  when  writers  appeared  among  them.  The  atmos- 
phjSJCfijof  BoDotia  is  heavy  and  moist,  and  the  inhabitants 
came  to  be  regarded  by  their  neighbors  as  sluggish 
and  dull.  These  qualities  certainly  do  not  appear, 
however,  in  the  few  great  writers  and  generals  who 
sprang  from  Boeotian  soil.  As  for  the  Lesbians,  as 
the  climate  of  that  part  of  Asia  Minor  is  mild  and 
relaxing,  conducive  to  luxury  and  ease,  so  the  people 
were  impressionable,  luxurious,  and  imaginative. 
Lesbos  became  the  home  of  the  poetrv  of  passion  and 
intense  personal  feelinfy. 

Some  time  after  the  Homeric  age  the  Dorians 
migrated  southward  from  northern  Greece,  driving 
out  or  making  subject  a  part  of  the  old  Achaean  popu- 
lation. In  historical  times  the  chief  Dorian  settle- 
ments were  Megara  and  Corinth  on  the  isthmus; 
Argolis,  Laconia,  and  Messena  in  the  Peloponnesus; 
Crete  and  Rhodes  in  the  ^Egaean  Sea,  and  the  south- 


8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

west  portions  of  Asia  Minor;  Syracuse  in  Sicily,  and 
Tarentum  in  southern  Italy.  The  Sparjbana  of  Laoonia 
were  regarded  as  the  Doriansof  _thfi  Dorians.  Keep- 
ing. themsSlyeranJorTronTaUen  influences,  they  devel- 
oped, certainly,  the  most  typical  Dorian  civilization, 
whereas  the  Corinthians  and  Syracusans  mixed  freely 
with  the  rest  of  the  world  and  lost  more  of  the  family 
characteristics.  The  Spartans  were  warlike  and 
reserved,  devoutly  religious,  intolerant  of  innovations, 
unemotional.  The  terse  and  rugged  Dorian  dialect, 
with  its  prevailing  broad  vowel-sounds,  always  seemed 
to  the  Greeks  peculiarly  appropriate  to  the  stately 
choral  odes  in  honor  of  the  gods,  which  the  Spartans 
first  brought  to  perfection. 

By  far  the  most  important  in  the  history  of  Greek 
literature  were  tJ^fi-Jxuuans,  and  of  the  lonians  the 
older  branch  which  occupied  Attica  and  Eubcea.  The 
settlements  along  the  coasts  of  Asia  Minor  between 
the  JEolic  cities  in  the  north  and  the  Doric  on  the 
south  were  Ionian,  and  also  most  of  the  islands  of  the 
iEgasan.  The  lonians  claimed  numerous  colonies 
besides  in  Italy,  Sicily,  and  throughout  the  Mediter- 
ranean. The  language  of  the  lonians  was  soft  and 
flowing,  ^^ffynf^*"ff  '"  ^^nw^^  sounds,  forming  a  strik- 
ing contrast  with  the  Doric.  Even  the  prose  writings 
of  the  lonians  seem  to  have  a  poetic  flavor,  due  to  the 
rich  and  varied  grace  inherent  in  the  language  itself. 
The  Atiifi-dialect,  which  gradually  became  to  a  large 
degree  the  universal  language  of  cultured  Greeks,  is 
a  modifled  form  of  the  Ionic,  uniting  energy  and  dig- 
nity to  softness  and  grace.  The  perfected  Attic  of 
the  time  of  Demosthenes  was  distinctly  a  literary 
dialect,  developed  by  generations  of  conscious  effort 


Introductory  9 

to  improve  it,  and  adapting  itself  in  a  wonderful  de- 
gree to  the  demands  of  all  varieties  of  prose  and 
poetry.  It  is  a  peculiar  feature  of  Attic  poetry  that  it 
freely  employs,  along  with  the  local  dialect,  also  the 
Doric  and  the  old  Ionic  in  forms  of  composition  in 
which  the  latter  seemed  more  appropriate.  In 
tragedy,  for  example,  we  may  find  Homeric  forms 
in  narrative  portions  that  partake  of  the  Homeric 
style,  Doric  in  the  lyric  portions  sung  by  the  chorus, 
and  the  old  Ionic  in  the  dialogue.  The  Athenians 
instinctively  associated  certain  styles  of  composition 
with  the  dialect  in  which  each  style  had  reached  its 
highest  development  outside  of  Athens.  In  this  way, 
either  by  imitation  or  by  assimilation,  they  appropri- 
ated to  their  own  use  all  forms  of  expression  that  would 
help  to  make  their  own  language  the  most  perfect 
literary  instrument. 

The  three  great  families  of  which  we  have  spoken 
were  never  united  as  separate  political  organisms. 
Even  contiguous  members  of  the  same  family  were 
often  independent  of  one  another.  Thr  rifllnnirs  alnn 
wfrr  jflfigffYfrninx;  Owing  to  the  configuration  of 
the  Grecian  peninsula  its  inhabitants  were  cut  up  into 
numerous  separate  'rftP"^""^^ifig  ^^  libertv-lovins^  folk.  1  jr-^ 
shut  off  from  each  other  by  mountain  ranges  and 
branches  of  the  sea.  The  result  was  a  large  number 
of  li^le  governments,  some  democratic,  some  oli- 
garchical, all  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  liberty  and 
independence,  furnished  by  nature  with  the  best  of 
fortifications  for  self-defense,  and  each  determined 
to  work  out  its  own  problem  of  polity  and  society  for 
itself.  Constantly  quarreling  with  one  another,  the 
larger  states  trying  to  absorb  the  smaller  and  aspiring 


lo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

each  to  the  honor  of  being  the  acknowledged  leader, 
they  came  but  gradually  to  a  realization  of  their  com- 
mon Hellenic  brotherhood.  At  the  same  time  the 
states  of  Asia  Minor  were  always  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Persian  Empire,  either  as  tributary  subjects  or  else 
fighting  an  unequal  contest  for  independence  ;  while  in 
Qyjiy  o»H  Tinly  IJT1  iiiii  .urfeedgd  ifl. e&tabliahing  them- 
^Ivrs  f^''  n  1"-^"""  period  than  elsewhere.  This  great 
diversity  of  social  and  political  conditions  was  naturally 
not  without  its  influence  upon  the  literary  productions 
of  the  various  states,  and  in  each  state  the  constant  po- 
litical vicissitudes  were  in  turn  reflected  in  its  literature. 
In  this  respect  the  literature  of  Greece  presents  a  much 
more  complex  problem  for  the  student  than  that  of 
Rome,  where  for  centuries  every  notable  literary  pro- 
duction emanated  from  the  capital  itself. 

Foremost  among  the  influences  which  helped  to 
mould  the  Greek  race,  giving  to  all  of  its  members 
certain  common  characteristics  and  ideals  and  to  each 
member  its  own  distinctive  individuality,  we  must 
consider  the  land  in  which  it  lived.  Never  was 
a  gifted  people  more  fortunate  in  its  habitation.  By 
reason  of  its  latitude,  Greece  has  a  southern  climate ; 
and  yet  the  mountains,  everywhere  dominating  the 
plains,  temper  the  warm  air  and  instill  a  northern 
vigor.  In  the  low  valleys  and  on  the  islands  the  palm 
and  pomegranate  flourish,  while  on  the  hills  are  found 
the  hardy  northern  cereals,  and  still  higher  up  the 
pine  and  the  fir.  No  ipnt  on  thr  mainland  \'i  more 
than  forty  yn^^*'*'  fmn}  the  sea,  which  furnishes  an  easy 
means  of  communication  between  the  various  districts 
and  with  the  outside  world.     The  mountains  and  the 


Introductory  1 1 

sea — these  are  the  two  leading  facts  in  the  geography 
of  Greece.  Add  to  these  the  remarkable  clearness 
and  brilliancy  of  the  atmosphere  and  the  exceptional 
beauty  and  variety  of  the  scenery,  and  we  have  at 
once  the  key  to  the  understanding  of  many  things  not 
only  in  the  history  of  the  Greek  people,  but  also  in  the 
wonderful  literature  which  they  produced. 

Greek  literature  reveals,  especially  in  the  poets,  a 
profound  and  intimate  sympathy  with  nature.  The 
Greek  lived  in  the  open  air,  the  inhabitant  of  the 
city  no  less  than  the  countryman.  He  was  a  keen 
and  discriminating  observer,  and  none  of  nature's 
moods  nor  the  significance  of  the  phenomena  of  life 
about  him,  whether  animate  or  inanimate,  escaped 
him.  Nature  was  not  with  him  an  object  of  conscious 
study  and  contemplation,  as  with  us,  but  rather  a  daily 
companion,  an  intimate  friend.  Doubtless  the  pas- 
sionate love  of  the  beautiful,  which  the  Greeks  pos- 
sessed to  a  greater  extent  than  any  other  people,  was 
inspired  by  the  exceptionally  beautiful  surroundings 
in  which  they  lived. 

In  studying  the  Greek  literature  we  must  constantly 
bear  in  mind  a  fundamental  difference  between  it  and 
other  literatures  in  the  means  by  which  an  author's 
works  were  brought  to  the  knowledge  of  the  public. 
Almost  the  whole  body  of  classical  Greek  literature 
was  presen^fH  tn  s\  hfiar^Si  "^^'  ^^  ^  rgg/Jl^l&J}"^^^'". 
The  art  of  writing  was  known  in  Greece  certainly  as 
early  as  the  eighth  century,  but  at  this  early  time  the 
materials  employed  were  stone  and  other  hard  mate- 
rials. Even  in  the  sC^e  of  Pericles,  when  we  first  hear 
of  libraries,  it  is  doubtful  if  books  could  be  made  with 
sufficient  ease  and  cheapness  to  enable  any  but  the 


!V 


« 


t^*' 


1 2  Homer  to  Theocritus 

few  to  buy  them.  The  Homeric  poems  were  at  first 
chanted  by  bards  at  the  courts  of  the  chieftains,  and 
were  probably  not  committed  to  writing  until  lon^ 
after  the  period  of  epic  poetry  had  passed.  The 
songs  of  the  lyric  poet  were  sung  by  the  poet  himself 
to  his  friends,  or  by  choruses  to  a  larger  public.  The 
drama  was,  of  course,  performed  in  the  theatre,  and 
mainly  in  this  way  became  familiar  to  the  people.  The 
tragedy  composed  with  a  view  to  being  read,  not 
acted,  is  a  phenomenon  which  occurs  only  after  the 
period  of  the  decline  had  set  in.  So  it  was  with  early 
prose  writing  also.  Herodotus  recited  a  part  of  his 
history  first  at  the  Olympic  festival.  Oratory  was 
necessarily  oral.  In  short,  we  may  safely  say  that 
there  was  no  reading  public,  as  we  understand  the 
term,  before  the  time  of  Pericles.  After  these  first  oral 
publications,  the  great  works  of  epic  and  lyric  poetry 
became  known  throughout  the  Greek  worid  by  means 
of  travelers  or  traveling  minstrels  and  choruses. 
Without  doubt  this  direct  contact  of  the  people  with 
the  author  not  only  quickened  the  minds  of  the  peo- 
ple and  cultivated  their  taste,  but  also  reacted  pow- 
erfully upon  the  author  himself,  and  thus  hastened 
the  progress  toward  perfection. 

pie  have  never  ceased  to  have  a  literature  6r*thetr 
own.  The  Greeks  of  to-day  not  only  have  a  consid- 
erable body  of  popular  poetry,  but  boast  of  a  goodly 
and  growing  number  of  writers  of  no  mean  ability, 
both  in  prose  and  in  poetry.  During  the  Byzantine 
K     /  period — that  is,  from  the  time  of  the  Emperor  Justin- 

ian to  the  fall  of  ConstaJitiUQple.(5a9,ta  1433)— -Greek 
letters  flourished,  though  few  great  works  were  pro- 


i 


Introductory  13 

duced.  It  is  our  purpose  here  to  study  only  the  liter- 
ature of  ancient  Greece,  and  principally  that  of  the 
classical  period — that  is,  to  ^fj  f1fT^''"""*^'nn  ftf  Greek 
iUiectSLJ^y  Alexander.  The  ancient  period  naturally 
Tails  into  five  great  periods:  (i)  the  Age  of  Epic 
Poetry,  from  Homer  to  the  end  of  the  eighth  century; 
(2)  the  Age  of  Lyric  Poetry,  the  seventh,  sixth,  and 
part  of  the  fifth  centuries;  (3)  the  Attic  Period,  to 
the  conquests  of  Alexander;  (4),  the  Alexandrine 
Age,  down  to  the  Roman  conquest;  (5)  the  Roman 
Age,  to  the  time  of  Justinian.  The  first  three  of 
these  five  periods  come  more  especially  within  the 
scope  of  this  book.  It  is  fitting  that  we  should  devote 
the  larger  part  of  our  attention  to  poetry,  which  to-day 
claims  the  larger  share  of  our  interest  and  admiration. 


t 


CHAPTER   II 

EPIC   POETRY.      INTRODUCTION  TO   THE  ILIAD 

The  Earliest  Literature  of  Europe  — Precursors  of  the  Epic 
—  Legendary  Bards — The  Marriage  Hymn  —  The  Dirge- 
Secular  Tendency  of  Religious  Poetry— The  Minstrel — 
Minstrel  Themes  in  Homer— The  Poets  of  the  I/iael  and 
Odyssey  — If  aLtMTBl  and  Literary  Epics  —  The  Trojan  War 
before  the  I/iad — The  Marriage  of  Peleus  and  Thetis  — 
The  Apple  of  Discord  — The  Judgment  of  Paris  —  The 
Rape  of  Helen— The  Summoning  of  the  Greek  Chieftains 
—The  First  Years  of  the  Siege— The  Story  of  the  Iliad— 
Theme,  the  Wrath  of  A  ckt7/es— Analysis  of  Book  L 

At  the  very  threshold  of  Greek  literature  stand  the 
two  majestic  poems  which  for  almost  three  thousand 
years  have  commanded  the  admiration  of  the  world — 
the  I/iad  and  Odyssey  of  Homer.  The  literature  of 
Europe  as  well  as  of  Greece  begins  with  these  two 
poems,  which  for  centuries  were  at  ongfiJJje^Bible  and 
the  Milton  of  the  Greek  people.  Althoughof  very 
early  origin,  composedTohg^  before  writing  was  em- 
ployed for  literary  purposes,  they  are  not  the  crude 
productions  of  a  primitive  people,  like  the  early  epics 
of  other  races,  but  are  extended  works  of  a  highly 
polished^axt,  reflecting  ajUf^^'^^"^^^  ctJ^gf^nTi^ttyHrr^^, 
tion.  This  is  a  phenomenon,  without  parallel  else- 
where, which  invites  the  student  to  the  interesting 
but  complicated  problem  of  their  origin.  It  is  the 
unique  distinction  of  the  Homeric  poems,  however,  as 
compared  with  the  earliest  literature  of  other  peoples, 
that,  in  spite  of  the  multitude  of  recondite  questions 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     15 

concerning  their  authorship  and  orginal  form  which 
have  occupied  the  scholar,  the  reader  who  wishes 
merely  to  enjoy  them  as  works  of  literature  has  little 
need  of  learned  commentary  or  exposition.  The 
heroic  deeds  and  marvelous  adventures  of  which 
Homer  has  to  tell  are  simply  told.  The  poems  are 
complete  narratives  in  themselves,  and  in  the  main 
supply  their  own  setting  as  regards  persons,  situa- 
tions, and  environment.  Most  of  the  books  which 
have  been  written  about  Homer  have  been  written  out 
of  Homer  himself.  The  research  and  exploration  of 
recent  times  have,  it  is  true,  shed  a  flood  of  light  upon 
the  civilization  of  the  Homeric  age,  but  they  have 
added  comparatively  little  to  our  knowledge  of  the 
Homeric  poems  as  works  of  literature,  except  in  dem- 
onstrating that  the  story  of  the  Trojan  war  is  not 
entirely  the  creation  of  a  poet's  fancy. 

There  are  no  remains  of  a  Greek  literature  before 
Homer.  Even  the  Greeks  of  the  classical  period  pos- 
sessed nothing  earlier  than  the  Iliad,  It  is  impossible 
to  suppose,  however,  thnt  pocmri  in  prrfrrtTii  worln 
of ^  art  could  have  come  into  being  without  forerun- 
nrfrsT  There-  must  have  been  bards  before  Homer, 
just  as  certainly  as  there  were  sculptors  before 
Pheidias.  The  very  perfection  of  the  Parthenon  frieze 
presupposes  the  practice  of  carving  in  marble  for  gen- 
erations, even  if  we  had  no  earlier  remains  of  Greek 
sculpture.  Greek  legend  recognizes  this  necessity,  for 
it  records  the  names  of  certain  mythical  hnrffy^uch 
as  Orpheus,  Musaeus.  and  Olympus,  servants  of  the 
Muses,  who,  in  the  remote  past — ^an  indefinite  time 
before  Homer — sang  in  honor  of  the  gods.  The  earli- 
est literature  of  the  Indo-European  race  to  which  we 


1 


i6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

belong,  the  Vedas  of  the  early  Hindus,  consist  mainly 
of  short  hymns,  of  praise  or  entreaty,  to  the  early 
Indian  gods.  So,  long  before  Homer,  in  the  child- 
hood of  the  Grecli  race,  there  were  doubtless  poets 
who  voiced  the  religious  feelings  of  the  people  and 
contributed  their  share  to  the  development  of  the 
poetic  art  which  the  authors  of  th^  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
inherited  in  its  perfected  form. 

The  most  important  events  of  family  life  also 
called  for  celebration  in  song.  At  the  marriage  of  the 
mortal  Peleus  with  the  goddess  Thetis,  we  are  told, 
the  Muses  themselves  sang  the  wedding  hymn.  In 
the  description  of  the  shield  of  Achilles  which  is  given 
in  the  Iliad  ( i8,  493  ff.),  the  poet  says  that  Hephaestus 
"fashioned  thereon  two  fair  cities  of  mortal  men.  In 
the  one  were  espousals  and  marriage  feasts,  and 
beneath  the  blaze  of  torches  they  were  leading  the 
brides  from  their  chambers  through  the  city,  and  loud 
arose  the  bridal  song.  And  young  men  were  whirling 
in  the  dance,  and  among  them  flutes  and  viols 
sounded  high ;  and  the  women  standing  each  at  her 
door  were  marveling.'*  Not  less  old  than  the  mar- 
riage hymn  is  the  dirge  for  the  dead.  One  of  the 
scenes  depicted  on  the  shield  of  Achilles  was  a  vine- 
yard, in  which  maidens  and  youths  were  plucking  the 
clusters  of  grapes.  "In  the  midst  of  them  a  boy  made 
pleasant  music  on  a  clear-toned  viol,  and  sang  thereto 
a  sweet  Linos-song  with  delicate  voice;  while  the 
rest  with  feet  falling  together  kept  time  with  the  music 
and  song."  The  Linos-song  was  one  of  the  earliest 
known  to  the  Greeks,  and  is  thought  to  be  a  lament 
for  the  departing  summer,  which  had  been  personified 
as  a  young  boy.   Linos.     Although  a  dirge,   it  had 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad    17 

now  become  "a  sweet  song"  for  the  youth  to  smg  at 
the  joyous  vintage.  These  early  dirges,  which  had 
taken  their  place  among  the  poetry  of  the  people, 
doubtless  suggested  the  form  of  the  funeral  chant 
over  the  body  of  the  dead,  the  words  of  which  were 
necessarily  improvised.  When  the  body  of  Hector  was 
brought  back  to  Troy  by  his  father,  Priam,  "  they  laid 
him  upon  a  fretted  bed,  and  set  beside  him  minstrels, 
leaders  of  the  dirge,  who  wailed  a  mournful  lay, 
while  the  women  made  moan  with  them"  (Jliad^  24, 
722  ff.).  Then  Hector's  wife,  Andromache,  his 
mother,  Hecabe,  and  Helen,  the  wife  of  his  brother 
Paris,  stepped  forward  one  after  another  and  sang  their 
lament.  When  the  hero  Achilles  was  slain  in  battle, 
<• — the,  chanting  of  dirges  lasted  seventeen  _days.  The 
shade  of  Agamemnon  thus  speaks  to  the  shade  of 
Achilles  in  Hades  (Odyssey^  24,  24  ff.)  :  "  And  forth 
from  the  sea  came  thy  mother  with  the  deathless 
maidens  of  the  waters,  when  they  heard  the  tidings ; 
and  a  wonderful  wailing  rose  over  the  deep,  and  trem- 
bling fell  on  the  limbs  of  all  the  Achaeans.  .  .  Then 
round  thee  stood  the  daughters  of  the  ancient  one 
of  the  sea,  holding  a  pitiful  lament,  and  they  clad 
thee    about  in  raiment    incorruptible.    And    all    the 

*^infi  ,M"*^'j  nvs-'VifhAr  replying,  with  sweet 

voices  began  the  dirge ;  then  thou  wouldst  not  have 
seen  an  Argive  but  wept  as  mightily  rose  up  the  clear 
chant." 

We  have  seen,  then,  that  before  Homer  the  Greeks 
possessed  several  varieties  of  poetry  which  assamed 
a  more  or  less  literary  form.  Those  which  we  have 
considered  were'  originally  aH  of  a  religious  nature  j  for 
even  the  marriage  hjrmi^s  and  the  dirge  grew  out  of 


1 8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

religious  observances.  But,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
Linos-song,  some  of  these  varieties  had  early  acquired 
a  popular  form.  The  constant  tendency  was  to  divest 
religious  poetry  of  its  liturgical  character.  The 
Homeric  poems  record  the  existence  before  Homer  of 
another  class  of  poetry,  which  possesses  barely  a  trace 
of  the  religious  origin  from  which  it  doubtless 
sprung — the  stories  of  the  exploits  of  heroes.  It  is  of 
this  class  of  poetry  that  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey 
give  us  the  best  picture. 

The  minstrels  form  a  distinct  class  in  Homeric  soci- 
ety. As  servants  of  the  Muses  they  enjoy  especial 
privileges,  and  receive  at  the  hands  of  the  chieftains 
exceptional  honor  and  respect.  When  Agamemnon 
departed  for  Troy,  he  intrusted  his  household  to  the 
care  of  a  minstrel,  and  Odysseus,  after  slaying  all  the 
suitors,  spares  the  life  of  Phemius,  who  had  been 
associated  with  the  suitors,  on  the  plea  that  **god  had 
put  into  his  heart  all  manner  of  lays."  When  guests 
are  gathered  together  in  the  halls  of  a  chieftain,  min- 
strels sing  to  them.  '*Song  and  dance,  these  are  the 
accompaniments  of  the  feast."  Odysseus,  after  his 
entertainment  at  the  palace  of  King  Alcinous,  where 
he  had  heard  the  bard  Demodocus,  says:  **King 
Alcinous,  most  notable  of  all  the  people,  verily  it  is 
a  good  thing  to  list  to  a  minstrel  such  as  this  one,  like 
to  the  gods  in  voice.  Nay,  as  for  me,  I  say  that  there 
is  no  more  gracious  or  perfect  delight  than  when 
a  whole  people  makes  merry,  and  the  men  sit  orderly 
at  least  in  the  halls  and  listen  to  the  singer,  and  the 
tables  beside  them  are  laden  with  bread  and  flesh,  and 
a  wine-bearer,  drawing  the  wine,  serves  it  round  and 
pours  it  into  the  cups.     This  seems  to  me  wellnigh 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     19 

the  fairest  thing  in  the  world.**.  {Odyssey ^  .9;  .2  ff.) 
By  his  choice  of  a  theme  and  by  his  spirited  render-^ 
ing  of  it  the  bard  could  affect,  bis  hearers  with  either 
joy  or  sorrow  at  will.  The  audience  looked  upon  him 
as  really  inspired.  Alcinous  says  of  Demodocus: 
**The  god  hath  given  minstrelsy  to  him  as  to  none 
other,  to  make  men  glad  in  what  way  soever  his  spirit 
stirs  him  to  sing."  Again,  he  is  called  ** the  beloved 
minstrel,  whom  the  Muse  loved  dearly,  and  she  gave 
him  both  good  and  evil ;  of  his  sight  she  reft  him,  but 
granted  him  sweet  song. "  When  the  swineherd 
Eumseus  wishes  to  impress  upon  Penelope  the  charms 
of  the  stranger  who  proves  afterward  to  be  Odysseus, 
he  says:  **Even  as  when  a  man  gazes  upon  a  singer, 
whom  the  gods  have  taught  to  sing  words  of  yearning 
joy  to  mortals,  and  they  have  a  ceaseless  desire  to 
hear  him,  so  long  as  he  will  sing,,  even  so  he.  charmed 
me^ 

In  the  I/iadf  Achilles,  when  refraining  from  warfare 
on  account  of  his  quarrel,  with  Agamemnon,  is  seen 
by  his  tent  **  taking  his  pleasure  of  a  loud  lyre. 
Therein  he  was  delighting  his  soul  and  singing  the 
glories  of  heroes."  Traces  are  found  of  such  lays  on 
the  Labors  of  Heracles  and  on  the  Quest  of  the  Golden 
Fleece.  The  minstrels  in  the  Odyssey  also  sing  of  the 
**gloripus  deeds  of  men,"  but  we  are  often  told  pre- 
cisely what  the  subject  of :  the  song  is.  On  one  occa- 
sion it  is  **the  loves  of  Ares  and  Aphrodite."  At 
other  times  it  is  of  the  exploits  and  adventures  con- 
nected with  the  Trojan  war.  Phemius  sang  among 
the  suitors  '* of  the  pitiful  return  of  the  Achaeans  that 
Pallas  Athene  laid  on  them  as  they  came  forth  from. 
Troy."     Penelope  overhears  the  tale,  which  reminds 


ao  Homer  to  Theocritus 

her  of  the  long  absence  of  her  husband ;  and  weeping 
she  spake  unto  the  minstrel:  "'Phemius,  since  thou 
knowest  many  other  charms  for  mortals,  deeds  of  men 
and  godS)  which  bards  rehearse,  some  one  of  these  do 
thou  sing  as  thou  sittest  by  them,  and  let  them  drink 
their  wine  in  silence ;  but  cease  from  this  pitiful  strain 
that  ever  wastes  my  heart  within  my  breast,  since  to 
me,  above  all  women,  hath  come  a  sorrow  comfort- 
less." Her  son  Telemachus,  however,  rebukes  her, 
saying:  '*As  for  him,  it  is  no  blame  if  he  sings  the 
ill-faring  of  the  Danaans ;  for  men  always  prize  that 
song  the  most  which  rings  newest  in  their  ears.*' 
(Odysseyy  i,  325  ff.)  Again,  in  the  palace  of  Alcinous, 
when  Odysseus  was  present,  *'the  Muse  stirred  the 
minstrel  (Demodocus)  to  sing  the  songs  of  famous 
men,  even  that  lay  whereof  the  fame  had  then  reached 
the  wide  heaven — namely,  the  quarrel  between  Odys- 
seus and  Achilles."  Odysseus  drew  his  cloak  over 
his  head  and  wept.  Later  on,  Odysseus  summons 
Demodocus,  and  says:  *'Come  now,  change  thy  strain, 
and  sing  of  the  fashioning  of  the  horse  of  wood, 
even  the  guileful  thing  that  godly  Odysseus  led  up  into 
the  citadel  when  he  had  laden  it  with  the  men  who 
wasted  Ilios."     And  Demodocus  is  able  to  comply. 

These  passages  are  of  especial  interest  because  of 
the  fact  that  the  themes  of  which  the  minstrels  sang 
are  precisely  of  the  kind  which  Homer  weaves 
together  to  form  the  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey^  although 
some  of  the  songs,  such  as  the  story  of  the  quarrel 
of  Achilles  and  Odysseus  and  the  stratagem  of  the 
wooden  horse,  are  not  actually  found  in  the  Iliad 
itself.  From  the  passages  which  we  have  cited  several 
conclusions  may  be  drawn  on  the  subject  of  pre- 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     21 

Homeric  poetry:  (i)  Besides  the  short  poems  of  a 
religious  nature,  such  qc  fVi^  hyn]"g  »^  f^A^pt^^^^^  and 
the  responses  of  the  or£u:les,  there  was  current  in  the 
Greek  world  a  large  number  of  shqrtjiOjOTLS  that  be- 
longed more  especially  to  domestic  life — €,  g,y  m2S- 
riage  chants  and  dirfres;  (2)  a  professional  class  of 
mi&strels  existed,  whose  repertoires  included  songs 
on  many  themes,  imaginary  incidents  in  the  lives  of 
the  gods,  and  the  exploits  of  heroic  men ;  (3)  the 
exceptional  honor  shown  to  the  minstrels  and  the 
eagerness  of  the  people  for  new  songs  would  encour- 
age the  production  of  new  poems  on  the  models  of 
those  already  popular;  (4)  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  are 
maH^  lip  of  ft  yrf^'t  "^^"y  «iiir.h  rinnfffi  nT-thrnr  which 
the  minstrels  sang;  (5)  the  perfection  of  the  poetic  art  / 
of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  is  explained  by  the  existence 
in  Greece  of  minstrel  poets  long  before  these  poems 
were  composed;  (6)  the  poets  of  the  Iliad  and  the 
Odyssey  were  either  the  greatest  of  the  minstrel  poets,  j 
producing  original  poems  of  large  compass  in  the ) 
manner  of  the  earlier  short  lays,  or  else  they  were  | 
great  collectors  of  the  previously  existing  songs, 
which  they  put  together  to  form  a  consistent  whole, 
adding  only  the  narrative  needed  to  connect  the 
separate  lays.  This  is  a  part  of  the  Homeric  question 
which  will  be  discussed  later  on. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  are  epic  poems.  The  Greek 
word  epoSy  from  which  the  adjective  **epic"  is  derived, 
meant  orginally  a  '*word"  or  **saying,"  and  in  the 
plural  was  applied  to  the  sayings  in  verse,  such  as  the 
oracles,  or  the  lays  of  the  minstrels.  Since  these 
were  composed  in  the  hexameter  verse,  the  measure 
in  which  Longfellow's  Evangeline  is  written,  and  were 


22  Homer  to  Theocritus 

recited  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  lyre,  and  not 

*'sung'*  in  the  modern  sense,  epic  poetry  came  to  mean 

narrative  poetry  in  hexameter  verse,  as  opposed  to 

the  melic  or  song  poetry,  and  the  term  was  applied 

i  to  the  longer  poems  of  this  kind.     According  to  Aris- 

I  totle,  an  epic  poem  should  have  a  dignified  theme  and 

!   should    form    a    consistent    organic    whole.      This 

'    means  that  it  cannot  consist  of  a  series  of  discon- 

'  nected  narratives  with    no  leading  thought  running 

from  beginning  to  end.     A  mere  chronicle  in  verse 

could  not  constitute  an  epic  poem.     Every  part  of  the 

narrative  must  conduce  to  the  completion  of  the  main 

theme. 

The  poems  of  Homer  satisfy  this  definition  of  epic 
poetry  no  less  than  the  great  epics  since  written,  as, 
for  example,  Vergil's  jEneid  and  W\\\.orC^  Paradise 
Lost  But  there  is  one  fundamental  difference  be- 
tween the  Homeric  and  the  later  epics.  The  differ- 
ence may  be  indicated  by  calling  the  Homeric  poems 
natural  epics,  and  the  ^neid  and  Paradise  Lost  literary 
epics.  Homer,  tells  his  story  simply  and  for  its  own 
sake;  Milton  selects  a  noble  theme  and  marshals  all 
of  his  learning  to  embellish  it.  The  unsophisticated 
people  for  whom  Homer  sang  needed  to  know  only 
their  gods  and  their  heroes  to  understand  the  nar- 
rative ;  but  every  page  of  Milton  teems  with  allusions 
gathered  from  the  whole  world  of  literature  and  his- 
tory.    He  wjntr  fni  1i  iiiumI  jTirlrii 

The  Iliad  is  a  narrative  of  only  a  single  episode  in 
the  Trojan  war.  The  action  of  the ///W  embraces 
altnf^.they  only  fifty-nne  days  in  the  tenth  year  of  the 
war.^  The  story  of  the  events  which  precede  the  ^liad 
were  known  to  the  Greeks  through  another  early  epic 


Epic  Poetry.    Introduction  to  the  Iliad    23 

poem,  now  lost,  composed  after  the  Iliads  in  the 
rigl]|,h  rontnry  hrfnrn  rhrint  It  was  entitled  the 
Cypria^  and  its  reputed  author  was  Stasinus  of  Cyprus. 
Th^  fiffrn  nf  thf>  ppfim  ly  Paric  The  story,  as  told  in 
the  Cypria,  is  briefly  as  follows  : 

Zeus,  the  king  of  the  gods,  alarmed  at  the  increase 
of  men  upon  the  earth,  resolves  to  reduce  the  popula- 
tion. Now  both  he  and  his  brother  Poseidon,  god 
of  the  seas,  loved  the  beautiful  sea-nymph  Thetis. 
But  there  was  a  prophecy  which  foretold  that  Thetis 
should  have  a  son  who  would  prove  mightier  than  his 
father.  To  save  themselves  from  such  an  event, 
therefore,  it  was  agreed  that  Thetis  should  marry 
a  mortal,  Peleus,  king  of  Thessaly.  All  of  the  gods 
and  goddesses  were  bidden  to  the  wedding,  save  only 
Eris,  or  Discord.  But  Zeus  sends  her  also,  that  the 
quarrel  may  arise  that  shall  lead  to  the  Trojan  war. 
Now  Eris  casts  into  the  midst  of  the  wedding  guests 
a  golden  apple,  inscribed  "to  the  fairest."  Hera,  the 
wife  of  Zeus,  and  his  daughter  Athene,  goddess  of 
wisdom  and  prowess  in  warfare,  and  Aphrodite,  god- 
dess of  love,  all  claim  the  prize.  Zeus  commands 
Hermes,  the  messenger  of  the  gods,  to  conduct  the 
three  goddesses  to  Mount  Ida,  where  Alexander  or 
Paris,  son  of  Priam,  king  of  Ilios  or  Troy,  was  tending 
his  flocks  as  a  shepherd,  quite  unaware  of  his  princely 
birth.  Paris  was  to  decide  the  dispute.^  The  god- 
desses accordingly  appeared  before  him,  each  display- 
ing her  charms  and  proposing  tempting  bribes.  Hera 
offered  the  sovereignty  of  Asia  and  great  riches; 
Athene,  great  glory  and  renown  in  war;   Aphrodite, 

>  See  Tcnnvfon's  description  of  the  Jadgmeot  of  Pftrit  in  the  poem 
(Bmong,  Mmed  for  the  first  wife  of  Plsris. 


24  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  fairest  of  all  women  for  his  wife.  The  decision 
was  in  favor  of  Aphrodite,  who  accordingly  received 
the  golden  apple.  The  two  slighted  goddesses  con- 
ceived a  great  hatred  toward  Troy,  the  country  of  the 
umpire,  and  made  their  wrath  felt  heavily  upon  the 
Trojans  during  the  war. 

Paris,  by  the  help  of  Aphrodite,  got  himself 
acknowledged  as  the  son  of  Priam,  equipped  a  fleet, 
and  sailed  to  Greece  in  search  of  the  fairest  among 
women.  He  was  hospitably  received  by  Menelaus, 
king  of  Sparta.  There,  in  the  absence  of  the  king,  in 
violation  of  the  sacred  laws  of  hospitality,  he  won  the 
love  of  Helen,  the  king's  wife,  and  carried  her  back  to 
Troy.  Now  Helen  was  not  only  the  queen  of  Menelaus, 
but  also  the  daughter  of  Zeus  himself,  by  Leda,  wife  of 
Tyndareus,  whom  the  king  of  the  gods  had  visited  in 
the  guise  of  a  swan.  All  the  princes  of  the  Achaeans 
had  wooed  her,  entering  into  a  solemn  compact  with 
each  other  that  they  would  all  defend  the  rights  of 
the  successful  suitor.  Accordingly  Menelaus  called 
upon  the  other  leading  chieftains  and  upon  his  brother 
Agamemnon,  king  of  Mycenae,  the  most  powerful  of 
them  all,  to  help  him  avenge  the  wrong  and  bring  back 
Helen.  With  some  difficulty  they  are  induced  to  join 
in  the  adventure,  and  at  last,  under  the  chief  com- 
mand of  Agamemnon,  assemble  at  Aulis  in  Boeotia 
with  a  fleet  of  over  a  thousand  ships.  The  most 
prominent  chieftains,  after  Agamemnon  and  Menelaus, 
were  Odysseus,  king  of  Ithaca;  Nestor,  king  of 
Pylos;  Achilles  and  his  chosen  friend,  Patroclus  of 
Hellas ;  Idomeneus  of  Crete ;  Diomedes  of  Argos,  and 
Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  of  Salamis.  The  fleet  is  long 
delayed   by   adverse    winds   sent    by  Artemis,    until 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     25 

Agamemnon  consents  to  the  sacrifice  of  his  daughter 
Iphigeneia,  to  propitiate  the  wrath  of  the  goddess. 
The  start  is  made,  and  at  length,  after  some  misad- 
ventures, of  which  the  most  serious  was  the  abandon- 
ment on  the  isle  of  Lemnos  of  Philoctetes,  the  pos- 
sessor of  the  bow  and  unerring  arrows  of  Heracles, 
the  fleet  reaches  the  shores  of  the  Hellespont  at  the 
foot  of  the  plain  of  Troy.  The  restoration  of  Helen 
is  demanded  of  the  Trojans,  who  refuse. 

The  siege  of  Ilios'  now  begins.  But  it  was  not 
a  close  investment.  The  Greeks  were  encamped  upon 
the  beach  beside  their  ships,  which  were  drawn  up 
upon  the  shore.  The  citadel,  in  which  the  Trojans 
were  obliged  to  confine  themselves,  owing  to  the 
prowess  of  Achilles,  was  about  three  miles  inland. 
There  were  occasional  attacks  and  sallies.  But  the 
Greeks  seem  mainly  to  have  occupied  themselves  with 
sweeping  the  surrounding  country  for  provisions. 
Detachments  were  continually  sent  out  under  some 
chieftain  to  sack  the  small  towns  and  to  bring  in  the 
booty,  whether  of  men  or  supplies,  to  be  divided 
among  the  army.  It  was  in  one  of  these  raids  that 
Achilles,  son  of  Peleus  and  Thetis,  and  king  of  the 
[yrmidons,  ravaged  Thebe  and  Lyrnessus,  and  brought 
back  among  the  spoils  the  ^^  hfantifvl  wo"'**nj 
Ch|^)ESfiis_j^]ld..B»seis.  The  former  was  assigned  to 
Agamemnon  to  be  his  handmaiden,  the  latter  to 
Achilles.  So  far  the  Cypria  and  the  first  nine  years  of 
the  war.  Chryseis  proves  to  be  the  daughter  of  Chry- 
ses,  priest  of  Apollo.  The  god  avenges  the  insult  to 
his  priest  by  sending  a  pestilence   upon   the  Greek 

>  In  Homer,  the  citadel  of  Priam,  the  chief  city  of  his  kingdom,  is  called 
Iliop,  known  ^o  fbe  Romans  as  Ilium,  and  the  country  is  Troia, "  Troy-land." 
Tne  latter  iiiiiif  i  mm  tw  Imliiih  '1  for  the  city  also. 


a 6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

army.  From  this  circumstance  arises  the  quarrel 
between  Agamemnon  and  Achilles  with  which  the 
Iliad  opens. 

The  traditional  title  of  the  poem  does  not  quite 
accurately  give  its  theme.  Ilias^  in  English  Iliad^ 
properly  means  the  '*  Story  of  Ilios."  But  the  real 
theme  is  the  Wrath  of  Achilles  and  is  given  in  the 
first  verse  of  the  poem,  in  the  invocation  to  the  Muse: 

O  goddess  1  sing  the  wrath  of  Peleus'  son, 
Achilles,  sing  the  deadly  wrath  that  brought 
Woes  numberless  upon  the  Greeks,  and  swept 
To  Hades  many  a  valiant  soul,  and  gave 
Their  limbs  a  prey  to  dogs  and  birds  of  air, — 
For  so  had  Jove^  appointed, — from  the  time 
When  the  two  chiefs,  Atrides,'  king  of  men. 
And  great  Achilles,  parted  first  as  foes. 

1, 1-8.  Bryant. 

It  is  only  with  this  conception  of  the  subject  of  the 
Iliad  that  the  poem  has  unity.  Through  Achilles' 
wrath  the  Greeks  were  obliged  to  fight  without  his 
aid,  and  could  not  win.  The  death  of  Patroclus 
ensued.  Then,  through  love  of  his  friend,  the  wrath 
of  Achilles  is  directed  against  the  Trojans.  With 
Hector's  death  Patroclus  is  avenged.  This  is  the 
story,  and  throughout  the  poem  our  interest  centres 

*Jove,  or  Tnpiter,  the  Latin  form  of  Zeus.  Most  of  the  standard  trans- 
lations give  tneXatin  instead  of  the  Greek  names  of  the  gods,  though  they 
are  not  always  really  equivalent.  This  would  now  be  considered  a  fault, 
but  was  the  prevailing  custom  a  jgeneration  ago.  The  most  common  equiv- 
alents are:  Neptune  for  Poseidon:  Pluto  for  Hades;  Vulcan  for  Hepnss- 
tus;  Juno  for  Hera;  Minerva  for  Athene;  Venus  for  Aphrodite;  Mars  for 
Ares;  Diana  for  Artemis;  Mercury  for  Hermes;  Saturn  for  Cronus;  Latona 
for  Leto. 

*Atrides  (more  properly  Atreides),  i.e.,  son  of  Atreus,  Agamemnon.  It 
might  also  mean  Menelaus,  the  brother  of  Agamemnon.  The  ending  *Mdes" 
in  Greek  signifies  "son  of."  So  Peleides  =  Achilles,  son  of  Peleus;  Tydeides 
s=  Diomedes,  son  of  Tydeus,  etc.  Sometimes  it  may  mean  "descendant  oV'\ 
e.g.,  Alceides  =  Heracles,  whose  grandfather  was  Alcaeas,  and  ^acidet  a 
Achilles,  son  of  Peleus,  son  of  £acus. 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     17 

in  the  hero  Achilles,  vehement  in  love  as  in  hate, 
whether  he  is  sulking  in  his  tent  or  fighting  in  the 
foremost  ranks.  But  there  are  many  incidents  in  an 
extended  epic  like  this,  and  not  all  of  them  attach 
themselves  closely  to  the  leading  theme. 

The  wrath  of  Achilles,  then,  arising  from  his  quar- 
rel with  Agamemnon,  was  the  cause  of  the  woes  of 
the  Greeks.  The  account  of  the  origin  of  the  quarrel 
occupies  about  one-half  of  the  first  book.* 

Which  of  the  gods  put  strife  between  the  chiefs, 
That  they  should  thus  contend?    Latona's  son 
And  Jove's.    Incensed  against  the  king  he  bade 
A  deadly  pestilence  appear  among 
The  army»  and  the  men  were  perishing. 
For  Atreus'  son  with  insult  had  received 
Chryses  the  priest,  who  to  the  Grecian  fleet 
Came  to  redeem  his  daughter,  offering 
Uncounted  ransom.    In  his  hand  he  bore 
The  fillets  of  Apollo,  archer-god, 
Upon  the  golden  sceptre,  and  he  sued 
To  all  the  Greeks,  but  chiefly  to  the  sons 
Of  Atreus,  the  two  leaders  of  the  host: — 

"  Ye  sons  of  Atreus,  and  ye  other  chiefs, 
Well-greaved  Achaeans,  may  the  gods  who  dwell 
Upon  Olympus  give  you  to  overthrow 
The  city  of  Priam  and  in  safety  reach 
Your  homes;  but  give  me  my  beloved  child, 
And  take  her  ransom,  honoring  him  who  sends 
His  arrows  far,  Apollo,  son  of  Jove." 

Then  all  the  other  Greeks,  applauding,  bade 
Revere  the  priest  and  take  the  liberal  gifts 
He  offered,  but  the  counsel  did  not  please 
Atrides  Agamemnon;  he  dismissed 
The  priest  with  scorn,  and  added  threatening  words: — 

*The  Iliad  and  the  Odyssey  were  divided  each  into  twenty-four  books 
by  an  Alexandrian  scholar  in  the  third  century  before  Christ.  The  diTisiont 
are  often  ai^Pitiary  aud  wBift  BiAde  gliuplj  fm  LOgvenience. 


i8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

"  Old  man,  let  me  not  find  thee  loitering  here 
Beside  the  roomy  ships,  or  coming  back 
Hereafter,  lest  the  fillet  thou  dost  bear 
And  sceptre  of  thy  god  protect  thee  not. 
This  maiden  I  release  not  till  old  age 
Shall  overtake  her  in  my  Argive  home. 
Far  from  her  native  country,  where  her  hand 
Shall  throw  the  shuttle  and  shall  dress  my  couch. 
Go,  chafe  me  not,  if  thou  wouldst  safely  go.** 

I,  9-42.  Bryant. 

The  old  man  obeyed,  and  walked  silently  along  the 
shore  of  the  loud-sounding  sea,  and  prayed  aloud  to 
Apollo.     And  Phoebus  Apollo  heard  him. 

Down  he  came» 
Down  from  the  summit  of  the  Olympian  mount* 
Wrathful  in  heart;  his  shoulders  bore  the  bow 
And  hollow  quiver;  there  the  arrows  rang 
Upon  the  shoulders  of  the  angry  god. 
As  on  he  moved.    He  came  as  comes  the  night* 
And,  seated  from  the  ships  aloof,  sent  forth 
An  arrow;  terrible  was  heard  the  clang 
Of  that  resplendent  bow.    At  first  he  smote 
The  mules  and  the  swift  dogs,  and  then  on  man 
He  turned  the  deadly  arrow.    All  around 
Glared  evermore  the  frequent  funeral  piles. 
Nine  days  already  had  his  shafts  been  showered 
Among  the  host,  and  now,  upon  the  tenth, 
Achilles  called  the  people  of  the  camp 
To  council. 

h  57-72.  Bryant. 

Now  when  they  were  all  assembled,  Achilles,  fleet 
of  foot,  arose,  and  proposed  that  they  should  inquire 
of  some  soothsayer  or  priest  to  tell  them  why  Apollo 
was  so  wroth  against  them.  Perchance  he  would 
accept  a  rich  sacrifice  and  take  away  the  pestilence. 
Then  spake  Calchas,  the  augur,  who  knew  both  things 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     29 

that  were  and  that  should  be  and  that  had  been  be* 
fore:  '* Achilles,  dear  to  Zeus,  thou  biddest  me  tell 
the  wrath  of  Apollo,  the  king  that  smiteth  afar. 
Therefore  will  I  speak,  but  do  thou  make  covenant 
with  me,  and  swear  that  verily  with  all  thy  heart  thou 
wilt  aid  me  both  by  word  and  deed.  For  of  a  truth 
I  deem  that  I  shall  provoke  one  that  ruleth  all  the 
Argives  with  might,  and  whom  the  Achaeans  obey. " 
Achilles  thus  reassures  Calchas:  '^Be  of  good  courage, 
and  speak  whatever  soothsaying  thou  knowest.  No 
man  while  I  live  and  behold  the  light  on  earth  shall 
lay  violent  hands  upon  thee  amid  the  hollow  ships ;  no 
man  of  all  the  Danaans,  not  even  if  thou  mean 
Agamemnon,  that  now  avoweth  him  to  be  the  greatest 
far  of  the  Achaeans.  '^ 

EmboldenM  thus,  th'  unerring  prophet  spoke: 

''  Not  for  neglected  hecatombs  or  pray*rs, 
But  for  his  priest  whom  Agamemnon  scom'd, 
Nor  took  his  ransom,  nor  his  child  restor'd; 
On  his  account  the  Far-destroyer  sends 
This  scourge  of  pestilence,  and  yet  will  send; 
Nor  shall  we  cease  his  heavy  hand  to  feel. 
Till  to  her  sire  we  give  the  bright-eyed  girl, 
Unbought,  unransom'd,  and  to  Chrysa*s  shore 
A  solemn  hecatomb  despatch;  this  done. 
The  God,  appeas'd,  his  anger  may  remit." 

1, 108-118.  Derby. 

The  hero,  son  of  Atreus,  wide-ruling  Agamemnon, 
then  stood  up  before  them,  sore  displeased ;  and  his 
dark  heart  within  him  was  greatly  filled  with  anger, 
and  his  eyes  were  like  flashing  fire.  He  calls  the  aged 
seer  a  prophet  of  evil,  praises  the  maid  Chryseis,  but 
agrees  to  give  her  up  to  save  his  people.  He  asks, 
however,    that  a  recompense    be  provided   for  him, 


30  Homer  to  Theocritus 

that  he  alone  of  all  the  Achaeans  be  not  left  without 
a  prize.  Achilles  springs  to  his  feet  and  reminds 
Agamemnon  that  all  the  spoil  taken  from  the  cap- 
tured towns  has  already  been  apportioned.  "Yield 
thou  the  damsel  to  the  god,  and  we  Acha&ans  will  pay 
thee  back  threefold  and  fourfold  if  ever  Zeus  grant  us 
to  sack  the  well-walled  city  of  Troy."  But  Agamem- 
non suspects  the  motives  of  Achilles,  and  answers  thus: 

"  Think  not,  Achilles,  valiant  though  thou  art 
In  fight,  and  godlike,  to  defraud  me  thus; 
Thou  shalt  not  so  persuade  me,  nor  o*erreach. 
Think'st  thou  to  keep  thy  portion  of  the  spoil. 
While  I  with  empty  hands  sit  idly  down? 
.  The  bright-ey'd  girl  thou  bidd'st  me  to  restore; 
If  then  the  valiant  Greeks  for  me  seek  out 
Some  other  spoil,  some  compensation  just, 
Tis  well:  if  not,  I  with  my  own  right  hand 
Will  from  some  other  chief,  from  thee  perchance, 
Or  Ajax,  or  Ulysses,  wrest  his  prey; 
And  woe  to  him  on  whomsoever  I  call! " 

If  153-165,    Derby. 

Achilles,  stung  by  these  words,  indignantly  re- 
proaches Agamemnon.  The  wrongs  they  came  to 
avenge  upon  Troy  were  not  his  own,  but  those  of 
Menelaus.  '^AU  this  thou  reckonest  not,  nor  takest 
thought  thereof;  and  now  thou  threatenest  thyself  to 
take  my  meed  of  honor,  wherefor  I  travailed  much, 
and  the  sons  of  the  Achaeans  gave  it  me.  Never  win 
I  meed  like  unto  his,  when  the  Achaeans  sack  any  pop- 
ulous city  of  Trojan  men ;  my  hands  bear  the  brunt 
of  furious  war,  but  when  the  apportioning  cometh, 
then  is  thy  meed  far  ampler,  and  I  betake  me  to  the 
ships  with  some  small  thing,  yet  mine  own,  when 
I  have  fought  to  weariness.     Now  will  I  depart  to 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     31 

Phthia,  seeing  it  far  better  to  return  home  on  my 
beaked  ships;  nor  am  I  minded  here  in  dishonor  to 
draw  thee  thy  fill  of  riches  and  of  wealth." 

Him  answered  Agamemnon,  king  of  men: 
**  Desert,  then,  if  thou  wilt;  I  ask  thee  not 
To  stay  for  me;  there  will  be  others  left 
To  do  me  honor  yet,  and,  best  of  all. 
The  all-providing  Jove  is  with  me  still. 
Thee  I  detest  the  most  of  all  the  meii 
Ordained  by  him  to  govern ;  thy  delight 
Is  in  contention,  war,  and  bloody  f  rsiys. 
If  thou  art  brave,  some  deity,  ho  doubt. 
Has  thus  endowed  thee.    Hence  then  to  thy  home. 
With  all  thy  ships  and  meii  I  there  domineer 
Over  thy  Myrmidons;^  I  heed  thee  not. 
Nor  care  I  for  thy  fury.    Thus,  in  turn, 
I  threaten  thee ;  since  Phoebus  takes  away 
Chryseis,  I  will  send  her  in  my  ship 
And  with  my  friends,  and,  coming  to  thy  tent. 
Will  bear  away  the  fair-cheeked  maid,  thy  prize, 
Briseis,  that  thou  learn  how  far  I  stand 
Above  thee,  and  that  other  chiefs  may  fear 
To  measure  strength  with  me,  and  brave  my  power.'* 

I,  224-243.   Bryant. 

Achilles  lays  his  hand  to  his  sword,  doubting 
whether  he  shall  forthwith  slay  Agamemnon.  But 
Athene  came  to  him  from  heaven.  She  stood  beside 
him  and  caught  him  by  the  golden  hair,  visible  to  him 
alone,  and  of  the  rest  no  man  beheld  her.  She  prom- 
ises Achilles  that  if  he  will  stay  his  anger  goodly 
gifts  will  yet  come  to  him  by  reason  of  this  slight  So 
Achilles  thrust  the  great  sword  back  into  the  sheath, 
and  was  not  disobedient  to  the  saying  of  Athene. 
But  he  in  nowise  ceased  his  wrath,  but  angrily  taunts 
the  king,  and  says: 

*The  name  of  the  Thessalian  tribe  over  which  Acbillet  ruled. 


31  Homer  to  Theocritus 

"  And  now  I  say. 
And  bind  my  saying  with  a  mighty  oath : 
By  this  my  sceptre,  which  can  never  bear 
A  leaf  or  twig,  since  first  it  left  its  stem 
Among  the  moontains — for  the  steel  has  pared 
Its  boughs  and  bark  away,  to  sprout  no  more. 
And  now  the  Achaian  judges  bear  it,  they 
Who  g^nard  the  laws  received  from  Jupiter, 
Such  is  my  oath — ^the  time  shall  come  iriien  all 
The  Greeks  shall  long  to  see  Achilles  back. 
While  multitudes  are  perishing  by  the  hand 
Of  Hector,  the  man-queller ;  thou,  meanwhile, 
Though  thou  lament,  shalt  have  no  power  to  help. 
And  thou  shalt  rage  against  thyself  to  think 
That  thou  hast  scorned  the  bravest  of  the  Greeks." 

As  thus  he  spoke,  Pelides  to  the  ground 
Flung  the  gold-studded  wand,  and  took  his  seat. 

I,  298-314.    Bryant. 

Then  in  their  midst  rose  up  Nestor,  the  clear-voiced 
orator  of  the  Pylians,  he  from  whose  tongue  flowed 
discourse  sweeter  than  honey.  Two  generations  of 
mortal  men  had  he  seen  perish,  and  he  was  king 
among  the  third.  Vainly  he  tried  to  allay  the  passions 
of  the  two  chieftains.  Achilles  will  yield  the  maiden 
Briseis  to  Agamemnon,  but  continues  to  defy  his 
authority.  The  assembly  breaks  up.  Agamemnon 
sends  Chryseis  back  to  her  home,  and  has  Briseis 
brought  from  Achilles'  tent  to  his  own.  Apollo  is 
appeased,  but  Achilles'  abiding  wrath  remams. 
Seated  on  the  beach  of  the  sea,  he  prayed  earnestly  to 
his  mother,  Thetis.  And  his  mother  heard  him  as  she 
sat  in  the  sea-depths  beside  her  aged  sire.  With 
speed  arose  she  from  the  gray  sea,  like  a  mist,  and 
sat  her  before  the  face  of  her  weeping  son,  and 
stroked  him  with  her  hand.  Achillea  then  tells  Thetis 
his  great  sorrow,  and  entreats  her  to  ask  of  Zeus  that 


Epic  Poetry.     Introduction  to  the  Iliad     23 

he  shall  now  give  aid  to  the  Trojani^  and  that  the 
Achaeans  shall  be  given  over  to  slaughter,  in  order  that 
Agamemnon  may  perceive  his  blindness  in  that  he 
honored  not  at  all  the  best  of  the  Achseans. 

Thetis  pities  her  son,  and  urges  him  to  refrain 
utterly  from  battle.  So  Achilles  sat  by  his  swift-far- 
ing ships,  still  wroth.  He  betook  him  neither  to  the 
assembly  nor  to  war,  but  consumed  his  heart  in  tarry- 
ing in  his  place,  and  yearned  for  the  war-cry  and  for 
battle.  And  Thetis,  when  the  gods  were  returned 
from  a  banquet  among  the  i£thiopians,  forgot  not 
her  son's  charge,  but  rose  up  from  the  sea- wave,  and 
at  early  morn  mounted  up  to  great  heaven  and 
Olympus.  There  found  she  Cronus'  son,  of  the  far- 
sounding  voice,  sitting  apart  from  all  on  the  topmost 
peak  of  many-ridged  Olympus.  So  she  sat  before  his 
face,  and  with  her  left  hand  clasped  his  knees,  and 
with  her  right  touched  him  beneath  the  chin,  and 
spake  in  prayer  to  Zeus : 

"  O  Jupiter,  my  father,  if  among 
The  immortals  I  have  ever  given  thee  aid 
By  word  or  act»  deny  not  my  request 
Honor  my  son,  whose  life  is  doomed  to  end 
So  soon ;  for  Agamemnon,  king  of  men. 
Hath  done  him  shameful  wrong :  he  takes  from  him 
And  keeps  the  prize  he  won  in  war.    But  thou, 
Olympian  Jupiter,  supremely  wise. 
Honor  him  thou,  and  give  the  Trojan  host 
The  victory,  until  the  humbled  Greeks 
Heap  large  increase  of  honors  on  my  son." 

1. 633-643.    Bryant 

Zeus  hesitates  to  promise,  for  he  fears  to  be  at  vari- 
ance with  Hera,  his  wife,  who  favors  the  Greeks  on 
account  of  the  decision  of  Paris.     But  he  at  last  bowed 


34  Homer  to  Theocritus 

his  dark  brow,  and  the  ambrosial  locks  waved  from 
the  king's  immortal  head,  and  he  made  great  Olympus 
shake.  Hera  suspects  the  motive  of  Thetis'  visit,  and 
expostulates  with  Zeus  on  his  interference  with  her 
plans,  but  Zeus  rebukes  her  severely,  so  that  she  is 
afraid.  Hephaestus  comforts  his  mother  Hera,  and 
the  gods  make  merry  at  the  banquet. 

So  ends  the  first  book,  which  forms  the  prologue  to 
the  main  action  of  the  poem. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   MAIN  ACTION   OF  THE   ILIAD 

The  Preparation  for  Battle— Catalogue  of  the  Opposing 
Forces— The  First  Day  of  Battle  — The  Combat  of  Paris 
and  Menelaus  —  Pandarus  violates  the  Truce — The  Valor 
of  Diomedes — The  Parting  of  Hector  and  Andromache — 
The  Combat  of  Aiax  and  Hector — Selections — ^The  Second 
Dav  of  Battle — The  Repulse  of  the  Greeks — The  Embassy 
to  Achilles — The  Treachery  of  Dolon  —  Selections  —  The 
Third  Day  of  Battle  —  The  Trojans  break  down  the  Wall 
of  the  Camp — Poseidon  aids  the  Greeks — The  Ships  are 
set  on  Fire — Patroclus  fights  in  Achilles'  Armor — The 
Rout  of  the  Trojans— The  Slaying  of  Patroclus— The  Fight 
for  his  Body — The  Armor  of  Achilles — The  Tuming-pomt 
of  the  V\oX  — Selections —TYit  Fourth  Day  of  Battle- 
Achilles  drives  back  the  Greeks  —  The  Slaying  of 
Hector  —  Selections  —  The  Epilogue  —  The  Funeral  of 
Patroclus — The  Ransom  of   Hector's  Body  —  Selections. 

The  main  action  of  the  Iliad  occupies  the  next 
twenty-one  books,  large  portions  of  which  are  not 
strictly  necessary  to  the  unfolding  of  the  plot, 
although  in  the  main  they  illustrate  the  great  need 
which  the  Greeks  have  for  the  help  of  Achilles,  who 
remains  apart  until  Patroclus,  his  friend,  is  slain.  In 
this  interval  occur  three  days  of  fierce  battle. 

On  the  first  day  (Books  II  to  VII)  Agamemnon, 
who  has  been  beguiled  by  a  dream  sent  of  Zeus  into  the 
belief  that  he  will  speedily  capture  Troy,  even  without 
the  aid  of  Achilles,  marshals  his  hosts  and  prepares 
for  battle,  although  the  people  at  first,  thinking  that 
he  despairs  of  final  victory,  rush  to  the  ships  and  are 
with  difficulty  recalled.     An  imposing  catalogue  of  the 

35 


36  Homer  to  Theocritus 

leaders  of  the  Greek  and  Trojan  forces,  with  the  con- 
tingents furnished  by  each,  closes  the  second  book. 
The  third  book  is  occupied  mainly  with  the  fight  of 
Paris  with  Menelaus  in  single  combat,  both  armies 
having  taken  a  solemn  oath  that  the  victor  should 
receive  Helen  and  the  treasure  that  was  stolen  with 
her,  thus  ending  the  war.  Paris  is  about  to  be  taken 
captive  by  Menelaus  when  Aphrodite  intervenes  and 
rescues  her  favorite.  While  the  armies  are  separated, 
waiting  for  the  duel  to  begin,  Helen,  in  a  famous 
scene,  points  out  to  Priam  from  the  walls  of  Troy  the 
greatest  warriors  on  the  Greek  side.  The  fourth  book 
opens  with  an  assembly  of  the  gods  on  Olympus. 
Hera  and  Athene,  in  order  to  insure  the  final  defeat 
of  the  Trojans,  win  the  reluctant  consent  of  Zeus  to 
their  plan  that  the  Trojans  shall  violate  their  solemn 
pledge  to  deliver  up  Helen  to  Menelaus  as  victor  over 
Paris.  So  Athene  incites  Pandarus,  the  Lycian  archer, 
who  fights  on  the  Trojan  side,  to  shoot  an  arrow  at 
Menelaus  during  the  armistice.  The  Greeks,  outraged 
by  this  act  of  treachery,  furiously  renew  the  battle. 
In  the  fifth  book  the  heroes  on  both  sides  do  mighty 
deeds  of  valor,  iEneas,  Hector,  and  Sarpedon  for  the 
Trojans,  Menelaus,  Agamemnon,  and  Diomedes  for 
the  Greeks.  But  Diomedes  is  conspicuous  above  them 
all.  He  would  have  slain  iEneas  but  for  Aphrodite's 
intervention,  and  by  Athene's  aid  wounds  both  Aphro- 
dite and  Ares  when  they  take  the  field  for  the  Trojans. 
There  is  less  fighting  in  the  sixth  book.  Glaucus, 
the  Lycian  ally  of  the  Trojans,  meets  Diomedes  in 
battle,  but  recognizing  each  other  as  family  friends, 
they  part  in  friendship.  Hector  goes  back  to  Troy  to 
prepare  sacrifices  to  Athene,  in  the  hope  that  she  may 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  37 

withdraw  her  support  from  the  Greeks.  In  a  touching 
scene  he  bids  farewell  to  Andromache,  his  wife,  and 
to  his  child,  Astyanax,  and  returns  to  the  battlefield. 
In  the  seventh  book,  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  is  chosen 
by  lot  as  champion  of  the  Greeks  to  fight  Hector  in 
single  combat.  They  fight  desperately,  the  advantage 
being  slightly  on  the  side  of  Ajax,  but  night  puts  an 
end  to  the  encounter.  During  the  next  two  days  the 
dead  are  buried  and  the  Greeks  build  a  strong  wall 
about  their  ships.  We  quote  a  few  characteristic  pas- 
sages from  this  section  of  the  poem : 

THE  ASSEMBLY  OF  THE   GREEKS 

Up  rose  the  sceptered  monarchs,  and  obeyed 

Their  leader*s  call,  and  round  them  throng'd  the  crowd 

As  swarms  of  bees,  that  pour  in  ceaseless  stream 

From  out  the  crevice  of  some  hollow  rock, 

Now  clust'ring,  and  anon  *mid  vernal  flow'rs. 

Some  here,  some  there,  in  busy  numbers  fly; 

So  to  th'  assembly  from  their  tents  and  ships 

The  countless  tribes  came  thronging ;  in  their  midst, 

By  Jove  enkindled,  Rumour  urged  them  on. 

Great  was  the  din,  and  as  the  mighty  mass 

Sat  down,  the  solid  earth  beneath  them  groan*d ; 

Nine  heralds  rais'd  their  voices  loud,  to  quell 

The  storm  of  tongues,  and  bade  the  noisy  crowd 

Be  still,  and  listen  to  the  heaven-bom  kings. 

At  length  they  all  were  seated,  and  awhile 

Their  clamours  sank  to  silence. 

11,98-113.    Derby. 

AGAMEMNON  ADDRESSES  THE  ARMY 

'*  But  now  on  me  hath  aegis-bearing  Jove, 
The  son  of  Saturn,  fruitless  toil  impos*d, 
And  hurtful  quarrels ;  for  in  wordy  war 
About  a  girl  Achilles  and  myself 
Engag*d ;  and  I,  alas!  the  strife  began : 


38  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Could  we  be  friends  again,  delay  were  none, 
How  short  soe*er,  of  Ilion*s  final  doom. 
But  now  to  breakfast,  ere  we  wage  the  fight. 
Each  sharpen  well  his  spear,  his  shield  prepare, 
Each  to  his  fiery  steeds  their  forage  give, 
Each  look  his  chariot  o*er,  that  through  the  day 
We  may  unwearied  stem  the  tide  of  war ; 
For  respite  none,  how  short  soe*er,  shall  be 
Till  night  shall  bid  the  storm  of  battle  cease. 
With  sweat  shall  reek  upon  each  warrior's  breast 
The  leathern  belt  beneath  the  covering  shield ; 
And  hands  shall  ache  that  wield  the  pond'rous  spear; 
With  sweat  shall  reek  the  fiery  steeds  that  draw 
Each  warrior's  car ;  but  whomsoe*er  I  find 
Loitering  beside  the  beaked  ships,  for  him 
'Twere  hard  to  *scape  the  vultures  and  the  dogs.*' 

He  said ;  and  from  th'  applauding  ranks  of  Greece 
Rose  a  loud  sound,  as  when  the  ocean  wave, 
Driv*n  by  the  south  wind  on  some  lofty  beach. 
Dashes  against  a  prominent  crag,  expos'd 
To  blasts  from  every  storm  that  roars  around. 

II,  430-455-    Derby. 

THE   MARSHALING  OF  THE   GREEK   HOSTS 

The  high-voic't  heralds  instantly  he  charg'd  to  call  to  arms 
The  curl'd-head  Greeks;   they  call'd;   the  Greeks  straight 

answer'd  their  alarms. 
The  Jove-kept  kings,  about  the  kings  all  gathered,  with  their  aid 
Rang'd  all  in  tribes  and  nations.  With  them  the  gray-eyed  Maid 
Great  JEgis  (Jove's  bright  shield)  sustain'd,  that  can  be  never 

old, 
Never  corrupted,  fring*d  about  with  serpents  forg'd  of  gold. 
As  many  as  sufHc'd  to  make  a  hundred  fringes,  worth 
An  hundred  oxen,  every  snake  all  sprawling,  all  set  forth 
With  wondrous  spirit.    Through  the  host  with  this  the  Goddess 

ran, 
In  fury  casting  round  her  eyes,  and  f urnisht  every  man 
With  strength,  exciting  all  to  arms  and  fight  incessant*    None 
Now  liked  their  lov*d  homes  like  the  wars.    And  as  a  fire  upon 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  39 

A  huge  wood,  on  the  heights  of  hills,  that  far  off  hurls  his  light; 
So  the  divine  brass  shin'd  on  these,  thus  thrusting  on  for  fight, 
Their  splendour  through  the  air  reacht  heaven.    And  as  about 

the  flood 
Cayster,  in  an  Asian  mead,  flocks  of  the  airy  brood, 
Cranes,  geese,  or  long-neckt  swans,  here,  there,  proud  of  their 

pinions  fly, 
And  in  their  falls  lay  out  such  throats,  that  with  their  spiritfull 

cry 
The  meadow  shrieks  again ;  so  here,  these  many  nation*d  men 
Flow'd   over  the   Scamandrian  field,  from  tents  and  ships ; 

the  din 
Was  dreadfull  that  the  feet  of  men  and  horse  beat  out  of  earth. 
And  in  the  fiorishing  mead  they  stood,  thick  as  the  odorous 

birth 
Of  flowers,  or  leaves  bred  in  the  spring ;  or  thick  as  swarms 

of  flies 
Throng  then  to  sheep-cotes,  when  each  swarm  his  erring  wing 

applies 
To  milk  dew'd  on  the  milk-maid*s  pails ;  all  eagerly  dispos*d 
To  give  to  ruin  th'  Ilians.    And  as  in  rude  heaps  clos*d. 
Though  huge  goatherds  are  at  their  food,  the  goatherds  easly 

yet 
Sort  into  sundry  herds ;  so  here  the  chiefs  in  battell  set. 
Here  tribes,  here  nations,  ordring  all.    Amongst  whom  shin*d 

the  king, 
With  eyes  like  lightning-loving  Jove,  his  forehead  answering, 
In  breast  like  Neptune,  Mars  in  waist.    And  as  a  goodly  bull 
Most  eminent  of  all  a  herd,  most  wrong,  most  masterful, 
So  Agamemnon  Jove  that  day  made  overheighten  clear 
That  heaven-bright  army,  and  preferred  to  all  th*  heroes  there. 

II,  379-412.    Chapman. 

PRIAM  AND    HELEN   ON    THE  WALLS   OF   TROY 

And  Priam  lifted  up  his  voice  and  called  to  Helen :  **  Come 
hither,  dear  child,  and  sit  before  me,  that  thou  mayest  see  thy 
former  husband  and  thy  kinsfolk  and  thy  friends.  I  hold  thee 
not  to  blame ;  nay,  I  hold  the  gods  to  blame  who  brought  on 
me  this  dolorous  war  of  the  Achaeans.*'    .    .    .    And  Helen, 


40  Homer  to  Theocritus 

fair  among  women,  spake  and  answered  him  :  "  Reverend  art 
thou  to  me  and  dread,  dear  father  of  my  lord ;  would  that  sore 
death  had  been  my  pleasure  when  I  followed  thy  son  hither, 
and  left  my  home  and  my  kinsfolk,  and  my  daughter  in  her 
girlhood,  and  the  lovely  company  of  my  age-fellows.  But  that 
was  not  so,  wherefore  I  pine  with  weeping.**  .  •  .  And 
thirdly  the  old  man  saw  Ajax,  and  asked :  "  Who  then  is  this 
other  Achaean  warrior,  goodly  and  great,  preeminent  above  the 
Argives  by  the  measure  of  his  head  and  broad  shoulders  ?  ** 
And  long-robed  Helen,  fair  among  women,  answered :  "  This 
is  huge  Ajax,  bulwark  of  the  Achaeans.  And  on  the  other  side 
amid  the  Cretans  standeth  Idomeneus  like  a  god,  and  about 
him  are  gathered  the  captains  of  the  Cretans.  Oft  did  Mene- 
laus,  dear  to  Zeus,  entertain  him  in  our  house,  whene*er  he  came 
from  Crete. 

Clearly  the  rest  I  behold  of  the  dark-eyed  sons  of  Achasa, 
Known  to  me  well  are  the  faces  of  all;  their  names  I  remember; 
Two,  two  only  remain,  whom  I  see  not  among  the  commanders, 
Castor,  fleet  in  the  car, — Polydeuces,  brave  with  the  cestus, — 
Own  dear  brethren  of  mine, — one  parent  loved  us  as  infants, — 
Are   they  not  here  in  the  host,  from  the  shores  of  loved 

Lacedaemon  ? 
Or,  though  they  came  with  the  rest  in  ships  that  bound  through 

the  water. 
Dare  they  not  enter  the  fight,  or  stand  in  the  council  of 

lieroes, 
All  for  fear  of  the  shame  and  the  taunts  my  crime  has 

awakened  ?  " 
So  said  she — they  long  since  in  Earth's  soft  arms  were  reposing, 
There,  in  their  own  dear  land,  their  Fatherland,  Lacedaemon.' 

Ill,  234-244.    Hawtrey. 

>  Th}t  cxqnititc  translation  by  Hawtrey  in  the  metre  of  the  original "  is 
tne  one  version,"  says  Matthew  Arnold,  '*  of  any  part  of  the  //mi^  which  in 
some  degree  reproduces  for  me  the  original  effect  or  Homer.'* 

I  liave  given  the  context  in  the  prose  version  of  Lang,  Leaf,  and  Myers, 
for  the  juxtaposition  of  blank  verse  and  hexameters  would  give  offense. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  41 

VALOR  OF  DIOMEDES 

But  of  Tydides  none  might  say  to  whom 
His  arm  belonged,  or  whether  with  the  hosts 
Of  Troy  or  Greece  he  mingled  in  the  fight : 
Hither  and  thither  o*er  the  plain  he  rush'd. 
Like  to  a  wintry  stream,  that  brimming  o*er 
Breaks  down  all  barriers  in  its  rapid  course ; 
Nor  well-built  bridge  can  stem  the  flood,  nor  fence 
That  guards  the  fertile  fields,  as  down  it  pours 
Its  sudden  torrent,  swoirn  with  rain  from  heav*n, 
And  many  a  goodly  work  of  man  destroys : 
So  back  were  borne  before  Tydides'  might 
The  serried  ranks  of  Troy,  nor  dar*d  await* 
Despite  their  numbers,  his  impetuous  charge. 

V,  98-1  la    Derby. 

ENCOUNTER  OF  DIOMEDES  AND  GLAUCUS 

Then  Tydeus*  son,  and  Glaucus,  in  the  midst, 
Son  of  Hippolochus,  stood  forth  to  fight ; 
But  when  they  near  were  met,  to  Glaucus  first 
The  valiant  Diomed  his  speech  address'd : 

Who  art  thou,  boldest  man  of  mortal  birth  ? 
For  in  the  glorious  conflict  heretofore 
I  ne'er  have  seen  thee ;  but  in  daring  now 
Thou  far  surpassest  all,  who  hast  not  fear'd 
To  face  my  spear ;  of  most  unhappy  sires 
The  children  they,  who  my  encounter  meet. 
But  if  from  heav*n  thou  com'st,  and  art  indeed 
A  god,  I  fight  not  with  the  heav*nly  powers. 

But  be  thou  mortal,  and  the  fruits  of  earth 

Thy  food,  approach,  and  quickly  meet  thy  doom.** 

To  whom  the  noble  Glaucus  thus  replied : 
"Great  son  of  Tydeus,  why  my  race  enquire  ? 
The  race  of  man  is  as  the  race  of  leaves : 
Of  leaves,  one  generation  by  the  wind 
Is  scattered  on  the  earth ;  another  soon 
In  spring's  luxuriant  verdure  bursts  to  light. 
So  with  our  race ;  these  flourish,  those  decay. 


42  Homer  to  Theocritus 

But  if  thou  would'st  in  truth  enquire  and  learn 
The  race  I  spring  from,  not  unknown  of  men ; 
There  is  a  city,  in  the  deep  recess 
Of  pastoral  Argos,  Ephyre  by  name  : 
There  Sisyphus  of  old  his  dwelling  had, 
Of  mortal  men  the  craftiest ;  Sisyphus, 
The  son  of  iColus ;  to  whom  was  bom 
Glaucus ;  and  Glaucus  in  his  turn  begot 
Bellerophon,  on  whom  the  gods  bestow'd 

The  gifts  of  beauty  and  of  manly  grace. 

•  ••••• 

Three  children  there  to  brave  Bellerophon 
Were  bom  ;  Isander,  and  Hippolochus, 

Laodamia  last,  belov'd  of  Jove. 

•  ••••• 

I  from  Hippolochus  my  birth  derive : 
To  Troy  he  sent  me,  and  enjoin'd  me  oft 
To  aim  at  highest  honours,  and  surpass 
My  comrades  all ;  nor  on  my  father's  name 
Discredit  bring,  who  held  the  foremost  place 
In  Ephyre,  and  Lycia's  wide  domain. 
Such  is  my  race,  and  such  the  blood  I  boast.*' 

He  said  ;  and  Diomed  rejoicing  heard ; 
His  spear  he  planted  in  the  fruitful  ground. 
And  thus  with  friendly  words  the  chief  address'd 

"  By  ancient  ties  of  friendship  we  are  bound ; 
For  godlike  CEneus  in  his  house  receiv*d 

For  twenty  days  the  brave  Bellerophon. 

•  •  .  •  •  . 

So  I  in  Argos  am  thy  friendly  host ; 
Thou  mine  in  Lycia,  when  I  thither  come : 
Then  shun  we,  e*en  amid  the  thickest  fight, 
Each  other's  lance ;  enough  there  are  for  me 
Of  Trojans  and  their  brave  allies  to  kill, 
As  heaven  may  aid  me,  and  my  speed  of  foot ; 
And  Greeks  enough  there  are  for  thee  to  slay. 
If  so  indeed  thou  canst ;  but  let  us  now 
Our  armour  interchange,  that  these  may  know 
What  friendly  bonds  of  old  our  houses  join." 
Thus  as  they  spoke,  they  quitted  each  his  car ; 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  43 

Clasp'd  hand  in  hand,  and  plighted  mutual  faith. 
Then  Glaucus  of  his  judgment  Jove  deprived. 
His  armour  interchanging,  gold  for  brass, 
A  hundred  oxen's  worth  for  that  of  nine. 

VI,  141-278.    Derby. 

PARTING  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE 

Hector  left  in  haste 
The  mansion,  and  retraced  his  way  between 
The  rows  of  stately  dwellings,  traversing 
The  mighty  city.    When  at  length  he  reached 
The  Scaean  gates,  that  issue  on  the  field. 
His  spouse,  the  nobly  dowered  Andromache, 
Came  forth  to  meet  him — daughter  of  the  prince 
Eetion,  who,  among  the  woody  slopes 
Of  Placos,  in  the  Hypoplacian  town 
Of  Theb^,  ruled  Cilicia  and  her  sons. 
And  gave  his  child  to  Hector,  great  in  arms. 
She  came  attended  by  a  maid,  who  bore 
A  tender  child — a  babe  too  young  to  speak — 
Upon  her  bosom — Hector's  only  son. 
Beautiful  as  a  star,  whom  Hector  called 
Scamandrius,  but  all  else  Astyanax — 
The  city's  lord — since  Hector  stood  the  sole 
Defence  of  Troy.    The  father  on  his  child 
Looked  with  a  silent  smile.    Andromache 
Pressed  to  his  side  meanwhile,  and,  all  in  tears. 
Clung  to  his  hand,  and,  thus  beginning,  said : 

"  Too  brave  1  thy  valor  yet  will  cause  thy  death. 
Thou  hast  no  pity  on  thy  tender  child. 
Nor  me,  unhappy  one,  who  soon  must  be 
Thy  widow.    All  the  Greeks  will  rush  on  thee 
To  take  thy  life.    A  happier  lot  were  mine. 
If  I  must  lose  thee,  to  go  down  to  earth, 
For  I  shall  have  no  hope  when  thou  art  gone, — 
Nothing  but  sorrow.    Father  have  I  none. 
And  no  dear  mother.    Great  Achilles  slew 
My  father  when  he  sacked  the  populous  town 
Of  the  Cilicians, — Theb6  with  high  gates. 


44  Homer  to  Theocritus 

*Twa8  there  he  smote  ECtion,  yet  forbore 

To  make  his  arms  a  spoil ;  he  dared  not  that. 

But  burned  the  dead  with  his  bright  armor  on, 

And  raised  a  mound  above  him.    Mountain-nymph% 

Daughters  of  aegis-bearing  Jupiter, 

Came  to  the  spot  and  planted  it  with  elms. 

Seven  brothers  had  I  in  my  father's  house, 

And  all  went  down  to  Hades  in  one  day. 

Achilles,  the  swift-footed,  slew  them  all 

Among  their  slow-paced  bullocks  and  white  sheep. 

My  mother,  princess  on  the  woody  slopes 

Of  Placos,  with  his  spoils  he  bore  away. 

And  only  for  large  ransom  gave  her  back. 

But  her  Diana,  archer-queen,  struck  down 

Within  her  father's  palace.    Hector,  thou 

Art  father  and  dear  mother  now  to  me. 

And  brother  and  my  youthful  spouse  besides. 

In  pity  keep  within  the  fortress  here, 

Nor  make  thy  child  an  orphan  nor  thy  wife 

A  widow.    Post  thine  army  near  the  place 

Of  the  wild  fig-tree,  where  the  city  walls 

Are  low  and  may  be  scaled.    Thrice  in  the  war 

The  boldest  of  the  foe  have  tried  the  spot — 

The  Ajaces  and  the  famed  Idomeneus, 

The  two  chiefs  bom  to  Atreus,  and  the  brave 

Tydides,  whether  counselled  by  some  seer. 

Or  prompted  to  the  attempt  by  their  own  minds.' 

Then  answered  Hector,  great  in  war :  "  All  this 
I  bear  in  mind,  dear  wife ;  but  I  should  stand 
Ashamed  before  the  men  and  long-robed  dames 
Of  Troy,  were  I  to  keep  aloof  and  shun 
The  conflict,  coward-like.    Not  thus  my  heart 
Prompts  me,  for  greatly  have  I  learned  to  dare 
And  strike  among  the  foremost  sons  of  Troy, 
Upholding  my  great  father's  fame  and  mine ; 
Yet  well  in  my  undoubting  mind  I  know 
The  day  shall  come  in  which  our  sacred  Troy» 
And  Priam,  and  the  people  over  whom 
Spear-bearing  Priam  rules,  shall  perish  all. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  45 

But  not  the  sorrows  of  the  Trojan  race. 

Nor  those  of  Hecuba  herself,  nor  those 

Of  royal  Priam,  nor  the  woes  that  wait 

My  brothers  many  and  brave — who  all  at  last, 

Slain  by  the  pitiless  foe,  shall  lie  in  dust — 

Grieve  me  so  much  as  thine,  when  some  mailed  Greek 

Shall  lead  thee  weeping  hence,  and  take  from  thee 

Thy  day  of  freedom.    Thou  in  Argos  then 

Shalt,  at  another's  bidding,  ply  thy  loom. 

And  from  the  fountain  of  Messeis  draw 

Water,  or  from  the  Hypereian  spring. 

Constrained  unwillingly  by  the  cruel  lot. 

And  then  shall  some  one  say  who  sees  thee  weep, 

'  This  was  the  wife  of  Hector,  most  renowned 

Of  the  horse-taming  Trojans,  when  they  fought 

Around  their  city.'    So  shall  some  one  say. 

And  thou  shalt  grieve  the  more,  lamenting  him 

Who  haply  might  have  kept  afar  the  day 

Of  thy  captivity.    O  let  the  earth 

Be  heaped  above  my  head  in  death  before 

I  hear  thy  cries  as  thou  art  borne  away! " 

So  speaking,  mighty  Hector  stretched  his  arms 
To  take  the  boy ;  the  boy  shrank  crying  back 
To  his  fair  nurse's  bosom,  scared  to  see 
His  father  helmeted  in  glittering  brass. 
And  eyeing  with  affright  the  horse-hair  plume 
That  grimly  nodded  from  the  lofty  crest. 
At  this  both  parents  in  their  fondness  laughed  ; 
And  hastily  the  mighty  Hector  took 
The  helmet  from  his  brow  and  laid  it  down 
Gleaming  upon  the  ground,  and,  having  kissed 
His  darling  son  and  tossed  him  up  in  play. 
Prayed  thus  to  Jove  and  all  the  gods  of  heaven : 

"  O  Jupiter  and  all  ye  deities. 
Vouchsafe  that  this  my  son  may  yet  become 
Among  the  Trojans  eminent  like  me. 
And  nobly  rule  in  Ilium.    May  they  say, 
'This  man  is  greater  than  his  father  was  1 ' 
When  they  behold  him  from  the  battlefield 


46  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Bring  back  the  bloody  spoil  of  the  slain  foe, 
That  so  his  mother  may  be  glad  at  heart." 

So  speaking,  to  the  arms  of  his  dear  spouse 
He  gave  the  boy ;  she  on  her  fragrant  breast 
Received  him,  weeping  as  she  smiled.    The  chief 
Beheld,  and,  moved  with  tender  pity,  smoothed 
Her  forehead  gently  with  his  hand  and  said  : 

"  Sorrow  not  thus,  beloved  one,  for  me. 
No  living  man  can  send  me  to  the  shades 
Before  my  time ;  no  man  of  woman  bom, 
Coward  or  brave,  can  shun  his  destiny. 
But  go  thou  home,  and  tend  thy  labors  there, — 
The  web,  the  distaff, — and  command  thy  maids 
To  speed  the  work.    The  cares  of  war  pertain 
To  a^l  men  bom  in  Troy,  and  most  to  me." 

Thus  speaking,  mighty  Hector  took  again 
His  helmet,  shadowed  with  the  horse-hair  plume. 
While  homeward  his  beloved  consort  went, 
Oft  looking  back,  and  shedding  many  tears. 

VI,  505-633.    Bryant* 

COMBAT  OF  AJAX  AND   HECTOR 

He  spake,  and,  brandishing  his  ponderous  lance. 
Hurled  it ;  and  on  the  outer  plate  of  brass. 
Which  covered  the  seven  bullock -hides,  it  struck 
The  shield  of  Ajax.    Through  the  brass  and  through 
Six  folds  of  hides  the  irresistible  spear 
Cut  its  swift  way,  and  at  the  seventh  stopped. 
Then  high-bom  Ajax  cast  his  massive  spear 
In  tum,  and  drove  it  through  the  fair,  round  shield 
Of  Priam's  son.    Through  that  bright  buckler  went 
The  rapid  weapon,  pierced  the  well-wrought  mail. 
And  tore  the  linen  tunic  at  the  flank. 
But  Hector  stooped,  and  thus  avoided  death. 
They  took  their  spears  again,  and,  coming  close, 
Like  lions  in  their  hunger,  or  wild  boars 
Of  fearful  strength,  joined  battle.     Priam's  son 
Sent  his  spear  forward,  striking  in  the  midst 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  47 

The  shield  of  Ajax,  but  it  broke  not  through 
The  brass  ;  the  metal  turned  the  weapon's  point. 
While  Ajax,  springing  onward,  smote  the  shield 
Of  Hector,  drave  his  weapon  through,  and  checked 
His  enemy's  swift  advance,  and  wounded  him 
Upon  the  shoulder,  and  the  black  blood  flowed. 
Yet  not  for  this  did  plum^  Hector  cease 
From  combat,  but  went  back,  and,  lifting  up 
A  huge,  black,  craggy  stone  that  near  him  lay. 
Flung  it  with  force  against  the  middle  boss 
Of  the  broad  sevenfold  shield  that  Ajax  bore. 
The  brass  rang  with  the  blow.    Then  Ajax  raised 
A  heavier  stone,  and  whirled  it,  putting  forth 
His  arm's  immeasurable  strength ;  it  brake 
Through  Hector's  shield  as  if  a  millstone's  weight 
Had  fallen.    His  knees  gave  way ;  he  fell  to  earth 
Headlong ;  yet  still  he  kept  his  shield.    At  once 
Apollo  raised  him  up ;  and  now  with  swords, 
Encountering  hand  to  hand,  they  both  had  flown 
To  wound  each  other,  if  the  heralds  sent 
As  messengers  from  Jupiter  and  men 
Had  not  approached,  —  Idseus  from  the  side 
Of  Troy,  Talthybius  from  the  Grecian  host,  — 
Wise  ancients  both.    Betwixt  the  twain  they  held 
Their  sceptres,  and  the  sage  Idaeus  spake :  — 

'*  Cease  to  contend,  dear  sons,  in  deadly  fray ; 
Ye  both  are  loved  by  cloud-compelling  Jove, 
And  both  are  grtat  in  war,  as  all  men  know. 
The  night  is  come ;  be  then  the  night  obeyed." 

Vn,  316-360.    Bryant. 

The  second  day  of  battle  begins  in  the  eighth  book. 
Zeus  remembers  his  promise  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of 
Achilles.  He  therefore  commands  the  gods  to  help 
neither  side,  to  the  end  that  the  Trojans  may  have  the 
advantage.  Zeus  himself,  however,  constantly  inter- 
feres in  favor  of  the  Trojans.  The  Greeks  are  driven 
back  into  their  camp  by  the  ships,  while  the  Trojans 


48  Homer  to  Theocritus 

bivouac  on  the  plain,  confidently  expecting  victory  on 
the  morrow.  The  Greeks  are  panic-stricken.  During 
the  night  Agamemnon  summons  them  to  an  assembly, 
and  proposes  that  they  take  ship  for  home,  seeing  that 
they  should  never  capture  Troy.  Diomedes  opposes 
the  plan,  and  the  Achaeans  shout  approval.  Agamem- 
non is  persuaded  by  his  chieftains  to  send  an  embassy 
to  Achilles  with  offering  of  rich  gifts  and  the  girl 
Briseis,  whom  he  had  taken  away,  if  only  he  will 
cease  from  his  wrath.  Phcenix,  Ajax,  and  Odysseus 
bear  the  message,  but  Achilles  indignantly  rejects  their 
overtures.  The  account  of  the  embassy  occupies  the 
ninth  book.  On  the  same  night  Odysseus  and  Diomedes 
steal  into  the  Trojan  camp  and  capture  Dolon,  whom 
Hector  has  sent  to  spy  upon  the  Greeks.  Dolon 
betrays  the  position  of  the  Thracian  king,  Rhesus. 
Rhesus  is  slain  in  his  sleep,  and  his  snow-white  horses 
are  brought  back  to  the  camp  by  the  ships.  These 
adventures  fill  the  tenth  book.  A  few  selections  from 
this  portion  of  the  poem  follow  • 

THE  TROJANS   BIVOUAC   UPON  THE   PLAIN 

So  Hector  spake :  the  Trojans  roar*d  applause ; 
Then  loosed  their  sweating  horses  from  the  yoke, 
And  each  beside  his  chariot  bound  his  own ; 
And  oxen  from  the  city,  and  goodly  sheep 
In  haste  they  drove,  and  honey-hearted  wine 
And  bread  from  out  the  houses  brought,  and  heap'd 
Their  firewood,  and  the  winds  from  off  the  plain 
Roird  the  rich  vapour  far  into  the  heaven. 
And  these  all  night  upon  the  bridge  of  war 
Sat  glorying ;  many  a  fire  before  them  blazed : 
As  when  in  heaven  the  stars  about  the  moon 
Look  beautiful,  when  all  the  winds  are  laid. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  49 

And  every  height  comes  out,  and  jutting  peak . 
And  valley,  and  the  immeasurable  heavens 
Break  open  to  their  highest,  and  all  the  stars 
Shme,  and  the  shepherd  gladdens  in  his  heart : 
So  many  a  fire  between  the  ships  and  stream 
Of  Xanthus  blazed  before  the  towers  of  Troy, 
A  thousand  on  the  plain ;  and  close  by  each 
Sat  fifty  in  the  blaze  of  burning  fire ; 
And  eating  hoary  grain  and  pulse  the  steeds, 
Fixt  by  their  cars,  waited  the  golden  dawn. 

VIII,  542-561.    Tennyson. 

AGAMI^MNON'S   proposal  to  ACHILLES* 

**  O  ancient  man,  most  truly  hast  thou  named 
My  faults.     I  erred,  and  I  deny  it  not 
That  man  indeed  is  equal  to  a  host 
Whom  Jupiter  doth  love  and  honor  thus. 
Humbling  the  Achaian  people  for  his  sake. 
And  now,  since,  yielding  to  my  wayward  mood 
I  erred,  let  me  appease  him,  if  I  may. 
With  gifts  of  priceless  worth.    Before  you  all 
I  number  them,  —  seven  tripods  which  the  fire 
Hath  never  touched,  six  talents  of  pure  gold. 
And  twenty  shining  caldrons,  and  twelve  steeds 
Of  hardy  frame,  victorious  in  the  race, 
Whose  feet  have  won  me  prizes  in  the  games. 
No  beggar  would  he  be,  nor  yet  with  store 
Of  gold  unfurnished,  in  whose  coffers  lay 
The  prizes  those  swift  steeds  have  brought  to  me. 
Seven  faultless  women,  skilled  in  household  arts, 
I  give  moreover,— Lesbians,  whom  I  chose 
When  he  o'erran  the  populous  Lesbian  isle, — 
Damsels  in  beauty  who  excel  their  sex. 
These  I  bestow,  and  with  them  I  will  send 
Her  whom  I  took  away,  Briseis,  pure  — 
I  swear  it  with  a  mighty  oath  —  as  pure 
As  when  she  left  his  tent.    All  these  I  give 

'Addressed  to  Nestor  in  &  meeting  of  the  chieftains. 


so  Homer  to  Theocritus 

At  once  ;  and  if  by  favor  of  the  gods 

We  lay  the  mighty  city  of  Priam  waste, 

He  shall  load  down  his  galley  with  large  store 

Of  gold  and  silver,  entering  first  when  we. 

The  Greeks,  divide  the  spoil.  Then  may  he  choose 

Twice  ten  young  Trojan  women,  beautiful 

Beyond  their  sex  save  Helen.    If  we  come 

Safe  to  Achaian  Argos,  richly  stocked 

With  milky  kine,  he  may  become  to  me 

A  son-in-law,  and  cherished  equally 

With  my  sole  son  Orestes,  who  is  reared 

Most  royally.    Three  daughters  there,  within 

My  stately  palace-walls,  —  Chrysothemis, 

Laodice,  and  Iphianassa,* — dwell. 

And  he  may  choose  among  them,  and  may  lead 

Home  to  the  house  of  Peleus  her  who  best 

Deserves  his  love.    Nor  need  he  to  endow 

The  bride,  for  I  will  give  an  ampler  dower 

Than  ever  father  to  his  daughter  gave,  — 

Seven  cities  with  thronged  streets,  —  Cardamyle, 

Enope,  grassy  Hira,  Pherse  famed 

Afar,  Antheia  with  rich  pasture-fields, 

iCpeia  beautiful,  and  Pedasus 

With  all  its  vineyards ;  all  are  near  the  sea, 

And  stand  the  last  before  you  reach  the  coast 

Of  sandy  Pylos.    Rich  in  flocks  and  herds 

Their  dwellers  are,  and  they  will  honor  him 

As  if  he  were  a  god,  and,  ruled  by  him. 

Will  pay  large  tribute.    These  will  I  bestow, 

Let  but  his  anger  cool  and  his  resolve 

Give  way.    T  is  Pluto  who  is  deaf  to  prayer 

And  ne'er  relents,  and  he,  of  all  the  gods 

Most  hateful  is  to  men.    Now  let  the  son 

Of  Peleus  yield  at  length  to  me,  who  stand 

Above  him  in  authority  and  years.*' 

IX,  138-195.    Bryant. 

*In  later  Greek  tradition  L&odice  is  known  as  Electra  and  Iphianassa  as 
Ipbigeneia. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  51 

ACHILLES*    REPLY   TO   AJAX 

Achilles  the  swift-footed  answered  thus: — 
*'  Illustrious  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon, 
Prince  of  the  people !  All  that  thou  hast  said, 
I  well  perceive,  is  prompted  by  thy  heart. 
Mine  swells  with  indignation  when  I  think 
How  King  Atrides  mid  the  assembled  Greeks 
Heaped  insults  on  me,  as  if  I  had  been 
A  wretched  vagabond.    But  go  ye  now 
And  bear  my  message.    I  shall  never  think 
Of  bloody  war  till  noble  Hector,  son 
Of  Priam,  slaughtering  in  his  way  the  Greeks, 
Shall  reach  the  galleys  of  the  Myrmidons, 
To  lay  the  fleet  in  flames.    But  when  he  comes 
To  my  own  tent  and  galley,  he,  I  think. 
Though  eager  for  the  combat,  will  desist.** 

IX,  803-817.    Bryant 

The  third  day  of  battle  occupies  the  next  eight 
books  (XI  to  XVIII).  In  the  eleventh  Agamemnon 
distinguishes  himself,  but  is  wounded  and  obliged  to 
retire,  as  are  also  Diomedes  and  Odysseus.  In  the 
twelfth  the  fighting  goes  against  the  Greeks.  The 
Trojans  press  forward  to  the  wall  around  the  camp. 
Sarpedon  breaks  through  the  wall,  but  is  opposed  by 
Ajax,  son  of  Telamon.  Hector  breaks  down  the  gates 
with  a  huge  stone,  and  the  Trojans  pour  through  the 
breach.  In  the  thirteenth  book  Poseidon  comes  from 
the  sea  to  rally  the  Greeks  while  Zeus  is  inattentive. 
They  defend  their  ships  valiantly,  though  the  Trojans 
press  them  hard.  Idomeneus  slays  many  Trojan  lead- 
ers, while  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  and  Ajax,  son  of 
Oileus,  check  %he  progress  of  Hector.  In  the  four- 
teenth book,  Zeus,  beguiled  by  Hera,  sleeps  on  Mount 
Ida,  thus  enabling  Poseidon  to  continue  his  interfer- 


52  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ence  in  favor  of  the  Greeks.  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon.. 
fells  Hector  with  a  huge  stone,  and  the  latter  is  carried 
out  of  the  fight.  The  tide  of  battle  is  now  against  the 
Trojans;  but  Zeus,  in  the  fifteenth  book,  awakens,  and 
seeing  the  work  of  Poseidon,  angrily  orders  him  off 
the  field.  Apollo,  at  the  behest  of  Zeus,  revives  Hec- 
tor, who  reenters  the  battle-line.  The  Trojans  again 
drive  back  the  Greeks,  this  time  to  the  ships  them- 
selves, and  set  their  ships  on  fire. 

A  critical  moment  has  arrived.  Achilles  is  resolved 
not  to  help  the  Greeks  until  the  Trojans  shall  threaten 
his  own  ships.  But  Patroclus,  seeing  the  rout  of  the 
Greeks,  prevails  upon  Achilles  to  lend  him  his  armor, 
that  the  Trojans  may  think  that  Achilles  has  returned 
to  battle.  Achilles  arms  his  soldiers,  the  Myrmidons, 
and  sends  them  into  the  battle  under  Patroclus*  com- 
mand. The  tide  of  battle  at  once  changes  again.  The 
Trojans  are  driven  back  from  the  ships  and  the  fire 
is  quenched.  Patroclus  pushes  the  Trojans  out  beyond 
the  walls  of  the  camp.  He  slays  Sarpedon,  king  of 
the  Lycians  and  son  of  Zeus,  the  mightiest  of  the 
Trojan  allies.  Hector  and  the  Trojans  fall  back  to 
Troy,  which  Patroclus  vainly  assaults.  Finally,  Hec- 
tor, with  Apollo's  aid,  slays  Patroclus.  The  account  of 
Patroclus'  part  in  the  battle  occupies  the  sixteenth 
book.  The  seventeenth  is  devoted  to  the  fight  over 
Patroclus'  body.  Hector  dons  the  armor  of  Achilles, 
which  he  has  stripped  from  the  body  of  Patroclus, 
but  he  is  unable  to  get  possession  of  the  body.  Men- 
elaus  and  Ajax,  with  the  Myrmidons,  close  in  around 
it,  and  retire  slowly  and  with  difficulty  toward  their 
camp.  In  the  eighteenth  book  Achilles  is  told  of  the 
death  of  Patroclus.     He  appears  unarmed  beyond  the 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  53 

wall  of  the  camp,  and  by  his  appearance  and  terrible 
shouting  so  frightens  the  Trojans  that  Patroclus'  body 
is  brought  safely  within  the  camp.  Achilles  is  resolved 
to  avenge  upon  Hector  the  death  of  his  friend.  Thetis, 
his  mother,  entreats  Hephsestus  to  make  a  new  set  of 
armor  for  Achilles.  The  book  closes  with  a  descrip- 
tion of  Achilles'  shield. 

The  turning-point  in  the  plot  of  the  Iliad  is  the 
death  of  Patroclus.  Up  to  this  time  Agamemnon  and 
the  Greeks  have  learned  by  bitter  defeat  the  full  mean- 
ing of  the  wrath  of  Achilles.  The  prophecy  of 
Achilles,  that  **verily  longing  for  Achilles  shall  come 
hereafter  upon  the  sons  of  the  Achseans,  one  and  all,'* 
has  been  fulfilled  by  the  will  of  Zeus.  But  Achilles 
had  not  yet,  even  when  the  Greeks  were  obliged  to 
fight  to  save  the  ships  from  the  flames,  fed  his  grudge 
to  the  full.  The  death  of  his  dearest  friend  was  neces- 
sary to  cause  him  to  forget  the  insult  put  upon  him 
by  Agamemnon,  that  he  might  avenge  upon  Hector 
a  still  greater  grief.  Dante  expressed  this  interpreta- 
tion in  the  words:  ** Achilles,  who 
brought  tofigbt^by  love."  A  few  passages  from  this 
jntf ul  day  of  battle  follow : 

SARPEDON  TO   HIS   BROTHER  GLAUCUS 

*'  Why  boast  we,  Glaucus,  our  extended  reign, 
Where  Xanthus'  streams  enrich  the  Lycian  plain, 
Our  numerous  herds  that  range  the  fruitful  field. 
And  hills  where  vines  their  purple  harvest  yield. 
Our  foaming  bowls  with  purer  nectar  crown'd, 
Our  hearts  enhanced  with  music*s  sprightly  sound? 
Why  on  these  shores  are  we  with  joy  surveyed, 
Admired  as  heroes,  and  as  gods  obey'd. 
Unless  great  acts  superior  merit  prove, 
And  vindicate  the  bounteous  powers  above? 


<^ 


\ 
\ 


54  Homer  to  Theocritus 

•T  is  ours,  the  dignity  they  give  to  grace ; 
The  first  in  valor,  as  the  first  in  place ; 
That  when  with  wandering  eyes  our  martial  bands 
Behold  our  deeds  transcending  our  commands, 
Such,  they  may  cry,  deserve  the  sovereign  state, 
Whom  those  that  envy  dare  not  imitate  1 
Could  all  our  care  elude  the  gloomy  grave. 
Which  claims  no  less  the  fearful  and  the  brave, 
For  lust  of  fame  I  should  not  vainly  dare 
In  fighting  fields,  nor  urge  thy  soul  to  war. 
But  since,  alas  I  ignoble  age  must  come, 
Disease,  and  death's  inexorable  doom, 
The  life,  which  others  pay,  let  us  bestow, 
And  give  to  fame  what  we  to  honor  owe ; 
Brave  though  we  fall,  and  honored  if  we  live. 
Or  let  us  glory  gain,  or  glory  give ! " 

XII,  310-328.    Pope.* 

THE   VALOR   OF   HECTOR 

Fiercely  he  rag*d,  as  terrible  as  Mars 
With  brandished  spear ;  or  as  a  raging  fire 
'Mid  the  dense  thickets  on  the  mountain-side. 
The  foam  was  on  his  lips ;  bright  fiash'd  his  eyes 
Beneath  his  awful  brows,  and  terribly 
Above  his  temples  wav'd  amid  the  fray 
The  helm  of  Hector ;  Jove  himself  from  Heav'n 
His  guardian  hand  extending,  him  alone 
With  glory  crowning  'mid  the  host  of  men ; 
But  short  his  term  of  glory :  for  the  day 
Was  fast  approaching,  when,  with  Pallas'  aid, 
The  might  of  Peleus*  son  should  work  his  doom. 
Oft  he  assay'd  to  break  the  ranks,  where'er 
The  densest  throng  and  noblest  arms  he  saw ; 
But  strenuous  though  his  efforts,  all  were  vain : 
They,  mass'd  in  close  array,  his  charge  withstood ; 
Firm  as  a  craggy  rock,  upstanding  high, 

'In  this  passage,  in  Matthew  Arnold's  judgment,  Pope  was  at  bis  best. 
These  famous  lines  were  quoted  by  Lord  Granville  on  his  death-bed,  when 
considering  the  preliminary  articles  of  the  Treaty  of  Paris. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  55 

Close  by  the  hoary  sea,  which  meets  unmov*d 
The  boisterous  currents  of  the  whistling  winds, 
And  the  big  waves  that  bellow  round  its  base  ; 
So  stood  unmov*d  the  Greeks,  and  undismayed. 
At  length,  all  blazing  in  his  arms,  he  sprang 
Upon  the  mass  ;  so  plunging  down,  as  when 
On  some  tall  vessel,  from  beneath  the  clouds 
A  giant  billow,  tempest-nurs'd,  descends; 
The  deck  is  drenchM  in  foam  ;  the  stormy  wind 
Howls  in  the  shrouds  ;  th'  affrighted  seamen  quail 
In  fear,  but  little  way  from  death  remov*d ; 
So  quailed  the  spirit  in  evVy  Grecian  breast. 

As  when  a  rav*ning  lion  on  a  herd 
Of  heifers  falls,  which  on  some  marshy  mead 
Feed  numberless,  beneath  the  care  of  one, 
Unskiird  from  beasts  of  prey  to  guard  his  charge  ; 
And  while  beside  the  front  or  rear  he  walks, 
The  lion  on  th*  unguarded  centre  springs, 
Seizes  on  one,  and  scatters  all  the  rest; 
So  Hector,  led  by  Jove,  in  wild  alarm 
Scattered  the  Grecians  all. 

XV,  704-741.     Derby. 

THETIS  FORETELLS  ACHILLES'  DEATH 

There,  as  he  groan'd  aloud,  beside  him  stood 
His  Goddess-mother  ;  she,  with  bitter  cry, 
Clasp'd  in  her  hands  his  head,  and  sorrowing  spoke  : 
**  Why  weeps  my  son  ?  and  what  his  cause  of  grief? 
Speak  out,  and  naught  conceal ;  for  all  thy  pray'r 
Which  with  uplifted  hands  thou  mad'st  to  Jove, 
He  hath  fulfill'd,  that,  flying  to  their  ships, 
The  routed  sons  of  Greece  should  feel  how  much 
They  need  thine  aid,  and  deep  disgrace  endure." 

To  whom  Achilles,  deeply  groaning,  thus : 
**  Mother,  all  this  indeed  hath  Jove  fulfilPd  ; 
Yet  what  avails  it,  since  my  dearest  friend 
Is  slain,  Patroclus  ?  whom  I  honoured  most 
Of  all  my  comrades,  lov'd  him  as  my  soul. 


56  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Him  have  I  lost :  and  Hector  from  his  corpse     [arms 

Hath  stripp'd  those  arms,  those  weighty,  beaateons 

A  marvel  to  behold,  which  from  the  Gods 

Peleus  receiv'd,  a  glorioas  gift,  that  day 

When  they  consign*d  thee  to  a  mortal's  bed. 

How  better  were  it,  if  thy  lot  had  been 

Still  *mid  the  Ocean  deities  to  dwell. 

And  Peleus  had  espous'd  a  mortal  bride ! 

And  now  is  bitter  grief  for  thee  in  store. 

Mourning  thy  son,  whom  to  his  home  retam'd 

Thou  never  more  shalt  see ;  nor  would  I  wish 

To  live,  and  move  among  my  fellow  men. 

Unless  that  Hector,  vanquish*d  by  my  spear, 

May  lose  his  forfeit  life,  and  pay  the  price 

Of  foul  dishonour  to  Patroclus  done.*' 

To  whom,  her  tears  o'erflowing,  Thetis  thus : 
"  E'en  as  thou  sayst,  my  son,  thy  term  is  short ; 
Nor  long  shall  Hector's  fate  precede  thine  own.'* 

Achilles,  answ'ring,  spoke  in  passionate  grief : 
"Would  I  might  this  hour,  who  fail'd  to  save 
My  comrade  slain !  Far  from  his  native  land 
He  died,  sore  needing  my  protecting  arm. 
And  I,  who  ne'er  again  must  see  my  home. 
Nor  to  Patroclus,  nor  the  many  Greeks 
Whom  Hector's  hand  hath  slain,  have  render'd  aid ; 
But  idly  here  I  sit,  cumb'ring  the  ground : 
I,  who  amid  the  Greeks  no  equal  own 
In  fight ;  to  others,  in  debate,  I  yield. 
*••  *•  *•• 

In  search  of  Hector  now,  of  him  who  slew 
My  friend,  I  go ;  prepar'd  to  meet  my  death. 
When  Jove  shall  will  it,  and  th'  Immortals  alL 
From  death  not  e'en  the  might  of  Hercules, 
Though  best  belov'd  of  Saturn's  sons,  could  fly, 
By  fate  and  Juno's  bitter  wrath  subdued. 
I  too,  since  such  my  doom,  must  lie  in  death ; 
Yet|  e'er  I  die,  immortal  fame  will  win.*' 

XVIII,  76.133.    Derby. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  57 


THE   SHIELD   OF  ACHILLES 

And  first  he  forged  the  huge  and  massive  shield, 
Divinely  wrought  in  every  part,  —  its  edge 
Clasped  with  a  triple  border,  white  and  bright. 
A  silver  belt  hung  from  it,  and  its  folds 
Were  five ;  a  crowd  of  figures  on  its  disk 
Were  fashioned  by  the  artist's  passing  skill. 
For  here  he  placed  the  earth  and  heaven,  and  here 
The  great  deep,  and  the  never-resting  sun 
And  the  full  moon,  and  here  he  set  the  stars 
That  shine  in  the  round  heaven, — the  Pleiades, 
The  Hyades,  Orion  in  his  strength, 
And  the  Bear  near  him,  called  by  some  the  Wain, 
That,  wheeling,  keeps  Orion  still  in  sight, 
Yet  bathes  not  in  the  waters  of  the  sea. 

There  placed  he  two  fair  cities  full  of  men ; 
In  one  were  marriages  and  feasts ;  they  led 
The  brides  with  flaming  torches  from  their  bowers, 
Along  the  streets,  with  many  a  nuptial  song. 
There  the  young  dancers  whirled,  and  flutes  and  lyres 
Gave  forth  their  sounds,  and  women  at  the  doors 
Stood  and  admired 

Around  the  other  city  sat  two  hosts 
In  shining  armor,  bent  to  lay  it  waste, 
Unless  the  dwellers  would  divide  their  wealth,  — 
All  that  their  pleasant  homes  contained, — and  yield 
The  assailants  half.    As  yet  the  citizens 
Had  not  complied,  but  secretly  had  planned 
An  ambush.    Their  beloved  wives  meanwhile, 
And  their  young  children,  stood  and  watched  the  walls, 
With  aged  men  among  them,  while  the  youths 
Marched  on,  with  Mars  and  Pallas  at  their  head. 
Both  wrought  in  gold,  with  golden  garments  on. 
Stately  and  large  in  form,  and  over  all 
Conspicuous,  as  in  bright  armor,  as  became 
The  gods ;  the  rest  were  of  an  humbler  size. 
•  •••••• 

There,  too.  the  artist  placed  a  field  which  lay 


58  Homer  to  Theocritus 


Deep  in  ripe  wheat.    With  sickles  in  their  hands 
The  laborers  reaped  it.    Here  the  handfuls  fell 
Upon  the  ground ;  there  binders  tied  them  fast    [went 
With  bands  and  made  them  sheaves.    Three  binders 
Close  to  the  reapers,  and  behind  them  boys, 
Bringing  the  gathered  handfuls  in  their  arms, 
Ministered  to  the  binders.    Staff  in  hand, 
The  master  stood  among  them  by  the  side 
Of  the  ranged  sheaves  and  silently  rejoiced. 
Meanwhile  the  servants  underneath  an  oak 
Prepared  a  feast  apart ;  they  sacrificed 
A  fatling  ox  and  dressed  it,  while  the  maids 
Were  kneading  for  the  reapers  the  white  meal. 

A  vineyard  also  on  the  shield  he  graved, 
Beautiful,  all  of  gold,  and  heavily 
Laden  with  grapes.    Black  were  the  clusters  all ; 
The  vines  were  stayed  on  rows  of  silver  stakes. 
He  drew  a  blue  trench  round  it,  and  a  hedge 
Of  tin.    Only  one  path  was  there  by  which 
The  vintagers  could  go  to  gather  grapes. 
Young  maids  and  striplings  of  a  tender  age 
Bore  the  sweet  fruit  in  baskets.    Midst  them  all, 
A  youth  from  his  shrill  harp  drew  pleasant  sounds. 
And  sang  with  soft  voice  to  the  murmuring  strings. 
They  danced  around  him,  beating  with  quick  feet 
The  ground,  and  sang  and  shouted  joyously. 
•  •  •  .  •  •  • 

And  there  illustrious  Vulcan  also  wrought 
A  dance,  —  a  maze  like  that  which  Daedalus 
In  the  broad  realms  of  Gnossus  once  contrived 
For  fair-haired  Ariadne.    Blooming  youths 
And  lovely  virgins,  tripping  to  light  airs. 
Held  fast  each  other's  wrists.    The  maidens  wore 
Fine  linen  robes ;  the  youths  had  tunics  on 
Lustrous  as  oil,  and  woven  daintily.  [swords 

The  maids  wore  wreaths  of  flowers ;  the  young  men 
Of  gold  in  silver  belts.    They  bounded  now 
In  a  swift  circle, — as  a  potter  whirls 
With  both  his  hands  a  wheel  to  try  its  speedy 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  59 

Sitting  before  it,  —  then  again  they  crossed 

Each  other,  darting  to  their  former  place. 

A  multitude  around  that  joyous  dance 

Gathered,  and  were  amused,  while  from  the  crowd 

Two  tumblers  raised  their  song,  and  flung  themselves 

About  among  the  band  that  trod  the  dance. 

Last  on  the  border  of  that  great  glorious  shield 
He  graved  in  all  its  strength  the  ocean-stream. 

XVIII,  601-750.    Bryant. 

The  fourth  day  of  battle  occupies  the  next  four 
books  (XIX-XXII).  In  the  nineteenth  Achilles  is 
reconciled  to  Agamemnon,  who  restores  Briseis  and 
gives  rich  gifts  besides.  The  Greeks  issue  forth  to 
battle,  which  is  renewed  in  the  twentieth  book. 
Achilles  dominates  the  field,  looking  always  for  Hec- 
tor, ^neas  narrowly  escapes  being  killed  by  him. 
The  gods  interfere  freely  on  both  sides.  Achilles,  in 
the  twenty-first  book,  fights  with  the  river-god  Sca- 
mander,  which  overflows  its  banks  to  help  the  Trojans, 
and  is  baieiy  saved  by  Hera  and  Hephaestus.  Achilles 
chases  the  Trojans  inside  the  citadel.  In  the  twenty- 
second  book.  Hector,  in  spite  of  the  entreaties  of  his 
father  and  mother,  goes  out  to  meet  Achilles,  but  fear 
comes  upon  him,  and  he  flees  thrice  around  the  walls 
of  Troy.  Zeus  tries  the  fate  of  the  warriors  in  the 
balance,  and  Hector  is  doomed.  But  he  makes 
a  brave  stand  at  the  last,  and  is  slain  by  Athene's 
guile.  Achilles  then  drags  the  body  of  Hector  after 
his  chariot.  Patroclus'  death  is  avenged.  The  main 
action  of  the  Iliad  is  at  an  end,  and  the  plot  worked 
out  to  its  completion.  From  these  four  books  a  few 
selections  follow: 


6o  Homer  to  Theocritus 


ACHILLES  DONS  HIS  ARMOR 

As  when  the  flakes  of  snow  fall  thick  from  heaven. 
Driven  by  the  north  wind  sweeping  on  the  clouds 
Before  it,  so  from  out  the  galleys  came 
Helms  crowding  upon  helms  that  glittered  fair, 
Strong  hauberks,  bossy  shields,  and  ashen  spears. 
The  gleam  of  armor  brightened  heaven  and  earth. 
And  mighty  was  the  sound  of  trampling  feet. 
Amidst  them  all  the  great  Achilles  stood. 
Putting  his  armor  on  ;  he  gnashed  his  teeth  ; 
His  eyes  shot  fire  ;  a  grief  too  sharp  to  bear 
Was  in  his  heart,  as,  filled  with  rage  against 
The  men  of  Troy,  he  cased  his  limbs  in  mail, 
The  gift  of  Vulcan,  from  whose  diligent  hand 
It  came.    And  first  about  his  legs  he  clasped 
The  beautiful  greaves,  with  silver  fastenings, 
Fitted  the  corselet  to  his  bosom  next, 
And  from  his  shoulders  hung  the  brazen  sword 
With  silver  studs,  and  then  he  took  the  shield, 
Massive  and  broad,  whose  brightness  streamed  as  far 
As  the  moon's  rays.    And  as  at  sea  the  light 
of  beacon,  blazing  in  some  lonely  spot 
By  night,  upon  a  mountain  summit,  shines 
To  mariners  whom  the  tempest's  force  has  driven 
Far  from  their  friends  across  the  fishy  deep. 
So  from  that  glorious  buckler  of  the  son 
Of  Peleus,  nobly  wrought,  a  radiance  streamed 
Into  the  sky.    And  then  he  rais*d  and  placed 
Upon  his  head  the  impenetrable  helm 
With  horse-hair  plume.    It  glittered  like  a  star. 
And  all  the  shining  tufts  of  golden  thread, 
With  which  the  maker's  hand  had  thickly  set 
Its  cone,  were  shaken.    Next  the  high-born  chief 
Tried  his  new  arms,  to  know  if  they  were  well 
Adjusted  to  his  shape,  and  left  his  limbs 
Free  play.    They  seemed  like  wings,  and  lifted  up 
The  shepherd  of  the  people.    Then  he  drew 
From  its  ancestral  sheath  his  father's  spear. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  61 

Heavy  and  huge  and  tough.    No  man  of  all 
The  Grecian  host  could  wield  that  weapon  save 
Achilles  only.    'Twas  a  Pelian  ash, 
Which  Chiron  for  his  father  had  cut  down 
On  Pelion's  highest  peak,  to  be  the  death 
Of  heroes. 

XIX.  433-475*    Bryant. 

ACHILLES  AND  HIS  STEEDS 

Achilles  mounted,  in  a  blaze 
Of  arms  that  dazzled  like  the  sun,  and  thus 
Called  to  his  father's  steeds  with  terrible  voice : 

"  Xanthus  and  Balius,  whom  Podarg^  bore, — 
A  noble  stock,— I  charge  you  to  bring  back 
Into  the  Grecian  camp,  the  battle  done. 
Him  whom  ye  now  are  bearing  to  the  field. 
Nor  leave  him,  as  ye  left  Patroclus,  dead." 

Swift-footed  Xanthus  from  beneath  the  yoke 
Answered  him  with  bowed  head  and  drooping  mane 
That,  flowing  through  the  yoke-ring,  swept  the  ground; 
For  Juno  gave  him  then  the  power  of  speech  : 

''  For  this  one  day,  at  least,  we  bear  thee  safe, 
O  fiery  chief,  Achilles  I  but  the  hour 
Of  death  draws  nigh  to  thee,  nor  will  the  blame 
Be  ours ;  a  mighty  god  and  cruel  fate 
Ordain  it.    Not  through  our  neglect  or  sloth 
Did  they  of  Troy  strip  off  thy  glorious  arms 
From  slain  Patroclus.    That  invincible  god, 
The  son  of  golden-haired  Latona,  smote 
The  hero  in  the  foremost  ranks,  and  gave 
Glory  to  Hector.    Even  though  our  speed 
Were  that  of  Zephyr,  fleetest  of  the  winds, 
Yet  certain  is  thy  doom  to  be  o'ercome 
In  battle  by  a  god  and  by  a  man." 

Thus  far  he  spake,  and  then  the  Furies  checked 
His  further  speech.    Achilles,  swift  of  foot. 
Replied  in  anger :  "  Xanthus,  why  foretell 
My  death?    It  is  not  needed ;  well  I  know 
My  fate, — that  here  I  perish,  far  away 


67  Homer  to  Theocritus 

From  Peleus  and  my  mother.    I  shall  fight 
Till  I  have  made  the  Trojans  sick  of  war.*' 

He  spake,  and  shouting  to  his  firm-paced  steeds, 
Drave  them,  among  the  foremost,  toward  the  war, 

XIX,  483-516.    Bryant. 

THE  GODS  DESCEND  TO  BATTLE 

But  when  the  powers  descending  swell'd  the  fight, 
Then  tumult  rose  ;  fierce  rage  and  pale  affright 
Varied  each  face  :  then  Discord  sounds  alarms, 
Earth  echoes,  and  the  nations  rush  to  arms. 
Now  through  the  trembling  shores  Minerva  calls, 
And  now  she  thunders  from  the  Grecian  walls. 
Mars  hov'ring  o'er  his  Troy,  his  terror  shrouds 
In  gloomy  tempests  and  a  night  of  clouds  : 
Now  through  each  Trojan  heart  he  fury  pours 
With  voice  divine  from  Ilion's  topmost  towers : 
Now  shouts  to  Simols,  from  her  beauteous  hill ; 
The  mountain  shook,  the  rapid  stream  stood  still. 
Above,  the  sire  of  gods  his  thunder  rolls. 
And  peals  on  peals  redoubled  rend  the  poles; 
Beneath,  stern  Neptune  shakes  the  solid  ground ; 
The  forests  wave,  the  mountains  nod  around  ; 
Through  all  their  summits  tremble  Ida's  woods. 
And  from  their  sources  boil  her  hundred  floods. 
Troy's  turrets  totter  on  the  rocking  plain, 
And  the  toss'd  navies  beat  the  heaving  main. 
Deep  in  the  dismal  regions  of  the  dead. 
The  infernal  monarch  rears  his  horrid  head, 
Leap'd  from  his  throne,  lest  Neptune's  arm  should  lay 
His  dark  dominions  open  to  the  day, 
And  pour  in  light  on  Pluto's  drear  abodes, 
Abhorr'd  by  men  and  dreadful  even  to  gods. 

Such  war  the  immortals  wage  ;  such  horrors  rend 
The  world's  vast  concave,  when  the  gods  contend. 

XX,  47-66.    Pope. 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  63 


THE   RIVER   SCAMANDER  BATTLES  WITH  ACHILLES 

Thus  as  he  spoke  from  off  the  lofty  bank 
Achilles  springing  in  mid-current  plung*d ; 
Then  high  the  swelling  stream,  tumultuous,  rose 
In  all  its  angry  flood ;  and  with  a  roar 
As  of  a  bellowing  bull,  cast  forth  to  land 
The  num'rous  corpses  by  Achilles  slain ; 
And  many  living,  in  his  cavern'd  bed 
Concealed,  behind  the  whirling  waters  sav*d. 
Fierce,  round  Achilles,  rose  the  boiling  wave. 
And  on  his  shield  descending,  drove  him  down ; 
Nor  mierht  he  keep  his  foothold  ;  but  he  grasp'd 
A  lofty  elm,  well-grown,  which  from  the  cliff 
Uprooted,  all  the  bank  had  torn  away, 
And  with  its  tangled  branches  checked  the  flow 
Of  the  fair  river,  which  with  all  its  length 
It  bridg'd  across  ;  then  springing  from  the  deep, 
Swiftly  he  fled  in  terror  o'er  the  plain. 
Nor  ceas'd  the  mighty  river,  but  pursued, 
With  darklyruflling  crest,  intent  to  stay 
Achilles*  course,  and  save  the  Trojan  host 
Far  as  a  jav'lin*s  flight  he  rush*d,  in  speed 
Like  the  dark  hunter  eagle,  strongest  deem'd 
And  swiftest  wing'd  of  all  the  feathered  race. 
So  on  he  sped ;  loud  rattled  on  his  breast 
His  brazen  armour  as  before  the  god. 
Cow*  ring,  he  fled  ;  the  god  behind  him  still 
With  thundVing  sound  pursued.    As  when  a  man 
From  some  dark-water*d  spring  through  trenches  leads, 
'Mid  plants  and  gardens,  th'  irrigating  stream. 
And,  spade  in  hand,  th*  appointed  chann«;l  clears : 
Down  flows  the  stream  anon,  its  pebbly  bed 
Disturbing ;  fast  it  flows  with  bubbling  sound, 
Down  the  steep  slope,  o'ertaking  him  who  leads, — 
Achilles  so  th'  advancing  wave  overtook, 
Though  great  his  speed ;  but  man  must  yield  to  gods* 
Oft  as  Achilles,  swift  of  foot,  essay'd 
To  turn  and  stand,  and  know  if  all  the  gods, 


64  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Who  dwell  in  heav'n,  were  leagued  to  daunt  his  soul ; 

So  oft  the  heav'n-born  river's  mighty  wave 

Above  his  shoulders  dash'd  ;  in  deep  distress 

He  sprang  on  high ;  then  rush'd  the  flood  below, 

And  bore  him  off  his  legs,  and  wore  away 

The  soil  beneath  his  feet ;  then,  groaning,  thus, 

As  up  to  heav'n  he  look'd,  Achilles  cried : 

XXI,  269-312.    Derby. 

THE  DEATH  OF  HECTOR 

Still,  with  quick  steps,  the  fleet  Achilles  pressed 
On  Hector's  flight.    As  when  a  hound  has  roused 
A  fawn  from  its  retreat  among  the  hills, 
And  chases  it  through  glen  and  forest  ground, 
And  to  close  thickets,  where  it  skulks  in  fear 
Until  he  overtake  it,  Hector  thus 
Sought  vainly  to  elude  the  fleet  pursuit 
Of  Peleus'  son.    As  often  as  he  thought, 
By  springing  toward  the  gates  of  Troy,  to  gain 
Aid  from  the  weapons  of  his  friends  who  stood 
On  the  tall  towers,  so  often  was  the  Greek 
Before  him,  forcing  him  to  turn  away. 

When  the  twain  had  come 

For  the  fourth  time  beside  Scamander's  springs, 
The  All-Father  raised  the  golden  balance  high. 
And,  placing  in  the  scales  two  lots  which  bring 
Death's  long  dark  sleep,— one  lot  for  Peleus'  son, 
And  one  for  knightly  Hector, — by  the  midst 
He  poised  the  balance.    Hector's  fate  sank  down 
To  Hades,  and  Apollo  left  the  field. 

The  blue-eyed  goddess  Pallas  then  approached 
The  son  of  Peleus  with  these  winged  words : — 

"  Renowned  Achilles,  dear  to  Jupiter  I 
Now  may  we,  as  I  hope,  at  last  return 
To  the  Achaian  army  and  the  fleet 
With  glory.  Hector  slain,  the  terrible 
In  war.     Escape  he  cannot,  even  though 
The  archer*god  Apollo  fling  himself 
With  passionate  entreaty  at  the  feet 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  65 

Of  Jove  the  iCgis-bearer.  Stay  thou  here 
And  breathe  a  moment,  while  I  go  to  him 
And  lure  him  hither  to  encounter  thee." 

She  spake,  and  he  obeyed,  and  gladly  stood 
Propped  on  the  ashen  stem  of  his  keen  spear ; 
While,  passing  on,  Minerva  overtook 
The  noble  Hector.     In  the  outward  form 
And  with  the  strong  voice  of  Deiphobus, 
She  stood  by  him  and  spake  these  wingdd  words  : — 

'^  Hard  pressed  I  find  thee,  brother,  by  the  swift 
Achilles,  who,  with  feet  that  never  rest. 
Pursues  thee  round  the  walls  of  Priam's  town. 
But  let  us  make  a  stand  and  beat  him  back." 

And  then  the  crested  Hector  spake  in  turn  : 
**  Deiphobus,  thou  ever  hast  been  dear 
To  me  beyond  my  other  brethren,  sons 
Of  Hecuba  and  Priam.     Now  still  more 
I  honor  thee,  since  thou  hast  seen  my  plight. 
And  for  my  sake  hast  ventured  forth  without 
The  gates,  while  all  the  rest  remain  within. " 

And  the  blue-eyed  Pallas  spake  again  : — 
''  Brother,  'tis  true,  my  father,  and  the  queen, 
My  mother,  and  my  comrades,  clasped  my  knees 
In  turn,  and  earnestly  entreated  me 
That  I  would  not  go  forth,  such  fear  had  fallen 
On  them  all ;  but  I  was  grieved  for  thee. 
Now  let  us  combat  valiantly,  nor  spare 
The  weapons  that  we  bear,  and  we  shall  learn 
Whether  Achilles,  having  slain  us  both. 
Will  carry  to  the  fleet  our  bloody  spoil. 
Or  die  himself,  the  victim  of  thy  spear." 

The  treacherous  goddess  spake,  and  led  the  way ; 
And  when  the  advancing  chiefs  stood  face  to  face, 
The  crested  hero,  Hector,  thus  began  : — 

**  No  longer  I  avoid  thee  as  of  late, 
O  son  of  Peleus  !    Thrice  around  the  walls 
Of  Priam's  mighty  city  have  I  fled. 
Nor  dared  to  wait  thy  coming.    Now  my  heart 
Bids  me  encounter  thee  ;  my  time  is  come 


66  Homer  to  Theocritus 

To  slay  or  to  be  slain.     Now  let  us  call 
The  gods  to  witness,  who  attest  and  guard 
The  covenants  of  men.     Should  Jove  bestow 
On  me  the  victory,  and  I  take  thy  life, 
Thou  shalt  meet  no  dishonor  at  my  hands  ; 
But,  stripping  off  the  armor,  I  will  send 
The  Greeks  thy  body.     Do  the  like  by  me." 

The  swift  Achilles  answered  with  a  frown  ; 
"  Accursed  Hector,  never  talk  to  me 
Of  covenants.     Men  and  lions  plight  no  faith, 
Nor  wolves  agree  with  lambs,  but  each  must  plan 
Evil  against  the  other.     So  between 
Thyself  and  me  no  compact  can  exist. 
Or  understood  intent.     First,  one  of  us 
Must  fall  and  yield  his  life-blood  to  the  god 
Of  battles.     Summon  all  thy  valor  now. 
A  skilful  spearman  thou  hast  need  to  be, 
And  a  bold  warrior.     There  is  no  escape. 
For  now  doth  Pallas  doom  thee  to  be  slain 
By  my  good  spear.     Thou  shalt  repay  to  me 
The  evil  thou  hast  done  my  countrymen." 

He  spake,  and,  brandishing  his  massive  spear, 
Hurled  it  at  Hector,  who  beheld  its  aim 
From  where  he  stood.     He  stooped,  and  over  him 
The  brazen  weapon  passed  and  plunged  to  earth. 
Unseen  by  royal  Hector,  Pallas  went 
And  plucked  it  from  the  ground,  and  brought  it  back 
And  gave  it  to  the  hands  of  Peleus'  son, 
While  Hector  said  to  his  illustrious  foe  : — 

''  Godlike  Achilles,  thou  hast  missed  thy  mark ; 
Nor  hast  thou  learned  my  doom  from  Jupiter, 
As  thou  pretendest.     Thou  art  glib  of  tongue. 
And  cunningly  thou  orderest  thy  speech. 
In  hope  that  I  who  hear  thee  may  forget 
My  might  and  valor.     Think  not  that  I  shall  flee, 
That  thou  mayst  pierce  my  back ;  for  thou  shalt  send 
Thy  spear,  if  God  permit  thee,  through  my  breast 
As  I  rush  on  thee.     Now  avoid  in  turn 
My  brazen  weapon .     Would  that  it  might  pass 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  67 

Clean  through  thee,  all  its  length !     The  tasks  of  war 
For  us  of  Troy  were  lighter  for  thy  death. 
Thou  pest  and  deadly  foe  of  all  our  race  1 " 

He  spake,  and  brandishing  his  massive  spear 
Hurled  it,  nor  missed,  but  in  the  centre  smote 
The  buckler  of  Pelides.     Far  away 
It  bounded  from  the  brass,  and  he  was  vexed 
To  see  that  the  swift  weapon  from  his  hand 
Had  flown  in  vain.     He  stood  perplexed  and  sad ; 
No  second  spear  had  he.     He  called  aloud 
On  the  white-bucklered  chief,  Deiphobus, 
To  bring  another ;  but  that  chief  was  far, 
And  Hector  saw  that  it  was  so,  and  said  : — 

''  Ah  me  1  the  gods  have  summoned  me  to  die. 
I  thought  my  warrior  friend,  Deiphobus, 
Was  by  my  side  ;  but  he  is  still  in  Troy, 
And  Pallas  has  deceived  me.     Now  my  death 
Cannot  be  far, — is  near  ;  there  is  no  hope 
Of  my  escape,  for  so  it  pleases  Jove 
And  Jove's  great  archer- son,  who  have  till  now     , 
Delivered  me.    My  hour  at  last  is  come  ; 
Yet  not  ingloriously  or  passively 
I  die,  but  first  will  do  some  valiant  deed, 
Of  which  mankind  shall  hear  in  after  time." 

He  spake,  and  drew  the  keen-edged  sword  that  hung, 
Massive  and  finely  tempered,  at  his  side. 
And  sprang — as  when  an  eagle  high  in  heaven, 
Through  the  thick  cloud,  darts  downward  to  the  plain 
To  clutch  some  tender  lamb  or  timid  hare. 
So  Hector,  brandishing  that  keen^edged  sword, 
Sprang  forward,  while  Achilles  opposite 
Leaped  toward  him,  all  on  fire  with  savage  hate, 
And  holding  his  bright  buckler,  nobly  wrought, 
Before  him.     On  his  shining  helmet  waved 
The  four-fold  crest ;  there  tossed  the  golden  tufts 
With  which  the  hand  of  Vulcan  lavishly 
Had  decked  it.     As  in  the  still  hours  of  night 
Hesper  goes  forth  among  the  host  of  stars, 
The  fairest  light  of  heaven,  so  brightly  shone, 


68  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Brandished  in  the  right  hand  of  Peleus'  son, 
The  spear*s  keen  blade,  as,  confident  to  slay 
The  noble  Hector,  o'er  his  glorious  form 
His  quick  eye  ran,  exploring  where  to  plant 
The  surest  wound.     The  glittering  mail  of  brass 
Won  from  the  slain  Patroclus  guarded  well 
Each  part,  save  only  where  the  collar-bones 
Divide  the  shoulder  and  the  neck,  and  there 
Appeared  the  throat,  the  spot  where  life  is  most 
In  peril.     Through  that  part  the  noble  son 
Of  Peleus  drave  his  spear ;  it  went  quite  through 
The  tender  neck,  and  yet  the  brazen  blade 
Cleft  not  the  windpipe,  and  the  power  to  speak 
Remained.     The  Trojan  fell  amid  the  dust. 
And  thus  Achilles  boasted  o'er  his  fall : — 

"Hector,  when  from  the  slain  Patroclus  thou 
Didst  strip  his  armor,  little  didst  thou  think 
Of  danger.     Thou  hadst  then  no  fear  of  me. 
Foul  dogs  and  birds  of  prey  shall  tear  thy  flesh ; 
The  (Greeks  shall  honor  him  with  funeral  rites." 

And  then  the  crested  Hector  faintly  said  : 
^'  I  pray  thee  by  thy  life,  and  by  thy  knees, 
And  by  thy  parents,  suffer  not  the  dogs 
To  tear  me  at  the  galleys  of  the  Greeks. 
Accept  abundant  store  of  brass  and  gold, 
Which  gladly  will  my  father  and  the  queen. 
My  mother,  give  in  ransom.     Send  to  them 
My  body,  that  the  warriors  and  the  dames 
Of  Troy  may  light  for  me  the  funeral  pile." 

The  swift  Achilles  answered  with  a  frown  : — 
"  Nay,  by  my  knees  entreat  me  not,  thou  cur. 
Nor  by  my  parents.     I  could  even  wish 
My  fury  prompted  me  to  cut  thy  flesh 
In  fragpnents,  and  devour  it,  such  the  wrong 
That  I  have  had  from  thee.    There  will  be  none 
To  drive  away  the  dogs  about  thy  head. 
Not  though  thy  Trojan  friends  should  bring  to  me 
Tenfold  and  twentyfold  the  ofTertd  gifts. 
And  promise  others, — not  though  Prian,  sprung 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  69 

From  Dardanus,  should  send  thy  weight  in  gold. 
Thy  mother  shall  not  lay  thee  on  thy  bier, 
To  sorrow  over  thee  whom  she  brought  forth ; 
But  dogs  and  birds  of  prey  shall  mangle  thee." 

And  then  the  crested  Hector,  dying,  said  : 
**  I  know  thee,  and  too  clearly  I  foresaw 
I  should  not  move  thee,  for  thou  hast  a  heart 
Of  iron.     Yet  reflect  that  for  my  sake 
The  anger  of  the  gods  may  fall  on  thee, 
When  Paris  and  Apollo  strike  thee  down, 
Strong  as  thou  art,  before  the  Scaean  gates." 

Thus  Hector  spake,  and  straightway  o'er  him  closed 
The  night  of  death  ;  the  soul  forsook  his  limbs, 
And  flew  to  Hades,  grieving  for  its  fate, — 
So  soon  divorced  from  youth  and  youthful  might. 

XXII,  232-451.     Bryant. 

As  the  first  book  is  the  prologue  to  the  main  action 
of  the  /Uad^  so  the  twenty-third  and  twenty-fourth 
books  form  the  epilogue.  The  story  of  Achilles'  wrath 
is  fully  told;  there  remain  but  two  matters  about 
which  the  poet  may  fairly  inform  us,  though  they  are 
not  strictly  necessary  to  the  plot — the  burial  of  Patro- 
clus  and  the  disposition  of  Hector's  body.  To  the 
Greek  mind  these  seemed  matters  of  the  highest 
importance,  far  more  so  than  to  us.  In  the  twenty- 
third  book,  Achilles  makes  mourning  for  Patroclus, 
and  has  a  stately  pyre  of  wood  erected,  on  which  he 
lays  the  body  and  burns  it,  together  with  twelve  Tro- 
jan victims  and  with  animal  sacrifices.  The  ashes 
are  placed  in  an  urn,  and  a  mound  of  earth  heaped 
over  it.  Games  are  then  celebrated  in  honor  of  the 
dead.  The  last  book  tells  of  Hector.  Each  day 
Achilles  has  dragged  his  body  behind  his  chariot 
around  the  body  of  Patroclus,  and  thinks  to  dishonor 
it  still  more.     But  his  mother,  Thetis,  at  the  bidding 


70  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  Zeus,  tells  Achilles  to  give  back  Hector's  body  to 
Priam  for  a  ransom.  Priam  enters  the  camp  at  night, 
under  the  escort  of  Hermes,  bearing  a  rich  ransom  to 
Achilles.  Achilles  receives  him  kindly,  and  delivers 
the  body  to  him,  granting  also  a  truce  from  battle  for 
eleven  days.  Puring  this  time  the  funeral  rites  of  Hec  • 
tor  are  performed,  with  an  account  of  which  the  poem 
closes.     Two  passages  from  these  books  are  added: 

PRIAM'S    SUPPLICATION   TO   ACHILLES 

Unmarked  the  royal  Priam  entered  in, 
And,  coming  to  Achilles,  clasped  his  knees, 
And  kissed  those  fearful  slaughter-dealing  hands. 
By  which  so  many  of  his  sons  had  died. 
•  ••••• 

And  thus  King  Priam  supplicating  spake : 

^  Think  of  thy  father,  an  old  man  like  me, 
God-like  Achilles!    On  the  dreary  verge 
Of  closing  life  he  stands,  and  even  now 
Haply  is  fiercely  pressed  by  those  who  dwell 
Around  him,  and  has  none  to  shield  his  age 
From  war  and  its  disasters.    Yet  his  heart 
Rejoices  when  he  hears  thou  yet  ddst  live. 
And  every  day  he  hopes  that  his  dear  son 
Will  come  again  from  Troy.    My  lot  is  hard» 
For  I  was  father  of  the  bravest  sons 
In  all  wide  Troy,  and  none  are  left  me  now. 
Fifty  were  with  me  when  the  men  of  Greece 
•  Arrived  upon  our  coast ;  nineteen  of  these 
Owned  the  same  mother  and  the  rest  were  born 
Within  my  palaces.    Remorseless  Mars 
Already  had  laid  lifeless  most  of  these. 
And  Hector,  whom  I  cherished  mo^,  whose  arm 
Defended  both  our  city  and  ourselves, 
Him  didst  thou  lately  slay  while  combating 
For  his  dear  country.    For  his  sak^  I  come 
To  the  Greek  fleet,  and  to  redeem  his  corse 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  71 

I  bring  uncounted  ransom.    O,  revere 

The  gods,  Achilles,  and  be  merciful, 

Calling  to  mind  thy  father!  happier  he 

Than  I;  for  I  have  borne  what  no  man  else 

That  dwells  on  earth  could  bear, — ^have  laid  my  lips 

Upon  the  hand  of  him  who  slew  my  son.'* 

He  spake:  Achilles  sorrowfully  thought 

Of  his  own  father.    By  the  hand  he  took 

The  suppliant,  and  with  gentle  force  removed 

The  old  man  from  him.    Both  in  memory 

Of  those  they  loved  were  weeping.    The  old  king, 

With  many  tears,  and  rolling  in  the  dust 

Before  Achilles,  mourned  his  gallant  son. 

Achilles  sorrowed  for  his  father's  sake, 

And  then  bewailed  Patroclus,  and  the  sound 

Of  lamentation  filled  the  tent. 

XXIV,  600-648.    Bryant 

THE  LAMENTATION  OVER  HECTOR'S  BODY 

The  throng  gave  way  and  let  the  chariot  pass ; 
And  having  brought  it  to  the  royal  halls. 
On  a  fair  couch  they  laid  the  corse,  and  placed  ' 
Singers  beside  it,  leaders  of  the  dirge. 
Who  sang  a  sorrowful,  lamenting  strain, 
And  all  the  women  answered  it  with  sobs. 
White-armed  Andromache  in  both  her  hands 
Took  warlike  Hector's  head,  and  over  it 
Began  the  lamentation  midst  them  all: 

**Thou  has  died  young,  my  husband,  leaving  me 
In  this  thy  home  a  widow,  and  one  son. 
An  infant  yet.    To  an  unhappy  pair 
He  owes  his  birth,  and  never  will,  I  fear. 
Bloom  into  youth;  for  ere  that  day  will  Troy 
Be  overthrown,  since  thou,  its  chief  defence* 
Art  dead,  the  guardian  of  its  walls  and  all 
:lts  noble  matrons  and  its  speechless  babes. 
Yet  to  be  carridd  captive  far  away. 
And  I  among  them,  in  the  hollow  barks; 
And  thou,  my  son,  wilt  either  go  with  ihe» 


72  Homer  to  Theocritus 


Where  thou  shalt  toil  at  menial  tasks  for  some 

Pitiless  master  ;  or  perhaps  some  Greek 

Will  seize  thy  little  arm,  and  in  his  rage 

Will  hurl  thee  from  a  tower  and  dash  thee  dead, 

Remembering  how  thy  father.  Hector,  slew 

His  brother,  son,  or  father ;  for  the  hand 

Of  Hector  forced  full  many  a  Greek  to  bite 

The  dust  of  earth.     Not  slow  to  smite  was  he 

In  the  fierce  conflict ;  therefore  all  who  dwell 

Within  the  city  sorrow  for  his  fall. 

Thou  bringest  an  unutterable  grief, 

O  Hector,  on  thy  parents,  and  on  me 

The  sharpest  sorrows.    Thou  didst  not  stretch  forth 

Thy  hands  to  me,  in  dying,  from  thy  couch. 

Nor  speak  a  word  to  comfort  me,  which  I 

Might  ever  think  of,  night  and  day,  with  tears." 

So  spake  the  weeping  wife  :  the  women  all 

Mingled  their  wail  with  hers,  and  Hecuba 

Took  up  the  passionate  lamentation  next : — 

•*  O  Hector,  thou  who  wert  most  fondly  loved 
Of  all  my  sons  I  While  yet  thou  wert  alive, 
Dear  wert  thou  to  the  gods,  who  even  now, 
When  death  has  overtaken  thee,  bestow 
Such  care  upon  thee.    All  my  other  sons 
Whom  swift  Achilles  took  in  war  he  sold 
At  Samos,  Imbrus  by  the  barren  sea, 
And  Lemnos  harborless.    But  as  for  thee, 
When  he  had  taken  with  his  cruel  spear 
Thy  life,  he  dragged  thee  round  and  round  the  tomb 
Of  his  young  friend,  Patroclus,  whom  thy  hand 
Had  slain,  yet  raised  he  not  by  this  the  dead  ; 
And  now  thou  liest  in  the  palace  here, 
Fresh  and  besprinkled  as  with  early  dew. 
Like  one  just  slain  with  silent  arrows  aimed 
By  Phoebus,  bearer  of  the  silver  bow." 

Weeping  she  spake,  and  woke  in  all  who  heard 
Grief  without  measure.     Helen,  last  of  all 
Took  up  the  lamentation,  and  began  : — 

**  O  Hector,  who  wert  dearest  to  my  heart 


The  Main  Action  of  the  Iliad  73 

Of  all  my  husband's  brothers, — for  the  wife 

Am  I  of  godlike  Paris,  him  whose  fleet 

Brought  me  to  Troy, — would  I  had  sooner  died  I 

And  now  the  twentieth  year  is  past  since  first 

I  came  a  stranger  from  my  native  shore, 

Yet  have  I  never  heard  from  thee  a  word 

Of  anger  or  reproach.     And  when  the  sons 

Of  Priam,  and  his  daughters,  and  the  wives 

Of  Priam's  sons,  in  all  their  fair  array, 

Taunted  me  grievously,  or  Hecuba 

Herself, — for  Priam  ever  was  to  me 

A  gracious  father,— thou  didst  take  my  part 

With  kindly  admonitions,  and  restrain 

Their  tongues  with  soft  address  and  gentle  words. 

Therefore  my  heart  is  grieved,  and  I  bewail 

Thee  and  myself  at  once, — unhappy  me  ! 

For  now  I  have  no  friend  in  all  wide  Troy, — 

None  to  be  kind  to  me  :  they  hate  me  all." 

Weeping  she  spake  :  the  mighty  throng  again 
Answered  with  wailing.     Priam  then  addressed 
The  people  :  "  Now  bring  wood,  ye  men  of  Troy, 
Into  the  city.     Let  there  be  no  fear 
Of  ambush  from  the  Greeks,  for  when  of  late 
I  left  Achilles  at  the  dark -hulled  barks. 
He  gave  his  promise  to  molest  no  more 
The  men  of  Troy  till  the  twelfth  mom  shall  rise.** 

He  spake,  and  speedily  they  yoked  the  mules 
And  oxen  to  the  wains,  and  came  in  throngs 
Before  the  city  walls.     Nine  days  they  toiled 
To  bring  the  trunks  of  trees,  and  when  the  tenth 
Arose  to  light  the  abodes  of  men,  they  brought 
The  corse  of  valiant  Hector  from  the  town 
With  many  tears,  and  laid  it  on  the  wood 
High  up,  and  flung  the  fire  to  light  the  pile. 

Now  when  the  early  rosy-fingered  Dawn 
Looked  forth,  the  people  gathered  round  the  pile 
Of  glorious  Hector.     When  they  all  had  come 
Together,  first  they  quenched  the  funeral  fires. 
Wherever  they  had  spread,  with  dark-red  wine, 


74  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  then  his  brothers  and  companions  searched 

For  the  white  bones.     In  sorrow  and  in  tears 

That  streaming  stained  their  cheeks,  they  gathered  them. 

And  placed  them  in  a  golden  urn.     O'er  this 

They  drew  a  covering  of  soft  purple  robes, 

And  laid  it  in  a  hollow  grave,  and  piled 

Fragments  of  rock  above  it,  many  and  huge. 

In  haste  they  reared  the  tomb,  with  sentries  set 

On  every  side,  lest  all  too  soon  the  Greeks 

Should  come  in  armor  to  renew  the  war. 

When  now  the  tomb  was  built,  the  multitude 

Returned,  and  in  the  halls  where  Priam  dwelt, 

Nursling  of  Jove,  were  feasted  royally. 

Such  was  the  mighty  Hector's  burial  rite. 

XXIV,  91 1  to  the  end.    Bryant. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   ODYSSEY.      HOMER  AND  TROY 

The  Trojan  War  after  the  Iliad— TYit  Epic  Cycle  — The 
Story  of  the  Odyssey  —  Its  Structure  —  Analysis  of  the 
Poem — The  Adventures  of  Telemachus — Odysseus  reaches 
the  Land  of  the  Phaeacians  and  relates  his  Adventures 
to  Alcinous  —  His  Arrival  at  Ithaca  —  The  Slaying  of  the 
Suitors — The  Recognition  of  Odysseus  by  Penelope  —  The 
Homeric  Age  —  Homeric  Geography — Homeric  Society — 
Homeric  Theology  —  Troy — The  Mycenaean  Age  —  The 
Homeric  Question. 

Although  the  Iliad  gives  the  complete  story  of  the 
Wrath  of  Achilles^  it  not  only  presupposes  an  acquaint- 
ance on  the  part  of  the  hearer  with  the  events  of  the 
first  nine  years  of  the  war,  but  also  looks  forward  to 
the  completion  of  the  story  of  the  expedition  against 
Troy.  The  fall  of  Troy  is  predicted,  and  the  death  of 
Achilles;  while  the  fate  of  other  actors  in  the  narrative 
is  darkly  foreshadowed.  Now  the  Greeks  possessed 
a  series  of  epic  poems  by  various  hands  and  of  differ- 
ent dates,  arranged  so  as  to  form  a  continuous  history 
of  the  mythical  world.  This  series  was  called  by  them 
the  Epic  Cycle.  It  began  with  the  marriage  of 
Heaven  and  Earth,  and  ended  with  t^^  dayjnjr  pf 
Odysseus  by  his  son  Telegonus.  The  last  eight  poems 
of  the  Epic  Cycle  contained  a  continuous,  although 
not  always  a  consistent,  account  of  the  Trojan  War, 
thus  forming  a  smaller  Trojan  Cycle  within  the  larger 
series.  The  place  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  of  Homer 
in  the  Trojan  Cycle  may  be  briefly  indicated. 

75 


76  Homer  to  Theocritus 

As  we  have  already  seen,  the  Qj^rt^  of  doubtful 
authorship,  brought  the  story  of  the  Trojan  expedition 
down  through  the  first  nine  years  of  the  war.     Then 
came  the  Iliad.    After  the  Iliad  the  jEMofijs^   by 
Arctinus  of  Miletus  (about  776  B.   C),  took  up  the 
story.    The  queen  of  the  Amazons,  Peathesileia,  comes 
to  the  aid  of  Troy,  but  is  slain  by  Achilles.     Achilles 
is  slain  by  an  arrow,  shot  by  Paris  but  directed  by 
Apollo,  which  wounds  him  in  the  heel,  where  alone  he 
is  vulnerable.     Ajax  and  Odysseus  contend  for  Achil- 
les' armor,  which  is  awarded   to  the  latter.      Ajax 
akes  his  own  life.     Then  came  the  Little  Iliad^  of 
oubtful  authorship  (of  about  700  B.  C).     Philoctetes 
s  brought  from  the  isle  of   Lemnos  for  the  sake  of 
he  bow  and  arrows  of  Heracles  which  he  possesses, 
ithout    which    Troy    cannot    be    taken.     Odysseus 
evises  the  stratagem  of  the  wooden  horse  filled  with 
=irmed  warriors.    In  the  Ilioupersis  {Destruction  of  Troy)^ 
V}  Arctinus  of  Miletus,  the  wooden  horse  is  taken 
nto  the  city  by  the  Trojans  themselves.      Troy  is 
captured  and  burned.     Laocoon  and  one  of  his  sons 
ire  strangled  by  the  huge  serpents.     iEneas  makes  his 
escape,  but  Priam  is  killed  by  Neoptolemus,  the  son 
)f  Achilles.     The  Greeks  start  for  home.     The  Nostoi 
[Return  of  the  Heroes)^  by  Agias  of  Troezen  (about  750 
p.  C),  dealt  chiefly  with  the  return  of  Menelaus  and 
l^gamemnon  and  the  slaying  of  the  latter  by  his  wife, 
IClytemnestra.     The  Odyssey  comes  next  in  the  series, 
jand  after  the  Odyssey  the  Telegoneia^  a  poem  of  much 

flater  date  than  the  others.  """^        ""^ 

i  ^ 

The  theme  of  the  Odyssey  is  the  Return  of  Odysseus, 
The  difficulties  that  beset  him  after  he  leaves  Troy 
furnish  the  elements  of  the  plot.     He  is  constantly 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         77 


thwarted  on  his  homeward  journey  by  Poseidon,  and 
even  after  he  reaches  Ithaca  he  finds  the  insolent  suit- 
ors of  his  wife,  Penelope,  in  possession  of  his  house. 
How  Odysseus,  the  man  of  many  resources,  surmounts 
all  these  difficulties,  regaining  at  last  both  his  native 
land  and  his  wiftv— this  is  the  story  of  the  poem. 

But  the  poet  does  not  recount  the  adventures  of 
his  hero  in  chronological  order,  beginning  with  the 
departure  from  Troy.  Like  Vergil  and  Milton  he 
plunges  in  medias  res^  finding  a  later  occasion  for  the 
recital  of  preceding  events  by  the  hero  himself. 
Selecting  a  critical  moment  jt^  ^ii^  »An»i^  yf ''/'  after  the 
fall  of  Troy,  he  first  briefly  depicts  the  present  predic- 
ament of  Odysseus  and  the  situation  of  affairs  at  his 
home  in  Ithaca,  and  then  begins  the  narrative.  At 
first  we  follow  the  adventures  of  Telemachus,  the  son 
of  Odysseus,  as  he  searches  for  news  of  his  father. 
Later  on  we  are  transferred  to  Calypso's  isle,  where 
Odysseus  is  detained  by  the  fair  enchantress.  His 
release  is  obtained  by  the  efforts  of  Athene.  He 
reaches  the  land  of  the  Phaeacians,  where  he  is  enter- 
tained by  King  Alcinous.  There  he  tells  of  his  former 
adventures,  a  nart-QfiVA  nfKi^t^  ^ir^npif^T  about  one^ 
fourth  of  thewb»te-pDeqj^   Finally  he  reaches  Ithaca, 

slays  the  suitors  and  is  restored  to  his  wife  | 
and  possessions.     By  this  scheme  of  composition  the 
poet    greatly    enhances  the  plot   and    prevents    his 
story  from  becoming  a  mere  chronicle  of  adventures. 
The  action  of  the  poem  covers  just  forty-two  days 


\ 


The  following  outline  by  books  will  show  its  struc- 
ture: 

I-IV.    The  quest  of  Telemachus  for  his  father. 
V.    Odysseus  leaves  Calypso's  isle  and  reaches  thei 


V 


yg  Homer  to  Theocritus 

land  of  the  Phaeacians.  This  t)ook  covers  twenty- 
four  days.  YT  XTT  itHyi'inii  among  the  Phaeacians. 
He  recites  his  adventures  during  the  two  years  between 
the  fall  of  Troy  and  his  captivity  on  Calypso's  isle, 
where  he  was  detained  seven  years.  XIII-XV.  The 
return  of  Odysseus  to  Ithaca.  The  return  of  Tel- 
emachus.  XVI-XXIV.  Odysseus  slays  the  suitors, 
and  is  recognized  by  Penelope  and  his  father, 
Laertes. 

As  in  the  Iliad^  the  theme  is  given  in  the  invoca- 
tion to  the  Muse,  which  is  followed  by  a  statement  of 
the  situation. 

Tell  me,  O  Muse,  of  that  sagacious  man 
Who,  having  overthrown  the  sacred  town 
Of  Ilium,  wandered  far  and  visited 
The  capitals  of  many  nations,  learned 
The  customs  of  their  dwellers,  and  endured 
Great  suffering  on  the  deep ;  his  life  was  oft 
In  peril,  as  he  labored  to  bring  back 
His  comrades  to  their  homes.    He  saved  them  not* 
Though  earnestly  he  strove ;  they  perished  all. 
Through  their  own  folly ;  for  they  banqueted. 
Madmen!  upon  the  oxen  of  the  Sun.  — 
The  all-o'erlooking  Sun,  who  cut  them  off 
From  their  return.    O  goddess,  virgin-child 
Of  Jove,  relate  some  part  of  this  to  me. 
Now  all  the  rest,  as  many  as  escaped 
The  cruel  doom  of  death,  were  at  their  homes 
Safe  from  the  perils  of  the  war  and  sea. 
While  him  alone,  who  pined  to  see  his  home 
And  wife  again.  Calypso,  queenly  nymph. 
Great  among  goddesses,  detained  within 
Her  spacious  grot,  in  hope  that  he  might  yet 
Become  her  husband.    Even  when  the  years 
Brought  round  the  time  in  which  the  gods  decreed 
That  he  should  reach  again  his  dwelling-place 
In  Ithaca,  though  he  was  with  his  friends. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy        79 

His  toils  were  not  yet  ended.    Of  the  gods 

All  pitied  him  save  Neptune,  who  pursued 

With  wrath  implacable  the  godlike  chief, 

Ulysses,  even  to  his  native  land. 

1, 1-29.    Bryant. 

The  gods  assemble  on  Olympus  while  Poseidon  is 

absent  among  the    iEthiopians.      Athene  intercedes 

with  Zeus  for  Odysseus : 

"  But  I  am  grieved 
For  .sage  Ulysses,  that  most  wretched  man. 
So  long  detained,  repining,  and  afar 
From  those  he  loves,  upon  a  distant  isle 
Girt  by  the  waters  of  the  central  deep,  -^ 
A  forest  isle,  where  dwells  a  deity, 
The  daughter  of  wise  Atlas,  him  who  knows 
The  ocean  to  its  utmost  depths,  and  holds 
Upright  the  lofty  columns  which  divide 
The  earth  from  heaven.    The  daughter  there  detains 
The  unhappy  chieftain,  and  with  flattering  words 
Would  win  him  to  forget  his  Ithaca. 
Meanwhile,  impatient  to  behold  the  smokes 
That  rise  from  hearths  in  his  own  land,  he  pines 
And  willingly  would  die.    Is  not  thy  heart, 
Olympius,  touched  by  this?  And  did  he  not 
Pay  grateful  sacrifice  to  thee  beside 
The  Argive  fleet  in  the  broad  realm  of  Troy? 
Why  then,  O  Jove,  art  thou  so  wroth  with  him?  " 

1, 62-80.    Bryant. 

It  is  decreed  by  Zeus  that  Odysseus  is  to  return 
home  in  spite  of  Poseidon.  Athene  goes  to  Ithaca, 
appearing  disguised  to  Telemachus,  who  tells  her  of 
his  troubles : 

Again  Telemachus,  the  prudent,  spake: 
"  Since  thou  dost  ask  me,  stranger,  know  that  once 
Rich  and  illustrious  might  this  house  be  called 
While  yet  the  chief  was  here.    But  now  the  gods 
Have  grown  unkind  and  willed  it  otherwise; 


8o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

They  make  his  fate  a  mystery  beyond 
The  fate  of  other  men.    I  should  not  grieve 
So  deeply  for  his  loss  if  he  had  fallen 
With  his  companions  on  the  field  of  Troy, 
Or  midst  his  kindred  when  the  war  was  o'er. 
Then  all  the  Greeks  had  buih  his  monument. 
And  he  had  left  his  son  a  heritage 
Of  glory.    Now  has  he  become  the  prey 
Of  Harpies,  perishing  ingloriously. 
Unseen,  his  fate  unheard  of,  and  has  left 
Mourning  and  grief,  my  portion.    Not  for  him 
Alone  I  grieve ;  the  gods  have  cast  on  me 
Yet  other  hardships.    All  the  chiefs  who  rule 
The  isles,  Dulichium,  Samfi,  and  the  groves 
That  shade  Zacynthus,  and  who  bear  the  sway 
In  rugged  Ithaca,  have  come  to  woo 
My  mother,  and  from  day  to  day  consume 
My  substance.    She  rejects  not  utterly 
Their  hateful  suit,  and  yet  she  cannot  bear 
To  end  it  by  a  marriage.    Thus  they  waste 
My  heritage,  and  soon  will  seek  my  life." 

1,286-311.    Bryant. 

Athene  encourages  Telemachus  to  go  forth  to  seek 
tidings  of  his  father.  Telemachus  orders  the  suitors 
from  the  house,  but  is  answered  with  insults.  He 
then  (Book  II)  calls  an  assembly  of  the  elders  of  his 
own  people,  but  appeals  to  them  in  vain  to  help  him. 
One  of  the  suitors  thus  complains  to  him  of  Penelope : 

**  What  word  is  this  thou  speakest  to  our  shame, 
Who  dost  with  foul  disgrace  our  honour  brand? 
Know,  then,  that  not  the  Achaians  are  to  blame. 
But  thine  own  mother,  who  doth  understand 
Sleights  more  than  all  the  women  in  the  land. 
For  now  behold  a  three  years'  space  is  gone, 
Even  as  I  speak  the  fourth  is  nigh  at  hand, 
Since  with  vain  hopes  she  hath  our  hearts  undone, 

For  bent  on  endless  wiles  she  promises  each  one. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         8 1 

Now  of  all  others  hearken  this  device 
Which  in  her  mind  the  queen  did  frame.    She  reared 
There  in  her  halls  a  mighty  loom  of  price. 
Anon  before  the  suitors  she  appeared. 
And  said :  '  Young  men,  my  suitors,  what  I  feared 
Is  come ;  divine  Odysseus  is  no  more : 
Woo  ye,  but  leave  my  widowhood  revered 
A  little  while  until  my  task  is  o'er. 
Lest  my  long-purposed  work  fall  void  for  evermore. 

I  for  Laertes  weave  a  funeral  sheet 
Against  the  final  debt  that  he  must  pay ; 
And  I  were  shamed  the  Achaian  dames  to  meet, 
Should  the  long  slumber  find  but  shroudless  clay 
Of  one  who  owned  much  lordship  in  his  day.' 
So  did  she  speak  amid  the  suitor-throng, 
And  so  persuaded  our  large  heart  gave  way. 
Daily  she  weaved ;  then  working  grievous  wrong, 
By  night  the  woof  unwound,  with  torches  ranged  along. 

So  for  three  years  she  prospered  in  her  wile. 
But  when  the  fourth  came  with  the  seasons'  flight, 
One  of  her  women,  making  known  the  guile. 
Showed  us  the  queen  unwinding  in  the  night. 
So  force,  not  will,  constrained  her  to  the  right. 
Know  then  the  suitors'  answer  in  thy  mind, 
And  know  Achaia  here  in  the  open  light — 
Send  to  her  sire  thy  mother,  to  be  assign'd 
To  whoso  in  his  eyes  and  hers  shall  favour  find." 

11,85-114.    Worsley. 

Telemachus  sets  sail  for  Pylos  and  Sparta,  accom- 
panied by  Athene  in  the  guise  of  Mentor.  At  Pylos 
(Book  III)  the  aged  Nestor  tells  of  the  fate  of  the 
Greek  chieftains  who  left  Troy,  but  has  no  tidings  of 
Odysseus.  At  Sparta  (Book  IV)  Menelaus  and  Helen 
entertain  him.  Helen  4;ecognizes  him  by  his  likeness 
to  his  father.  **None,  I  say^hTvc  1  evef^yet  seen  so 
like  another,  man  nor  woman — ^wonder  comes  over  me 


82  Homer  to  Theocritxis 

as  I  look  on  him^-^as  this  man  is  like  the  son  of  great- 
hearted Odysseus,  Telemachus,  whom  he  left;  a  new- 
born babe  in  his  house,  when  for  the  sake  of  me, 
shameless  woman  that  I  was,  ye  Achseans  came  up  under 
Troy  with  bold  war  in  your  hearts."  At  length  Tel- 
emachus questions  Menelaus  for  tidings  of  his  father. 
Then  Menelaus  relates  how  once,  on  the  journey  from 
Troy,  when  becalmed  on  an  island  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Nile,  he  had  laid  hold  of  Proteus,  the  Old  Man 
of  the  Sea,  and  had  compelled  him  to  declare  the  fate 
of  his  companions  and  to  direct  him  homeward. 
Proteus  told  of  the  death  of  Ajax,  son  of  Oileus,  and 
of  Agamemnon;  **a  third,"  he  added,  ** still  living, 
lingers  yet  on  the  wide  sea.**  Menelaus  would  fain 
know  his  name.     Proteus  answered : 

"  'It  is  Laertes'  son,  whose  dwelling  stands 
In  Ithaca.    I  saw  him  in  an  isle, 
And  in  the  cavern-palace  of  the  nymph 
Calypso,  weeping  bitterly,  for  she 
Constrains  his  stay.    He  cannot  leave  the  isle 
For  his  own  country;  ship  arrayed  with  oars 
And  seamen  has  he  none  to  bear  him  o'er 
The  breast  of  the  great  ocean.    But  for  thee, 
'Tis  not  decreed  that  thou  shalt  meet  thy  fate 
And  die,  most  noble  Menelaus,  where 
The  steeds  of  Argos  in  her  pastures  graze. 
The  gods  will  send  thee  to  the  Elysian  plain,   , 
And  to  the  end  of  earth,  the  dwelling-place 
Of  fair-haired  Rhadamanthus.     There  do  men 
Lead  easiest  lives.     No  snow,  no  bitter  cold, 
No  beating  rains,  are  there  ;  the  ocean-deeps 
With  murmuring  breezes  froni  the  West  refresh 
The  dwellers.     Thither  shalt  thou  go  ;  for. thou 
Art  Helen's  spouse,  and  son-in-law  of  Jove.* ". 

iV,  709-727.     Bryant. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         Rj 

Meanwhile  at  Ithaca  the  suitors  lay  a  plot  to  slay 
Telemachus  on  his  return.  Penelope  is  overwhelmed 
with  grief  at  the  news  of  her  son's  departure,  but  she 
is  consoled  by  a  dream  sent  by  Pallas  Athene. 

At  the  opening  of  the  fifth  book  we  are  transferred 
to  Calypso's  isle,  leaving  Telemachus  at  Sparta.  Zeus, 
at  the  instance  of  Athene,  commands  Hermes  to  bear  a 
message  to  Calypso : 

So  spake  he,  nor  did  Hermes  aught  withhold. 
He  nimbly  underneath  his  feet  made  fast 
Fair-shining  sandals  of  ambrosial  gold, 
Wherewith  the  wide  sea,  with  the  blowing  blasts 
And  land  unmeasured  he  of  old  had  passed  ; 
Then  took  the  wand  which  can  men's  eyes  subdue, 
Whomso  he  listeth  in  long  sleep  to  cast, 
And  sleeping  wake  to  breathe  and  feel  anew — 
This  holding  in  his  hand  the  Slayer  of  Argus  flew. 

He  on  Pieria  pitched,  and  in  the  sea 
Shot  from  the  ether.    Him  the  waves  upbore 
Like  to  some  bird  that  on  the  watch  for  prey 
Searches  the  barren  sea-gulfs  o'er  and  o'er, 
And  dips  her  feathers  in  the  ocean  hoar. 
So  Hermes  through  the  yielding  waters  drave 
Till  the  nymph's  island  rose  his  eyes  before. 
Gladly  he  came  forth  from  the  dark-blue  wave, 
And  through  the  land  walked  on,  and  came  to  a  great  cave. 

There  dwelt  the  fair-haired  nymph,  ^md  her  he  found 
Within.    Bright  flames,  that  on  the  hearth  did  play, 
Fragrance  of  burning  ce4ar  breathed  around. 
And  fume  of  incense  wafted  every  way. 
There  her  melodious  voice  the  livelong  day, 
Timing  the  golden  shuttle^  rose  and  fell. 
And  round  the  cave  a  leafy  wood  there- lay. 
Where  green  trees  waved  o'er  many  a  shady  dellr- 
Alder  and  poplar  black  and  cypress  sweet  of  smell. 


84  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Thither  the  long-winged  birds  retired  to  sleep, 
Falcon  and  owl  and  sea-crow  loud  of  tongue, 
Who  plies  her  business  in  the  watery  deep  ; 
And  round  the  hollow  cave  her  tendrils  flung 
A  healthy  vine,  with  purpling  clusters  hung: 
And  fountains  four,  In  even  order  set, 
Near  one  another,  from  the  stone  out-sprung. 
Streaming  four  ways  their  crystal-showery  jet 
Through  meads  of  parsley  soft  and  breathing  violet 

So  that  a  god,  if  any  came  that  way. 
For  wonder,  admiration,  and  delight 
Would  stand  agaze,  as  Hermes  gazed  that  day; 
Who,  having  satisfied  his  soul  with  sight. 
Moved  where  the  broad  cave  did  his  steps  invite. 
Nor  did  Calypso,  nymph  divine,  I  trow. 
His  features  or  his  form  not  read  aright. 
For  never  do  the  gods — not  even  though 
Asunder  far  they  dwell — each  other  fail  to  know. 

But  he,  large-hearted  one,  Odysseus  brave. 
Within  was  fotmd  not.    He  sat  weeping  sore 
Hard  by  the  breakings  of  the  barren  wave. 
Where  he  did  oft  afHict  his  soul  before. 
And  through  the  floods  unfruitful  evermore 
Yearned  a  set  gaze  with  many  a  tear  and  groan. 
Heart-broken  captive  on  a  hated  shore. 

V,  43-83.    Worsley. 

Calypso,   bidden  by  Hermes,  releases  Odysseus, 
though  not  without  an  effort  to  induce  him  to  stay. 

"Child  of  Laertes,  wouldst  thou  fain  depart 
Hence  to  thine  own  dear  fatherland?    Farewell! 
Yet,  couldst  thou  read  the  sorrow  and  the  smart, 
With  me  in  immortality  to  dwell 
Thou  wouldst  rejoice  and  love  my  mansion  well. 
Deeply  and  long  thou  yearnest  for  thy  wife; 
Yet  her  in  beauty  I  perchance  excel. 
Beseems  not  one  who  hath  but  mortal  life 
With  forms  of  deathless  mould  to  challenge  a  vain  strife.'* 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         85 

To  whom  the  wise  Odysseus  answering  spake: 
"  O  nymph  Calypso,  much  revered,  cease  now 
From  anger,  nor  be  wroth  for  my  wife's  sake. 
All  this  I  know  and  do  myself  avow. 
Well  may  Penelope  in  form  and  brow 
And  stature  seem  inferior  far  to  thee, 
For  she  is  mortal,  and  immortal  thou. 
Yet  even  thus  'tis  very  dear  to  me 
My  long-desired  return  and  ancient  home  to  see.'* 

V,  203-220.    Worsley. 

Odysseus  builds  a  huge  raft  and  sets  sail.     O] 

eigl  

Poseidon  spies  Hiffl  knd  sends  a  great  storm.  His 
raft  is  wrecked,  but  a  sea-nymph  gives  him  her  veil  to 
keep  him  from  sinking.  For  two  days  he  is  driven  by 
the  waves,  narrowly  escaping  death  on  the  rocks,  but 
Athene  finally  directs  him  to  the  mouth  of  a  river. 
He  swims  ashore,  takes  shelter  in  a  thicket,  and  falls 
asleep  in  a  bed  of  dry  leaves. 

We  come  now  (Book  VI)  to  one  of  the  most  cele- 
brated scenes  in  the  poem.  Athene  appears  in  a  dream 
to  NausicaU,  daughter  of  Alcinous,  king  of  the  Phaea- 
cians,  taking  on  the  likeness  of  a  playmate  of  the 
princess,  and  thus  addresses  her: 

"  NausicaS,  has  thy  mother  then  brought  forth 
A  careless  housewife?    Thy  magnificent  robes 
Lie  still  neglected,  though  thy  marriage  day 
Is  near,  when  thou  art  to  array  thyself 
In  seemly  garments,  and  bestow  the  like 
On  those  who  lead  thee  to  the  bridal  rite; 
For  thus  the  praise  of  men  is  won,  and  thus 
Thy  father  and  thy  gracious  mother  both 
Will  be  rejoiced.    Now  with  the  early  dawn 
Let  us  all  hasten  to  the  washing-place. 
I  too  would  go  with  thee,  and  help  thee  there, 
That  thou  mayst  sooner  end  the  task,  for  thou 


86  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Not  long  wilt  be  un wedded.    Thou  art  wooed 

Already  by  the  noblest  of  the  race." 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

Soon  the  bright  morning  came.     Nausicaa  rose. 
Clad  royally,  as  marvelling  at  her  dream 
She  hastened  through  the  palace  to  declare 
Her  purpose  to  the  father  and  the  queen. 
She  found  them  both  within.     Her  mother  sat 
Beside  the  hearth  with  her  attendant  maids, 
And  turned  the  distaff  loaded  with  a  fleece 
Dyed  in  sea-purple.     On  the  threshold  stood 
Her  father,  going  forth  to  meet  the  chiefs 
Of  the  Phaeacians  in  a  council  where 
Their  noblest  asked  his  presence.    Then  the  maid 
Approaching  her  beloved  father,  spake: 

"  I  pray,  dear  father,  give  command  to  make 
A  chariot  ready  for  me,  with  high  sides 
And  sturdy  wheels,  to  bear  to  the  river-brink. 
There  to  be  cleansed,  the  costly  robes  that  now 
Lie  soiled.    Thee  likewise  it  doth  well  beseem 
At  councils  to  appear  in  vestments  fresh 
And  stainless.    Thou  hast  also  in  these  halls 
Five  sons,  two  wedded,  three  in  boyhood's  bloom. 
And  ever  in  the  dance  they  need  attire 
New  from  the  wash.    All  this  must  I  provide." 

She  ended,  for  she  shrank  from  saying  aught 
Of  her  own  hopeful  marriage.    He  perceived 
Her  thought  and  said:  "  Mules  I  deny  thee  not, 
My  daughter,  nor  aught  else.    Go  then;  my  grooms 
Shall  make  a  carriage  ready  with  high  sides 
And  sturdy  wheels,  and  a  broad  rack  above.'* 

VI,  32-^.    Bryant. 

So  NausicaM  and  her  maidens  drove  down  to  the 
river  and  washed  the  linen  garments.  Laying  these 
upon  the  beach  to  dry,  they  fell  to  playing  at  ball.  But 
the  princess,  throwing  the  ball  at  one  of  the  company, 
missed  the  girl  and  cast  the  ball  into  the  river,  whereat 
they  all  raised  a  piercing  cry.    Odysseus  was  awakened 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy        87 

from  his  sleep,  and  crept  forth  from  the  thicket, 
hiding  his  nakedness  with  a  leafy  bough.  The  other 
maidens  fled,  but  Nausicaa  alone  stood  firm.  Odysseus 
thus  addresses  her: 

"  O  queen,  I  am  thy  suppliant,  whether  thou 
Be  mortal  or  a  goddess.    If  perchance 
Thou  art  of  that  immortal  race  who  dwell 
In  the  broad  heaven,  thou  art,  I  deem,  most  like 
To  Dian,  daughter  of  imperial  Jove, 
In  shape,  in  stature,  and  in  noble  air. 
If  mortal  and  a  dweller  of  the  earth. 
Thrice  happy  are  thy  father  and  his  queen. 
Thrice  happy  are  thy  brothers ;  and  their  hearts 
Must  overflow  with  gladness  for  thy  sake, 
Beholding  such  a  scion  of  the  house 
Enter  the  choral  dance.    But  happiest  he 
Beyond  them  all,  who,  bringing  princely  gifts. 
Shall  bear  thee  to  his  home  a  bride ;  for  sure 
I  never  looked  on  one  of  mortal  race. 
Woman  or  man,  like  thee,  and  as  I  gaze 
I  wonder. 
•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

0  queen,  have  pity  on  me,  since  to  thee 

1  come  the  first  of  all.    I  do  not  know 
A  single  dweller  of  the  land  beside. 
Show  me,  I  pray,  thy  city ;  and  bestow 
Some  poor  old  robe  to  wrap  me,  —  if,  indeed. 
In  coming  hither,  thou  hast  brought  with  thee 
Aught  poor  or  coarse.    And  may  the  gods  vouchsafe 
To  thee  whatever  blessing  thou  canst  wish. 
Husband  and  home  and  wedded  harmony. 

There  is  no  better,  no  more  blessed  state. 
Than  when  the  wife  and  husband  in  accord 
Order  their  household  lovingly.    Then  those 
Repine  who  hate  them,  those  who  wish  them  well 
Rejoice,  and  they  themselves  the  most  of  all." 

VI,  187-233,    Bryant. 


88  Homer  to  Theocritus 

NausicaU  gives  him  clothing,  and  promises  to  take 
him  to  the  city.  Odysseus,  after  bathing  and  clothing 
himself,  glows  with  beauty  and  grace,  whereat  the 
princess  whispers  to  her  maidens:  '* Would  that  such 
an  one  might  be  called  my  husband,  dwelling  here, 
and  that  it  might  please  him  here  to  abide."  But  she 
prudently  directs  him  to  follow  her  only  to  the  gates 
of  the  city,  lest  some  one  of  the  baser  sort  among  the 
people  make  it  a  reproach  to  her  to  be  seen  with 
a  strange  man.  She  directs  him,  however,  to  the 
palace  of  her  father. 

In  the  seventh  book  Odysseus  reaches  the  palace  of 
Alcinous,  which  the  poet  thus  describes  : 

For,  like  the  sun*8  fire  or  the  moon*s,  a  light 
Far  streaming  through  the  high-roofed  house  did  pass 
From  the  long  basement  to  the  topmost  height. 
There  on  each  side  ran  walls  of  flaming  brass, 
Zoned  on  the  summit  with  a  blue  bright  mass 
Of  cornice ;  and  the  doors  were  framed  of  gold ; 
Where,  underneath,  the  brazen  floor  doth  glass 
Silver  pilasters,  which  with  grace  uphold 
Lintel  of  silver  framed;  the  ring  was  burnished  gold. 

And  dogs  on  each  side  of  the  door  there  stand. 
Silver  and  gold,  the  which  in  ancient  day 
Hephaestus  wrought  with  cunning  brain  and  hand, 
And  set  for  sentinels  to  hold  the  way. 
Death  cannot  tame  them,  nor  the  years  decay. 
And  from  the  shining  threshold  thrones  were  set. 
Skirting  the  walls  in  lustrous  long  array, 
On  to  the  far  room,  where  the  women  met. 
With  many  a  rich  robe  strewn  and  woven  coverlet 

There  the  Phaeacian  chieftains  eat  and  drink, 
While  golden  youths  on  pedestals  upbear 
Each  in  his  outstretched  hand  a  lighted  link, 
Which  nightly  on  the  roval  feast  doth  flare. 


i 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy        89 

Outside  the  courtyard  stretched  a  planted  space 
Of  orchard,  and  a  fence  environed  all  the  place. 

There  in  full  prime  the  orchard-trees  grow  tall. 
Sweet  fig,  pomegranate,  apple  fruited  fair, 
Pear  and  the  healthful  olive.    Each  and  all 
Both  summer  droughts  and  chills  of  winter  spare; 
All  the  year  round  they  flourish.    Some  the  air 
Of  Zephyr  warms  to  life,  some  doth  mature. 
Apple  grows  old  on  apple,  pear  on  pear. 
Fig  follows  fig,  vintage  doth  vintage  lure; 
Thus  the  rich  revolution  doth  for  aye  endure. 

With  well-sunned  floor  for  drying,  there  is  seen 
The  vineyard.  Here  the  grapes  they  cull,  there  tread. 
Here  falls  the  blossom  from  the  clusters  green; 
There  the  first  blushings  by  the  suns  are  shed. 
Last,  flowers  forever  fadeless — bed  by  bed; 
Two  streams;  one  waters  the  whole  garden  fair; 
One  through  the  courtyard,  near  the  house,  is  led; 
Whereto  with  pitchers  all  the  folk  repair. 
All  these  the  god-sent  gifts  to  king  Alcinous  were. 

VII,  84-132.    Worsley. 

Entering  the  palace,  Odysseuis  is  kindly  received 
by  the  king  and  his  queen,  Arete.  The  latter  recog- 
nizes his  garments,  and  hears  the  story  of  his  ship- 
wreck and  succor  at  the  hands  of  her  daughter. 
Alcinous  (Book  VIII)  orders  a  well-manned  ship  to 
be  made  ready  to  convey  Odysseus  to  his  home.  Mean- 
while the  minstrel  Demodocus  sings  of  the  quarrel  of 
Odysseus  and  Achilles,  whereat  Odysseus  weeps.  The 
Phaeacians  engage  in  athletic  contests.  Odysseus, 
challenged  to  show  his  skill,  at  first  declines  on  the 
ground  of  his  great  sorrow,  but  at  length,  when 
taunted  by  a  young  man,  he  rises  angrily,  and  throws 
a  huge  stone  far  beyond  the  marks  reached  by  the 
others.     Demodocus   again  sings,   this  time  of  the 


90  Homer  to  Theocritus 

loves  of  Ares  and  Aphrodite.  Alcinous  and  his  chief- 
tains bring  many  costly  presents  to  Odysseus.  At  the 
banquet  with  which  the  day  closes  Demodocus  sings 
of  the  wooden  horse.  Odysseus  weeps  again.  Alci- 
nous, noticing  this,  asks  Odysseus  his  name  and  his 
country. 

Odysseus  then  reveals  (Book  IX)  who  he  is,  and 
begins  the  story  of  his  adventures  since  leaving  Troy. 
Driven  by  a  storm  as  they  were  rounding  Cape  Malea, 
on  the  tenth  day  they  reached  the  land  of  the  Lotus- 
eaters. 

*'  Whoever  tasted  once  of  that  sweet  food 
Wished  not  to  see  his  native  country  more, 
Nor  give  his  friends  the  knowledge  of  his  fate.*' 

Next  they  came  to  the  land  of  the  Cyclopes,  *'a  fro- 
ward  and  a  lawless  folk,  who  plant  not  aught  with  their 
hands,  neither  plow.  They  have  neither  gatherings 
for  council  nor  oracles  of  law,  but  they  dwell  in  hol- 
low caves  on  the  crests  of  high  hills,  and  each  one 
utters  the  law  to  his  children  and  his  wives,  and  they 
reck  not  one  of  another. ' '  Leaving  the  other  ships 
at  a  distance,  he  landed  with  the  crew  of  one  ship  near 
a  lofty  cave,  about  which  was  built  a  great  pen  for 
the  sheep  and  goats.  There  lived  a  man  of  monstrous 
size,  Polyphemus,  one  of  the  one-eyed  Cyclopes. 
Entering  the  cave,  the  company  ate  of  the  cheese 
stored  within  and  awaited  the  return  of  the  giant, 
though  all  but  Odysseus  were  sore  afraid.  Finally 
Polyphemus  entered,  driving  his  flocks  into  the  cave 
before  him,  then  closing  the  doorway  with  a  huge  stone. 
Spying  the  strangers,  he  questioned  them.  Odysseus 
pretended  that  his  ship  had  been  wrecked  and  asked 
for  hospitality. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         91 

"  The  savage  answered  not,  but  sprang, 
And,  laying  hands  on  my  companions,  seized 
Two,  whom  he  dashed  like  whelps  upon  the  ground. 
Their  brains  flowed  out,  and  weltered  where  they  fell. 
He  hewed  them  limb  from  limb  lor  his  repast. 
And,  like  a  lion  of  the  mountain  wilds. 
Devoured  them  as  they  were,  and  left  no  part — 
Entrails  nor  flesh,  nor  marrowy  bones.*' 

IX,  327-337.    Bryant. 

Odysseus  was  tempted  to  slay  Polyphemus  as  he 
slept,  but  bethought  him  of  the  huge  door-stone  **that 
two  and  twenty  wagons  could  not  lift."  In  the  morn- 
ing the  Cyclops  ate  two  other  men,  drove  out  his 
flocks,  and  blocked  the  door  behind  him.  Then  Odys- 
seus and  his  companions  sharpened  the  end  of  a  great 
club  which  the  Cyclops  had  left  in  the  cave.  Polyphe- 
mus returned  and  seized  yet  two  other  men  for  his 
supper.  He  drank  deeply  of  a  strong  wine  which 
Odysseus  offered  him,  and  asked  the  hero's  name. 
Here  is  Odysseus'  famous  reply  and  his  account  of 
their  escape : 

"'Thy  promised  boon,  O  Cyclop!  now  I  claim. 
And  plead  my  title;  Noman  is  my  name. 
By  that  distinguish*d  from  my  tender  years, 
'Tis  what  my  parents  call  me,  and  my  peers.' 
The  giant  then:  '  Our  promised  grace  receive. 
The  hospitable  boon  we  mean  to  give: 
When  all  thy  wretched  crew  have  felt  my  power, 
Noman  shall  be  the  last  I  will  devour.' 
He  said:  then  nodding  with  the  fumes  of  wine 
Droop'd  his  huge  head,  and  snoring  lay  supine. 
His  neck  obliquely  o*er  his  shoulders  hung, 
Press'd  with  the  weight  of  sleep  that  tames  the  strong: 
There  belch*d  the  mingled  streams  of  wine  and  blood. 
And  human  flesh,  his  indigested  food. 
Sudden  I  stir  the  embers,  and  inspire 


9^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

With  animating  breath  the  seeds  of  fire; 

Each  drooping  spirit  with  bold  words  repair. 

And  urge  my  train  the  dreadful  deed  to  dare. 

The  stake  now  glow*d  beneath  the  burning  bed 

(Green  as  it  was)  and  sparkled  fiery  red. 

Then  forth  the  vengeful  instrument  I  bring; 

With  beating  hearts  my  fellows  form  a  ring. 

Urged  by  some  present  god,  they  swift  let  fall 

The  pointed  torment  on  his  visual  ball. 

Myself  above  them  from  a  rising  ground 

Guide  the  sharp  stake,  and  twirl  it  round  and  round. 

As  when  a  shipwright  stands  his  workmen  o'er. 

Who  ply  the  wimble,  some  huge  beam  to  bore; 

Urged  on  all  hands,  it  nimbly  spins  about. 

The  grain  deep-piercing  till  it  scoops  it  out: 

In  his  broad  eye  so  whirls  the  fiery  wood; 

From  the  pierced  pupil  spouts  the  boiling  blood; 

Singed  are  his  brows;  the  scorching  lids  grow  black; 

The  jelly  bubbles,  and  the  fibres  crack. 

And  as  when  armorers  temper  in  the  ford 

The  keen-edged  pole-az,  or  the  shining  sword. 

The  red-hot  metal  hisses  in  the  lake. 

Thus  in  his  eye*ball  hiss*d  the  plunging  stake. 

He  sends  a  dreadful  groan,  the  rocks  around 

Through  all  their  inmost  winding  caves  resound. 

Scared  we  receded.    Forth  with  frantic  hand 

He  tore  and  dash*d  on  earth  the  goiy  brand: 

Then  calls  the  Cyclops,^  all  that  round  him  dwell, 

With  voice  like  thunder,  and  a  direful  yell. 

From  all  their  dens  the  one-eyed  race  repair. 

From  rifted  rocks,  and  mountains  bleak  in  air. 

All  haste  assembled  at  his  well-known  roar. 

Inquire  the  cause,  and  crowd  the  cavern  door. 

'What  hurts  thee,  Polypheme?    What  strange  affright 

Thus  breaks  our  slumbers,  and  disturbs  the  night? 

Does  any  mortal,  in  the  unguarded  hour 

Of  sleep,  oppress  thee,  or  by  fraud  or  power? 

*Pope  uses  the  forms  of  this  word  incorrectly.  The  singular  is  Cyclops^ 
not  Cyclops  and  the  plural  Cyclopes,  The  mistake  which  Pope  makes,  though 
common,  should  be  avoided. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         g^ 

Or  thieves  insidious  thy  fair  flocks  surprise  ? ' 
Thus  they  :  the  Cyclop  from  his  den  replies : 
'  Friends,  Noman  kills  me ;  Noman,  in  the  hour 
Of  sleep,  oppresses  me  with  fraudful  power.' 
'  If  no  man  hurt  thee,  but  the  hand  divine 
Inflict  disease,  it  fits  thee  to  resign : 
To  Jove  or  thy  father  Neptune  pray,' 
The  brethren  cried,  and  instant  strode  away." 

IX,  364-414.     Pope. 

Odysseus  contrived  an  ingenious  plan  of  escape. 
Lashing  together  the  rams  three  by  three,  he  placed 
a  man  under  the  middle  one  of  each  three.  Then  he 
curled  himself  under  the  shaggy  belly  of  the  largest 
ram  in  the  flock.  Polyphemus  felt  the  backs  of  the 
other  rams  as  they  passed  him,  but  laid  hold  of  the 
great  ram  and  gently  chid  him  for  lagging  behind 
the  rest.  At  last,  to  the  great  relief  of  Odysseus,  he 
let  him  also  pass  out.  Odysseus  released  his  compan- 
ions and  they  regained  the  ship.  Then,  with  foolhardy 
daring,  Odysseus  shouted  back  exultingly  to  the 
Cyclops,  disclosing  his  real  name.  Polyphemus  first 
hurled  two  huge  crags  at  the  ship  and  almost  wrecked 
it,  then  uttered  the  curse  which  caused  Odysseus  so 
many  sorrows  before  he  reached  his  home: 

"'Hear  now,  great  monarch  of  the  raven  hair: 
Holder  of  earth,  Poseidon,  hear  my  cry. 
If  thou  my  father  art  indeed,  and  I 
Thy  child!    Or  ever  he  the  way  fulfil, 
Make  thou  Laertes-bom  Odysseus  die. 
Waster  of  walls!  or  should  the  high  Fates  will 
That  friends  and  home  he  see,  then  alone  and  late  and  ill 

Let  him  return  on  board  a  foreign  ship. 
And  in  his  house  find  evil!*  " 

IX,  528-535.    Worsley. 


94  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Odysseus  and  his  companions  next  came  (Book  X) 
to  the  island  of  ^olus,  god  of  the  winds.  The  god 
gave  Odysseus  a  bag  in  which  were  bound  all  the 
noisy  winds,  and  made  it  fast  in  the  hold  of  the  ship. 
Then  he  sent  forth  the  blast  of  the  west  wind,  which 
in  nine  days  brought  them  within  sight  of  Ithaca. 
But  while  Odysseus  slept  for  weariness,  his  crew,  think- 
ing the  bag  contained  gold  and  silver,  opened  it,  and 
the  winds  burst  violently  forth,  driving  them  back  to 
the  island  of  iEolus,  who  angrily  sent  them  away. 
After  six  days'  sailing  they  reached  the  land  of  the 
cannibal  giants,  the  Laestrygonians.  Odysseus  sent 
out  a  reconnoitering  party,  one  of  whom  was  caught 
and  eaten.  The  giants  rushed  to  the  cliffs  and  threw 
great  rocks  on  the  ships,** and  anon  there  arose  from 
the  fleet  an  evil  din  of  men  dying  and  ships  scattered 
withal.  And  like  folk  spearing  fishes,  they  bore  home 
their  hideous  meal. ' '  Eleven  of  the  ships  were  wrecked 
And  their  crews  slain;  Odysseus  escaped  with  the 
twelfth  alone  and  its  crew,  ''stricken  at  heart,  yet 
glad  as  men  saved  from  death.** 

They  came  next  to  the  island  Aea,  "where  dwelt 
•^fco  of  tha  braided  tresses,  an  awful  goddess  of  mor- 
tal speech."  Odysseus  sent  one-half  of  his  crew  to 
search  out  the  place,  but  they,  partaking  of  a  potion 
mixed  for  them  by  the  enchantress,  "took  on  the  shape 
and  voice  and  bristles  of  swine,  but  their  mind  abode 
even  as  of  old.**  One  only,  who  had  tarried  outside 
through  misgivings,  came  back  to  tell  the  tale. 
Odysseus  girt  on  his  sword  and  went  forth  to  rescue 
his  companions.  Hermes  met  him,  told  him  of  the 
charm  of  Circe,  and  gave  him  an  antidote  against  it. 
Circe   prevailed   upon  Odysseus  to  remain  with  her, 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         95 

transforming  his  companions  back  into  men  and  swear- 
ing to  do  him  no  harm.  At  the  end  of  a  year,  at  his 
earnest  entreaty,  she  let  him  resume  his  journey,  tell- 
ing him,  however,  that  he  must  first  go  down  to  Hades 
to  seek  the  spirit  of  the  soothsayer  Teiresias. 

After  one  day's  sailing  they  came  (Book  XI)  *'to 
the  limits  of  the  world,  to  the  deep-flowing  Oceanus. 
There  is  the  land  and  the  city  of  the  Cimmerians, 
shrouded  in  mist  and  cloud,  and  never  does  the  shin- 
ing sun  look  down  upon  them  with  his  rays,  neither 
when  he  climbs  the  starry  heavens,  nor  when  again 
he  turns  earthward  from  the  firmament,  but  deadly 
night  is  outspread  over  miserable  mortals."  Reach- 
ing the  place  that  Circe  had  declared  unto  to  him, 
he  dug  a  trench  and  filled  it  with  the  blood  of  victims. 

Forthwith  from  Erebus  a  phantom  crowd 
Loomed  forth,  the  shadowy  people  of  the  dead — 
Old  men,  with  load  of  earthly  anguish  bowed, 
Brides  in  their  bloom  cut  off,  and  youths  unwed, 
Virgins  whose  tender  eyelids  then  first  shed 
True  sorrow,  men  with  gory  arms  renowned. 
Pierced  by  the  sharp  sword  on  the  death-plain  red. 
All  these  flock  darkling  with  a  hideous  sound. 
Lured  by  the  scent  of  blood,  the  open  trench  around. 

XI,  36-43.    Worsley. 

Teiresias  told  Odysseus  that  he  would  reach  home 
in  safety  after  many  troubles,  but  warned  him  not  to 
slay  the  cattle  of  the  Sun  on  the  isle  Thrinacia.  He 
closed  with  this  prophecy:  "And  from  the  sea  shall 
thine  own  death  come,  the  gentlest  death  that  may 
be,  which  shall  end  thee  foredone  with  smooth  old  age, 
and  the  folk  shall  dwell  happily  around  thee."  Then 
Odysseus'  mother  came  up  to  him.  Thrice  he  sought 
to  embrace  her;  thrice  she  flitted  from  his  arms  as  a 


96  Homer  to  Theocritus 

shadow  or  even  as  a  dream.  **For  even  on  this  wise 
is  it  with  mortals  when  they  die.  The  sinews  no  more 
bind  together  the  flesh  and  the  bones,  and  the  spirit 
like  a  dream  flies  forth  and  hovers  near."  Odysseus 
next  saw  all  the  famous  women  who  had  borne  chil- 
dren to  the  gods. 

Odysseus  would  now  fain  cease  his  tale  before  the 
Phaeacians,  for  the  time  of  sleep  had  come.  But 
Alcinous  asks  to  hear  about  the  Argives  who  went 
against  Troy:  ''Beauty  crowns  thy  words  and  wisdom 
is  within  thee.  Behold,  the  night  is  of  great  length, 
unspeakable,  and  the  time  for  sleep  is  not  yet;  tell 
me,  therefore,  of  those  wondrous  deeds.  I  could 
abide  even  till  the  bright  dawn,  so  long  as  thou  couldst 
endure  to  rehearse  all  these  woes  of  thine  in  the  hall." 
So  Odysseus  goes  on  to  tell  of  his  meeting  with  the 
shades  of  Atreus,  Achilles,  Ajax,  and  Heracles,  and 
describes  the  tortures  of  Tantalus  and  Sisyphus.  His 
conversation  with  the  ghost  of  Achilles  is  famous: 

"'Ulysses!  what  hath  moved  thee  to  attempt 
This  greatest  of  thy  labors?    How  is  it 
That  thou  hast  found  the  courage  to  descend 
To  Hades,  where  the  dead,  the  bodiless  forms 
Of  those  whose  work  is  done  on  earth,  abide?' 

** He  spake;  I  answered:  'Greatest  of  the  Greeksl 
Achilles,  son  of  Peleus!    'Twas  to  hear 
The  counsel  of  Teiresias  that  I  came« 
U  haply  he  might  tell  me  by  what  means 
To  reach  my  rugged  Ithaca  again. 
For  yet  I  have  not  trod  my  native  coast. 
Nor  even  have  drawn  nigh  to  Greece.    I  meet 
Misfortunes  everywhere.    But  as  for  thee, 
Achilles,  no  man  lived  before  thy  time, 
Nor  will  hereafter  live,  more  fortunate 
Than  thou,— for  while  alive  we  honored  thee 


# 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         97 

As  if  thou  wert  a  god,  and  now  again 

In  these  abodes  thou  rulest  o'er  the  dead; 

Therefore,  Achilles,  shouldst  thou  not  be  sad.' 

"  I  spake;  Achilles  quickly  answered  me:^ 

'  Noble  Ulysses,  speak  not  thus  of  death, 

As  if  thou  couldst  console  me.    I  would  be 

A  laborer  on  earth,  and  serve  for  hire 

Some  man  of  mean  estate,  who  makes  scant  cheer. 

Rather  than  reign  o'er  all  who  have  g^ne  down 

To  death.' " 

XI,  581-606.    Bryant. 


Leaving  the  place  of  the  shades,  Odysseus  then 
(Book  XII)  sailed  past  the  isln  9f  the  Sirt>ns  who 
bewitch  all  men  by  their  singing.  ** Whoso  draws 
nigh  them  unwittingly  and  hears  the  sound  of  their 
voice,  never  does  he  see  wife  or  babes  on  his  return, 
nor  have  they  joy  at  his  coming."  But  Odysseus, 
warned  by  Circe,  heard'  the  singing,  but  sailed  past 
unharmed ;  f or  he^ound  himself  fast  to  the  mast  and 
filled  the  tais'oi  the  crew  with  wax.  Next  they  sailed 
between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  two  monsters  of  the 
sea,  one  on  either  side  of  a  narrow  strait  of  seething 
waters ;  but  Scylla  seized  six  of  the  crew  and  devoured 
them,  shrieking  and  stretching  forth  their  hands  to 
their  leader  in  the  dread  death-struggle.  *'And  the 
most  pitiful  thing  was  this  that  mine  eyes  have  seen 
in  all  my  travail  in  searching  out  the  paths  of  the  sea. " 
Landing  then  on  the  isle  Thrinacia,  his  companions 
slew  and  ate  of  the  sacred  kine^  of  Helios,  the  sun- 
god,  in  spite  of  the  warnings  of  Teiresias  and  Circe 
and  the  commands  of  their  leader.  Thereupon  the 
gods  sent  a  great  storm  upon  the  ship  and  wrecked 
her  with  all  the  crew,  save  only  Odysseus,  who  lashed 

^These  were  three  hundred  and  sixty  io  number,  typifjring  the  days  in 
the  year. 


98  Homer  to  Theocritus 

himself  upon  a  mast  and  was  brought  safely,  after 
nine  days,  to  Calypso's  isle,  where  he  remained  seven 
years.  These  were  the  adventures  which  Odysseus 
related  at  the  court  of  King  Alcinous. 

Odysseus  departs  (Book  XIII)  from  the  island  of 
the  Phseacians  in  a  swift  ship,  provided  by  Alcinous, 
taking  with  him  a  load  of  treasure,  the  gifts  of  the 
Phseacians,  "such  wealth  as  he  never  would  have  won 
for  himself  out  of  Troy."  He  is  set  upon  the  shore 
of  Ithaca  while  still  asleep.  Poseidon,  thwarted  in  his 
plans  concerning  Odysseus,  wreaks  his  wrath  upon 
the  Phaeacians  who  conveyed  him  home.  Smiting 
their  ship,  it  becomes  a  stone,  fast-rooted  in  the  sea. 
When  Odysseus  awakes,  wondering  in  what  land  he  is, 
Athene  appears  unto  him  in  disguise,  points  out  the 
familiar  landmarks  of  his  native  land,  and  tells  him  of 
Telemachus  in  Sparta  and  of  Penelope  surrounded  by 
the  shameless  suitors.  That  he  may  not  be  recognized 
and  slain,  she  transforms  him  into  a  beggar: 

So  with  her  wand  she  touched  him;  and  the  skin 
Shrunk  on  the  flexile  limbs,  the  auburn  hair 
Died,  and  he  stooped  an  old  man,  wrinkled,  thin. 
Bleared  were  the  bright  orbs,  late  so  wondrous  fair; 
And  coarse  rags,  smoke-defiled,  she  made  him  wear. 
Wrapped  with  vile  deer*s-hide,  and  rude  staff  anon 
Gave,  and  a  foul  scrip  leathern-looped  to  bear. 

XIII,  430-438.    Worslcy. 

In  this  disguise  he  appears  (Book  XIV)  before  the 
faithful  swineherd  Eumaeus,  an  old  serf  of  his,  and  is 
entertained  in  his  hut.  Odysseus  pretends  that  he  is 
a  Cretan,  and  weaves  a  cunning  tale  of  his  adventures 
after  leaving  Troy.  But  when  he  says  that  he  has 
recently  heard  tidings  of  Odysseus,  the   swineherd, 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy         99 

too  often  deceived  by  such  reports,  refuses  to  believe 
him. 

Meanwhile  (Book  XV)  Telemachus  is  warned  by 
Athene  to  hasten  home  to  Ithaca.  Menelaus  gives 
him  gifts  and  speeds  him  on  his  way.  By  the  advice 
of  Athene  he  goes  first  to  the  hut  of  Eumaeus,  thus 
avoiding  the  suitors  who  lie  in  wait  for  his  ship.  In 
the  morning  (Book  XVI),  after  the  arrival  of  Tele- 
machus, Athene  appeared  unto  Odysseus,  invisible  to 
the  others,  and  commands  him  to  reveal  himself  to  his 
son,  that  they  may  take  counsel  together.  She 
restores  him,  for  the  moment,  to  his  own  form  and 
dress.  Telemachus  is  soon  convinced  that  this 
stranger  is  indeed  his  father.  Odysseus  then  inquires 
about  the  number  of  the  suitors,  that  he  may  decide 
whether  they  two  alone  shall  be  able  to  make  head 
against  them  without  aid  or  whether  they  must  seek 
allies.     Telemachus  thus  replies: 

"  O  father,  I  have  heard  of  thy  great  fame 
My  whole  life  long, — ^how  mighty  is  thy  arm, 
How  wise  thy  counsels.    Thou  hast  said  great  things, 
And  I  am  thunderstruck.    It  cannot  be 
That  two  alone  should  stand  before  a  crowd 
Of  valiant  men.    They  are  not  merely  ten, — 
These  suitors, — nor  twice  ten,  but  many  more. 
Hear,  then,  their  number.    From  Dulichium  come 
Fifty  and  two,  the  flower  of  all  its  youth, 
With  whom  are  six  attendants.    SamS  sends 
Twice  twelve,  and  twenty  more  Achaian  chiefs 
Come  from  Zacynthus.    Twelve  from  Ithaca; 
The  noblest  of  the  isle  are  these, — with  whom 
Medon,  the  herald,  comes,— a  bard  whose  song 
Is  heavenly, — and  two  servants  skilled  to  spread 
The  banquet.    Should  we  in  the  palace  halls 
Assault  all  these,  I  fear  lest  the  revenge 
.  For  all  thy  wrongs  would  end  most  bitterly 


ICX5  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  grievously  for  thee.    Now,  if  thy  thought 
Be  turned  to  some  ally,  bethink  thee  who 
Will  combat  for  us  with  a  willing  heart." 

Again  Ulysses,  the  great  sufferer,  spake: 
"Then  will  I  tell  thee;  listen,  and  give  good  heed. 
Think  whether  Pallas  and  her  father,  Jove, 
Suffice  not  for  us.    Need  we  more  allies?  *' 

» XVI,  293-317.    Bryant. 

Eumaeus,  who  knows  not  that  the  stranger  is  Odys- 
seus, is  sent  to  the  city  to  tell  Penelope  of  her  son's 
return.  The  suitors  are  enraged  that  Telemachus  has 
escaped  themj  The  next  day  (Book  XVII)  Tel- 
emachus goes  up  early  to  the  city  and  boldly  shows 
himself  before  the  suitors.  Later  on  Eumseus  conducts 
Odysseus  thither,  again  disguised  as  a  beggar. 
Arrived  at  the  palace,  Odysseus  is  recognized  by  his 
old  dog  Argus : 

A  dog  was  lying  near, 
And  lifted  up  his  head  and  pricked  his  ears. 
*T  was  Argus,  which  the  much-enduring  man 
Ulysses  long  before  had  reared,  but  left 
Untried,  when  for  the  hallowed  town  of  Troy 
He  sailed.    The  young  men  oft  had  led  him  forth 
In  eager  chase  of  wild  goats,  stags,  and  hares; 
But  now,  his  master  far  away,  he  lay 
Neglected,  just  before  the  stable  doors, 
Amid  the  droppings  of  the  mules  and  beeves. 
Heaped  high  till  carried  to  the  spacious  fields 
Of  which  Ulysses  was  the  lord.    There  lay 
Argus,  devoured  with  vermin.    As  he  saw 
Ulysses  drawing  near,  he  wagged  his  tail 
And  dropped  his  ears,  but  found  that  he  could  come 
No  nearer  to  his  master.    Seeing  this, 
Ulysses  wiped  away  a  tear  unmarked, 
While  over  Argus  the  black  night  of  death 
Came  suddenly,  as  soon  as  he  had  seen 
Ulysses,  absent  now  for  twenty  years. 

XVII,  335-398.    Bryant. 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       loi 

Odysseus  goes  about  among  the  suitors  begging 
food,  and  Telemachus  feigns  not  to  know  him.  One 
of  the  suitors  smites  him  on  the  shoulder  with  a  foot- 
stool. A  beggar  whom  the  suitors  call  *  *  Irus, ' '  because 
he  ran  on  errands,  tries  to  drive  Odysseus  away  from 
the  house  (Book  XVIII).  The  suitors  arrange  a  box- 
ing match  between  them,  wherein  Odysseus  easily 
smites  Irus.  Thereafter  Odysseus  is  on  a  better  foot- 
ing with  the  suitors,  though  they  still  taunt  him,  so 
that  he  almost  forgets  his  r61e  of  beggar.  Penelope 
appears  among  the  suitors  in  all  her  beauty  and  be- 
guiles them  into  giving  her  costly  presents.  Odysseus 
tests  the  loyalty  of  the  maidens  of  Penelope  and  finds 
some  of  them  on  the  side  of  the  suitors. 

Telemachus  and  Odysseus  secretly  take  all  the 
arms  out  of  the  great  hall  and  place  them  in  the  armory 
(Book  XIX).  Penelope  calls  Odysseus  to  her  and 
questions  him.  He  tells  her  a  false  tale  in  the  likeness 
of  truth,  how  that  he  had  once  entertained  Odysseus 
in  Crete,  and  that  he  had  lately  heard  of  his  home- 
coming from  the  king  of  the  Thesprotians.  Penelope 
is  cheered  by  his  words,  and,  disposed  to  treat  kindly 
the  beggar  who  has  brought  the  good  tidings  of  her 
husband's  speedy  return,  she  bids  Eurycleia,  a  trusted 
servant,  once  the  nurse  of  Odysseus,  to  wash  the 
stranger's  feet.  This  leads  to  the  recognition  of  Odys- 
seus by  Eurycleia,  who  says  to  him: 

"  Deeply  am  I  moved  at  sight  of  thee. 
Hear  what  I  say:  of  strangers  in  distress 
Come  many  hither,  yet  have  I  beheld 
No  one  who  bears,  in  shape  and  voice  and  feet. 
Such  likeness  to  our  absent  lord  as  thou.'  * 
Ulysses,  the  sagacious,  thus  replied: 


I02  Homer  to  Theocritus 

"  O  aged  woman,  so  has  it  been  said 
By  all  who  have  beheld  both  him  and  me* 
They  all  declare  that  we  are  very  like 
Each  other;  thou  in  this  hast  spoken  well." 

He  spake;  she  took  a  shining  vase  designed 
For  washing  feet,  and  poured  cold  water  in 
In  large  abundance,  and  warm  water  next. 
Ulysses,  who  had  sat  before  the  hearth. 
Moved  to  a  darker  spot,  for  in  his  mind 
The.  thought  arose  that  she  might  find  a  scar 
Upon  his  limbs  in  handling  them,  and  thus 
His  secret  would  be  known.    She  came  and  bathed 
His  feet,  and  found  the  scar.    T  was  where  a  boar 
With  his  white  tooth  had  gashed  the  limb,  as  once 
He  journeyed  to  Parnassus. 
•  ..•••• 

The  aged  woman,  as  she  took  the  foot 
Into  her  hands,  perceived  by  touch  the  scar, 
And,  letting  fall  the  limb,  it  struck  the  vase. 
Loud  rang  the  brass,  the  vase  was  overturned. 
And  poured  the  water  forth.    At  once  a  rush 
Of  gladness  and  of  grief  came  o*er  her  heart. 
Tears  filled  her  eyes,  and  her  clear  voice  was  choked. 
She  touched  Ulysses  on  the  chin,  and  said:  — 

"  Dear  child  1  thou  art  Ulysses,  of  a  truth. 
I  knew  thee  not  till  I  had  touched  the  scar.** 

So  speaking,  toward  Penelope  she  turned 
Her  eyes,  about  to  tell  her  that  her  lord 
Was  in  the  palace,  but  the  queen  saw  not. 
And  all  that  passed  was  unperceived  by  her» 
For  Pallas  turned  her  thoughts  another  way. 

XIX,  463-583.    Bryant. 

But  Odysseus  enjoins  upon  Eurycleia  to  tell  no  one 
in  the  house,  lest  the  secret  be  betrayed  to  the  suitors. 
Penelope  tells  Odysseus  of  a  dream  that  has  come  to 
her,  which  seemed  to  forbode  the  destruction  of  the 
suitors,  and  adds: 


_  J 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       103 

"  Of  dreams,  O  stranger,  some  are  meaningless 

And  idle,  and  can  never  be  fulfilled. 

Two  portals  are  there  for  their  shadowy  shapes. 

Of  ivory  one,  and  one  of  horn.    The  dreams 

That  come  through  the  carved  ivory  deceive 

With  promises  that  never  are  made  good; 

But  those  which  pass  the  doors  of  polished  horn. 

And  are  beheld  of  men,  are  ever  true. 

And  yet  I  cannot  hope  that  my  strange  dream 

Came  through  them,  though  my  son  and  I  would  both 

Rejoice  if  it  were  so.    This  let  me  say. 

And  heed  me  well.    To-morrow  brings  to  us 

The  hateful  morn  which  takes  me  from  my  home. 

The  palace  of  Ulysses.    I  shall  now 

Propose  a  contest.    In  the  palace  court 

Ulysses  in  a  row  set  up  twelve  stakes. 

Like  props  that  hold  a  galley  up;  each  stake 

Had  its  own  ring;  he  stood  afar,  and  sent 

An  arrow  through  them  all.    I  shall  propose 

This  contest  to  the  suitors.    He  who  bends 

The  bow  with  easy  mastery,  and  sends 

Through  the  twelve  rings  an  arrow,  I  will  take 

To  follow  from  the  palace  where  I  passed 

My  youthful  married  life, — a  beautiful  home. 

And  stored  with  wealth;  a  home  which  I  shall  long 

Remember,  even  in  my  nightly  dreams.*' 

XIX,  679-704.    Bryant. 

The  day  of  vengeance  comes  at  last  (Book  XX). 
The  snitors  insult  Odysseus  again.  Athene  drives 
their  wits  wandering,  so  that  when  the  prophet  Theo- 
clymenus,  whom  Telemachus  brought  from  Pylos, 
tells  them  of  their  impending  doom,  they  laugh  sweetly 
at  him,  understanding  not  his  words.  Penelope  then 
brings  out  the  bow  and  arrows  of  Odysseus  (Book 
XXI),  and  the  swineherd  Eun^aems  brings  out  the  axes, 
which  Telemachus  arranges  in  a  straight  line.  One 
after  another  the  suitors  try  to  string  the  great  bow, 


1 


I04  Homer  to  Theocritus 

but  none  can  bend  it.  Odysseus  calls  apart  the  swine- 
herd Eumasus  and  a  faithful  neatherd  whom  he  has 
proved,  and  reveals  himself  to  them,  charging  them 
with  their  duties  in  the  approaching  fight.  Odysseus 
now  asks  to  try  the  bow.  The  suitors  object,  but 
Penelope  and  Telemachus  insist  upon  his  claim  as  just. 
Odysseus  takes  the  bow,  at  the  same  time  bidding 
Eumaeus  have  the  doors  of  the  women's  apartment 
closed,  while  the  neatherd  bars  the  outer  gates  of  the 
court,  so  that  no  way  of  escape  is  left  for  the  suitors. 
Odysseus  then  easily  strings  the  bow,  and  **the  bow- 
string rang  sweetly  at  the  touch,  in  tone  like  a  swal- 
low." Then  laying  an  arrow  on  the  bow,  **he  held  the 
notch  and  drew  the  string,  even  from  the  settle  where 
he  sat,  and  with  straight  aim  shot  the  shaft  and 
missed  not  one  of  the  axes,  beginning  from  the  first 
axe-handle,  and  the  bronze-weighted  shaft  passed 
clean  through  and  out  at  the  last."  Then  at  a  nod 
from  his  father,  Telemachus  girt  his  sharp  sword 
about  him  and  took  a  spear  in  his  grasp,  and  stood  by 
Odysseus'  side. 

Then  did  Ulysses  cast  his  rags  aside. 
And  leaping  to  the  threshold,  took  his  stand 
On  its  broad  space,  with  bow  and  quiver  filled 
With  arrows.    At  his  feet  the  hero  poured 
The  winged  shafts,  and  to  the  suitors  called: 

"  That  difficult  strife  is  ended.    Now  I  take 
Another  mark,  which  no  man  yet  has  hit. 
Now  shall  I  see  if  I  attain  my  aim. 
And,  by  the  aid  of  Phcebus,  win  renown." 

He  spake,  and  turning,  at  Antinous  aimed 
The  bitter  shaft,— Antinous,  who  just  then 
Had  grasped  a  beautiful  two-eared  cup  of  gold. 
About  to  drink  the  wine.    He  little  thought 
Of  wounds  and  death;  for  who,  when  banqueting 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       105 

Among  his  fellows,  could  suspect  that  one 
Alone  against  so  many  men  would  dare. 
However  bold,  to  plan  his  death,  and  bring 
On  him  the  doom  of  fate?    Ulysses  struck 
The  suitor  with  the  arrow  at  the  throat. 
The  point  came  through  the  tender  neck  behind. 
Sideways  he  sank  to  earth;  his  hand  let  fall 
The  cup;  the  dark  blood  in  a  thick  warm  stream 
Gushed  from  the  nostrils  of  the  smitten  man. 
He  spurned  the  table  with  his  feet  and  spilled 
The  viands;  bread  and  roasted  meat  were  flung 
To  lie  polluted  on  the  floor.    Then  rose 
The  suitors  in  a  tumult,  when  they  saw 
The  fallen  man;  from  all  their  seats  they  rose 
Throughout  the  hall,  and  to  the  massive  walls 
Looked  eagerly;  there  hung  no  buckler  there. 
No  sturdy  lance  for  them  to  wield.    They  called 
Thus  to  IJlysses  with  indignant  words: 

"  Stranger,  in  evil  hour  hast  thou  presumed 
To  aim  at  men;  and  thou  shalt  henceforth  bear 
Part  in  no  other  contest.    Even  now 
Is  thy  destruction  close  to  thee.    Thy  hand 
Hast  slain  the  noblest  youth  in  Ithaca. 
The  vultures  shall  devour  thy  flesh  for  this.'* 

So  each  one  said;  they  deemed  he  had  not  slain 
The  suitor  wittingly;  nor  did  they  see. 
Blind  that  they  were,  the  doom  which  in  that  hour 
Was  closing  round  them  all.    Then  with  a  frown 
The  wise  Ulysses  looked  on  them,  and  said: 

"  Dogs!  ye  had  thought  I  never  would  come  back 
From  Ilium's  coast,  and  therefore  ye  devoured 
My  substance  here,  and  offered  violence 
To  my  maid-servants,  and  pursued  my  wife 
As  lovers,  while  I  lived.    Ye  dreaded  not 
The  gods  who  dwell  in  the  great  heaven,  nor  feared 
Vengeance  hereafter  from  the  hands  of  men; 
And  now  destruction  overhangs  you  all." 

He  spake,  and  all  were  pale  with  fear,  and  each 
Looked  round  for  some  escape  from  death. 

XXII,  1-53.    Bryant 


io6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

But  the  suitors  rally  and  rush  upon  Odysseus  with 
drawn  swords.  Odysseus  shoots  one  leader  and  Tele- 
machus  smites  another  with  his  spear.  Telemachus 
brings  from  the  armory  four  suits  of  armor  and  eight 
spears.  Odysseus,  so  long  as  he  had  arrows,  smote 
the  suitors  one  by  one,  and  they  fell  thick  upon  one 
another.  But  when  the  arrows  failed,  he  put  on  hel- 
met and  shield  and  grasped  two  mighty  spears.  The 
suitors  are  furnished  by  a  servant  with  armor  and 
spears  from  the  armory,  which  Telemachus  had  left 
open,  but  the  traitor  is  caught  and  suspended  from 
the  roof-beam.  The  goat-herd  and  neat-herd  don 
their  armor  and  take  their  stand  with  Odysseus  and 
Telemachus.  The  suitors  make  another  onset  with 
volleys  of  spears,  all  aimed  at  Odysseus,  but  the  four 
withstand  the  attack  and  slay  each  his  man. 

They  fled  along  the  hall  as  flees  a  herd 

Of  kine,  when  the  swift  gadfly  suddenly 

Has  come  among  them,  and  has  scattered  them 

In  springtime,  when  the  days  are  growing  long. 

Meantime,  like  falcons  with  curved  claws  and  beaks, 

That,  coming  from  the  mountain  summits,  pounce 

Upon  the  smaller  birds,  and  make  them  fly 

Close  to  the  fields  among  the  snares  they  dread, 

And  seize  and  slay,  nor  can  the  birds  resist 

Or  fly,  and  at  the  multitude  of  prey 

The  fowlers'  hearts  are  glad  ;  so  did  the  four 

Smite  right  and  left  the  suitors  hurrying  through 

The  palace-hall,  and  fearful  moans  arose 

As  heads  were  smitten  by  the  sword,  and  all 

The  pavement  swam  with  blood. 

XXII,  364-378.    Bryant 

All  are  slain  except  the  minstrel  Phemius  and 
a  faithful    henchman.     The    unfaithful    maidens    are 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       107 

commanded  to  carry  out  the  dead  and  to  cleanse  the 
hall ;  after  this  Odysseus  hangs  them  all. 

Now  Penelope  is  told  that  Odysseus  is  in  the  house 
and  has  slain  the  suitors  (Book  XXIII),  but  cannot 
believe  the  truth,  even  when  assured  by  Telemachus 
and  Odysseus  himself.  **If  this  be  in  truth  Odysseus," 
she  says,  **and  he  hath  indeed  come  home,  verily  we 
shall  be  ware  of  each  other  the  more  surely,  for  we 
have  tokens  that  we  twain  know,  even  we,  secret 
from  all  others."  So  she  spake,  and  the  steadfast, 
goodly  Odysseus  smiled.  Going  to  the  bath,  he 
came  forth  again  changed  in  aspect,  clothed  in  a 
goodly  mantle  and  doublet.  And  Athene  shed  great 
beauty  upon  him,  **and  made  him  greater  and  n^ore 
mighty  to  behold,  and  from  his  head  caused  deep 
curling  locks  to  flow,  like  the  hyacinth  flower. "  Then 
Penelope,  to  test  him,  speaks  thus  to  Eurycleia: 

*'  Bestir  thyself, 
Dame  Eurycleia,  and  make  up  with  care 
A  bed  without  the  chamber,  which  he  framed 
With  his  own  hands;  bear  out  the  massive  bed. 
And  lay  upon  it  seemly  coverings. 
Fleeces  and  mantles  for  his  nightly  rest.*' 

She  spake  to  try  her  husband;  but  displeased, 
Ulysses  answered  thus  his  virtuous  queen: 

"  O  woman,  thou  hast  said  unwelcome  words. 
Who  hath  displaced  my  bed?    That  task  were  hard 
For  long-experienced  hands,  unless  some  god 
Had  come  to  shift  its  place.    No  living  man. 
Even  in  his  prime  of  years,  could  easily 
Have  moved  it,  for  In  that  eiaborate  work 
There  was  a  mystery;  it  was  I  myself 
Who  shaped  it,  no  one  else.    Within  my  court 
There  grew  an  olive-tree  with  full-leaved  boughs, 
A  tall  and  flourishing  tree;  its  massive  stem 


io8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Was  like  a  column.    Round  it  I  built  up 
A  chamber  with  cemented  stones  until 
The  walls  were  finished;  then  I  framed  a  roof 
Above  it,  and  put  on  the  well-glued  doors 
Close-fitting.    Next  I  lopped  the  full-leaved  boughs. 
And,  cutting  off  the  trunk  above  the  root. 
Smoothed  well  the  stump  with  tools,  and  made  of  it 
A  post  to  bear  the  couch.    I  bored  the  wood 
With  wimbles,  placed  it  on  the  frame,  and  carved 
The  work  till  it  was  done,  inlaying  it 
With  silver,  gold,  and  ivory.    I  stretched 
Upon  it  thongs  of  oxhide  brightly  dyed 
In  purple.    Now,  O  wife,  I  cannot  know 
Whether  my  bed  remains  as  then  it  was. 
Or  whether  some  one  from  the  root  has  hewn 
The  olive  trunk,  and  moved  it  from  its  place." 

He  spake,  and  her  knees  faltered  and  her  heart 
Was  melted  as  she  heard  her  lord  recount 
The  tokens  all  so  truly,  and  she  wept. 
And  rose,  and  ran  to  him,  and  flung  her  arms 
About  his  neck,  and  kissed  his  brow,  and  said:  — 

"  Ulysses,  look  not  on  me  angrily. 

Thou  who  in  other  things  art  wise  above 

All  other  men.    The  gods  have  made  our  lot 

A  hard  one,  jealous  lest  we  should  have  passed 

Our  youth  together  happily,  and  thus 

Have  reached  old  age.    I  pray,  be  not  incensed* 

Nor  take  it  ill  that  I  embraced  thee  not 

As  soon  as  I  beheld  thee,  for  my  heart 

Has  ever  trembled  lest  some  one  who  comes 

Into  this  isle  should  cozen  me  with  words; 

And  they  who  practice  frauds  are  numberless. 
•  •••■•  . 

But  now,  since  thou  by  tokens  clear  and  true 
Hast  spoken  of  our  bed,  which  human  eye 
Has  never  seen  save  mine  and  thine,  and  those 
Of  one  handmaiden  only,  Actoris, — 
Her  whom  my  father  gave  me  when  I  came 
To  this  thy  palace,  and  who  kept  the  door 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       109 

Of  our  close  chamber, — thou  hast  won  my  mind 
To  full  belief,  though  hard  it  was  to  win.*' 

She  spake,  and  he  was  moved  to  tears;  he  wept 
As  in  his  arms  he  held  his  dearly  loved 
And  faithful  wife.    As  welcome  as  the  land 
To  those  who  swim  the  deep,  of  whose  stout  bark 
Neptune  has  made  a  wreck  amidst  the  waves, 
Tossed  by  the  billows  and  the  blast,  and  few 
Are  those  who  from  the  hoary  ocean  reach 
The  shore,  their  limbs  all  crested  with  the  brine. 
These  gladly  climb  the  sea-beach,  and  are  safe,  — 
So  welcome  was  her  husband  to  her  eyes. 
Nor  would  her  fair  white  arms  release  his  neck. 
And  there  would  rosy-fingered  Morn  have  found 
Both  weeping,  but  the  blue-eyed  Pallas  planned 
That  thus  it  should  not  be;  she  stayed  the  night 
When  near  its  close,  and  held  the  golden  Mom 
Long  in  the  ocean  depths,  nor  suffered  her 
To  yoke  her  steeds  that  bring  the  light  to  men,^ 
Lampas  and  Pha^thon,  swift  steeds  that  bear 
The  Morning  on  her  way. 

XXIII,  214-298.    Bryant. 

The  story  is  now  finished,  for  the  plot  is  complete; 
but,  as  in  the  Iliad^  the  poet  adds  a  few  touches  to 
the  picture  in  an  epilogue  (Book  XXIV).  He  first 
tells  of  the  descent  of  the  souls  of  the  suitors  to 
Hades.  In  Hades  the  souls  of  Agamemnon,  Patroclus, 
Antilochus,  and  Ajax  are  gathered  about  Achilles, 
Agamemnon  telling  of  the  death  and  burial  of  Achilles, 

when  Hermes  brings  dmrfi  thn  nfitnis  nf  ^^^  g«t;»r.,-c|     ^, 

When  Agamemnon  learns  of  the  return  and  triumph 
of  Odysseus,  he  thus  apostrophizes  Odysseus: 

"  Son  of  Laertes,  fortunate  and  wise, 
Ulysses!  thou  by  feats  of  eminent  might 
And  valor  dost  possess  thy  wife  again. 
And  nobly  minded  is  thy  blameless  queen. 


no  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  daughter  of  Icarius,  faithfully 

Remembering  him  to  whom  she  gave  her  troth 

While  yet  a  virgin.    Never  shall  the  fame 

Of  his  great  valor  perish*  and  the  gods 

Themselves  shall  frame,  for  those  who  dwell  on  earth. 

Sweet  strains  in  praise  of  sage  Penelope." 

XXIV,  23(3-245.    Bryant. 

Meanwhile  Odysseus  visits  his  father,  Laertes,  and 
finds  him  wasted  with  age  and  clothed  in  unseemly 
garments.  The  old  man  discloses  his  grief  for  his 
long-lost  son,  whereupon  Odysseus  declares  himself, 
showing  as  a  token  the  scar  upon  his  leg  and  naming 
over  the  trees  which  he  himself  had  planted  when  a  boy. 
Odysseus,  Telemachus,  and  Laertes  then  go  up  to  the 
city  to  fight  against  the  relatives  of  the  suitors,  who 
/  f  plan  to  slay  them.  After  a  short  struggle  Athene 
'.  ,'  intervenes  and  reestablishes  Odysseus  in  his  sover- 
eignty over  Ithaca  and  his  people. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  give  us  a  well-defined  picture 
of  a  certain  stage  of  Greek  civilization,  of  the  Greek 
people  in  an  early  period  of  its  development.  The 
Homeric  Greek  strongly  resembles  the  Greek  of  later 
times,  but  as  the  child  resembles  the  father.  He  has 
the  same  aptitudes  and  instincts,  but  they  are  as  yet 
relatively  undeveloped,  nor  has  civilization  advanced 
sufficiently  to  give  his  powers  full  play.  It  is  the 
childhood  of  the  Greek  race,  with  all  the  buoyancy 
and  freshness,  enthusiasm  and  vigor;  but  the  child- 
hood of  an  essentially  noble  people,  responsive,  as 
a  rule,  to  its  best  impulses,  and  endowed  with  a  pas- 
sionate love  for  both  spiritual  and  physical  excellence. 
The  Odyssey  gives  the  impression  of  being  somewhat 
later  than  the  Iliad  by  reason  of  its  more  advanced 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       1 1 1 

conception     of    the     jprr^^c  anH    i»c    j^rr^^HAr  triAi^  qf    ]jfp- 

but  practically  the  two  poems  are  products  of  the 
same  age.  The  Greek  chronologists  placed  the  events 
of  the  Trojan  war  in  the  twelfth  cent"^  hf*^^"*  riirUt  ^ 
The  remains  of  the  Homeric  age  which  the  spade  of 
the  excavator  has  uncovered  seem  to  point  to  a  time 
between  1200  and  isoo«  But  the  authors  of  the  poems 
were  of  ;\  mncli  liVt^r  time,  and  naturally  transferred 
numy  of  the  customs  and  conceptions  of  their  own  day 
to  the  period  of  their  story. 

Homer  conceives  of  the  earth  as  a  sort  of  flat  oval, 
around  which  flows  the  river  Oceanus.     Just  at  the 
edge  is  the  region  of  the  dead — the  Elysian  fields, 
where  roam  the  shades.     At  the  fTtrpmp  fast  mrtll 
^^?t  vlw^l  thr  (fftliiiiiiiiiii  I,  Mil    f.nirrTitri  irf  l1irx:TTTh^ 
Near  the  centre  is  Greece.     The  coast  of  Asia  Mino> 
is  well  known,  and  many  of  the  islands  of  the  iEgaean 
and  Ionian  seas.     Phoenicia  is  mentioned  and  Egyp- 
tian Thebes.     The  Nile  is  **the  river  Egyptus."     Out- 
side of  this  zone  lie  strange  lands,  peopled  with  mon- 
sters and  fairies.     The  sky  is  the  vast  roof  the  earth,  ^ 
supported  by  pillars  which  the  giant  Atlas  holds. 

The  prevailing  form  of  government  is  monarchy, 
but  not  the  absolute  despotism  by  which  the  people  of  /^ 
Egypt  and  the  Orient  were  at  this  time  oppressed.       \ 
The  king  consults  his  council  of  elders,  and  sometimes       I 
calls  together  the  whole  people.     But  the  rights  of  the       I 
people  are  not  guarded  by  constitutional  restrictions      I 
upon  the  king.     If  powerful  enough  he  may  override      1 
both  the  elders  and  the  assembly.     H^  rnkn  by  flivinp     I 
right;  and  yet  the  obligations  of  his  office  are  distinctly     * 
felt.      Besides  the  free  people  there   is  a  class  of 
slaves,  captives  taken  in  war.     They  may  be  bought 


112  Homer  to  Theocritus 

I  and  sold,  and  are  charged  with  domestic  labors  for 
I  the  most  part.  But  they  are  not  looked  upon  as 
/  belonging  to  an  inferior  race,  nor  are  they  cruelly 
I  treated.  Hired  servants  attend  to  the  flocks  and  the 
farms. 

The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  contain  charming  pictures  of 
well-ordered,  happy  domestic  life.  The  households  of 
Menelaus  and  Helen  and  of  Alcinous  and  Arete  reveal 
b^th  rpfi^tment  nnd  n#rrttnn  The  husband  respects 
and  honors  his  wife,  who  in  turn  renders  him  both 
affection  and  obedience.  Children  are  subject  to  their 
parents  and  care  for  them  in  old  age.  Hospitality 
is  regarded  as  a  requirement  of  divine  law.  The  guest 
is  always  welcome.  Even  the  beggar  is  not  turned 
away.  The  position  of  women  is  significant  of  an 
enlightened  people.  There  is  not  a  trace  of  the  Ori- 
ental attitude  toward  her  which  afterward  character- 
ized Athenian  society.  She  moves  freely  an^ong  men, 
but  with  becoming  modesty,  and  is  invariably  treated 
with  a  chivalrous  courtesy.  Her  sphere  is  the  house- 
hold ;  war  and  the  council  are  reserved  for  the  men. 
She  directs  her  servants,  spins,  weaves,  and  embroi- 
ders. As  we  have  seen,  even  the  princess  Nausicaa 
is  not  above  washing  the  linen.  In  the  entertainment 
of  guests  the  wife  takes  a  prominent  part.  Polyga- 
my is  unknown;  so  is  divorce.  But  the  unfaithful 
wife  and  the  erring  husband  are  not  wanting. 

The  gods  of  this  age  are  men  and  women  in  their 
passions,  but  possess  greater  beauty  and  power, 
together  with  immortality.  They  are  not,  strictly 
speaking,  all-powerful  nor  all-wise.  They  are  not 
always  good,  yielding  to  temptations  to  which  men  are 
subject  and  allowing  human  passions  of  hatred  and 


£j^ 


V4/W/fv 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       1 13 

revenge  to  sway  them.     The  universe  is  divided  into 
three  realms,  assigned  to  the  tbreg  sons,  of  Cronuc.  1 
ZfinSL^  the  oldest  and  most  powerful,  is  supreme  in  the  |  % 
heavens,  Ppseidnn  in  the  sea,  and  Qadfis  in  the  abode  I 
of  the  dead.     The  people  of  the  earth  are  subject  to 
the  god  of  the  skies  and  the  god  of  the  seas,  but  the 
former  is  more  powerful.     Next  to  these  three  in  rank 
are  three  others,   Hera,  the  sister  and  wife  of  Zeus, 
and   Athene   and   Apollo,    chi^ren    ^f    7:^"g       The 
others  are  more  restricted  in  the  scope  of  their  power. 
The  gods  interfere  freely  in  the  affairs  of  men,  appear- 
ing among  them  in  person  or  in  disguise,  or  directing 
their  doings  from  the  height  of  Mount  Olympus. 

The  age  of  Homer  has  received  fresh  illustration  in 
recent  years  from  extensive  excavations  made  in  Asia 
Minor  and  in  Greece.  Heinrich  Schli£mann.^jGc.er-, 
man  merchant,  was  from  early  boyhood  a  devout 
worshiper  at  the  shrine  of  Homer,  and  conceived 
a  passionate  desire  to  explore  the  scenes  which  Homer 
describes.  Acquiring  a  large  fortune,  he  set  about 
the  fulfillment  of  his  dreams.  Following  the  indica- 
tions found  in  the  poems,  he  excavated  the  hill  of  His- 
sarlik  in  Asia  Minor,  near  the  Hellespont,  and  found 
there  th^jaiS^JgL-S-gYcqiJti^§,Qnfc  iipnn.  .another.  He 
himself  believed  that  in  the  second  city  from  the  bot- 
tom, where  a  wonderful  treasure  of  objects  in  massive 
gold,  silver,  bronze,  and  clay  came  to  light,  he  had 
found  the  city  of  Priam.  More  recent  excavations 
have  shown,  however,  that  the  city  which  represents 
best  the  civilization  and  the  power  of  the  Homeric 
Priam  was  rather  the  sixth  from  the  bottom.  This  is 
made  certain  by  comparison  with  the  remains  found 
in  Mycen2B,  tiiexitynoTXgame'rfrrTDn,  which  Schliemann 


\ 


1 14  Homer  to  Theocritus 

also  excavated,  and  at  Tiryns,  a  still  earlier  fortress 
in  Argos.  On  many  sites  in  Greece  and  on  the  islands 
remains  of  the  same  civilization  have  been  found  by 
Schliemann  and  others,  so  that  now  the  phrase 
** Mycenaean  civilization"  stands  for  a  certain  defi- 
nite prehistoric  culture  which  bears  a  very  close 
relationship  with  the  culture  revealed  in  the  Homeric 
poems.  These  discoveries  have  had  the  effect  of  dis- 
sipating much  of  the  skepticism  with  which  the 
Homeric  poems  had  come  to  be  regarded  a  half -cen- 
tury ago  as  trustworthy  documents  of  the  past.  We 
cannot,  indeed,  affirm  that  the  story  of  the  Iliad  or 
Odyssey  is  true  in  the  sense  that  the  events  described 
ever  took  place.  But  the  story  of  the  Trojan  war 
may,  after  all,  have  grown  out  of  certain  historical 
occurrences  which  in  the  course  of  time  became  mag- 
nified by  the  poets  into  heroic  proportions.  Certain  it 
is,  at  least,  that  there  once  was  a  rich  and  powerful 
city  in  the  Troad,  and  at  the  same  time,  in  Greece 
proper,  a  rich  and  powerful  people  under  the  sway  of 
the  lord__of_Mjcenae. 

We  shall  touch  but  briefly  upon  the  famous  Homeric 
Question,  which  has  existed  since  the  second  century 
before  Christ  and  will  probably  not  cease  to  be  dis- 
cussed so  long  as  the  Homeric  poems  are  studied. 
The  question,  briefly  stated,  is  the  problem  of  the  origin 
and  authorship  of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey,  The  ancients 
knew  almost  nothing  about  the  person  Homer,  but 
they  believed  in  him,  conceiving  of  him  as  a  blind 
bard,  like  Demodocus  in  the  Odyssey,  Many  different 
cities  claimed  to  be  his  brrthplacc.  The  few  vague 
and  often  inconsistent  stories  about  his  life  which  had 
currency  seem    to  have  been   derived,  as  was    that 


The  Odyissey.     Homer  and  Troy       115 

concerning  his  blindness^  from  the  passages  in  the 
poems  attributed  to  him  which  were  assumed  to  be  of 
an  autobiographical  character.  And  these  poems  were 
indefinite  in  number.  Practically  all  of  the  heroic  epic 
poems,  long  and  short,  known  to  the  Greeks  of  the 
classical  period,  passed  under  the  name  of  Homer,  even 
the  mock-heroic  Battle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice  and  the 
comic  Margites.  The  critics  of  the  Alexandrian  period 
singled  out  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  as  the  only  genuine 
works  of  Homer,  and  the  view  that  these  two  epics 
wffi?  ^f  diflfcrffnt  anth^rship  found  some  supporters  in 
antiquity.  Other  authors  were  sought  out  for  the 
other  poems  of  the  Epic  Cycle,  a  decided  preference 
being  shown  for  reputed  relatives  of  Homer ;  for  ex- 
ample, Stasinus,  whose  name  came  to  be  attached  to 
the  Cypria,  was  put  down  as  T^nmpr'gi^  ^pn-in-law  Sim- 
ilar uncertainty  prevailed  as  to  the  date  of  Homer. 
Herodotus  expresses  the  opinion  that  he  did  not  live 
before  about  850  B.  C,  implying  that  others  placed  him 
earlier.  Homer  was  thus  but  a  shadowy  personality 
to  the  Greeks,  and  his  name  was  but  little  more  than 
a  generic  term  for  epic  poetry  in  general. 

The  uncritical  attitude  of  antiquity  toward  Homer 
is  not  surprising,  considering  that  they  knew  of  no  lit- 
erature but  their  own,  and  that,  for  centuries  after  the 
dawn  of  literature,  ^here  was  no  publication  and  circula- 
tion of  works  of  literature  in  book  form.  But  to  the 
modern  mind  the  very  existence  of  such  incomparable 
works  of  art  as  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  at  the  very  thresh- 
old of  Greek  literary  history — a  phenomenon  unpar- 
alleled in  other  literatures— inevitably  raises  a  doubt  as 
to  the  correctness  of  the  Greek  tradition. .  Is  it  po$sible 
that  a  single  poet  composed  the  Iliad  and.  Odyssey^  not 
to  speak  of  the  other  poems,  at  so  early  a  date,  without 


U' 


<5, 


t- 


Ii6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

models  and  without  training  ?  Could  poems  composed 
so  early  have  been  transmitted  to  the  age  of  written 
literature  without  suflfering  extensive  changes  ?  Are 
the  poems  which  we  possess,  then,  the  work  of  a  poet. 
Homer,  who  lived  in  the  tenth  or  ninth  century  before 
Christ,  or  are  we  to  reject  the  Greek  tradition  in  favor 
of  a  more  reasonable  hypothesis,  if  one  can  be  formu- 
lated which  satisfies  the  conditions  ? 

The  problem  was  first  seriously  attacked  by  Pro- 
fessor Wolf,  of  the  University  of  Berlin,  in  the  famous 
Prolegomena^  published  in  1795.  ^^  maintained  that 
the  Homeric  poems,  in  their  earliest  form,  were  com- 
r\  i^  posed  without  the  aid  of  writing  and  were  handed  down 
by  oral  tradition  until  they  were  committed  to  writ- 
ing by  a  commission  appointed  by  Peisistratus,  Ty- 
V^^^  rant  of  Athens  (561-527).  In  the  course  of  their  oral 
transmission  they  suffered  many  changes  at  the  hands 
of  the  rhapsodists,  the  representatives  of  the  Homeric 
minstrels,  and  also,  after  they  were  written  down,  at 
the  hands  of  editors  and  revisers.  The  original  poems 
out  of  which  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  were  put  together 
were  not  all  by  the  same  author,  and  the  artistic  per- 
fection which  we  now  admire  is  due  to  the  editors  and 
critics  who  gave  them  their  present  shape.  This  does 
not,  however,  preclude  the  belief  in  a  personal  Homer, 
the  great  poet  who  wove  most  of  the  poems  which  en- 
tered into  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey. 

The  investigation  and  discussion  of  a  century  have 
shown  that  Wolfs  theory  is  not  the  only  possible  ex- 
planation of  the  facts.  The  assumption  that  writing 
could  not  have  been  employed  to  assist  in  composing 
and  preserving  extended  poems  at  a  time  previous  to 
the  age  of  a  written  literature  is  open  to  objection. 
Then  again  it  is  not  necessary  to  assume  that  Homer 


The  Odyssey.     Homer  and  Troy       117 

was  one  of  the  primitive  bards,  authors  of  the  short  lays 
woven  into  the  I/iad  and  Odyssey,  It  is  easier  to  assume 
that  a  long  period  of  minstrel  poetry  preceded  him  and 
prepared  the  way  for  him,  and  that,  coming  at  the  close 
and  not  at  the  beginning,  of  a  poetic  epoch,  he  laid 
down  the  lines  of  a  great  epic  poem.  In  the  course  of 
time  this  original  epic  poem  may  have  been  enlarged 
and  altered,  but  without  losing  the  artistic  unity  which 
its  first  author  gave  it.  This  is  an  alternative  view  set 
up  in  various  forms  by  some  of  Wolf's  successors. 
Certain  facts  about  the  poems  themselves  may  be  ac- 
cepted as  established.  The  Iliad  and  Odyssey  are  cer- 
tainly not  preserved  in  anything  like  their  original 
form.  There  have  been  many  alterations  and  additions. 
The  language  even  is  a  composi^  largvagf )  showing  a  \ 
mixture  of  various  elements  and  traces  of  different  I 
ages.  The  Homeric  dialect  as  we  have  it  jr  ngf^^  p  Un,  j 
pruage  which  could  ever  h^yfl  ^^^"  '^p^^^H  ^t  ^ny  p"«- 
time  or  in  any  one  place.  It  is  possible,  in  a  measure, 
to  separate  some  of  the  earlier  portions  of  the  poems 
from  the  late  additions,  but  naturally  no  two  critics 
quite  agree  as  to  the  number  and  extent  of  the  original 
poems. 

The  arguments  advanced  by  Wolf  and  his  successors 
in  support  of  their  various  theories  are  too  numerous 
and  complicated  to  be  presented  here.  It  will  suffice  to 
state  some  of  the  results  of  the  prolonged  debate  in 
which  most  scholars  now  agree  :  There  were  current  in 
pre-Homeric  times  a  multitude  of  short  lays  which  grad- 
ually, as  the  poetic  art  developed,  took  on  a  form  and 
style  suited  to  heroic  narration.  Toward  the  end  of 
this  period  appeared  a  poet  greater  than  any  of  his  fore- 
runners,  who  composed  an  epic  poem  on  the  Wrath  of 
AehUks.  This  poem,  which  may  have  been  composed  as 


r 


1 18  Homer  to  Theocritus 

early  as  the  tenth  century,  has  been  enlarged  and  in 
part  remodelled  by  later  bands  into  our  present  IHcuL 
The  author  of  the  original  //rW  is  fairly  entitled  to  be 
called  Homer,  the  founder  of  the  epic  art  The  Odyssey^ 
to  a  greater  extent  than  the  Iliad^  is  the  work  of  a 
single  poet,  though  certain  portions  of  it  also  are  later 
additions.  It  was  probably  composed  about  a  century 
lajer  than  the  Iliad,  Possibly  both  the  original  Iliad 
and  the  original  Odyssey  arose  in  some  part  of  Greece 
proper,  probably  in  Northern  Greece,  and  were  carried 
over  to  Ionia  by  emigrants,  whence  they  received  the 
imprint  of  Ionic  society,  spirit,  and  dialect. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  HOMERIC  HYMNS  AND  HESIOD 

Influence  of  the  Early  Epic  on  Later  Greek  Poetry — ^The  Ho- 
meric Hymns  —  Character  of  the  Hymns  —  The  Hymn 
to  Aphrodite — The  Hymn  to  Hermes — The  Hymn  to  De- 
meter —  Hesiod  —  His  Relation  to  the  Ionic  Epic — The 
Theogony—Selections — The  Works  and  Days — Selections. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  overestimate  the  importance 
of  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  for  the  subsequent  develop- 
ment  of  Greek  poetry.  Absorbing  as  they  did  all  the 
legend  and  song  of  the  ages  preceding  the  perfection 
of  epic  poetry,  they  became  the  fountain-head  from 
which,  for  centuries  afterward,  the  pfreatest  pnet<^  (>f 
the  race  drew  their  inspiration  and  materi^].  As  we 
have  seen,  they  cover  each  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
story  of  the  Trojan  War,  but  in  both  of  them  the 
background  of  preceding  events  is  adequately  sketched, 
the  future  destinies  of  the  principal  heroes  are  fore- 
shadowed, and  the  outlines  of  many  a  heroic  legend  an- 
terior to  the  time  of  the  Trojan  War  are  furnished  in 
greater  or  less  detail.  It  remained  for  later  poets  to 
fill  in  the  missing  parts  of  the  Trojan  story  and  to  de- 
velop the  still  earlier  legends  into  independent  epics. 
Assuming  that  the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  had  taker\on  essen- 
tially their  present  form  by  the  beginning  of  the  eighth 
century,  the  earlier  poets  of  the  Epic  Cycle  may  be  as- 
signed to  the  eighth  and  seventh  centuries.  These 
poets  had  Hesiod  as  well  as  Homer  to  draw  upon  for 

119 


1 20  Homer  to  Theocritus 

their  subject-matter,  but  jlesiod,  as  we  shall  see^  was 
himself  largely  dependent  on  Homery  In  addition  to 
the  poems  of  the  Trojan  Cycle  to  which  reference  has 
already  been  made  (see  p.  76),  the  principal  epics  of 
the  larger  Cycle  dealt  with  the  Origin  of  the  Gods,  the 
Battles  of  the  Gods  and  Giants,  and  the  stories_of 
CEdipus  and  Thebes.  Ad  of  these  poems  passed  more 
or  less  vagueTyTor  Homeric  during  the  classical  period, 
and  furnished,  almost  without  exception,  the  themes  for 
the  tragic  drama  which  made  the  fifth  and  fourth  cen- 
turies illustrious.  When,  after  the  lapse  of  several 
centuries,  epic  poetry  blossomed  out  again  In  the  Alex- 
andrian age,  the  Homeric  poems  were  again  the  pre- 
dominating influence. 

All  of  the  poems  of  the  Epic  Cycle  are  ?ost,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  fragments,  but  a  class  of  hexam- 
eter poems,  thirty-four  in  number,  still  survives  under 
the  name  of  Homer — the  so-called  Homeric  Hymns. 
The  title  is  a  misnomer  in  every  way,  for  they  are 
neither  hymns  nor  were  they  composed  by  Homer. 
Varying  from  three  lines  to  six  hundred  in  length,  they 
range  in  date  from  the  seventh  century  down  to  per- 
haps the  fourth  or  later.  Thucydides  the  historian 
cites  one  of  them  unquestioningly  as  Homer*s,  but  we 
have  already  learned  to  regard  the  attribution  to  Homer 
of  all  epic  poems  of  uncertain  authorship  and  of  ap- 
proved antiquity  as  merely  a  tribute  to  the  imperial 
sway  of  the  great  poet's  name.  But  the  appellation 
"  Homeric  "  is  after  all  appropriate  in  so  far  as  it  sug- 
gests the  influence  of  the  Homeric  epic  upon  the 
authors  of  these  **  hymns,"  although  traces  of  Hesiodic 
influence  are  not  wanting. 

ThejEooLi*  hymn  "is  jwoperly^usei jcl  dfesi.gnatfiLA 
complete  poem  in  honor  of  some  god;  generally  ii. 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       121 

myth  pertaining  to  the  i^od  is  woven  into  ^Hp  pr>^m  in 
this  sense  of  the  word  only  five,  orjgpssjbls.  sfiyfinT^T 
Fhe  poems  of  this  collection  are  really  hjmns.  They 
weFe  composed"  with""reference  to  the  worship  of  the 
god  as  celebrated  at  some  particular  locality,  and  the 
myth  selected  for  treatment  was  therefore  one  which 
would  be  peculiarly  appropriate  to  the  local  cult  of  that 
place.  The  hymn  to  Delian  Apollo,  for  example,  tells 
the  story  of  the  birth  of  Apollo  under  the  sacred  palm- 
tree  at  Delos,  and  the  hymn  to  Demeter  celebrates  the 
founding  of  the  famous  Mysteries  at  Eleusis.  But  the 
greater  number  of  the  poems  of  our  collection  are 
simply  preludes  or  invocations,  composed  in  view  of 
epic  recitations  to  follow,  the  occasion  being  generally 
a  contest  of  rhapsodists  at  some  festival.  It  was  cus- 
tomary at  the  religious  festivals  throughout  Greece  to 
have  contests  in  which  rhapsodists.  or  minstrel  poets,  re- 
cited some  story  in  verse,  very  much  as  did  the  bards  in 
the  Odyssey.  The  rhapsodist  always  prefaced  his  recita-\ 
tion  with  a  brief  invocation  to  the  Muses  or  to  the  god  of  ^ 
the  festival,  beginning  with  a  few  words  of  praise,  then 
relating,  perhaps,  some  incident  in  the  life  of  the  god, 
and  finally  asking  for  the  god's  special  blessing  upon 
the  singer — that  is,  for  a  victory  in  the  contest.  The 
poems  of  our  collection  take  us  through  the  whole  list 
of  the  gods,  and  give  us  glimpses  of  the  poetry,  often 
of  a  high  degree  of  merit,  which  their  worship  evoked 
at  many  famous  sanctuaries. 

*  One  of  the  hymns  to  Aphrodite  (V)  may  serve  to 
illustrate  the  shorter  preludes  :  The  subject  is  the  birth 
of  the  goddess  from  the  sea-foam. 

I  shall  sing  of  the  revered  Aphrodite,  the  golden-crowned, 
the  beautiful,  who  hath  for  her  portion  the  mountain  crests  of 


til  Homer  to  Theocritus 

lea-girt  Cyprus.  Thither  the  strength  of  the  west  wind  moist- 
ly  blowing  carried  her  amid  soft  foam  over  the  wave  of  the  re- 
sounding sea.  Her  did  the  golden-snooded  Hours  gladly  wel- 
come and  clad  her  about  in  immortal  raiment,  and  on  her 
deathless  head  set  a  well-wrought  crown,  fair  and  golden,  and 
in  her  ears  put  earrings  of  orichalcum  and  of  precious  gold. 
Her  delicate  neck  and  white  bosom  they  adorned  with  chains 
of  gold,  wherewith  they  bedecked  the  golden-snooded  Hours 
themselves,  when  they  come  to  the  glad  dance  of  the  Gods  in 
the  dwelling  of  the  Father.  Anon  when  they  had  thus  adorned 
her  in  all  goodliness  they  led  her  to  the  Immortals,  who  gave 
her  greeting  when  they  beheld  her,  and  welcomed  her  with 
their  hands;  and  each  God  prayed  that  he  might  lead  her 
home  to  be  his  wedded  wife,  so  much  they  marvelled  at  the 
beauty  of  the  fair-garlanded  Cytherean. 

Hail,  thou  of  the  glancing  eyes,  thou  sweet  winsome  god- 
dess, and  grant  that  I  bear  off  the  victory  in  this  contest,  and 
lend  thou  grace  to  my  song,  while  I  shall  both  remember  thee 
and  another  singing.  Lang. 

Passing  now  to  the  longer  hymns,  we  quote  first  a 
portion  of  the  hymn  to  Hermes  (II).  It  is  a  recital, 
half  serious,  half  mocking,  of  the  tricks  and  adventures 
of  the  infant  Hermes — his  birth  on  Mount  Cyllene,  his 
invention  of  the  lyre,  his  theft  of  Apollo's  flocks,  his 
plea  in  his  own  defence  before  the  court  of  Zeus,  and 
his  final  reconciliation  with  his  brother.  The  poet 
Shelley  has  reproduced  the  light  and  spirited  tone  of 
the  original,  so  well  adapted  to  the  character  of  the 
subject.  Here  is  the  account  of  the  invention  of  the 
lyre  from  the  tortoise-shell : 

The  babe  was  bom  at  the  first  peep  of  day  ; 

He  began  playing  on  the  lyre  at  noon  ; 
And  the  same  evening  did  he  steal  away 

Apollo's  herds.    The  fourth  day  of  the  moon. 
On  which  him  bore  the  venerable  May, 


tt 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hcsiod       123 

From  her  immortal  limbs  he  leaped  full  soon. 
Nor  long  could  in  the  sacred  cradle  keep. 
But  out  to  seek  Apollo's  herds  would  creep. 

Out  of  the  lofty  cavern  wandering, 

He  found  a  tortoise,  and  cried  out  "  A  treasure  !  ^ 
(For  Mercury  first  made  the  tortoise  sing). 

The  beast  before  the  portal  at  his  leisure 
The  flowery  herbage  was  depasturing, 

Moving  his  feet  in  a  deliberate  measure 
Over  the  turf.    Jove's  profitable  son 
Eying  him  laughed,  and  laughing  thus  begun  : 

A  useful  godsend  are  you  to  me  now. 

King  of  the  dance,  companion  of  the  feast. 

Lovely  in  all  your  nature !     Welcome,  you 
Excellent  plaything  1    Where,  sweet  mountain-beasts 

Got  you  that  speckled  shell  ?    Thus  much  I  know. 
You  must  come  home  with  me  and  be  my  guest ; 

You  will  give  joy  to  me,  and  I  will  do 

All  that  is  in  my  power  to  honour  you. 

Better  to  be  at  home  than  out  of  door, 
So  come  with  me  ;  and,  though  it  has  been  said 

That  you,  alive,  defend  from  mag^c  power, 
I  know  you  will  sing  sweetly  when  youVe  dead.** 

Thus  having  spoken,  the  quaint  infant  bore, 
Lifting  it  from  the  grass  on  which  it  fed, 

And  grasping  it  in  its  delighted  hold, 

His  treasured  prize  into  the  cavern  old. 

Then,  scooping  with  a  chisel  of  gray  steel. 
He  bored  the  life  and  soul  out  of  the  beast. 

Not  swifter  a  swift  thought  of  woe  or  weal 
Darts  through  the  tumult  of  a  human  breast 

Which  thronging  cares  annoy — not  swifter  steal 
The  flashes  of  its  torture  and  unrest 

Out  of  the  dizzy  eyes — than  Maia*s  son 

All  that  he  did  devise  hath  featly  done. 


114  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  dttoas^  the  tcMtoise's  hard  stony  skm 

At  proper  dntatncfs  small  holes  he  made ; 
And  fastened  the  cut  stems  of  reeds  within  : 

And  with  a  piece  of  leather  overlaid 
The  open  space ;  and  fixed  the  cubits  in. 
Fitting  the  bridge  to  both ;  and  stretched  o'er  all 
Symphonious  chords  of  sheep-gut  rhjrthmicaL 

When  he  had  wrought  the  lovely  instrument. 
He  tried  the  chords,  and  made  division  meet. 

Preluding  with  the  plectrum  ;  and  there  went 
Up  from  beneath  his  hand  a  tumult  sweet 

Of  mighty  sounds,  and  from  his  lips  he  sent 
A  strain  of  unpremeditated  wit. 

Joyous  and  wild  and  wanton — such  you  may 

Hear  among  revellers  on  a  holiday. 

• 
He  sung  how  Jove  and  May  of  the  bright  sandal 

Dallied  in  love  not  quite  legitimate ; 
And  his  own  birth,  still  scoffing  at  the  scandal. 

And  naming  his  own  name,  did  celebrate  ; 
His  mother's  cave  and  servant-maids  he  planned  all 

In  plastic  verse,  her  household  stuff  and  state, 
Perennial  pot,  trippet,  and  brazen  pan : — 
But  singing  he  conceived  another  plan. 

Shelley. 

The  hymn  to  Demeter  (IV)  *  is  of  exceptional  beauty 
and  interest — **  an  example  of  Greek  religious  faith  in 
its  most  pensive  and  romantic  aspects."  Its  theme  is 
the  rape  of  Persephone  by  Hades,  Demeter's  agonizing 
search  for  her  lost  daughter,  her  sojourn  among  mor- 
tals, Persephone's  restoration  to  her  mother,  and  the 
founding  of  the  Mysteries  at  Eleusis.  Symbolizing 
originally  some  of  Nature's  most  mysterious  phenom- 
ena,  —  the  changing  seasons,  the  death  of  the  earth 

>  The  only  manuscript  of  this  hymn,  a  copy  made  in  the  fottiteenth  century, 
was  found  by  a  strange  cliance  in  a  stable  at  Moscow  in  1772. 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       115 

and  its  rebirth  in  the  Spring — this  story  came  to  have 
for  the  Greeks  th^  most  profound  ethical  and  religious 
significance.  "  Perhaps  the  most  pathetic  and  signifi- 
cant of  all  Greek  myths,"  says  Mr.  Lawton,  "  is  the  tale 
of  the  daughter  untimely  snatched  by  Hades  to  his 
underworld,  and  of  her  divine  mother  who  finds  her 
chief  consolation  in  administering  to  humanity's  needs.*' 
An  outline  of  the  poem  follows,  the  translations  and 
most  of  the  paraphrase  by  Andrew  Lang  : 

Of  fair-tressed  Demeter,  Demeter,  holy  goddess,  I  begin  to 
sing :  of  her  and  her  slim-ankled  daughter  whom  Hades 
snatched  away,  the  gift  of  wide-beholding  Zeus  ;  but  Demeter 
knew  it  not,  she  that  bears  the  Seasons,  the  g^ver  of  goodly 
crops.  For  her  daughter  was  playing  with  the  deep-bosomed 
maidens  of  Oceanus,  and  was  gathering  flowers — roses,  and 
crocuses,  and  fair  violets  in  the  soft  meadow,  and  lilies,  and 
hyacinths,  and  the  narcissus  which  the  earth  brought  forth  as 
a  snare  to  the  fair-faced  maiden,  by  the  counsel  of  Zeus  and 
to  pleasure  the  Lord  of  many  Guests.  Wondrously  bloomed 
the  flower,  a  marvel  for  all  to  see,  whether  deathless  gods  or 
deathly  men.  From  its  root  grew  forth  a  hundred  blossoms, 
and  with  its  fragrant  odour  the  wide  heaven  above  and  the 
whole  earth  laughed,  and  the  salt  wave  of  the  sea.  Then  the 
maiden  marvelled,  and  stretched  forth  both  her  hands  to  seize 
the  fair  plaything,  but  the  wide-wayed  earth  gaped  in  the 
Nysian  plain,  and  up  rushed  the  Prince,  the  Host  of  many 
Guests,  the  many-named  son  of  Cronos,  with  his  immortal 
horses.  Maugre  her  will  he  seized  her,  and  drave  her  off 
weeping  in  his  golden  chariot,  but  she  shrilled  aloud,  calling 
on  Father  Cronides,  the  highest  of  gods  and  the  best.  But  he 
far  off  sat  apart  from  the  gods  in  his  temple  haunted  by  pray- 
ers, receiving  goodly  victims  from  mortal  men.  By  the  design 
of  Zeus  did  the  brother  of  Zeus  lead  the  maiden  away,  the 
Lord  of  Many,  the  Host  of  many  Guests,  with  his  deathless 
horses ;  right  sore  against  her  will,  even  he  of  many  names, 
the  son  of  Cronos. 

Now,  so  long  as  the  Goddess  beheld  the  earth,  and  the 


126  Homer  to  Theocritus 

starry  heaven^  and  the  tide  of  the  teeming  sea,  and  the  rays 
of  the  sun,  and  still  hoped  to  behold  her  mother  dear,  and  the 
tribes  of  the  eternal  gods ;  even  so  long,  despite  her  sorrow, 
hope  warmed  her  high  heart ;  then  rang  the  mountain  peaks, 
and  the  depths  of  the  sea,  to  her  immortal  voice,  and  her  lady 
mother  heard  her.  Then  sharp  pain  caught  at  her  heart,  and 
with  her  hands  she  tore  the  wimple  about  her  ambrosial  hair, 
and  cast  a  dark  veil  about  her  shoulders,  and  then  sped  she 
like  a  bird  over  land  and  sea  in  her  great  yearning  ;  but  to  her 
there  was  none  that  would  tell  the  truth,  none,  either  of  gods, 
or  deathly  men,  nor  even  a  bird  came  nigh  her,  a  soothsaying 
messenger.  Thereafter  for  nine  days  did  Lady  Deo  roam  the 
earth,  with  torches  burning  in  her  hands,  nor  ever  in  her  sor- 
row tasted  she  of  ambrosia  and  sweet  nectar,  nor  laved  her 
body  in  the  baths. 

The  Goddess  then  went  to  Helios,  that  watches 
both  for  gods  and  men,  and  stood  before  his  car  and 
questioned  him. 

**  Helios,  be  pitiful  on  me  that  am  a  goddess,  if  ever  by 
word  or  deed  I  gladdened  thy  heart.  My  daughter,  whom  I 
bore,  a  sweet  plant  and  fair  to  see ~  it  was  her  shrill  voice  I 
heard  through  the  air  unharvested,  even  as  of  one  violently 
entreated,  but  I  saw  her  not  with  my  eyes.  But  do  thou  who 
lookest  down  with  thy  rays  from  the  holy  air  upon  all  the  land 
and  sea,  do  thou  tell  me  truly  concerning  my  dear  child,  if 
thou  didst  behold  her ;  who  it  is  that  has  gone  off  and  rav- 
ished her  away  from  me  against  her  will ;  who  is  it  of  gods  or 
mortal  men  ?  " 

On  learning  the  truth  from  Helios,  Demeter  was 
wroth  with  Zeus,  and  grief  more  dread  and  bitter  fell 
upon  her.  She  held  apart  from  the  gathering  of  the 
gods,  and  in  the  form  of  an  ancient  crone,  who  knows 
no  more  of  child-bearing  and  the  gifts  of  Aphrodite, 
she  went  among  the  cities  and  fields  of  men.     The 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       117 

daughters  of  Celeus,  Prince  of  Eleusis,  beheld  her  at 
the  wayside  as  they  came  to  fetch  the  fair-flowing 
water  from  the  well.  Quickly  they  told  their  mother, 
Metaneira,  and  anon,  sent  by  her,  they  ran,  like  deer 
in  the  spring-time,  along  the  hollow  chariot  way,  their 
hair  dancing  on  their  shoulders,  in  color  like  the  crocus 
flower.  Speedily  they  brought  her  to  the  house  of 
Celeus,  and  as  the  goddess  stood  on  the  threshold  her 
head  touched  the  roof-beam,  and  she  filled  the  doorway 
with  the  light  divine.  Wonder  and  awe  seized  the 
mother,  and  she  rose  from  her  high  seat  and  bade  the 
goddess  be  seated.  Then  Demeter  sat  down  and  held 
the  veil  before  her  face.  Long  in  sorrow  and  silence 
sat  she  so,  and  spake  to  no  man  nor  made  any  sign,  but 
smileless  she  sat,  nor  tasted  food  nor  drink,  wasting 
with  long  desire  for  her  deep-bosomed  daughter. 

Comforted  at  length  by  Metaneira,  Demeter  takes 
charge  of  the  new-born  babe,  Demophoon,  child  of 
many  prayers,  sent  to  Metaneira  in  her  later  years  and 
beyond  her  hope.  He  grew  like  a  god,  upon  no  mortal 
food,  for  Demeter  anointed  him  with  ambrosia,  breath- 
ing sweetness  over  him  and  keeping  him  in  her  bosom. 
At  night  she  was  wont  to  hide  him  in  the  fire  like  a 
brand,  and  she  would  have  made  him  exempt  from  age 
and  death  forever,  had  not  the  mother  spied  on  her  in 
the  night  from  her  fragrant  chamber,  and  cried  aloud  in 
terror.  Then  Demeter,  in  her  wrath,  threw  the  child 
upon  the  ground,  assumed  her  immortal  shape,  declared 
her  divinity,  and  ordained  the  establishment  of  her 
worship  in  Eleusis.  Celeus  accordingly  built  an  altar 
and  a  temple.  But  the  grief  of  the  Goddess  agam 
came  upon  her.  The  most  dread  and  terrible  of  years 
did  she  bring  for  mortals  upon  the  fruitful  earth,  and 
the  earth  would  not  send  up  its  seed.   Zeus  sent  Iris  to 


128  Homer  to  Theocritus 

command  Demeter  to  return  to  Olympus,  but  she 
thought  no  more  for  ever  to  enter  fragrant  Olympus, 
and  no  more  to  allow  the  earth  to  bear  her  fruit,  until 
her  eyes  should  behold  her  fair-faced  daughter. 

When  the  far-seeing  Zeus,  the  lord  of  the  thunder- 
peal, had  heard  the  thing,  he  sent  Hermes  to  Erebus  to 
win  over  Hades  with  soft  words,  and  persuade  him  to 
bring  up  holy  Persephone  into  the  light  that  her  mother 
might  behold  her  and  that  her  anger  might  relent. 
And  the  Prince  of  the  Dead  did  not  disobey,  but  with 
loving  words  addressed  Persephone,  and  in  his  golden 
chariot  brought  her  to  the  temple  where  dwelt  Demeter. 
But  first  he  gave  her  stealthily  sweet  pomegranate  seed 
to  eat,  that  she  might  not  abide  for  ever  beside  revered 
Demeter.  So  Demeter  and  her  daughter  did  cheer  each 
other  the  livelong  day  with  love  in  oneness  of  heart, 
and  their  minds  ceased  from  sorrow,  and  great  gladness 
did  each  win  from  other.  But  the  daughter  had  eaten 
of  the  food  of  the  dead,  and  Zeus  decreed  that  she  must 
dwell  in  Hades  a  third  portion  of  the  year ;  but  when 
the  earth  blossomed  with  all  manner  of  fragrant  flowers, 
then  should  she  come  forth  again  from  beneath  the 
murky  gloom  and  abide  among  the  Olympian  gods  with 
her  mother.  So  Demeter  is  comforted  and  is  reconciled 
with  Zeus. 


Speedily  she  sent  up  the  grain  from  the  rich  glebe,  and  the 
wide  earth  was  heavy  with  leaves  and  flowers ;  and  she  has- 
tened, and  showed  the  thing  to  the  kings,  the  dealers  of  doom ; 
to  Triptolemus,  and  Diodes  the  charioteer,  and  mighty  £u- 
molpus,  and  Celeus  the  leader  of  the  people ;  she  showed 
them  the  manner  of  her  rites,  and  taught  them  her  goodly 
mysteries,  holy  mysteries  which  none  may  violate,  or  search 
into,  or  noise  abroad,  for  the  great  curse  from  the  gods  re- 
strains the  voice.     Happy  is  he  among  deathly  men  who  hath 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       129 

beheld  these  things !  And  he  that  is  uninitiate,  and  hath  no 
lot  in  them,  hath  never  equal  lot  in  death  beneath  the  murky 
gloom.  ^ 

Now  when  the  Goddess  had  given  instruction  in  all  her 
rites,  they  went  to  Olympus,  to  the  gathering  of  the  other 
gods.  There  the  Goddesses  dwell  beside  Zeus  the  Lord  of  the 
Thunder.  Holy  and  revered  are  they.  Right  happy  is  he 
among  mortal  men  whom  they  dearly  love  ;  speedily  do  they 
send  as  a  guest  to  his  lofty  hall  Plutus,  who  giveth  wealth  to 
mortal  men.  But  come  thou  that  boldest  the  land  of  fragrant 
Eleusis,  and  sea-girt  Paros,  and  rocky  Antron,  come,  Lady 
Deo !  Queen  and  giver  of  goodly  gifts,  and  bringer  of  the 
Seasons  ;  come  thou  and  thy  daughter,  beautiful  Persephone, 
and  of  your  grace  grant  me  goodly  substance  in  requital  of 
my  song ;  but  I  will  mind  me  of  thee,  and  of  other  min« 
strelsy. 


With  the  name  of  Homer  Greek  tradition  coupled 
that  of  another  epic  poet,  Hesiod.  But  the  personality 
of  Hesiod  does  not  entirely  elude  us,  as  does  that  of 
Homer.  He  himself  gives  us  in  his  poems  a  number  of 
facts  about  his  life.  His  father  was  a  citizen  of  Cyme, 
in  Asia  Minor,  and  migrated  to  the  little  town  of  Ascra, 
in  Boeotia,  at  the  foot  of  Mount  Helicon, 

Ascra,  in  winter  vile,  most  villainous 
In  summer,  and  at  no  time  glorious, 

as  the  poet  describes  his  home.  There  Hesiod  was 
born  and  spent  his  life.  On  his  father's  death  his 
brother,  Perses,  defrauded  him  of  his  rightful  share  in 

1  The  poet  has  reference  here  to  the  Mysteries  celebrated  each  year  at 
Eleusis— the  purest  and  most  spiritual  of  all  forms  of  Greek  worship,  we  do 
not  know  what  doctrines  were  inculcated  there,  but  the  grreatest  minds  of 
Greece  always  refer  with  profound  respect  and  awe  to  the  ntes,  which  seem  to 
have  impressed  upon  the  initiated  the  belief  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul, 
and  the  conviction  that,  for  those  whose  hands  and  hearts  were  pure,  all  would 
be  well  in  the  future  life.  The  Eleusinian  Mysteries  have  not  been  without 
influence  upon  some  of  the  rites  of  the  Christian  church. 


ijo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  estate — an  event  which  embittered  Hesiod  and  in* 
spired  many  of  his  moral  teachings.  As  to  the  date  of 
Hesiod,  Herodotus  speaks  of  him  as  a  contemporary  of 
Homer ;  but  he  was  undoubtedly  later  than  the  period 
of  the  nituL^Xidi  Odyssey^  the  influence  of  which  is  read- 
ily distinguished  in  his  poems,  jt  is  proh^hl^.  that  h#> 
lived  somewhere  about  800  B.  CL 

''Homer  and  Hesiod/*  says  Herodotus,  ''were  the 
first  to  compose  theogonies  and  to  give  the  gods  their 
epithets,  to  allot  them  their  several  offices  and  occupa- 
tions, and  to  describe  their  forms."  Asa  poet  Hesiod 
cannot  rank  with  Homer  for  a  moment ;  but  his  influence 
upon  the  Greeks  as  a  teacher  of  practical  morals  and 
religion,  or  rather  theology,  was  comparable  to  that  of 
Homer  alone.  The  colonists  from  Ionia,  who  settled 
in  western  Greece,  among  whom  was  Hesiod's  father, 
brought  with  them  something  of  the  culture  and  of  the 
literary  and  social  traditions  which  were  embodied  in 
the  Ionic  epic.  Although  brought  up  in  an  environment 
totally  different  from  that  which  had  produced  the  Ho- 
meric poetry,  Hesiod's  writings  throughout  reveal  a 
close  dependence  upon  Homer,  both  in  the  conception 
of  the  universe  and  the  gods,  and  in  the  language  and 
verse  through  which  he  gives  expression  to  his  teachings. 

Alexander  the  Great  once  said  that  Homer  was 
reading  for  kings,  Hesiod  for  peasants.  This  contrast 
reflects  the  difference  both  in  the  environment  out  of 
which  the  two  branches  of  the  epic  sprung  and  also  the 
purpose  of  the  two  poets.  The  Homeric  poems  were 
perfected  in  Ionia,  where  life  was  eager  and  bustling, 
occupied  with  adventures  of  the  sea  and  in  constant 
contact  with  travellers  from  strange  lands ;  where,  too, 
the  stories  of  the  Trojan  war  were  sung  by  wandering 
minstrels.     Life  in  Boeotia  offered  a  striking  contrast. 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hcsiod       131 

Not  only  were  the  Boeotians  less  imaginative  than  the 
lonianSy  but  their  daily  routine  of  agricultural  and  pas- 
toral labors  was  unbroken  by  stirring  adventures  of  the. 
present  or  thrilling  tales  of  the  past.  Hesiod,  besides, 
seems  to  scorn  the  romances  of  Homer,  as  he  indicates 
in  the  passage  quoted  below,  and  aims  rather  to  tell  the 
plain,  homely  truths  of  the  farm  to  narrating  the  glow- 
ing fictions  of  the  heroic  age. 

Had  he  lived  a  few  centuries  later,  Hesiod  would  not 
have  been  a  poet,  but  a  writer  of  prose,  for  both  his 
subjects  and  his  gifts  are  essentially  prosaic.  But  prose 
had  not  yet  come  into  being,  since  writing  was  not  yet 
employed  for  literary  purposes  and  there  was  no  read- 
ing public.  So  Hesiod  wrote  in  verse,  as  all  of  his  con- 
temporaries did,  and  his  sayings  were  thus  easily 
remembered  ;  for  the  lore  which  the  farmers,  to  whom 
he  addressed  himself  in  the  main,  should  carry  with 
them  in  their  work,  had  to  be  conveyed  in  the  form 
most  easily  memorized.  This  was  the  origin  and  the 
justification  of  early  Greek  didactic  poetry. 

In  the  Theozony  Hesiod  brings  together  the  legends 
about  the  origin  of  the  universe  and  the  gods,  and  at- 
tempts to  reduce  to  a  system  the  often  vague  and  con- 
flicting stories  of  early  mythology.  The  prelude  is  a 
rhapsody  in  honor  of  the  Muses,  in  which  the  poet  de- 
scribes their  dances  on  Helicon,  the  hymns  they  sing  in 
praise  of  the  gods,  their  employments  in  heaven,  their 
birth  and  influence  ;  he  finally  invokes  their  blessing 
and  announces  his  theme.  I  use  Elton's  translation 
throughout. 

Begin  we  from  the  Muses,  O  my  song ! 
Whose  mansion  is  the  mountain  vast  and  holy 
Of  Helicon ;  where  aye  with  delicate  feet 
Fast  by  Jove's  altar  and  purpureal  fount 


132  Homer  to  Theocritus 

They  tread  the  measur*d  round  :  their  tender  limbs 

Lav'd  in  Permessian  waters,  or  the  stream 

Of  blest  Olmfus,  or  pure  Hippocrene, 

On  the  high  top  of  Helicon  they  wont 

To  lead  the  mazy  measure,  breathing  grace. 

Enkindling  love,  and  glance  their  quivering  feet. 

Thence  break  they  forth  tumultuous,  and  enwrapt 

Wide  with  dim  air,  through  silence  of  the  night 

Shape  their  ethereal  way,  and  send  abroad 

A  voice  in  stilly  darkness  beautiful. 

•         •  •         •         •         •         • 

They  to  Hesiod  erst 
Have  taught  their  stately  song  ;  the  whilst  his  flocks 
He  fed  beneath  all-sacred  Helicon. 
Thus  first  those  goddesses  their  heavenly  speech 
Address'd, — th*  Olympian  Muses  born  from  Jove : 
''  Night- watching  shepherds !  beings  of  reproach  I 
Ye  grosser  natures,  hear  t    We  know  to  speak 
Full  many  a  fiction  false,  yet  seeming-true, 
Or  utter  at  our  will  the  things  of  truth." 

So  said  they,  daughters  of  the  mighty  Jove 
All-eloquent,  and  gave  unto  my  hand 
Wondrous  t  a  verdant  rod  ;  a  laurel-branch 
Of  bloom  unwithering ;  and  a  voice  imbreath'd 
Divine  ;  that  I  might  utter  forth  in  song 
The  future  and  the  past :  and  bade  me  sing 
The  blessed  race  existing  evermore. 
And  first  and  last  resound  the  Muses'  praise. 

From  the  Muse 
And  Phoebus,  archer-god,  arise  on  earth 
Minstrels  and  men  of  song ;  but  kings  arise 
From  Jove  himself.     Unutterably  blest 
He  whom  the  Muses  love.    A  melting  voice 
Flows  ever  from  his  lips  :  and  is  there  one 
Whose  aching  heart  some  sudden  anguish  wrings  ? 
But  lo  !  the  bard,  the  Muse's  minister. 
Awakes  the  strain:  he  sings  the  mighty  deeds 
Of  men  of  yore  :  the  praise  of  blessed  gods 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       133 

In  heaven :  and  straight,  though  stricken  to  the  soul. 
He  shall  forget,  nor  aught  of  all  his  griefs 
Remember  :  so  the  blessing  of  the  Muse 
Hath  instantaneous  tumM  his  woes  away. 

Daughters  of  Jove,  all  hail !  but  O  inspire 
The  lovely  song !  the  sacred  race  proclaim 
Of  ever-living  gods  ;  who  sprang  from  Earth, 
From  the  starr'd  Heaven,  and  from  the  gloomy  Night, 
And  whom  the  salt  Deep  nourish'd  into  life. 
Declare  how  first  the  gods  and  earth  became ; 
The  rivers,  and  th'  immeasurable  sea 
High-raging  in  its  foam  :  the  glittering  stars. 
The  wide-impending  heaven ;  and  who  from  these 
Of  deities  arose,  dispensing  good  : 
Say  how  their  treasures,  how  their  honours  each 
Allotted  shar'd :  how  first  they  held  abode 
On  many-cav'd  Olympus  : — this  declare. 
Ye  Muses !  dwellers  of  the  heavenly  mount. 
From  the  beginning  ;  say,  who  first  arose  ? 

1-15;  32-48;  137-165. 

Then  follows  a  Cosmogony^  or  Origin  of  tJu  Universe, 
From  Chaos  came  forth  Earth,  Hell,  Love,  and  Night. 
Night  brings  forth  Day ;  Earth  produces  Heaven  and 
the  Sea.  The  Cosmogony  blends  into  the  Theogony 
proper,  or  Origin  of  the  Gods^  into  which  are  interwoven 
some  of  the  legendary  fables  which  stand  out  in  Greek 
mythology,  such  as  the  crime  and  punishment  of  Pro- 
metheus, the  creation  of  Pandora,^  the  first  woman,  and 
the  battle  of  the  gods  and  the  Titans. 

THE  CREATION  OF  WOMAN. 

\jASQ%y  enraged  by  the  gift  of  fire  to  men  bv  Prometheus,  devises  ill 
for  mankind,  and  commands  Hephaestus  to  fashion  woman.] 

And  now  the  crippled  artist-god, 
Illustriousi  moulded  from  the  yielding  clay 
A  bashful  maiden's  image,  as  advis'd 

>  The  &moiis  story  of  Paiidon*s  casket  Is  found  in  the  Works  and  Dttys^ 


134  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Saturnian  Jove.    Then  Pallas  azure-eyed 
Bound  with  the  zone  her  bosom,  and  with  robe 
Of  silvery  whiteness  deck'd  her  folded  limbs ; 
With  her  own  hands  a  variegated  veil 
Plac'd  on  her  head,  all-marvellous  to  sight ; 
Twin'd  with  her  tresses  a  delicious  wreath 
Of  mingled  verdure  and  fresh-blooming  flowers  ; 
And  clasp'd  her  brows  with  diadem  of  gold  : — 
This  Vulcan  with  his  glorious  hands  had  framed 
Elaborate,  pleasing  to  the  sire  of  gods. 
Full  many  works  of  curious  craft,  to  sight 
Wondrous,  he  grav'd  thereon ;  full  many  beasts 
Of  earth,  and  fishes  of  the  rolling  main  ; 
Of  these  innumerable  he  there  had  wrought — 
And  elegance  of  art  there  shown  profuse, 
And  admirable— e'en  as  though  they  moved 
In  very  life,  and  utter'd  animal  sounds. 

But  now  when  this  fair  mischief,  seeming-good. 
His  hand  had  perfected,  he  led  her  forth 
Exulting  in  her  grac'd  attire,  the  gift 
Of  Pallas,  in  the  midst  of  gods  and  men. 
On  men  and  gods  in  that  same  moment  seiz'd 
The  ravishment  of  wonder,  when  they  saw 
The  deep  deceit,  th'  inextricable  snare. 
For  lo !  from  her  descend  the  tender  sex 
Of  Woman — a  pernicious  idnd  :  on  earth 
They  dwell,  destructive  to  the  race  of  men  : 
With  Luxury  they,  not  life-consuming  Want, 
Fitly  consorted.    And  as  drones  within 
The  close-roof  d  hive,  cooperative  in  works 
Slothful  and  base,  are  nurtur'd  by  the  bees, — 
These  all  the  day  till  sinks  the  ruddy  sun 
Haste  on  the  wing,  their  murmVing  labours  ply. 
And  still  cement  the  white  and  waxen  comb  ; 
Those  lurk  within  the  sheltering  hive  close -roof 'd. 
And  gather  in  their  greedy  maw  the  spoils 
Of  others'  labour, — such  are  womankind ; 
They  whom  the  Thunderer  sent,  a  bane  to  man, 
111  helpmates  of  intolerable  toils. 

Theogony,  759-800. 


J 


/ 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       135 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  GODS  AND  TITANS. 

All  on  that  day  rousM  infinite  the  war, 

Female  and  male  :  the  Titan  de^^jr^,       — 

The  gods  from  Saturn  sprung,  and  those  whom  Jove 

Fiym  jubieiiailUUUb" groom  releas'd  to  light : 

Terrible,  strong,  of  force  enormous ;  burst 

A  hundred  arms  from  all  their  shoulders  huge ; 

From  all  their  shoulders  fifty  heads  upsprang 

O'er  limbs  of  sinewy  mould.    They  then  array'd 

Against  the  Titans  in  fell  combat  stood, 

And  in  their  nervous  grasp  wielded  aloft 

Precipitous  rocks.    On  th'  other  side  alert 

The  Titan  phalanx  clos'd  :  then  hands  of  strength 

Join'd  prowess,  and  display 'd  the  works  of  war. 

Tremendous  then  th'  immeasurable  sea 

Roar*d ;  earth  resounded  ;  the  wide  heaven  throughout 

Groan'd  shattering :  from  its  base  Olympus  vast 

Reerd  to  the  violence  of  gods  :  the  shock 

Of  deep  concussion  rock'd  the  dark  abyss 

Remote  of  Tartarus  :  the  shrilling  din 

Of  hollow  tramplings,  and  strong  battle-strokes, 

And. measureless  uproar  of  wild  pursuit. 

So  they  reciprocal  their  weapons  hurl'd 

Groan-scattering  ;  and  the  shout  of  either  host 

Burst  in  exhorting  ardour  to  the  stars 

Of  heaven  ;  with  mighty  war-cries  either  host 

Encountering  clos'd. 

Nor  longer  then  did  Jove 
Curb  his  full  power ;  but  instant  in  his  soul 
There  grew  dilated  strength,  and  it  was  fUl'd 
With  his  omnipotence.    At  once  he  loos'd 
His  whole  of  might,  and  put  forth  all  the  god. 
The  vaulted  sky,  the  mount  Olympian,  flash'd 
With  his  continual  presence  :  for  he  pass'd 
Incessant  forth,  and  scattered  fires  on  fires. 
Hurl'd  from  his  hardy  grasp  the  lightnings  flew 
Reiterated  swift ;  the  whirling  flash 
Cast  sacred  splendour,  and  the  thunderbolt 
Fell :  roar'd  around  the  nurture-yielding  earth 


136  Homer  to  Theocritus 

In  conflagration^  far  on  every  side 

Th'  immensity  of  forests  crackling  blaz'd  : 

Yea,  the  broad  earth  burnM  red,  the  streams  that  mix 

With  ocean,  and  the  deserts  of  the  sea. 

Round  and  around  the  Titan  brood  of  Earth 

RolPd  the  hot  vapour  on  its  fiery  surge  ; 

The  liquid  heat  air's  pure  expanse  divine 

Suffus'd  :  the  radiance  keen  of  quivering  flame 

That  shot  from  writhen  lightnings,  each  dim  orb, 

Strong  though  they  were,  intolerable  smote, 

And  scorch'd  their  blasted  vision.    Through  the  void 

Of  Erebus  the  preternatural  glare 

Spread,  mingling  fire  with  darkness.    But  to  see 

With  human  eye,  and  hear  with  ear  of  man, 

Had  been,  as  if  midway  the  spacious  heaven, 

Hurtling  with  earth,  shock'd — e'en  as  nether  earth 

Crash'd  from  the  centre,  and  the  wreck  of  heaven 

Fell  ruining  from  high.     So  vast  the  din. 

When,  gods  encountering  gods,  the  clang  of  arms 

Commingled,  and  the  tumult  roar'd  from  heaven. 

Shrill  rush'd  the  hollow  winds,  and  rous'd  throughout 

A  shaking,  and  a  gathering  dark  of  dust. 

The  crash  of  thunders  and  the  glare  of  flames, 

The  fiery  darts  of  Jove  :  full  in  the  midst 

Of  either  host  there  swept  the  roaring  sound 

Of  tempest,  and  the  shouting  :  mingled  rose 

The  din  of  dreadful  battle.    There  stern  strength 

Put  forth  the  proof  of  prowess,  till  the  fight 

Declined. 

Theogony^  883-948. 


THE  ABODE  OF  NIGHT* 

There  of  Night 
Obscure  the  dismal  dwellings  rise,  with  mists 
Of  darkness  overspread.    Full  in  the  front 
Atlas  upholding  heaven  his  forehead  rears 
And  indefatigable  hands.    There  Night 
And  Day  near  passing,  mutual  greeting  still 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       137 

Exchange,  alternate  as  they  glide  athwart 
The  brazen  threshold  vast.     This  enters,  that 
Forth  issues  ;  nor  the  two  can  one  abode 
At  once  constrain.     This  passes  forth,  and  roams 
The  round  of  earth  ;  that  in  the  mansion  waits. 
Till  the  due  season  of  her  travel  come. 
Lo !  from  the  one  the  far-discerning  light 
Beams  upon  earthly  dwellers  ;  but  a  cloud 
Of  pitchy  darkness  veils  the  other  round, 
Pernicious  Night,  aye  leading  in  her  hand 
Sleep,  Death's  half-brother  ;  sons  of  gloomy  Night, 
There  hold  they  habitation,  Death  and  Sleep, 
Dread  deities  ;  nor  them  the  shining  Sun 
E'er  with  his  beam  contemplates,  when  he  climbs 
The  cope  of  heaven,  nor  when  from  heaven  descends. 

Theogony^  988-1008. 

The  Works  and  Days  is  Hesiod's  longest  poem.  In 
its  present  form  it  consists  of  three  parts — a  poem, 
containing  moral  advice,  addressed  to  his  brother  Per- 
ses  ;  then  the  Works^  on  the  operations  of  the  farm  ; 
and  lastly  the  Days^  or  calendar  of  lucky  and  unlucky 
days  for  doing  particular  things.  It  is  the  second  por- 
tion, the  Works,  which  furnished  Vergil  with  the  model 
for  his  Georgicsy  though  the  original  cannot  compare 
with  the  imitation  as  a  work  of  literary  art.  Through- 
out the  poem  are  found  pithy  sayings  which  passed  into 
proverbs,  such  as  "  The  half  is  greater  than  the  whole," 
"  The  immortal  gods  placed  sweat  before  virtue,"  and 
many  others  still  current.  Here  are  a  few  characteris- 
tic passages : 

THE  IRON  AGE. 

Oh  would  that  Nature  had  denied  me  birth 
Midst  this  fifth  race,  this  iron  age  of  earth ; 
That  long  before  within  the  grave  I  lay, 
Or  long  hereafter  could  behold  the  day ! 
Corrupt  the  race,  with  toils  and  griefs  opprest. 


138  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Nor  day  nor  night  can  yield  a  pause  of  rest : 

Still  do  the  gods  a  weight  of  care  bestow, 

Though  still  some  good  is  mingled  with  the  woe. 

Jove  on  this  race  of  many-languag'd  man 

Speeds  the  swift  ruin  which  but  slow  began ; 

For  scarcely  spring  they  to  the  light  of  day. 

Ere  age  untimely  strews  their  temples  gray. 

Nor  sire  with  son,  with  brethren  brethren  blend, 

Nor  host  with  guest,  nor  friend,  as  erst,  with  friend  : 

Reckless  of  heaven's  revenge  the  sons  behold 

Their  hoary  parents  wax  too  swiftly  old  ; 

And  impious  point  the  keen  dishonouring  tongue, 

With  hard  reproofs  and  bitter  mockeries  hung : 

Nor  grateful  in  declining  age  repay 

The  nurturing  fondness  of  their  better  day. 

Now  man's  right  hand  is  law  :  for  spoil  they  wait. 

And  lay  their  mutual  cities  desolate  : 

Unhonour'd  he  by  whom  his  oath  is  fear*d ; 

Nor  are  the  good  belovM,  the  just  rever'd  ; 

With  favour  grac'd  the  evil-doer  stands, 

Nor  curbs  with  shame  nor  equity  his  hands  ; 

With  crooked  slanders  wounds  the  virtuous  man, 

And  stamps  with  perjury  what  hate  began. 

Lo !  ill-rejoicing  Envy,  wing'd  with  lies, 

Scattering  calumnious  rumors  as  she  flies. 

The  steps  of  miserable  men  pursue, 

With  haggard  aspect,  blasting  to  the  view. 

Till  those  fair  forms  in  snowy  raiment  bright 

From  the  broad  earth  have  wing*d  their  heavenly  flight, 

Call'd  to  th'  eternal  synod  of  the  skies. 

The  virgins  Modesty  and  Justice  rise  : 

And  leave  forsaken  man  to  mourn  below 

The  weight  of  evil  and  the  cureless  woe. 

Works  and  Days,  227-264. 

ON  BORROWING. 

If  aught  thou  borrowest,  well  the  measure  weigh  ; 
The  same  good  measure  to  thy  friend  repay  : 
Or  more,  if  more  thou  canst,  unask'd  concede  ; 
So  shall  he  prompt  supply  thy  future  need. 


The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod       139 

Dishonest  gains  avoid :  dishonest  gain 

Equivalent  to  loss  will  prove  thy  bane. 

Who  loves  thee,  love  ;  him  woo  that  friendly  woes  : 

Give  to  the  giver ;  but  to  him  refuse 

That  giveth  not :  their  gifts  the  generous  earn, 

But  none  bestows  where  never  is  return. 

Works  and  Days,  479-488. 

THRESHING  TIME. 

When  first  Orion's  beamy  strength  is  born, 

Then  let  thy  labourers  thresh  the  sacred  com. 

Smooth  be  the  level  floor,  on  breezy  ground, 

Where  winnowing  gales  may  sweep  in  eddies  round ; 

Hoard  in  thy  ample  bins  the  meted  grain ; 

And  now,  as  I  advise,  thy  hireling  swain 

From  forth  thy  house  dismiss,  when  all  the  store 

Of  kindly  food  is  laid  within  thy  door  ; 

And  to  thy  service  let  a  female  come. 

But  childless,  for  a  child  were  burdensome. 

A  sharp-tooth'd  dog  maintain,  nor  thrifty  spare 

To  feed  his  fierceness  high  with  pampering  care  ; 

Lest  the  day-slumbering  thief  thy  nightly  door 

Wakeful  besiege,  and  spoil  thy  plundered  store. 

For  ox  and  mule  the  yearly  fodder  lay, 

And  pile  th'  abundant  straw,  the  plenteous  hay : 

This  care  dispatched,  refresh  the  wearied  swain 

With  rest,  and  loose  thy  oxen  from  the  wain. 

Works  and  DaySy  831-848. 

ON  MARRYING. 

When  full  matureness  crowns  thy  manhood's  pride. 
Lead  to  thy  mansion  the  consenting  bride  : 
Thrice  ten  thy  sum  of  years,  the  nuptial  prime  ; 
Nor  fall  far  short,  nor  far  exceed  the  time. 
Four  years  the  ripening  virgin  should  consume, 
And  wed  the  fifth  of  her  expanded  bloom. 
A  virgin  choose,  that  morals  chaste,  imprest 
By  thy  wise  love,  may  stamp  her  yielding  breast ; 


140  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Some  known  and  ne^hbouring  damsel  be  thy  priie^ 
And  wary  bend  around  thy  cautious  eyes  ; 
Lest  by  a  choice  imprudent  thou  be  found 
The  merry  mock  of  all  the  dwellers  round. 
No  better  lot  has  Providence  assigned 
Than  a  fair  woman  with  a  virtuous  mind  : 
Nor  can  a  worse  befal,  than  when  thy  fate 
Allots  a  worthless,  feast-contriving  mate. 

Works  and  Days^  963-978. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  ELEGIAC,   IAMBIC,   AND  MELIC  POETS 

The  Change  in  the  Social  and  Political  Conditions  of  Greece 
—  Lync  Poetry — The  three  Branches  of  Lyric — Elegiac 
Poetry  —  Callinus  —  Tyrtaeus  —  Mimnermus  —  Solon  — 
Theoenis  —  The  Anthology — Iambic  Poetry — Archilochus 
— Melic  Poetry— Alcaeus— Sappho— Anacreon. 

Between  the  age  represented  by  Homer  and  Hesiod. 
and  the  fnd  nf  thft  «siyth  century  great  changes  took 
place  in  Greece,  essentially  altenng  <-hp  ^nnHitini^fi  nf^ 
social  and  political  life.  These  changes  were,  briefly 
stated,  the  overthrow  of  monarchies,  colonizing  movg- 
mentSy  and  the  extension  of  commerce.  Where  there 
had  been  monarchies  we  now  find  either  oligarchies,  as 
in  Sparta  and  Athens,  or  tyrannies,^  as  in  Corinth, 
Lesbos,  and  Syracuse.  Toward  the  end  of  this  period 
democracies  took  the  place  of  tyrannies.  It  was 
a  period  of  revolutions,  and  revolutions  stir  men's 
minds  and  broaden  their  experiences.  The  tendency 
of  the  time  was  toward  the  liberty  of  the  individual. 
The  sending  out  of  colonies  and  the  expansion  of  com- 
merce were  results  of  the  political  unrest,  and  also 
tended  to  develop  the  individual  and  bring  the  private 
citizen  into  prominence. 

Now  lyric  poetry  is  essentially  the  expression  of 
the  individual.  It  delineates  the  poet's  own  thoughts 
and  feelings,  and    as  such    is  contrasted  with  epic 

^The  word  "  tyrant"  In  Greek  does  not  necessarily  imply  an  oppressive 
ruler,  but  simply  one  who  has  usurped  authority  or  who  holds  it  by  uncon- 
ttittttional  means. 

141 


142 


Homer  to  Theocritus 


poetry,  the  narration  of  external  circumstances,  and 
with  dramatic  poetry,  the  representation  of  another's 
experiences.  The  Greeks  themselves  had  no  word 
which  corresponds  to  this  meaning  of  "lyric,"  which 
to  them  meant  only  that  which  is  sung  or  recited  to 
the  accompaniment  of  the  lyre.  They  used  less  com- 
prehensive designations  for  the  various  kinds  of  poetry 
that  were  neither  epic  nor  dramatic.  But  the  charac- 
teristics implied  in  our  modern  term  are  found  in  the 
Greek  poetry  of  which  we  speak,  and  are  traceable  to 
:he  political  and  social  movements  above  outlined. 

The  germs  of  Greek  lyric  poetry  are  to  be  sought 
in  the  early  history  of  the  people.  We  have  already 
spoken  of  the  wedding-chant  and  the  dirge,  the  hymn 
to  the  gods,  and  the  people's  song  in  the  pre-Homeric 
days.  There  were  songs  appropriate  to  almost  every 
situation  in  life.  In  these  the  poet  found  occasion  to 
express  his  own  feelings,  and  they  all  developed  into 
recognized  branches  of  lyric  poetry.  Only  a  few 
remnants  of  these  early  attempts  are  preserved  to  us, 
of  which  one  of  the  oldest  and  the  most  interesting 
is  the  "Swallow  Song,"  which  the  boys  of  Rhodes 
sang  each  year,  going  fom  house  to  house  and  demand- 
ing a  present  for  the  good  news  of  returning  spring : 

She  is  here,  she  is  here,  the  swallow! 

Fair  seasons  bringing,  fair  years  to  follow ! 

Her  belly  is  white, 

Her  back  black  as  night ! 

From  your  rich  house 

Roll  forth  to  us 

Tarts,  wine,  and  cheese  : 

Or  if  not  these, 

Oatmeal  and  barley-cake 

The  swallow  deigns  to  take. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    14? 


What  shall  we  have?  or  roust  we  hence  away? 
Thanks,  if  you  give;  if  not,  we  Ml  make  you  pay! 

The  house-door  hence  we'll  carry; 

Nor  shall  the  lintel  tarry; 

Froro  hearth  and  home  your  wife  well  rob; 
She  is  so  small 

To  take  her  ofiE  will  be  an  easy  job! 
Whate*er  you  give,  give  largess  free! 
Up!  open,  open  to  the  swallow's  call! 
No  gmvc  old  men*  but  merry  children  we! 

Symonds. 

We  have  also>  Tinniasnng  of  great  antiquity: 

O,  Linus,  thee  the  gods  did  grace; 

For  unto  thee  they  gave,  most  dear. 
First  among  men  the  song  to  raise 

With  shrill  voice  sounding  high  and  clear; 

But  Phoebus  thee  in  anger  slays, 

And  Muses  mourn  around  thy  bier. 

Symonds. 

The  Greek  poetry  which  we  designate  as  lyric  was  \ 
known  to  the  Greeks  themselves  under  three  general 
classes,  each  named  either  after  the  metre  employed 
or  the  manner  of  its  recitation.  These  classes  are 
Elegiac.  Iambic^  and  Melic.  Their  literary  develop- 
ment was  in  this  order.     The  »^frc»  /^ip«^<^g«f  j-fj^^jy^H 


their  names  from  the  metres  used.  The  ancient  elegy 
was  always  co^lposed  in  the  elegiac  couplet,  consisting 
of  a  dactylic  hexameter  followed  by  the  so-called  penta- 
meter.* Iambic  poetry  was  written  in  the  iambic  verse, 
generally  consisting  of  six  iambic  feet.'     The  word 

*  Illustrated  in  these  lines  of  Longfellow: 
Now  the  meadows  are  blooming  with  flowers  of  varions  colors^ 
And  with  untaught  throats  carol  the  garrulous  birds. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

*As  this  line  from  Shakespeare: 

Then  let's  make  haste  away  and  look  unto  the  main. 


~~ifc 


/ 


144  Homer  to  Theocritus 

melic  is  derived  from  melos,  "song"  (cf.  melody\  and 
was  applied  strictly  to  poetry  intended  for  singing. 
So  the  term  "choral"  was  used  for  melic  poetry  com- 
posed with  a  view  to  production  Jby  a  chorus  with  the 
accompaniment  of  the  dance.  To  these  three  classes 
of  lyric  poetry  should  be  added  the  epigram,  the  short 
commemorative  poem  designed  to  be  inscribed  on  a 
tombstone  or  monument  of  some  kind. 

The  Greek  word  for  elegy  is  believed  to  be  Phry- 
gian in  origin,  and  elegiac  poetry  was  always  in  early 
I  time  recitrri  trr  tht  ftttit^mpanimfnt  of  thf  flnt^  which 
^  >  was  a  Phrygian  invention.  The  subject  of  the  Greek 
elegy  ranges  from  war  to  political  philosophy,  from 
moral  advice  to  the  pleasures  of  life,  but  it  is  always 
w  -  I  th^  fjxpression  of  the  poet's  own  jeelings.  The  later 
Greek  elegy,  like  the  Roman  imitations,  was  largely 
on  the  subject  of  love.  But  the  modern  meaning, 
a  poem  of  sorrow  or  melancholy,  was  not  present  to 
the  mind  of  the  classical  Greeks. 

The  earliest  Greek  elegiac  poet  of  whom  we  know 
was  X)allinus  of  Ephesus.  who  flourished  about  the  be- 
ginning of  the  seventh  f^^ntury  B-  C.  In  the  one 
extant  poem  he  exhorts  his  countrymen  to  battle 
against  the  invading  barbarians : 

How  long  will  ye  slumber?  when  will  ye  take  heart 
And  fear  the  reproach  of  your  neighbors  at  hand? 
Fie!  comrades,  to  think  ye  have  peace  for  your  part, 
Whilst  the  sword  and  the  arrow  are  wasting  our  land! 
Shame!  grasp  the  shield  close!  cover  well  the  bold  breast! 
Aloft  raise  the  spear  as  ye  march  on  the  foe! 
With  no  thought  of  retreat,  with  no  terror  confessed. 
Hurl  your  last  dart  in  dying,  or  strike  your  last  blow. 
Oh,  'tis  noble  and  glorious  to  fight  for  our  all, — 
For  our  country,  our  children,  the  wife  of  our  love! 


I; 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets  145 

Death  comes  not  the  sooner;  no  soldier  shall  fall» 
Ere  his  thread  is  spun  out  by  the  sisters  above. 
Once  to  die  is  man*s  doom;  rush,  rush  to  the  fight! 
He  cannot  escape,  though  his  blood  were  Jove's  own. 
For  a  while  let  him  cheat  the  shrill  arrow  by  flight; 
Fate  will  catch  him  at  last  in  his  chamber  alone. 
Unlamented  he  dies; — unregretted.    Not  so. 
When,  the  tower  of  his  country,  in  death  falls  the  brave; 
Thrice  hallowed  his  name  amongst  all,  high  or  low. 
As  with  blessings  adive,  so  with  tears  in  the  grave. 

Henry  Nelson  Coleridge. 

The  few  extant  elegies  of  Tyrtasus.  very  closely 
resemble  in  subject  and  in  style  this  poem  of  Callinus. 
Tyrtaeus  lived  early  in  the  seventh  century,  and  is 
said  to  have  been  an  Athenian  who  migrated  to  Sparta 
when  the  Spartans  were  engaged  in  war  with  the  Mes- 
senians.  His  songs  so  thrilled  the  Spartans  that  they 
soon  brought  the  war  to  a  victorious  close.  His 
march  song  was  sung  before  and  during  battle,  and 
became  almost  the  national  hymn  of  the  Spartans. 
The  following  is  the  longest  extant  poem — an  Exhor- 
tation to  Battle. 

How  glorious  fall  the  valiant,  sword  in  hand. 
In  front  of  battle  for  their  native  land! 
But  oh!  what  ills  await  the  wretch  that  yields, 
A  recreant  outcast  from  his  country's  fields! 
The  mother  whom  he  loves  shall  quit  her  home. 
An  aged  father  at  his  side  shall  roam; 
His  little  ones  shall  weeping  with  him  go. 
And  a  young  wife  participate  his  woe; 
While  scorned  and  scowled  upon  by  every  face. 
They  pine  for  food,  and  beg  from  place  to  place. 
Stain  of  his  breed!  dishonoring  manhood's  form, 
All  ills  shall  cleave  to  him:  affliction's  storm 
Shall  blind  hiiii  wandering  in  the  vale  of  years» 
Tillf  lost  to  all  but  ignominious  fearS} 


146  Homer  to  Theocritus 

He  shall  not  blush  to  leave  a  recreant*s  name. 

And  children  like  himself,  inured  to  shame. 

But  we  will  combat  for  our  father's  land. 

And  we  will  drain  the  lifeblood  where  we  stand. 

To  save  our  children: — fight  ye  side  by  side. 

And  serried  dose,  ye  men  of  youthful  pride. 

Disdaining  fear,  and  deeming  light  the  cost 

Of  life  itself  in  glorious  battle  lost. 

Leave  not  our  sires  to  stem  the  unequal  fight. 

Whose  limbs  are  nerved  no  more  with  buoyant  might; 

Nor,  lagging  backward,  let  the  younger  breast 

Permit  the  man  of  age  (a  sight  unblest) 

To  welter  in  the  combat's  foremost  thrust. 

His  hoary  head  disheveled  in  the  dust. 

And  venerable  bosom  bleeding  bare. 

But  youth's  fair  form,  though  fallen,  is  ever  fedr. 

And  beautiful  in  death  the  boy  appears. 

The  hero  boy,  that  dies  in  blooming  years: 

In  man's  reg^t  he  lives,  and  woman's  tears; 

More  sacred  than  in  life,  and  lovelier  far, 

For  having  perished  in  the  front  of  war. 

Thomas  Campbell. 

Far  dififerent  are  the  elegiacs  of  Mirnnrrmus  -oi 
Smyrna,  who  lived  toward  the  end  of  the  seventh  cen- 
tury. Brought  up  in  the  soft  luxury  of  Ionia,  his 
poems  breathe  of  indolence  and  pleasure,  but  pervad- 
ing all  is  a  tender  melancholy  induced  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  youth  is  soon  past  and  old  age  and  death  are 
at  hand.  **When  the  flower  of  youth  is  past,"  he  says, 
**it  is  best  to  die  at  once,"  and  again,  '*may  the  doom 
of  death  overtake  me,  free  from  disease  and  care,  in 
my  sixtieth  year."  This  poem  is  addressed  to  his 
sweetheart  Nanno: 

What's  life  or  pleasure  wanting  Aphrodite? 

When  to  the  gold-haired  goddess  cold  am  I, 
When  love  and  love's  soft  gifts  no  more  delight  me, 

Nor  stolen  dalliance,  then  I  fain  would  die! 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets  147 

Ah!  fair  and  lovely  bloom  the  flowers  of  youth; 

On  men  and  maids  they  beautifully  smile: 
But  soon  comes  doleful  eld,  who,  void  of  ruth, 

Indifferently  afflicts  the  fair  and  vile; 
Then  cares  wear  out  the  heart;  old  eyes  forlorn 

Scarce  reck  the  very  sunshine  to  behold — 
Unloved  by  youths,  of  every  maid  the  scorn — 

So  hard  a  lot  God  lays  upon  the  old. 

J.  A.  Symonds,  Sr. 

jolon,  the  great  lawgiver  of  Athens  and  one  of  the 
seven  sages  of  Greece  (first  part  of  sixth  century), 
used  the  elegy  both  as  a  vehicle  of  political  teaching 
and  to  record  his  reflections  on  life  in  general.  Some 
of  his  early  verses  stirred  the  Athenians  to  renew  the 
struggle  with  the  Megarians  for  the  possession  of 
Salamis.  *'Up,  let  us  go  to  Salamis,  to  fight  for  the 
lovely  island  and  to  wipe  out  our  deep  disgrace." 
Referring  to  the  reforms  which  he  had  carried  through 
by  arbitrating  between  the  rich  and  the  poor,  he  says: 
"I  gave  the  common  folk  as  much  as  is  enough, 
neither  less  nor  more  than  their  due  meed ;  but  as  to 
those  who  had  rule  and  the  splendor  of  wealth,  to 
those  also  I  gave  counsel,  even  that  they  should  not 
uphold  cruelty.  I  took  my  stand,  I  spread  my  strong 
shield  over  both,  and  suffered  neither  to  prevail  by 
wrong."  But  he  sees  the  dangers  that  encompass 
the  state:  **From  storm-clouds  descend  furious  snow 
and  hail,  and  thunder  is  bom  of  bright  lightning;  so 
great  men  produce  the  overthrow  of  states,  and  into 
the  bondage  of  a  despot's  power  the  people  fall  unwit- 
tingly. Easy  it  is  to  raise  the  storm,  but  hard  to  curb 
the  whirlwind ;  yet  must  we  now  take  thought  of  all 
these  things." 

Solon's  prayer  is  interesting  for  the  light  which  it 


148  Homer  to  Theocritus 

throws  on  the  moral  ideals  of  the  time:  *' Grant  us 
wealth  from  the  blessed  gods,  and  from  all  men  a  good 
name.  May  I  be  sweet  to  my  friend  and  bitter  to  my 
foe,  revered  by  the  one  and  dreaded  by  the  other. 
Money  I  desire,  but  no  ill-gotten  gain ;  for  the  wealth 
that  the  gods  give  lasts  and  fleets  not  away,  but  the 
fruits  of  insolence  and  crime  bring  vengeance  sure, 
though  slow.  Zeus  seeth  all  things,  and  like  a  wind 
scattering  the  clouds,  which  shakes  the  deep  places  of 
the  sea  and  rages  over  the  com  land,  and  comes  at 
last  to  heaven,  the  seat  of  gods,  and  makes  a  clear 
sky  to  be  seen,  whereupon  the  sun  breaks  out  in  glory 
and  the  clouds  are  gone — so  is  the  vengeance  of  Zeus. 
He  may  seem  to  forget,  but  sooner  or  later  he  strikes; 
perchance  the  guilty  man  escapes,  yet  his  blameless 
children  or  remote  posterity  pay  the  penalty." 

The^^reatest  of  all  the  elegiac  poets  as  a  moral 
teacher  was  Theognis  of  Meyara.  who  flourished  about 
550  B.  C.  His  poems  reveal  the  storm  and  stress  of 
the  period  in  which  he  lived.  Theognis  was  a  noble- 
man of  this  Dorian  city,  but  driven  out  and  dispos- 
sessed by  a  democratic  revolution  he  traveled  here 
and  there  in  exile,  his  thoughts  constantly  embittered 
by  his  own  evil  fortune.  Most  of  his  poems  were 
addressjpd  to^yot^og^^end,  Cyri^^Sy-gon  6f  PoTypas^ 
to  whom  he  was  greatly  attached  and  for  whose 
guidance  and  instruction  he  wrote.  Because  of  the 
practical  worldly  wisdom  of  his  maxims  and  the 
respectability  of  his  views  Theognis  was  much  in 
vogue  throughout  the  Greek  world,  and  his  writings 
were  condensed  and  used  in  the  schools  by  the  side  of 
Homer  and  Hesiod  for  the  instruction  of  the  young. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets  149 

A  part  of  this  collection  (about  1,400  lines)  has  come 
down  to  us.  A  few  selections  follow  in  Frere's 
translation : 

A  TRUE    FRIEND 

A  trusty  partisan,  faithful  and  bold, 
Is  worth  his  weight  in  silver  or  in  gold, 
For  times  of  trouble.    But  the  race  is  rare; 
Steady,  determined  men,  ready  to  share 
Good  or  ill  fortune  I    Such,  if  such  there  are. 
Could  you  survey  the  world  and  search  it  round. 
And  bring  together  all  that  could  be  found. 
The  largest  company  you  could  enroll, 
A  single  vessel  could  embark  the  whole! 
So  few  there  are!  the  noble  manly  minds 
Faithful  and  firm,  the  men  that  honour  binds; 
Impregnable  to  danger  and  to  pain 
And  low  seduction  in  the  shape  of  gain. 

BREEDING 

With  kine  and  horses,  Cymus!  we  proceed  ( 

By  reasonable  rules,  and  choose  a  breed 
For  profit  and  increase,  at  any  price; 
Of  a  sound  stock,  without  defect  or  vice. 

But,  in  the  daily  matches  that  we  make. 
The  price  is  everything;  tor  money's  sake 
Men  marry;  women  are  in  marriage  given: 
The  churl  or  ruffian  that  in  wealth  has  thriven 
May  match  his  offspring  with  the  proudest  race: 
Thus  everything  is  mix*d,  noble  and  base! 

If  then  in  outward  manner,  form,  and  mind 
You  find  us  a  degraded,  motley  kind, 
Wonder  no  more,  my  friend!  the  cause  is  plain. 
And  to  lament  the  consequence  is  vain. 

ADAPTATION 

Join  with  the  world;  adopt  with  every  man 
His  party  views,  his  temper,  and  his  plan; 


1 50  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Strive  to  avoid  offense,  study  to  please. 
Like  the  sagacious  inmate  of  the  seas 
That  an  accommodating  colour  brings, 
Conforming  to  the  rock  to  which  he  clings, 
With  every  change  of  place  changing  his  hue; 
The  model  for  a  statesman  such  as  you. 

THEOGNIS*    PRAYER 

May  Jove  assist  me  to  discharge  the  debt 
Of  kindness  to  my  friends,  and  grant  me  yet 
A  further  boon — revenge  upon  my  foesl 
With  these  accomplished,  I  could  gladly  close 
My  term  of  life — a  fair  requital  made; 
My  friends  rewarded,  and  my  wrongs  repaid. 
Gratitude  and  revenge,  before  I  die, 
Might  make  me  deem'd  almost  a  deity! 

THE   BEST   LOT 

Not  to  be  bom — never  to  see  the  sun — 
No  worldly  blessing  is  a  greater  one! 
And  the  next  best  is  speedily  to  die. 
And  lapt  beneath  a  load  of  earth  to  lie! 


r 


RESIGNATION 

Entire  and  perfect  happiness  is  never 
Vouchsafd  to  man;  but  nobler  minds  endeavour 
To  keep  their  inward  sorrows  unreveal'd. 
With  meaner  spirits  nothing  is  concealed. 
Weak,  and  unable  to  conform  to  fortune. 
With  rude  rejoicing  or  complaint  importune, 
They  vent  their  exultation  or  distress. 
Whate*er  betides  us,  grief  or  happiness, 
The  brave  and  wise  wJU  htiii  wi>lt  ulr  j<1y  miiirl 
Th'  allotment  unforeseen  and  undefin*d 
Of  good  or  evil,  which  the  gods  bestow, 
Promiscuously  dealt  to  man  below. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Mclic  Poets    151 

THE  IMMORTAL  FAME  OF  CYRNUS 

Lo,  I  have  given  thee  plumes  wherewith  to  skim 
The  unfathomed  deep,  and  lightly  hover  around 
Earth's  huge  circumference.    Thou  shalt  be  found 
At  banquets  on  the  breath  of  pxan  and  hymn  : 
To  shrill-voiced  pipes  with  lips  of  seraphim, 

Lovely  young  men  thy  rapturous  fame  shall  sound ; 
Yea,  when  thou  liest  lapped  in  the  noiseless  ground, 
Thy  name  shall  live,  nor  shall  oblivion  dim 
Thy  dawn  of  splendour.     For  these  lands,  these  isles, 
These  multitudinous  waves  of  refluent  seas, 
Shall  be  thy  pleasure  ground  wherethrough  to  roam. 
Borne  by  no  steed,  but  wafted  by  the  smiles 
Of  Muses  violet-crowned,  whose  melodies. 
While  earth  endures,  shall  make  all  earth  thy  home. 

Symonds. 


We  have  considered  above  the  greatest  of  the  poets 
of  this  period  who  are  known  as  elegiac  poets.  But 
the  elegy  was  cultivated  also  by  poets  whose  greatest 
achievements  lay  in  another  field,  and  throughout  the 
history  of  Greek  literature  the  elegant  elegiac  couplet 
was  used  by  poets  like  Simonides,  -^schylus,  and 
Sophocles,  by  prose  writers  such  as  Plato  and  Aristotle, 
and  a  host  of  others,  as  an  appropriate  vehicle  for  the 
expression  of  sentiments  in  honor  of  the  dead,  for 
commemorative  and  dedicatory  inscriptions,  for  con- 
ceits on  the  subject  of  love,  art,  and  in  fact  the 
whole  range  of  human  interests.  Most  of  those  now 
extant  are  found  in  a  collection  called  the  Anthology^^ 
in  which  are  preserved  several  thousand  short  poems, 
covering  a  range  of  over  a  thousand  years.  A  few  of 
the  most  notable  of  these  epigrams  are  here  given  : 

'  This  Anthology,—"  Garland  of  Flowers,"  or,  as  we  should  say,  "Golden 
Treasury  of  Song,  —was  collected  in  the  tenth  century  of  our  era.  Many 
other  epigrams  nave  since  been  added  from  inscriptions  excavated  in 
Greece. 


152  Homer  to  Theocritus 

SIMONIDES  OF  CEOS 

THSRMOPYLAB 

Go,  tell  the  Spartans,  thou  that  passest  by, 
That  here  obedient  to  their  laws  we  lie. 

W.  L.  Bowles. 


BNCOMIUM  ON  THOSE  WHO  DIED  AT  THERMOPYLAE^ 

Of  those  who  at  Thermopylae  were  slain, 

Glorious  the  doom  and  beautiful  the  lot ; 
Their  tomb  an  altar  :  men  from  tears  refrain 

To  honour  them,  and  praise,  but  mourn  them  not. 
Such  sepulchre  nor  drear  decay 
Nor  all-destroying  time  shall  waste  ;  this  right  have  they. 
Within  their  graves  the  home-bred  glory 

Of  Greece  was  laid  :  this  witness  gives 
Leonidas  the  Spartan,  in  whose  story 

A  wreath  of  famous  virtue  ever  lives. 

Stirling. 


PLATAEA 

These  to  their  country  brought  an  endless  name, 
When  death's  dark  cloud  .around  themselves  they  drew; 

Nor  dying  did  they  die  :  their  virtue's  fame 
From  Hades  brings  them  back  to  live  anew. 

Lord  Neaves. 


AESCHYLUS 

EPITAPH  WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF 

This  tomb  the  dust  of  Aeschylus  doth  hide, 
Euphorion's  son,  and  fruitful  Gela's  pride  : 
How  tried  his  valour  Marathon  may  tell. 
And  long-haired  Medes,  who  know  it  all  too  well. 

Plumptre. 

>  This  fiiinous  poem  suits  tlie  context  here,  though  not  in  elegiacs. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    1 53 

ION  OF  CHIOS 

TO  EURIPIDES 

Hail,  dear  Euripides,  for  whom  a  bed 

In  black-leaved  vales  Pierian  is  spread  : 

Dead  though  thou  art,  yet  know  thy  fame  shall  be 

Like  Homer's,  green  through  all  eternity. 

Symonds. 

PLATO 

TO  AN  UNKNOWN 

Thott  wert  the  morning  star  among  the  living. 

Ere  thy  fair  light  had  fled  ; 
Nowy  having  died,  thou  art,  as  Hesperus,  giving 

New  splendour  to  the  dead. 


Shelley. 


SIMMIAS  OF  THEBES 

TO  SOPHOCLES 


Quietly  o'er  the  tomb  of  Sophocles, 
Quietly,  ivy,  creep  with  tendrils  green ; 

And,  roses,  ope  your  petals  everywhere, 
While  dewy  shoots  of  grapevine  peep  between, 

Upon  the  wise  and  honeyed  poet's  grave. 

Whom  Muse  and  Grace  their  richest  treasures  gave. 

Lilla  Cabot 

CALLIMACHUS 

TO  HERACLEITUS 

They  told  me,  Heracleitus,  they  told  me  you  were  dead : 

They  brought  me  bitter  news  to  hear  and  bitter  tears  to  shed. 

I  wept,  as  I  remembered,  how  often  you  and  I 

Had  tired  the  sun  with  talking  and  sent  him  down  the  sky. 

And  now  that  thou  art  lying,  my  dear  old  Carian  guest, 

A  handful  of  gray  ashes,  long,  long  ago  at  rest. 

Still  are  thy  pleasant  voices,  thy  nightingales,  awake. 

For  Death,  he  taketh  all  away,  but  them  he  cannot  take. 

Cory. 


154  Homer  to  Theocritus 

JULIAN  OF  EGYPT 

A  FADED  BEAUTY 

ly  Lais,  who  on  conquered  Greece  looked  down  with  haughty 

pride ; 
I,  to  whose  courts  in  other  days  a  swarm  of  lovers  hied, 
0,  ever-lovely  Venus  !  now  this  mirror  give  to  thee  ; 
For  my  present  self  I  would  not,  and  my  past  1  cannot,  see. 

Anon. 

A  VOICE  FROM  THE  TOMB 

"  Cruel  is  death."    "  Nay,  kind.    He  that  is  ta'en 

Was  old  in  wisdom,  though  his  years  were  few." 
"  Life's  pleasure  hath  he  lost."     "  Escaped  life's  pain  ;  " 
"  Nor  wedded  joys — "    **  nor  wedded  sorrows,  knew." 

Goldwin  Smith. 

ANTIPATER  OF  SIDON 

TO  SAPPHO 

Sappho  thou  coverest,  Aeolian  land  I 

The  Muse  who  died, 
Who  with  the  deathless  Muses,  hand  in  hand. 

Sang,  side  by  side  ! 
Sappho,  at  once  of  Cypris  and  of  Love 

The  child  and  care ; 
Sappho,  that  those  immortal  garlands  wove 

For  the  Muses'  hair ! 
Sappho,  the  joy  of  Hellas,  and  thy  crown. 

Ye  Sisters  dread, 
Who  spin  for  mortals  from  the  distaff  down 

The  threefold  thread. 
Why  span  ye  not  for  her  unending  days, 

Unsetting  sun. 
For  her  who  wrought  the  imperishable  lays 

Of  HeUcon  ? 

Andrew  Lang. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    155 

MELEAGER 

TO  HELIODORA 

ni  twine  sweet  violets,  and  the  myrtle  g^een  ; 
Narcissus  will  I  twine,  and  lilies  sheen  ; 
ril  twine  sweet  crocus,  and  the  hyacinth  blue ; 
And  last  I  twine  the  rose,  love's  token  true  : 
That  all  may  form  a  wreath  of  beauty,  meet 
To  deck  my  Heliodora's  tresses  sweet. 

Goldwin  Smith. 

PTOLEMY 

ON  THE  STARS 

Though  but  the  being  of  a  day, 
When  I  yon  planet's  course  survey, 

This  earth  1  then  despise  : 
Near  Jove's  eternal  throne  I  stand. 
And  quaff  from  an  immortal  hand 

The  nectar  of  the  skies. 

Philip  Smyth. 

ANONYMOUS 

TO  PARTHENOPHIL 

Of  our  great  love,  Parthenophil, 
This  little  stone  abideth  still 

Sole  sign  and  token  : 
I  seek  thee  yet,  and  yet  shall  seek, 
Though  faint  my  eyes,  my  spirit  weak 

With  prayers  unspoken. 
Meanwhile,  best  friend  of  friends,  do  thou, 
If  this  the  cruel  fates  allow, 

By  death's  dark  river. 
Among  those  shadowy  people,  drink 
No  drop  for  me  on  Lethe's  brink  : 

Forget  me  never  I 

Symonds. 


156  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  light  and  rapid  iambic  measure  from  which 
iambic  poetry  derives  its  name,  was  early  felt  to  be 
peculiarly  appropriate  to  sharp  and  swift  retort,  to 
pungent  raillery  and  biting  satire.  In  the  Homeric 
Hymn  to  Demeter  the  mourning  goddess  is  at  last  stirred 
to  laughter  by  the  bright  jests  of  a  girl,  lamb^.  The 
iambic  rhythm  is  that  most  frequently  employed  in 
the  colloquial  language  of  common  life,  and  is  the  fit 
vehicle  for  dialogue  and  for  verse  that  deals  with 
topics  drawn  from  the  range  of  daily  experiences. 
It  received  the   satirical  stamp  which  was  afterward 

I  always  associated  with  the  word  "  iambic  "  from  the 
first  poet  who  employed  it  extensively,  Archilochus> 

Archilochus  flourished  in  the  first  half  oFthe  seventh 
century.  His  life  was  full  of  adventure  and  romance, 
tie  is  said  to  have  been  engaged  to  be  married  to 
Neobuld,  whose  father  withdrew  his  consent  to  the 
match.  Archilochus  then  in  iambic  verse  publicly 
denounced  his  former  sweetheart,  her  father,  and  her 
sisters,  scathing  them  with  all  the  vehemence  of  his 
venomous  nature.  Neobul^  and  her  sisters  straight- 
way hanged  themselves,  as  the  story  goes.  However 
fanciful  this  story  may  be,  the  fact  remains  that 
Archilochus  was  a  poet  of  vigor,  cruel  wit,  and  a  genius 
for  personal  satire.  He  was  ranked  by  the  Greeks 
among  their  greatest  and  most  original  poets,  and  the 
iambic  verse,  which  he  brought  to  perfection,  was 
destined  to  play  a  great  part  in  the  most  perfect  of 
literary  forms  which  Greece  produced— the  drama. 
Unfortunately  only  a  few  fragments  of  his  writings 
remain,  and  for  most  of  these  no  verse  translation 
exists.  Characteristic  are:  **One  thing  I  can — 
requite  with  great  ill  the  man  who  does  me  ill/'  and 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    157 

"O  Lord  Apollo,  point  me  out  the  guilty  and  smite 
them  as  thou  canst  smite."  Another  side  of  his  char, 
acter,  as  of  his  genius,  is  revealed  in  these  splendid 
verseSj  addressed  to  his  own  soul : 

Tossed  on  a  sea  of  troubles,  Soul,  my  Soul, 

Thyself  do  thou  control 

And  to  the  weapons  of  advancing  foes 

A  stubborn  breast  oppose; 

Undaunted  'mid  the  hostile  might 

Of  squadrons  burning  for  the  fight. 

Thine  be  no  boasting  when  the  victor's  crown 

Wins  the  deserved  renown; 

Thine  no  dejected  sorrow  when  defeat 

Would  urge  a  base  retreat: 

Rejoice  in  joyous  things— nor  overmuch 

Let  grief  thy  bosom  touch 

'Midst  evil,  and  still  bear  in  mind, 

How  changeful  are  the  ways  of  humankind. 

William  Hay. 

Symonds  has  translated  three  exquisite  lines,  a  pic- 
ture of  a  young  girl.  **  Greek  sculpture  is  not  more 
pure  in  outline  than  this  fragment": 

Holding  a  myrtle-rod  she  blithely  moved, 
And  a  fair  blossoming  rose;  the  flowing  tresses 
Shadowed  her  shoulders,  falling  to  her  girdle. 

Of  the  two  other  poets  who  inaugurated  iambic 
satire  in  Greece,  Semonides  of  Amorgos  and  Hipponax 
of  Ephesus,  there  is  little  to  say.  From  the  few  verses 
of  the  latter  which  survive  it  is  clear  that  he  was  vul- 
gar, if  clever.  Semonides  has  many  disagreeable  and 
spiteful  things  to  say  about  women.  Already  the 
Greeks,  especially  the  lonians,  had  departed  from  the 
chivalrous  attitude  toward  women  which  characterized 
the  Homeric  age,  and  we  find  more  and  more  evidence 


158  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  the  influence  of  Oriental  ideals  in  this  respect  as  we 
approach  the  classical  period. 

The  poems  belon^in^  f*}  th^  ^^^  hranrhes  f)f  lyfj^ 

poetry  which  we  have  considered  were  essentially  in- 

tended  fpr  recijfllian-    Melic  poetry,  on  the  other  hand, 

was  the  poetry  of  song.     Unlike  the  greater  number  of 

poems  of  the  same  order  in  English,  which  generally 

are  not  set  to  music,  the  musical  accompaniment  was 

an  essential  part  of  Greek  melic  poetry.     The  poet 

was  also  a  musical  composer.     The  instrument  which 

was  used  for  the  accompaniment  was  the  harp  or  lyre. 

This  instrument  had  been  known  to  the  Greeks  from 

remote  times ;  its  invention  was  attributed  to  Hermes. 

But  the  early  lyre  had  only  four  strings ;  the  musical 

element  in  song  in  Homeric  times  must  consequently 

have  been  of  a  very  simple,  monotonous  nature.     The 

invention  of  the  seven-stringed  lyre,  whose  range  was, 

•  of    course,    a   complete   octave,    was    attributed    by 

1  antiquity  to    Terpander  of    Lesbos,   who    flourished 

I  about  660  B.   C.     The  rapid   development  of   melic 

Ipoetry  after  this  epoch  was  a  natural  consequence  of 

jthis  invention. 

'  Choral  poetry  must  be  distinguished  as  a  separate 
branch  of  melic  poetry,  for  a  third  element,  not  found 
in  the  latter,  was  essential  to  it — the  dance.  The 
I  fact,  too,  that  the  choral  was  sung  by  a  chorus  of 
persons,  and  not  by  an  individual,  led  to  an  important 
distinction.  A  chorus  must  be  organized  and  trained. 
Therefore,  while  the  simple  song  could  be  rendered 
on  any  occasion  in  private  life,  the  choral  belonged 
rather  to  public  life  and  assumed  a  much  more  elab- 
orate and  formal  character.  Choral  performances 
were  especially    appropriate  to  occasions  of  public 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets  159 

worship  or  to  the  celebration  of  events  in  which  the 
public  was  especially  interested.  Another  distinction 
arises  out  of  these  diflFerences:  the  song  was  per- 
fected by  the  iEolians  of  Lesbos,  whose  social  and 
political  conditions  tended  to  develop  the  individual 
and  whose  temperament  was  easily  stirred  to  expres- 
sion of  personal  feelings;  but  the  choral  reached  its, 
earliest  development  among  the  Dorians  of  Sparta,  i 
where  the  state  was  everything  and  the  individual! 
nothing.  We  shall  consider  first  the  melic  poets  of' 
the  Lesbian  school. 

The  life  of  the  earliest  great  poet  of  the  Lesbian 
school.  ^Alcaeus,  seems  to  have  been  as  stormy  as  the 
political  condition  of  his  own  island.  He  belonged  to 
the  nobility,  which  was  engaged  in  constant  struggles 
against  one  tyrant  after  another.  During  a  period  of 
exile  he  took  refuge  in  Egypt  and  saw  service  in  the 
army  under  the  Pharaoh.  The  latter  part  of  his  life 
he  spent  in  Lesbos,  having  become  reconciled  with 
his  former  enemy,  the  famous  tyrant  Pittacus,  one  of 
the  seven  sages.  There  is  a  tradition  that  he  loved 
his  countrywoman,  the  poet  Sappho,  to  whom  he  said : 
**Chaste  Sappho,  violet-tressed,  softly  smiling,  I  fain 
would  speak,  but  shame  restrains  me."  Sappho's 
answer  is  recorded:  **Hadst  thou  felt  desire  for  things 
good  or  noble,  and  hadst  not  thy  tongue  framed  some 
evil  speech,  shame  had  not  filled  thy  eyes,  but  thou 
hadst  spoken  honestly  about  it."  Only  a  few  frag- 
ments of  the  poems  of  Alcaeus*  survive,  and  these  are 

^The  Alcaic  stanza,  which  is  named  for  AIcxus,  was  a  favorite  of  Ho^ 
ace.    These  lines  of  Tennyson  represent  it : 

O  miehtv-mouthed  inventor  of  harmonies, 
O  skilled  to  sing  of  time  or  eternity, 
God-gifted  organ  voice  of  England, 
Milton,  a  name  to  resound  for  ages. 


1 60  Homer  to  Theocritus 

not  fair  specimens  of  his  poetical  skill.  The  finest  is 
an  allegory — the  storm-tossed  state — translated  by 
Sir  William  Jones: 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  wild  waves  sweep. 
Whilst  we,  betwixt  them,  o*er  the  deep 

In  shattered  tempest-beaten  bark 
With  labouring  ropes  are  onward  driven. 

The  billows  dashing  o'er  our  dark 
Upheaved  deck  •—  in  tatters  riven 
Our  sails  —  whose  yawning  rents  between 
The  raging  sea  and  sky  are  seen. 
Loose  from  their  hold  our  anchors  burst. 

And  then  the  third,  the  fated  wave. 
Comes  rolling  onward  like  the  first. 

And  doubles  all  our  toil  to  save. 

Most  of  the  fragments  have  to  do  with  wine.  The 
following  description  of  a  winter  day  furnished  the 
model  for  one  of  the  best-known  odes  of  the  Roman 
poet  Horace,  who  was  deeply  indebted  to  Alcseus. 

The  rain  of  Zeus  descends,  and  from  high  heaven 

A  storm  is  driven: 
And  on  the  running  water-brooks  the  cold 

Lays  icy  hold: 
Then  up:  beat  down  the  winter;  make  the  fire 

Blaze  high  and  higher; 
Mix  wine  as  sweet  as  honey  of  the  bee 

Abundantly; 
Then  drink  with  comfortable  wool  around 

Your  temples  bound. 
We  must  not  yield  our  hearts  to  woe,  or  wear 

With  lasting  care; 
For  grief  will  profit  us  no  whit,  my  friend, 

'NOr  nothing  mend: 

But  this  our  best  medicine,  with  wine  fraught 

To  cast  out  thought. 

Symonds. 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets  i6t 

Of  the  life  of  Sappho,  the  greatest  poet  of  the  Les- 
bian school,  very  little  Ts  known  with  certainty.  The 
accounts  which  have  come  down  to  us  were  compiled 
centuries  after  her  time,  after  her  personality,  of 
unique  interest  in  the  history  of  literature,  had 
become  enveloped  in  a  haze  of  romantic  and  malicious 
fables.  She  was  a  native  of  Mytilene,  the  capital  of 
Lesbos,  and  belonged  to  the  highest  nobility  of  the 
island.  That  she  lived  about  the  beginning  of  the 
sixth  century  is  inferred  from  her  acquaintance  with 
Alcseus.  She  is  said  to  have  gone  in  exile  to  Sicily, 
owing,  doubtless,  to  the  political  troubles  in  which  the 
Lesbian  aristocracy  was  involved.  She  was  the  cen- 
tre of  a  club  of  women  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of 
poetry,  such  an  association  as  iEolian  and  Dorian 
women  often  formed,  comparable  to  the  group  of 
Socrates  and  his  followers  in  Athens.  She  was  mar- 
ried to  a  wealthy  Andrian,  to  whom  she  bore 
a  daughter,  of  whom  she  sings : 

I  have  a  child,  a  lovely  one, 

In  beauty  like  the  golden  sun, 

Or  like  sweet  flowers  of  earliest  bloom; 

And  CleTs  is  her  name,  for  whom 

I  Lydia's  treasures,  were  they  mine. 

Would  glad  resign. 

Merivale. 

The  ancients  tell  of  her  unrequited  love  for  a  beauti- 
ful youth  named  Phaon,  for  whom  she  threw  herself 
from  the  Leucadian  cliff  into  the  sea.  But  this 
romance  does  not  appear  until  three  centuries  after 
her  death  and  is  probably  pure  fable. 

Antiquity  was  of  one  mind  as  regards  Sappho's 
merits  as  a  poet.     She  was   known  simply  as  ''the 


1 62  Homer  to  Theocritus 

poetess,"  just  as  Homer  was  **the  poet."  Plato  said 
of  her: 

Some  thoughtlessly  proclaim  the  Muses  nine; 
A  tenth  is  Lesbian  Sappho,  maid  divine. 

In  this  verdict  modem  writers  have  unanimously 
concurred.  Mr.  Symonds  says:  **The  world  has 
suffered  no  greater  literary  loss  than  the  loss  of 
Sappho's  poems.  So  perfect  in  the  smallest  frag- 
ments that  we  muse  in  a  sad  rapture  of  astonishment 
to  think  what  the  complete  poems  must  have  been.  .  .  . 
Of  all  the  poets  of  the  world,  of  all  the  illustrious 
artists  of  all  literature,  Sappho  is  the  one  whose  every 
word  has  a  peculiar  and  unmistakable  perfume,  a  seal 
of  absolute  perfection  and  inimitable  grace."  Her  in- 
fluence upon  lyric  poetry  in  ancient  and  modern  times 
has  been  marked. 

Sappho  was  preeminently  a  poet  whose  songs  were 
but  the  natural  outpourings  of  the  soul.  All  the  pas- 
sion of  her  iEolian  blood,  her  intense  love  of  beauty 
in  nature,  her  every  thought  and  feeling,  found  unre- 
strained expression  in  her  poems.  To  the  Athenians 
of  a  later  day  the  freedom  which  the  iEolians  and 
Dorians  allowed  their  women  was  unintelligible.  In 
Athens  the  brilliant  women  who  shone  in  male  society 
were  exclusively  of  one  class.  In  the  phrase  of  Peri- 
cles the  ideal  of  womanly  virtue  was  ''not  to  be  talked 
about  for  good  or  evil  among  men."  It  is  not  sur- 
prising, therefore,  that  later  Greek  tradition  miscon- 
strued her  perfect  frankness  and  traduced  her  good 
name.  But  to-day  only  the  ignorant  fail  to  discover 
the  sources  from  which  calumnies  against  her  character 
have  sprung.     To  such  ignorance,   however,  is  due 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets  163 

the  fact  that  so  little  now  remains  of  her  poems  and 
those  of  her  contemporaries,  for  the  early  Christian 
emperors  commanded  them  to  be  burned.  Only  one 
complete  poem  survives,  the  larger  part  of  another, 
and  a  considerable  number  of  short  fragments.  The 
Sapphic  stanza,  brought  to  perfection  by  her,  is  imi- 
tated in  the  first  of  the  following  translations: 

PRAYER  TO  APHRODITE 

Glittering-throned,  undying  Aphrodite, 
Wile-weaving  daughter  of  high  Zeus,  I  pray  thee 
Tame  not  my  soul  with  heavy  woe,  dread  mistress. 

Nay,  nor  with  anguish! 
But  hither  come,  if  ever  erst  of  old  time 
Thou  didst  incline  and  listenedst  to  my  crying 
And  from  thy  father's  palace  down  descending 

Camest  with  golden 
Chariot  yoked:  thee  fair  swift-flying  sparrows 
Over  dark  earth  with  multitudinous  fluttering 
Pinion  on  pinion,  through  middle  ether 

Down  from  heaven  hurried. 
Quickly  they  came  like  light,  and  thou,  blest  lady. 
Smiling  with  clear  undying  eyes  didst  ask  me 
What  was  the  woe  that  troubled  me,  and  wherefore 

I  cried  to  thee  ; 
What  thing  I  longed  for  to  appease  my  frantic 
Soul;  and  whom  now  must  I  persuade,  thou  askedst. 
Whom  must  entangle  to  thy  love,  and  who  now. 

Sappho,  hath  wronged  thee? 
Yea,  for  if  now  he  shun,  he  soon  shall  chase  thee; 
Yea,  if  he  take  not  gifts,  he  soon  shall  give  them; 
Yea,  if  he  love  not,  soon  shall  he  begin  to 

Love  thee,  unwillingly. 

Come  to  me  now  too,  and  from  tyrannous  sorrow 

Free  me,  and  all  things  that  my  soul  desires  to 

Have  done,  do  for  me,  queen,  and  let  thyself  too 

Be  my  great  ally. 

}.  A.  Symonds. 


1 64  Homer  to  Theocritus 

TO  A  LOVED  ONE 

Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  be. 
The  youth  who  fondly  sits  by  thee, 
And  bears  and  sees  thee  all  the  while 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile. 

Twas  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  raised  such  tumults  in  my  breast; 
For  while  I  gazed,  in  transport  lost. 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost: 

My  bosom  glowed  ;  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  tbrougb  all  my  vital  frame  ; 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung, 

la  dewy  damp  roy  limbs  were  chilled; 
My  blood  with  gentle  horror  thrilled; 
My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play; 
I  funted,  sank,  and  died  away, 

Ambrose  Philips. 

TO  A  MAIDEN 
Of  foliage  and  flowers  love-laden 

Twine  wreaths  for  thy  flowing  bair. 
With  thine  own  soft  lingers,  maiden. 

Weave  garlands  of  parsley  fair. 
For  flowers  are  sweet,  and  the  Graces 

On  suppliants  wreathed  with  may 
Look  down  from  their  heavenly  places,  ■ 

But  turn  from  the  crownless  away. 

SyiDonds, 

A  GIRL  IN  LOVE 

Ofa,  my  sweet  mother,  'tis  \d  vain, 
I  cannot  weave  as  once  I  wove. 

So  wildered  is  my  heart  and  brain 
^^  With  thinking  of  that  youth  I  love. 

^"~  Thomas  Moore; 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    165 

MIDNIGHT 

The  moon  hath  left  the  sky  : 
Lost  is  the  Pleiads'  light : 

It  is  midnight 
And  time  slips  by  : 
But  on  my  couch  alone  I  lie. 

Symonds. 

ON  RESTRAINING  ANGER 

When  through  thy  breast  wild  wrath  doth  spread 
And  work  thy  inmost  being  harm, 

Leave  thou  the  fiery  word  unsaid, 
Guard  thee ;  be  calm. 

Michael  Field. 

THE  NIGHTINGALE 

The  tawny  sweet-winged  thing 
Whose  cry  was  but  of  Spring. 

Swinburne. 

TO  AN  UNCULTURED  LESBIAN  WOMAN 

Thou  liest  dead,  and  there  will  be  no  memory  left  behind 
Of  thee  or  thine  in  all  the  earth,  for  never  didst  thou  bind 
The  roses  of  Pierian  streams  upon  thy  brow ;  thy  doom 
Is  writ  to  flit  with  unknown  ghosts  in  cold  and  nameless  gloom. 

Edwin  Arnold. 

TO  AN  AWKWARD  GIRL 

What  country  maiden  charms  thee, 

However  fair  her  face, 
Who  knows  not  how  to  gather 

Her  dress  with  artless  grace?. 

.    Wharton. 

FRAGMENT  OF  A  WEDDING  SONG 

Artists,  raise  the  rafters  high ! 

Ample  scope  and  stately  plan — 
Mat$-like  comes  the  bridegroom  nigh, 

Loftier  than  a  lofty  man. 

Anon, 


1 66  Homer  to   Theocritus 

Anacreon  of  Teos  lived  in  the  latter  p^rt  of  the  giTth 
century"     Gaining  celebrity  as  a  poet  at  the  court  of 

^Oiycrates.    Tyr?"*^    r>f    5^|imng^    hp    wag    gummnnpfl    fn 

Athens  to  adorn  the  court  of  the  tyrant  Hipparchus, 
son  ot  reisistratus.  He  thus  became  one  of  the  group 
of  brilliant  poets  whose  activity  centred  at  Athens  at 
this  time.'  Anacreon  wag  fgg|rntinlly  a  ntriirt  pnft  nnri 
his  songs  rarely  tnuc}]f^(]  npnn  thpmA«^  piore  gerious 
tnan  love  and  wine.^  His  poems,  characterized  always 
"by  eTegance  and  grace,  achieved  a  wide  popularity  and 
were  widely  imitated.  The  majority  of  the  poems 
which  have  come  down  under  his  name  are  spurious  and 
of  late  origin — the  so-called  Anacreontics.  A  specimen 
of  these  is  given  below  after  two  selections  from  the 
remains  of  Anacreon,  all  in  the  translation  of  Thomas 
Moore.  The  first  selection  strikes  a  note  uncommon  in 
this  poet. 

OLD  AGE 

Golden  hues  of  youth  are  fled  ; 
Hoary  locks  deform  my  head. 
Bloomy  graces,  dalliance  gay, 
All  the  flowers  of  life  decay. 
Withering  age  begins  to  trace 
Sad  memorials  o'er  my  face  ; 
Time  has  shed  its  sweetest  bloom, 
All  the  future  must  be  gloom ! 
This  awakes  my  hourly  sighing  ; 
Dreary  is  the  thought  of  dying  t 
Pluto's  is  a  dark  abode, 
Sad  the  journey,  sad  the  road  : 
And,  the  gloomy  travel  o'er, 
Ah !  we  can  return  no  more  ! 

YOUTH  AND  PLEASURE 

Rich  in  bliss,  I  proudly  scorn 
The  stream  of  Amalthea's  horn ! 


The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets    167 

Nor  should  I  ask  to  call  the  throne 
Of  the  Tartessian  prince  ^  my  own ; 
To  totter  through  his  train  of  years. 
The  victim  of  declining  fears. 
One  little  hour  of  joy  for  me 
Is  worth  a  dull  eternity ! 

DRINKING— AN  ANACREONTIC 

Observe  when  mother  earth  is  dry, 
She  drinks  the  droppings  of  the  sky ; 
And  then  the  dewy  cordial  gives 
To  every  thirsty  plant  that  lives. 
The  vapours,  which  at  evening  weep, 
Are  beverage  to  the  swelling  deep  ; 
And  when  the  rosy  sun  appears, 
He  drinks  the  ocean's  misty  tears. 
The  moon,  too,  quaffs  her  paly  stream 
Of  lustre  from  the  solar  beam. 
Then,  hence  with  all  your  sober  thinking  I 
Since  Nature's  holy  law  is  drinking ; 
I'll  make  the  laws  of  Nature  mine, 
.  And  pledge  the  universe  in  wine  ! 

1  Arganthonius,  ruler  of  Tartessus  in  Spain  (the  Tarsish  of  the  Bible)  about 
600  B.  C,  is  said  by  Herodotus  to  have  reigned  80  years  and  to  have  reached 
the  age  of  190  years. 


CHAPTER  VII 

CHORAL  LYRIC.      PINDAR 

The  Dorian  School — Alcman  —  Stesichorus  —  Anon  —  Simon- 
ides  —  Bacchylides  —  Pindar  —  His  Life  —  The  Festivals 
and  Games — The  Epinician  Ode — Analysis  of  the  Seventh 
Olympian  ^P'mdaifs  Prelades — The  Future  Life  in  Pin- 
dar—  Fragment  of  a  Dirge. 

We  turn  now  to  the  lyric  poets  of  the  Dorian 
school.  The  Dorians  themselves  seem  to  have  pro- 
duced very  few  poets,  but  Sparta  attracted  from  out- 
side  some  poets  of  the  first  order  who  succeeded  won- 
derfully in  catching  the  spirit  of  Dorian  institutions 
and  in  conforming  to  the  requirements  of  Dorian 
taste.  Now  Sparta  was  strictly  a  military  state,  and 
all  of  its  institutions  conforffifnj   fO  t^^  rT^monHc  nf 


a  soclety^rja:anized  for  t^^  prnHn^f^r^n  r^f  c/^^r^; 
AH  sentiments  except  those  of  partiotism  and  religion 
were  discouraged.  The  themes  of  their  poets  must  be 
the  glorious  traditions  of  the  race,  the  praise  of  the 
gods,  a  victory  of  some  Dorian  in  the  athletic  games, 
the  celebration  of  some  important  civic  event,  and  the 
like.  Furthermore,  the  lyric  poet  should  voice  not 
his  own  sentiments,  but  those  of  the  people,  and  his 
song  must  be  of  a  kind  in  which  the  public  could 
participate.  The  result  was  a  highly  developed  choral 
lyric,  in  which  the  words  and  music  were  supplemented 
by  the  stately  evolutions  of  the  chorus.  The  stamp 
of  the  Dorian  genius  was  so  impressed  upon  this 
branch  of  poetry  that  the  choral,  even  when  composed 

i68 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  169 

by  an  Athenian  or  Bceotian,  always  retained  the  Doric 
dialect  (see  page  9).  Of  choral  lyric  there  were  as 
many  varieties  as  there  were  occasions  which  called 
for  the  song.  We  shall  have  occasion  to  notice 
a  number  of  these  varieties. 

Alcman  was  one  of  the  earliest  of  the  Dorian  lyric 
poets  ^660  B.  d.  It  was  he  who  first  gave  an  artistic 
form  to  the  choral  ode  by  arranging  it  in  balancing 
stanzas,  the  first  stanza,  or  strophe  (**turning"), 
accompanying  an  evolution  of  the  chorus  to  the  right ; 
the  second,  or  antistrophe,  a  corresponding  movement 
to  the  left,  and  so  on  through  the  ode.  The  longest 
and  most  notable  fragment  remaining,  discovered  in 
Egypt  in  1855,  is  a  choral  for  maidens,  a  branch 
in  which  Alcman  gained  especial  distinction.  His 
description  of  a  night  in  Lacedaemon  shows  a  true 
sympathy  with  nature:  **The  summits  of  the  moun- 
tains are  sleeping,  and  the  ravines,  the  headlands,  and 
the  torrent  courses,  the  leaves  that  the  black  earth 
nourishes,  and  all  creeping  things,  the  wild  creatures 
of  the  hills,  and  the  race  of  bees,  and  the  monsters  in 
the  depths  of  the  dark  sea,  and  sleep  is  upon  the 
tribes  of  the  wide-winged  birds." 

StesichorusJjDf  Sicily  (620  B.  C.)  perfected  the  form 
of  the  choral  lyric  by  adding  a  third  member  to  each 
pair  of  stanzas,  the  epode,  sung  by  the  chorus  staiTdi- 
ing,  atter  the  two  preceding  evolutions  oT  strophe  and 
antistrophe.  His  Palinode  {Recantation)  to  Helen  was 
famous.  In  an  ode  he  had  told  the  usual  story  about 
Helen's  flight  to  Troy,  and  of  the  misery  her  sin  had 
caused.     Thereupon  he  was  stricken  with  blindness, 

^Hls  real  name  was  Tisias,  but  he  was  called  Stesicbonis,  "Martha? 
of  Choruse-.,"  from  his  skill  as  a  choral  poet. 


lyo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

for  Helen  had  become  a  goddess.  So  he  wrote  the 
Palinode^  beginning:  **Not  true  is  this  story.  Thou 
didst  not  go  in  the  well-benched  ships,  nor  didst  thou 
come  to  the  citadel  of  Troy."  He  then  develops  the 
fiction  that  a  phantom  of  Helen  was  taken  to  Troy; 
and  his  sight  was  promptly  restored. 

Arion  of  Corinth,  a  Lesbian  by  birtb>  was  a  little 
late7  than  Stesichorus,  and  claims  a  large  place  in  the 
history  of  the  choral  lyric.  It  was  he  who  elaborated 
the  dithyramb,  or  the  choral  hymn  to  Dionysus,  out  of 
which  tragedy  developed.  He  fixed  the  number  of 
the  chorus  at  fifty,  and  seems  to  have  given  a  distinc- 
tive character  to  the  evolutions  of  the  dithyrambic 
chorus  and  to  the  manner  of  the  performance. 
Herodotus  tells  a  quaint  story  of  how  he  was  thrown 

I  into  the  sea  by  pirates  and  was  carried  safely  to  land 

.  by  dolphins,  charmed  by  his  singing. 

j       With  Simonides  of  Ceos  a  new  era  in  lyric  poetry 

*  begins.  Toward  the  end  of  the  sixth  century  Athens 
succeeded  in  ridding  herself  of  the  tyrants  Hippias 
and  Hipparchus,  and  established  the  democracy. 
These  rulers,  on  the  whole  enlightened  sovereigns, 
had  drawn  a  large  number  of  brilliant  literary  men  to 
Athens,  among  whom  were  Anacreon  and  Simonides. 
Soon  after  the  establishment  of  the  democracy  Athens 
and  Greece  passed  through  the  tremendous  struggle 
for  freedom  with  the  Persians,  the  invasion  of  Darius 
culminating  at  Marathon  and  the  second  attack  under 
Xerxes  being  repulsed  at  Salamis  and  Plataea — ^glori- 
ous victories  in  which  all  Greece  had  a  share,  though 
to  Athens  fell  the  largest  part.  The  Greeks  began  to 
feel  that  they  were  one  people  and  that  Athens  was 
their  leader  and  champion.     From  this  time  on  Athens 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  171 

became  the  literary  centre  of  Greece,  and  for  two 
centuries  the  history  of  Greek  literature  can  almost  be 
said  to  be  that  of  Athenian  literature. 

The  life  of  Simonides  fell  in  these  stirring  times^ 
The  greater  portion  of  his  life  he  spent  at  the  courts 
of  the  tyrants.  But  he  identified  himself  at  once  with 
the  Athenian  democracy,  and  after  the  Persian  wars 
voiced  the  sentiments  of  liberty-loving  Greece  in  the 
famous  epigrams  on  the  fallen  to  which  we  have 
already  referred.  He  died  at  the  court  of  Hiero, 
in  Syracuse,  loaded  with  honors.  Highly  gifted  by 
nature,  Simonides  was  yet  a  professional  poet  who 
tuned  his  lyre  according  to  the  pay.  The  story  is 
told  that  he  once  received  a  commission  to  write 
a  poem  in  celebration  of  a  victory  won  by  a  team  of 
mules.  He  refused,  alleging  that  the  subject  was  too 
ignoble  for  his  muse.  But  when  the  reward  was 
Increased  he  wrote  the  spirited  poem  which  begins, 
**Hail!  ye  daughters  of  horses,  swift  as  the  winds." 
Simonides  won  distinction  in  almost  every  branch  of 
lyric  poetry,  especially  in  epinicia,  or  odes  celebrating 
victories  in  the  games — a  branch  in  which  he  was  the 
rival  of  Pindar — and  in  the  epigram.  The  following 
beautiful  fragment  of  a  dirge  is  extant.  DanaS  and 
her  babe  Perseus,  her  son  by  Zeus,  are  adrift  at  sea 
in  a  chest,  committed  to  the  waves  to  die  by  Dana^'s 
father : 

When,  in  the  carven  chest, 
The  winds  that  blew  and  waves  in  wild  unrest 
Smote  her  with  fear,  she,  not  with  cheeks  unwet. 
Her  arms  of  love  round  Perseus  set. 
And  said:  O  child,  what  grief  is  mine! 
But  thou  dost  slumber,  and  thy  baby  breast 
Is  sunk  in  rest. 


172  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Here  in  the  cheerless  brass-bound  bark. 
Tossed  amid  starless  night  and  pitchy  dark. 

Nor  dost  thou  heed  the  scudding  brine 
Of  waves  that  wash  above  thy  curls  so  deep. 
Nor  the  shrill  winds  that  sweep, — 
Lapped  in  thy  purple  robe's  embrace. 

Fair  little  face! 
But  if  this  dread  were  dreadful  too  to  thee. 
Then  wouldst  thou  lend  thy  listening  ear  to  me; 
Therefore  I  cry,  —  Sleep,  babe,  and  sea,  be  still. 
And  slumber  our  unmeasured  ill! 

Oh,  may  some  change  of  fate,  sire  Zeus,  from  thee 

Descend,  our  woes  to  end! 

But  if  this  prayer,  too  overbold,  offend 

Thy  justice,  yet  be  merciful  to  me! 

J.  A.  Symonds. 

jacchvlides.  the  nephew  of  SJt^^i^n'^***^,  F^»  ^Isn 
a_C9ucL-PQ£t.  Although  he  was  far  inferior  as  a  poet 
to  his  uncle,  a  universal  interest  attaches  to  him  at 
present  from  the  fact  that  a  papyrus  roll  containing 
twenty  of  his  odes  was  discovered  in  Egypt  in  1896 
and  acquired  by  the  British  Museum.  Before  that 
time  only  a  few  pages  of  short  fragments  were  pre- 
served. Most  of  his  odes  were  written  to  celebrate 
victories  at  the  athletic  games,  but  several  are  of 
a  religious  import.  In  one  of  the  later  occurs  a  pretty 
scene.  Theseus  and  the  Athenian  youths  who  were 
offered  yearly  as  a  sacrifice  to  the  Minotaur  are  on 
the  ship  with  Minos,  king  of  Crete.  Minos  insults 
one  of  the  maidens,  whereat  young  Theseus  defies  the 
king,  who  throws  a  ring  into  the  sea,  challenging 
Theseus  to  prove  his  divine  origin. 

"Into  the  waves  leapt  the  hero,  and  gentle  eyes  dropped  a 
tear,  boding  dire  disaster.  But  dolphins,  denizens  of  the  sea, 
bore  strong  Theseus  swiftly  to  the  palace  of  the  knightly  sire. 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  173 

He  reached  the  gods'  abode,  and  there  beheld  with  awe  the 
daughters  of  blessed  Nereus;  for  from  their  glorious  limbs 
gleamed  a  radiance  as  of  fire  as  with  supple  feet  they  delighted 
their  heart  in  the  dance.  And  Amphitrite  threw  about  him 
a  purple  mantle,  and  on  his  shining  locks  set  a  faultless  wreath 
twined  with  roses,  a  wedding-gift  once  from  Aphrodite.  At 
the  ship's  stem  he  rose.  Ah  I  in  what  thoughts  he  disturbed 
the  Cretan  king  when  he  came  from  the  sea  undrenched,  a 
marvel  to  all.  On  his  limbs  gleamed  the  god's  gifts,  and  the 
radiant  maidens  with  new-born  courage  lifted  up  a  shout  of 
joy.  The  sea  resounded  with  the  peal,  and  the  boys  standing 
near  with  sweet  voices  raised  a  paean  of  praise.*' 

As  iEolian  song  reached  its  highest  point  with\ 
Sappho,  so  the  Dorian  choral  ode  culminat^^ Jf)  Pir^fi^r,  j 
its  latest  representative.  But  though  Pindar's  odes 
were  Dorian  in  form,  continuing  and  perfecting  the 
traditions  which  began  with  Alcman  and  Stesichorus, 
yet  Pindar,  like  Simonides,  was  thoroughly  Pan-Hel*| 
lenic  in  spirit,  belonging  to  no  one  branch  of  th 
Greek  people.  Born  at  Thebes^  in  Boeotia,  in^22  B 
C,  of  an  old  aristocratic  family,  he  was  early  traine 
in  music  and  in  poetry  for  a  professional  career.  Of 
the  details  of  his  life  we  have  little  knowledge,  but  he 
certainly  traveled  widely,  visiting  both  the  scenes  of 
the  great  national  games  which  he  celebrated  and  the 
countries  of  his  royal  patrons.  He  died  about  452, 
after  an  active  literary  career  of  fifty  years.  ' 

Pindar  was  some  thirty  years  the  junior  of  Simon- 
ides. He  had  scarcely  made  his  d^but  in  the  literary 
world  when  the  threatening  storm  of  the  Persian  inva- 
sion roused  all  Greece  to  united  action  in  defense  of 
liberty.  The  glorious  share  which  Simonides  had  in 
perpetuating  the  memory  of  the  heroism  of  Marathon, 
Thermopylae,  Salamis,  and  Platsea  has  already  been 


T74  Homer  to  Theocritus 

mentioned.  Pindar  was  no  less  loyal  than  his  elder 
rival,  but  Thebes,  his  native  cky,  alone  of  all  the 
states  of  central  and  southern  Greece,  held  herself 
aloof  and  even  supported  the  barbarian.  Pindar 
nowhere  speaks  openly  of  his  state's  disgrace/  but  his 
deep  sympathy  with  the  cause  of  Greek  freedom  is 
shown  in  the  allusion  to  "the  intolerable  suffering  for 
Hellas  which  some  god  hath  turned  aside  for  us,"  and 
by  his  memorable  apostrophe  to  **  violet-crowned, 
illustrious  Athens,  the  theme  of  poets,  bulwark  of 
Greece."  But  it  was  not  Pindar's  good  fortune  to  be 
the  poet  of  Greek  liberty.  His  title  to  be  called  the 
poet  of  all  Hellas,  and  not  of  one  section  alone,  arises 
rather  from  his  connection  with  the  great  national 
festivals,  in  which  all  branches  of  the  Greek  race  came 
together  as  one  people. 

These  festivals  were  four  in  number.  The  Olym- 
pian^  in  honor  of  Zeus,  was  held  at  Olympia,  in  Elis, 
once  in  four  years.  The  prize  for  the  victors  in  the 
games  was  a  wreath  of  wild  olive  The  next  in 
importance  was  the  Pythian^  heldj^t  r^^lph*  **^***'y  ^q}i^ 
years  in  honorj^f  j\,ppllo.  The  prizes  were  a  wreath  of 
laurel  and  a  palm  branch.  The  Isthmian  and  Nemean 
were  of  lesser  importance  compared  with  the  two 
others,  and  were  celebrated  every  two  years,  the  one 
at  Corinth,  in  honor  of  Poseidon,  the  other  at  Nemea 
in  Argolis,  in  honor  of  Zeus.  The  prizes  were  wreaths 
of  parsley  and  of  pine  respectively.  It  is  hard  for 
us  to  realize  the  immense  importance  which  attached 
to  these  religious  gatherings.  The  Greeks  flocked  to 
them  from  all  corners  of  the  Mediterranean.  A  sacred 
truce  from  hostilities  was  observed  during  the  festival, 
and  safe  conduct  was  guaranteed  by  each  state  to 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar 


^75 


<r- 


every  pilgrim  passing  through  its  territory.  The  prin- 
cipal events  of  the  festival  were  the  athletic  contests, 
to  which  only  Greeks  of  pure  descent  were  admitted. 
Of  these  the  most  important  was  the  fogt-rac 
two  hundred  yards  dash."  The  victor  in  this  event 
at  Olympia  gave  his  namp  to  the  whole  period  of  four 
years*  Even  sober  historians  like  Thucydides  date 
political  events  by  the  Olympiad  "in  which  So-and-so 
won  the  foot-race. "  Princes  and  men  o^  yfialt^  qinnA 
could  contend  in  the  chariot^race,  but  the  highest 
honor  of  all  could  be  won  by  the  humblest.  The  victor 
lent  distinction  to  his  native  town  forever,  and  the 
greatest  poets  and  sculptors  were  called  upon  to  per- 
petuate the  fame  of  the  victor,  his  family,  and  his  city. 

Pindar  was  of  all  the  poets  of  his  time  the  best 
fitted  by  birth,  training,  and  genius  to  do  justice  to 
such  subjects  as  the  great  religious  festivals  offered 
him.  An  aps^ofj'r^t  ^hronQrVi  ory^  throng^i  hf  makes 
the  nobility  of  family  and  the  proud  traditions  of  race 
stand  out  in  high  relief.  Closely  connected  himself 
with  the  worship  of  4E21!5L3^  Delphi^  he  keeps  the 
religious  aspect  of  the  festivals  in  the  foreground,  not 
permitting  the  mere  athletic  side  to  overshadow  all 
else.  Keenly  alive  to  the  grander  and  more  imposing 
aspects  of  external  nature,  he  never  lets  us  forget  the 
splendid  scenes  through  which  his  subject  leads  him. 
And  finally,  with  his  superb  genius  as  a  poet  and  his 
marvelous  mastery  of  musical  and  choral  technique, 
he  produced  poems  which  are  perfect  as  works  of  art. 
The  Greeks  counted  him  their  greatest  lyricpoet 

Of  his  epinician  odes,  or  odes  of  victory,  forty-four 
are  extant.  It  is  impossible  to  give  an  adequate  idea 
of  the  splendor  of  these  odes  through  the  medium  of 


fir  **^^ T!^ 


1  ]6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

translations.  Our  language  has  neither  the  rhythm 
nor  the  diction  to  represent  Pindar.  Even  in  the 
orginal  they  are  difficult  reading,  owing  to  the 
obscurity  of  thought  arising  from  swift  transition  and 
allusions  to  which  we  no  longer  possess  the  key.  The 
Greek  hearer  had  the  advantage  of  us  in  these  matters, 
but  especially  in  th#^  arrrtn^panyipf^  munir  iind  dance, 
loth  indispensable  to  the  general  effect.  But  we  may 
iat  any  rate  examine  the  structure  of  the  Pindaric  ode 
Jand  illustrate  some  of  its  poetical  qualities. 

Some  Greek  has  won  a  victory  iii  the  games.  The 
poet  who  is  called  upon  to  celebrate  this  victory  must 
tell  who,  in  what  event,  and  at  what  festival,  and 
must  praise  the  victor  for  his  prowess  and  good  for- 
tune, and  congratulate  his  family  and  his  state.  It 
is  Pindar's  manner  to  weave  these  facts  into  his  ode 
in  such  a  way  as  not  to  put  us  into  possession  of  all 
the  facts  at  once,  nor  to  make  too  prominent  the  per- 
son of  the  victor.  He  magnifies  rather  the  festival, 
or  the  noble  lineage  of  the  victor,  or  a  mythological 
incident  suggested  by  his  career,  or  the  heroic  and 
mythical  legends  associated  with  the  festival,  the 
victor,  or  the  victor's  native  city.  This  subject,  which 
usually  occupies  the  larger  central  portion  of  the  ode, 
is  known  as  the  **myth"  of  the  poem,  and  is  attached 
to  the  introduction  by  means  of  a  swift  note  of  transi- 
tion which  is  likely  to  escape  the  unobserving  reader. 
At  the  end  of  the  ode  the  poet  returns  to  his  theme  by 
a  similar  transition,  often  concluding  by  a  note  of 
warning  or  advice  or  by  a  reference  to  the  undying 
fame  which  the  poet's  gifts  confer.  Interwoven  in 
the  poem  we  often  find  interesting  bits  of  moralizing 
on  the  problems  of  this  world  and  the  next. 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  177 

An  analysis  of  the  seventh  Olympian  ode  will  serve 
us  as  an  illustration  of  the  structure  of  a  Pindaric  ode. 
It  is  in  honor  of  Diagoras  of  Rhodes,  the  most  celis- 
brated  athlete  of  his  time,  winner  in  the  boxing-match. 

Introduction.-^ As  when  a  man  takes  from  his  wealthy 
hand  a  goblet  foaming  with  the  dew  of  grape,  and  gives  it 
with  healths  and  pledges  to  his  youthful  son-in-law  to  bear 
from  one  home  to  the  other  home,  golden,  the  crown  of  his 
possessions;  gracing  the  feast  and  glorifying  his  kinsman, 
and  makes  him  in  the  eyes  of  the  assembled  friends  to  be 
envied  for  his  harmonious  wedlock;  so  I,  sending  outpoured 
nectar,  the  Muses*  gift,  to  conquering  heroes,  the  sweet  fruit 
of  the  soul,  greet  them  like  gods,  victors  at  Olympia  and 
Pytho. 

Theme.  —  Happy  is  be  whom  good  report  encompasseth; 
now  on  one  man,  now  on  another,  doth  the  Grace  that  giveth 
joy  to  life  look  with  favor,  and  tune  for  him  the  lyre  and 
the  stops  of  music  manifold.  Thus  with  the  sound  of  the 
twain  am  I  come  with  Diagoras  sailing  home,  to  sing  the 
sea-girt  Rhodes,  child  of  Aphrodite  and  bride  of  Melius,  that 
I  may  glorify,  as  a  tribute  to  his  boxing,  a  mighty  man  who 
hath  won  crowns  by  Alpheus*  Stream  and  at  Castalia,  and  his 
father  Demegetus,  in  whom  Justice  hath  her  delight. 

The  allusion  to  the  home  and  the  ancestry  of  Dia- 
goras leads  up  to  the  myth,  which  here  falls  into  two 
parts.  The  first  part  tells  of  the  colonization  of 
Rhodes  by  Tlepolemus,  son  of  Heracles  and  ancestor 
of  Diagoras;  then  follows  the  explanation  of  the  origin 
of  the  worship  of  Helius  and  Athene  on  the  island. 
The  main  part  of  the  myth,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  the 
story  of  the  birth  of  Rhodes  from  the  sea; 

Myth. — Now  the  ancient  story  of  men  saith  that  when  Zeus 
and  tbe  other  gods  made  division  of  the  earth  among  them,  not 
yet  was  Rhodes  apparent  in  the  open-  sea,  but  in  the  briny 
depths  lay  hid.    And  none  drew,  tbe  lot  for  Helius,  who  was 


178  Homer  to  Theocritus 

absent;  so  they  left  him  portionless  of  land,  that  holy  god. 
And  when  he  spake  thereof  Zeus  would  cast  lots  afresh; 
but  he  suffered  him  not,  for  he  said  that  beneath  the  hoary 
sea  he  saw  a  certain  land  waxing  from  its  root  in  earth, 
that  should  bring  forth  food  for  many  men  and  rejoice  in 
flocks.  And  the  son  of  Cronus  promised  him  that  the  isle 
sent  up  to  the  light  of  heaven  should  thenceforth  be  his 
share.  And  his  speech  had  fulfilment.  There  sprang  up  from 
the  watery  main  an  island,  and  the  father  who  begetteth  the 
sun*s  rays  hath  the  dominion  thereof,  even  the  lord  of  fire- 
breathing  steeds. 

Returning  to  his  theme,  the  poet  swiftly  recounts 
the  athletic  previous  victories  of  Diagoras,  and  con- 
cludes thus: 

Conclusion.— Do  thou,  O  Father  Zeus,  glorify  the  accus- 
tomed Olympian  winner's  hymn  and  the  man  who  hath  done 
valiantly  with  his  fists.  Give  him  honor  at  the  hands  of  citizens 
and  strangers;  for  he  walketh  in  the  straight  way  that  abhor- 
reth  insolence,  having  learnt  well  the  lessons  his  true  soul  hath 
taught  him,  which  hath  come  to  him  from  his  noble  sires.  .  . 
Surely  with  the  joys  of  his  family  the  whole  city  maketh  glad. 
But  in  a  moment  of  time  the  varying  breezes  shift  their  course. 

Pindar's  introductions  to  his  odes  are  especially 
brilliant.  '*As  when  with  golden  columns  reared 
beneath  the  well-walled  palace  porch  we  build  a  splen- 
did hall,  so  will  I  build  my  song.  At  the  beginning 
of  a  work  we  must  make  the  portal  radiant  from  afar.  *' 
The  most  admired  is  the  prelude  to  the  first  Pythian 
ode,  in  honor  of  Hiero,  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  winner 
in  the  chariot^race : 

O  golden  lyre, 
Apollo*s,  dark-haired  Muses'  joint  heirloom, 

Alert  for  whom 
The  dancer's  footstep  listens,  and  the  choir 
Of  singers  wait  the  sound* 
Beginning  of  the  round 


Choral  Lyric.     Pindar  179 

Of  festal  joy,  whene'er  thy  quivering  strings 
Strike  up  a  prelude  to  their  carolings. 

Thou  slakest  the  lanced  bolt  of  quenchless  fire; 
Yea,  drooped  each  wing  that  through  the  aether  sweeps, 
Upon  his  sceptre  Zeus's  eagle  sleeps. 

The  bird-king  crowned! 
The  while  thou  sheddest  o'er  his  beaked  head  bowed 

A  darkling  cloud, 
Sweet  seal  of  the  eyelids, — and  in  dreamful  swound 
His  rippling  back  and  sides 
Heave  with  thy  music's  tides; 
Thou  bidst  impetuous  Ares  lay  apart 
His  keen-edged  spear,  and  soothe  with  sleep  his  heart; 
Thou  launchest  at  the  breasts  of  gods,  and  bound 
As  by  a  spell,  they  own  thy  lulling  power, 
Latoides's  and  the  deep -zoned  Muses'  dower. 

Newcomer. 

Pindar's  view  of  the  future  life,  with  its  system  of 
just  rewards  and  punishments,  is  unusually  definite  for 
his  time.  In  the  second  Olympian  he  weaves  these 
thoughts  into  the  myth:  Among  the  dead,  sinful  souls 
at  once  pay  penalty,  and  the  crimes  done  in  this  realm 
of  Zeus  are  judged  beneath  the  earth  by  one  who  gives 
sentence  under  dire  necessity. 

Sir,  But  in  the  happy  fields  of  light. 
Where  Phoebus  with  an  equal  ray 
Illuminates  the  balmy  night. 

And  gilds  the  cloudless  day, 
In  peaceful,  unmolested  joy, 
The  good  their  smiling  hours  employ. 
Them  no  uneasy  wants  constrain 

To  vex  the  ungrateful  soil, 
To  tempt  the  dangers  of  the  billowy  main, 
And  break  their  strength  with  unavailing  toil, 
A  frail  disastrous  being  to  maintain. 

But  in  their  joyous  calm  abodes. 


i8o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  recompense  of  justice  they  receive; 

And  in  the  fellowship  of  gods, 
Without  a  tear  eternal  ages  live. 
While  banished  by  the  fates  from  joy  and  rest. 
Intolerable  woes  the  impious  soul  infest 

Antistr,  But  they  who,  in  true  virtue  strong, 

And  keep  their  minds  from  fraudful  wrong 

And  guilt's  contagion,  pure; 
They  through  the  starry  paths  of  Jove 
To  Saturn's  blissful  seat  remove: 
Where  fragrant  breezes,  vernal  airs, 

Sweet  children  of  the  main. 
Purge  the  Jilcst'^sland  from  corroding  cares, 
And  fan  .the  bosom  of  each  verdant  plain: 
Whose  fertile  soil  immortal  fruitage  bears; 

Trees,  from  whose  flaming  branches  flowi 
Arrayed  in  golden  bloom,  refulgent  beams; 

And  flowers  of  golden  hue,  that  blow 
On  the  fresh  borders  of  their  parent  streams. 
These  by  the  blest  in  solemn  triumph  worn. 
Their  unpolluted  hands  and  clustering  locks  adorn. 

Epode    Such  is  the  righteous  will,  the  high  behest 
Of  Rhadamanthus,  ruler  of  the  blest; 
The  just  assessor  of  the  throne  divine, 
On  which,  high  raised  above  all  gods,  recline, 
Linked  in  the  golden  bands  of  wedded  love, 
The  great  progenitors  of  thundering  Jove. 
There  in  the  number  of  the  blest  enrolled 

LLive  Cadmus,  Peleus,  heroes  famed  of  old; 
And  young  Achilles,  to  these  isles  removed, 
n  as,  by  Thetis  won,  relenting  Jove  approved. 

Gilbert  West. 

Pindar  covered  the  whole  range  of  choral  poetry, 
but  apart  from  the  odes  of  victory  only  a  few  frag- 
ments remain.  The  following  fragment  of  a  dirge 
gives  another  picture  of  Elysium : 


Choral  Lyric     Pindar  i8i 

Shines  for  them  the  sun*s  warm  glow 
When  'tis  darkness  here  below: 
And  the  ground  before  their  towers, 
Meadow-land  with  purple  flowers, 
Teems  with  incense-bearing  trees. 
Teams  with  fruit  of  golden  sheen. 
Some  in  steed  and  wrestling  feat. 
Some  in  dice  take  pleasure  sweet, 
Some  in  harping:  at  their  side 
Blooms  the  spring  in  all  her  pride. 
Fragrance  all  about  is  blown 

0*er  that  country  of  desire. 
Even  as  rich  gifts  are  thrown 

Freely  on  the  far-seen  fire. 
Blazing  from  the  altar-stone. 

•  •.*•• 

But  the  souls  of  the  profane. 

Far  from  heaven  removed  below, 
Flit  on  earth  in  murderous  pain 

'Neath  the  unyielding  yoke  of  woe; 
While  pious  spirits  tenanting  the  sky. 
Chant  praises  to  the  mighty  one  on  high. 

Conlngton. 


• 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TRAGIC   POETRY.      iESCHYLUS 

Athens  the  Literary  Centre  of  Greece — The  Beginnings  of 
Tragedy  —  Arion  and  the  Dithyramb  —  Thespis  —  The 
Satyr-Drama — The  Dramatic  Festivals  at  Athens  —  The 
Dramatic  Contest  —  The  Theatre  —  The  Position  of  the 
Actors  and  the  Chorus  —  The  Number  of  Contestants  and 
Performers— The  Three  Unities— The  Subjects  of  Trag- 
edy —  iCschylus — The  Structure  of  a  Greek  Tragedy  illus- 
trated by  the  Agamemnon  of  ^Esckylus  —  The  LMation- 
Bearers  —  The  Furies — The  Swbpliants — The  Persians 
—  The  Seven  against  Thebes — 'lYie  Prometheus  Bound. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  century  an  observer 
of  literary  movements  in  Greece  might  have  been  seri- 
ously in  doubt  as  to  whether  Syracuse  or  Athens  wa& 
destined  to  become  the  literary  centre  of  the  Hellenic 
world.  The  brilliant  court  maintained  in  Athens  by 
Peisistratus  and  his  sons  down  to  the  overthrow  of  the 
tyranny  in  510,  a  court  distinguished  by  the  presence 
of  Simonides,  Anacreon,  and  other  poets,  was  sur- 
passed in  the  next  generation  by  that  of 
^SjUacuse,  who  drew  to  his  city  such  lyric  poets  as 
Simonides,  Pindar,  and  Bacchylides,  Epicharmus,  the 
founder  of  comedy,  and  even  iEschylus,  the  father  of 
tragedy.  Before  the  establishment  of  the  democracy 
Athens  had  produced  but  one  poet  of  distinction — 
Solon,  the  legislator.  But  in  the  latter  part  of  the 
sixth  century  a  new  type  of  poetry  was  rapidly  being 
developed,  the  drama,  which  was  to  become  the 
greatest  literary  creation  of  the  Greek  people  after 

183 


v'i^  J  5':t  u^-j)|/-,^ 


o 


Tr^ic  Poetry,     ^schylus 


the  epic  of  Homer.  As  the  lonians  of  Asia  Minor^ 
had  brought  the  epic  to  perfection,  the  ^Eolians  of 
Lesbos  the  song  lyric,  and  the  Dorians  the  choral 
lyric,  so  now  it  fell  to  the  Athenians,  who,  though 
lonians  by  race  and  in  temperament,  yet  shared  some 
of  the  best  qualities  of  the  Dorians,  to  contribute  the 
drama.     Thanks  to  this  supreme  creation  and  to  her 

j^  AthpnQ  §()pn  f>vprRh^f1nwftd..fiyyarii<;tf*  and  from  the  4  V 
middle  or  the  fifth  century  to  the  middle  of  the  third   If 
was  the  acknowledged  literary  and  intellectual  centre 
of  Hellas. 

The  order  in  which  the  thrty  grtit  Vrnnrhtr  ^f 
poetry,  epic,  lyric,  and  dramatic,  were  developed  in 
Greece  is  the  best  illustration  of  the  significant  fact  to 
which  we  have  already  alluded — the  natural  and  normal 
growth  of  Greek  literature.  In  each  age  we  find  the 
type  of  poetical  expression  which  most  perfectly 
reflects  the  order  of  beliefs  and  sentiments  of  the  peo- 
ple, a  type  which,  both  in  form  and  in  content,  is 
a  natural  outgrowth  of  the  type  which  preceded  it. 
Epic  poetry  was  developed  from  the  minstrel's  songs, 
which  arose  in  response  to  the  conditions  of  the  patri- 
archal society  of  the  Homeric  age.  The  choral  lyric 
sprang  from  the  religious  observances  of  the  Dorian 
society  under  the  new  conditions  of  a  later  period, 
but  retained  the  mythological  and  heroic  elements  of 
the  epic  moulded  to  a  new  form.  The  Greek  drama 
presupposes  both  the  epic  and  the  choral  lyric,  the  sub- 
ject-matter and  inspiration  of  the  former,  the  religious 
and  structural  elements  of  the  latter,  adopting  at  the 
same  time  for  the  dialogue  the  iambic  form  which  had 
already  been  perfected  by  Archilochus. 


184  Homer  to  Thcocritas 

We  have  seen  that  the  festivals  in  honor  of  the  gods 
were  the  occasion  for  the  performance  of  choral  com- 
positions. In  the  coarse  of  time  a  certain  kind  of 
choral  came  to  be  regarded  as  pecoliarly  appropriate  to 
the  worship  of  a  particular  god.  Thns  the  dithyramb 
came  to  be  employed  exclnsively  in  the  worship  of 
Dionysus,  the  god  of  wine.  We  have  seen,  also,  that 
Arion,  at  Corinth,  first  gave  the  dithyramb  its  distinc- 
tive character.  Now  among  the  Dorian  folk  it  was 
believed  that  Dionysus,  in  his  roaming  over  the  hills 
from  one  seat  of  worship  to  another,  was  accompanied 
by  sportive,  mischief-loving  beings,  half  animal,  half 
human,  whom  they  called  '^satyrs.**  These  beings 
were  popularly  represented  as  having  the  legs,  ears, 
snub-nose,  and  shaggy  hair  of  a  goat,  attached  to  the 
human  form — ^precisely  like  Pan,  who  was  himself 
a  satyr.  It  was  a  natural,  but  none  the  less  a  far- 
reaching  idea  of  Arion's,  to  dress  up  his  dithyrambic 
chorus  of  fifty  men  or  boys  in  the  likeness  of  satyrs, 
and  to  have  them  sing,  in  character^  of  the  adventures 
and  sufiferings  of  their  lord  and  leader,  Dionysus.  In 
this  way  the  decisive  step  was  taken  toward  the  devel- 
opment of  a  story  to  be  acted — ^impersonation.  The 
song  of  such  a  Dionysiac  chorus  at  some  time  received 
the  name  of  ''tragedy,"  or  "«>at-SQQg**  (Jragos^ 
"goat,"  and  odi^  "song"),  which  was  retained  for  the 
species  of  poetry  which  grew  out  of  the  dithyramb 
even  after  the  original  significance  of  the  word  was 
lost  sight  of. 

The  next  step  in  the  development  of  tragedy  was 
taken  in  Attica  toward  the  middle  of  the  sixth  century. 
The  worship  of  Dionysus  had  taken  a  strong  hold  upon 
the  people  of  the  country  district,  Icaria,  on  the  slope 


Trapc  Poetry,     ^schylus  185 

of  Mount  Pentelicus.'  A  festival  in  his  honor  had 
become  established  there,  in  which  *^ tragic'*  choruses 
in  the  Peloponnesian  manner  played  a  part.  A  native 
»oetyThespis.  introduced  the  important  innovation 
of  stepplhj  out  Ot "^the  chorus  of  satyrs  at  some  point 
in  the  performance  and  reciting  verses  addressed  to 
the  other  satyrs.  In  addition  to  the  element  of  imper- 
sonation we  now  have  the  element  of  acting,  though 
in  a  very  rudimentary  form.  But  the  new  **tragic" 
dithyramb  at  once  found  favor.  The  first  perform: 
ance__in_Athens  took  place  in  534  B.  C,  under  the, 
patronage  of  the  tyrant  Peisistratus.  From  this  time 
on  the  development  of  tragedy  was  rapid.  Soon 
a  second  actor  was  introduced,  tradition  says  by 
iEschylus.  Instead  of  a  simple  dramatic  narrative, 
interrupting  the  songs  of  the  chorus,  we  now  have 
a  true  dramatic  action  in  the  dialogue  of  the  two 
actors,  interrupted  by  the  choral  songs.  The  chorus 
is  thus  reduced  to  a  subordinate  place,  though  it  is 
still  relatively  prominent.  This  subordination  be- 
comes much  more  marked  after  the  introduction  of 
the  third  actor  by  Sophocles,  about  468  B.  C. 

The  early  tragic  performance  was  probably  rather 
short,  and  the  subject-matter  restricted,  by  the  very 
satyric  nature  of  the  chorus,  to  themes  connected  with 
the  legends  of  Dionysus.  Only  a  change  in  the  cos- 
tume of  the  choruses  was  needed  to  make  possible 
a  larger  range  of  subjects.  But  when  this  was  done 
the  performance  was  no  longer  strictly  appropriate  lu 
the  worship  of  Dionysus.  A  compromise  was 
adopted.     Whatever  the  mythological  subject  of  the 

*Thit  site  wtfKAxcavated  by  the  American  School  of  ClaMfcal  Studfet 
in  Athens  in  MS/iThe  excavations  disclosed  many  traces  of  the  wor* 
•hip  of  Diony^n^ 

/ 


1 86  Homer  to  Theocritus 

earlier  scenes,  the  last  scene  was  reserved  for  the  old 
satyr-chorus  of  Dionvsus.  From  this  fact  arose  the^ 
sb-ange  phenomenon  which  we  see  throughout  the 
fifth  century — a  satyr-drama,  full  of  burlesque  and 
ribaldry,  following  upon  the  three  tragedies  presented  \ 
by  each  poet.  The  connection  seems  to  us  incongru- 
ous, but  by  this  device  the  poet  was  enabled  to  work 
out  a  serious  theme  quite  without  reference  to  the  bois- 
terous rites  of  the  wine-god.  Later  on  the  poet  some- 
times substituted  another  play  for  the  satyr-drama, 
and  still  later  only  one  instead  of  three  such  pieces 
was  given  at  each  festival.  But  for  centuries  the 
satyr-chorus  was  retained  in  some  manner  as  a  relic 
of  the  early  Dionysus  worship  out  of  which  tragedy 
had  grown. 

There  were  nnly  tiyp  yearly  festivals  of  Dionysus  at 
Athens  at  which  oramatic  performances  were  given — 
the  Lensean*  festival  in  January,  and  the  City  Dionysia 
in  March.  The  Athenian  citizen  who  remained  in  the 
city  had  therefore  only  two  opportunities  a  year  of 
witnessing  exhibitions  of  tragedy  and  comedy.  But 
most  of  the  villages  in  Attica  had  their  local  festivals 
in  December,  called  the  Rural  Dionysia,  which  it  was 
easy  for  the  Athenian  to  attend.  The  December 
exhibition  at  Peirseus,  the  port  of  Athens,  was  only 
less  important  than  those  of  the  city  itself.  Of  the 
two  city  festivals  the  Dionysia  in  March  was  by  far 
the  more  brilliant  occasion.  The  greatest  poets  con- 
tended for  the  honor  of  presenting  their  tragedies  and 
comedies  there,  and  Athens  was  thronged  with  visitors 
from  abroad  who  came  to  participate  in  the  festival.. 

*So  called  from  the  Len^on,  "Place  of  the  Wine-preti,'^  where  the 
festival  wfli  celebrated  in  early  timet. 


^    / 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  187 

The  cost  of  the  dramatic  exhibitions  was  a  charge 
upon  the  state,  inasmuch  as  the  drama  constituted 
a  part  of  ^:he  worship  pf  »^**  ff^^'^,  ^h**  supervision  and 
regulation  of  which  was  a  function  of  the  state.  But 
under  the  democracy  the  state  delegated  a  portion  of 
its  duty  to  wealthy  individuals.  Each  year  the 
magistrates  selected  from  the  lists  of  wealthy  citizens 
persons  who,  from  the  work  to  which  they  were 
assigned,  were  called  choregi,  or  **  chorus-leaders. '* 
Upon  them  fell  the  expense  of  equipping  and  training 
the  tragic  and  comic  choruses,  one  choregus  being 
designated  for  each  poet.  The  exhibitions  themselves 
took  the  form  of  contests,  each  poet  and  choregus 
competing  with  the  others  for  prizes  offered  by  the 
state  for  the  best  * 'tragic  and  comic  choruses" — that 
is,  for  the  best  tragedy  and  the  best  comedy.  Con- 
tests between  the  leading  actors,  or  ** protagonists," 
of  each  play  were  organized  at  a  later  time.  The 
prizes  were  awarded  by  judges  chosen  by  the  magis- 
trates, every  precaution  being  taken  to  secure  a  just 
and  impartial  verdict.  The  result  of  this  system  was 
an  intense  rivalry  between  the  poets,  the  choruses,  the 
choregi,  and  the  actors,  and  no  expense  or  effort  was 
spared  in  the  competition  for  the  coveted  honor.  The 
keen  participation  of  the  spectators  was  also  secured, 
not  only  by  their  interest  in  the  subjects  which  were 
enacted  before  them,  appealing  to  all  their  religious, 
intellectual,  musical,  and  aesthetic  sentiments,  but  also 
by  the  fact  of  their  personal  connection  with  the  mem- 
bers of  the  choruses,  representing  perhaps  one  hun-. 
dred  and  fifty  families  in  the  case  of  tragedy  alone. 
All  citizens  of  Athens  were  admitted  to  the  dramatic 
exhibition^  without  charge  from  the  time  of  Pericles  on. 


1 88  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  first  permanent  theatre  in  Athens  was  erected 
about  the  middle  of  the  fourth  century,  long  after  the 
most  brilliant  period  of  the  Attic  drama  had  passed. 
But  the  stone  theatre  of  the  fourth  century  probably 
only  reproduced  in  durable  material  the  temporary 
arrangements  of  the  structure  in  which  the  dramas  of 
the  great  masters  were  performed.  The  Greek  drama 
was  always  performed  in  the  open  air,  the  spectators 
sitting  upon  the  slope  of  the  hill,  which  was  artificially 
built  up  at  the  wings  so  that  the  view  of  every  spec- 
tator was  directed  toward  the  largg  cirrujar  level 
space  at  the  bottom  called  the  orchestra,  or  **  dancing 
place."  In  the  centre  of  the  orchestra  was  the  large 
altar  of  Dionysus,  situated  not  far  from  the  temple  of 
the  god,  in  whose  sacred  precinct  the  theatre  was 
located.  In  the  earliest  times  there  was  no  scenic  back- 
ground, for  no  scenery  was  needed.  The  choruses  and 
the  single  actor  at  first  had  no  need  of  dressing-rooms 
either.  But  this  need  must  have  been  felt  as  soon  as 
a  series  of  scenes  involving  different  characters  was 
depicted,  for  each  actor  was  assigned  to  a  number  of 
rdles.  The  dressing-room  may  at  first  have  been 
placed  at  one  side  of  the  orchestra.  When  a  scenic 
background  was  introduced  and  painted  scenery  came 
to  be  employed  (probably  about  470  B.  C),  the  most 
convenient  place  was  selected  for  the  dressing-rooms 
— ^the  space  behind  the  scenery. 

These,  then,  were  the  three  main  elements  of  the 
theatre  of  the  time  of  Sophocles :  —  the  scenic  back- 
ground, which  was  the  front  of  the  dressing-room 
building;  the  orchestra,  which  represented  the  space 
in  front  of  the  building  shown  in  the  scenery;  and 
the  auditorium,   which  rose  from  the   level  of  the 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  189 

orchestra,  the  two  wings  extending  a  little  beyond  the 
semicircle  opposite  the  background.  This  simple 
scheme  was  always  retained  in  Greek  theatres,  although 
both  auditorium  and  scene-buildings  were  developed, 
the  one  for  the  comfort  of  the  spectators,'  the  other 
to  enhance  the  realism  of  the  spectacle. 

In  the  early  period,  when  the  slope  of  the  Acropolis 
was  first  used  by  the  spectators,  the  evolutions  of  the 
chorus  and  the  recitations  of  the  single  actor,  who 
came  out  of  the  chorus,  took  place  in  the  orchestra. 
Since  the  spectators  occupied  an  elevation,  no  eleva- 
tion for  the  performers  was  needed  to  improve  the 
view,  although  Ihe  actor  could  mount  the  steps  of  the 
great  altar  when  special  prominence  was  desired. 
What  was  true  of  this  early  period  was  equally  true 
after  the  second  and  third  actor  had  been  added. 
The  erection  of  the  building  for  the  scenic  background 
and  dressing-rooms  did  not  alter  the  place  of  action. 
But  the  actors  naturally  came  to  occupy  mainly  the 
part  of  the  orchestra  nearer  the  scenery,  which  gener- 
ally represented  the  home  of  the  principal  characters, 
while  the  chorus  retained  its  position  near  the  altar  in 
the  centre  of  the  orchestra.  In  an  orchestra  whose 
diameter  was  sixty  feet,  as  at  Athens,  there  was  ample 
room  for  the  fifteen  members  of  the^orus  and  the 


three  actors  without  overcrowding,  nor  was  there 
danger  that  the  actors  would  be  hidden  from  view  by 
the  chorus.  Besides,  the  actors  were  distinguished 
by  their  costume*  from  the  members  of  the  chorus. 

'The  theatre  at  Athens,  when  completed,  seated  about  seventeen  thou- 
sand pjersons  comfortably. 

•  •The  more  important  personages  in  the  tragedy,  such  as  kings  and 
queens,  were  represented  as  of  unusual  stature.  On  the  feet  they  wore 
tne  cothurnus,  which  added  something  to  the  height,  and  the  wig  was 
so  arranged  as  to  increase  the  effect  still  more.  The  body  was  also 
padded  considerably.  We  may  mention  here  the  fact  that  all  women's 
rdles  were  taken  by  men.   We  never  bear  of  a  Greek  actresi. 


190  Homer  to  Theocritus 

A  considerable  elevation  for  the  actors  alone,  separat- 
ing them  from  the  chorus,  was  impossible  in  the 
Greek  drama,  for  the  chorus  is  in  constant  contact 
with  the  actors,  and  may  always  enter  the  building  in 
the  background  directly  from  the  orchestra.  The 
long,  narrow  building  called  the  proscenium,  extend- 
ing along  the  front  of  the  scene-buildings  thirteen 
feet  above  the  level  of  the  orchestra,  was  formerly 
believed  to  be  an  elevated  stage  for  actors,  but  it  is 
now  known  to  have  been  the  main  part  of  the  decora- 
tion, the  roof  of  which  was  used  only  in  exceptional 
cases.  The  actors  and  choruses  moved  upon  the 
same  level,  as  in  the  case  of  the  modern  opera.* 
I  During  the  fifth  century,  in  which  the  works  of  the 
greatest  dramatic  poets  fall,  three  tragic  and  three 
comic  poets  competed  at  the  City  Dionysia,  each 
comic  poet  presenting  one  play,  and  the  tragic  poets 
four  each,  three  tragedies  and  a  satyr-drama.  In  the 
lifetime  of  ^Eschylus  the  three  tragedies  often  dealt 
with  successive  stages  of  the  same  subject,  and  even 
the  satyr-drama  was  sometimes  upon  the  same  theme. 
The  term  "  trilogy  "  refers  to  the  group  of  three  trage- 
dies, ** tetralogy*  to  the  group  of  four  plays.  But 
after  ^Eschylus  the  members  of  a  trilogy  were  not  con- 
nected in  subject.  The  plays  produced  at  the  City 
Dionysia  were  always  new,  but  in  the  fourth  century 

^I  have  spoken  as  if  the  question  of  an  elevated  staee  in  Greek  theatres 
were  settled.  It  is  fair  to  say  that  some  scholars  still  adhere  to  the  old 
view  to  which  I  have  alluded  above,  although  many  have  accepted  as 
a  compromise  the  theory  that  in  the  fifth  century  the  actors  occupied 
a  low  stage  accessible  to  the  chorus.  But  the  evidence  of  the  ruins  and 
of  the  extant  dramas  is  distinctly  in  favor  of  the  view  which  I  have  pre> 
sented,  which  has  rapidly  gained  adherents  during  the  past  fifteen  years. 
The  Roman  writer  Vitruvius,  who  is  quoted  as  an  autnority  for  a  high 
stajgre  in  the  Greek  theatre,  had  in  mind  a  type  of  theatre  peculiar  to 
Asia  Minor,  and  not  that  found  in  Athens.  In  this  Graeco-Roman  theatre 
actors  and  chorus  performed  upon  a  stage  about  five  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  lowest  seats,  as  in  the  modern  theatre. 


Tragic  Poetry,     -ffilschylus  191 

an  old  tragedy  was  sometimes  revived.  It  is  surmised 
that  in  the  fifth  century  popular  old  plays  were 
revived  at  the  Lensean  festival.  In  any  event  they  were 
undoubtedly  to  be  seen  at  the  Rural  Dionysia.  The 
tragic  chorus,  which  at  the  time  of  Thespis  probably 
contained  fifty  members,  numbered  only  twelve  in 
iEschylus's  time  but  later  was  increased  to  fifteen. 
The  comic  chorus  contained  twenty-four  members. 
By  ajgonvention  which  seems  strange  to  us,  only  three 
actors  ever  appeared  upon  the  scene  at  the  same  time, 
not  counting  '"mutes"  arid  attendants.  There  was 
consequently  much  less  action  in  a  Greek  drama  than 
we  are  accustomed  to  see  in  a  modern  play,  though 
the  participation  of  the  chorus  often  lends  greater 
animation. 

Another  important  difference  between  the  ancient 
and  modern  drama  must  be  mentioned.  There  is 
almost  never  a  change  of  scene  in  tragedy  during  the 
progress  of  the  action,  and  in  comedy  rarely.  This 
is  due  to  thj  rp"''^^*Tt  prp^pn^**  ^^  >iva  x4>#^.m^^-  which 
thus  fixes  the  scene  of  the  action.  This  peculiar  rule 
is  called  the  ** unity  of  place."  The  rule  of  ** unity  of 
time"  is  adhered  to  much  more  strictly  than  in  the 
modern  drama,  partly  for  the  same  reason.  The 
other  unity,  the  **unity  of  action,"  is  of  universal 
application,  resting  upon  the  fundamental  principle  of 
dramatic  art  that  every  portion  of  a  play  must  conduce 
to  the  development  of  the  main  theme. 

We  have  already  stated  that  Greek  tragedy  presup- 
poses the  epic.  In  fact  by  far  the  greater  number  of 
subjects  treated  by  the  tragic  poets  was  taken  from 
the  poems  of  the  Epic  Cycle,  and  almost  all  the  rest 
from  the  legendary  history  of  the  heroic  age.     We 


19^  Homer  to  Theocntud 

know  of  few  exceptions  to  the  rule.  Phrynichus,  an 
older  contemporary  of  iSschylus,  once  represented  the 
Capture  of  Miletus^  referring  to  the  taking  of  this  city 
by  the  Persians.  The  Athenians  were  so  affected  by 
the  play  that  they  put  a  heavy  fine  upon  the  poet 
**for  reminding  them  of  their  own  misfortunes."  No 
such  result  followed  the  performance  of  his  Phoenician 
Wotnan^  in  which  he  celebrated  the  deeds  of  Athens 
in  the  Persian  wars,  nor  when  i£schylus  produced  the 
Persians^  which  glorifies  the  victory  of  Salamis.  No 
other  tragedies  of  this  period  are  known  that  depart 
from  the  subjects  of  the  heroic  age.  iEschylus  spoke 
the  truth  when  he  said  that  v>U  ^^'-'^yfi^jfls  ^^r^  Hut 
nnimhs  from  thn  I  ill  ill   iif  TTTrmrr 

The  first  great  poet  of  tragedy  was  iEschylus,  who 
was  born  at  Eleusis  in  525  B.  C.  and  died  in  Sicily  in 
456.  During  the  Persian  wars  he  fought  with  con- 
spicuous courag^e  at  Marathon  nr^  g^i»«i^Sr» — ||[g  f^^^^ 

prize  at  the  City  Dionysia  was  won  in  484,  and  alto- 
gether he  is  said  to  have  won  twrpty  tighJ: 
a  larger  number  than  is  recorded  for  any  other  poet. 
Of  the  seventy  tragedies  which  he  wrote  only  seven 
are  extant.  By  his  introduction  of  the  second  actor 
iEschylus  is  entitled  to  be  called  the  creator  of  Attic 
tragedy.  In  his  treatment  of  the  chorus,  his  choice  of 
themes,  his  development  of  the  plot,  and  in  his  whole 
conception  of  the  dignity  of  tragedy  and  of  its  mission 
as  instructor  of  the  people  in  morals  and  religion, 
iEschylus  laid  down  the  lines  which  succeeding  poets 
were  to  follow,  with  few  important  changes,  so  long 
as  tragedy  was  cultivated  in  Greece. 

We  may  best  illustrate  the  structure  of  a  Greek 
tragedy  by  an  analysis  of  the  Agamemnon  of  i£schylus. 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  193 

the  first  play  in  the  trilogy  on  the  subject  of  the  House 
of  Atreu9,  which  was  awarded  the  prize  at  the  City 
Dionysia  in  458  B.  C.  The  mythical  story  which 
forms  the  groundwork  of  the  trilogy  is  briefly  as  fol- 
lows :  Atreus,  son  of  Pelops,  succeeded  to  the  throne 
of  Eurystheus,  king  of  Argos.  Thyestes,  his  brother, 
who  had  been  banished  from  Argos  for  wronging  his 
sister-in-law,  returned  as  a  suppliant.  Atreus,  fearing 
to  kill  him,  set  before  him  at  a  banquet  the  flesh  of 
Thyestes's  own  children.  When  Thyestes  knew  what 
he  had  done,  he  cursed  the  house  of  Atreus,  and  the 
curse  followed  it  for  three  generations.  Agamemnon 
and  Menelaus,  sons  of  Atreus,  married  the  sisters 
Clytemnestra  and  Helen.  The  story  of  the  rape  of 
Helen  and  the  Trojan  war  follows.  Agamemnon,  it 
will  be  remembered,  sacrificed  at  Aulis  his  own 
daughter,  Iphigeneia.  Clytemnestra,  wroth  at  her 
daughter's  death,  plotted  with  her  paramour,  i£gis- 
thus,  youngest  son  of  Thyestes,  to  murder  Agamemnon 
on  his  return  from  Troy.  Orestes,  her  son,  was  sent 
away  to  Phocis,  and  Electra,  her  other  daughter  by 
Agamemnon,  was  treated  as  a  servant. , 

The  Agamemnon  takes  up  the  story  at  the  point 
when  the  hero's  return  from  Troy  is  anxiously  waited 
at  Argos.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Mycenae  in  front  of 
the  palace  of  Agamemnon.  When  the  tragedy  begins' 
we  see  on  the  roof  of  the  palace  a  watchman,  commis- 
sioned by  Clytemnestra  to  watch  for  the  beacon-light 
that  should  announce  the  fall  of  Troy.  The  prologue 
is  spoken  by  him.' 

*A  curtain  was  not  employed  in  the  Greek  theatre.  The  actors  took 
their  places  in  view  of  the  spectators.  For  the  same  reason  the  favorite 
conclusion  ot  a  play  is  a  procession  instead  of  a  tableau. 

*Morshead*s  translation  is  used  for  all  selections  from  the  Agamtmnotit 


194  Homer  to  Theocritus 

I  pray  the  gods  to  quit  me  of  my  toils. 

To  close  the  watch  I  keep,  this  livelong  year; 

For  as  a  watch-dog  lying,  not  at  rest, 

Propped  on  one  arm  upon  the  palace-roof 

Of  Atreus'  race,  too  long,  too  well  I  know 

The  starry  conclave  of  the  midnight  sky ; 

Too  well,  the  splendours  of  the  firmament. 

The  Lords  of  Light,  whose  kingly  aspect  signs-* 

What  time  they  set  or  climb  the  sky  in  turn — 

The  yearns  divisions,  bringing  frost  or  fire ! 

And  now,  as  ever,  am  I  set,  to  mark 

When  shall  stream  up  the  glow  of  signal-flame, 

The  bale-fire  bright,  and  tell  its  Trojan  tale — 

Troy  town  is  id* en  :  such  issue  holds  in  hope 

She,  in  whose  woman's  breast  beats  heart  of  man ! 

He  at  length  sees  the  beacon  flash  out  and  shouts 
the  good  news  to  the  people  in  the  palace,  but  not 
without  a  dark  word  of  foreboding  for  the  future. 
Twelve  old  men  of  Mycenae,  who  form  the  chorus, 
now  file  through  the  side  passage  into  the  orchestra, 
chanting^  as  they  march  of  the  expedition  of  the  sons 
of  Atreus  against  Troy,  beginning: 

Ten  livelong  years  have  rolled  away, 
Since  the  twin  lords  of  sceptred  sway, 
By  Zeus  endowed  with  pride  of  place. 
The  doughty  chiefs  of  Atreus*  race, 

Went  forth  of  yore, 
To  plead  with  Priam,  face  to  face, 

Before  the  judgment-seat  of  Warl 

While  the  elders  are  still  singing  Clytemnestra 
comes  from  the  palace  to  make  a  thank-offering  to  the 

*The  entrance  song  of  the  chorus  is  called  the  parodus^  and  gives  the 
motive  for  the  presence  of  the  chorus  — here  their  anxiety  about  Aga- 
memnon and  the  army.  All  that  precedes  the  parodus  is  called  the 
prplagtte.  In  it  the  situation  is  unfolcled,  and  the  audience  made  acquainted 
with  the  subject  to  be  presented.  If  the  play  opens  with  a  choral  march, 
the  parodus  and  prologue  are  identical.  The  song  of  the  chorus  from  its 
usual  station  in  the  orcnestra  is  called  the  stastmon,  and  the  acts  which  fall 
between  two  stasima,  episodes.    The  final  act  is  known  as  the  exodus. 


Tragic  Poetry,     -ffilschylus  195 

gods.  The  altars  along  the  front  of  the  palace  are 
soon  ablaze.  The  elders  question  her  anxiously,  but 
she  pays  no  heed.  They  then  continue  their  song, 
telling  of  the  strange  omen  that  appeared  to  the 
chieftains  at  Aulis  and  the  interpretation  of  Calchas 
the  seer,  who  prophesied  the  sacking  of  Troy  but  gave 
warning  of  the  sacrifice  which  Artemis  would  require. 

At  home  there  tarries  like  a  lurking  snake, 
Biding  its  time,  a  wrath  unreconciled, 

A  wily  watcher,  passionate  to  slake 

In  blood,  resentment  for  a  murdered  child.* 

The  chorus  interrupt  their  story  for  a  moment  by 
an  appeal  to  Zeus: 

Zeus — if  to  the  Unknown 

That  name  of  many  names  seems  good — 
Zeus,  upon  thee,  in  utter  need,  I  call. 

Thro*  the  mind*s  every  road 
I  passed,  but  vain  are  all 

Save  that  which  names  thee  Zeus,  the  Highest  Onel 

•  ••••.  • 

'Tis  Zeus  alone  who  shows  the  perfect  way 

Of  knowledge:  He  hath  ruled. 
Men  shall  learn  wisdom,  by  affliction  schooled. 

In  visions  of  the  night,  like  dropping  rain, 
Descend  the  many  memories  of  pain 
Before  the  spirit's  sight:  through  tears  and  dole, 
Comes  wisdom  o'er  the  unwilling  soul. 

The  subject  is  resumed  again.  After  a  long  delay 
at  Aulis,  through  adverse  winds  sent  by  Artemis, 
Calchas  explicitly  declared  that  Iphigeneia  must  be 
sacrificed.  Agamemnon  yielded  at  last  to  the  demand^ 
of  his  allies,  against  the  dictates  of  his  own  con- 
science  and   his    love    and    in   spite   of    the   tender 

'Referring  to  the  curse  of  Tbyestes  for  the  murder  of  his  children. 


196  Homer  to  Theocritus 

entreaties  of  his  daughter.  The  terrible  sacrifice  is 
made  and  Agamemnon  has  committed  a  great  wrong. 
*'But  may  all  yet  be  well."  With  this  prayer  the 
parodus  is  concluded. 

The  chorus  now  takes  its  stand  by  the  altar,  and  its 
leader  advances  toward  the  palace  to  inquire  of  Clytem- 
nestra  the  meaning  of  her  sacrifices.  Is  it  for  good' 
news  that  has  come?  **Good  beyond  hope,"  is  Clytem- 
nestra's  answer.  She  then  describes  in  a  magnificent 
passage  the  progress  of  the  beacon-fires  from  Mount 
Ida  to  Lemnos,  from  Lemnos  to  Athos,  and  so  from 
peak  to  peak  to  Argos.  The  victory  is  gained,  but 
let  the  victors  fail  not  to  reverence  the  gods  of  Troy 
if  they  would  come  safely  home.  Clytemnestra  then 
reenters  the  palace,  and  the  first  episode  comes  to 
a  close. 

In  the  choral  ode,  or  stasimon^  which  follows,  the 
chorus  first  thank  the  gods  for  the  victory  whereby 
the  crime  of  Paris  is  avenged.  Riches  and  power  avail 
not  to  ward  off  the  consequences  of  sin. 

And  such  did  Paris  come 

Unto  Atreides'  home, 
And  thence,  with  sin  and  shame  his  welcome  to  repay^ 

Ravished  the  wife  away — 
And  she,  unto  her  country  and  her  kin 
Leaving  the  clash  of  shields  and  spears  and  arming  ships, 
And  bearing  unto  Troy  destruction  for  a  dower. 

And  overbold  in  sin, 
Went  fleetly  through  the  gates,  at  midnight  hour. 

Alas  for  the  home  which  Helen  left  desolate !  Her 
form  seems  yet  to  bear  sway  in  the  house  and  hovers 
near  Menelaus  in  his  dreams,  a  vain  delight!  But  the 
sorrows  of  the  Achseans  are  even  greater  than  his. 


Tragic  Poetry,     -ffilschylus  197 

Each  house  has  its  dead  to  mourn,  and  the  people 
murmur  against  their  rulers.  The  god  will  surely 
punish  those  who  shed  men's  blood. 

O'er  him  who  vaunteth  an  exceeding  fame, 

Impends  a  woe  condign; 
The  vengeful  bolt  upon  his  eyes  doth  flame. 

Sped  from  the  hand  divine. 
This  bliss  be  mine,  ungrudged  of  God,  to  feel: 
To  tread  no  city  to  the  dust, 

Nor  see  my  own  life  thrust 
Down  to  a  slave's  estate  beneath  another's  heel! 

Can  the  good  tidings  be  true?  We  soon  shall  know, 
for  a  dust-covered  messenger  approaches.  With  the 
entrance  of  the  messenger  the  elders  resume  their 
place  by  the  altar,  and  the  second  episode  begins. 

The  messenger  greets  the  land  of  Argos,  its  gods 
and  the  king's  palace,  and  bids  prepare  a  loyal  wel- 
come for  Agamemnon.  The  sufferings  and  losses  of 
the  Greek  host  were  many  and  hard  to  bear,  but  the 
issue  repays  it  all. 

Farewell,  a  long  farewell  to  all  our  woes! 

To  us,  the  remnant  of  the  host  of  Greece, 

Comes  weal  beyond  all  counterpoise  of  woe; 

Thus  boast  we  rightfully  to  yonder  sun. 

Like  him,  far-fieeted  over  sea  and  land: 

'The  Argive  host  prevailed  to  conquer  Troy, 

And  in  the  temples  of  the  gods  of  Greece 

Hung  up  these  spoils,  a  shining  sign  to  Time.* 

Let  those  who  read  this  legend  bless  aright 

The  city  and  its  chieftains,  and  repay 

The  meed  of  gratitude  to  Zeus  who  willed 

And  wrought  the  deed.    So  stands  the  tale  fulfilled. 

Clytemnestra  comes  from  the  palace  and  tells  of 
her  joy  at  the  knowledge  of  her  husband's  victorious 
home-coming. 


198  Homer  to  Theocritus 

What  day  beams  fairer  on  a  woman's  eyes 

Than  this,  whereon  she  flings  the  portal  wide 

To  hail  her  lord,  heaven-shielded,  home  from  war? 

This  to  my  husband,  that  he  tarry  not. 

But  turn  the  city's  longing  into  joy! 

Yea,  let  him  come,  and,  coming,  may  he  find 

A  wife  no  other  than  he  left  her,  true 

And  faithful  as  a  watch-dog  to  his  home — 

His  foeman's  foe;  in  all  her  duties  leal. 

Trusty  to  keep  for  ten  long  years  unmarred 

The  store  whereon  he  set  his  master-seal. 

She  reenters  the  palace.  The  messenger  tells  the 
chorus  of  the  storms  that  scattered  the  Greek  fleet 
on  its  homeward  voyage.  After  his  departure  the 
chorus  sing  the  second  stasimon.  Their  subject  is  the 
ruin  which  Helen  brought  on  Troy.  As  a  lion's  cub, 
caressed  by  young  and  old,  at  length  betrays  its  nature 
and  rewards  the  kindness  shown  it  by  a  bloody  feast. 

Even  so  to  Ilion's  city  came  by  stealth 

A  spirit  as  of  windless  seas  and  skies, 
A  gentle  phantom-form  of  joy  and  wealth, 

With  love's  soft  arrows  speeding  from  its  eyes. 
Love's  rose,  whose  thorn  doth  pierce  the  soul  in  subtle  wise. 

There  is  an  ancient  saying  that  prosperity  breeds  mis- 
fortune. It  is  rather  sin  that  begets  sorrow,  and 
Justice  works  her  will  in  spite  of  wealth. 

Seeing  Agamemnon  and  his  train  approaching,  the 
chorus  give  him  a  loyal  greeting  (third  episode).  The 
king,  still  seated  in  his  chariot,  acknowledges  their 
welcome  and  greets  the  gods  of  the  land.  Clytem- 
nestra  comes  from  the  palace  to  welcome  him,  followed 
by  attendants  carrying  rich  cloths  of  purple.  She 
describes  the  anxiety  which  she  had  felt  for  his  safety, 
and  tells  how  she  had  sent  Orestes,  the  pledge  and 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  199 

symbol  of  their  plighted  troth,  to  the  home  of  a  dis- 
tant friend,  that  he  might  not  be  exposed  to  danger  in 
case  of  a  revolt  in  the  land.     She  then  bids  him  enter 

the  palace. 

Sweet  lord,  step  forth, 
Step  from  thy  car,  I  pray — nay,  not  on  earth 
Plant  the  proud  foot,  O  King,  that  trod  down  Troy! 
Women!  why  tarry  ye,  whose  task  it  is 
To  spread  your  monarch's  path  with  tapestry? 
Swift,  swift,  with  purple  strew  his  passage  fair, 
That  justice  lead  him  to  a  home,  at  last. 
He  scarcely  looked  to  see.    For  what  remains. 
Zeal,  unsubdued  by  sleep,  shall  nerve  my  hand 
To  work  as  right  and  as  the  gods  command! 

Agamemnon  bids  her  honor  him  as  a  mortal,  not  as 
a  god,  for  he  dreads  the  divine  envy  that  follows 
excessive  pride.  *' Count  no  man  happy  until  he  ends 
his  days  in  prosperity."  But  the  queen  urges  the 
point,  and  Agamemnon  reluctantly  yields,  though  he 
removes  his  sandals  before  stepping  upon  the  purple, 
lest  the  envy  of  the  gods  smite  him.  Enjoining  upon 
the  queen  to  treat  kindly  the  captive  maiden  Cassandra 
—  Priam's  daughter,  whom  he  had  chosen  from  the 
spoils  of  war  —  he  descends  from  the  chariot  and 
enters  the  palace.  Clytemnestra,  as  she  follows  him, 
utters  this  ominous  prayer  to  Zeus : 

Lord  of  Fulfilment,  all  my  vows  fulfil. 
And  whatsoe'er  it  be,  work  forth  Thy  will. 

So  ends  the  third  episode.     The  words  of  the  chorus 
in  the  third  stasimon  strike  a  note  of  foreboding: 

Wherefore,  for  ever,  on  the  wings  of  Fear 

Hovers  a  vision  drear 
Before  my  boding  heart?    A  strain, 
Unbidden  and  unwelcome,  thrills  mine  ear. 

Oracular  of  pain. 


200  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Not  as  of  old  upon  my  bosom's  throne 

Sits  Confidence,  to  spurn 
Such  fears,  like  dreams,  we  know  not  to  discern.    .    • 

Ah!  to  some  end  of  Fate,  unseen,  unguessed, 

Are  these  wild  throbbings  of  my  heart  and  breast—* 
Yea,  of  some  doom  they  tell — 
Each  pulse  a  knell. 
Lief,  lief  I  were,  that  all 
To  unfulfilment*s  hidden  realm  might  fall. 

The  fourth  episode  opens  with  the  entrance  of 
Clytemnestra,  who  roughly  orders  Cassandra  to  enter 
the  palace  and  begin  her  life  of  slavery.  Cassandra 
remains  silent  in  the  chariot,  and  does  not  answer 
even  the  gentler  words  of  the  chorus.  But  when 
Clytemnestra  has  departed  in  anger,  she  bursts  into 
a  sobbing  appeal  to  Apollo,  the  cause  of  all  her  woes,' 
and  then  in  a  frenzy  of  prophetic  inspiration  foretells, 
in  impassioned  lyrics,  the  doom  impending  over  Aga- 
memnon and  herself;  but  in  language  the  imagery  of 
which  the  chorus  but  dimly  understands.' 

Cas.    Home  cursed  of  God!  bear  witness  unto  me, 
The  visioned  woes  within — 

The  blood-stained  hands  of  them  that  smite  their  kin— 

The  strangling  noose,  and,  spattered  o'er 

With  human  blood,  the  reeking  floor! 
Cho.  How  like  a  sleuth-hound  questing  on  the  track. 

Keen-scented  unto  blood  and  death  she  hies! 
Gas.   Ah!  can  the  ghostly  guidance  fail. 

Whereby  my  prophet-soul  is  onwards  led? 

Look!  for  their  flesh  the  spectre-children  wail. 

Their  sodden  limbs,  on  which  their  father  fed! 

*  Apollo,  who  loved  her,  endowed  her  with  the  gift  of  prophecy  in  return 
for  the  promise  of  her  affection.  But  the  princess  then  repulsed  hii 
advances.  Thereupon  Apollo  decreed  that  no  one  should  believe  her 
prophecies,  and  she  was  accordingly  regarded  as  a  madwoman  and  kept 
in  confinement. 

'Such  a  lyrical  dialogue  between  an  aclor  and  the  chorus  was  called 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  201 

Cho.  Long  since  we  knew  of  thy  prophetic  fame, — 

But  for  these  deeds  we  seek  no  prophet's  tongue. 
Cas.   God!  'tis  another  crime — 

Worse  than  the  storied  woe  of  olden  time, 
Cureless,  abhorred,  that  one  is  plotting  here — 
A  shaming  death,  for  those  that  should  be  dear! 
Alas!  and  far  away,  in  foreign  land. 
He,  that  should  help,*  doth  stand! 
Cho.  I  knew  th'  old  tales,  the  city  rings  withal — 

But  now  thy  speech  is  dark  beyond  my  ken. 

•  •  •  •       •  •  • 

Cas.   God!  a  new  sight!  a  net,  a  snare  of  hell. 

Set  by  her  hand — ^herself  a  snare  more  fell! 

A  wedded  wife,  she  slays  her  lord; 
Helped  by  a  dastard  hand!    Ye  powers!  whose  hate 
Of  Atreus'  home  no  blood  can  satiate — 
Raise  the  wild  cry  above  the  sacrifice  abhorred! 
Cho.  Why  biddest  thou  some  fiend,  i  know  not  whom. 
Shriek  o'er  the  house?    Thine  is  no  cheering  word. 
Back  to  my  heart  in  frozen  fear,  I  feel 
My  waning  life-blood  run — 
The  blood  that  round  the  wounding  steel 
Ebbs  slow  as  sinks  Life's  parting  sun — 

Swift,  swift  and  sure,  some  woe  comes  pressing  on! 

.  •  •  •  .       •  . 

Cas.    Woe,  Paris,  woe  on  thee!    Thy  bridal  joy 
Was  death  and  fire  upon  thy  race  and  Troy! 
And  woe  for  thee,  Scamander's  flood! 
Beside  thy  banks,  O  river  fair, 
I  grew,  in  tender  nursing  care. 
From  childhood  unto  maidenhood! 
Now  not  by  thine,  but  by  Cocytus'  stream. 
Or  Acheron's*  banks,  shall  ring  my  boding  scream. 
Cho.  Too  plain  is  all,  too  plain! 

A  child  might  read  aright  thy  fateful  strain! 
Deep  in  my  heart  their  piercing  fang 
Terror  and  sorrow  set,  the  while  I  heard 
That  piteous,  low,  tender  word. 
Yet  to  mine  ear  and  heart  a  crushing  pang. 

^Referring  to  Orestes.  'Rivers  of  the  lower  world. 


202  Homer  to  Theocritus 

In  calmer  and  clearer  language  she  now  depicts  the 
doom  of  the  house  of  Atreus,  tracing  the  cause  back 
to  the  crime  of  Thyestes  in  wronging  his  brother's 
wife,  followed  by  the  more  horrible  crime  of  Atreus : 

Behold  ye — yonder,  on  the  roof  aloft, — 

The  spectre-children  sitting — look — such  shapes 

As  dreams  are  made  of — semblances  of  babes 

Slain  by  their  kinsman's  hand. 

And  look,  what  loathsome  burthen  piteous. 

Blasting  the  sight,  within  their  hands  they  bear. 

Their  own  rent  flesh,  on  which  their  father  fed! 

Tearing  off  her  prophet's  robes,  she  foretells  the 
vengeance  of  Orestes: 

Ah  me! 

I  die.  yet  not  unheeded  of  the  gods — 

For  by  their  will  shall  one  requite  my  doom: 

He,  to  avenge  his  father's  blood  outpoured. 

Shall  smite  and  slay,  with  matricidal  hand. 

Aye,  he  shall  come — tho*  far  away  he  roam, 

A  banished  wanderer  in  a  stranger's  land — 

To  crown  his  kindred's  edifice  of  ill. 

Called  home  to  vengeance  by  his  father's  fall: 

Thus  have  the  high  gods  sworn,  and  shall  fulfil. 

She  predicts  her  own  death.  The  chorus  counsel 
flight,  but  in  vain.  Cassandra  sees  that  her  hour  is 
come,  and  is  resolved  to  meet  death  bravely. 

Once  more — one  utterance,  but  not  of  wail, 
Though  for  my  death — and  then  I  speak  no  more. 
Sun!  thou  whose  beam  I  shall  not  see  again, 
To  thee  I  cry:  Let  those  whom  vengeance  calls 
To  slay  their  kindred's  slayers,  quit  withal 
The  death  of  me,  the  slave,  the  fenceless  prey. 
Ah,  state  of  mortal  man,  in  time  of  weal, 
A  line,  a  shadow!  and,  if  ill  fate  fall. 
One  wet  sponge-sweep  wipes  all  our  trace  away — 
And  this  I  deem  less  piteous,  of  the  twain. 


Tragic  Poetry,     -ffischylus  203 

With  these  last  words  she  enters  the  palace,  while 
the  chorus  lament  the  uncertainty  of  human  happiness. 
Agamemnon  has  returned  triumphant  from  Troy,  but 
is  about  to  suffer  guilt  for  the  death  of  his  ancestors. 
At  this  point,  the  beginning  of  the  exodus^  piercing 
cries  issue  from  the  palace.  The  members  of  the 
chorus  debate  about  their  course  of  action — shall  they 
call  for  aid  or  rush  within  to  the  rescue?  The  doors 
of  the  palace  are  suddenly  thrown  open  as  the  elders 
are  on  the  point  of  entering.*  They  see  the  body  of 
Agamemnon  lying  beside  that  of  Cassandra,  and 
Clytemnestra  looking  upon  her  bloody  work.  She 
steps  forward  and  calmly  exults  in  what  she  has  done. 

This  is  the  sum  and  issue. of  the  strife 

Wherein  long  since  he  gave  my  love  defeat, 

Of  me  deep-pondered  and  at  length  fulfilled. 

All  is  avowed,  and,  as  I  smote,  I  stand 

With  foot  set  firm  upon  a  finished  thing! 

Yea,  thus  I  wrought — even  I — ere  he  could  move 

A  foot  to  fiy,  an  arm  to  ward  his  doom! 

Even  as  the  trammel  hems  the  scaly  shoal, 

I  trapped  him  with  inextricable  toils. 

The  ill  abundance  of  a  baf&ing  robe; 

Then  smote  him,  once,  again — and  at  each  wound 

He  cried  aloud,  then  as  in  death  relaxed 

Each  limb,  and  sank  to  earth;  and  as  he  lay. 

Once  more  I  smote  him,  with  the  third  last  blow. 

Sacred  to  Hades,  Saviour  of  the  Dead. 

Answering  the  stern  reproaches  of  the  chorus,  she 
justifies  her  deed,  referring  to  the  sacrifice  of  Iphige- 
neia,  whom  he  slew,  as  he  would  a  sheep,  to  charm  the 

Ut  was  an  unwritten  law  of  the  Greek  drama  that  no  murder  or  violent 
death  should  be  represented  in  view  of  the  soectators.  Bv  a  device  such 
as  is  here  employed  the  chorus  is  supposed  to  see  ana  describe  the 
horrible  sight,  which,  in  its  details,  is  not  visible  to  the  others.  The  tragic 
effect  is  produced  by  their  language  alone,  assisted  by  the  imagination  otf 
the  spectators. 


204  Homer  to  Theocritus 

winds  of  Thrace ;  and  to  his  unfaithfulness  in  wedlock, 
for  he  brought  home  Cassandra,  ""who  now  lies  as  erst 
she  lay,  close  to  his  side."  She  trusts  to  iEgisthus  to 
defend  her  cause.  The  chorus  raise  a  lament  over  the 
king,  which  Clytemnestra  interrupts,  now  to  defend 
her  deed,  now  to  exult  in  it.  But  the  chorus  chant 
the  solemn  warning: 

The  slayer  of  to-day  shall  die  to-morrow — 

The  wage  of  wrong  is  woe. 
While  time  shall  be,  while  Zeus  in  heaven  is  lord. 

His  law  is  fixed  and  stem; 
On  him  that  wrought  shall  vengeance  be  outpoured — 

The  tides  of  doom  return. 
The  Children  of  the  Curse  abide  within 

These  halls  of  high  estate — 
And  none  can  wrench  from  ofiE  the  home  of  sin 

The  clinging  grasp  of  fate. 

iEgisthus  enters  from  the  side  and  gloats  over  the 
slain,  for  the  day  of  vengeance  has  arrived  for  the 
slain  children  of  Thyestes — his  own  brothers.  The 
leaders  of  the  chorus  defy  his  authority.  He  shall  not 
rule  over  Argos  if  Orestes  still  lives.  The  chorus 
advance  upon  the  usurper  with  drawn  swords,  and 
iEgisthus  stands  ready  to  fight.  But  Clytemnestra 
intervenes  and  amid  the  taunts  of  the  chorus  leads 
iEgisthus  away  with  the  words: 

"  Let  the  cur-pack  growl  and  yell — 
I  and  thou  will  rule  the  palace  and  will  order  all  things  well ! " 

So  ends  the  Agamemnon,  Immediately  after  it, 
without  change  of  scene,  followed  the  Libation  Bearers. 
As  Electra  and  her  maids  pour  a  libation  upon  the 
tomb  of  Agamemnon,  Orestes,  her  brother,  appears, 
and  their  recognition  ensues.     They  plan  vengeance 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  I05 

together  upon  their  mother,  according  to  the  com- 
mand of  Apollo  given  to  Orestes.  Gaining  admission 
to  the  palace  in  the  guise  of  a  stranger,  he  tells 
Clytemnestra  a  false  tale  of  his  own  death,  at  which 
she  secretly  rejoices.  With  Electra's  aid  Orestes  kills 
iEgisthus  and  Clytemnestra.  Then  a  frenzy  of  mad- 
ness overcomes  him,  and  he  fancies  that  he  sees  in 
pursuit  of  him  the  dreadful  Furies,  with  dark  robes 
and  snaky  hair,  coming  to  avenge  his  mother's  murder. 
The  tragedy  closes  with  the  following  chant,  accom- 
panying the  outward  march  of  the  maidens  who  form 
the  chorus : 

Behold,  the  storm  of  woe  divine 
That  raves  and  beats  on  Atreus'  line 

Its  great  third  blast  hath  blown. 
First  was  Thyestes*  loathly  woe — 
The  rueful  feast  of  long  ago, 

On  child ren*s  fiesh,  unknown. 
And  next  the  kingly  chief's  despite, 
When  he  who  led  the  Greeks  to  fight 

Was  in  the  bath  hewn  down. 
And  now  the  ofiEspring  of  the  race 
Stands  in  the  third,  the  saviour's  place, — 

To  save — 01  to  consume? 
O  whither,  ere  it  be  fulfilled. 
Ere  its  fierce  blast  be  hushed  and  stilled, 

Shall  blow  the  wind  of  doom? 

The  third  member  of  the  trilogy  is  the  Furies.  The 
scene  is  at  first  at  Delphi,  before  the  temple  of  Apollo. 
We  see,  inside  the  temple,  Orestes  clinging  to  the  altar, 
a  suppliant  of  the  god,  and  around  him  the  dreadful 
avenging  Furies  slumbering.  Apollo  bids  Orestes  be 
of  good  cheer,  and  to  escape  to  Athens  while  the 
Furies  are  still  asleep.     As  he  leaves,  the  ghost  of 


2o6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Clytemnestra  rises  and  arouses  the  Furies  to  pursue. 
They  rush  forth,  scenting  like  hounds  the  track  of 
blood.  The  scene  shifts  to  Athens.  Orestes  enters 
and  throws  himself  upon  the  statue  of  Athene,  seeking 
her  protection.  The  Furies  soon  appear.  Athene 
comes  down  and  organizes  a  trial  before  citizens  of 
Athens,  thus  constituting  the  court  of  the  Areopagus. 
Apollo  pleads  in  defense  of  Orestes,  the  Furies  prose- 
cute. The  vote  is  a  tie,  but  Athene,  who  presides, 
gives  the  casting  vote  in  favor  of  the  accused.  The 
Furies,  at  £rst  outraged  by  this  result,  are  appeased 
by  the  promise  of  an  honorable  worship  in  Athens 
under  the  name  of  Eumenides,  or  '^the  Gracious 
Ones."  The  curse  upon  the  house  of  Atreus  is  at  last 
extinct.  The  play  closes  with  a  grand  procession 
in  which  the  Eumenides  are  solemnly  escorted  to  their 
new  home — ^a  cave  beneath  the  Areopagus.  We  quote 
the  song  of  the  Furies  tracking  Orestes  to  his  refuge 
in  Athens: 

Ho!  clear  is  here  the  trace  of  him  we  seek: 
Follow  the  track  of  blood,  the  silent  sign! 
Like  to  some  hound  that  hunts  a  wounded  fawn^ 
We  snuff  along  the  scent  of  dripping  gore» 
And  inwardly  we  pant,  for  many  a  day 
Toiling  in  chase  that  shall  fordo  the  man; 
Far  o*er  and  o*er  the  wide  land  have  I  ranged* 
And  o*er  the  wide  sea,  flying  without  wings 
Swift  as  a  sail,  I  pressed  upon  his  track 
Who  now  hard  by  is  lurking,  well  I  wot, 
For  scent  of  mortal  blood  allures  me  here. 

Follow  him,  seek  him  —  round  and  round 

Scent  and  snuff  and  scan  the  ground. 

Lest  unharmed  he  slip  away  — 

He  who  did  his  mother  slay! 
Hist — he  is  there!   See  him  his  arms  entwine 
Around  the  image  of  the  maid  divine  — 


,*i 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  207 

Thus  aided,  for  the  deed  he  wrought 
Unto  the  jadgment  wills  he  to  be  brought! 

The  earliest  of  the  extant  plays  is  the  Suppliants^ 
named  for  the  chorus,  the  fifty  daughters  of  Danaus, 
who  have  fied  with  their  father  from  Egypt  to  Argos 
in  order  to  escape  marriage  with  their  cousins,  the 
fifty  sons  of  Egyptus.  They  are  received  and  pro- 
tected by  the  king  of  Argos.  The  earliest  play  the 
date  of  whose  production  is  known  is  the  Persians^ 
brought  out  in  472  B.  C.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Susa, 
capital  of  the  Persian  Empire.  Persian  elders,  who 
form  the  chorus,  are  gathered  at  the  tomb  of  Darius. 
The  aged  queen  Atossa  appears.  While  they  ex- 
change their  anxious  forebodings  about  the  host  which 
Xerxes  has  led  against  the  Greeks,  a  messenger  ap- 
pears and  announces  the  disaster  at  Salamis.  Atossa 
summons  up  the  ghost  of  her  husband,  Darius,  who 
predicts  still  greater  disaster  to  the  army  in  Greece 
and  warns  the  Persians  to  fight  no  more  against  the 
Greeks,  *  'for  the  very  land  is  an  ally  to  them.  *  *  Finally 
Xerxes  appears  with  a  few  wretched  followers,  and, 
with  the  chorus,  fills  the  scene  with  extravagant  lam- 
entations. The  play  contains  some  stately  choral  odes 
and  a  famous  description  of  the  battle  of  Salamis,  from 
which  the  following  selection  is  taken : 

But  when  white-steeded  Day,  bright  to  behold. 
Held  the  wide  earth,  from  the  Hellenes  first, 
Like  joyous  chant,  rang  out  their  battle-cry. 
And  forthwith  Echo,  from  the  island  rocks. 
Sent  back  responsive  an  inspiring  shout. 
On  all  the  Persians,  cheated  in  their  hopes, 
Fell  terror;  for  by  no  means  as  in  flight 
Their  solemn  psan  did  th'  Hellenes  sing. 
But  with  stout  courage  speeding  to  the  fray. 


2o8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  trumpet's  blare  fired  all  their  ranks,  and  straight. 

With  simultaneous  dip  of  sounding  oar, 

They  at  the  signal  smote  the  surging  brine, 

And  instant  all  conspicuous  were  to  sight. 

First  the  right  wing,  well  marshall'd,  took  the  lead: 

Then  their  whole  naval  force  in  fair  array 

Bore  down  against  us.    All  at  once  was  heard 

A  mighty  shout:  "Sons  of  Hellenes,  on. 

Your  country  free,  your  children  free,  your  wives. 

The  temples  of  your  fathers*  deities, 

Your  tombs  ancestral;  for  your  all  ye  fight.** 

And  from  our  side  clamour  of  Persian  speech 

In  answer  rose;  no  time  was  then  for  pause, 

But  instant  galley  against  galley  dashed 

Her  armature  of  brass.    A  ship  of  Hellas 

Led  the  encounter,  and  from  the  Punic  barque 

Sheared  her  high  crest.    Thereon  as  fortune  led. 

Ship  drave  on  ship;  at  first  the  Persian  host, 

A  mighty  fiood,  made  head;  but  soon  their  ships 

Thronged  in  the  strait,  of  mutual  aid  bereft, 

Each  against  each  other  dashed  with  brazen  beak. 

Crushing  the  oar^banks  of  their  proper  fieet;  , 

While  the  Hellenes  ships,  not  without  skill. 

Circling  around  them  smote:  dead  hulks  of  ships 

Floated  keel-upwards,  and,  with  wrecks  o'erstrewn 

And  slaughtered  men,  lost  was  the  sea  from  sight. 

Ay,  shores  and  reefs  were  crowded  with  the  dead. 

In  fiight  disordered  every  ship  was  rowed. 

Poor  remnant  of  the  Persian  armament. 

Then  as  men  strike  at  tunnies,  or  a  haul 

Of  captured  fishes,  the  Hellenes,  armed 

With  splint  of  oar,  or  fragment  of  the  wreck, 

Batter'd,  and  clave  with  dislocating  blows. 

Shrieks  and  loud  wailing  filled  the  ocean  brine. 

Till  all  'neath  eye  of  swarthy  night  was  lost. 

But  all  our  losses,  though  for  ten  whole  days 

I  told  them  over,  could  I  not  recount. 

Of  this  be  sure,  that  never  in  one  day 

Perished  of  men  so  vast  a  multitude. 

Swan  wick* 


Tragic  Poetry,     -ffilschylus  209 

The  Seven  against  Thebes  won  the  first  prize  in  467 
B.  C.  The  trilogy  to  which  it  belonged  set  forth  the 
whole  tragedy  of  the  house  of  Labdacus,  as  the  plays 
of  the  Oresteian  trilogy  give  the  story  of  the  house  of 
Atreus.  The  aim  of  the  poet  is  here  again  to  vindi- 
cate the  divine  government  by  exhibiting  the  ultimate 
triumph  of  justice  and  the  certain  punishment  of  sin. 
Since  the  legendary  history  of  the  kings  of  Thebes 
furnishes  the  theme  of  a  number  of  extant  tragedies 
of  Sophocles  and  Euripides,  we  may  briefly  trace  the 
story  here.  Laius,  the  son  of  Labdacus  and  husband  of 
Jocasta,  was  king  of  Thebes.  Seeking  to  evade  the 
oracle  which  declared  that  he  should  be  slain  by  his 
own  son,  he  caused  his  infant  to  be  exposed  on  Mount 
Cithaeron.  The  child  was  found  by  a  shepherd,  and 
adopted  as  his  son  and  heir  by  Polybus,  the  king  of  Cor- 
inth, receiving  the  name  of  CEdipus.*  Grown  to  man- 
hood, (Edipus  was  taunted  with  not  being  the  true  son 
of  Polybus.  He  inquired  of  the  oracle  at  Delphi,  and 
was  told  only  that  he  should  slay  his  own  father  and 
marry  his  own  mother.  To  escape  this  fate  he  resolved 
not  to  return  to  Corinth.  On  his  way  to  Thebes  he 
encountered  Laius  and  slew  him.  At  Thebes  he  solved 
the  riddle  of  the  Sphinx,  obtained  the  kingdom  as  his 
reward,  and  married  Jocasta.  By  her  he  became  the 
father  of  two  sons,  Eteocles  and  Polyneices,  and  of  two 
daughters,  Antigone  and  Ismene.  The  city  was  vis- 
ited with  a  plague,  which  could  not  be  stayed  until  the 
murderer  of  Laius  should  be  discovered  and  punished. 
(Edipus  learned  the  truth  concerning  his  birth,  and  put- 
ting out  his  eyes  in  grief,  resigned  the  kingdom  to  his 
sons.    Jocasta  hung  herself  in  shame.    His  sons  confined 

*  I.e.,  '*  Swolleu-foot,"  for  his  feet  were  pierced  by  tbotigs  when  exposed 
to  die. 


2IO  Homer  to  Theocritus 

their  father  in  prison,  whereat  CEdipus  put  a  curse 
upon  them.  The  brothers  quarreled  about  the  sover- 
eignty. Polyneices  collected  an  army  under  seven 
chieftains,  including  himself,  and  in  the  fight  that  fol- 
lowed the  brothers  slew  each  other.  The  story  of 
the  wanderings  and  death  of  (Edipus  and  of  the  fate 
of  Antigone  will  be  told  elsewhere. 

The  other  members  of  the  trilogy  Drought  the  tragic 
events  of  this  story  down  to  the  siege  of  Thebes  by 
Polyneices.  The  Seven  against  Thebes  opens  with  an 
address  of  Eteocles  to  the  assembled  Thebans.  A 
messenger  tells  of  the  advance  of  the  seven  mighty 
chieftains  against  the  gates.  The  chorus  of  Theban 
maidens  enter  in  terror  and  supplicate  the  gods  for 
protection.  A  scout  tells  Eteocles  the  names  of  the 
heroes  stationed  at  the  seven  gates.  Eteocles  assigns 
his  own  chieftains  one  against  each,  and  himself 
chooses  his  brother  Polyneices  to  be  his  opponent, 
though  he  knows  that  the  curse  of  his  father  is  work- 
ing out  his  doom.  He  goes  forth  to  battle.  Soon  a 
messenger  reports  that  the  brothers  have  been  slain  by 
each  other.  Their  bodies  are  brought  in,  Antigone  and 
Ismene  among  the  mourners.  Then  a  decree  is  pro- 
claimed that  the  body  of  Polyneices  shall  be  cast  out 
unburied.  Antigone  resolves  to  bury  him  in  spite  of 
the  decree.  The  play  closes  with  the  funeral  proces- 
sion, Antigone  and  one-half  of  the  chorus  following 
the  body  of  Polyneices,  Ismene  and  the  other  half 
that  of  Eteocles.  I  quote  from  the  passage  in  which 
Eteocles  resolves  to  stand  against  his  brother 

Mess.  Now  at  the  seventh  gate  the  seventh  chief. 
Thy  proper  mother's  son,  I  will  announce, 
What  curses  for  the  state  he  imprecates; 


Tragic  Poetry,     -^chylus  211 

That  he  may  stand  upon  the  walls,  he  prays  : — 

That,  heralded  as  king  to  all  the  land. 

With  paeans  for  its  capture,  he  with  thee 

Fighting,  may  slay  thee,  dying  by  thy  side. 

Or  thee,  who  wrong'd  him,  chasing  forth  alive. 

Requite  in  kind  his  proper  banishment 

Such  words  he  shouts  and  calls  upon  the  gods. 

Who  o'er  his  race  preside  and  Fatherland, 

With  gracious  eye  to  look  upon  his  prayers. 

Eteo.  O  heaven-cemented  race  of  CEdipus, 

My  race,  tear-fraught,  detested  of  the  gods. 

Alas,  our  faither*s  curses  now  bear  fruit! 

But  it  beseems  not  to  lament  or  weep. 

Lest  lamentations  sadder  still  be  bom. 

For  him,  too  truly  Polyneikes  named, — 

What  his  device  will  work  we  soon  shall  know; 

Whether  his  braggart  words,  with  madness  fraught. 

Gold-blazoned  on  his  shield,  shall  lead  him  back. 

Had  Justice,  virgin  child  of  Zeus,  in  sooth, 

Guided  his  deeds  and  thoughts,  this  might  have  been; 

But  neither  when  he  fled  the  darksome  womb, 

.Nor  in  his  childhood,  nor  in  youth's  fair  prime. 

Nor  when  his  chin  thick  hair  o'erspread,  with  him 

Hath  Justice  converse  held,  or  claimed  him  hers; 

Nor  in  this  outrage  on  his  Fatherland 

Deem  I  she  now  beside  him  deigns  to  stand. 

For  Justice  would,  in  sooth,  belie  her  name 

Did  she  with  this  all-daring  man  consort. 

In  these  regards  confiding  will  I  go. 

Myself  will  meet  him.    Who  with  better  right? 

Brother  'gainst  brother,  chieftain  against  chief, 

And  foeman  against  foe,  I  '11  take  my  stand. 

Quick,  bring  my  greaves,  bulwark  'gainst  spear 

and  stones. 

Swan  wick. 

The  Prometheus  Bound  was  produced  some  time 
between  the  Seven  against  Thebes  and  the  Agamemnon, 
It  is  unique  among  the  extant  Greek  tragedies  in  that 


111  Homer  to  Theocritus 

all  the  characters  of  the  drama  are  gods  or  demigods. 
It  appeals  to  our  sympathies  in  some  ways  even  more 
than  the  Agamemnon^  the  grandest  and  most  majestic 
of  iEschylus'  creations,  for  its  subject  is  the  suflFering 
of  a  god  for  man's  sake.  In  the  struggle  between 
Zeus  and  the  Titans,  Prometheus,  one  of  the  Titans,  I  At 
had  taken  the  part  of  Zeus.  ^  uui  wh^H  Zeus',  estab- 
lished  upon  the  throne,  proposed  to  destroy  mankind 
and  to  create  a  new  race,  Promethus  opposed  his  plan, 
and  gave  to  mortals  fire,  the  seed  of  civilization. 
Zeus  condemned  Prometheus  to  be  nailed  to  a  rock. 
At  this  point  the  Prometheus  Bound  begins.  Hephaes- 
tus and  two  attendants.  Force  and  Strength,  bring  in 
Prometheus  and  nail  him  to  a  rock  in  Scythia.  The 
Titan  deigns  no  answer  to  their  taunts,  but  when  they 
depart  he  appeals  to  nature  to  witness  his  unjust  pun- 
ishment. The  chorus  of  sea-nymphs  now  enter  upon 
a  winged  car  and  extend  their  sympathies  to  the  suf- 
ferer. Prometheus  tells  them  of  a  great  danger  which 
threatens  Zeus,  known  only  to  himself.'  The  god 
Oceanus  enters  upon  a  flying  steed  and  remonstrates 
with  Prometheus  for  his  stubborn  resistance  to  Zeus, 
but  in  vain.  Then  lo,  a  victim  of  Zeus*  love,  another 
example  of  his  ingratitude,  visits  the  scene  in  her 
frenzied  wanderings  and  learns  her  future  from  Prome- 
theus. Zeus  sends  Hermes  to  wring  the  secret  from 
the  Titan.  When  Prometheus  refuses  the  thunderbolt 
of  Zeus  crashes  down  upon  him,  burying  him  in  Tar- 
tarus. So  ends  the  tragedy.  The  play  which  followed 
it  in  the  trilogy  told  how  Prometheus  was  at  length 
iielivered    from    his  torture  and  reconciled  to  Zeus. 

*That,  ilJUft-aascjrjrbetis,  she  shall  bear  a  son  mightier  than  hts 
atber.    See^.  43. 


Tragic  Poetry,     ^schylus  1213 

I  quote  a  part  of  the  soliloquy  of  Prometheus  after  he 
has  been  chained  to  the  rock,  and  from  the  choral  ode 
which  follows: 

Prom.  O  holy  iEther,  and  swift-winged  Winds, 

And  River-wells,  and  laughter  innumerous 
Of  yon  Sea-waves!   Earth,  mother  of  us  all. 
And  all-viewing  cyclic  Sun,  I  cry  on  you!  — 
Behold  me,  a  god,  what  I  endure  from  gods! 

Behold  with  throe  on  throe. 

How,  wasted  by  this  woe, 
I  wrestle  down  the  myriad  years  of  timet 

Behold,  how  fast  around  me. 
The  new  King  of  the  happy  ones  sublime 
Has  flung  the  chain  he  forged,  has  shamed  and  bound 

nle! 
Woe,  woe,  to-day*s  woe  and  the  coming  morrow's, 
I  cover  with  one  groan!    And  where  is  found  me 

A  limit  to  these  sorrows? 
And  yet  what  word  do  I  say?    I  have  foreknown 
Clearly  all  things  that  should  be  —  nothing  done 
Comes  sudden  to  my  soul  —  and  I  must  bear 
What  is  ordained  with  patience,  being  aware 
Necessity  doth  front  the  universe 
.  With  an  invincible  gesture.    Yet  this  curse. 
Which  strikes  me  now,  I  find  it  hard  to  brave 
In  silence  or  in  speech.    Because  I  gave 
Honour  to  mortals,  I  have  yoked  my  soul 
To  this  compelling  fate!   Because  I  stole 
The  secret  fount  of  fire,  whose  bubbles  went 
Over  the  ferrule's  brim,  and  manward  sent 
Art's  mighty  means  and  perfect  rudiment. 
That  sin  I  expiate  in  this  agony; 
Hung  here  in  fetters,  'neath  the  blanching  sky! 

[TAe  sea-nymphs  draw  near. 

Ah,  ah  me!  what  a  sound! 
What  a  fragrance  sweeps  up  from  a  pinion  unseen. 
Of  a  god  or  a  mortal,  or  a  nature  between, 


214  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Sweeping  ap  to  this  rock  where  the  earth  has  her 

bound, 
To  have  sight  of  my  pangs,  or  some  guerdon  obtain. 
Lo!  a  god  in  the  anguish,  a  god  in  the  chain! 

The  god  Zeus  hateth  sore. 

And  his  gods  hate  again. 
As  many  as  tread  on  his  glorified  floor. 
Because  I  loved  mortals,  too  much  evermore! 
Alas  me!  what  a  murmur  and  motion  I  hear, 

As  of  birds  flying  near! 

And  the  air  undersings 

The  light  stroke  of  their  wings — 
And  all  life  that  approaches  I  wait  for  in  fear. 
Chor.         Fear  nothing!  our  troop 

Floats  lovingly  up 

With  a  quick-oaring  stroke 

Of  wings  steered  to  the  rock; 
Having  softened  the  soul  of  our  father  below! 
For  the  gales  of  swift-bearing  have  sent  me  a  sound. 
And  the  clank  of  the  iron,  the  malleted  blow. 

Smote  down  the  profound 

Of  my  caverns  of  old. 
And  struck  the  red  light  in  a  blush  from  my  brow, 
Till  I  sprang  up  unsandaled,  in  haste  to  behold, 
And  rushed  forth  on  my  chariot  of  wings  manifold* 

Mrs.  Browning. 


CHAPTER    IX 


SOPHOCLES 


Sophocles  —  His  Position  in  Attic  Tragedy — The  Ajax — 
The  Electra—The  Phiioctetes ^Tht  Women  of  Trachis 
— The  (Edifius  the  King — The  CEdipus  at  Co  tonus — 
The  Antigone, 

Sophocles,  the  second  great  tragic  poet  of  Athens, 
was  born  about  495  B.  C.  in  the  village  of  Colonus, 
near  Athens.  The  wealth  of  his  father  secured  him 
an  excellent  education  and  a  position  in  the  best 
Athenian  society.  As  a  lad  he  was  remarkable  for  his 
beauty,  and  was  chosen  to  lead  the  chorus  of  boys 
which  sang  a  hymp  of  pr^jg^  ^^^  th£L.j^[^^^2^  ^^  Salamis 
in  480  B.  C.  His  first  victory  at  theClFy  Dlonysia7 
in  468  B.  C,  is  said  to  have  been  won  at  his  first  com- 
petition. He  defeated  iEschylus  on  this  occasion. 
Early  in  his  career  he  won  applause  both  as  a  poet  and 
as  an  actor  in  a  play  entitled  the  Washerwomen^  in 
which  ViP^J^ypH  th<>^gart  of  the  maiden  Nausicaa  play- 
ing  at  ball.  His  weak  voice,  huwevfii,  compelled  him 
to  give  up  acting,  which  was  gradually  becoming  an 
independent  profession.  He  made  two  important 
innovations  in  the  dramatic  art,  the  introduction  of 
the  third  actor  and  the  use-QL4iailltedscenery.  Both 
as  a  poet  and  as  a  man  he  was  afavofite  of  the 
Athenians  throughout  his  career,  winning  no  less  than 
^'g^tepn  vi^^9P?yr  fl±>--thp.  City  Dionysia  alone  and 
never  falling   below   second   place.     Of  the   upward 

21S 


Q.i6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  one  hundred  plays  which  he  wrote  in  the  course  of 
his  long  dramatic  career  of  over  sixty  years  only  seven 
survive. 

Sophocles  is  a  true  representative  of  the  age  of 
Pericles,  of  the  fine  aristocracy  of  culture  which  makes 
the  period  lying  between  460  and  430  B.  C.  the  great- 
est and  most  splendid  of  antiquity.  His  relation  to 
letters  is  comparable  to  that  of  Pheidias  to  art. 
Euripides,  on  the  other  hand,  was  the  poet  of  the 
extreme  democracy,  and  stood  for  entirely  different 
ideals;  while  iEschylus,  whose  early  manhood  fell  in 
the  stirring  times  in  which  Athens  wrestled  first  with 
the  tyranny  for  political  freedom  and  then  with  the 
Persian  Empire  for  her  very  existence,  was  of  the  more 
rugged  type,  sturdily  striving  to  maintain  the  older 
ideals  both  in  politics  and  in  religion.  Sophocles  stands 
nearer  to  iEschylus  than  to  Euripides,  though  only 
ten  years  older  than  the  latter.  Of  Euripides  as  a  poet 
we  shall  speak  later;  as  between  ^schylus  and  Sopho- 
cles one  or  two  characteristics  may  be  pointed  out. 

The  actions  of  the  characters  in  iEschylus  are  gov- 
erned largely  by  destiny.  The  characters  are  heroic, 
in  the  first  place,  and  their  fate  was  already  fixed  in 
the  legends  of  which  the  poet  made  use.  iEschylus 
endeavors  to  show  how  their  fate  was  worked  out 
under  the  universal  laws  established  by  the  gods.  In 
this  sort  of  fatalism  less  stress  could  be  laid  upon 
the  operation  of  human  motives  in  the  individual. 
Sophocles,  on  the  other  hand,  laid  jgreater  stress  upon 
the  individual  and  his  motives  and  less  upon  the  irre- 
sistibie  law.  ""Ills'  characTers^  are  accordingly  more 
Kuman,  though  still  heroic.  In  some  of  his  plays  we 
note  the  development  of  character  during  the  progress 


Sophocles  i  1 7 

of  the  action — a  thing  unknown  in  iEschylus.  The 
details  of  his  plays  are  more  carefully  studied,  both 
as  regards  the  plot  and  the  language.  Under  an 
apparent  simplicity  lies  a  subtlety  of  thought  and 
a  carefully  studied  adjustment  of  parts  that  only  pro- 
found study  and  sympathy  will  reveal.  The  best  of 
his  tragedies  are  unsurpassed  as  works  of  art  in  the 
history  of  literature — embodiments  of  beauty  and 
truth,  harmony  and  grace. 

The  earliest  extant  play  is  the  Ajax^  produced 
before  440  B.  C.  Ajax,  son  of  Telamon,  one  of  the 
noblest  of  the  heroes  before  Troy,  contended  with 
Odysseus  for  the  prize  of  Achilles'  armor,  which  was 
to  be  awarded  to  the  bravest  after  Achilles.  The 
prize  was  given  to  Odysseus.  Smarting  under  the 
injustice  of  this  decision,  Ajax  resolves  to  slay  the 
leaders,  Agamemnon  and  Menelaus.  Athene  thwarts 
his  design  and  turns  him,  blinded  by  madness,  against 
the  flocks,  upon  which  he  exhausts  his  rage,  thinking 
them  his  foes.  At  the  opening  of  the  play  Athene 
shows  to  Odysseus  the  still  demented  hero  sitting  in 
his  tent.  Soon,  however,  Ajax  returns  to  his  senses, 
and  is  overwhelmed  by  the  knowledge  of  the  disgrace 
and  ridicule  which  his  act  will  bring  upon  him.  He 
resolves  to  die,  refusing  to  listen  to  the  prayers  of  the 
chorus  of  sailors  from  his  own  home,  Salamis,  or  of 
his  faithful  wife,  the  captive  Tecmessa.  At  length, 
however,  he  pretends  to  yield  to  them,  and  goes  down 
to  the  sea  as  if  to  cleanse  himself.  Meanwhile  his 
brother  Teucer  arrives,  ajid  is  anxious  because  of  the 
absence  of  Ajax.  The  chorus  and  Tecmessa  hasten 
away  to  search  for  him.  The  scene  changes.  Ajax 
is  seen  in  the  background,   half  hidden  from  view. 


ai8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

After  an  appeal  to  the  gods  he  hurls  himself  upon  his 
sword.  Soon  his  body  is  found  by  Tecmessa  and  the 
chorus.  An  altercation  ensues  between  Teucer  and 
Menelaus  on  the  question  of  his  burial.  At  the  request 
of  Odysseus  Agamemnon  decides  to  award  Ajax  an 
honorable  burial.  The  funeral  procession  closes  the 
play.  This  last  portion,  like  the  close  of  the  Iliad 
and  Odyssey^  serves  as  an  epilogue  to  the  real  plot, 
which,  to  the  modern  mind,  is  concluded  with  the 
death  of  Ajax.  I  quote  first  the  beautiful  choral  ode 
to  Salamis: 

O  glorious  Salamis! 
Thoa  dwell  est,  blest  within  thy  sea-girt  shores. 

Admired  of  all  men  still; 
While  I,  poor  fool,  long  since  abiding  here 

In  Ida's  grassy  mead. 

Winter  and  summer  too, 
Dwell,  worn  with  woe,  through  months  innumerable. 
Still  brooding  o*er  the  fear  of  evil  things, 

That  I  ere  long  shall  pass 
To  shades  of  Hades  terrible  and  dread. 

And  now  our  Aias  comes. 
Fresh  troubler,  hard  to  heal,  (ah  me!  ah  me!) 

And  dwells  with  madness  sore, 
Which  God  inflicts;  him  thou  of  old  didst  send 

Mighty  in  battle  fierce; 

But  now  in  lonely  woe 
Wandering,  great  sorrow  he  to  friends  is  found, 
And  the  high  deeds  of  worthiest  praise  of  old. 

Loveless  to  loveless  souls, 
Are  with  the  Atreids  fallen,  fallen  low. 

And  lo!  his  mother,  worn  with  length  of  days. 

And  white  with  hoary  age, 
When  she  shall  hear  his  frenzied  soul's  disease. 

With  wailing,  wailing  loud. 


Sophocles  219 

Will  she,  ill-starred  one,  cry,  nor  pour  the  strain 

Of  nightingale's  sad  song, 
But  shriller  notes  will  utter  in  lament, 

And  on  her  breast  will  fall 

The  smiting  of  her  hands, 
And  fearful  tearing  of  her  hoary  hair. 

Far  better  would  he  fare  in  Hades  dread. 

Who  liveth  sick  in  soul. 
Who,  springing  from  the  noblest  hero-stock 

Of  all  the  Achseans  strong, 
Abides  no  longer  in  his  native  mood, 

But  wanders  far  astray. 
O  wretched  father,  what  a  weight  of  woe. 

Thy  son's,  hast  thou  to  learn. 

Which  none  else  yet  has  borne. 

Of  all  the  high  Zeus-sprung  i£acidae. 

Plumptrei 

The  monologue  of  Ajax  just  before  his  death  is 
famous.     I  quote  the  last  part  of  it: 

Thou  Sun,  whose  chariot  in  the  heavens*  high  path 
Rides  on  in  glory,  when  thou  see'st  the  land 
Owned  by  my  fathers,  draw  thy  golden  reins. 
And  tell  all  these  my  sorrows,  and  my  doom. 
To  mine  old  father,  and  my  mother  lorn; 
Ah!  when  she  hears,  poor  wretch,  the  evil  news 
Through  all  the  city,  great  and  bitter  cries 
Will  issue  from  her  lips.    But  not  for  me 
Is  time  for  vain  lament.    The  work  must  now 
Begin  more  swiftly.    Come  and  look  on  me, 

0  Death,  O  Death! — and  yet  in  yonder  world 

1  shall  dwell  with  thee,  speak  enough  with  thee; 
And  Thee  I  call,  thou  light  of  golden  day. 
Thou  Sun,  who  drivest  on  thy  glorious  car. 
Thee,  for  this  last  time,  never  more  again. 

O  Light,  O  sacred  land  that  was  my  home; 
O  Salamis,  where  stands  my  father's  hearth. 
Thou  glorious  Athens,  with  thy  kindred  race; 


aao  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Ye  streams  and  rivers  here,  and  Tro'iVs  plains^ 
To  you  that  fed  my  life  I  bid  farewell ; 
This  last,  last  word  does  Aias  speak  to  you ; 
All  else  I  speak  in  Hades  to  the  dead. 

Plumptre. 

The  Eiectra,  of  uncertain  date,  is  on  the  same 
theme  as  the  Libation  Bearers  of  iEschylus — the  ven- 
geance of  Orestes  upon  Clytemnestra  and  iEgisthus. 
But  our  intrrrit  ii  nmr  rrntrrfl  tifinn -filfTtriij  who 
remained  at  home  a  witness  to  her  mother's  shame  and 
the  object  of  humiliating  indignities.  She  bears  her 
afflictions  with  fortitude,  confident  of  the  return  of 
her  brother.  The  character  of  her  sister,  Chrvso- 
themis — of  good  intentions  but  weak  and  timorous — 
IS  an  admirable  foil  to  that  of  Electra.  The  plot  is 
enhanced  by  the  fact  that  the  recognition  of  Orestes 

by  Electra  is  pnctp^nf;^    y^til    jnc^^^**^^^**  ^-ho  r^onfti  of 

Clytofflttestra.  Electra,  as  well  as  her  mother,  is 
deceived  by  the  report  of  his  death  brought  by  Orestes 
himself  and  Pylades,  disguised  as  strangers.  Electra's 
confidence  is  turned  for  a  while  to  the  deepest  despair. 
iEgisthus  is  not  slain  until  he  has  uncovered  the  face 
of  the  dead  Clytemnestra,  thinking  to  see  the  features 
of  Orestes,  whose  death  would  mean  security  to  him — 
a  most  effective  situation,  full  of  the  tragic  irony'  for 
which  Sophocles  is  famous.  I  quote  a  portion  of  the 
lyrical  dialogue  which  takes  place  between  Electra 
and  the  chorus  of  Argive  maidens,  soon  after  the 
entrance  of  the  latter. 

ipy  «'*«'«ff*^  irnny"  ""'  mean  that  contrast  between  the  true  state  of 
thingtf;  known  to  ihe  spectators,  and  the  fancied  state  in  which  a  character 
finds  himself,  so  that  his  words,  which  to  him  are  capable  of  only  one  con- 
struction, suifgest  to  the  spectators  something  altogether  different.  When 
the  truth  is  revealed  the  character  learns  that  his  own  words  have  mocked 
him.  The  mockery  in  the  Electra  is  mostly  in  the  situation  itself.  The 
(Edipus  is  full  of  the  more  subtle  irony  of  language  applied  to  the  situation. 


Sophocles  221 

Chor.  Not  unto  thee  alone, 

My  child,  of  those  that  live 

Have  grief  and  sorrow  come; 
Nor  sufferest  thou  aught  more  than  those  within 
With  whom  thou  sharest  home  and  kith  and  kin, 
Iphianassa  and  Chrysothemis; 
And  one  is  mourning  in  a  youth  obscure; 

Yet  happy,  too,  in  part, 
Whom  one  day  the  Mykenians*  glorious  land 
Shall  welcome  as  the  heir  of  noble  race. 

Coming  to  this  our  soil, 

As  sent  by  grace  of  Zeus, — 

Orestes,  come  at  last. 
Elec.    Ah!  him  I  wait  for  with  unwearied  hope^ 

And  go,  ah  I  piteous  fate! 

Childless,  unwedded  still; 

My  cheeks  are  wet  with  tears. 
And  still  I  bear  an  endless  doom  of  woe. 

And  he,  alas!  forgets 
All  he  has  met  with,  all  that  I  had  taught. 

What  message  goes  from  me 
That  is  not  mocked?    For  still  he  yearns  to  come. 

And  yet  he  deigneth  not. 
Yearn  though  he  may,  to  show  himself  to  us. 
Chor.    Take  heart,  my  child,  take  heart; 

Mighty  in  heaven  He  dwells, 

Zeus,  seeing,  guiding  all: 
Resign  to  him  the  wrath  that  vexes  sore. 
And  as  for  them,  the  foes  whom  thou  dost  hate. 
Nor  grieve  too  much,  nor  yet  forget  them  quite; 

Ti?iHs  a  rnlm  an47TaTifnt  tin'tyr 

For  neither  he  who  dwells 
Where  oxen  graze  on  far  Krisaean  shore, 
The  boy  who  sprang  from  Agamemnon's  loinSt 

Lives  heedless  of  thy  woe; 

Nor  yet  the  god  who  reigns 

By  Acheron's  dark  shore. 
Elec.    And  yet  the  larger  portion  of  my  life 

Is  gone  without  a  hope. 

And  I  am  all  too  weak. 


0.0.2  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Who  waste  away  in  orphaned  loneliness. 

Whom  no  dear  husband  loves, 
But,  like  an  alien  stranger  in  the  house, 

I  do  my  task  unmeet. 
And  tend  the  chambers  where  my  father  dwelt. 

In  this  unseemly  guise, 
And  stand  at  tables  all  too  poorly  filled. 

Plumptre. 

Still  a  third  tragedy  takes  its  subject  from  the 
legends  of  the  Trojan  cycle — the  Philoctetes^  which 
won  the  first  prize  in  409  B.  C.  This  hero,  on  the  way 
to  Troy,  was  bitten  in  the  foot  by  a  snake.  The  wound 
became  so  noisome  and  the  cries  of  the  sufferer  so 
annoying  that,  at  the  instance  of  Odysseus,  Philoctetes 
was  abandoned  while  asleep  on  the  island  of  Lemnos. 
Nine  years  passed  and  Troy  had  not  fallen.  A  proph- 
ecy was  given  to  the  Greeks  that  Troy  would  never  be 
taken  except  by  the  son  of  Achilles,  and  with  the  bow 
of  Heracles.  Now  this  bow  had  been  bequeathed  by 
Heracles  to  Philoctetes.  So  the  Greeks  sent  Neopto- 
lemus,  Achilles*  son,  with  Odysseus  to  fetch  Philocte- 
tes and  the  bow.  When  the  play  opens  they  have  just 
landed  on  the  desolate  island.  Odysseus  instructs 
Neoptolemus  how  to  entrap  Philoctetes  and  get  posses- 
sion of  the  bow  by  deceit.  The  noble  nature  of  the 
lad  revolts  against  such  tricks,  but  at  last  he  yields. 
Neoptolemus  and  Philoctetes  meet.  The  hero 
implicitly  trusts  the  son  of  his  old  friend  Achilles,  and 
after  the  latter  has  promised  to  take  him  to  his  home, 
puts  the  bow  into  his  hands  during  a  paroxysm  of  pain. 
Touched  by  his  sufferings  Neoptolemus  tells  him  the 
truth,  and  is  on  the  point  of  giving  back  the  bow  when 
Odysseus  arrives  and  leads  him  away,  since  Philoctetes 
stoutly  refuses   to   go   to   Troy  with   bis  betrayers. 


Sophocles  113 

Again  the  noble  nature  of  Neoptolemus  asserts  itself. 
He  returns  in  spite  of  Odysseus'  threats  and  restores 
the  bow.  Heracles  appears  in  the  air  and  promises 
that  his  wound  will  be  healed.  The  sufferings  of 
Philoctetes  and  his  despair  at  the  loss  of  the  bow, 
his  only  means  of  obtaining  food  as  well  as  the  pre- 
cious relic  of  Heracles,  lend  pathos  to  the  subject, 
which,  however,  is  attractive  mainly  on  account  of  the 
noble  and  generous  character  of  Neoptolemus. 

The  Women  of  Trachis  (about  420  B.  C. ),  so  named 
from  its  chorus  of  maidens  from  the  village  of  Tra- 
chis, near  Thermopyla,  is  unlike  any  other  play  of 
Sophocles  in  that  the  passion  of  love  is  the  ruling 
motive.  The  character  of  the  heroine  is  exquisitely 
drawn — Deianeira,  wife  of  Heracles,  daughter  of 
CEneus,  king  of  iEtolia.  She  had  been  sought  in  mar- 
riage by  the  river-god  Achelotts,  whom  Heracles  had 
conquered,  taking  Deianeira  as  his  bride.  The  centaur 
Nessus,  whom  Heracles  slew  on  their  journey  home, 
had  given  Deianeira  a  love-charm  wherewith  to  win 
back  her  husband's  love  should  he  prove  unfaithful. 
During  the  long  years  in  which  Heracles  was  perform- 
ing the  twelve  labors  she  had  not  used  it,  though  in 
his  protracted  absences  from  home  he  had  not  always 
remained  true  to  her.  When  the  play  opens  we  find 
Deianeira  and  her  children  at  Trachis,  driven  from 
Argos  by  fear  of  Eurystheus.  Heracles  had  been 
absent  for  fifteen  months,  nor  knew  she  where  he  was. 
But  he  had  told  her  before  leaving  of  an  oracle  which 
said  that  when  this  period  should  expire  he  should 
have  rest  from  troubles.  So  she  awaits  news  of  him 
with  increasing  anxiety.  Soon  a  train  of  captive 
women  appears,  at  their  head  Lichas,  a  trusted  serv- 


I 


224  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ant  of  Heracles,  who  announces  the  hero's  speedy 
arrival.  Delaneira  is  filled  with  joy  until  she  learns 
that  the  most  beautiful  of  the  maidens  is  loved  by 
Heracles.  She  recalls  the  love-charm,  and  anointing 
a  rich  robe  with  it,  sends  it  to  her  husband  as  a  gift. 
When  he  put  it  on  it  burned  into  his  flesh — no  love- 
charm,  but  a  poison  designed  by  Nessus.  Del'aneira, 
learning  the  result  of  her  act,  takes  her  own  life. 
Heracles  is  borne  in  on  a  litter,  wracked  with  torture, 
and  learning  how  his  suffering  was  caused,  recognizes 
the  fact  that  the  '*rest  from  trouble"  promised  by  the 
oracle  meant  his  death.  The  first  choral  ode  is  of 
unusual  beauty : 

Thee  whom  the  starry  night. 

Beneath  the  spoiler's  hand 

Breathing  her  last,  brings  forth, 

Whom  then  she  lays  to  sleep, — 
Thee,  Sun-god,  thee,  bright-burning,  I  implore -« 

O  tell  me  of  Alcmena's  son, 
O  thou  whose  rays  are  as  the  lightnings  bright : 

Where,  where  he  dwelleth  — 

Depths  of  the  iCgean  threading, 
Or  from  mid -straight  beholding  either  continent— 

O  tell  me,  god  of  keenest  light ! 

For  with  an  ever-hungry  heart,  they  say, 
Fair  De'ianeira,  she  for  whom  the  suitors  strove. 
Like  some  unhappy  bird 
Lulls  never  into  tearless  sleep 
That  hunger  of  her  eyes ; 
But  unforgetful  fear 
For  him,  her  absent  lord, 
She  entertaining,  pines 
Upon  her  widowed  couch  of  care  ~» 
lU-starred,  forboding  all  distressful  chance* 


Sophocles  225 


For,  as  before  the  untiring  blast  of  south  or  north. 

Across  the  boundless  sea 

We  watch  the  march  of  waves 

That  come,  and  ever  come  — 
Even  so  upon  this  son  of  Cadmus's  house  attends 

His  hard  life's  toilsomeness. 

Increasing  more  and  more, — 

Of  troubles  a  Cretan  sea. 

But  from  the  halls  of  death 

Some  god  restrains  his  feet. 

Suffering  them  not  to  stray. 

Therefore  I  chide  thee,  and  this  word 
Of  contradiction,  not  ungrateful,  I  will  speak : 
I  say  thou  dost  not  well 
To  kill  the  better  hope, 
For  think,  a  lot  exempt  from  pain 
The  son  of  Cronos,  king  who  governs  all. 

Ordained  not  for  men. 
To  all  men  sorrow  and  joy  alternate  come. 
Revolving,  as  in  heaven 
The  twisting  courses  of  the  Bear. 

For  neither  starry  night 
Abides  with  men,  nor  death,  nor  wealth  •* 
But  quickly  is  it  gone  : 
And  now  another  learns 
The  changeful  tale  of  joy  and  loss. 
Therefore  I  counsel  thee,  the  queen. 
To  keep  this  ever  in  thy  hopes : 
For  when  was  Zeus  so  careless  for  his  sons  ? 

Whitelaw. 

We  come  now  to  the  three  dramas  on  the  fate  of  the 
house  of  Labdacus,  conceded  to  be  the  masterpieces 
of  Sophocles — CEdipus  the  King  (about  430  B.  C), 
CEdipus  at  Colonus  (406  B.  C),  and  Antigone  (441  B.  C). 
These  three  plays  were  not  written  to  form  a  sequence, 
as  the  dates  will  show,  but  they  are  best  considered  in 
the  order  of  the  story  which  they  tell.    The  CEdipus 


226  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  King^  the  greatest  work  of  our  poet  and  the  most 
perfect  tragedy  of  antiquity,  received  only  the  second 
prize  at  its  production.  The  scene  is  laid  at  Thebes, 
and  the  chorus  is  formed  of  Theban  elders.  CEdipus, 
after  delivering  Thebes  from  the  Sphinx  by  guessing 
her  riddle,  became  king  in  the  stead  of  Laius,  and 
married  his  wife,  Jocasta  (see  page  209).  Twenty 
years  have  passed  since  then.  A  pestilence  falls  upon 
the  city.  CEdipus  has  sent  to  Delphi  his  brother-in- 
law,  Creon,  to  inquire  of  the  oracle  of  Apollo  how  the 
pest  is  to  be  stayed.  Creon  reports  that  the  slayer  of 
Laius  must  be  found  and  punished.  CEdipus  zealously 
takes  this  duty  upon  himself.  He  makes  proclamation 
that  whoever  has  knowledge  of  the  deed  shall  declare 
it,  and  that  the  murderer,  whoever  he  is,  shall  be 
treated  as  one  accursed,  barred  out  from  intercourse 
with  men  and  the  worship  of  the  gods.  He  bids  the 
prophet  Teiresias  reveal  the  guilty  one.  When  he 
refuses,  CEdipus  insults  and  threatens  him,  until  the 
prophet  in  anger  says:  ^"^ Thou  art  the  accursed  defiler 
of  the  land."  CEdipus  indignantly  drives  Teiresias 
from  his  presence  for  forging  prophecies  in  the  interest 
of  Creon.     He  also  openly  accuses  Creon  of  conspir- 

_|ng  for  the  throne.     Jocasta  strives  to  calm  her  hus- 
band by  ni"cfrofi«g  flip  fjjfnif^  r>f  |i>p.|.iiTn/^;<>cj  jt  was 

predicted  that  Laius  should  be  slain  by  his  son,  but 
a  robber  killed  him  where  three  roads  meet,  and  the 
son  was  exposed  upon  a  mountain.  This  revelation 
leads  to  anxious  inquiries  on  the  part  of  CEdipus.  The 
circumstances  of  Laius'  death  remind  him  of  a  similar 
encounter  in  which  he  had  slain  a  man ;  but  it  was 
a  robber  band  that  slew  Laius.  A  messenger  from 
Corinth  enters  announcing    the  death   of   the   king, 


Sophocles  227 

Polybus,  whom  CEdipus  believes  to  be  his  father.  The 
oracle  that  CEdipus  shall  slay  his  father  is  false,  but 
he  will  not  return  to  claim  the  throne  of  Corinth  lest 
the  other  part  of  the  oracle,  that  he  should  wed  his 
own  mother,  should  yet  be  fulfilled.  The  messenger  -~* 
reassures  him  by  telling  him  that  he  is  not  the  son  of 
Polybus,  but  was  found  upon  a  mountain  when  a  babe, 
his  feet  pierced  with  thongs.  Joca^ta  sees  the  horrible 
truth  and  begs  her  husband  to  question  no  further. 
She  enters  the  palace  and  takes  her  own  life.  Mean- 
while CEdipus  pushes  his  inquiries.  From  a  herdsman 
who  is  brought  in  the  confession  is  wrung  that  the 
babe  found  on  the  mountain  and  taken  to  Corinth  was 
the  son  of  Laius.  CEdipus  rushes  in  despair  into  the 
palace,  and  seeing  the  dead  body  of  his  mother  and 
wife,  Jocasta,  tears  out  his  eyes.  The  tragedy  closes 
with  the  pathetic  farewell  of  CEdipus  and  his  daughters. 
It  is  difficult  to  quote  from  a  drama  like  this,  so 
closely  knit  together  that  every  portion  is  essential  to 
the  whole.  Step  by  step  the  proud  king,  conscious  of  ^ 
his  own  innocence,  yet  arrogant  and  ayiltv  n^  jiavin^  ^ 
tried  to  evade  Apollo's  oracle,  probes  into  the  secret 
of  his  TTwrlTiorrible  crimes.  The  gradual  unraveling 
of , the  terrible  secret  keeps  the  mind  of  ttie  spectators 
constantly  on  the  rack  with  conflicting  emotions.  Our 
sympathy  with  the  unhappy  prince,  so  eager  to  accom- 
plish the  work  of  justice  at  whatever  cost,  rises  to 
admiration  when,  his  spirit  broken  and  his  life  ruined, 
he  nobly  resolves  to  live  and  does  not  forget  his 
country  and  his  children.  The  following  ode  illus- 
trates Sophocles'  treatment  of  the  chorus.  A  suspicion 
has  arisen  of  the  guilt  of  CEdipus,  and  he  has  treated 
Creon     with     inexcusable     arrogance.     The    chorus 


228  Homer  to  Theocritus 

breathes  a  prayer  for  purity  in  word  and  deed,  and 
deprecates  the  pride  and  insolence  of  kings. 

Mine  be  it,  mine  to  hold. 
With  destiny  to  aid,  the  deathless  sanctity 

In  words  and  actions  manifold. 
Whereof  the  laws  do  live  and  move  on  high. 

Set  in  eternal  spheres. 
Bom  in  the  bright  expanse  of  apper  sky. 
Birth  of  the  high  God,  not  of  mortal  years. 

Nor  unto  dull  oblivion  a  prey: 
Strong,  ageless  deity  is  theirs,  and  waneth  not  away. 

The  child  of  earthly  pride 
Is  tyranny,  when  once  man's  life  doth  teem 
With  wealth  too  great  to  profit  or  beseem* 

Up,  by  a  path  untried. 
Up  to  the  crowning  peak  of  bliss 
She  climbs,  then  headlong  down  the  sheer  abyss 

Helpless  she  sinks  to  the  unfooted  void! 
Yet  unto  God  I  pray  that  he  may  ne'er  annal 
Man's  strife  that  man's  estate  be  honoured  to  the  full 
God  is  my  help;  to  him  my  faith  clings  an4estroyed. 

But  if  a  man,  in  deed  or  word. 

Walks  o'er-informed  with  pride  and  might. 

By  fear  of  justice  undeterred. 

Scorning  the  seats  of  deity, 

111  doom,  to  that  man  drawing  nigh. 

His  ill-starred  arrogance  requite  1 

Unless  toward  his  proper  gain 

With  uncomipted  hand  he  strain. 

Unless  he  loathe  all  filthiness, 
If  with  lewd  hands  he  touch  the  grace  of  holiness! 
Henceforth,  if  such  things  be,  no  mortal  evermore 

Can  from  his  life  repel 
The  darts  of  heaven  and  boast  that  foiled  they  fell: 

If  he  who  walks  such  ways 
Deserve  man's  honour  and  his  praise, 
Wherefore  with  holy  dance  should  I  the  Gods  adorer 

Morsbead. 


Sophocles  229 

The  truth  as  regards  the  parentage  of  CEdipus  is 
revealed  in  this  conversation  between  the  King,  the 
Corinthian  Messenger,  and  the  Herdsman.  This  pas- 
sage is  a  good  example  of  the  line-for-line  dialogue 
with  which  Greek  tragedy  abounds: 

Me.  Say  then,  dost  thou  recall  that  unto  me 

A  child  thou  gavest  for  my  fosterling? 

He.  What  say'st  thou?  wherefore  askest  thou  of  this? 

Me.  (Pointing  to  (Edifms,)    Good  sir,  there  standeth  he  that 

was  that  child. 

He.  Hell  silence  thee!  wilt  thou  not  hold  thy  peace? 

CEd.  Peace,  old  man,  chide  him  not — these  words  of  thine. 

More  than  his  tale,  deserve  a  chastener. 

He.  Wherein,  most  goodly  lord,  do  I  offend? 

CEd.  Avowing  not  the  child  of  whom  he  asks. 

He.  He  speaks  sans  knowledge,  frets  himself  in  vain. 

CEd.  Thou  wilt  not  speak  with  grace,  thou  shalt  with  tears. 

He.  For  God's  sake,  wrong  me  not,  for  I  am  old. 

CEd.  Ho,  bind  him,  bind  his  arms  behind  his  back.    ' 

He.  Wherefore,  O  hapless  man?  what  more  wouldst  learn? 

CEd.  Didst  give  to  him  the  child  of  whom  he  asks? 

He.  I  gave  it  —  would  that  I  had  died  that  day! 

CEd.  This  day  thou  diest,  if  thou  hide  the  truth. 

He.  Yet  I  die  doubly,  if  I  hide  it  not. 

CEd.  Methinks  he  driveth  yet  at  more  delay. 

He.  Nay,  nay  —  I  have  owned  that  I  gave  the  child. 

CEd.  Whence  having  it?  another's  or  thine  own? 

He.  Mine  it  was  not;  but  by  another  given. 

CEd.  By  whom  in  Thebes,  from  what  home,  high  or  low? 

He.  For  heaven's  sake,  O  my  master,  ask  no  more. 

CEd.  Thou  art  but  dead,  if  I  shall  ask  again. 

He.  God  help  —  it  was  a  child  of  Laius'  house. 

CEd.  a  slave-child,  or  in  his  own  lineage  bom? 

He.  Woe's  me  — in  speech  I  stand  on  horror's  verge. 

CEd.  And  I  in  hearing:  natheless  I  must  hear. 

He.  Know  then,  his  own  child  it  was  said  to  be, 

Go,  ask  thy  queen  within;  she  best  can  say. 

CEd.  Was  it  she  gave  it  thee?    He.  It  was,  O  king. 


230  Homer  to  Theocritus 

(Ed.   And  for  what  end?   He.  That  I  should  qnencfa  its  life. 
(Ed.   So  hard  a  mother?    He.  By  ill  presage  scared. 
(Ed.   MThat  presage?  He.  That  the  child  should  slay  his  nre. 
(Ed.   Then  why  unto  this  graybeard  didst  thoa  gire  it? 
He.    My  lord,  I  pitied  it,  and  deemed  that  he 

Would  bear  it  hence  away  to  his  own  land. 

He  saved  it,  well-a-day,  for  sorrow's  crown. 

For  if  thou  art  the  child  of  whom  he  tells. 

Be  well  assured  thou  wert  to  ill  fate  bom. 
(Ed.   Woe,  woe  upon  me!  all  the  issue  clear — 

Light,  be  thou  dark  to  me  for  evermore! 

Cursed  in  my  birth,  and  in  my  marriage  cursed. 

And  ctu'sed  in  blood-shedding  I  stand  revealed! 

[He  rushes  into  ike  Palace, 
.    Morshead. 

(Edipus  resigned  the  throne  to  Creon  after  his 
unwitting  crimes  had  been  found  out,  and  desired  to 
leave  Thebes  forever,  but  the  oracle  forbade.  But 
when  his  sons  had  grown  to  manhood,  they  and  Creon 
cruelly  thrust  him  forth,  an  outcast.  Antigone 
attended  him  in  his  long  wanderings  as  a  beggar,  but 
Ismene  stayed  at  home.  When  the  (Edipus  at  Colonus 
opens  they  have  reached  a  grove  at  Colonus,  near 
Athens,  where  they  stop  to  rest.  Warned  by  the 
citizens  of  the  village,  who  form  the  chorus,  that  they 
stand  upon  holy  ground  sacred  to  the  Furies,  CEdipus 
recalls  that  the  oracle  had  predicted  that  he  should 
end  his  life  here.  Theseus,  king  of  Athens,  sum- 
moned by  CEdipus,  extends  the  protection  of  the  city 
to  the  wanderers.  Ismene  arrives  from  Thebes  with 
news  of  the  quarrel  of  Eteocles  and  Polyneices.  Soon 
Creon  comes  to  take  CEdipus  back  to  Thebes,  since  his 
presence  is  necessary  to  the  safety  of  the  city.  In 
the  struggle  that  follows  Antigone  and  Ismene  are 
carried  off,  but  Theseus  rescues  them  and  drives  Creon 


Sophocles  23 1 

back.  Polyneiccs  comes  to  supplicate  his  father  for 
aid,  but  is  sternly  dismissed.  Then,  in  an  impressive 
scene,  CEdipus  enters  the  sacred  grove  and  is  miracu- 
lously translated  amid  thunder  and  lightning.  The 
play  is  unsurpassed  in  beauty  and  in  tenderness  of  feel- 
ing. The  peaceful  and  glorious  death  of  the  unhappy 
CEdipus  seems  but  a  fitting  close  to  a  life  so  noble  and 
yet  so  full  of  sorrows.  The  most  beautiful  choral 
passage  is  the  famous  ode  to  Colonus,  the  village  birth- 
place  of  the  poet: 

Of  all  the  land  far  famed  for  goodly  steeds. 
Thou  com'st,  O  stranger,  to  the  noblest  spot, 

Colonus,  glistening  bright, 
Where  evermore,  in  thickets  freshly  green, 

The  clear-voiced  nightingale 

Still  haunts,  and  pours  her  song, 

By  purpling  ivy  hid, 
And  the  thick  leafage  sacred  to  the  god, 

With  all  its  myriad  fruits, 

By  mortal's  foot  untouched, 

By  sun*s  hot  ray  unscathed. 

Sheltered  from  every  blast; 
There  wanders  Dionysos  evermore. 

In  full,  wild  revelry. 
And  waits  upon  the  Nymphs  who  nursed  his  youth. 

And  there,  beneath  the  gentle  dews  of  heaven, 
The  fair  narcissus,  with  its  clustered  bells, 

Blooms  ever,  day  by  day, 
Of  old  the  wreaths  of  mightiest  goddesses; 

And  crocus  golden-eyed; 

And  still  unslumbering  flow 

Kephisos*  wandering  streams; 
They  fail  not  from  their  spring,  but  evermore 

Swift-rushing  into  birth. 

Over  the  plain  they  sweep. 

The  land  of  broad,  full  breast. 

With  clear  and  stainless  wave; 


232  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Nor  do  the  Muses  in  their  minstrd  dioin 

Hold  it  in  slight  esteem. 
Nor  Aphrodite  with  her  golden  reins. 

And  in  it  grows  a  marvel  such  as  ne'er 

On  Asia's  soil  I  heard. 
Nor  the  great  Dorian  isle  from  Pelops  ^f^mfilj 

A  plant  self-sown,  that  knows 

No  touch  of  withering  age, 

Terror  of  hostile  swords, 

Which  here  on  thb  our  ground 

Its  high  perfection  gains. 
The  grey-green  foliage  of  the  olive-tree. 

Rearing  a  goodly  race  : 

And  never  more  shall  man. 

Or  young  or  bowed  with  years. 

Give  forth  the  fierce  command 

And  lay  it  low  in  dust. 

For  lo !  the  eye  of  Zeus, 

Zeus  of  our  olive  groves. 

That  sees  eternally, 

Casteth  its  glance  thereon, 
And  she,  Athena,  with  the  clear,  grey  eyet. 

And  yet  another  praise  is  mine  to  sing, 
Gift  of  the  mighty  God, 

To  this  our  city,  mother  of  us  all. 
Her  greatest,  noblest  boast. 
Famed  for  her  goodly  steeds. 
Famed  for  her  bounding  colts. 
Famed  for  her  sparkling  sea. 

Poseidon,  son  of  Kronos,  Lord  and  King » 
To  Thee  this  boast  we  owe, 
For  first  in  these  our  streets 
Thou  to  the  untamed  horse 
Didst  use  the  conquering  bit : 
And  here  the  well-shaped  oar, 
By  skilled  hands  deftly  plied. 


Sophocles  233 

Still  leapeth  through  the  sea, 

Following  in  wondrous  guise 

The  fair  Nereids  with  their  hundred  feet. 

Plumptre. 

After  the  death  of  CEdipus,  Antigone  and  Ismene 
returned  to  Thebes.  The  seven  chieftains  of  Argos, 
Polyneices  at  their  head,  came  against  the  city,  and 
the  two  brothers  perished  by  each  other's  hands. 
Creon  was  niade  Jdaer^'lle    decreed  that  Eteocles 


should  be  buried  with  due  honor,  but  that  the  body  of 
Polyneices  should  lie  unburied,  the  offender  against 
this  decree  to  be  stoned  to  death.  At  this  point  the 
action  of  the  Antigone  begins.  Antigone,  setting  the 
divine  law  above  the  edict  of  man,  resolves  to  bury 
her  brother.  Ismene  in  vain  tries  to  dissuade  her. 
Creon  has  no  sooner  made  his  solemn  proclamation 
than  a  messenger  reports  that  the  decree  has  been 
violated.  Soon  Antigone  is  led  in  by  the  guard,  and 
boldly  defends  her  course  to  Cleon.  Ismene  would 
share  her  sister's  fate,  but  Antigone  refuses.  The 
king's  son,  Haemon,  to  whom  Antigone  is  betrothed, 
pleads  for  her  life  in  vain.  Antigone  is  led  away  to 
be  immured  alive.  The  prophet  Teiresias  warns  Cleon 
that  he  and  the  city  shall  suffer,  but  Cleon  cannot  be 
moved  from  what  he  arrogantly  assumes  to  be  the 
course  of  justice.  Haemon,  cursing  his  father  to  his 
face,  slays  himself  over  the  body  of  Antigone,  who  has 
taken  her  own  life.  At  the  news  of  her  son's  death 
the  queen  also  takes  her  own  life,  cursing  her  husband. 
Creon,  plunged  into  desperate  grief  and  admitting 
his  fault,  is  led  away,  praying  for  death.  In  this 
noble  tragedy,  for  the  understanding  of  which  a  mere 
outline  is  quite  inadequate,  the  character  of  Antigone 


234  Homer  to  Theocritus 

is  made  to  stand  out  in  bold  relief  above  the  others. 
Symonds  calls  her  *'  the  most  perfect  female  character 
in  Greek  poetry."  It  is  notable  that  Sophocles  does  not 
accept  the  opportunity  which  his  plot  offered  to  temper 
her  hard  and  resolute  character  by  emphasizing  her  love 
for  Haemon.     Loyalty  to  duty  overrules  all  sentiment. 

I  quote  first  Creon's  proclamation  concerning  the 
body  of  Polyneices,  addressed  to  the  elders  of  Thebes, 
represented  by  the  members  of  chorus  : 

My  friends,  the  noble  vessel  of  our  State, 

After  sore  shaking  her,  the  Gods  have  sped 

On  a  smooth  course  once  more.     I  brought  you  hither. 

By  special  messengers  selecting  you 

From  all  the  city,  first,  because  I  knew  you 

Aye  loyal  to  the  ihrone  of  Lai  us  ; 

Then,  both  while  CEdipus  gave  prosperous  days, 

And  since  his  fall,  I  still  beheld  you  firm 

In  sound  allegiance  to  the  royal  issue. 

Now  since  the  pair  have  perished  in  an  hour, 

Through  mutual  violence,  leaving  their  land 

Oppressed  with  guilt  of  fratricidal  blood  , 

All  rule  and  potency  of  sovereign  sway, 

In  virtue  of  next  kin  to  the  deceased. 

Devolves  on  me.     But  hard  it  is  to  learn 

The  mind  of  any  mortal  or  the  heart. 

Till  he  be  tried  in  chief  authority. 

Power  shows  the  man.     For  he  who,  when  supreme, 

Withholds  his  hand  or  voice  from  the  best  cause. 

Being  thwarted  by  some  fear,  that  man  to  me 

Appears,  and  ever  hath  appeared,  roost  vile. 

He  too  hath  no  high  place  in  mine  esteem. 

Who  sets  his  friend  before  his  fatherland. 

Let  Zeus  whose  eye  sees  all  eternally 

Be  here  my  witness.     I  will  ne'er  keep  silence 

When  danger  lours  upon  my  citizens 

Who  looked  for  safety,  nor  make  him  my  friend 

Who  doth  not  love  my  country.     For  I  know 

Our  country  carries  us,  and  whilst  her  helm 

Is  held  aright  we  gain  good  friends  and  true. 


Sophocles  23  5 

Following  such  courses  'tis  my  steadfast  will 
To  foster  Theb^'s  greatness,  and  therewith 
In  brotherly  accord  is  my  decree 
Touching  the  sons  of  CEdipus.     The  man — 
Eteocles  1  mean — who  died  for  Thebes 
Fighting  with  eminent  prowess  on  her  side, 
Shall  be  entombed  with  every  sacred  rite 
That  follows  to  the  grave  the  lordliest  dead. 
But  for  his  brother,  who,  a  banished  man. 
Returned  to  devastate  and  burn  with  fire 
The  land  of  his  nativity,  the  shrines 
Of  his  ancestral  gods,  to  feed  him  fat 
With  Theban  carnage,  and  make  captive  all 
That  should  escape  the  sword — for  Polyneices, 
This  law  hath  been  proclaimed  concerning  him  : 
He  shall  have  no  lament,  no  funeral, 
But  lie  unburied,  for  the  carrion  fowl 
And  dogs  to  eat  his  corse,  a  sight  of  shame. 

Such  are  the  motions  of  this  mind  and  will. 
Never  from  me  shall  villains  reap  renown 
Before  the  just.     But  whoso  loves  the  State, 
I  will  exalt  him  both  in  life  and  death. 

Lewis  Campbell. 

In  the  following  passage  Antigone  declares  before 
Cleon  her  allegiance  to  the  eternal  laws  of  Right, 
rather  than  to  the  edicts  of  man  : 

Creon.     Speak  thou,  who  bendest  on  the  earth  thy  gaze, — 
Are  these  things  which  are  witnessed  true  or  false  ? 
Antigone.     Not  false,  but  true  :  that  which  he  saw  he  spake. 
Cr.  (to  the  guard).  So,  sirrah,  thou  art  free;  go  where  thou  wilt. 

Loosed  from  the  burden  of  a  heavy  charge. 

But  tell  me  thou,  and  let  thy  speech  be  brief, — 

The  edict  had'st  thou  heard  which  this  forbade  ? 
Ant.    I  could  not  choose  but  hear  what  all  men  heard. 
Cr.      And  did'st  thou  dare  to  disobey  the  law  ? 
Ant.    Nowise  from  Zeus,  methought,  this  edict  came. 

Nor  Justice,  that  abides  among  the  gods 


236  Homer  to  Theocritus 

In  Hades,  who  ordained  these  laws  for  men. 
Nor  did  I  deem  thine  edicts  of  such  force 
It  they,  a  mortal's  bidding,  should  o'erride 

kvens.       I 

of  to-day  or  yesterday  are  they,  J 

\vLt  live  from  everlasting,  and  from  whence 

ley  sprang  none  knoweth.  I  would  not,  for  the  breach 
Of  these,  through  fear  of  any  human  pride. 
To  Heaven  atone.     I  know  that  I  must  die  : 
How  else  ?  without  thine  edict  that  were  so ; 
And  if  before  my  time, — why,  this  were  gain. 
Compassed  about  with  ills  ; — who  lives  as  I, 
Death  to  such  life  as  his  must  needs  be  gain. 
So  is  it  to  me  to  undergo  this  doom 
No  grief  at  all ;  but  had  I  left  my  brother. 
My  mother's  child,  unburied  where  he  lay. 
Then  I  had  grieved  ;  but  now  this  grieves  me  not 
Senseless  I  seem  to  thee,  so  doing  ?    Belike 
A  senseless  judgment  finds  me  void  of  sense. 

Whitelaw. 

After  Haemon's  intercession  for  Antigone  the  cho- 
rus sings  this  ode  on  the  power  of  Love  : 

O  Love,  our  conqueror,  matchless  in  might. 
Thou  prevailest,  O  Love,  thou  dividest  the  prey ; 

In  damask  cheeks  of  a  maiden 

Thy  watch  through  the  night  is  set. 

Thou  roamest  over  the  sea  ; 
On  the  hills,  in  the  shepherds'  huts,  thou  art ; 
Nor  of  deathless  gods,  nor  of  short-lived  men. 

From  thy  madness  any  escapeth. 

Unjust,  through  thee,  are  the  thoughts  of  the  just ; 
Thou  dost  bend  them,  O  Love,  to  thy  will,  to  thy  spite. 

Unkindly  strife  thou  hast  kindled. 

This  wrangling  of  son  with  sire. 
For  great  laws  throned  in  the  heart 
To  the  sway  of  a  rival  power  give  place. 
To  the  love-light  flashed  from  a  fair  bride's  eyes. 

Whitelaw. 


CHAPTER  X 

EURIPIDES 

Euripides — His  Position  in  Attic  Tragedy — His  Popularity 
and  Influence— The  Alc^stis—The  Medea— Tht  Hippcl- 
ytus — The  Trojan  Plays:  Iphigeneiaat  AuliSylpkigemia 
amonjF  the  Taurians^  Orestes^  Electra^  Trajan  iVomen, 
Necaoe,  Andromache,  Helen — The  Theban  Plays  :  Phce^ 
nician  IVomen,  Suppliants — The  Children  of  Heracles — 
The  Heracles'-The  /on —The  Bacchanals— The  Cyclops, 

Euripides  was  born  in  485  B.  C.  on  the  island  of 
Salamis.  He  received  a  liberal  education  under  expen- 
sive teachers.  It  is  said  that  he  was  first  a  profes- 
sional athlete  and  subsequently  a  painter.  We  are 
told  also  that  he  was  nnl^^ppHY  iparripd^  and  his 
domestic  relations  are  a  topic  for  scandalous  gossip 
in  the  comic  poets.  The  ancients  attributed  to  this 
fact  in  his  life  the  manv  bitter  ^^y^'pps  about  women 
that  arc  found  in  his  tragedies.  They  called  him 
a  woman-hater;  and  yet  he  portrays  with  exquisite 
tenderness  and  grace  the  affectionate,  self-sacrificing 
wife,  the  devoted  mother,  and  noble,  pure,  high- 
minded  maidenhood.  His  first  play  was  brought  out 
in  455  B,  C,  at  the  age  of  thirty.  Of  thejyneJjiJjdiL 
plays  which  he  wrote  eighteen  survive,  one  of  which, 
the  Cyclops^  is  the  only  extant  specimen  of  the  satyr- 
drama.  Another  tragedy,  the  Rhesus^  which  is  con- 
tained in  the  manuscripts  of  Euripides,  is  believed  to 
be  a  work  of  the  fourth  century.  Euripides  was  only 
moderately  successful  in  the  competitions,  his  victories 

237 


238  Homer  to  Theocritus 

at  both  festivals  amounting  to  fifteen,  as  against  the 
twenty-eight  of  ^Eschylus  and  the  twenty-four  of 
Sophocles.  He  died  in  406  B.  C.  in  Macedonia,  where 
the  last  years  of  his  life  had  been  spent  at  the  court 
of  the  king  Archelaus. 

Euripides  was  distinctly  the  representative  poet  of 
the  last  Dart  of  the  fiftl]  r^ptiiry  Since  the  establish- 
ment Of  the  Athenian  Empire  great  changes  had  come 
over  the  spirit  of  the  Athenian  people.  Imperialism 
had  brought  in  its  train  a  revolution  in  social  life, 
a  higher  plane  of  living,  an  eagerness  for  adj^yofifidjiL 
nny^l  views  on  ethics  and  religion,  a  larger  interest 
in  political  affairs.  After  the  death  of  Pericles  the 
populace  was  all-powerful,  and  the  success  of  the 
demagogue  quickened  the  desire  of  the  people  for 
the  new  education,  which  was  eminently  "practical," 
great  stress  being  laid  upon  the  specious  rhetoric  by 
which  the  worse  cause  was  made  to  seem  the  better. 
The  audience  in  the  theatre  now  took  less  delight  than 
formerly  in  the  old-fashioned  presentation  of  the  old 
doctrines  of  religion  as  exemplified  in  the  figures  of 
mythology.  They  demanded  striking  scenes,  clever 
reasoning,  splendid  oratory,  harrowing  situations,  bril- 
liant musical  effects.  If  a  poet  could  present  a  well- 
worn  subject  in  a  novel  way,  either  by  introducing 
subtle  dramatic  devices  or  by  reshaping  the  myth,  so 
much  the  better.  Sophocles  conceded  not  a  little  to 
this  tendency  of  the  times,  but  always  maintained  the 
lofty  ideal  of  the  tragic  art  which  iEschylus  had 
bequeathed.  But  Euripides  was  the  very  embodiment 
of  the  spirit  of  his  age.  A  consummate  playwright, 
he  employed  every  dramatic  and  theatrical  means  to 
gain  the  desired  effects,  even  sacrificing  the  harmony 


Fortnlt  SUtiw,  VaUean  UnMam,  Rome. 


Euripides  139 

of  the  whole  to  the  beauty  and  effectiveness  of  the 
parts.  Though  he  rarely  rises  to  the  sublime  heights 
of  ^schylus,  and  though  his  tragedies  are  not  always 
perfect  works  of  art,  like  those  of  Sophocles,  there  is 
no  doubt  that  they  *'staged"  well. 

A  keen  observer  of  the  men  and  women  about  him, 
Euripides  p^^i^ts  r'*'"  ^*^  tllfiy  ''''*^i  while  Sophocles 
paints  them  as  they  should  be.^  Indeed  he  seems  to 
have  been  too  bold  an  innovator  even  for  his  own 
time,  if  we  may  judge  by  the  criticisms  of  Aristopha- 
nes. His  popularitv  with  the  masses,  however,  is 
conceded  by  the  comic  poet,  and  is  attested  by  the 
interesting  fact  that  many  of  the  Athenian  prisoners  I 
taken  by  the  Syracusans  in  411  B.  C.  were  given  their  1 
liberty  because  they  were  able  to  recite  from  his  plays.*  \ 
In  the  fourth  century  he  was  easily  the  most  popular 
of  the  three  master  poets,  and  his  tragedies  maintained 
themselves  upon  the  stage  wpII  into  thr  Chrifitinn  rrn 
His  influence  upon  the  later  comedy  was  marked. 
The  comic  poet  Philemon  said:  *'If  the  dead,  as  some 
assert,  have  really  consciousness,  then  would  I  hang 
myself  to  see  Euripides."  Euripides  served  the 
Roman  poets  as  a  model  far  more  than  either  ^schy- 
lus  or  Sophocles,  and  through  this  medium  he  became 
the  father  of  the  classical  tragedy  in  France,  He 
appeals  strongly  to  the  average  reader  of  to-day 
because  he  seems,  relatively,  so  modern.  His  charac- 
ters are  generally  less  heroic  than  those  of  his  pre- 
decessors, and  therefore  less  remote.  They  exhibit 
the  passions  and  weaknesses  of  ordinary  mortals,  and 

*^A  ctit!c{si3  attributed  to  Sophocles  himself,  contrasting  his  own  "  ideal- 
ism "  with  the  "  realism"  of  his  rival. 

'Robert  Browning  makes  use  of  this  story  in  the  framework  of  his 
transcription  of  the  Alcestis  in  Balaustion's  Adventure, 


240  Homer  to  Theocritus 

are  not  merely  instruments  for  revealing  the  workings 
of  divine  law.  His  qualities  as  a  poet  are  summed 
up  in  the  language  of  an  enthusiastic  admirer,  Mrs. 
Browning: 

Our  Euripides  the  Human 

With  his  droppings  of  warm  tears, 

And  his  touches  ot  things  common 
Till  they  rose  to  touch  the  spheres. 

The  earliest  extant  play  is  the  Alustis.  produced  in 
438  B.  C.  The  victory  was  won  by  Sophocles,  Euripi- 
des gaining  second  place.  The  Alcestis  was  the  fourth 
drama  in  the  tetralogy,  taking  the  place  of  the  usual 
satyr-drama.  The  subject  is  the  voluntary  death  of 
Alcestis  in  place  of  her  husband,  Admetus,  king  of 
Phera,  in  Thessaly.  Apollo,  who  had  kept  Admetus' 
flocks,  condemned  for  a  fault  to  serve  a  mortal  for 
a  time,  loved  his  former  master,  and  promised  to  per- 
suade the  Fates  to  accept  a  substitute  when  the  hour 
of  death  should  come.  The  fated  day  arrives.  None 
but  Alcestis  will  consent  to  die  that  Admetus  may 
live.  She  bids  farewell  to  her  home  and  children, 
dies,  and  is  borne  forth  to  burial.  But  Heracles,  who 
has  come  as  a  guest  to  the  house  of  Admetus,  learns 
the  misfortune  that  has  befallen  his  host,  and  goes 
forth  to  rescue  Alcestis  from  Death.  After  a  struggle 
Alcestis  is  delivered  and  restored  to  her  home. 
I  quote  the  farewell  of  Alcestis  as  reported  by  her 
maid :' 

For  when  she  knew  the  fatal  day  was  come. 
She  bathed  in  river  water  her  white  flesh, 

*This  and  the  two  following  passages  are  quoted  from  Three  Dramas  of 
Euripides  by  permission  ot  the  author,  Mr.  William  Cranston  Lawton,  and 
hit  publishers,  Messrs.  Houghton.  Mifnin  &  Co. 


£uripides  24 1 

And  from  her  chests  of  cedar  choosing  forth 
Raiment  and  ornament  she  decked  her  fair, 
And  standing  prayed  before  the  hearthstone  thus : 
"  O  Goddess, — for  I  pass  beneath  the  earth, — 
Here  at  the  last,  a  suppliant,  I  entreat 
Rear  thou  my  children,  and  on  him  bestow 
A  loving  wife,  on  her  a  noble  spouse. 
And  may  they  not,  as  I  their  mother  die. 
Untimely  fall,  but  in  their  native  land. 
And  fortunate,  fill  out  a  happy  life." 
And  all  the  shrines  throughout  Admetos'  halls 
She  sought  and  decked  with  boughs,  and  prayed  thereto, 
Breaking  the  foliage  of  the  myrtle  twigs. 
Nor  wept,  nor  groaned  ;  the  sorrow  near  at  hand 
Changed  not  the  lovely  color  of  her  face. 
Then  hastened  to  her  marriage-chamber  and  bed ; 
There  sl.e  indeed  shed  tears,  and  thus  she  spoke  : 
**  O  couch,  where  I  put  off  my  maiden  zone 
For  this  my  husband,  for  whose  sake  I  die, 
Farewell.    I  hate  thee  not :  thou  hast  destroyed 
Me  only ;  slow  to  leave  my  spouse  and  thee 
1  die.    To  thee  another  wife  will  come. 
Not  truer,  though  perchance  more  fortunate." 
And  knelt,  and  kissed,  and  with  the  gushing  tears 
That  from  her  eyelids  fell  the  bed  was  moist. 
When  she  was  sated  with  her  many  tears. 
In  headlong  haste  she  hurried  from  the  spot. 
But  often  turned  her  as  she  left  the  room. 
And  darted  toward  her  nuptial  couch  once  more. 
Her  children,  clinging  to  the  mother's  robe. 
Were  weeping  ;  taking  in  her  arms  she  kissed 
The  two  in  turn,  as  though  about  to  die. 
And  all  the  servants  wept  throughout  the  halls, 
Pitying  their  mistress  ;  and  she  gave  her  hand 
To  every  one  ;  not  one  was  there  so  base 
But  she  did  greet  him,  and  by  him  was  hailed. 

In  a  beautiful  ode  the  chorus  celebrates  the  terrible 
might  of  Necessity : 


^ 


242  Homer  to  Theocritus 

High  aloft  have  I  been  lifted 

On  the  poets'  wings  of  song; 

Many  sages*  words  have  studied; 

Nothing  have  I  known  or  found 

Mightier  than  Necessity. 

Neither  in  the  Thracian  tablets 

By  the  Orphic  voice  recorded, 

Nor  in  all  the  drugs  that  Phoibos  to  Asclepios'  children  gave, 

Is  a  cure  to  break  her  power  for  the  troubled  sons  of  men. 

She  alone  hath  neither  altars 

Nor  an  image  to  adore. 

Offerings  she  regardeth  never. 

Come  not,  Goddess,  in  my  life, 

Sterner  than  now  thou  art  to  me; 

For  whatever  Zeus  decreeth 

Is  fulfilled  with  thy  assistance; 

Even  the  Chalybean  iron  thou  subduest  in  thy  might, 

And  thy  unrelenting  spirit  knoweth  not  regret  or  shame. 

Tht  Medea  was  brought  out  in  431  B.  C,  receiving 
the  last  place,  although  it  is  recognized  as  one  of  the 
most  powerful  of  the  tragedifi5.j3LEiiripides.     Medea 


was  the  princess^of  Colchis,  who,  for  love  of  Jason, 
helped  him  by  her  magic  arts  to  win  the  golden  fleece 
in  quest  of  which  he  and  the  Argonauts  had  sailed. 
She  fled  with  him  to  Greece  as  his  wife.  But  Jason 
has  abandoned  her  for  the  daughter  of  the  king  of 
Corinth.  In  her  jealousy  Medea  causes  the  death 
of  her  rival,  slays  the  children  whom  she  had  borne  to 
Jason,  and  makes  her  escape  through  the  air  on  an 
enchanted  car.  The  following  passage,  addressed  by 
Medea  to  the  Corinthian  maidens  who  compose  the 
chorus,  reflects,  indeed,  the  position  of  woman  in 
Athenian  society  in  the  fifth  century,  but  might  almost 
have  been  uttered  by  a  woman  of  to-day,  so  well  does 
Euripides  understand  womankind: 


es  243 


This  trouble  unforeseen  befalling  me 
Has  crushed  my  soul;  and  since  the  grace  of  life 
Is  wholly  lost,  I  long  to  perish,  friends. 
For  he  who  was  my  all, —  I  know  it  well, — 
My  husband,  is  revealed  most  base  of  men. 

Of  all  created  things  endowed  with  soul 
And  sense,  we  women  are  the  wretchedest. 
Who,  first,  with  overplus  of  gold  must  buy 
Our  lord,  and  take  a  master  to  ourselves. 
This  is  an  evil  even  worse  than  ill. 
And  then  the  risk  is  great,  if  he  we  take 
Be  base  or  good.    No  honorable  release 
Have  women,  nor  may  we  disown  our  lord. 
Entered  on  novel  ways  and  customs,  each 
Must  needs  divine,  if  she  has  never  learned, 
How  it  is  best  to  live  with  him  she  weds. 

And  if,  while  we  are  toiling  faithfully. 
The  husband  is  not  chafing  at  the  yoke. 
Our  life  is  enviable:  else,  death  is  best. 
A  man,  when  vexed  with  those  within  his  home, 
Goes  forth,  and  frees  his  heart  of  weariness, 
Betaking  him  to  comrades,  or  a  friend: 
While  we  may  look  but  to  one  single  soul. 

They  say  we  live  at  home  a  life  secure 
From  danger,  while  they  struggle  with  the  spear. 
A  foolish  thoughtl    I  thrice  would  choose  to  stand 
Beside  my  shield,  ere  once  to  bear  a  child. 

But  the  same  words  suit  not  myself  and  thee. 
Thou  hast  a  city  and  a  father's  house, 
A  happy  life  and  dear  companionship. 
I,  lonely,  homeless,  by  my  husband  scorned. 
From  a  barbarian  land  as  booty  led, 
Have  not  a  mother,  brother,  no,  nor  kin. 
With  whom  to  seek  a  haven  from  these  ills. 

This  much  I  wish  I  may  obtain  from  thee. 
If  any  means  or  plan  by  me  be  found 
To  avenge  these  wrongs  on  Jason,  on  the  girl 
He  has  wedded,  and  the  sire  who  gave  him  her. 
Speak  not!    A  woman  else  is  full  of  fear. 


^44  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Nor  dares  to  look  on  violence  and  arms: 
But  if  it  chance  her  marriage-bed  is  wronged* 
There  is  no  soul  more  murderous  than  hers. 

The  conflicting  passions  of  love  and  jealousy  are 
wonderfully  depicted  in  this  passage — the  monologue 
of  Medea  just  before  she  slays  her  children: 

O  sons,  my  sons,  for  you  there  is  a  home 

And  city  where,  forsaking  wretched  me, 

Ye  shall  still  dwell  and  have  no  mother  more; 

But  I,  an  exile,  seek  another  land, 

Ere  I  have  joyed  in  you  and  seen  you  glad, 

Ere  I  have  decked  for  you  the  nuptial  pomp. 

The  bride,  the  bed,  and  held  the  torch  aloft. 

Ah  me!  forlorn  by  my  untempered  moods! 

In  vain  then  have  I  nurtured  ye,  my  sons, 

In  vain  have  toiled  and  been  worn  down  by  cares. 

And  felt  the  hard  child-bearing  agonies. 

There  was  a  time  when  I,  unhappy  one. 

Had  many  hopes  in  you,  that  both  of  you 

Would  cherish  me  in  age;  and  that  your  hands, 

When  I  am  dead,  would  fitly  lay  me  out— 

That  wish  of  all  men;  but  now  lost  indeed 

Is  that  sweet  thought,  for  I  must,  reft  of  you. 

Live  on  a  piteous  life  and  full  of  pain; 

And  ye,  your  dear  eyes  will  no  more  behold 

Your  mother,  gone  into  your  new  strange  life. 

Alas !  why  do  ye  fix  your  eyes  on  me, 

My  sons  ?     Why  smile  ye  on  me  that  last  smile  ? 

Alas !  what  must  I  do  ?  for  my  heart  faints, 

Thus  looking  on  my  children's  happy  eyes. 

Women,  I  cannot.     Farewell  my  past  resolves. 

My  boys  go  forth  with  me.    What  boots  it  me 

To  wring  their  father  with  their  cruel  fates, 

And  earn  myself  a  doubled  misery  ? 

It  shall  not  be,  shall  not.     Farewell  resolves ! — 

And  yet  what  mood  is  this  ?    Am  I  content 

To  spare  my  foes  and  be  a  laughing-stock  ? 

It  must  be  dared.     Why,  out  upon  my  weaknessi 


Euripides  245 

To  let  sucb  coward  thoughts  steal  from  my  heart  1 
Go,  children,  to  the  house  :  and  he  who  lacks 
Right  now  to  stand  by  sacrifice  of  mine 
Let  him  look  to  it.     I'll  not  stay  my  hand* 

Alas !  alas ! 
No,  surely,  O  my  heart,  thou  canst  not  do  it ! 
Racked  heart,  let  them  go  safely  :  spare  the  boyji* 
Living  far  hence  with  me  they'll  make  thee  joy. 
No  :  by  the  avenging  demon  gods  in  hell. 
Never  shall  be  that  I  shall  yield  my  boys 
To  the  despitings  of  mine  enemies  1 
For  all  ways  they  must  die,  and  since  'tis  so. 
Better  I  slay  them,  I  who  gave  them  birth. 
All  ways  'tis  fated  ;  there  is  no  escape. 
For  now,  in  the  robes,  the  wreath  upon  her  head| 
The  royal  bride  is  perishing.     I  know  it. 
But  since  I  go  on  so  forlorn  a  journey, 
And  them  too  send  on  one  yet  more  forlorn, 
I'd  fain  speak  with  my  sons.     Give  me,  my  children. 
Give  your  mother  your  right  hands  to  clasp  to  her. 
O  darling  hands !     O  dearest  lips  to  me ! 
O  forms  and  noblest  faces  of  my  boys  I 
Be  happy  :  but  there.     For  of  all  part  here 
Your  father  has  bereft  you.     O  sweet  kiss ! 
O  grateful  breath  and  soft  skin  of  my  boys  I 
^>  go ;  I  can  no  longer  look  on  you, 
But  by  my  sufferings  am  overborne. 
Oh,  I  do  know  what  sorrows  I  shall  make  ; 
But  anger  keeps  the  mastery  of  my  thoughts. 
Which  is  the  chiefest  cause  of  human  woes. 

Mrs.  Webster. 

The  ffippolvtus.  crowned  with  the  first  prize  in  428 
B.  C,  is  not  only  one  of  the  best  tragedies  of  Euripi- 
des, considered  as  a  work  of  art,  but  is  of  unique 
interest  as  t^s  fir'it  ?xtnnt  f^-^*^'^^  play  jn  whirh  ^^f" 

passion     nf     jpvft     \<\     thff     T^^^^     im^ivf>         The     herO,     f 

Hippolytus,  was   the   son   of  Theseus,  the   legendary   I 


1 


246  Homer  to  Theocritus 

founder  of  Athens,  by  his  union  with  the  Amazon 
queen  Hippolyta.  He  grew  up  to  manhood  in  purity, 
paying  worship  to  the  chaste  goddess  Artemis,  the 
huntress,  and  disdaining  Aphrodite.  Aphrodite  is 
resolved  to  punish  him.  She  therefore  puts  into  the 
heart  of  Phaedra,  the  wife  of  Theseus,  a  love  for  her 
step-son.  Phaedra  struggles  against  the  sinful  passion 
until  brought  to  death's  door,  when  it  is  revealed  unto. 
Hippolytus  by  her  nurse.  Hippolytus  is  filled  with 
horror  by  the  disclosure.  Phaedra  hangs  herself  for 
shame,  accusing  Hippolytus  in  a  letter  which  Theseus 
finds.  The  father  invokes  upon  his  son  a  curse, 
which  Poseidon  fulfills  before  the  innocence  of  Hip- 
polytus  is  established  by  Artemis.  I  quote  first  a 
choral  ode  on  the  power  of  love,  personified  as  Eros, 
son  of  Aphrodite  : 

Love,  O  Love,  whose  eyes  with  longing 
Overflow,  who  sweet  delight 
Bringest  to  the  soul  thou  stormest, 
Come  not,  prithee,  sorrow-laden. 
Nor  too  mighty,  unto  me ! 
Neither  flaming  fire  is  stronger, 
Nor  the  splendor  of  the  stars, 
Than  the  shaft  of  Aphrodite, 
Darting  from  the  hand  of  Eros, 
Who  is  child  of  Zeus  supreme. 

Vainly,  vainly,  by  Alpheios, 
Or  in  Phoibos'  Pythian  fane, 
Hellas  heaps  the  slaughtered  oxen ! 
Eros,  of  mankind  the  tyrant, 
Holder  of  the  key  that  locks 
Aphrodite's  dearest  chambers, 
Is  not  honored  in  our  prayers, 
Though  he  comes  as  the  destroyer. 
Bringing  uttermost  disaster, 
Unto  mortals,  when  he  comes. 

Lawton. 


Euripides  247 

In  the  following  passage  Hippblytus  protests  his 
innocence  to  his  father  in  language  that  is  at  once 
respectful  and  forceful : 

Father,  thy  rage  and  strong-strained  fury  of  soul 

Are  fearful :  yet  fair-seeming  though  the  charge, 

If  one  unfold  it,  all  unfair  it  is. 

I  have  no  skill  to  speak  before  a  throng: 

My  tongue  is  loosed  with  equals,  and  those  few. 

And  reason:  they  that  are  among  the  wise 

Of  none  account,  to  mobs  are  eloquent. 

Yet  needs  I  must,  now  this  mischance  hath  lighted. 

Unrein  my  tongue.    And  first  will  I  begin 

Where  thou  didst  first  assail,  as  thou  wouldst  crush  me. 

And  I  find  no  reply.    See*st  thou  yon  sun 

And  earth? — within  their  compass  is  no  man  — 

Though  thou  deny  it  —  chaster-souled  than  I. 

For  I  have  learned,  first,  to  revere  the  gods, 

Then,  to  have  friends  which  seek  to  do  no  wrong. 

Friends  who  think  shame  to  proffer  aught  of  base. 

Yea,  or  to  render  others  shameful  service. 

No  mocker  am  I,  father,  at  my  friends. 

But  to  the  absent  even  as  to  the  present: 

In  one  thing  flawless, — where  thou  think'st  me  trapped,— 

For  to  this  day  my  body  is  clean  of  lust. 

God  grant  I  perish  nameless,  fameless  all, 

Cityless,  homeless,  exile,  vagabond 

On  earth,—  may  sea  nor  land  receive  my  corpse 

When  I  am  dead,  if  I  be  this  vile  thing! 

Way. 

Fnljy  nnrihiilf  i?f  thr  fTtnnt  plays  of  Euripides  are 
based^n  ]r^rn;1s  rf  tht  Trnjnn  nnr^  and  four  of  these 
treat  of  tragic  events  in  the  history  of  Agamemnon's 
family.  The  Iphigeneia  atAulis^  which  won  the  first  prize 
(with  the  Bacchanals)  after  the  poet's  death,  tells  of  the 
sacrifice  of  Agamemnon's  daughter  to  bring  favoring 
winds  for  the  Greek  fleet.     Clytemnestra  is  induced 


248  Homer  to  Theocritus 

to  bring  Iphigeneia  to  the  camp  at  Aalis  on  the  pre- 
text of  her  marriage  with  Achilles.  When  the  true 
reason  is  known,  Iphigeneia  at  first  pleads  piteously 
with  her  father  to  spare  her  life,  but  when  she  knows 
that  her  death  is  required  by  the  army  and  that  her 
father  is  helpless  to  save  her,  she  faces  her  doom  with 
marvelous  heroism.  When  the  fatal  blow  is  given,  lo ! 
a  hind  is  found  lying  slain  upon  the  altar  in  the  place 
of  the  maiden.     I  quote  Iphigeneia's  entreaty: 

Had  I  the  tongue  of  Orpheus,  O  my  sire, 
To  charm  with  song  the  rocks  to  follow  me. 
And  witch  with  eloquence  whomsoe'er  I  would, 
I  had  essayed  it.    Now — mine  only  cunning — 
Tears  will  I  bring,  for  this  is  all  I  can. 
And  suppliant  will  I  twine  about  thy  knees 
My  body,  which  this  mother  bare  to  thee. 
Ah,  slay  me  not  untimely!    Sweet  is  light: 
Constrain  me  not  to  see  the  nether  gloom! 
"Twas  I  first  called  thee  father,  thou  me  child. 
*Twas  I  first  throned  my  body  on  thy  knees. 
And  gave  thee  sweet  caresses  and  received. 
And  this  thy  word  was:  "Ah,  my  little  maid* 
Blest  shall  I  see  thee  in  a  husband*s  halls 
Living  and  blooming  worthily  of  me?  " 
And,  as  I  twined  my  fingers  in  thy  beard. 
Whereto  I  now  cling,  thus  I  answered  thee: 
"And  what  of  thee?    Shall  I  greet  thy  gray  hairs. 
Father,  with  loving  welcome  in  my  halls. 
Repaying  all  thy  fostering  toil  for  me?  '* 
I  keep  remembrance  of  that  converse  yet: 
Thou  hast  forgotten,  thou  wouldst  murder  me. 
Ah  no!  — by  Pelops,  by  thy  father  Atreus, 
And  by  this  mother,  whose  first  travail-pangs 
Now  in  this  second  anguish  are  renewed! 
What  part  have  I  in  Paris'  rape  of  Helen? 
Why,  father,  should  he  for  my  ruin  have  come? 
Look  on  me  —  give  me  one  glance — oh,  one  kiss. 


Euripides  ^49 

That  I  may  keep  in  death  from  thee  but  this 
Memorial,  if  thou  heed  my  pleading  not. 

[  To  her  infant  brother^  Orestes. 
Brother,  small  help  canst  thou  be  to  thy  friends; 
Yet  weep  with  me,  yet  supplicate  thy  sire 
To  slay  thy  sister  not! — some  sense  of  ill 
Even  in  wordless  infants  is  inborn. 
Lo,  by  his  silence  he  implores  thee,  father — 
Have  mercy,  have  compassion  on  my  youth! 
Yea,  by  thy  beard  we  pray  thee,  loved  ones  twain, 
A  nestling  one,  and  one  a  daughter  grown. 
In  one  cry  summing  all,  I  must  prevail! 
Sweet,  passing  sweet,  is  light  for  men  to  see. 
The  grave's  life  nothingness!    Who  prays  to  die 
Is  mad.    Ill  life  o'erpasseth  glorious  death. 

Way. 

A  few  years  before,  Euripides  had  brought  out  the 
sequel  to  this  story,  the  Iphigeneia  among  the  TaurianSy 
one  of  his  finest  plays.  The  scene  is  laid  in  the  land 
of  the  Taurians,  north  of  the  Black  Sea,  whither 
Iphigeneia  was  borne  by  Artemis  from  the  altar  at 
Aulis.  There  she  serves  in  the  temple  as  priestess  of 
the  goddess,  to  whom  she  must  sacrifice  all  strangers 
who  come  to  the  land.  Orestes  and  Pylades  are 
brought  before  her.  Orestes  gains  his  friend's  life 
through  the  desire  of  Iphigeneia  to  send  a  message  to 
her  home  in  Argos.  Through  this  message  the  recog- 
nition of  brother  and  sister  is  effected.  They  plan 
a  way  of  escape  from  the  land,  and  succeed  by. the 
intervention  of  Athene.  The  recognition  scene  is  here 
given : 

IPH.    All  that  is  written  in  the  letter's  folds 

My  tongue  shall  say,  that  thou  mayst  tell  my  friends. 
So  all  is  safe:  if  thou  lose  not  the  script, 
Itself  shall  voiceless  tell  its  written  tale: 


250  Homer  to  Theocritus 

But  if  this  writing  In  the  sea  be  lost, 

Then  thy  life  saved  shall  save  my  words  for  mc. 

Ptl.    Well  hast  thou  said,  both  fgr  thy  need  and  me. 
Now  say  to  whom  this  letter  I  must  bear 
To  Argos,  and  from  thee  that  message  speak. 

Iph.    Say  to  Orestes,  Agamemnon's  son — 

**  This  Iphigeneia^  slain  in  Aulis,  semis. 
Who  livetht  yet  for  those  at  home  lives  not—** 

Or.     Where  is  she?    Hath  she  risen  from  the  dead? 

Iph.    She  whom  thou  seest — confuse  me  not  with  speech^ 
••  Bear  me  to  Argos,  brother,  ere  I  die: 
From  this  wild  land,  these  sacrifices  save. 
Wherein  mine  office  is  to  slay  the  stranger;** — 

Or.     What  shall  I  say? —  Now  dream  we,  Py lades? 

Iph.    "  Else  to  thine  house  will  I  become  a  curse, 

Orestes'^ — so,  twice  heard,  hold  fast  the  name. 

Or.     Gods! 

Iph.    Why  in  mine  affairs  invoke  the  gods? 

Or.     'Tis  naught:  say  on:  my  thoughts  had  wandered  far. 
[Aside.]    This  marvel  may  I  yet  by  question  fathom. 

Iph.    Say — "  A  rtemis  in  my  place  laid  a  hind, 
And  saved  me, —  this  my  father  sacrificed. 
Deeming  he  plunged  the  keen  blade  into  me, — 
And  made  me  dwell  here**    This  the  letter  is. 
And  in  the  tablets  this  is  what  is  writ. 

Pyl.  O  thou  who  hast  bound  me  by  an  easy  oath— ^ 
Hast  fairly  sworn  ! — I  will  not  tarry  long 
To  ratify  the  oath  that  I  have  sworn. 
This  tablet,  lo,  to  thee  I  bear,  and  give, 
Orestes,  from  thy  sister,  yonder  maid. 

Os.     This  I  receive: — I  let  its  folds  abide — 

First  will  I  seize  a  rapture  not  in  words: — 
Dear  sister  mine,  albeit  wonder-struck. 
With  scarce-believing  arm  I  fold  thee  round. 
And  taste  delight,  who  hear  things  marvellous! 

Way. 

The  Orestes  (408  B.  C. )  is  rather  a  melodrama  than 
a  tragedy,   full  of  intrigue   and    flashy  scenes,   and 


Euripides  251 

closing  with  an  imposing  tableau.  It  is  said  to  have 
been  very  popular  on  the  stage,  but  has  received  no 
commendation  from  critics.  The  Electra  (about  413 
B.  C.)  is  the  best  illustration  of  Euripides'  manner  in 
revising  the  myths  used  by  the  older  poets  and  in 
reducinfir  the  characters  to  the  level  ofj^Yeryday  life. 
Dealing  with  precisely  the  same  theme  as  the  Libation- 
Bearers  of  iEschylus  and  the  Electra  of  Sophocles,  it 
serves  well  to  show  the  difference  between  Euripides 
and  the  other  two  poets  in  their  conception  of  tragedy ; 
although  the  comparison  is  not  quite  fair  to  Euripides, 
since  the  Electra  is  by  no  means  his  best  play.  In 
iEschylus  our  interest  is  less  in  the  characters  than 
in  the  process  by  which  divine  justice  is  visited  upon 
Clytemnestra  and  iEgisthus.  Orestes  acts  in  accord- 
ance with  a  divine  command,  but  even  so  he  becomes 
guilty  of  a  horrible  crime  which  must  be  expiated. 
The  plot  is  simple,  and  the  action  moves  steadily 
toward  the  goal.  In  Sophocles  the  plot  is  more  com- 
plicated, and  the  possibilities  of  dramatic  situations 
are  more  fully  grasped.  Electra  becomes  the  leading 
character  instead  of  Orestes.  Our  interest  for  her  is 
aroused  by  her  courage  and  confidence  in  the  face  of 
indignity  and  insult,  and  our  sympathies  are  drawn  to 
her  still  more  by  the  i>athetic  contrast  between  her 
calm  hope  at  the  beginning,  when  she  believes  that 
Orestes  is  alive,  and  her  despair  when  she  hears  the 
false  message  of  his  death.  Orestes  now  has  two 
motives  for  slaying  the  guilty  pair — vengeance  for  his 
father's  murder  and  his  moral  obligation  to  rescue  his 
sister  from  her  cruel  position.  The  characters  are  as 
noble  as  in  iSschylus,  but  their  human  interest  is 
greater  and  the  play  of  motives  more  subtle. 


2^2 


Homer  to  Theocritus 


The  EUctra  of  Euripides  is  a  totally  different  con- 
ception from  either  of  these  plays.  The  scene  is 
a  peasant's  cottage.  Electra  lives  there  with  a  peas- 
ant for  her  husband,  to  whom  iEgisthus  and  Clytem- 
nestra  married  her  that  they  might  have  nothing  to 
fear  from  her  children.  But  she  is  wife  only  in  name, 
for  thfi-Peasant  reverences  her  royal  ido^td.  Orestes. 
returning  to  Argos,  finds  her,  and  is  at  length  recog- 
nized by  a  scar  upon  his  forehead.*  They  entice 
Clytemnestra  to  the  hut  by  a  message  that  Electra  is 
about  to  be  delivered  of  a  child.  She  comes  in 
y  a  chariot,  with  a  train  of  servants,  her  splendor  con- 
/  trasting  with  the  squalor  of  Electra's  home.  Before 
\  she  enters  and  is  slain,  Electra  rehearses  all  her  sins 
to  her.  Meanwhile  iSgisthus  has  been  slain  by  Orestes 
and  Pylades  while  performing  a  sacrifice.  At  the 
close  of  the  play  the  Dioscuri,  Castor  and  Pollux, 
appear  from  on  high,  arrange  the  marriage  of  Electra 
and  Pylades,  with  a  reward  for  her  present  husband, 
and  foretell  to  Orestes  his  pursuit  by  the  Furies  and 
his  trial  in  Athens.  During  the  action  we  are  scarcely 
conscious  of  the  resistless  power  of  the  divine^  wiJL 
driving  Orestes  and  Electra  forward,  so  prominent  in 
iEsychlus,  nor  are  the  principal  persons  the  strong, 
unflinching  characters  that  we  find  in  Sophocles, 
accomplishing  their  vengeance  without  scruple.     They 

^The  r<i^/*ytii»Un  |^<it||>  \^  r^aragtferiarig-  In  ^ichylus  Electra  knowi 
Orestes  by  «  lock  of  natr.  in  color  like  ber  own,  and  by  a  footprint  in  the 
sand  into  which  her  own  foot  fits.  In  Euripides  this  mode  of  recognition  is 
suggested  to  Electra,  but  is  criticised  by  her.  "  Many  men  have  nair  like 
in  color,  even  when  not  kin.  Besides,  Orestes'  hair  would  be  as  becomes 
one  trained  in  the  wrestling-school,  while  mine  Is  combed  like  a  woman's. 
As  for  the  footprint,  how  should  the  prints  of  the  foot  of  brother  and  sister 
be  alike,  seeing  that  the  man's  is  larger?"  In  Sophocles  Orestes  is  known 
by  a  piece  of  embroidery  which  Electra  had  made.  But  the  Electra  of 
Euripides  says:  **  How  could  he  now  wear  the  robes  he  wore  as  a  child, 
unless  the  garment  grew  with  his  growth?"  Such  covert  criticisms  of  hii 
predcceitors  are  found  elsewhere  in  Euripides. 


Euripides 


253 


are,  indeed,  less  noble  in  Euripides,  but  certainly  more 
human  from  the  modern  point  of  view. 

The  Trojan  Women  (415  B.  C.)  and  the  Hecabe 
(about  424  B.  C.)  both  depict  scenes  ensuing  upon 
the  fall  of  Troy.  In  fact  the  former  play  is  rather 
a  g^ri#>Q  nf  I^^Rply  connected  scenes  from  this  story 
than  a  connected  plot.  The  Greek  chieftains  have 
cast  lots  for  the  captive  Trojan  women.  Cassandra, 
the  prophetess,  falls  to  Agamemnon;  Andromache, 
Hector's  wife,  to  Neoptolemus,  son  of  Achilles; 
Hecabe,  Priam's  aged  queen,  to  Odysseus;  and 
Polyxena,  the  beautiful  daughter  of  Hecabe  and 
Priam,  is  to  be  offered  in  sacrifice  to  the  spirit  of 
Achilles.  The  Greeks  decree  that  A^yanaT,  th>  child 
of  Hector  and  AndiQfliache^  shall  be  thrown  from  the 
battlements  of  Troy.  Hecabe  parts  with  one  after 
another  of  her  daughters,  some  to  die,  others  to  be 
slaves.  The  mangled  body  of  Astyanax  is  laid  before 
her,  and  she  herself  is  led  away  a  slave,  overwhelmed 
by  her  crushing  sorrows.  The  Hecabe  sets  forth  the 
vengeance  of  the  aged  queen  upon  Polymnestor,  the 
murderer  of  her  son  Polydorus.  Enticing  him  and  his 
children  into  her  tent,  she  k,Ul64u6-^ciaii4£fin..ajxd.4Uite 
oi^t  his  eyes.  In  this  play  the  sacrifice  of  Polyxena  on 
Achilles'  tomb  is  powerfully  described.  I  quote  first, 
from  the  Trojan  fVonten,  the  wedding-song  of  the  fren- 
zied Cassandra: 

Up  with  the  torch! — give  it  me  —  let  me  render 
Worship  to  Phoebus!  —  lo,  lo  how  I  fling 

Wide  through  his  temple  the  flash  of  its  splendour: — 
Hymen!  O  Marriage-god,  Hymen,  my  king! 

Happy  the  bridegroom  who  waiteth  to  meet  me; 

Happy  am  I  for  the  couch  that  shall  greet  me; 


H-tcu^, 


\ 


1 


254  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Royal  espousals  to  Argos  I  bring: — 
Bridal-king,  Hymen,  thy  glory  I  sing. 

Mother,  thou  lingerest  long  at  thy  weeping, 

Aye  makest  moan  for  my  sire  who  hath  died, 
Mourn*st  our  dear  country  with  sorrow  unsleeping; 

Therefore  myself  for  my  own  marriage-tide 
Kindle  the  firebrands,  a  glory  outstreaming. 
Toss  up  the  torches,  a  radiance  far-gleaming:— 
Hymen,  to  thee  is  their  brightness  up  leaping; 

Hekate,  flash  thou  thy  star-glitter  wide, 

After  thy  wont  when  a  maid  is  a  bride. 

Float,  flying  feet  of  the  dancers,  forth-leading 
Revel  of  bridals:  ring,  bacchanal  strain, 

Ring  in  thanksgiving  for  fortune  exceeding 
Happy,  that  fell  to  my  father  to  gain. 

Holy  the  dance  is,  my  duty,  my  glory: 

Lead  thou  it,  Phoebus;  midst  bay-trees  before  thee 
Aye  have  I  ministered,  there  in  thy  fane: — 
Marriage-king,  Hymen!  sing  loud  the  refrain. 

Up,  mother,  join  thou  the  revel : —  with  paces 

Woven  with  mine  through  the  sweet  measure  flee; 

Hitherward,  thitherward,  thrid  the  dance-mazes: 
Sing  ever  "  Marriage-king!  —  Hymen!'*  sing  ye. 

Bliss  ever  chime  through  the  notes  of  your  singing. 

Hail  ye  the  bride  with  glad  voices  outringing. 

Daughters  of  Phrygia,  arrayed  like  the  Graces, 

Hymn  ye  my  bridal,  the  bridegroom  for  me 

Destined  by  fate's  everlasting  decree. 

Way. 

The  following  description  by  the  Herald  of  the 
death  of  Polyxena  is  taken  from  the  Hecabe: 

The  whole  vast  concourse  of  the  Achaian  host 
Stood  round  the  tomb  to  see  your  daughter  die. 
Achilleus'  son,  taking  her  by  the  hand. 
Placed  her  upon  the  mound,  and  I  stayed  near; 
And  youths,  the  flower  of  Greece,  a  chosen  few, 
With  hands  to  check  thy  heifer,  should  she  bound, 


Euripides  ,255 


Attended.    From  a  cup  of  carven  gold. 
Raised  full  of  wine,  Achilleus*  son  poured  forth 
Libation  to  his  sire,  and  bade  me  sound 
Silence  throughout  the  whole  Achaian  host. 
I,  standing  there,  cried  in  the  midst  these  words: 

"  Silence,  Achaians!  let  the  host  be  still! 
Hush,  hold  your  voices!"    Breathless  stayed  the  crowd; 
But  he:  *'  O  son  of  Peleus,  father  mine. 
Take  these  libations  pleasant  to  thy  soul. 
Draughts  that  allure  the  dead:  come,  drink  the  black 
Pure  maiden's  blood  wherewith  the  host  and  I 
Sue  thee:  be  kindly  to  us;  loose  our  prows, 
And  let  our  barks  go  free:  give  safe  return 
Homeward  from  Troy  to  all,  and  happy  voyage." 
Such  words  he  spake,  and  the  crowd  prayed  assent 
Then  from  the  scabbard,  by  its  golden  hilt. 
He  drew  the  sword,  and  to  the  chosen  youths 
Signalled  that  they  should  bring  the  maid;  but  she. 
Knowing  her  hour  was  come,  spake  thus  and  said: 

"O  men  of  Argos,  who  have  sacked  my  town, 
Lo,  of  free  will  I  die!  let  no  man  touch 
My  body:  boldly  will  I  stretch  my  throat. 
Nay,  but  I  pray  you  set  me  free,  then  slay; 
That  free  I  thus  may  perish:  'mong  the  dead, 
Being  a  queen,  I  blush  to  be  called  slave.'* 
The  people  shouted,  and  King  Agamemnon 
Bade  the  youths  loose  the  maid  and  set  her  free: 
She  when  she  heard  the  order,  of  the  chiefs. 
Seizing  her  mantle,  from  the  shoulder  down 
To  the  soft  centre  of  her  snowy  waist 
Tore  it,  and  showed  her  breasts  and  bosom  fair 
As  in  a  statue.    Bending  then  with  knee 
On  earth,  she  spake  a  speech  most  piteous: 

*'See  you  this  breast,  O' youth?  if  breast  you  wilL 
Strike  it;  take  heart:  or  if  beneath  my  neck, 
Lo!  here  my  throat  is  ready  for  your  sword  1 " 
He  willing  not,  yet  willing,  pity-?tirred 
In  sorrow  for  the  maiden,  with  his  blade 
Severed  the  channels  of  her  breath:  blood  flowed; 


2^6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  she,  though  dying,  still  had  thought  to  fall 
In  seemly  wise,  hiding  what  eyes  should  see  not. 
And  when  she  breathed  her  life  out  from  the  blow. 
Then  was  the  Argive  host  in  divers  way 
Of  service  parted  ;  for  some,  bringing  leaves. 
Strewed  them  upon  the  corpse ;  some  piled  a  pyre. 
Dragging  pine  trunks  and  boughs ;  and  he  who  bore  none 
Heard  from  the  bearers  many  a  bitter  word  : 

''  Standest  thou,  villain  ?    Hast  thou  then  no  robe. 
No  funeral  honours  for  the  maid  to  bring  ? 
Wilt  thou  not  go  and  get  for  her  who  died 
Most  nobly,  braves t-souled,  some  gift  ?  "    Thus  they 
Spake  of  thy  child  in  death,  O  thou  most  blest 
Of  women  in  thy  daughter,  most  undone ! 

Symonds. 

The  later  fortunes  of  Hector's  wife  are  followed  in 
the  Andromache y  written  in  the  early  years  of  the  Pelo- 
ponnesian  war,  but  not  exhibited  at  Athens.  Though 
^carelessly  constructed  the  play  is  interesting.  The 
fortunes  of  war  have  made  Andromache,  the  once  happy 
wife  of  Hector,  the  slave  and  concubine  of  Achilles's 
son,  Neoptolemus,  to  whom  she  has  borne  a  son.  Ne- 
optolemus  has  married  Hermione,  daughter  of  Menelaus 
and  Helen,  who,  childless  herself,  is  jealous  of  Andro- 
mache and  seeks  to  slay  her  and  the  child.  In  this 
plot  Menelaus  abets  her,  but  the  aged  Peleus  intervenes. 
Hermione,  chagrined  and  desperate,  attempts  suicide. 
Orestes  meanwhile  has  slain  Neoptolemus  and  comes  to 
claim  the  hand  of  his  cousin,  Hermione,  promised  him 
long  before  but  afterwards  basely  given  by  Menelaus  to 
Neoptolemus  instead.  The  play  has  a  strong  political 
coloring,  shown  especially  in  the  characters  of  Her- 
mione and  Menelaus,  which  furnish  a  pretext  for  bitter 
satire  against  the  Spartans.  The  following  passages, 
both  addressed  to  Menelaus,  will  serve  as  illustrations  : 


Euripides  257 

Andr.    O  ye  in  all  folks*s  eyes  most  loathed  of  men, 
Dwellers  in  Sparta,  senates  of  treachery. 
Princes  of  lies,  weavers  of  webs  of  guile, 
Thoughts  crooked,  wholesome  never,  devious  all, — 
A  crime  is  your  supremacy  in  Greece  ! 
What   vileness    lives    not    with    you?  —  swarming 

murders  ? 
Covetousness  ? — O  ye  convict  of  saying 
This  with  your  tongue,  while  still  your  hearts  mean 
Now  ruin  seize  ye !  [that  I 

Pelbus.     Thou,  thou  a  man  ?    Coward,  of  cowards  bred  I 

What  part  or  lot  hast  thou  amongst  true  men  ? 

Thou,  by  a  Phrygian  from  thy  wife  divorced, 

Who  leftest  hearth  and  home  unbarred,  unwarded, 

As  who  kept  in  his  halls  a  virtuous  wife, — 

And  she  the  vilest !    Though  one  should  essay. 

Virtuous  could  daughter  of  Sparta  never  be. 

They  gad  abroad  with  young  men  from  their  homes, 

And  with  bare  thighs  and  loose  disgirdled  vesture 

Race,  wrestle  with  them, — ^things  intolerable 

To  me  !    And  is  it  wonder-worthy  then 

That  ye  train  not  your  women  to  be  chaste  ? 

This  well  might  Helen  have  asked  thee,  who  forsook 

Thy  love,  and  from  thine  halls  went  revelling  forth 

With  a  young  gallant  to  an  alien  land. 

Thou  shouldst  have  spued  her  forth,  have  stirred  no 
spear. 

Who  hadst  found  her  vile,  but  let  her  there  abide, 

Yea,  paid  a  price  to  take  her  never  back. 

But  nowise  thus  the  wind  of  thine  heart  blew. 

Nay,  many  a  gallant  life  hast  thou  destroyed. 

And  childless  made  grey  mothers  in  their  halls, 

And  white-haired  sires  hast  robbed  of  noble  sons ; — 

My  wretched  self  am  one,  who  sees  in  thee, 

Like  some  foul  fiend,  Achilles'  murderer ; — 

Thou  who  alone  un wounded  cam'st  from  Troy, 

And  daintiest  arms  in  dainty  sheaths  unstained, 

Borne  thither,  hither  back  didst  bring  again  I 

I  warned  my  bridegroom-grandson  not  to  make 


258  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Affinity  with  thee,  nor  to  rbccive 
In  his  halls  a  wanton's  child  :  such  bear  abroad 
Their  mother's  shame.     Give  heed  to  this  my  rede, 
Wooers, — a  virtuous  mother's  daughter  choose. 
And,  when  Troy  fell, — ^ay,  thither  too  I  trace  thee, — 
Thy  wife  thou  slew'st    not    when  thou  hadst  her 

trapped. 
Thou  saw'st  her  bosom,  didst  let  fall  the  sword. 
Didst  kiss  her,  that  bold  traitress,  fondling  her. 
By  Kypris  overborne,  O  recreant  wretch! 
■And  to  my  son's  house  com'st  thou,  he  afar. 
And  ravagest,  wouldst  slay  a  hapless  woman 
Unjustly,  and  her  boy  ? — this  boy  shall  make 
Thee,  and  that  daughter  in  thine  halls,  yet  rue. 
Though  he  were  thrice  a  bastard.     Oft  the  yield 
Of  barren  ground  o'erpasseth  deep  rich  soil ; 
And  better  are  bastards  oft  than  sons  true-born. 
Take  hence  thy  daughter !     Better  'tis  to  have 
The  poor  and  upright,  or  for  marriage  kin, 
Or  friend,  than  the  vile  rich  :~  thou,  thou  art  naught ! 

Way. 

The  ZT/r/m  (41 2)  takes  up  the  legend  that  Paris  did  not 
carry  off  the  real  Helen  to  Troy,  but  only  a  phantom 
resembling  her  (see  page  169).^  The  real  Helen  was 
takyn  by  Hermtj^s  fp  ^gyp^^j  where  she  remained  true 
to  her  husband,  in  spite  of  the  ardent  wooing  of  the 
king  of  the  land.  Menelaus,  after  many  wanderings, 
comes  to  Egypt  with  the  phantom  Helen,  discovers  his 
true  wife,  and  escapes  with  her  by  a  stratagem,  the 
phantom  having  meanwhile  flown  away. 

Two  of  the  extant  plays  of  Euripides  are  on  sub- 
jects connected  with  the  house  of  Labdacus  (see  page 
209) — the  Phcsnician  Woman  (about  410  B.  C.)  and 
the    Suppliants  (about  420  B.  C).     The  former  covers 

>  The  reason  assif^ned  by  the  poet  for  this  deception  was  that  Hera,  angry 
at  the  decision  rendered  by  Paris,  desired  "  to  turn  his  joy  in  Helen  into  air." 
This  version  of  the  story  was  in  the  first  instance  invented,  of  course,  to  clear 
the  reputation  of  Helen. 


Euripides  259 

in  general  the  same  ground  as  the  Seven  against  Thebes 
of  iEschylus,  but  Euripides  adds  many  details  to  the 
story,  filling  the  drama  with  many  moving  scenes  and 
complicating  the  plot.  The  chorus  is  formed  of 
Phcenician  maidens  on  their  way  to  Delphi.  Instead 
of  the  somewhat  monotonous  catalogue  of  the  twice 
seven  champions  given  by  iEschylus,  Euripides 
achieves  the  same  result  by  having  Antigone  view  the 
opposing  army  from  the  roof  of  the  palace  and  by 
a  description  of  the  battle.  An  entirely  new  feature 
is  added :  the  voluntary  sacrifice  of  Menoeceus,  son  of 
Creon,  that  the  forces  of  Thebes  may  be  victorious. 
In  one  important  respect  the  poet  deviates  from  the 
myth  as  given  by  Sophocles :  Jocasta  is  represented  as 
still  alive.  She  tries  to  reconcile  her  two  sons,  but  in 
vain;  and  finally,  rushing  to  the  field  of  battle,  kills 
herself  over  the  bodies  of  Eteocles  and  Polyneices, 
locked  in  the  fatal  embrace.  Creon  banishes  CEdipus 
from  Thebes.  Antigone  renounces  her  marriage  with 
Hsemon,  to  whom  she  is  betrothed,  resolving  to  attend 
her  Mher  in  exile  after  burying  Polyneices  in  viola- 
tion of  the  edict  of  Creon.  In  spite  of  the  complicated 
plot  the  drama  is  well  constructed,  and  is  one  of  the 
most  attractive  of  the  extant  plays  of  the  poet.  In 
the  following  passage  Jocasta  pleads  with  Eteocles  to 
share  the  kingdom  with  his  brother: 

My  son  Eteokles,  evil  unalloyed 

Cleaves  not  to  old  age:  nay,  experience 

Can  plead  more  wisely  than  the  lips  of  youth. 

Why  at  Ambition,  worst  of  deities, 

Son,  graspest  thou?    Do  not:  she  is  Queen  of  Wrong. 

Homes  many  and  happy  cities  enters  she, 

And  leaves  for  ruin  of  her  votaries. 

Thou  art  mad  for  her!  — better  to  honour,  son, 


26o  Homer  to  Theocritus 


£g 


quality,  which  knitteth  friends  to  friends, 

Cities  to  cities,  allies  unto  allies. 

Man*s  law  of  nature  is  equality, 

And  the  less,  ever  marshalled  foe  against 

The  greater,  ushers  in  the  dawn  of  hate. 

Measures  for  men  Equality  ordained, 

Meting  of  weights  and  number  she  assigned. 

The  sightless  face  of  night  and  the  sun's  beam 

Equally  pace  along  their  yearly  round, 

Nor  either  envieth  that  it  must  give  place. 

Sun,  then,  and  night  are  servants  unto  men. 

Shalt  thou  not  brook  to  halve  your  heritage 

And  share  with  him?  .    .    .  Ah,  where  is  justice  then? 

Wherefore  dost  thou  prize  lordship  overmuch, — 

A  prosperous  wrong, — and  count  it  some  great  thing? 

Is  worship  precious?   Nay,  *tis  vanity. 

Wouldst  have,  with  great  wealth  in  thy  halls,  great  travail  i 

What  is  thy  profit?  —  profit  but  in  name; 

Seeing  enough  sufficeth  for  the  wise. 

Mortals  hold  their  possessions  not  in  fee: 

We  are  but  the  stewards  of  the  gifts  of  God: 

Whene'er  he  will,  he  claims  his  own  again. 

And  wealth  abides  not,  'tis  but  for  a  day. 

Way. 

The  choral  ode  to  Ares  is  spirited : 

Ares  the  troublous,  O  whence  is  thy  passion 
For  blood  and  for  death,  imattuned  to  the  feasts 

of  the  Revelry-king? 
Not  for  the  dances,  the  circlings  of  beauty, 

in  virginal  fashion 
Tossed  are  thy  tresses  abroad,  nor  to  the  breathings 
of  flutes  dost  thou  sing 
A  strain  to  whose  witchery  dances  are  wreathing: 
But  with  clangour  of  harness  to  fight  through  the  Argire 
array  art  thou  breathing 
War-lust  for  the  blood  of  our  Thebes  athirst. 
As  thou  leadest  the  dance  of  a  revel  accurst 
Where  no  flutes  ring. 


Euripides 


261 


Thou  art  found  not  where  fawnskin  and  thyrsus 

in  mad  reel  mingle  and  sunder, 
But  with  chariots  and  clashing  of  bits  and  with 
war-horses*  footfall  of  thunder 
By  Ismenus'  brimming  marge 
With  the  rushing  of  steeds  dost  thou  charge. 
Into  Argives  breathing  the  battle-hate 
Against  the  sons  of  the  Dragon-state; 

And  with  harness  of  brass  and  with  targe, 
Fronting  our  ramparts  of  stone,  dost  array 

A  host  for  the  fray. 
A  fearful  Goddess  in  sooth  is  Strife, 
Of  whose  devising  the  troublous  life 
Of  the  Labdakid  kings  of  the  land  is  anguish-rife. 

Way. 

The  Suppliants  is  an  encomium  of  Athens,  whose 
king,  Theseus,  in  response  to  the  supplications  of  the 
wives  of  the  Argive  heroes  fallen  at  Thebes,  compels 
Creon  by  battle  to  give  up  the  bodies  for  burial.  When 
the  bodies  of  the  dead  are  brought  in,  funeral  pyres 
are  lighted,  and  Evadne  throws  herself  from  a  height 
upon  the  pyre  of  her  husband,  Capaneus — a  stirring 
spectacle,  unparalleled  in  the  Greek  drama. 

Of  the  two  plays  which  deal  with  the  legends  of 
Heracles,  the  older,  the  Children  of  Heracles  (about 
428  B.  C.)  resembles  the  Suppliants,  Athens  receives 
and  protects  Heracles'  children  and  his  mother, 
Alcmene,  who  have  been  driven  out  of  Argos  by  Eurys- 
theus.  A  battle  ensues.  The  oracles  demand  as  the 
price  of  victory  for  Athens  the  sacrifice  of  a  virgin, 
and  Macaria,  eldest  daughter  of  Heracles,  heroically 
offers  herself  as  the  victim — ^a  dramatic  motive 
employed  again  by  the  poet  in  the  Phoenician  Women, 

The  Heracles  (about  422  B.  C.)  is  one  of  the  most 
tragic  of  the  plays  of  Euripides.      The  last  of   the 


h 


262  Homer  to  Theocritus 

twelve  labors  which  the  hero  was  to  perform  for 
Eurystheus,  through  the  hatred  of  Hera,  was  to  fetch 
the  three-headed  dog,  Cerberus,  from  the  lower  world. 
Ere  he  departed  he  committed  to  Creon,  king  of 
Thebes  and  father  of  his  wife,  his  aged  father, 
Amphitryon,  his  wife,  Megara,  and  his  sons.  Now 
during  his  long  absence  Creon  was  deposed  and  slain 
by  Lycus,  who  assumed  the  throne.  This  Lycus, 
fearing  lest  Creon 's  murder  should  be  avenged  if  any 
of  the  family  of  Heracles  survived,  plots  against  them. 
They  take  refuge  at  the  altar,  but  Lycus  respects  not 
the  sanctuary.  When  they  are  on  the  point  of  being 
slain,  Heracles  suddenly  appears  and  kills  Lycus. 
But  a  madness  sent  by  Hera  comes  upon  him,  and  he 
slays  his  own  wife  and  children.  His  agony  on  awak- 
ening is  terrible.  Theseus  takes  him  to  Athens  to  be 
purified  and  to  spend  the  rest  of  his  days,  closing  his 
glorious  career  ruined,  heartbroken,  and  bereft  of  his 
loved  ones. 

The  chorus  in  Euripides  often  voices  the  thoughts 
of  the  poet  himself.  The  best  illustration  of  this 
tendency  is  found  in  the  following  ode  from  the 
HerculeSy  which  is  connected  with  the  action  of 
the  tragedy  by  the  last  verses  alone : 

Youth  is  a  pleasant  burthen  to  me; 

But  age  on  my  head,  more  heavily 

Than  the  crags  of  Aitna,  weighs  and  weighs, 

And  darkening  cloaks  the  lids  and  intercepts  the  rays. 

Never  be  mine  the  preference 

Of  an  Asian  empire's  wealth,  nor  yet 

Of  a  house  all  gold,  to  youth,  to  youth 

That's  beauty,  whatever  the  gods  dispense! 

Whether  in  wealth  we  joy,  or  fret 

Paupers— of  all  god*s  gifts  most  beautiful  in  truth! 


Euripides  263 


But  miserable  murderous  age  I  hate! 
Let  it  go  to  wreck  the  waves  adown, 
Nor  ever  by  rights  plague  tower  or  town 
Where  mortals  bide,  but  still  elate 
With  wings,  on  ether,  precipitate, 
Wander  them  round  —  nor  wait! 

But  if  the  gods  to  man's  degree 

Had  wit  and  wisdom,  they  would  bring 

Mankind  a  twofold  youth  to  be 

Their  virtue's  sign-mark,  all  should  see. 

In  those  with  whom  life's  winter  thus  grew  spring. 

For  when  they  died,  into  the  sun  once  more 

Would  they  have  traversed  twice  life's  race-course  o'er; 

While  ignobility  had  simply  run 

Existence  through,  nor  second  life  begun. 

And  so  might  we  discern  both  bad  and  good 

As  surely  as  the  starry  multitude 

Is  numbered  by  the  sailors,  one  and  one. 

But  now  the  gods  by  no  apparent  line 

Limit  the  worthy  and  the  base  define; 

Only  a  certain  period  rounds,  and  so 

Brings  man  more  wealth, — but  youthful  vigour,  no! 

Well !    I  am  not  to  pause 

Mingling  together  —  wine  and  wine  in  cup  — 

The  Graces  with  the  Muses  up  — 

Most  dulcet  marriage:  loosed  from  music's  laws, 

No  life  for  me! 

But  where  the  wreaths  abound  there  ever  may  I  be! 

And  still,  an  aged  bard,  I  shout  Mnemosune  — 

Still  chant  of  Herakles  the  triumph-chant. 

Companioned  by  the  seven-stringed  tortoise-shell 

And  Libuan  flute,  and  Bromios*  self  as  well, 

God  of  the  grape,  with  man  participant! 

Nor  yet  will  we  arrest  their  glad  advance  — 

The  Muses  whoso  long  have  led  me  forth  to  dance! 

A  paian — hymn  the  Delian  girls  indeed. 

Weaving  a  beauteous  measure  in  and  out 

His  temple-gates,  Latona's  goodly  seed; 


264  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  paians — I  too,  these  thy  domes  about. 
From  these  gray  cheeks,  my  king,  will  swan-like  shout 
Old  songster !  Ay,  in  songs  it  starts  off  brave — 
^*  Zeus's  son  is  he  ! "  and  yet,  such  grace  of  birth 
Surpassing  far,  to  man  his  labours  gave 
Existence,  one  calm  flow  without  a  wave, 
Having  destroyed  the  beasts,  the  terrors  of  the  earth. 

Robert  Browning. 

Omitting  at  present  the  Rhesus^  wrongly  attributed 
to  Euripides,  two  plays  remain  to  be  considered,  both 
of  them  traorgjies  of  the  romantic  type:  Ion  (about 
420  B.  C.)  and  the  Bacchanals  (soon  after  405).  The 
former  is  notable  for  the  beautiful  character  of  Ion, 
son  of  Apollo  and  the  Athenian  princess,  Creusa. 
Exposed  by  his  mother  by  reason  of  her  fear  and 
shame,  he  is  borne  to  Delphi  by  the  god,  where  he 
grijyc  lip  in  tVi#>  servioe-of  the  sanctuary.  Creusa 
marries  Xuthus,  king  of  Athens,  but  no  child  is  born 
to  them.  After  many  years  they  journey  to  Delphi 
to  ask  Apollo  to  bless  their  union  with  children,  Creusa 
secretly  hoping  that  Apollo  will  reveal  her  son.  By 
the  god's  command  Xuthus  finds  a  son  in  the  first  per- 
son he  meets  as  he  leaves  the  temple,  Ion.  The 
queen,  believing  that  Ion  is  the  issue  of  her  husband 
by  some  lawless  connection,  thinks  that  Apollo  has 
forgotten  her,  and  attempts  to  slay  the  boy.  But  the 
plan  is  frustrated.  Apollo  saves  the  queen  from  the 
anger  of  the  people  and  reveals  Ion  to  his  mother. 
I  quote  the  song  of  Ion  as  he  comes  from  the  temple 
of  Apollo  in  the  early  morning:  _    . 

Lo,  yonder  the  Sun-god  is  turning  to  earthward  his  splendour- 
Chariot  of  light;  [chasing, 

And  the  stars  from  the  firmament  flee  from  the  fiery  arrows 

To  the  sacred  night: 


Euripides  265 

[as  with  yearning 
And  the  crests  of  Parnassus  untrodden  are  flaming  and  flushed, 

[returning 
Of  welcome  to  far-flashing  wheels  with  the  glory  of  daylight 

To  mortal  sight.  [burning 

To  the  roof-ridge  of  Phcebus  the  fume  of  the  incense  of  Araby 

As  a  bird  taketh  flight. 

On  the  tripod  most  holy  is  seated  the  Delphian  Maiden 
Chanting  to  children  of  Hellas  the  wild  cries,  laden 

With  doom,  from  the  lips  of  Apollo  that  ring. 
Delphians,  Phcebus's  priesthood-train, 

Unto  Castaly's  silvery-swirling  spring 
Pass  ye,  and  cleanse  with  the  pure  spray-rain 
Your  bodies,  or  ever  ye  enter  his  fane. 
Set  a  watch  on  the  door  of  your  lips;  be  there  heard 
Nothing  but  good  in  the  secret  word 
That  ye  murmur  to  them  whose  hearts  be  stirrred 
To  seek  to  his  shrine,  that  they  seek  not  in  vain. 
And  1  in  the  toil  that  is  mine — mine  now, 
And  from  childhood  up, —  with  the  bay's  young  bough. 
And  with  wreath^  garlands  holy,  will  cleanse 

The  portals  of  Phcebus;  with  dews  from  the  spring 
Will  I  sprinkle  his  pavement  and  chase  far  thence 

With  the  shaft  from  the  string 
The  flocks  of  the  birds:  the  defllers  shall  flee 

From  his  offerings  holy.    Nor  mother  is  mine 
Neither  father:  his  temple  hath  nurtured  me. 
And  I  serve  his  shrine. 

Come,  branch  in  thy  freshness  yet  blowing, 
God's  minister,  loveliest  bay. 
Over  the  altar-steps  glide. 
In  the  gardens  immortal,  beside 
His  temple,  hath  burgeoned  thy  pride, 
Where  the  sacred  waters  are  flowing 
Through  a  veil  of  the  myrtle  spray, 
A  fountain  that  leapeth  aye 
O'er  thy  tresses  divine  to  pour. 
I  wave  thee  o'er  Phoebus*  floor 
As  the  sun's  wing  soars  sudden-glowing. 


266  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Such  service  is  mine  each  day. 
O  Healer,  O  Healer-king, 
Let  blessing  on  blessing  upring 
Unto  Leto's  son  as  I  sing. 

'Tis  my  glory,  the  service  I  render 
In  thy  portals,  O  Phoebus,  to  thee  I 

I  honour  thy  prophet-shrine. 

Proud  labour  is  mine — it  is  thine  I 

I  am  thrall  to  the  Gods  divine : 
Not  to  men,  but  Immortals,  I  tender 
My  bondage  ;  'tis  glorious  and  free  : 
Never  faintness  shall  fall  upon  me. 

For  my  father  thee,  Phoebus,  I  praise. 

Who  hast  nurtured  me  all  my  days  : 
My  begetter,  my  help,  my  defender 
This  temple's  Phoebus  shall  be. 

O  Healer,  O  Healer-king, 

Let  blessing  on  blessing  upring 

Unto  Leto's  son  as  I  sing. 

But — for  now  from  the  toil  I  refrain 

Of  the  bay-boughs  softly  trailing, — 
From  the  pitchers  of  gold  shall  I  rain 
The  drops  from  the  breast  unfailing 
Of  the  earth  that  spring 
Where  the  foambell-ring 
Round  Castaly's  fount  goeth  sailing. 
It  rains,  it  rains  from  my  fingers  fast. 
From  the  hands  of  the  undefiled  wide-cast 

0  that  to  Phoebus  for  ever  so 

1  might  render  service,  nor  respite  know, 
Except  unto  happier  lot  I  go  ! 

{Flights  of  birds  are  seen  approaching. 
Ho  there,  ho  there  ! 
Even  now  are  they  flocking,  the  fowl  of  the  air. 
On  Parnassus  forsaking  each  crag-hung  lair. 
Touch  not,  I  warn  ye,  the  temple's  coping. 
Nor  the  roofs  with  the  glistering  gold  slant-sloping. 
Ha,  my  bow  shall  overtake  thee  again  from  afar. 


Euripides  267 

Zeus'  herald,  whose  talons  victorious  war 
On  the  birds  that  strongest  are. 

Way. 

While  the  King  seeks  Apollo's  answer  in  the  temple 
and  the  Queen  prays  at  the  altar  for  the  gift  of  a  child, 
the  chorus,  composed  of  Creusa's  Athenian  maids,  sing 
thus  of  the  blessings  of  children  : 

Victorious  queen,  armed  with  resistless  might, 

O'er  Pythian  fanes  thy  plumage  spread. 
Forsake  awhile  Olympus'  golden  bed, 
O  wing  thy  rapid  flight 

To  this  blest  land  where  Phoebus  reigns, 
This  centre  of  the  world,  his  chosen  seat, 
Where  from  his  tripod  in  harmonious  strains 
Doth  he  th'  unerring  prophecy  repeat : 

With  Latona's  daughter  join. 
For  thou  like  her  art  spotless  and  divine ; 
Sisters  of  Phoebus,  with  persuasive  grace. 

Ye  virgins,  sue,  nor  sue  in  vain, 
That,  from  his  oracles,  Erectheus'  race 
To  the  Athenian  throne  a  noble  heir  may  gain. 

Object  of  Heaven's  peculiar  care 

Is  he  whose  children,  vigorous  from  their  birth, 

Nursed  on  the  foodful  lap  of  earth, 
Adorn  his  mansion  and  his  transports  share  : 
No  patrimonial  treasures  can  exceed 

Theirs  who  by  each  heroic  deed 
Augment  the  fame  of  an  illustrious  sire. 

And  to  their  children's  children  leave 
The  invaluable  heritage  entire. 
In  troubles  we  receive 

From  duteous  sons  a  timely  aid, 
And  social  pleasure  in  our  prosperous  hours. 
The  daring  youth,  in  brazen  arms  arrayed, 
Guards  with  protended  lance  his  native  towers. 

To  lure  these  eyes  though  gold  were  spread, 
Though  Hymen  wantoned  on  a  regal  bed, 


268  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Such  virtuous  offspring  would  my  soul  prefer. 

The  lonely  childless  life  I  hate. 
And  deem  that  they  who  choose  it  greatly  err ; 
Blest  with  a  teeming  couch,  I  ask  no  kingly  sUte. 

WodhuU. 

The  Bacchanals  is  the  only  extant  play  based  upon 
the  legends  of  Dionysus,  or  Bacchus,  in  whose  worship 
the  drama  originated  It  was  written  while  the  poet 
was  sojourning  in  Macedonia,  and  was  produced  in 
Athens  after  his  death  by  his  grandson,  together  with 
the  Taurian  Iphigcncia  and  two  lost  plays.  It  seems 
to  have  won  the  first  prize.  It  is  one  of  the  strongest 
of  the  tragedies  which  survive — an  enthusiastic  tribute 
to  the  wine-god.  Dionysus  enters  Thebes,  his  native 
city,  after  a  victorious  march  through  all  the  earth, 
accompanied  by  a  band  of  Bacchanalian  women  who 
form  the  chorus.  Pentheus,  the  king  of  Thebes,  denies 
his  godhead,  seeing  in  him  but  the  son  of  a  mortal 
woman' ;  but  the  aged  Cadmus,  the  prophet  Teiresias, 
and  the  women  of  Thebes  accept  his  worship  and  join 
the  Bacchic  revelers.  Pentheus  forbids  the  worship, 
and  decrees  that  the  youth  Dionysus  shall  die.  Soon 
the  god  himself,  disguised  as  a  Lydian,  is  led  in  a  cap- 
tive, and  is  cast  into  a  cell,  whence  he  suddenly 
appears,  freed  by  his  own  power.  Pentheus  is  induced 
to  go  forth  in  woman's  garb  to  the  mountains,  where 
the  reveling  women  are  celebrating  in  honor  of 
Dionvsus  the  rites  which  no  man  may  look  upon  and 
li^tfc.  They  discover  Pentheus  and  tear  him  asunder, 
limb  by  limb,  his  own  mother,  Agave,  and  her  sisters, 
in  their  madness  not  knowing  him,  taking  the  lead. 
Finally  Dionysus  appears  before  them  in  all  his  divine 

*Dionygus  was  the  son  of  Zeus  by  the  Princess  Semele,  daughter  of 
Cadmul,  fA£  founder  of  Thebes  and  yrandsire  of  Pentheus. 


Euripides  26g 

glory  and  reveals  their  future.     The  following  choral 
ode  is  much  admired: 

O  when,  through  the  long  night. 

With  fleet  foot  glancing  white. 
Shall  I  go  dancing  in  my  revelry. 

My  neck  cast  hack,  and  bare 

Unto  the  dewy  air. 
Like  sportive  fawn  in  the  green  meadow's  glee? 

Lo,  in  her  fear  she  springs 

Over  th'  encircling  rings, 
Over  the  well-worn  nets  far  off  and  fast; 

While  swift  along  her  track 

The  huntsman  cheers  his  pack. 
With  panting  toil,  and  fiery  storm-wind  haste. 
Where  down  the  river-bank  spreads  the  wide  meadow* 

Rejoices  she  in  the  untrod  solitude. 
Couches  at  length  beneath  the  silent  shadow 

Of  the  old  hospitable  wood. 

VVhat  is  wisest?  what  is  fairest, 
0£  God*s  boons  to  man  the  rarest? 
With  the  conscious  conquering  hand 
Above  the  foeman's  head  to  stand. 
What  is  fairest  still  is  dearest. 

Slow  come,  but  come  at  length. 

In  their  majestic  strength, 
Faithful  and  true,  the  avenging  deities: 

And  chastening  human  folly, 

And  the  mad  pride  unholy, 
Of  those  who  to  the  gods  bow  not  their  knees. 

For  hidden  still  and  mute, 

As  glides  their  printless  foot, 
The  impious  on  their  winding  path  they  hound. 

For  it  is  ill  to  know. 

And  it  is  ill  to  do. 
Beyond  the  law's  inexorable  bound. 
'Tis  but  light  cost  in  his  own  power  sublime 

To  array  the  godhead,  whoso'er  he  be; 


ayo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  law  is  old,  even  as  the  oldest  time. 
Nature's  own  unrepealed  decree. 

What  is  wisest  ?  what  is  fairest, 
Of  God's  boons  to  man  the  rarest  ? 
With  the  conscious  conquering  hand 
Above  the  foeman's  head  to  stand. 
What  is  fairest  still  is  rarest. 

Who  hath  'scaped  the  turbulent  sea. 

And  reached  the  haven,  happy  he ! 

Happy  he  whose  toils  are  o'er, 

In  the  race  of  wealth  and  power ! 

This  one  here,  and  that  one  there, 

Passes  by,  and  everywhere 

Still  expectant  thousands  over 

Thousand  hopes  are  seen  to  hover. 

Some  to  mortals  end  in  bliss ; 

Some  have  already  fled  away  : 

Happiness  alone  is  his 

That  happy  is  to-day. 

Milman. 

The  following  description  of  the  revels  of  the  The- 
ban  women  on  the  mountain  side  is  addressed  to  Pen- 
theus  by  a  herdsman  : 

All  sleeping  lay,  with  bodies  restful-strown  ; 

Some  backward  leaned  on  leafy  sprays  of  pine. 

Some,  with  oak-leaves  for  pillov/s,  on  the  ground 

Flung  careless  ;  —modestly,  not,  as  thou  say'st. 

Drunken  with  wine,  amid  the  sighing  of  flutes 

Hunting  desire  through  woodland  shades  alone. 

Then  to  her  feet  sprang  in  the  Bacchanals'  midst 

Thy  mother,  crying  aloud,  **  Shake  from  you  sleep !  " — 

When  fell  our  horned  kine's  lowing  on  her  ear. 

They,  dashing  from  their  eyelids  rosy  sleep. 

Sprang  to  their  feet,  a  marvel  of  grace  to  see. 

Young  girls,  old  matrons,  maidens  yet  unwed. 

First  down  their  shoulders  let  they  stream  their  hair  : 

Then  looped  they  up  their  fawnskins, — they  whose  bands 

Had  fallen  loose, — and  girt  the  dappled  fells 

Round  them  with  snakes  that  licked  their  cheeks  the  while. 


Euripides  127 1 

Some,  cradling  fawns  or  wolf-cubs  in  their  arms, 
Gave  to  the  wild  things  of  their  breasts,  white  milk, — 
Young  mothers  they,  who  had  left  their  babes,  that  still 
Their  breasts  were  full.  Then  did  they  wreath  their  heads 
With  ivy,  oak,  and  flower-starred  briony. 
One  grasped  her  thyrsus-staff,  and  smote  the  rock. 
And  forth  upleapt  a  fountain's  showering  spray  : 
One  in  earth's  bosom  planted  her  reed- wand. 
And  up  therethrough  the  God  a  wine-fount  sent : 
And  whoso  fain  would  drink  white-foaming  draughts, 
Scarred  with  their  finger-tips  the  breast  of  earth, 
And  milk  gushed  forth  unstinted  :  dripped  the  while 
Sweet  streams  of  honey  from  their  ivy-staves. 
Hadst  thou  been  there,  thou  hadst,  beholding  this, 
With  prayer  approached  the  God  whom  now  thou  spurnest. 

Way. 

Our  account  of  Euripides  may  be  concluded  with  a 
scene  from  the  Cyclops,  the  only  extant  specimen  of 
the  satyr-drama — a  rollicking  travesty  on  the  adventure 
of  Odysseus  with  Polyphemus. 

Odysseus.    Receive  us  shipwrecked  suppliants,  and  provide 
Food,  clothes,  and  fire,  and  hospitable  gifts  ; 
Nor,  fixing  upon  oxen-piercing  spits 
Our  limbs,  so  fill  your  belly  and  your  jaws. 
Priam's  wide  land  has  widowed  Greece  enough. 
And  weapon-winged  murder  heaped  together 
Enough  of  dead  ;  and  wives  are  husbandless, 
And  ancient  women  and  gray  fathers  wail 
Their  childless  age.    If  you  should  roast  the  rest 
(And  'tis  a  bitter  feast  that  you  prepare). 
Where  then  would  any  turn  ?  Yet  be  persuaded; 
Forego  the  lust  of  your  jawbone  ;  prefer 
Pious  humanity  to  wicked  will. 
Many  have  bought  too  dear  their  evil  joys. 

Cyclops.      Wealth,  my  good  fellow,  is  the  wise  man's  god  ; 
All  other  things  are  a  pretence  and  boast. 
The  wise  man's  only  Jupiter  is  this, — 
To  eat  and  drink  during  his  little  day, 
And  give  himself  no  care.     And  as  for  those 


aya 


Homer  to  Theocritus 


Who  complicate  with  laws  the  life  of  man, 
I  freely  give  them  tears  for  their  reward. 
I  will  not  cheat  my  soul  of  its  delighty 
Or  hesitate  in  dining  upon  you. 
And,  that  I  may  be  quit  of  all  demands. 
These  are  my  hospitable  gifts  ; — fierce  fire, 
And  yon  ancestral  caldron,  which  o'erbubbling 
Shall  finely  cook  your  miserable  flesh. 
Creep  in ! 
Odysssus.    Ai,  ai !    I  have  escaped  the  Trojan  toils, 
I  have  escaped  the  sea, — and  now  I  fall 
Under  the  cruel  grasp  of  one  impious  man ! 
O  Pallas,  mistress,  Goddess,  sprung  from  Jove, 
Now,  now,  assist  me  !    Mightier  toils  than  Troy 
Are  these  ; — I  totter  on  the  chasms  of  peril ! — 
And  thou  who  inhabitest  the  thrones 
.    Of  the  bright  stars,  look,  hospitable  Jove, 
Upon  this  outrage  of  thy  deity, — 
Otherwise  be  considered  as  no  God ! 

{exit  with  the  Cyclops), 
For  your  gaping  gulf  and  your  gullet  wide 
The  raven  is  ready  on  every  side. 
The  limbs  of  the  strangers  are  cooked  and  done; 

There  is  boiled  meat,  and  roast  meat,  and  meat 
from  the  coaL 
You  may  chop  it,  and  tear  it,  and  gnash  it  for  fun; 

An  hairy  goat's  skin  contains  the  whole. 
Let  me  but  escape,  and  ferry  me  o'er 
The  stream  of  your  wrath  to  a  safer  shore. 
The  Cyclops  iCtnaean  is  cruel  and  bold  ; ; 

He  murders  the  strangers 
That  sit  on  his  hearth. 

And  dreads  no  avengers 

To  rise  from  the  earth. 

He  roasts  the  men  before  they  are  cold  ; 

He  snatches  them  broiling  from  the  coal, 

And  from  the  caldron  pulls  them  whole ; 

And  minces  their  flesh  and  gnaws  their  bone 

With  his  cursed  teeth  till  all  be  gone. 

Shelley. 


Chorus. 


CHAPTER  XI 

COMIC  POETRY.      ARISTOPHANES 

The  Origin  of  Comedy — Susarion  —  Epicharmus — Recognition 
of  Comedy  in  Attica  —  The  Subjects  of  Comedy — The 
Poets  of  the  Old  Comedy:  Cratinus,  Eupolis,  Aristophanes 
— The  Structure  of  Comedy,  illustrated  by  the  Birds  of  Aris- 
tophanes— The  Achamians — The  Peace— -Tht  Lysisirata 
— The  ThesmqPkoriazusee — The  Parliament  of  W'omen — 
The -P/«/^j— The  Knights-'TcA  C/ouds—The  IVasps^ 
The  Frogs. 

Comedy  was  born  about  the  same  time  as  tragedy, 
toward  the  middle  of  the  sixth  century,  but  it  was  long 
in  taking  its  place  beside  tragedy  as  a  recognized 
branch  of  literature.  Like  tragedy,  it  was  from  its 
origin  connected  with  the  worship  of  Dionysus,  and 
had  its  beginnings  among  the  Dorian  peoples  of  the 
Peloponnesus.  From  early  times  the  worship  of  the 
wine-god  was  celebrated  by  mirthful  revelers,  who 
sang  at  the  festivals  impromptu  songs,  accompanied 
by  lively  dancing.  Such  a  band  of  Bacchic  revelers 
was  called  a  comus^  and  their  song  or  performance  was 
later  given  the  name  *' comedy' '  {comus  and  odi^  *'comus- 
song  "),  formed  after  the  pattern  of  tragedy. 

This  rude  performance  seems  to  have  received 
some  sort  of  development  at  the  hands  of  Susarion  of 
Megara.  We  cannot  make  out  precisely  the  changes 
which  he  introduced,  but  it  is  probable  that  he  substi- 
tuted verses  of  his  own  composition  for  the  impromptu 
songs  and  speeches  of  the  earlier  time.     It  seems,  also, 

a73 


274  Homer  to  Theocritus 

that  he  enlarged  the  license  in  scurrility  and  indecency 
which  these  sportive  bands  always  enjoyed  on  festival 
days,  by  adding  the  element  of  abusiveness  toward 
individuals,  especially  those  prominent  in  public  life. 
Such  freedom  could,  of  course,  have  developed  under 
a  popular  government,  such  as  Megara  seems  to  have 
enjoyed  in  the  sixth  century.  Susarion  introduced  his 
comus  performances  into  Attica,  tradition  says,  first 
at  Icaria,  the  birthplace  of  tragedy.  Out  of  the 
comus  the  comic  chorus  developed,  the  boisterous  pro- 
cession taking  shape  as  a  chorus  gradually  under  the 
influence  of  the  tragic  chorus. 

The  real  founder  of  comedy  was  Epicharmus  of 
Sicily,  a  contemporary  of  Pindar  and  ^schylus.  A 
poet  of  great  creative  power,  he  took  the  decisive  step 
of  introducing  the  plot.  Before  his  time  comic  per- 
formances had  not  advanced  beyond  the  stage  of 
a  series  of  episodes,  each  giving  a  fantastic  or  humor- 
ous situation,  but  on  subjects  unconnected  with  each 
jother.  There  now  was  a  more  or  less  orderly  progres- 
sion from  one  episode  to  another,  so  that  the  comic 
subject  received  varied  illustration  in  successive 
scenes.  This  simple  unity  of  subject  was  far  from 
constituting  a  plot  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  term,  for 
there  was  not  necessarily  a  complication  and  a  solu- 
tion; but  the  innovation  of  Epicharmus  transformed 
a  rude  and  unliterary  series  of  burlesques  into  a  com- 
position which  had  at  least  the  elements  of  literary 
and  artistic  form.  The  comedy  of  Epicharmus  did  not 
grow  out  of  the  comus,  as  did  that  of  Attica,  but  was 
the  product  of  the  imitative  genius  which  has  always 
characterized  the  people  of  southern  Italy.  There 
never  was  a  chorus  in  this  branch  of  comedy.     The 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  275 

Importance  of  Epicharmus  for  the  history  of  Atttr. 
romedy  is  th^t  ^^  gave  the  impulse  to  the  leaders  of 
thp  Attir.  ("fOm\1^  in  the  direction  of  literary  unity — 
though  by  what  channels  this  influence  was  communi- 
cated we  do  not  know. 

For  a  long  time  the  comic  performances  in  Attica 
were  given  at  the  festivals  of  Dionygfyg  jn  ^n  ^"<^'*-**^y 


unofficial  manner.  Soon  after  the  Persian  wars,  how- 
ever, they  had  assumed  such  importance  and  had 
reached  such  a  stage  of  literary  excellence  that  they 
were  admitted  to  the  official  programme  of  the  great 
festival  in  March,  the  City  Dionysia.  At  this  time  the 
principal  comic  poets,  to  whom  this  recognition  was 
largely  due,  were  Chionides  and  Magnes.  From  now 
on  comedy  steadily  increased  in  importance  and 
improved  in  technique,  conforming  itself,  so  far  as  its 
nature  would  allow,  to  the  type  of  drama  already 
established  by  tragedy.  The  number  of  actors  who 
might  be  together  on  the  scene  was  restyitLLil  LU  Until 
(in  the  earlier  days,  it  is  believed,  the  number  was 
larger,  not  smaller,  as  in  tragedy),  and  the  number  of 
the  chorus  was  fiyfil  at  twcintyifniir  jtrt  double  the 
number  employed  in  tragedy  down  to  Sophocles'  time. 
In  form  and  manner  comedy  underwent  a  gradual  but 
constant  change  from  the  time  of  the  Persian  wars. 
We  distinguish  three  great  periods:  Old  Comedy, 
down  to  about  390  B.  C. ;  Middle  Comedy,  from  390 
to  about  320  B.  C,  and  the  New  Comedy,  from  320  on. 
Attic  comedy  was  not  restricted  to  subjects  drawn 
mythology,  as  was  tragedy.  Any  situation  in 
politics  or  society,  any  tendency  in  literature  or  reli- 
gion  or  ethics,  the  foibles  of  the  people  or  the  idiosxn^ 
crasies  of  indiviHuals — in  short,  any  subject  which  th 


/ 

/ 

/ 


276  Homer  to  Theocritus 

exuberant  fantasy  of  the  poet  could  summon  up  and 
turn  to  account  for  purposes  of  burlesque,  parody,  or 
satire,  made  an  acceptable  theme  for  the  laughter- 
loving  Athenians.  There  was  the  mythological 
travesty,  in  which  the  heroes  of  mythology,  and  even 
the  gods,  were  turned  to  ridicule.  Epicharmus  first 
developed  this  field,  which  became  the  favorite  of  the 

poets  of  the  fourth  r^ntnry        A  t| ^ypr.f a ijjn^  SOUrCC  of 

amusement  were  the  {vrrDOies  ot  the  tragic  poets.  The 
extant  plays  are  sp/inkled  with  pathetic  lines  and 
touching  situations  from  tragedy,  so  distorted  as  to 
be  irresistibly  funny.  In^tatiens  fii  Uf^iuiAl  life  were 
much  in  vogue  in  the  Old  Comedy.  We  hear  of  cho- 
ruses of  snakes,  ants,  nightingales,  goats,  birds,  wasps, 
and  fishes,  and  in  one  extant  play  even  the  actors  are 
dressed  up  as  birds.  Again  we  are  transported  to 
some  Utopia,  where  everybody  is  rich  and  happy,  or 
down  to  Hades,  to  witness  the  society  of  the  illus- 
trious dead.  In  the  last  quarter  of  the  fifth  century 
political  subjects  were  most  frequently  chosen,  and  the 
utmost  license  was  tolerated  in  lampooning  leading 
statesmen  and  officials  and  in  exposing  faults  in  pub- 
lic policy  and  administration.  The  comedy  of  man- 
ners, characterized  by  good-natured  satire  upon  the 
institutions  of  society  and  the  weaknesses  of  mankind 
in  general,  came  in  with  the  New  Comedy. 

The  three  great  poets  of  the  Old  Comedy  were  Cra- 
tinus,  Eupolis,  and  Aristophanes.  The  services  of 
Qiatiausjui  establishing  the  type  of  the  comedy  of  this 
period  were  of  the  first  importance.  He  was  consid- 
ered  the  most  fearless  exponent  of  the  tendency  to 
criticise  and  abuse  individuals.  He  never  wearied  of 
ridiculing" the  **^onT6ri-headed"  Pericles  and  his  policy. 


H 


g  j 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  277 

It  became  necessary,  in  fact,  for  the  state  to  restrict 
by  law  for  a  time  the  comic  privilege  of  lampooning 
officials  by  name.  Eupolis.  a  full  generation  younger 
than  Cratinus.  followed  in  the  latter's  footsteps  but 
was  more  graceful  and  finished  in  style.  Alcibiades 
was  a  favorite  object  of  attack  with  him.  By  far  the 
greatest  of  this  trio  was  Aristophanes,  who  was  born 
about  448  B.  C.  and  died  soon  after  388  B.  C.  Little 
is  known  about  his  personality,  except  as  the  informa- 
tion is  derived  from  his  works.  K1|*.vpp  rcn^i^f^ipg  itf — " 
the  fiftv-four  which  he  wrote  are  preserved  to  us — the 
only  specimens  of  Greek  comedy  which  we  possess. 
Fortunately  these  plays  are  sufficiently  representative 
in  character  to  furnish  a  good  idea  both  of  the  Old 
Comedy  as  a  whole  and  of  the  fertility  of  the  genius 
and  marvelous  poetic  power  of  the  great  burlesque 
critic  of  Athenian  life,  whose  dominating  influence  on 
the  comic  stage  was  felt  for  more  than  forty  years. 

Before  taking  up  the  several  plays  of  Aristophanes, 
a  few  words  are  necessary  on  the  structure  of  an  Attic 
comedy  of  this  period.  In  a  general  way,  as  has  been 
said,  comedy  imitated  tragedy  in  form^  Bur  the 
similarity  of  structure  is  found  upon  examination  to 
be  superficial,  the  more  lusty  and  exuberant  younger 
sister  tending  always  to  break  over  the  bounds  of 
literary  art  laid  down  for  it.  This  tendency  is 
observed  in  two  general  directions.  In  the  first  place, 
the  chorus  often  drops  its  role  and  speaks  directly  to 
the  audience  as  the  mouthpiece  of  the  poet.  Such 
interludes  are  found  in  almost  every  extant  comedy, 
sometimes  twice  in  one  play,  occurring  at  some  suitable 
pause  in  the  action.  This  portion  of  a  comedy  is 
called  the  £arqdasisy  or  **coming  forward**;  for  the 


278  Homer  to  Theocritus 

members  of  the  chorus  stripped  off  a  part  of  their  cos- 
tume, ''came  forward"  toward  the  audience,  and  sang 
and  recited  to  lively  dance  movements  their  rollicking 
Werses.  It  is  in  this  portion  of  a  play  that  the  poet 
gives  freest  expression  to  his  own  opinions  on  topics 
of  the  day,  explains  his  own  ideals,  and  attacks  his 
rivals  or  appeals  to  the  judges  for  a  favorable  verdict. 
In  the  second  place,  after  the  plot  has  been  fully 
developed  and  the  solution  reached,  we  often  find 
a  succession  of  short  episodes,  not  at  all  necessary  to 
the  plot,  which  illustrate  in  fantastic,  burlesque  scenes 
the  policy  or  condition  which  the  main  argument  has 
developed.  Such  episodes  are  to  be  considered  sur- 
vivals of  the  early  form  of  comedy  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken.  A  third  feature  of  comic  structure 
may  also  be  mentioned.  The  plot  is  unfolded  gener- 
ally by  two  conflicting  elements,  which  oppose  each 
other  by  vehement  debate  and  often  by  physical 
encounter.  One  side  or  the  other  wins — the  solution 
of  the  plot — and  then  the  illustrative  burlesque  episodes 
follow — the  application  of  the  victorious  policy.  This 
element  of  antagonism  is  carried  out  in  the  manage- 
ment of  the  chorus  also.  It  is  generally  conceived  of 
as  two  choruses  of  twelve  persons  each,  the  speech  or 
song  of  one  chorus  calling  forth  a  response  of  the 
same  length  and  in  the  same  manner  from  the  other. 
Taking  a  concrete  case  for  illustration,  let  us  analyze 
the  Birds^y^P'  mnRt  hrilliant  rrrntion  of  Jthe  poet.  It 
was  produced  at  the  City  Dionysia  of  414  B.  C,  and 
won  only  the  second  prize.  The  scene  is  laid  in 
a  wild,  uninhabited  country,  with  a  bunch  of  shrub- 
bery in  the  background.  Enter  two  Athenians, 
Peithetaerus    (Plausible)    and    Euelpides    (Hopeful). 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  279 

They  cyrv  birjs  ?n  ^^^'^^  ^ ^"   '"  |>iiiiii-  ttipm  to 

a  region  where  they  will  be  free  from  the  troubles  of 
Athenian  life.     **For  we,*'  they  say, 

Have  deemed  it  fitting  to  betake  ourselves 
To  these  our  legs,  and  make  our  person  scarce. 
Not  through  disgust  or  hatred  or  disdain 
Of  our  illustrious  birthplace,  which  we  deem 
Glorious  and  free;  with  equal  laws  ordained 
For  fine  and  forfeiture  and  confiscation, 
With  taxes  universally  diffused; 
And  suits  and  pleas  abounding  in  the  Courts. 
For  grasshoppers  sit  only  for  a  month 
Chirping  upon  the  twigs;  but  our  Athenians 
Sit  chirping  and  discussing  all  the  year, 
Perched  upon  points  of  evidence  and  law. 
Therefore  we  trudge  upon  our  present  travels* 
With  these  our  sacrificial  implements, 
To  seek  some  easier  unlitigious  place, 
Meaning  to  settle  there  and  colonize.' 

They  reach  the  home  of  Hoopoe  (represented  in 
the  scenery),  who  answers  their  summons.  The 
make-up  of  the  actor  who  represents  the  Hoopoe  was, 
of  course,  as  grotjsque  as  possible,  and  was  frankly 
ridiculed  by  thj  visitors:  ** Heracles,  what  plumage! 
Are  you  a  bird  or  r.  peacock?**  The  scarcity  of  feath- 
ers upon  his  body  is  explained  by  Hoopoe  as  due 
to  the  moulting  season.  The  life  of  the  birds,  as 
depicted  by  Hoopoe — no  need  of  money,  field  sports, 
nothing  to  do  but  banquet  in  the  gardens — seems  so 
attractive  to  Peithetaerus,  the  inventive  genius,  that 
he  proposes  a  scheme  for  the  aggrandizement  of  the 
birds:  '*Build  a  city  in  the  air,  between  earth  and 
heaven;   intercept  the  savor  of  the  sacrifices  which 

*The  selections  from  Aristophanes  are  all  taken  from  the  translation 
of  John  Hookbam  Frere  when  not  credited  to  others. 


iSo  Homer  to  Theocritus 

men  make  to  the  gods,  and  thus  starve  out  the  latter 
until  they  turn  over  the  sovereignty  to  the  birds." 
"Odds  nets  and  bird-lime,"  says  Hoopoe,  "that's 
a  clever  notion  I  I'm  with  you  if  the  other  birds 
agree."    So  he  calls  to  his  wife,  Nightingale  : 


Awake !  awake ! 
Sleep  no  more,  my  gentle  mate  1 
With  your  tiny  tawny  bill, 
Wake  the  tuneful  echo  shrill, 

On  vale  or  hill ; 
Or  in  her  airy,  rocky  seat. 
Let  her  listen  and  repeat 
The  tender  ditty  that  you  tell, 
The  sad  lament. 
The  dire  event, 
To  luckless  Itys  that  befelL 
Thence  the  strain 
Shall  rise  again, 
And  soar  amain, 
Up  to  the  lofty  palace  gate; 
Where  mighty  Apollo  sits  in  state; 
In  Jove*8  abode,  with  his  ivory  lyre, 
Hymning  aloud  to  the  heavenly  choir. 
While  all  the  gods  shall  join  with  thee 
In  a  celestial  symphony. 

While  the  nightingale  trills,  Hoopoe  calls  the  birds 
together: 

Hoop!  hoop! 

Come  in  a  troop, 

Come  at  a  call, 
One  and  all, 

Birds  of  a  feather. 

All  together. 
Birds  of  a  humble,  gentle  bill* 
Smooth  and  shrill, 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  18 1 

Dieted  on  seeds  and  grain, 
Rioting  on  the  furrowed  plain. 
Pecking,  hopping, 
Picking,  popping. 
Among  the  barley  newly  sown. 

Birds  of  a  bolder,  louder  tone. 
Lodging  in  the  shrubs  and  bushes. 
Mavises  and  thrushes, 
On  the  summer  berries  brousing. 
On  the  garden  fruits  carousing. 
All  the  grubs  and  vermin  smousing. 

Four  stately  birds  first  make  their  appearance,  fol- 
lowed by  a  troop  of  twenty-four — the  chorus.  When 
they  learn  that  the  two  envoys  are  men,  they  are  wild 
with  rage  and  propose  to  tear  them  to  pieces  at  once : 

Form  in  rank,  form  in  rank; 
Then  move  forward  and  outflank: 
Let  me  see  them  overpowered. 
Hacked,  demolished,  and  devoured; 
Neither  earth,  nor  sea,  nor  sky. 
Nor  woody  fastnesses  on  high. 
Shall  protect  them  if  they  fly. 

Peithetserus  and  Euelpides  hastily  erect  a  barricade 
of  pots  and  pans,  and  propose  to  defend  themselves; 
but  Hoopoe  arranges  a  truce.  The  chorus  retire  to 
listen  to  the  envoys: 

Back  to  the  rear!  resume  your  station, 
Ground  your  wrath  and  indignation! 
Sheathe  your  fury!  stand  at  ease. 
While  I  proceed  to  question  these: 
What  design  has  brought  them  here? 

Peithetaerus  first  proves  by  comic  instances  that 
the  birds,  and  not  the  gods,  were  originally  sovereign 
over  all.     He  then  develops  his  plan : 


282  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Then  I  move,  that  the  birds  shall  in  common  repair 

To  a  centrical  point,  and  encamp  in  the  air; 

And  intrench  and  enclose  it,  and  fortify  there: 

And  build  up  a  rampart,  impregnably  strong. 

Enormous  in  thickness,  enormously  long. 

Bigger  than  Babylon;  solid  and  tall, 

With  bricks  and  bitumen,  a  wonderful  wail. 

As  soon  as  the  fabric  is  brought  to  an  end, 

A  herald  or  envoy  to  Jove  we  shall  send. 

To  require  his  immediate  prompt  abdication; 

And  if  he  refuses,  or  shows  hesitation, 

Or  evades  the  demand;  we  shall  further  proceed, 

With  legitimate  warfare  avowed  and  decreed: 

With  a  warning  and  notices,  formally  given. 

To  Jove,  and  all  others  residing  in  heaven, 

Forbidding  them  ever  to  venture  again 

To  trespass  on  our  atmospheric  domain. 

With  scandalous  journeys,  to  visit  a  list 

Of  Alcmenas  and  Semeles;  if  they  persist. 

We  warn  them  that  means  will  be  taken  moreover 

To  stop  their  gallanting  and  acting  the  lover. 

The  birds  enthusiastically  adopt  the  scheme.  The 
Athenians  enter  Hoopoe's  nest  in  order  to  provide 
themselves  with  plumage.  While  the  scene  is  vacant, 
the  chorus  sings  the  parabasis,  the  first  part  of  which 
consists  of  a  parody  on  the  cosmogony  current  in  the 
philosophic  speculations  of  the  day,  beginning: 

Come  on  then,  ye  dwellers  by  nature  in  darkness,  and  like 

to  the  leaves'  generations, 
That  are  little  of  might,  that  are  moulded  of  mire,  unendur- 

ing  and  shadow-like  nations, 
Poor  plumeless  ephemerals,  comfortless  mortals,  as  visions 

of  shadows  fast  fleeing, 
Lift  up  your  mind  unto  us  that  are  deathless,  and  dateless 

the  date  of  our  being: 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  283 

Us,  children  of  heaven,  ageless  for  aye,  us,  all  of  whose 

thoughts  are  eternal; 
That  ye  may  from  henceforth,  having  heard  of  us  all  things 

aright  as  to  matters  supernal. 
Of  the  being  of  birds,  and  beginning  of  gods,  and  of  streams, 

and  the  dark  beyond  reaching. 
Truthfully  knowing  aright,  in  my  name  bid  Prodicus  pack 

with  his  preaching. 
It  was  Chaos  and  Night  at  the  first,  and  the  blackness 

of  darkness,  and  Hell's  broad  border, 
Earth  was  not,  nor  air,  neither  heaven;  when  in  the  depths 

of  the  womb  of  the  dark  without  order 
First  thing  first -bom  of  the  black-plumed  night  was  a  wind- 
egg  hatched  in  her  bosom. 
Whence  timely  with  seasons  revolving  again  sweet  Love 

burst  out  as  a  blossom. 
Gold  wings  gleaming  forth  of  his  backp  like  whirlwinds 

gustily  turning. 
He,  after  his  wedlock  with  Chaos,  whose  wings  are  of  dark- 
ness, in  Hell  broad-burning, 
For  his  nestlings  begat  him  the  race  of  us  first,  and  upraised 

us  to  light  new-lighted. 
And  before  this  was  not  the  race  of  the  gods,  until  all 

things  by  Love  were  united: 
And  of  kind  united  with  kind  by  communion  of  nature 

the  sky  and  the  sea  are 
Brought  forth,  and  the  earth  and  the  race  of  the  gods 

everlasting  and  blest.    So  that  we  are 
Far  away  the  most  ancient  of  all  things  blest. 

Swinburne. 

The  second  part  of  the  parabasis  recounts  various 
advantages  in  the  possession  of  wings — for  example : 

Nothing  can  be  more  delightful  than  the  having  of  wings  to 

wear! 
A  spectator  sitting  here,  accommodated  with  a  pair. 
Might  for  instance  (if  he  found  a  tragic  chorus  dull  and  heavy) 


184  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Take  his  flight,  and  dine  at  home;  and  if  he  did  not  choose 

to  leave  ye, 
Might  return  in  better  humour,  when  the  weary  drawl  was  ended. 

Peithetserus  and  Euelpides  come  out  in  their  new 
feathers  and  decide  to  call  the  new  town  by  the  impos- 
jngname  of  Cloudcuckootown.  Then  follows  a  series 
of  short  episoaes,  uniieWssai^to  the  plot,  but  illus- 
trating at  least  the  annoyances  of  colonizing.  A  priest 
comes  to  perform  the  religious  rites  of  dedication. 
A  poet  produces  samples  of  his  skill  in  dedication 
odes.  A  soothsayer  peddling  oracles  is  followed  by 
a  surveyor  with  a  load  of  mathematical  instruments, 
the  surveyor  by  a  consul  from  Athens,  the  consul  by 
a  hawker  of  laws  for  colonies.  These  are  driven  out 
by  Peithetaerus,  one  after  the  other.  A  second  para- 
basis  follows,  in  which  the  chorus  gives  its  opinion 
about  certain  people  in  Athens  and  promises  the  judges 
endless  wealth  if  they  give  the  poet  the  prize. 

The  episodes  that  follow  resume  the  plot.  Short 
odes  by  the  chorus  serve  to  break  the  monotony. 
Word  is  brought  that  the  new  town  is  finished. 
A  messenger  reports  that  some  god  has  eluded  the 
sentinels.  It  proves  to  be  Iris,  a  saucy,  frightened 
soubrette,  on  her  way  to  tell  men  to  pay  up  their  sacri- 
fices long  due.  But  Peithetserus  sends  her  back  to 
Zeus  with  an  ultimatum,  after  poking  fun  at  her  dress 
and  her  manners.  Then  come  people  from  the  earth, 
eager  to  join  the  bird-colony  —  a  parricide,  Cinesias 
(a  well-known  but  despised  poet  of  the  day),  and  an 
informer — all  of  whom  Peithetaerus  unceremoniously 
bustles  out  of  his  city.  Prometheus  sneaks  down  from 
Olympus,  all  mufHed  up  and  carrying  an  umbrella, 
looking  about  him  with  fear  and  trembling: 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  285 

Pro.    Oh  dear!    If  Jupiter  should  chance  to  see  me! 

Where's  Peithetaerus?  Where?   Peith.  Why,  what's 

all  this? 
This  fellow  muffled  up?    Pro.    Do  look  behind  me; 
Is  auybody  watching?  any  gods 
Following  and  spying  after  me?    Peith.    No,  none, 
None  that  I  can  see,  there's  nobody.    But  you! 
What  are  ye?  Pro.  Tell  me,  what's  the  time  ^f  day? 
Peith.  Why,  noon,  past  noon;  but  tell  me,  who  are  ye?   Speak. 
Pro.   Much  past?   How  much?   Peith.  Confound  the 

fool,  I  say. 
The  insufferable  blockhead!    Pro.    How's  the  sky? 
Open  or  overcast?    Are  there  any  clouds? 
Peith.  Be   hanged!     Pro.    Then    I'll    disguise   myself   no 

longer. 
Peith.  My  dear  Prometheus!  Pro.  Hold  your  tongue,  I  beg; 
Don't  mention  my  name!    If  Jupiter  should  see  me, 
Or  overhear  me,  I  'm  ruined  and  undone. 
But  now,  to  give  you  a  full,  complete  account 
Of  everything  that's  passing  there  in  heaven  — 
The  present  state  of  things But  first  I  '11 

trouble  you 
To  take  the  umbrella,  and  hold  it  overhead, 
Lest  they  should  overlook  us.  Peith.  What  a  thought! 
Just  like  yourself!    A  true  Promethean  thought! 
Stand  under  it,  here!   Speak  boldly;  never  fear. 

He  then  relates  that  the  gods  are  about  ready  to 
make  terms,  and  advises  him  not  to  consent  to  any 
agreement  until  Zeus  shall  formally  acknowledge  the 
supremacy  of  the  birds  by  giving  him  the  hand  of 
Sovereignty,  **a  most  delightful,  charming  girl,  Jove's 
housekeeper,  that  manages  his  matters,  serves  out  his 
thunderbolts,  arranges  everything."  Soon  three  pom- 
pous peace  commissioners  from  Olympus  arrive — Posei- 
don, Heracles,  and  a  barbarian  god.  Peithetaerus 
bribes  Heracles  by  cooking  savory  dainties  under  his 
nose,  promising  a  dinner  for  his  vote.     The  barbarian 


286  Homer  to  Theocritus 

god's  language  cannot  be  understood;  so  his  vote  is 
counted  with  that  of  Heracles.  Poseidon  protests  in 
vain.  The  commissioners  have  agreed  to  give  the 
princess  Sovereignty  to  Peithetaerus  in  marriage.  The 
play  closes  with  a  wedding-song  by  the  chorus  in  cele- 
bration of  the  nuptials,  while  Peithetaerus  leads  out  his 
bride  M  the  head  of  the  procession,  brandishing  in  his 
hand  the  thunderbolt  of  the  ex-king,  Zeus,  and  singing: 

Birds  of  ocean  and  of  air. 
Hither  in  a  troop  repair. 
To  the  royal  ceremony. 
Our  triumphant  matrimony! 

Come  for  us  to  feast  and  feed  ye! 

Come  to  revel,  dance,  and  sing!  — 
Lovely  creature!    Let  me  lead  ye 
Hand  in  hand,  and  wing  to  wing. 

The  earliest  extant  play  of  Aristophanes  is  the 
Acharnians^  which  won  the  first  prize  at  the  Lensean 
festivartTr^25  B.  C.  Its  subject  is  purely  political — 
peace  with  the  Spartans,  with  whom  the  Athenians  had 
been  at  war  for  seven  years.  The  leading  character, 
Dicaeopolis,  ardently  desires  peace,  that  he  may  enjoy 
again  the  delights  of  country  life;  for  all  this  while  the 
people  of  Attica  have  been  cooped  up  within  the  walls 
of  the  city.  Failing  to  persuade  the  assembly,  he 
makes  peace  with  the  Spartans  on  his  own  account. 
But  the  chorus  of  men  of  Acharnse,  whose  vineyards 
have  been  laid  waste  by  the  Spartans,  are  hot  for  the 
continuance  of  the  war.  They  seize  Dicaeopolis  to 
put  him  to  death,  but  he  obtains  a  cast-off,  ragged, 
tragic  costume  from  Euripides,  and  clothed  in  this 
makes  a  speech  in  which  he  wins  one-half  of  the 
chorus  to  his  views  about  the  war.     The  blessings  of 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  287 

peace  are  then  illustrated  in  a  succession  of  humorous 
scenes. 

After  Dicaeopolis  has  disguised  himself  in  the 
tattered  garments  of  one  of  Euripides'  most  pitiful 
characters,  he  comes  before  his  judges  and  makes  the 
following  speech  in  defence  of  his  policy  of  **  peace  at 
any  price."  The  passage  is  at  once  a  satire  on  Pericles* 
statesmanship  and  a  parody  of  the  style  of  Euripides : 

Be  not  surprised,  most  excellent  spectators, 

If  I  that  am  a  beggar  have  presumed 

To  claim  an  audience  upon  public  matters, 

Even  in  a  comedy  ;  for  comedy 

Is  conversant  in  all  the  rules  of  justice, 

And  can  distinguish  betwixt  right  and  wrong. 

First,  I  detest  the  Spartans  most  extremely  ; 

And  wish  that  Neptune,  the  Tsenarian  deity. 

Would  bury  them  in  their  houses  with  his  earthquakes. 

For  Tve  had  losses— losses,  let  me  tell  ye, 

Like  other  people  ;  vines  cut  down  and  injured. 

But,  among  friends  (for  only  friends  are  here). 

Why  should  we  blame  the  Spartans  for  all  this  ? 

For  people  of  ours,  some  people  of  our  own, 

For  people  from  amongst  us  here,  I  mean  ; 

But  not  the  people  (pray  remember  that), 

I.  never  said  the  people, — but  a  pack 

Of  paltry  people,  mere  pretended  citizens. 

Base  counterfeits,  went  laying  informations, 

And  making  a  confiscation  of  the  jerkins 

Imported  here  from  Megara ;  pigs  moreover, 

Pumpkins,  and  pecks  of  salt,  and  ropes  of  onions, 

Were  voted  to  be  merchandize  from  Megara, 

Denounced  and  sold  upon  the  spot. 

Well,  these  might  pass,  as  petty  local  matters. 
But  now,  behold,  some  doughty  drunken  youths 
Kidnap,  and  carry  away  from  Megara, 
The  courtezan  Simsetha.    Those  of  Megara, 
In  hot  retaliation,  seize  a  brace 
Of  equal  strumpets,  hurried  forth  perforce 


288  Homer  to  Theocritus 

From  Dame  Aspasia's  house  of  recreation. 
So  this  was  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
All  over  Greece,  owing  to  these  three  strumpets. 
For  Pericles,  like  an  Olympian  Jove, 
With  all  his  thunder  and  his  thunderbolts. 
Began  to  storm  and  lighten  dreadfully. 
Alarming  all  the  neighbourhood  of  Greece  ; 
And  made  decrees,  drawn  up  like  drinking  songs, 
In  which  it  was  enacted  and  concluded. 
That  the  Megarians  should  remain  excluded 
From  every  place  where  commerce  was  transacted, 
With  all  their  ware— like  "  old  care  "  in  the  ballad  : 
And  this  decree,  by  land  and  sea,  was  valid. 

Then  the  Megarians,  being  all  half  starved. 
Desired  the  Spartans  to  desire  of  us 
Just  to  repeal  those  laws ;  the  laws  I  mentioned, 
Occasion 'd  by  the  stealing  of  those  strumpets. 
And  so  they  begg'd  and  pray'd  us  several  times  ; 
And  we  refused  ;  and  so  they  went  to  war. 
You'll  say,  **  They  should  not."    Why,  what  should  they 

have  done  ? 
Just  make  it  your  own  case  ;  suppose  the  Spartans 
Had  n^ann'd  a  boat,  and  landed  on  your  islands. 
And  stolen  a  pug  puppy  from  Seriphos ; 
Would  you  then  have  remained  at  home  inglorious  ? 
Not  so,  by  no  means  ;  at  the  first  report. 
You  would  have  launched  at  once  three  hundred  galleys, 
And  filPd  the  city  with  the  noise  of  troops ; 
And  crews  of  ships,  crowding  and  clamouring 
About  the  muster-masters  ^nd  pay*masters  ; 
With  measuring  corn  out  at  the  magazine. 
And  all  the  porch  choked  with  the  multitude  ; 
With  figures  of  Minerva,  newly  furbish'd, 
Painted  and  gilt,  parading  in  the  streets  ; 
With  wineskins,  kegs,  and  firkins,  leeks  and  onions  ; 
With  garlic  cramm*d  in  pouches,  nets,  and  pokes ; 
With  garlands,  singing  girls,  and  bloody  noses. 
Our  arsenal  would  have  sounded  and  resounded 
With  bangs  and  thwacks  of  driving  bolts  and  nails. 
With  shaping  oars,  and  holes  to  put  the  oar  in ; 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  289 

With  hacking,  hammering,  clattering  and  boring  ; 
Words  of  command,  whistles  and  pipes  and  fifes. 

The  same  theme  received  an  entirely  different 
treatment  in  the  Peace  (421  B.  C).  Trygaeus,  a  coun- 
tryman, distressed  by  the  war,  conceives  the  plan  of 
ascending  to  heaven  to  fetch  down  Peace.  The  happy 
thought  occurs  to  him  of  riding  upon  the  back  of  a 
huge  dung-beetle,  as  Bellerophon  rode  on  Pegasus  in  a 
play  of  Euripides.  Finding  the  gods  not  at  home,  he 
succeeds  in  pulling  the  goddess  Peace  out  of  a  pit  in 
which  she  has  been  imprisoned  and  in  restoring  her 
again  to  men.  The  following  charming  picture  of  the 
harvest-time  is  taken  from  one  of  the  choral  odes : 

Oh  'tis  sweet,  when  fields  are  ringing 
With  the  merry  cicade^s  singing, 
Oft  to  mark  with  curious  eye 
If  the  vine-trees  time  be  nigh  : 
Hers  it  not  the  fruit  whose  birth 
Costs  a  throe  to  mother  Earth. 
Sweet  it  is,  too,  to  be  telling, 
How  the  luscious  figs  are  swelling  : 
Then  to  riot  without  measure 
In  the  rich,  nectareous  treasure. 
While  our  grateful  voices  chime, — 
"  Happy  season !  blessed  time  !  " 

Mitchell. 

At  a  later  period  in  the  war  the  poet  reverts  to  the 
same  theme  in  the  Lysistrata  (41 1  B.  C),  but  this  time 
he  nim^  hir.  nhnfM  mi>inly  nt  thr  wniT^n  ^f  Albens. 
Under  the  leadership  of  a  strong-minded  woman, 
Lysistrata,  the  women  of  Greece  seize  the  acropolis  of 
Athens,  and  make  proclamation  that  they  will  have 
nothing  to  do  with  their  husbands  until  peace  is 
restored  between  Athens  and  Sparta.     The  men  soon 


290  Homer  to  Theocritus 

come  to  terms.  The  play  contains  two  choruses,  one 
of  men  and  the  other  of  women,  who  oppose  each  other 
until  the  reconciliation  is  effected.  Another  satire 
against  women,  the  Thesmophoriazusa^  was  produced  in 
the  same  year,  Euripides  coming  in  for  a  large  share 
of  the  ridicule.  The  women  of  Athens  are  represented 
as  celebrating  the  Thesmophoria,  a  festival  in  honor 
of  Demeter,  to  which  no  men  were  admitted.  Euripi- 
des, hearing  that  they  intend  to  take  action  against 
him  as  an  inveterate  calumniator  of  the  sex,  contrives 
to  smuggle  his  father-in-law  into  the  meeting  in  wom- 
an's clothes.  He  defends  Euripides  by  proving  that 
women  are  in  reality  much  worse  than  Euripides 
depicts  them.  The  argument  bids  fair  to  carry  the 
day  when  the  speaker's  sex  is  discovered,  and  he  is 
rescued  with  difficulty  by  the  help  of  Euripides.  The 
play  is  crowded  with  side-splitting  parodies  of  verses 
and  scenes  from  the  tragic  poet.  Here  is  a  song  by 
Ifke  chorus  of  women : 

They're  always  abusing  the  women, 

As  a  terrible  plague  to  men: 
They  say  weVe  the  root  of  all  evil, 

And  repeat  it  again  and  again; 
Of  war,  and  quarrels,  and  bloodshed, 

All  mischief,  be  what  it  may: 
And  pray,  then,  why  do  you  marry  us. 

If  we're  all  the  plagues  you  say? 
And  why  do  you  take  such  care  of  ui. 

And  keep  us  so  safe  at  home, 
And  are  never  easy  a  moment, 

If  ever  we  chance  to  roam? 
When  you  ought  to  be  thanking  heaven 

That  your  Plague  is  out  of  the  way  — 
You  all  keep  fussing  and  fretting  — 

"  Where  is  my  Plague  to-day?  " 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  291 


If  a  Plague  peeps  out  of  the  window, 
Up  go  the  eyes  of  the  men; 

If  she  hides,  then  they  all  keep  staring 
Until  she  looks  out  again. 


^jiHins. 


While  on  the  subject  of  Aristophanes'  comedies  on 
women,  we  may  mention  the  Parliament  of  Women 
(392  B.  C),  one  of  his  latest  productions.  The  wom- 
an *s-rights  women  dress  up  as  men  and  pack  the 
assembly.  They  propose  and  carry  a  motion  placing 
the  government  entirely  in  the  hands  of  the  fair  sex — 
**the  only  change  that  has  not  yet  been  tried  at 
Athens.'*  The  principal  reform  which  they  enact  is 
that  the  ugly  women  shall  have  the  first  choice  of  hus- 
bands. The  last  play  of  our  poet  was  the  Plutus 
(JVea/lA),  which  receiv(;d  the  firot  prirc  iR  388  B.  C. 
The  blind  god  of  wealth  has  his  eyesigrht  restored, 
and  proc^ds  to  undo  the  wrong  which 
committed,  now  makinjg  the  good  rich 


and 


Returning  now  to  the  earlier  plays  of  Aristophanes, 
let  us  consider  the  ^ni^hts^  with  which  he  was  victori- 
ous in  424  B.  C. — a  violent  and  bitter  attack  upon  the 
popular  demagogue  Cleon,  who  succeeded  Pericles  as 
the  leader  of  the  people's  party.  The  Athenian  popu- 
lace is  represented  as  a  testy,  selfish,  and  suspicious 
old  man,  but  easily  cajoled  if  the  proper  means  are 
employed.  Cleon  is  his  servant,  obsequious  to  him, 
but  insolent  and  overbearing  to  every  one  else. 
A  sausage-seller,  a  low,  vulgar  fellow,  bred  in  the 
slums,  succeeds,  with  the  help  of  the  chorus  of 
Athenian  knights,  in  winning  Cleon's  place  in  the  old 
man's  favor,  outbidding  his  rival  in  the  latter 's  own 


\ 


29^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

shameless  methods.  The  chorus  of  knights  attack 
Cleon  as  soon  as  they  enter  the  orchestra,  suiting  their 
actions  to  the  following  vigorous  words : 

Close   around   him,   and   confound    him,    the    confounder 

of  us  all. 
Pelt  him,  pummel  him,  and  maul  him;  rummage,  ransack, 

overhaul  him. 
Overbear  him   and  out -bawl   him;   bear  him   down  and 

bring  him  under. 
Bellow  like  a  burst  of  thunder,  robber!    harpy!    sink  of 

plunder! 
Rogue  and  villain!    rogue  and  cheat!    rogue  and  villain, 

I  repeat! 
Oftener  than  I  can  repeat  it,  has  the  rogue  and  villain 

cheated. 
Close  around  him  left  and  right;    spit  upon  him;    spurn 

and  smite: 
Spit  upon  him  as  you  see;  spurn  and  spit  at  him  like  me. 
But  beware,  or  he'll  evade  ye,  for  he  knows  the  private 

track. 
Where  Eucrates  was  seen  escaping  with  the  mill  dust  on 

his  back. 

The  Knights  was  the  first  play  which  Aristophanes 
brought  out  in  his  own  name ;  the  earlier  plays  he  had 
put  into  the  hands  of  older  and  more  experienced 
managers.  The  chorus  explains  the  matter  in  the 
parabasis,  which  begins  thus: 

If  a  veteran  author  had  wished  to  engage 

Our  assistance  to-day,  for  a  speech  from  the  stage, 

We  scarce  should  have  granted  so  bold  a  request ; 

But  this  author  of  ours,  as  the  bravest  and  best, 

Deserves  an  indulgence  denied  to  the  rest, 

For  the  courage  and  vigour,  the  scorn  and  the  hate. 

With  which  he  encounters  the  pests  of  the  State ; 

A  thorough-bred  seaman,  intrepid  and  warm, 

Steering  outright,  in  the  face  of  the  storm. 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  293 

But  now  for  the  gentle  reproaches  he  bore 
On  the  part  of  his  friends,  for  refraining  before 
To  embrace  the  profession,  embarking  for  life 
In  theatrical  storms  and  poetical  strife. 

He  begs  us  to  state,  that  for  reasons  of  weight. 
He  has  lingered  so  long,  and  determined  so  late. 
For  he  deemed  the  achievements  of  comedy  hard, 
The  boldest  attempt  of  a  desperate  bard! 
The  Muse  he  perceived  was  capricious  and  coy. 
Though  many  were  courting  her,  few  could  enjoy. 
And  he  saw  without  reason,  from  season  to  season, 
Your  humour  would  shift  and  turn  poets  adrift, 
Requiting  old  friends  with  unkindness  and  treason, 
Discarded  in  scorn  as  exhausted  and  worn. 

In  the  Clouds  (423  B.  C.)  the  poet  attacks  the  new 
school  of  sophists  which  had  arisen  in  Athens — the 
clever  rhetorical  teachers  who  undertook  to  show  how 
a  man  by  using  their  method  might  prove  anything 
whatever.  The  play  is  a  Rhar|)  prfitrit  nfiiimf  thr^ 
fff f  jjlinVitrp,  Trhf^  were  undermining,  as  the  poet 
would  have  us  believe,  the  old-fashioned  morals  of  the 
Athenians.  Socrates,  who  was  just  coming  into 
prominence  as  an  intellectual  leader,  is  made  the 
representative  of  the  class  —  with  gross  injustice,  for 
his  aims  and  ideals,  if  not  his  methods,  were  totally 
opposed  to  those  of  the  sophists,  who  were  a  strictly 
professional  class.  But  it  served  the  poet's  purpose 
to  make  Socrates  the  butt  of  his  satire.  An  old  man 
who  is  heavily  loaded  with  his  son's  debts  applies  to 
the  thinking-shop  of  Socrates  for  lessons  in  argument, 
that  he  may  clear  ofif  the  debts  without  paying  a  cent. 
Socrates  is  found  suspended^Ju  a  btibket  in  mtttatYp 
engaged  in  speculation.  He  introduces  the  new 
student  to  the  new  goddess  of  philosophers,  the 
Clouds,  who  come  floating  into  the  orchestra  at  his 


294  Homer  to  Theocritus 

summons.  But  the  old  man  is  soon  dismissed  for  his 
stupidity,  and  sends  his  son  to  the  school  instead. 
The  young  man  proves  an  apt  pupil.  When  he  has 
finished  the  course,  he  abuses  his  father  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  latter,  enraged  at  the  outcome  of  his 
experiment  in  the  new  education,  sets  fire  to  the 
thinking-shop,  while  Socrates  within  is  '* walking  in 
air  and  contemplating  the  sun."  I  quote  the  beautiful 
entrance  song  of  the  chorus  of  Clouds,  who  come  in 
response  to  Socrates'  invitation: 

Immortal  Clouds  from  the  echoing  shore 

Of  the  father  of  streams  from  the  sounding  sea 
Dewy  and  fleet  let  us  rise  and  roar; 

Dewy  and  gleaming  and  fleet  are  we! 
Let  us  look  on  the  tree-clad  mountain-crest. 

On  the  sacred  earth  where  the  fruits  rejoice. 
On  the  waters  that  murmur  east  and  west, 

On  the  tumbling  sea  with  his  moaning  voice. 
For  unwearied  glitters  the  Eye  of  the  Air, 

And  the  bright  rays  gleam; 
Then  cast  we  our  shadows  of  mist,  and  fare 
In  our  deathless  shapes  to  glance  everywhere 
From  the  height  of  the  heavens,  on  the  land  and  air. 

And  the  Ocean  Stream. 
Let  us  on,  ye  Maidens  that  bring  the  Rain, 

Let  us  gaze  on  Pallas'  citadel. 
In  the  country  of  Cecrops  fair  and  dear. 

The  mystic  hand  of  the  holy  cell, 

Where  the  Rites  unspoken  securely  dwell, 
And  the  gifts  of  the  gods  that  know  not  stain, 

And  a  people  of  o^ortals  that  know  not  fean 
For  the  temples  tall  and  the  statues  fair. 
And  the  feasts  of  the  gods  are  holiest  there; 
The  feasts  of  Immortals,  the  chaplet  of  flowers, 

And  the  Bromian  mirth  at  the  coming  of  spring, 

And  the  musical  voices  that  fill  the  hours, 

And  the  dancing  feet  of  the  maids  that  sing! 

Lang. 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  295 


The  Wasps  U22  B.  C.)  is  a  satire  directed  against 
the  passmn  of  tho  Athenians  for  the  law  oourto.  Sir 
thousand  citizens  are  said  to  have  presented  them- 
selves daily  at  the  courts  for  service  upon  the  juries,* 
for  which  they  received  a  fee.  The  pay  was  the 
object  with  the  majority  of  them,  but  the  love  of 
liti^i^us  scenes  was  probably  the  motive  with  many. 
T&e  chorus  is  composed  of  ni#>n  f^flgtn 
an  allusion  to  the  acrimonious  temper  induced  by  the 
jury-habit. 

To  those  who  are  familiar  with  the  works  of  the 
Greek  tragic  poets,  the  Frogs^  which  received  the  first 
prize  in  405,  is  one  of  the  miost  delightful  of  the  plays 
of  our  poet.  It  is  a  witty  but  discriminating  piece  of 
literary  criticism  directed  against  Euripides,  who  had 
died  in  the  preceding  year,  a  few  months  before 
Sophocles.  Dionysus,  the  patron  of  the  drama,  is 
represented  as  disgusted  with  the  tragic  poets  of  the 
day.  He  conceives  the  plan  of  fetching  one  of  the 
old  poets  from  Hades.  He  prefers  Sophocles,  but 
Euripides,  always  fertile  with  schemes,  is  moreTtfceiy 
to  be  able  to  find  a  way  of  escape  from  the  lower 
world.  So  he  fits  himself  out  with  the  club  and  lion's 
skin  of  Heracles,  and  starts  out  on  his  voyage  to 
the  lower  world,  first  receiving  instructions  from 
Heracles,  who  has  been  there.  On  the  way  he  meets 
a  dead  man  borne  on  a  bier,  with  whom  his  slave  tries  \ 
to  strike  a  bargain  for  the  conveyance  of  the  luggage. 
But  the  dead  man  * 'would  sooner  come  to  life  again" 
than  to  accept  the  pittance  offered.  While  Charon 
is  rowing  them  across  the  Styx,  the  chorus  of  frogs 

^This  larffe  number  it  partly  explained  by  the  size  of  the  Athenian  jury, 
which  rangedf  from  aoi  to  2,501  memoers. 


/ 


■29^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

chant  their  song,  with  the  famous  refrain,  br^kkekek^x, 
koix,  koix.  On  the  other  side  the  singing  of  the 
«  ut  lllUlttitiateif^  greets  the  travelers.  After 
a  number  of  amusing  adventures,  Dionysus  reaches 
the  house  of  Pluto,  and  learns  of  a  tremendous  con- 
tention among  the  dead.  Euripides  has  gathered 
a  party  of  rogues  and  vagabonds  together,  and  is  try- 
ing to  oust  ^schylus  from  the  seat  of  honor  assigned 
to  the  best  tragic  poet.  Sophocles  does  not  press  his 
claim;  in  fact,  when  he  first  came  down,  he  had 
kissed  jEschylus,  who  gratefully  offered  him  a  part  of 
the  seat.  Pluto  proposes  to  hold  a  public  trial  to 
decide  between  ^schylus  and  Euripides.  Dionysus 
is  installed  as  judge,  Pluto  agreeing  to  let  him  take 
back  to  earth  the  poet  whom  he  places  first.  .£schy- 
lus  at  first  demurs  to  the  plan  as  unfair  to  him, 
"because,"  he  says,  "my  poems  live  on  earth  above, 
while  his  died  with  him  and  are  here  as  witnesses  for 
him."  After  a  heated  debate  between  the  two  poets, 
and  a  test  by  weighing  their  verses,  Dionysus  decides 
in  favor  of  j£schylus.  Dionysus  then  leads  ^scbylus 
away,  the  latter  giving  his  chair  to  Sophocles. 

This  song  of  the  chorus  of  Initiated  illustrates  the 
poet's  facility  in  dropping  from  the  sublime  to  the 
ridiculous : 

Raise  the  fiery  torches  bighl 
Bacchus  is  approaching  nigh, 
Like  the  planet  of  the  mom 
Breaking  with  the  hoary  dawn  .  .    . 

On  the  dark  solemnity — 
There  they  flash  upon  the  sight; 
All  the  plain  is  blazing  bright. 


Comic  Poetry.     Aristophanes  S97 

Flushed  and  overflown  with  light; 

Age  has  cast  his  years  away. 

And  the  cares  of  many  a  day. 

Sporting  to  the  lively  lay — 

Mighty  Bacchus!  march  and  lead 

(Torch  in  hand  toward  the  mead) 

Thy  devoted  humble  chorus; 

Mighty  Bacchus — move  before  us! 
Keep  silence, — keep  peace — and  let  all  the  profane 
From  our  holy  solemnity  duly  refrain; 
Whose  souls,  unenlightened  by  taste,  are  obscure; 
Whose  poetical  notions  are  dark  and  impure; 

Whose  theatrical  conscience 

Is  sullied  by  nonsense; 
Who  never  were  trained  by  the  mighty  Cratinus 
In  mystical  orgies,  poetic  and  vinous; 
Who  delight  in  buffooning,  and  jests  but  of  season; 
Who  promote  the  designs  of  oppression  and  treason; 
Who  foster  sedition,  and  strife  and  debate; 
All  traitors,  in  short,  to  the  Stage  and  the  State: 
Who  surrender  a  fort,  or  in  private  export 
To  places  and  harbours  of  hostile  resort 
Clandestine  consignments  of  cables  and  pitch,  — 
In  the  way  Thorycion  grew  to  be  rich 
From  a  scoundrelly  dirty  collector  of  tribute: 
All  such  we  reject  and  severely  prohibit; 
All  statesmen  retrenching  the  fees  and  the  salaries 
Of  theatrical  bards,  in  revenge  for  the  railleries 
And  jests  and  lampoons  of  this  holy  solemnity. 
Profanely  pursuing  their  personal  enmity. 
For  having  been  flouted  and  scoffed  and  scorned— 
All  such  are  admonished  and  heartily  warned* 

We  warn  them  once, 

We  warn  them  twice. 
We  warn  and  admonish  —  we  warn  them  thrice* 

To  conform  to  the  law. 

To  retire  and  withdraw 
While  the  chorus  again,  with  the  formal  saw, 
(Fixt  and  assigned  to  the  festive  day) 
Move  to  the  measure  and  march  away. 


2gS  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  various  tests  which  Dionysus  has  applied  to  as- 
sist him  in  determining  which  of  the  two  poets,  iEschy- 
lus  or  Euripides,  is  to  return  with  him  to  the  upper 
world,  have  failed.  Their  angry  discussion  of  the  true 
aims  and  ideals  of  the  tragic  poet,  and  their  exposal  of 
one  another's  weaknesses  in  diction,  plot-construction, 
style,  metres,  and  in  lyrical  composition,  has  left  the 
patron  god  of  the  drama  more  uncertain  than  ever. 
He  is  only  too  glad  to  fall  in  with  iEschylus'  sugges- 
tion that  they  try  their  verses  in  the  balances.  As  it 
turns  out,  even  this  test  is  insufficient,  and  Djg 
finally  **  c^yn^rr*^  ^^^  ^"^  ^i*i  JT?"I  desires  " — iEschylus. 
flSe  weighmg  scene  is  here  reproduced^--- 

DiON.     Come,  no  more  songs ! 

i£s.  I've  had  enough  of  'em ; 

For  my  part,  I  shall  bring  him  to  the  balance, 

As  a  true  test  of  our  poetic  merit, 

To  prove  the  weight  of  our  respective  verses. 
Dion.     Well  then,  so  be  it— if  it  must  be  so, 

That  I'm  to  stand  here  like  a  cheesemonger 

Retailing  poetry  with  a  pair  of  scales. 

Chorus — Curious  eager  wits  pursue 

Strange  devices  quaint  and  new. 
Like  the  scene  you  witness  here, 
Unaccountable  and  queer ; 
I  myself,  if  merely  told  it. 
If  I  did  not  here  behold  it. 
Should  have  deem'd  it  utter  folly, 
Craziness  and  nonsense  wholly. 

DiOM.  Move  up ;  stand  close  to  the  balance  ! 

Eur.  Here  are  we— 

DiOM.  Take  hold  now,  and  each  of  you  repeat  a  verse, 

And  don't  leave  go  before  I  call  to  you ! 

Eur.  We're  ready. 

Dion.  Now,  then,  each  repeat  a  verse. 

Eur.  ''  I  wish  that  Argo  with  her  woven  wings." 


Comic  Poetry,     Aristophanes  299 

JEs.         '*  O  streams  of  Sperchius,  and  ye  pastured  plains." 
Dion.     Let  go  1 — See  now — this  scale  outweighs  that  other 

Very  considerably. 
Eur.  How  did  it  happen  ? 

Dion.     He  slip'd  a  river  in,  like  the  wool-jobbers, 

To  moisten  his  metre — but  your  line  was  lights 

A  thing  with  wings — ready  to  fly  away. 
Eur.       Let  him  try  once  again  then,  and  take  hold. 
Dion.     Take  hold  once  more. 
Eur.  We're  ready. 

Dion.  Now  repeat. 

Eur.       "  Speech  is  the  temple  and  altar  of  persuasion." 
JEs.        "  Death  is  a  god  that  loves  no  sacrifice." 
Dion.     Let  go  I — See  there  again !     This  scale  sinks  down  ; 

No  wonder  that  it  should,  with  Death  put  into  it, 

The  heaviest  of  all  calamities. 
Eur.      But  I  put  in  persuasion  finely  expressed 

In  the  best  terms. 
Dion.  Perhaps  so  ;  but  persuasion 

Is  soft  and  light  and  silly — Think  of  something 

That's  heavy  and  huge,  to  outweigh  him,  something 
solid. 
Eur.       Let's  see — Where  have  I  got  it  ?    Something  solid  ? 
Dion.     "  Achilles  has  thrown  twice — Twice  a  deuce  ace  !  " 

Come  now,  one  trial  more ;  this  is  the  last. 
Eur.       "  He  grasp'd  a  mighty  mace  of  massy  weight" 
iCs.         ''  Cars  upon  cars,  and  corpses  heap'd  pell  mell." 
Dion.     He  has  nick'd  you  again. 

Eur.  Why  so  ?    What  has  he  done  ? 

Dion.     He  has  heap'd  ye  up  cars  and  corpses,  such  a  load 

As  twenty  Egyptian  labourers  could  not  carry — 
JEs.        Come,  no  more  single  lines — let  him  bring  all^ 

His  wife,  his  children,  his  Cephisophon, 

His  books  and  everything,  himself  to  boot — 

ril  counterpoise  them  with  a  couple  of  lines. 
Dion.     Well,  they're  both  friends  of  mine — I  shan't  decide 

To  get  myself  ill-will  from  either  party ; 

One  of  them  seems  extraordinary  clever, 

And  the  other  suits  my  taste  particularly. 


300  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Pluto.  Won*t  you  decide  then,  and  conclude  the  business  ? 

Dion.     Suppose  then  I  decide  ;  what  then  ? 

Plut.  Then  take  him 

Away  with  you,  whichever  you  prefer, 

As  a  present  for  your  pains  in  coming  down  here. 
Dion.     Heaven  bless  ye — Well— let's  see  now — Can't  yc  ad- 
vise me  ? 

This  is  the  case — I'm  come  in  search  of  a  poet — 
Plut.     With  what  design  ? 
Dion.  With  this  design ;  to  see 

The  City  again  restored  to  peace  and  wealth. 

Exhibiting  tragedies  in  proper  style. 

— Therefore  whichever  gives  the  best  advice 

On  public  matters  I  shall  take  with  me. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  HISTORIANS.     HERODOTUS. 

The  Late  Development  of  Prose  Writing— The  Causes — The 
Earliest  Prose — Hecataeus — Herodotus — His  Life — ^Thc 
Perfection  of  his  Style — The  Character  of  his  History- 
Its  Theme — Its  National  Feeling — Religious  Interpreta* 
tion  of  History — The  Division  into  Books — Analysis — 
Herodotus'  Fondness  for  Digressions — Selections:  The 
Customs  of  Various  Peoples — Psamemtichus'  Experiment 
— Polycrates'  Ring — The  Dancing  Suitor — Athens. 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  in  the  history  of  Greek  liter- 
ature that  literary  prose  was  not  developed  until  after 
the  great  branches  of  poetry  which  we  have  considered 
had  reached  maturity.  While  the  drama,  the  most 
perfect  and  highly  finished  form  of  poetry,  was  being 
perfected  in  Attica,  the  Greeks  of  Asia  Minor  were 
but  just  turning  their  attention  to  narrative  in  prose. 
The  first  work  of  real  literature  in  prose,  the  history 
of  Herodotus,  was  not  published  until  after  Sophocles 
had  reached  the  zenith  of  his  powers.  The  explana- 
tion of  this  phenomenon  lies  not  in  the  absence  of 
adequate  materials  for  writing,  nor  in  the  fact  that 
there  was  no  reading  public,  properly  so  called,  until 
about  the  age  of  Pericles.  The  earliest  prose  writings 
were  intended  for  oral  publication  no  less  than  the 
poetry,  and  long  before  the  earliest  prose  writer  of 
whom  we  know,  the  art  of  writing  was  freely  practiced 
throughout  the  Greek  world — a  fact  that  implies  the 
existence  of  suitable  materials  for  writing  other  than 

301 


302  Homer  to  Theocritus 

stone,  metal,  and  wood.  The  late  rise  of  prose  was 
due  rather  to  the  perfection  which  narrative  verse  had 
early  attained,  and  to  the  dominating  influence  which 
composition  in  verse,  such  as  the  narratives  of  Homer 
and  the  practical  philosophy  of  Hesiod  and  the  elegiac 
poets,  had  acquired  among  cultivated  Greeks.  Before 
the  sixth  century  it  did  not  occur  to  any  one  who 
desired  to  address  the  public  to  use  any  other  form 
of  expression  than  verse. 
J  Naturally  prose  was  employed  for  certain  purposes 
long  before  it  was  used  in  literature.  Codes  of  law, 
treaties,  the  annals  of  cities  and  sanctuaries,  lists  of 
officials  and  victors  at  the  games,  were  certainly 
written  down  as  early  as  the  seventh  century.  The 
maxims  of  the  Seven  Sages,  such  as  ''Know  thyself" 
and  ** Nothing  in  excess,"  may  be  regarded  as  the 
beginnings  of  a  prose  literature.  The  animal  fables 
that  passed  under  the  name  of  iEsop  seem  to  have 
been  about  as  early  and  in  prose  form.  But  the 
impulse  to  extended  composition  in  prose  was  first  felt 
by  the  lonians  of  Asia  Minor  about  the  middle  of  the 
sixth  century,  first  by  writers  on  speculative  theology 
and  natural  philosophy,  and  a  little  later  by  writers  on 
travel  and  geography.  The  style  of  these  writers  was 
crabbed  and  jerky,  and  often  obscure.  The  first 
important  name  with  which  we  meet  is  that  of  Heca- 
taeus  of  Miletus  (flourished  about  500  B.  C),  who 
wrote  a  work  entitled  Genealogies  and  a  Description  of 
the  World. 

Passing  over  the  minor  writers  whose  works  are 
lost,  we  come  to  the  ** Father  of  History,"  Herodotus. 
He  was  born  about  490  B.  C,  at  Halicarnassus  in 
Caria,  a  Dorian  city  with  a  large  Ionian  element  in  its 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  303 

population.  He  came  of  a  noble  family  of  literary 
traditioag^^  and  seems  to  have  inherited  a  taste  for  the 
antiquities  of  history.  When  a  little  more  than  thirty 
years  of  age,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  his  native  city  on 
account  of  political  dissensions  there,  and  for  more 
than  ten  years  lived  the  life  of  a  wanderer.  His  travels 
carried  him  north  as  far  as  Byzantium  and  the  Black 
Sea,  as  far  east  as  Babylon,  and  into  Egypt  and  the 
northern  portions  of  Africa  to  the  south.  He  also 
visited  the  principal  cities  of  the  continent  of  Greece, 
and  seems  to  have  been  often  in  Athens,  where  on 
one  occasion  he  received  a  gift  of  ten  talents  for 
a  recitation  from  his  works.  He  read  portions  of  his 
history  also  at  the  great  national  festival  at  Olympia, 
and  also  at  Sparta,  Argos,  and  Corinth.  He  made  his 
home  at  last  in  the  Athenian  colony  at  Thurii,  in 
southern  Italy,  where  he  died  about  428  B.  C. 

We  are  fortunate  in  possessing  in  its  entirety  the 
one  great  work  which  Herodotus  produced,  the  His- 
tory. It  is  written  in  the  Ionic  dialect,  and  in  a  style 
so  simple,  and  withal  so  graphic  and  entertaining,  that 
the  reader  is  forced  to  marvel  at  the  degree  of  literary 
merit  attained  in  the  first  artistic  work  in  prose  which 
Greek  literature  produced.  Certainly  no  subsequent 
Greek  historian  ever  attained  to  the  perfection  of  style 
which  Herodotus^  the  first  j^reat  writer  of  proy^  and 
the  first  historian,  seems  so  easily  to  have  reached. 
And  yet  the  work  is  rather  to  be  regarded  as  a  piece  of 
pure  literature  than  as  a  history.  **Rich  as  it  is  in  the 
materials  of  history,"  to  use  the  words  of  Professor 
Wheeler,  "it  cannot  be  history  for  the  people  of  to-day. 
It  is  better  than  that,  for  it  is  a  picture  of  what  history 
was  to  peop'*'  then  "     The  Greeks  had  not  yet  reached 


304  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  conception  of  what  a  history  should  be.     Herodo- 
tus was  not  a  trained  observer,  nor  did  he  make  the 
use  of  such  documents  as  existed  which  our  modern 
historical  critics  would  demand.     He  had  traveled  far 
and  wide,  keen  to  observe  the  customs  of  the  different 
peoples  whom  he  visited,  and  ever  ready  to  listen  to 
the  anecdotes  of  his  guides  and  acquaintances.  Know- 
ing no  language  but  Greek,  he  was  at  the  mercy  of  the 
dragomans,  who  were  not  more  scrupulous  then  than 
they  are  to-day.     But  he  at  least  is  careful  to  distin- 
\  guish  between  what  he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  and 
I  what  he  had  heard  from  others.     As  a  story-teller 
I  Herodotus  stands  without  a  peer,  but  his  earnest  pur- 
l  pose  was  to  be  more  than  a  story-teller. 

The  subject  which  Herodotus  chose  for  his  history 
was  the  conflict  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Barbarians 
which  culminated  in  the  great  struggle  known  as  the 
Persian  wars.  Thus  the  first  European  history  was 
a  presentation  of  the  earliest  phase  of  the  eternal  East- 
ern Question.  Herodotus  introduces  his  subject  in 
j  these  words : 

These  are  the  researches  of  Herodotus  of  Halicarnassus, 
which  he  publishes,  in  the  hope  of  thereby  preserving  from 
decay  the  remembrance  of  what  men  have  done,  and  of  pre- 
venting the  great  and  wonderful  actions  of  the  Greeks  and  the 
Barbarians  from  losing  their  due  meed  of  glory;  and  withal  to 
put  on  record  what  were  their  grounds  of  feud. 

His  own  native  city  was  one  of  the  early  victims  of 
this  feud,  and  his  youthful  imagination  must  have 
been  deeply  stirred  by  the  glorious  conflict  for  free- 
dom through  which  his  people  had  passed.  While  his 
extensive  travels  gave  him  a  cosmopolitan  view,  they 
did  not  diminish  the  strong  national  feeling  which  the 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  305 

events  of  his  youth  had  enkindled  in  him,  as  in  all 
other  Greeks.  He  approached  his  subject,  also,  with 
something  of  the  religious  feeling  with  which  ^Eschy- 
lus  interpreted  the  'heroic  legends  of  Greece:  the 
hand  of  divine  providence  alone  will  explain  the 
miraculous  overthrow  of  the  enormous  power  of  Persia 
by  a  handful  of  Greeks ;  the  successful  become  inso- 
lent and  overweening,  are  infatuated,  and  God  brings 
them  low.  This  thought  recurs  again  and  again,  and 
is  applied  to  Persia  in  a  speech  put  into  the  mouth  of 
a  Persian  nobleman,  Artabanus,  who  thus  addresses 
Xerxes : 

Seest  thou  how  God  with  his  lightning  smites  alway  the 
bigger  animals,  and  will  not  suffer  them  to  wax  insolent,  while 
those  of  lesser  bulk  chafe  him  not?  How  likewise  his  bolts  fall 
ever  on  the  highest  houses  and  the  tallest  trees  ?  So  plainly 
does  he  love  to  bring  down  everything  that  exalts  itself.  Thus 
ofttimes  a  mighty  host  is  discomfited  by  a  few  men,  when  God 
in  his  jealousy  sends  fear  or  storm  from  heaven,  and  they 
perish  in  a  way  unworthy  of  them.  For  God  allows  no  one  to 
have  high  thoughts  but  himself. 

This  old  doctrine,  which  constitutes  Herodotus' Dhil- 
osophy  of  history,  gives  a  dramatic  unity  to  his  story, 
which  thus  becomes  the  Tragedy  of  Xerxes. 

The  History  of  Herodotus  was  divided  into  books 
by  the  scholars  of  Alexandria,  who  assigned  to  them 
the  names  of  the  nine  Muses.  In  spite  of  the  count- 
less digressions  which  occupy  the  larger  portion  of  the 
first  six  books,  the  thread  of  the  main  narrative  is 
never  lost  from  view.  In  the  first  book,  after  present-- 
ing  the  mythical  conflicts  of  the  Greeks  and  the  Bar- 
barians which  culminated  in  the  Trojan  war,  he  finds 
the  first  historical  cause  of  offense  in  the  subjugation 


3o6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  the  Ionian  cities  by  Crcesus,  king  of  Lydia.  This 
leads  to  an  account  of  the  kings  of  Lydia,  the  country, 
and  its  wonderful  sights.  Crcesus  is  overthrown  by 
Cyrus  the  Great,  king  of  Persia.  An  account  of  the 
foundation  of  the  empire  of  the  Medes  and  the  Per- 
sians follows,  and  the  charming  story  of  C3rrus  himself. 
The  j^rowUx-of.the  Persian  Empire  until  it  came  into 
conflict  with  Greece  may  be  considered  The  maitt  Stib- 
ject  of  the  fic&L  six  books.  The  overthrow  of  the 
Babylonian  kingdom  and  the  death  of  Cyrus  fall  within 
the  first  book.  Cambyses  succeeded  Cyrus  on  the 
throne  and  invaded  Egypt.  This  leads  to  the  won- 
derful description  of  Egypt  which  occupies  the  second 
book.  The  third  book  tells  of  the  conquest  of  Egypt, 
the  death  of  Cambyses,  and  the  upbuilding  of  the 
empire  of  Darius,  his  successor.  The  fourth  book  is 
taken  up  by  the  campaigns  of  Darius,  with  long 
accounts  of  the  Scythians  and  Libyans.  In  the  fifth 
book,  after  a  description  of  the  Thracians,  we  come 
to  the  beginning  of  the  conflict  between  the  Persians 
and  Greeks,  which  occupies  the  sixth  book.  The 
revolt  of  the  Ionian  cities  from  Persia,  their  successful 
appeal  to  Athens  for  aid,  the  two  campaigns  of  Darius 
against  Athens,  the  second  of  which  resulted  in  the 
glorious  victory  of  Marathon,  prepare  us  for  the  life- 
and-death  struggle  depicted  in  the  last  three  books. 
In  these  Herodotus  rises  fully  to  the  grandeur  of  his 
imposing  theme.  After  describing  the  stupendous 
preparations  of  Xerxes  and  the  march  of  his  army  of 
five  millions  across  the  Hellespont  and  dowii  into 
Greece,  he  depicts  the  dismay  of  the  Greeks,  the 
resistance  of  the  few  brave  Spartans  at  Thermopylae, 
then  the  crushing  defeat  of  the  Persian  fleet  at  Salamis 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  307 

and  the  flight  of  Xerxes,  and  finally  the  battle  of 
Plataea  and  the  rout  of  the  Persian  army  in  the  west, 
and  on  the  same  day  the  defeat  of  the  Persian  army 
in  the  east,  at  Mycale. 

Herodotus  distinctly  states  that  he  makes  a  specialty 
of  digressions  from  his  main  theme.  For  example, 
whenever  his  narrative  brings  him  to  a  new  people,  he 
invariably  turns  aside  to  describe  the  monuments  of 
their  country,  their  dress,  customs,  institutions,  his- 
tory, or  whatever  he  has  seen  or  heard  about  them 
that  may  be  of  interest.  And  he  never  fails  to  be 
interesting.  These  descriptions  are  delightful  reading 
to  us  because  of  their  charming  naivete ;  by  the 
Greeks  of  his  time,  almost  entirely  unacquainted  with 
the  world  beyond  the  coasts  of  the  Mediterranean, 
they  must  have  been  listened  to  with  open-mouthed 
wonder.  In  selecting  specimen  passages  from  the 
History,  I  have  passed  over  the  strictly  historical  por- 
tions in  favor  of  these  digressions,  which  show  Herodo- 
tus in  his  best  r6le,  that  of  story-teller.  First  a  few 
passages  on  the  strange  customs  of  various  peoples. 
I  use  Rawlinson's  translation: 

The  Lydians  have  very  nearly  the  s^me  customs  as  the 
Greeks,  with  the  exception  that  these  last  do  not  bring  up  their 
girls  in  the  same  way.  So  far  as  we  have  any  knowledge,  they 
were  the  first  nation  to  introduce  the  use  of  gold  and  silver 
coin,  and  the  first  who  sold  goods  by  retail.  They  claim  also 
the  invention  ot  all  the  games  which  are  common  to  them  with 
all  the  Greeks.  These  they  declare  that  they  invented  about 
the  time  when  they  colonized  Tyrrhenia,  an  event  of  which 
they  give  the  following  account:  In  the  days  of  .Atys,  the  son 
of  Manes,  there  was  great  scarcity  throughout  the  whole  land 
of  Lydia.  For  some  time  the  Lydians  bore  the  affliction 
patiently,  but  finding  that  it  did  not  pass  away,  they  set  \o  work 


joS  Homer  to  Theocritus 

to  devise  remedies  for  the  evil.  Various  expedients  were  dis- 
covered by  various  persons;  dice  and  huckle-bones  and  ball, 
and  all  such  games  were  invented,  except  tables,  the  invention 
of  which  they  do  not  claim  as  theirs.  The  plan  adopted  against 
the  famine  was  to  engage  in  games  one  day  so  entirely  as  not 
to  feel  any  craving  for  food,  and  the  next  day  to  eat  and  abstain 
from  games.    In  this  way  they  passed  eighteen  years. — I,  94. 

It  is  also  their  (i.  e.,  the  Persians*)  general  practice  to  delib- 
erate upon  affairs  of  weight  when  they  are  drunk;  and  then,  on 
the  morrow,  when  they  are  sober,  the  decision  to  which  they 
came  the  night  before  is  put  before  them  by  the  master  of  the 
house  in  which  it  was  made,  and  if  it  is  then  approved  of  they 
act  on  it;  if  not,  they  set  it  aside.  Sometimes,  however,  they 
are  sober  at  their  first  deliberation,  but  in  this  case  they  always 
reconsider  the  matter  under  the  influence  of  wine 

Next  to  prowess  in  arms,  it  is  regarded  as  the  greatest  proof 
of  manly  excellence  to  be  the  father  of  many  sons.  Every 
year  the  king  sends  rich  gifts  to  the  man  who  can  show  the 
largest  number;  for  they  hold  that  number  is  strength.  Their 
sons  are  carefully  instructed,  from  their  fifth  to  their  twentieth 
year,  in  three  things  alone,  to  ride,  to  draw  the  bow,  and  to 
speak  the  truth.  Until  their  fifth  year  they  are  not  allowed  to 
come  into  the  sight  of  their  father,  but  pass  their  lives  with  the 
women.  This  is  done  that,  if  the  child  die  young,  the  father 
may  not  be  afflicted  by  its  loss.  To  my  mind  it  is  a  wise  rule. 
—1. 133. 136. 

Of  their  (i.  e.,  the  Babylonians')  customs,  whereof  I  shall  now 
proceed  to  give  an  account,  the  following  (which  I  understand 
belongs  to  them  in  common  with  the  Illyrian  tribe  of  the  Eneti) 
is  the  wisest  in  my  judgment.  Once  a  year  in  each  village  the 
maidens  of  age  to  marry  were  collected  all  together  into  one 
place;  while  the  men  stood  round  them  in  a  circle.  Then  the 
herald  called  up  the  damsels  one  by  one,  and  offered  them 
for  sale.  He  began  with  the  most  beautiful.  When  she  was 
sold  for  no  small  sum  of  money,  he  offered  for  sale  the  one  who 
came  next  to  her  in  beauty.  All  of  them  were  sold  to  be  wives. 
The  richest  of  the  Babylonians  who  wished  to  wed  bid  against 
each  other  for  the  loveliest  maidens,  while  the  humbler  wife- 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  309 

• 

seekers,  who  were  indifferent  about  beauty,  took  the  more 
homely  damsels  with  marriage-portions.  For  the  custom  was 
that  when  the  herald  had  gone  through  the  whole  number  of 
the  beautiful  damsels,  he  should  then  call  up  the  ugliest — 
a  cripple,  if  there  chanced  to  be  one  —and  offer  her  to  the  men, 
asking  who  would  agree  to  take  her  with  the  smallest  marriage- 
portion.  And  the  man  who  offered  to  take  the  smallest  sum 
had  her  assigned  to  him.  The  marriage-portions  were  fur- 
nished by  the  money  paid  for  the  beautiful  damsels,  and  thus 
the  fairer  maidens  portioned  out  the  uglier.  No  one  was 
allowed  to  give  his  daughter  in  marriage  to  the  man  of  his 
choice,  nor  might  any  one  carry  away  the  damsel  whom  he  had 
purchased  without  finding  bail  really  and  truly  to  make  her  his 
wife;  if,  however,  it  turned  out  that  they  did  not  agree,  the 
money  might  be  paid  back.  All  who  liked  might  come,  even 
from  distant  villages,  and  bid  for  the  women.  This  was  the 
best  of  all  their  customs,  but  it  has  now  fallen  into  disuse. — 
I.  196. 

Concerning  Egypt  itself  I  shall  extend  my  remarks  to 
a  great  length,  because  there  is  no  country  that  possesses  so 
many  wonders,  nor  any  that  has  such  a  number  of  works  which 
defy  description.  Not  only  is  the  climate  different  from  that  of 
the  rest  of  the  world,  and  the  rivers  unlike  any  other  rivers, 
but  the  people  also,  in  most  of  their  manners  and  customs, 
exactly  reverse  the  common  practice  of  mankind.  The  women 
attend  the  markets  and  trade,  while  the  men  sit  at  home  at  the 
loom;  and  here,  while  the  rest  of  the  world  works  the  woof  up 
the  warp,  the  Egyptians  work  it  down;  the  women  likewise 
carry  burthens  upon  their  shoulders,  while  the  men  carry  them 
upon  their  heads.  They  eat  their  food  out  of  doors  in  the 
streets,  but  retire  for  private  purposes  to  their  houses,  giving 
as  a  reason  that  what  is  unseemly,  but  necessary,  ought  to  be 
done  in  secret,  but  what  has  nothing  unseemly  about  it,  should 
be  done  openly.  A  woman  cannot  serve  the  priestly  office, 
either  for  god  or  goddess,  but  men  are  priests  to  both;  sons 
need  not  support  their  parents  unless  they  choose,  but  daughters 
must,  whether  they  choose  or  no. 

They  are  the  only  people  in  the  world — they  at  least,  and 
such  as  have  learnt  the  practice  from  them — who  use  circum- 


3IO 


Homer  to  Theocritus 


cision.  Their  men  wear  two  garments  apiece,  their  women  but 
one.  They  put  on  the  rings  and  fasten  the  ropes  to  sails  inside, 
others  put  them  outside.  When  they  write  or  calculate,  instead 
of  going,  like  the  Greeks,  from  left  to  right,  they  move  their 
hand  from  right  to  left;  and  they  insist,  notwithstanding,  that 
it  is  they  who  go  to  the  righr,  and  the  Greeks  who  go  to  the 
left  They  have  two  quite  different  kinds  of  writing,  one  of 
which  is  called  sacred,  the  other  common. 

Medicine  is  practiced  among  them  on  a  plan  of  separation; 
each  physician  treats  a  single  disorder,  and  no  more:  thus  the 
country  swarms  with  medical  practitioners,  some  undertaking 
to  cure  diseases  of  the  eye,  others  of  the  head,  others  again  of 
the  teeth,  others  of  the  intestines,  and  some  those  which  are 
not  local.— II,  35.  36,  84. 

Before  entering  upon  his  famous  account  of  the 
Egyptians  and  their  country,  Herodotus  gives  a  descrip- 
tion of  a  curious  experiment  of  King  Psammetichus, 
which  reads  almost  like  a  report  from  a  modern 
laboratory:  . 

Now  the  Egyptians,  before  the  reign  of  their  king  Psam- 
metichus,  believed  themselves  to  be  the  most  ancient  of 
mankind.  Since  Psammetichus,  however,  made  an  attempt 
to  discover  who  were  actually  the  primitive  race,  they  have 
been  of  opinion  that  while  they  surpass  all  other  nations,  the 
Phrygians  surpass  them,  in  antiquity.  This  king,  finding  it 
impossible  to  make  out  by  dint  of  inquiry  what  men  were  the 
most  ancient,  contrived  the  following  method  of  discovery: 
He  took  two  children  of  the  common  sort,  and  gave  them  over 
to  a  herdsman  to  bring  up  at  his  folds,  strictly  charging  him  to 
let  no  one  utter  a  word  in  their  presence,  but  to  keep  them  in 
a  sequestered  cottage,  and  from  time  to  time  introduce  goats  to 
their  apartment,  see  that  they  got  their  fill  of  milk,  and  in  all 
other  respects  look  after  them.  His  object  herein  was  to 
know,  after  the  indistinct  babblings  of  infancy  were  over,  what 
word  they  would  first  articulate.  It  happened  as  he  had  antici- 
pated. The  herdsman  obeyed  his  orders  for  two  years,  and  at 
the  e!id  of  that  time,  on  his  one  day  opening  the  door  of  their 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  311 

room  and  going  in,  the  children  both  ran  up  to  him  with  out- 
stretched arms,  and  distictly  said  ''becos."  When  this  first 
happened  the  herdsman  took  no  notice  ;  but  afterwards  when 
he  observed,  on  coming  often  to  see  after  them,  that  the  word 
was  constantly  in  their  mouths,  he  informed  his  lord,  and  by 
his  command  brought  the  children  into  his  presence,  Psam- 
metichus  then  himself  heard  them  say  the  word,  upon  which 
he  proceeded  to  make  inquiry  what  people  there  was  who 
called  anything  "  becos,"  and  hereupon  he  learnt  that  '^  becos" 
was  the  Phrygian  name  for  bread.  In  consideration  of  this 
circumstance  the  Egyptians  yielded  their  claims,  and  admitted 
the  greater  antiquity  of  the  Phrygians.  That  these  were  the 
real  facts  I  learnt  at  Memphis  from  the  priests  of  Vulcan. 
The  Greeks,  among  other  foolish  tales,  relate  that  Psammeti- 
chus  had  the  children  brought  up  by  women  whose  tongues  he 
had  previously  cut  out ;  but  the  priests  said  their  bringing  up 
was  such  as  I  have  stated  above. — II,  2-3. 

The  following  story  of  the  Ring  of  Polycrates  is  one 
of  the  most  famous,  and  illustrates  well  the  current 
superstition,  in  which  Herodotus  evidently  shared, 
concerning  the  jealousy  of  the  gods : 

The  exceeding  good  fortune  of  Polycrates  did  not  escape 
the  notice  of  Amasis,  who  was  much  disturbed  thereat.  When 
therefore  his  successes  continued  increasing,  Amasis  wrote 
him  the  following  letter,  and  sent  it  to  Samos  ;  *'  Amasis  to 
Polycrates  thus  sayeth  :  It  is  a  pleasure  to  hear  of  a  friend 
and  ally  prospering,  but  thy  exceeding  prosperity  does  not 
cause  me  joy,  forasmuch  as  I  know  that  the  gods  arc  envious. 
My  wish  for  myself,  and  for  those  whom  I  love,  is,  to  be  now 
successful,  and  now  to  meet  with  a  check  ;  thus  passing  through 
life  amid  alternate  good  and  ill,  rather  than  with  perpetual 
good  fortune.  For  never  yet  did  I  hear  tell  of  any  one  suc- 
ceeding in  all  his  undertakings,  who  did  not  meet  with  calamity 
at  last,  and  come  to  utter  ruin.  Now,  therefore,  give  ear  to  my 
words,  and  meet  thy  good  luck  in  this  way.  Bethink  thee 
which  of  all  thy  treasures  thou  valuest  most  and  canst  least 
bear  to  part  with ;  take  it,  whatsoever  it  be,  and  throw  it  away, 


312  Homer  to  Theocritus 

so  that  it  may  be  sure  never  to  come  any  more  into  th* 
sight  of  man.  Then,  if  thy  good  fortune  be  not  thenceforth 
chequered  with  ill,  save  thyself  from  harm  by  again  doing  as  I 
have  counselled." 

When  Polycrates  read  this  letter,  and  perceived  that  the 
advice  of  Amasis  was  good,  he  considered  carefully  with  him- 
self which  of  the  treasures  he  had  in  store  it  would  grieve  him 
most  to  lose.  After  much  thought  he  made  up  his  mind  that  it 
was  a  signet-ring  which  he  was  wont  to  wear,  an  emerald  set 
in  gold,  the  workmanship  of  Theodore,  son  of  Telecles,  a 
Samian.  So  he  determined  to  throw  this  away  ;  and,  manning 
a  penteconter,  he  went  on  board,  and  bade  the  sailors  put  out 
into  the  open  sea.  When  he  was  now  a  long  way  from  the 
island,  he  took  the  ring  from  his  finger,  and,  in  sight  of  all 
those  who  were  on  board,  flung  it  into  the  deep.  This  done, 
he  returned  home  and  gave  vent  to  his  sorrow. 

Now  it  happened  Ave  or  six  days  afterwards  that  a  fisher- 
man caught  a  fish  so  large  and  beautiful  that  he  thought  it  well 
deserved  to  be  made  a  present  to  the  king.  So  he  took  it  with 
him  to  the  gate  of  the  palace,  and  said  he  wanted  to  see  Poly- 
crates. Then  Polycrates  allowed  him  to  come  in,  and  the 
fisherman  gave  him  the  fish  with  these  words  following  :  '  *  Sir 
king,  when  I  took  this  prize,  I  thought  I  would  not  carry  it  to 
market,  though  I  am  a  poor  man  who  live  by  my  trade.  I  said 
to  myself,  it  is  worthy  of  Polycrates  and  his  greatness  ;  and  so 
I  brought  it  here  to  give  it  to  you."  The  speech  pleased  the 
king,  who  thus  spoke  in  reply  :  '*  Thou  didst  right  well,  friend, 
and  1  am  doubly  indebted,  both  for  the  gift  and  for  the  speech. 
Come,  now,  and  sup  with  me."  So  the  fisherman  went  home, 
esteeming  it  a  high  honour  that  he  had  been  asked  to  sup  with 
the  king.  Meanwhile  the  servants,  on  cutting  open  the  fish, 
found  the  signet  of  their  master  in  its  belly.  No  sooner  did 
they  see  it  than  they  seized  upon  it,  and,  hastening  to  Polycrates 
with  great  joy,  restored  it  to  him,  and  told  him  in  what  way  it 
had  been  found.  The  king,  who  saw  something  providential 
in.  the  matter,  forthwith  wrote  a  letter  to  Amasis,  telling  him 
all  that  had  happened,  what  he  had  himself  done,  and  what 
had  been  the  upshot — and  despatched  the  letter  to  Egypt. 

When  Amasis  read  the  letter  of  Polycrates,  he  perceived 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  313 

that  it  does  not  belong  to  man  to  save  his  fellow-man  from  the 
fate  which  is  in  store  for  him ;  likewise  he  felt  certain  that 
Polycrates  would  end  ill,  as  he  prospered  in  everything,  even 
finding  what  he  had  thrown  away.  So  he  sent  a  herald  to 
Samos,  and  dissolved  the  contract  of  friendship.  This  he  did, 
that  when  the  great  and  heavy  misfortune  came,  he  might 
escape  the  grief  which  he  would  have  felt  if  the  sufferer  had 
been  his  bond-friend. — III,  40-43. 

Herodotus  gives  this  explanation  of  the  popular 
Greek  proverb,  "  It  doesn't  matter  to  Hippocleides  "  : 

Afterwards,  in  the  generation  which  followed,  Cleisthenes, 
king  of  Sicyon,  raised  the  family  to  still  greater  eminence 
among  the  Greeks  than  even  that  to  which  it  had  attained  be- 
fore. For  this  Cleisthenes,  who  was  the  son  of  Aristonymus, 
the  grandson  of  Myron,  and  the  great-grandson  of  Andreas, 
had  a  daughter,  called  Agarista,  whom  he  wished  to  marry  to 
the  best  husband  that  he  could  find  in  the  whole  of  Greece. 
At  the  Olympic  games,  therefore,  having  gained  the  prize  in 
the  chariot-race,  he  caused  public  proclamation  to  be  made  to 
the  following  effect : — "  Whoever  among  the  Greeks  deems 
himself  worthy  to  become  the  son-in-law  of  Cleisthenes,  let 
him  come,  sixty  days  hence,  or,  if  he  will,  sooner,  to  Sicyon  ; 
for  within  a  year's  time,  counting  from  the  end  of  the  sixty 
days,  Cleisthenes  will  decide  on  the  man  to  whom  he  shall 
contract  his  daughter."  So  all  the  Greeks  who  were  proud  of 
their  own  merit  or  of  their  country  flocked  to  Sicyon  as  suit- 
ors ;  and  Cleisthenes  had  a  foot-course  and  a  wrestling-ground 
made  ready,  to  try  their  powers.     .     .     . 

Now  when  they  were  all  come,  and  the  day  appointed  had 
arrived,  Cleisthenes  first  of  all  inquired  of  e<ich  concerning  his 
country  and  his  family  ;  after  which  he  kept  them  with  him  a 
year,  and  made  trial  of  their  manly  bearing,  their  temper, 
their  accomplishments,  and  their  disposition,  sometimes 
drawing  them  apart  for  converse,  sometimes  bringing  them 
all  together.  Such  as  were  still  youths  he  took  with  him  from 
time  to  time  to  the  gymnasia ;  but  the  greatest  trial  of  all  was 
at  the  banquet-table.     During  the  whole  period  of  their  stay 


314  Homer  to  Theocritus 

he  lived  with  them,  as  I  have  said,  and,  further,  from  first  to 
last  he  entertained  them  sumptuously.  Somehow  or  other  the 
suitors  who  came  from  Athens  pleased  him  the  best  of  all ; 
and  of  these,  Hippocleides,  Tisander's  son,  was  especially  in 
favour,  partly  on  account  of  his  manly  bearing,  and  partly 
also  because  his  ancestors  were  of  kin  to  the  Corinthian  Cyp- 
selids. 

When  at  length  the  day  arrived  which  had  been  fixed  for 
the  espousals,  and  Cleisthenes  had  to  speak  out  and  declare 
his  choice,  he  first  of  all  made  a  sacrifice  of  a  hundred  oxen, 
and  held  a  banquet  whereat  he  entertained  all  the  suitors  and 
the  whole  people  of  Sicyon.  After  the  feast  was  ended,  the 
suitors  vied  with  each  other  in  music  and  in  speaking  on  a 
given  subject.  Presently,  as  the  drinking  advanced,  Hippo- 
cleides, who  quite  dumb-founded  the  rest,  called  aloud  to  the 
flute -player  and  bade  him  strike  up  a  dance  ;  which  the  man 
did,  and  Hippocleides  danced  to  it  And  he  fancied  that  he 
was  dancing  excellently  well ;  but  Cleisthenes,  who  was  ob* 
serving  him,  began  to  misdoubt  the  whole  business.  Then 
Hippocleides,  after  a  pause,  told  an  attendant  to  bring  in  a 
table ;  and  when  it  was  brought  he  mounted  upon  it  and 
danced  first  of  all  some  Laconian  figures,  then  some  Attic 
ones  ;  after  which  he  stood  on  his  head  on  the  table,  and  be- 
gan to  toss  his  legs  about.  Cleisthenes,  notwithstanding  that 
he  now  loathed  Hippocleides  for  a  son-in-law,  by  reason  of 
his  dancing  and  his  shamelessness,  still,  as  he  wished  to  avoid 
an  outbreak,  had  restrained  himself  during  the  first  and  like- 
wise during  the  second  dance ;  when,  however,  he  saw  him 
tossing  his  legs  in  the  air,  he  could  no  longer  contain  himself, 
but  cried  out,  **  Son  of  Tisander,  thou  hast  danced  thy  wife 
awayl"  "What  does  Hippocleides  care? "was  the  other's 
answer.     And  hence  the  proverb  arose. — VI,  126 ;  128*9. 

Herodotus  does  not  view  the  events  of  the  Persian 
wars  with  eye  of  a  partisan  of  either  Athens  or  Sparta. 
He  has  praise  for  both  alike  when  praise  is  deserved. 
It  is  gratifying,  therefore,  to  hear  from  an  impartial 
witness  the  following  frank,  and,  as  it  seems,  unpopular 


The  Historians.     Herodotus  315 

judgment  as  to  the  claims  of  Athens,  confirming  as  it 
does  the  proud  boasts  unceasingly  reiterated  in  the 
Athenian  orators : 

To  return,  however,  to  my  main  subject, — the  expedition 
of  the  Persian  king,  though  it  was  in  name  directed  against 
Athens,  threatened  really  the  whole  of  Greece.  And  of  this 
the  Greeks  were  aware  some  time  before,  but  they  did  not  all 
view  the  matter,  in  the  same  light.  Some  of  them  had  given 
the  Persian  earth  and  water,  and  were  bold  on  this  account, 
deeming  themselves  thereby  secured  against  suffering  hurt 
from  the  barbarian  army  ;  while  others,  who  had  refused  com- 
pliance, were  thrown  into  extreme  alarm.  For  whereas  they 
considered  all  the  ships  in  Greece  too  few  to  engage  the 
enemy,  it  was  plain  that  the  greater  number  of  states  would 
take  no  part  in  the  war,  but  warmly  favoured  the  Medes. 

And  here  I  feel  constrained  to  deliver  an  opinion,  which 
most  men,  I  know,  will  mislike,  but  which,  as  it  seems  to  me 
to  be  true,  I  am  determined  not  to  withhold.  Had  the  Athe- 
nians, from  fear  of  the  approaching  danger,  quitted  their 
country,  or  had  they  without  quitting  it  submitted  to  the  power 
of  Xerxes,  there  would  certainly  have  been  no  attempt  to  re- 
sist the  Persians  by  sea ;  in  which  case,  the  course  of  events 
by  land  would  have  been  the  following.  Though  the  Pelo- 
ponnesians  might  have  carried  ever  so  many  breastworks 
across  the  Isthmus,  yet  their  allies  would  have  fallen  off  from 
the  Lacedaemonians,  not  by  voluntary  desertion,  but  because 
town  after  town  must  have  been  taken  by  the  fleet  of  the  bar- 
barians ;  and  so  the  Lacedaemonians  would  at  last  have  stood 
alone,  and,  standing  alone,  would  have  displayed  prodigies  of 
valour,  and  died  nobly.  Either  they  would  have  done  thus, 
or  else,  before  it  came  to  that  extremity,  seeing  one  Greek 
state  after  another  embrace  the  cause  of  the  Medes,  they 
would  have  come  to  terms  with  King  Xerxes; — and  thus, 
either  way  Greece  would  have  been  brought  under  Persia. 
For  I  cannot  understand  of  what  possible  use  the  walls  across 
the  Isthmus  could  have  been,  if  the  King  had  bad  the  mastery 
of  the  sea. 

If,  then,  a  man  should  now  say  that  the  Athenians  were 


3i6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  saviours  of  Greece,  he  would  not  exceed  the  truth.  For 
they  truly  held  the  scales,  and  whichever  side  they  espoused 
must  have  carried  the  day.  They  too  it  was  who,  when  they 
had  determined  to  maintain  the  freedom  of  Greece,  roused  up 
that  portion  of  the  Greek  nation  which  had  not  gone  over  to 
the  Nf  edes,  and  so,  next  to  the  gods,  they  repulsed  the  invader. 
Even  the  terrible  oracles  which  reached  them  from  Delphi, 
and  struck  fear  into  their  hearts,  failed  to  persuade  them  to 
fly  from  Greece.  They  had  the  courage  to  remain  faithful  to 
their  land,  and  await  the  coming  of  the  foe. — VII,  138-9. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THUCYDIDES  AND  XENOPHON 

The  Earliest  Attic  Prose — Thucydides — His  Life — The  HiS" 
tory  of  the  Pehponnesian  War — The  Plan  and  Purpose 
of  the  Historian— Contrast  with  Herodotus— Style — The 
Reported  Speeches — The  Divisions  of  the  History — SeleC' 
tions  :  Contrast  of  the  Athenian  and  Spartan  Characters — 
Pericles'  Funeral  Oration — The  Plague  at  Athens — Alcib- 
iades — The  Naval  Battle  at  Syracuse — Xenophon — His 
Life — His  Historical  Writings,  the  Anabasis  and  the  Hel- 
lenica — The  Essays  and  Minor  Writings — Xenophon's 
Position  in  Greek  Literature — Selections:  The  First 
Glimpse  of  the  Sea — Xenophon's  Tact — Epaminondas  at 
Sparta. 

The  lonians  produced  no  great  writer  of  prose 
literature  after  Herodotus.  After  his  death,  the  mas- 
ters in  prose  were  Athenians,  either  by  birth  or  by 
adoption,  so  long  as  Greece  was  free,  or  rather  until 
the  literary  centre  of  the  Greek-speaking  world  was 
transferred  from  Athens  to  Alexandria.  The  earliest 
extant  specimen  of  Attic  literary  prose  is  a  small 
treatise  on  the  Constitution  of  Athens^  written  about  420 
B.  C,  and  formerly  attributed  to  Xenophon.  Next 
come  the  early  orators,  and  then  the  great  historian, 
Thucydides. 

The  little  that  we  know  about  Thucydides  is  fur- 
nished by  himself.  At  the  outbreak  of  the  Pelopon- 
nesian  war,  in  431  B.  C.,  he  was  a  man  of  maturity;  we 
may  therefore  place  the  date  of  his  birth  about  470 
B.  C.  An  Athenian  by  birth,  his  father's  family  were 
originally  Thracians,  closely  related  to  the  wife  of 
Miltiades,  the  hero  of  Marathon.     We  can  only  con- 

317 


3 1 8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

jecture  what  were  the  influences  which  surronnded  his 
youth  and  early  manhood ;  but  since  his  family  was 
wealthy  and  influential,  and  he  himself  exceptionally 
endowed  by  nature,  we  may  believe  that  he  partici- 
pated fully  in  the  marvelous  and  many-sided  culture 
for  which  the  age  of  Pericles  was  distinguished.  For 
a  time  after  the  outbreak  of  the  war  he  was  one  of  the 
Athenian  generals.  In  424  B.  C.  an  event  occurred, 
however,  which  doubtless  seemed  a  heavy  misfortune 
to  him,  though  in  reality  it  was  the  turning-point  of 
his  life  and  opened  to  him  the  career  for  which  his 
talents  best  fitted  him.  While  he  was  in  command  of 
an  Athenian  fleet  off  the  Thracian  coast,  the  Spartan 
general  Brasidas  surprised  and  captured  Amphipolis, 
the  principal  Athenian  possession  in  northern  Greece. 
Thucydides  was  near  enough  to  have  prevented  the 
capture  of  the  stronghold,  but  he  lingered  in  the 
neighborhood  of  some  gold  mines  which  belonged  to 
him  and  arrived  too  late.  Whatever  the  reason  was 
for  his  delay,  the  Athenians  promptly  deprived  him  of 
his  command,  and  he  lived  in  exile  for  twenty  years, 
until  the  end  of  the  war  in  404  B.  C.  During  this 
time  he  followed  the  war  closely,  gathered  facts  from 
the  Spartan  as  well  as  from  the  Athenian  side,  visited 
many  important  sites,  probably  including  Sicily,  and 
thus  laboriously  and  conscientiously  got  together  the 
materials  for  his  history.     He  died  about  398  B.  C. 

The  History  of  the  Peloponnesian  War  was  the  life- 
work  of  Thucydides.  He  himself,  in  the  opening 
paragraph,  tells  us  how  he  came  to  write  it: 

Thucydides,  an  Athenian,  wrote  the  history  of  the  war  in 
which  the  Peloponnesians  and  the  Athenians  fought  against  one 
another.    He  began  to  write  when  they  first  took   up   arms, 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  319 

believing  that  it  would  be  great  and  memorable  above  any  pre- 
vious war.  For  he  argued  that  both  states  were  then  at  the 
full  height  of  their  military  power,  and  he  saw  the  rest  of 
the  Hellenes  either  siding  or  intending  to  side  with  one  or 
other  of  them.  No  movement  ever  stirred  Hellas  more  deeply 
than  this;  it  was  shared  by  many  of  the  Barbarians,  and  might 
be  said  even  to  affect  the  world  at  large. 

Thucydides  did  not  underestimate  the  magnitude 
of  the  task  to  which  he  applied  himself,  nor  did  he 
approach  it  in  the  uncritical  spirit  of  Herodotus. 
These  are  his  own  memorable  words,  which  sound  the 
keynote  both  to  the  form  and  style  in  which  he  com- 
posed his  history,  and  to  his  high  ideal  of  the  scope 
and  method  of  historical  inquiry : 

Of  the  events  of  the  war  I  have  not  ventured  to  speak  from 
any  chance  information,  nor  according  to  any  notion  of  my 
own;  I  have  described  nothing  but  what  I  either  saw  myself  or 
learned  from  others  of  whom  I  made  the  most  careful  and 
particular  inquiry.  The  task  was  a  laborious  one,  because 
eye-witnesses  of  the  same  occurrences  gave  different  accounts 
of  them,  as  they  remembered  or  were  interested  in  the  actions 
of  one  side  or  the  other.  And  very  likely  the  strictly  historical 
character  of  my  narrative  may  be  disappointing  to  the  ear. 
But  if  he  who  desires  to  have  before  his  eyes  a  true  picture  of 
the  events  which  have  happened,  and  of  the  like  events  which 
may  be  expected  to  happen  hereafter  in  the  order  of  human 
things,  shall  pronounce  what  I  have  written  to  be  useful,  then 
I  shall  be  satisfied.  My  history  is  an  everlasting  possession, 
not  a  prize  composition  which  is  heard  and  forgotten. 

In  these  last  words  we  may  detect  a  covert  criticism 
of  Herodotus,  who  delighted  in  anecdotes  and  nar- 
rations ** pleasing  to  the  ear."  Thucydides  sedulously 
avoids  digressions  from  his  theme,  though  he  goes 
aside  two  or  three  times  to  set  right  a  false  popular 
tradition.     We  should  gladly  have  learned  from  him 


320  Homer  to  Theocritus 

something  about  the  great  literary,  artistic,  and  social 
movements  in  Athens,  or  about  the  personality  of  the 
great  men  of  the  day;  but  he  confines  himself  strictly 
to  the  facts  of  political  history.  In  interpreting  these 
facts  he  has  no  theory  of  his  own  to  expound.  Destiny 
and  the  gods  play  no  part  with  him.  He  deals  with  the 
actions  of  men  and  the  motives  which  actuate  them. 
Nor  is  he  deceived  by  the  false  motives  which  partisans 
assign  to  their  own  side.  The  Spartans  professed  to 
desire  to  free  Greece  from  the  tyranny  of  the  Athenian 
Empire.  **The  real,  though  unavowed,  cause,"  says 
Thucydides,  **I  believe  to  have  been  the  growth  of  the 
Athenian  power,  which  terrified  the  Lacedaemonians 
and  forced  them  into  war."  Again,  with  reference  to 
the  Sicilian  expedition,  he  says  that  the  Athenians 
**  virtuously  professed  that  they  were  going  to  assist 
their  own  kinsmen  and  their  newly  acquired  allies,  but 
the  simple  truth  was  that  they  aspired  to  the  empire 
of  Sicily. "  Unincumbered,  therefore,  by  preconceived 
theories  of  his  own,  and  remarkably  free  from  partisan 
bias,  with  the  sole  purpose  of  setting  forth  the  facts 
concerning  a  war  of  momentous  importance  to  the 
Greeks,  not  as  an  entertainment,  but  as  a  ""possession 
forever,"  Thucydides  tells  the  tragic  story  of  the 
downfall  of  Athens  with  a  calm  but  vigorous  eloquence, 
a  sincerity  of  purpose,  and  a  moral  elevation  of  tone 
that  place  him  at  once  upon  the  level  of  the  world's 
greatest  minds.  He  is  justly  entitled  to  be  called  the 
first  critical  historian,  the  first  philosopher  of  history, 
whom  Greece  and  Europe  have  produced. 

The  history  of  Thucydides  was  the  first  serious 
attempt  in  Attic  prose.     We  cannot  expect,  and  we 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  321 

do  not  find,  the  perfection  of  style  reached  by  Isocrates 
or  Plato  in  the  next  generation.  Rhetoric  was  just 
beginning  to  be  cultivated;  neither  the  diction  nor  the 
style  suitable  to  prose  discourse  had  as  yet  been  devel- 
oped. We  can  see  that  Thucydides  struggled  with  the 
language  to  make  it  the  appropriate  and  adequate 
vehicle  of  his  thought.  He  succeeds  best  in  the  simple 
narration  of  events,  but  when  he  begins  to  generalize 
and  to  indulge  in  philosophical  reflections  he  often 
becomes  obscure.  Such  reflections  and  generalizations 
he  usually  embodies  in  the  speeches  which  he  attributes 
to  the  actors  in  his  story.  This  is  a  peculiar  feature 
of  his  history,  in  which  the  later  historians  of  Greece 
and  Rome  imitated  him.  It  would  seem  that  he  felt 
obliged,  in  giving  a  faithful  recital  of  events,  to  relate 
what  generals  and  statesmen  said,  as  well  as  what 
they  did.  Public  speaking  was  so  important  a  part  of 
the  political  life  of  the  day  that  it  could  not  be  over- 
looked in  an  historical  narrative.  Thucydides  explains 
his  position  in  this  matter:  ^*As  to  the  speeches  which 
were  made  either  before  or  during  the  war,  it  was  hard 
for  me,  and  for  others  who  reported  them  to  me,  to 
recollect  the  exact  words.  I  have  therefore  put  into 
the  mouth  of  each  speaker  the  sentiments  proper  to 
the  occasion,  expressed  as  I  thought  he  would  be 
likely  to  express  them,  while  at  the  same  time 
I  endeavored,  as  nearly  as  I  could,  to  give  the  general 
purport  of  what  was  actually  said."  The  result  of 
this  practice  was  to  make  the  speeches  a  sort  of  rhe- 
torical exercise,  in  which  the  writer  tried  to  represent 
the  character  and  motives,  if  not  the  exact  language, 
of  each  speaker.     In  the  speeches,  accordingly,  we  are 


322  Homer  to  Theocritus 

apt  to  find  the  writer's  own  judgments  of  men  and 
events,  .his  diagnosis  of  situations,  and  bis  critical 
estimate  of  causes  and  effects. 

The  History  of  the  Peloponnesian  War  was  left 
incomplete  at  the  author's  death.  It  was  his  intention 
to  give  a  complete  account  of  the  war  from  its  begin- 
ning, in  431  B.  C,  to  the  fall  of  Athens,  in  404  B.  C. ; 
but  the  story  breaks  off  abruptly  at  the  end  of  the 
twenty-first  year.  The  work  has  come  down  to  us 
divided  into  eight  books,  but  the  divisions  were  not 
made  by  Thucydides.  After  the  introductory  chapters, 
in  which  he  compares  the  magnitude  of  this  war  with 
the  other  great  wars  which  have  stirred  Hellas, 
'"magnified  by  the  exaggerated  fancies  of  the  poets,*' 
he  takes  up  the  causes  which  led  to  the  terrific  strug- 
gle between  Athens  and  Sparta,  and  then  proceeds  to 
give  the  events  of  the  war  in  chronological  order  by 
campaigns.  The  work  falls  into  three  main  divisions. 
The  first  four  books  and  a  part  of  the  fifth  bring  the 
story  down  to  the  peace  of  Nicias,  in  421  B.  C.  The 
next  three  books  cover  the  eight  years  of  the  doubtful 
truce,  in  which  Athens  and  Sparta  were  not  engaged  in 
open  hostilities,  but  war  raged  in  the  Peloponnesus 
between  Argos  and  Sparta,  while  Athens  was  active 
in  fostering  the  quarrel  and  in  strengthening  her 
empire  on  the  sea.  Finally,  from  415  to  413,  Athens 
engaged  in  the  disastrous  expedition  against  Sicily. 
The  account  of  this  expedition  which  Thucydides  gives 
is  a  marvelous  piece  of  writing.  The  eighth  book 
begins  the  third  part  of  the  war,  the  renewal  of  fight- 
ing between  Athens  and  Sparta. 

From  the  following  selections  from  the  history,  in 
the  admirable  translation  of  Jowett,  some  idea  of  the 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  323 

qualities  of  Thucydides'  style  in  narrative,  description, 
analysis  of  character,  and  in  speech-writing,  may  be 
gained.  The  first  selection,  on  the  contrast  of  the 
Athenian  and  Spartan  characters,  is  taken  from 
a  speech  put  in  the  mouth  of  the  Corinthian  envoys  to 
Sparta,  who  urge  an  alliance  against  Athens. 

And  you  have  never  considered  what  manner  of  men  are 
these  Athenians  with  whom  you  will  have  to  fight,  and  how 
utterly  unlike  yourselves.  They  are  revolutionary,  equally 
quick  in  the  conception  and  in  the  execution  of  every  new 
plan;  while  you  are  conservative — careful  only  to  keep  what 
you  have,  originating  nothing,  and  not  acting  even  when  action 
is  most  urgent.  They  are  bold  beyond  their  strength;  they  run 
risks  which  prudence  would  condemn;  and  in  the  midst  of 
misfortune  they  are  full  of  hope.  Whereas  it  is  your  nature, 
though  strong,  to  act  feebly;  when  your  plans  are  most  prudent, 
to  distrust  them;  and  when  calamities  come  upon  you,  to  think 
that  you  will  never  be  delivered  from  them.  They  are  impetu- 
ous, and  you  are  dilatory;  they  are  always  abroad,  and  you  are 
always  at  home.  For  they  hope  to  gain  something  by  leaving 
their  homes;  but  you  are  afraid  that  any  new  enterprise  may 
imperil  what  you  have  already.  When  conquerors  they  pursue 
their  victories  to  the  utmost;  when  defeated,  they  fall  back 
the  least.  Their  bodies  they  devote  to  their  country  as  though 
they  belonged  to  other  men;  their  true  self  is  their  mind,  which 
is  most  truly  their  own  when  employed  in  her  service.  When 
they  do  not  carry  out  an  intention  which  they  have  formed, 
they  seem  to  themselves  to  have  sustained  a  personal  bereave- 
ment; when  an  enterprise  succeeds,  they  have  gained  a  mere 
instalment  of  what  is  to  come;  but  if  they  fail,  they  at  once 
conceive  new  hopes,  and  so  fill  up  the  void.  With  them  alone 
to  hope  is  to  have,  for  they  lose  not  a  moment  in  the  execution 
of  an  idea.  This  is  the  life-long  task,  full  of  danger  and  toil, 
which  they  are  always  imposing  upon  themselves.  None  enjoy 
their  good  things  less,  because  they  are  always  seeking  for 
more.  To  do  their  duty  is  their  only  holiday,  and  they  deem 
the  quiet  of  inaction  to  be  as  disagreeable  as  the  most  tiresome 


3^4  Homer  to  Theocritus 

business.  If  a  man  should  say  of  them,  in  a  word,  that  they 
were  born  neither  to  have  peace  themselves  nor  to  allow  peace 
to  other  men,  he  would  simply  speak  the  truth. — I,  70. 

I  quote  next  two  extracts  from  the  magnificent 
funeral  oration  of  Pericles,  delivered  over  the  bodies 
of  the  Athenian  soldiers  who  fell  in  the  first  campaign 
of  the  war : 

To  sum  up:  I  say  that  Athens  is  the  school  of  Hellas,  and 
that  the  individual  Athenian  in  his  own  person  seems  to  have 
the  power  of  adapting  himself  to  the  most  varied  forms  of  action 
with  the  utmost  versatility  and  grace.  This  is  no  passing  and 
idle  word,  but  truth  and  fact;  and  the  assertion  is  verified  by 
the  position  to  which  these  qualities  have  raised  the  state.  For 
in  the  hour  of  trial  Athens  alone  among  her  contemporaries  is 
superior  to  the  report  of  her.  No  enemy  who  comes  against 
her  is  indignant  at  the  reverses  which  he  sustains  at  the 
hands  of  such  a  city;  no  subject  complains  that  his  masters 
are  unworthy  of  him.  And  we  shall  assuredly  not  be  without 
witnesses;  there  are  mighty  monuments  of  our  power  which 
will  make  us  the  wonder  of  this  and  of  succeeding  ages;  we 
shall  not  need  the  praises  of  Homer  or  of  any  other  panegyrist 
whose  poetry  may  please  for  the  moment,  although  his  repre- 
sentation of  the  facts  will  not  bear  the  light  of  day.  For  we 
have  compelled  every  land  and  every  sea  to  open  a  path  for 
our  valour,  and  have  everywhere  planted  eternal  memorials  of 
our  friendship  and  of  our  enmity.  Such  is  the  city  for  whose 
sake  these  men  nobly  fought  and  died;  they  could  not  bear  the 
thought  that  she  might  be  taken  from  them ;  and  every  one  of 
us  who  survive  should  gladly  toil  on  her  behalf 

I  would  have  you  day  by  day  fix  your  eyes  upon  the  great- 
ness of  Athens,  until  you  become  filled  with  the  love  of  her; 
and  when  you  are  impressed  by  the  spectacle  of  her  glory, 
reflect  that  this  empire  has  been  acquired  by  men  who  knew 
their  duty  and  had  the  courage  to  do  it,  who  in  the  hour  of 
conflict  had  the  fear  of  dishonour  always  present  to  them,  and 
who,  if  ever  they  failed  in  an  enterprise,  would  not  allow  theii 
virtues  to  be  lost  to  their  country,  but  freely  gave  their  lives  to 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  325 

her  as  the  fairest  offering  which  they  could  present  at  her  feast. 
The  sacrifice  which  they  collectively  made  was  individually 
repaid  to  them ;  for  they  received  again,  each  one  for  himself, 
a  praise  which  grows  not  old,  and  the  noblest  of  all  sepul- 
chres— I  speak  not  of  that  in  which  their  remains  are  laid, 
but  of  that  in  which  their  glory  survives,  and  is  proclaimed 
always  and  on  every  fitting  occasion  both  in  word  and  deed.  * 
For  the  whole  earth  is  the  sepulchre  of  famous  men  ;  not  only 
are  they  commemorated  by  columns  and  inscriptions  in  their 
own  country,  but  in  foreign  lands  there  dwells  also  an  unwritten 
memorial  of  them,  graven  not  on  stone  but  in  the  hearts  of 
men. — II,  41-43. 

Thucydides  thus  describes  the  terrible  plague  which 
devastated  Athens  in  the  second  year  of  the  war : 

Many  who  were  in  perfect  health,  all  in  a  moment,  and 
without  any  apparent  reason,  were  seized  with  violent  heats  in 
the  head  and  with  redness  and  inflammation  of  the  eyes.  In- 
ternally, the  throat  and  the  tongue  were  quickly  suffused  with 
blood,  and  the  breath  became  unnatural  and  fetid.  There 
followed  sneezing  and  hoarseness  ;  in  a  short  time  the  disor- 
der, accompanied  by  a  violent  cough,  reached  the  chest ;  then 
fastening  lower  down,  it  would  move  the  stomach  and  bring 
on  all  the  vomits  of  bile  to  which  physicians  have  ever  given 
names;  and  they  were  very  distressing.  An  ineffectual 
retching,  producing  violent  convulsions,  attacked  most  of  the 
sufferers ;  some  as  soon  as  the  previous  symptoms  had  abated, 
others  not  until  long  afterwards.  The  body  externally  was 
not  so  very  hot  to  the  touch,  nor  yet  pale  ;  it  was  of  a  livid 
colour  inclining  to  red,  and  breaking  out  in  pustules  and 
ulcers.  But  the  internal  fever  was  intense  ;  the  sufferers  could 
not  bear  to  have  on  them  even  the  finest  linen  garment ;  they 
insisted  on  being  naked,  and  there  was  nothing  which  they 
longed  for  more  eagerly  than  to  throw  themselves  into  cold 
water.  And  many  of  those  who  had  no  one  to  look  after  them 
actually  plunged  into  the  cisterns,  for  they  were  tormented 
by  unceasing  thirst,  which  was  not  in  the  least  assuaged 
whether  they  drank  little  or  much.  They  could  not  sleep  ;  a 
restlessness  which  was  intolerable  never  left  them.     WhilQ 


226  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  disease  was  at  its  height  the  body,  instead  of  wasting 
away,  held  out  amidst  these  sufTerings  in  a  marvellous  man- 
ner, and  either  they  died  on  the  seventh  or  ninth  day,  not  of 
weakness,  for  their  strength  was  not  exhausted,  but  of  internal 
fever,  which  was  the  end  of  most ;  or,  if  they  survived,  then 
the  disease  descended  into  the  bowels  and  there  produced 
violent  ulceration  ;  severe  diarrhoea  at  the  same  time  set  in, 
and  at  a  later  stage  caused  exhaustion,  which  finally  with  few 
exceptions  carried  them  off.  For  the  disorder  which  had  orig- 
inally settled  in  the  head  passed  gradually  through  the  whole 
body,  and  if  a  person  got  over  the  worst,  would  often  seize  the 
extremities  and  leave  its  mark,  attacking  the  privy  parts  and 
the  fingers  and  the  toes  ;  and  some  escaped  with  the  loss  of 
these,  some  with  the  loss  of  their  eyes.  Some  again  had  no 
sooner  recovered  than  they  were  seized  with  a  forgetfulness  of 
all  things  and  knew  neither  themselves  nor  their  friends.  The 
general  character  of  the  malady  no  words  can  describe  and  the 
fury  with  which  it  fastened  upon  each  sufferer  was  too  much 
for  human  nature  to  endure.         .  ..... 

Appalling  too  was  the  rapidity  with  which  men  caught  the 
infection  ;  dying  like  sheep  if  they  attended  on  one  another ; 
and  this  was  the  principal  cause  of  mortality.  When  they 
were  afraid  to  visit  one  another,  the  sufferers  died  in  their  sol- 
itude, so  that  many  houses  were  empty  because  there  had  been 
no  one  left  to  take  care  of  the  sick  ;  or  if  they  ventured  they 
perished,  especially  those  who  aspired  to  heroism.  For  they 
went  to  see  their  friends  without  thought  of  themselves  and 
were  ashamed  to  leave  them,  at  a  time  when  the  very  relations 
of  the  dying  were  at  last  growing  weary  and  ceased  even  to 
make  lamentations,  overwhelmed  by  the  vastness  of  the 
calamity.  But  whatever  instances  there  may  have  been  of 
such  devotion,  more  often  the  sick  and  the  dying  were  tended 
by  the  pitying  care  of  those  who  had  recovered,  because  they 
knew  the  course  of  the  disease  and  were  themselves  free  from 
apprehension.  For  no  one  was  ever  attacked  a  second  time, 
or  not  with  a  fatal  result  All  men  congratulated  them,  and 
they  themselves,  in  the  excess  of  their  joy  at  the  moment,  had 
an  innocent  fancy  that  they  could  not  die  of  any  other  sickness. 

The  crowding  of  the  people  out  of  the  country  into  the  city 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  327 

aggravated  the  misery ;  and  the  newly-arrived  suffered  most. 
For,  having  no  houses  of  their  own,  but  inhabiting  in  the 
height  of  summer  stifling  huts,  the  mortality  among  them  was 
dreadful,  and  they  perished  in  wild  disorder.  The  dead  lay 
as  they  had  died,  one  upon  another,  while  others  hardly 
alive  wallowed  in  the  streets  and  crawled  about  every  fountain 
craving  for  water.  The  temples  in  which  they  lodged  were 
full  of  the  corpses  of  those  who  died  in  them  ;  for  the  violence 
of  the  calamity  was  such  that  men,  not  knowing  where  to  turn, 
grew  reckless  of  all  law,  human  and  divine.  The  customs 
which  had  hitherto  been  observed  at  funerals  were  universally 
violated,  and  they  buried  their  dead  each  one  as  best  he  could. 
Many,  having  no  proper  appliances,  because  the  deaths  in 
their  household  had  been  so  numerous  already,  lost  all  shame 
in  the  burial  of  the  dead.  When  one  man  had  raised  a  fun- 
eral pile,  others  would  come,  and  throwing  on  their  dead  first, 
set  fire  to  it ;  or  when  some  other  corpse  was  already  burning, 
before  they  could  be  stopped,  would  throw  their  own  dead  up- 
on it  and  depart. — II,  49-53. 

The  following  narrative  illustrates  both  the  clever- 
ness and  the  unscrupulousness  of  Alcibiades,  the  lead- 
ing figure  in  the  latter  part  of  the  Peloponnesian  war  : 

When  the  difference  between  the  Lacedaemonians  and 
Athenians  had  gone  thus  far,  the  war  party  at  Athens  in  their 
turn  lost  no  time  in  pressing  their  views.  Foremost  among 
them  was  Alcibiades,  the  son  of  Qeinias,  a  man  who  would 
have  been  thought  young  in  any  other  city,  but  was  influential 
by  reason  of  his  high  descent :  he  sincerely  preferred  the  Ar- 
give  alliance,  but  at  the  same  time  he  took  part  against  the 
Lacedaemonians  from  temper,  and  because  his  pride  was 
touched^  For  they  had  not  consulted  with  him,  but  had  ne- 
gotiated the  peace  through  Nicias  and  Laches,  despising  his 
youth,  and  disregarding  an  ancient  connexion  with  his  family, 
who  had  been  their  proxeni ;  a  connexion  which  his  grand- 
father had  renounced,  and  he,  by  the  attention  which  he  had 
paid  to  the  captives  from  Sphacteria,  had  hoped  to  have  re- 
newed. Piqued  at  the  small  respect  which  was  shown  to  all 
his  claims,  he  had  originally  opposed  the  negotiations ;  declar- .' 


3^8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ing  that  the  Lacedaemonians  were  not  to  be  trusted,  and 
that  their  only  object  in  making  terms  was  that  they  might 
by  Athenian  help  crush  the  Argives,  and  afterwards  attack  the 
Athenians  themselves  when  they  had  no  friends.  As  soon  as 
the  rupture  occurred  he  promptly  despatched  a  private  mes- 
sage to  the  Argives,  bidding  them  send  an  embassy  as  quickly 
as  they  could,  together  with  representatives  of  Mantinea  and 
Elis,  and  invite  the  Athenians  to  enter  the  alliance  ;  now  was 
the  time,  and  he  would  do  his  utmost  to  assist  them. 

The  Argives  received  his  message,  and  thus  became  aware 
that  the  alliance  with  the  Boeotians  had  been  made  without 
the  consent  of  the  Athenians,  and  that  a  violent  quarrel  had 
broken  out  between  Athens  and  Lacedaemon.  So  they 
thought  no  more  about  their  ambassadors,  who  were  at  that 
very  moment  negotiating  the  peace  with  Lacedaemon,  but 
turned  their  thoughts  toward  Athens.  They  reflected  that 
Athens  was  a  city  which  had  been  their  friend  of  old ;  like 
their  own  it  was  governed  by  a  democracy,  and  would  be  a 
powerful  ally  to  them  at  sea,  if  they  were  involved  in  war. 
They  at  once  sent  envoys  to  negotiate  an  alliance  with  the 
Athenians ;  the  Eleans  and  Mantineans  joined  in  the  embassy. 
Thither  also  came  in  haste  three  envoys  from  Lacedaemon, 
who  were  thought  likely  to  be  acceptable  at  Athens— Philo- 
charidas,  Leon,  and  Endius.  They  were  sent  because  the 
Lacedaemonians  were  afraid  that  the  Athenians  in  their  anger 
would  join  the  Argive  alliance.  The  envoys,  while  they  de- 
manded the  restoration  of  Pylos  in  return  for  Panactum,  were 
to  apologise  for  the  alliance  with  the  Boeotians,  and  to  explain 
that  it  was  not  made  with  any  view  to  the  injury  of  Athens. 

They  delivered  their  message  to  the  council,  adding  that 
they  came  with  full  power  to  treat  about  all  differences.  Al- 
cibiades  took  alarm  ;  he  feared  that  if  the  envoys  made  a 
similar  statement  to  the  people  they  would  win  them  over  to 
their  side,  and  that  the  Argive  alliance  would  be  rejected. 
Whereupon  he  devised  the  following  trick  :  he  solemnly  as- 
sured the  Lacedaemonians  that  if  they  would  not  communicate 
to  the  people  the  extent  of  their  powers,  he  would  restore  Pylos 
to  them,  for  he  would  use  his  influence  in  their  favour  instead 
of  against  them,  and  would  arrange  '  their  other  differences. 
But  his  real  aim  was  to  alienate  them  from  Nicias,  and  to 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  329 

bring  about  an  alliance  with  Argos,  Elis,  and  Mantinea,  which 
he  hoped  to  efTect,  if  he  could  only  discredit  them  in  the  as- 
sembly, and  create  the  impression  that  their  intentions  were 
not  honest,  and  that  they  never  told  the  same  tale  twice.  And 
he  succeeded  ;  for  when  the  envoys  appeared  before  the  as- 
sembly, and  in  answer  to  the  question  whether  they  had  full 
powers  replied,  "  No,"  in  direct  contradiction  to  what  they  had 
said  in  the  council,  the  patience  of  the  Athenians  was  ex- 
hausted, and  Alcibiades  declaimed  against  the  Lacedaemoni- 
ans more  violently  than  ever.  The  people  were  carried  away 
and  were  ready  to  have  the  Argives  come  in  and  make  an  al- 
liance with  them  and  their  confederates  on  the  spot.  But  an 
earthquake  occurred  before  the  final  vote  was  taken,  and  the 
assembly  was  adjourned. — V,  43-46. 

In  the  year  413  B.  C.  the  Athenian  fleet,  in  the  har- 
bor of  Syracuse,  engaged  in  a  final  battle  with  the 
Syracusan  fleet  and  was  defeated.  The  men  on  shore 
watched  the  conflict  with  fearful  anxiety : 

While  the  naval  engagement  hung  in  the  balance  the  two 
armies  on  shore  had  great  trial  and  conflict  of  souls.  The 
Sicilian  soldier  was  animated  by  the  hope  of  increasing  the 
glory  which  he  had  already  won,  while  the  invader  was  tor- 
mented by  the  fear  that  his  fortunes  might  sink  lower  still. 
The  last  chance  of  the  Athenians  lay  in  their  ships,  and  their 
anxiety  was  dreadful.  The  fortune  of  the  battle  varied  ;  and 
it  was  not  possible  that  the  spectators  on  the  shore  should  all 
receive  the  same  impression  of  it.  Being  quite  close  and 
having  different  points  of  view,  they  would  some  of  them  see 
their  own  ships  victorious ;  their  courage  would  then  revive, 
and  they  would  earnestly  call  upon  the  gods  not  to  take  from 
them  their  hope  of  deliverance.  But  others,  who  saw  their 
ships  worsted,  cried  and  shrieked  aloud,  and  were  by  the  sight 
alone  more  utterly  unnerved  than  the  defeated  combatants 
themselves.  Others  again,  who  had  fixed  their  gaze  on  some 
part  of  the  struggle  which  was  undecided,  were  in  a  state  of 
excitement  still  more  terrible;  they  kept  swaying  their  bodies 
to  and  fro  in  an  agony  of  hope  and  fear  as  the  stubborn  conflict 
went  on  and  on  ;  for  at  every  instant  they  were  all  but  saved  or 
all  but  lost   And  while  the  strife  hung  in  the  balance  you  might 


330  Homer  to  Theocritus 

hear  in  the  Athenian  army  at  once  lamentation,  shouting,  cries 
of  victory  or  defeat,  and  all  the  various  sounds  which  are  wrung 
from  a  great  host  in  extremity  of  danger.  Not  less  agonizing 
were  the  feelings  of  those  on  board.  At  length  the  Syracusans 
and  their  allies,  after  a  protracted  struggle,  put  the  Athenians 
to  flight,  and  triumphantly  bearing  down  upon  them,  and 
encouraging  one  another  with  loud  cries  and  exhortations, 
drove  them  to  land.  Then  that  part  of  the  navy  which  had 
not  been  taken  in  the  deep  water  fell  back  in  confusion  to  the 
shore,  and  the  crews  rushed  out  of  the  ships  into  the  camp. 
And  the  land  forces,  no  longer  now  divided  in  feeling,  but 
uttering  one  universal  groan  of  intolerable  anguish,  ran,  some 
of  them  to  save  the  ships,  others  to  defend  what  remained  of 
the  wall ;  but  the  greater  number  began  to  look  to  themselves 
and  to  their  own  safety. — VII,  71. 

Xenophon,  the  only  other  historian  of  the  classical 
period  whose  works  are  extant,  was  born  near  Athens 
about  431  B.  C.  In  his  youth  he  came  under  the  influ- 
ence of  Socrates,  who  inspired  in  him  feelings  of  pro- 
found admiration  and  affection.  A  few  years  after  the 
fall  of  Athens,  Xenophon  received  an  invitation  from 
a  friend  to  take  service  under  Cyrus,  a  Persian  prince, 
who  was  gathering  a  force  of  Greek  mercenaries  to  aid 
him  in  an  attempt  to  wrest  the  throne  from  his  brother 
Artaxerxes.  After  consulting  with  Socrates  and  the 
oracle  at  Delphi,  Xenophon  joined  the  expedition,  an 
account  of  which  he  afterward  gave  in  the  Anabasis, 
This  adventure  occupied  him  from  401  to  399,  the 
year  in  which  Socrates  was  put  to  death.  On  his  return 
to  Asia  Minor  he  served  under  the  Spartan  king, 
Agesilaus,  for  whose  character  and  military  ability  he 
conceived  a  great  admiration.  He  not  only  wrote  an 
encomium  upon  him,  the  A^estlaus^  but  even  fought 
under  him  with  the  Spartan  forces  against  his  own 
country  at  the  battle  of  Coronea  in  394  B.  C.     For 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  3^  1 

this  act  of  treason  he  was  formally  banished  from 
Athens.  He  had  long  been  unfriendly  to  the  extreme 
democracy  of  Athens  and  an  enthusiastic  admirer  of 
the  Spartan  character  and  government,  on  which  he 
wrote  the  laudatory  essay  entitled  the  Polify  of  the 
Lacedrnmonians,  The  unjust  condemnation  and  deati 
of  Socrates  still  further  alienated  him  from  his  native 
city.  Retiring  to  an  estate  near  Olympia,  granted  him 
by  the  Spartans  for  his  services  to  their  cause,  he 
devoted  himself  to  the  pleasures  of  country  life  and  to 
literary  work.  After  some  years  the  turn  of  political 
events  deprived  him  of  his  estate,  and  he  took  up  his 
residence  in  Corinth,  where  he  died  soon  after  357 
B.  C.  Although  the  decree  of  banishment  from 
Athens  was  revoked,  he  seems  not  to  have  cared  to 
make  it  his  home  again. 

The  chief  historical  works  of  Xenophon  are  the  Hel'^ 
lemca  and  the  Anabasis,  In  the  former  he  takes  up 
the  narrative  of  Thucydides,  and  brings  the  account 
of  the  Peloponnesian  war  to  a  close  at  the  end  of  the 
second  book.  In  the  other  five  books  he  gives  the 
history  of  Greece  down  to  the  battle  of  Mantinea,  in 
362  B.  C.  The  work  is  valuable  as  our  principal  source 
of  information  on  the  history  of  this  period,  but  in 
many  respects  falls  short  of  what  a  history  should  be, 
the  prejudice  of  its  author  in  favor  of  Sparta  constantly 
cropping  out.  Many  important  facts  are  omitted,  and 
the  story  is  not  told  in  an  attractive  manner.  Xeno- 
phon was  far  from  being  a  worthy  successor  to  Thucy- 
dides as  an  historian.  The  Anabasis^  on  the  other 
hand,  though  dealing  with  an  episode  of  minor  inter- 
est in  itself,  gives  us  a  much  better  idea  of  Xenophon*s 
ability  as  a  writer.     The  author's  own  participation  in 


33 1  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  expedition  of  Cyrus  lends  the  narrative  the  charm 
of  a  personal  experience.  The  title,  which  means 
'*  The  March  Inland^^'  strictly  applies  only  to  the  first 
part  of  the  work.  After  Cyrus  had  been  slain  in  battle 
near  Babylon,  the  Greek  troops,  numbering^  ten  thou- 
sand, began  their  retreat.  The  story  of  the  retreat 
occupies  the  larger  part  of  the  book,  and  is  by  far  the 
more  interesting.  When  most  of  the  Greek  leaders 
had  been  slain  by  treachery,  Xenophon,  who  had  not 
been  attached  to  the  expedition  in  an  official  capacity 
hitherto,  rallied  the  surviving  officers  and  virtually 
assumed  command.  It  was  mainly  due  to  his  ability 
as  a  general,  his  resourcefulness  in  critical  situations, 
his  imperturbable  coolness  and  cheerfulness,  and  his 
Athenian  readiness  in  persuasive 'oratory,  that  the  ten 
thousand  made  their  way  through  Kurdistan,  Armenia, 
and  Georgia  to  the  Black  Sea.  After  further  adven- 
tures in  Byzantium  and  Thrace,  the  remnant  of  the 
army,  now  reduced  to  six  thousand,  was  incorporated 
in  a  Spartan  army  operating  in  the  Troad,  while  Xeno- 
phon attached  himself  to  the  staff  of  the  Spartan  king 
Agesiiaus. 

Besides  these  two  historical  works,  Xenophon  wrote 
a  number  of  essays,  two  of  which,  the  Agesiiaus  and 
the  Polity  of  the  LacedcemonianSy  have  already  been 
mentioned.  In  the  Memorabilia  or  Recollections  of 
Socrates^  he  vindicates  the  charactjsr  and  teachings  of 
his  master.  Defending  him  first  against  the  charges 
brought  against  Socrates  at  the  trial,  he  exhibits  what 
kind  of  a  man  he  was  by  reporting  his  conversations 
with  various  men  on  many  subjects.  This  work  is 
valuable  for  the  information  which  it  gives  about  the 
daily  life  of  Socrates  and  the  character  of  his  teach- 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon     333 

ings,  but  is  not  a  great  piece  of  literature.  Socrates 
figures  in  two  other  essays,  ih^^Symj^ostum  and  the 
treatise  on  Domestic  Economy.  In  the  former  Socrates 
is  represented  as  the  principal  guest  at  a  typical 
Athenian  banquet,  which  is  enlivened  by  his  conversa- 
tion and  the  performances  of  jugglers  and  dancers — 
a  charming  picture.  In  the  latter  Socrates  discourses 
on  domestic  affairs,  and  relates  an  interesting  conver- 
sation with  a  newly  married  Athenian,  who  explains 
the  method  by  which  he  broke  in  and  trained  in  house- 
wifely virtues  his  girl-wife  of  fifteen.  The  Education 
of  Cyrus  ^Cyrus  the  Great,  not  the  young  prince  for 
whom  Xenophon  had  fought)  is  an  idealized  picture, 
not  a  biography,  of  a  perfect  prince  and  ruler,  with 
enough  of  local  color  to  lend  verisimilitude  to  the 
account.  It  is  the  earliest  attempt  at  an  historical 
romance,  and  contains  the  first  love-story  in  European 
prose  literature.  We  have,  besides  the  above,  a  few 
minor  essays,  the  more  interesting  of  which  are  the 
treatises  On  Horsemanship  and  On  Hunting, 

Xenophon  does  n^Tlluld  an  exuUtid  position  in  the 
history  of  Greek  literature,  although  there  is  much  to 
admire  in  his  character  and  in  his  writings.  He  had  I 
neither  the  critical  ability  nor  the  intellectual  and  \ 
moral  force  to  be  a  great  historian,  although  he  was 
a  careful  observer  and  a  fair  judge  of  character.  An 
Athenian  by  birth  and  education,  he  became  alienated 
from  his  own  country  and  people  and  adopted  Spartan 
views.  The  events  of  contemporary  history  and  the 
character  of  the  leading  men  of  the  time  were  judged 
by  him  with  a  frankly  avowed  Spartan  bias.  His  writ- 
ings seem  to  havt  been  generally  admired  in  antiquity, 
not  for  purity  of  Attic  style,  but  for  their  straightfor* 


334  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ward  simplicity  and  grace — the  words  of  a  man  of 
letters  who  was  also  a  man  of  action.  The  story  told 
in  the  Anabasis  awakened  the  Greeks  to  the  essential 
weakness  of  the  great  Persian  Empire,  and  taught  them 
that  the  terrible  power  with  which  they  had  once 
fought,  and  to  which  the  several  states  had  since 
become  accustomed  to  look  for  protection,  might 
crumble  before  the  attack  of  a  well-organized,  though 
numerically  inferior,  foe.  A  later  Greek  writer  coined 
the  saying:  ''Alexander  the  Great  would  not  have  been 
great  had  not  Xenophon  been. "  Xenophon*s  greatest 
merit  is  that  he  was  an  entertaining  writer  on  a  variety 
of  subjects,  furnishing  useful  information  and  stand- 
ing for  all  that  was  esteemed  noble  and  manly  in  char- 
I  acter  and  conduct.  He  was  the  earliest  essayist  of 
\  Greece,  and  the  first  writer  who  employed  the  dialogue 
iform  in  literature. 

I  No  passage  in  the  Anabasis  is  more  famous  than  the 
pescription  of  the  excitement  and  joy  of  the  Greek 
troops  when,  after  their  long  and  perilous  march 
through  an  unknown  and  hostile  country,  after  the 
severe  privations  and  sufferings  to  which  many  of 
their  number  had  succumbed,  they  at  last  caught 
a  glimpse  of  the  sea.     Dakyns'  translation  is  used : 

On  the  fifth  day  they  reached  the  mountain,  the  name  of 
which  was  Theches.  No  sooner  had  the  men  in  front  ascended 
it  and  caught  sight  of  the  sea  than  a  great  cry  arose,  and 
Xenophon,  with  the  rearguard,  catching  the  sound  of  it,  con- 
jectured that  another  set  of  enemies  must  surely  be  attacking 
in  front;  for  they  were  followed  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
country,  which  was  all  aflame;  indeed  the  rearguard  killed  some 
and  captured  others  alive  by  laying  an  ambuscade;  they  had 
taken  also  about  twenty  wicker  shields,  covered  with  the  raw 
.hides  of  shaggy  oxen.    But  as  the  shout  became  louder  and 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon     23 S 

nearer,  and  those  who  from  time  to  time  came  up  began  racing 
at  the  top  of  their  speed  towards  the  shouters,  and  the  shouting 
continually  recommenced  with  yet  greater  volume  as  the  num- 
bers increased,  Xenophon  settled  in  his  mind  that  something 
extraordinary  must  have  happened,  so  he  mounted  his  horse, 
and  taking  with  him  Lycius  and  the  cavalry,  he  galloped  to 
the  rescue.  Presently  they  could  hear  the  soldiers  shouting 
and  passing  on  the  joyful  word,  "The  sea,  the  sea!  '*  There- 
upon they  began  running,  rearguard  and  all,  and  the  baggage 
animals  and  horses  came  galloping  up.  But  when  they  had 
reached  the  summit,  then  indeed  they  fell  to  embracing  one 
another — generals  and  officers  and  all — and  the  tears  trickled 

down  their  cheeks. 

Anadasis,  IV,  y, 

Xenophon's  tact  in  dealing  with  men  is  illustrated 
in  the  following  selection.  The  Greek  army,  after  it 
had  been  safely  brought  out  of  Asia,  was  filled  with 
mutinous  murmurings  against  its  leaders.  A  trial  was 
instituted  against  them,  and  some  of  them  were  fined. 
It  will  be  observed  that  Xenophon  always  refers  to 
himself  in  the  third  person,  and  that  quite  without 
affectation. 

Against  Xenophon  a  charge  was  brought  by  certain  people, 
who  asserted  that  they  had  been  beaten  by  him,  and  framed  the 
indictment  as  one  of  personal  outrage  with  violence.  Xeno- 
phon got  up  and  demanded  that  the  first  speaker  should  state 
"  where  and  when  it  was  he  had  received  these  blows.*'  The 
other,  so  challenged,  answered,  "  When  we  were  perishing  of 
cold  and  there  was  a  great  depth  of  snow.'*  Xenophon  said: 
"  Upon  my  word,  with  weather  such  as  you  describe,  when  our 
provisions  had  run  out,  when  the  wine  could  not  even  be  smelt, 
when  numbers  were  dropping  down  dead  beat,  so  acute  was 
the  suffering,  with  the  enemy  close  on  our  heels;  certainly,  if 
at  such  a  season  as  that  I  was  guilty  of  outrage,  I  plead 
guilty  to  being  a  more  outrageous  brute  than  the  ass,  which  is 
too  wanton,  they  say,  to  feel  fatigue.  Still,  I  wish  you  would 
tell  us,"  said  he,  "what  led  to  my  striking  you?    Did  I  ask 


23^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

you  for  something,  and,  on  your  refusing  it  to  me.  did  I 
proceed  to  beat  you?  Was  it  a  debt,  for  which  I  demanded 
payment?  or  a  quarrel  about  some  boy  or  other?  Was  I  the 
worse  for  liquor,  and  behaving  like  a  drunkard?  **  When  the 
man  met  each  of  these  questions  with  a  negative,  he  questioned 
him  further:  "  Are  you  a  heavy  infantry  soldier?  "  "  No,"  said 
he.  "  A  peltast,  then?  "  "  No,  nor  yet  a  peltast; "  but  he  had 
been  ordered  by  his  messmates  to  drive  a  mule,  although  he 
was  a  free  man.  Then  at  last  he  recognized  him,  and  inquired: 
"  Are  you  the  fellow  who  carried  home  the  sick  man?  '*  "  Yes, 
1  am,"  said  he,  "  thanks  to  your  driving;  and  you  made  havoc 
of  my  messmates'  kit."  "  Havoc! "  said  Xenophon.  "  Nay," 
I  distributed  it:  some  to  one  man,  some  to  another  to  carry,  and 
bade  them  bring  the  things  safely  to  roe;  and  when  I  got  them 
back  I  delivered  them  all  safely  to  you,  when  you,  on  your  side, 
had  rendered  an  account  to  me  of  the  man.  Let  me  tell  you/' 
he  continued,  turning  to  the  court,  "what  the  circumstances 
were;  it  is  worth  hearing: — A  man  was  left  behind  from 
inability  to  proceed  farther;  I  recognized  the  poor  fellow  suffi- 
ciently to  see  that  he  was  one  of  ours,  and  I  forced  you,  sir,  to 
carry  him  to  save  his  life.  For,  if  I  am  not  much  mistaken, 
the  enemy  were  close  at  our  heels?"  The  fellow  assented  to 
this.  "  Well,  then,"  said  Xenophon,  "  after  I  had  sent  you  for- 
ward, I  overtook  you  again,  as  I  came  up  with  the  rearguard; 
you  were  digging  a  trench  with  intent  to  bury  the  man;  I  pulled 
up  and  said  something  in  commendation;  as  we  stood  by  the 
poor  fellow  twitched  his  leg,  and  the  bystanders  all  cried  out: 
'  Why,  the  man's  alive! '  Your  remark  was:  '  Alive  or  not  as 
he  likes,  I  am  not  going  to  carry  him.'  Then  I  struck  you. 
Yes!  you  are  right,  for  it  looked  very  much  as  if  you  kn6w  him 
to  be  alive."  "  Well,"  said  he,  "was  he  any  the  less  dead  when 
I  reported  him  to  you?  "  " Nay,"  retorted  Xenophon,  "by  the 
same  token  we  shall  all  one  day  be  dead,  but  that  is  no  reason 
why  meantime  we  should  all  be  buried  alive!"  Then  there 
was  a  general  shout:  "If  Xenophon  had  given  the  fellow  a  few 
more  blows,  it  might  have  been  better." 

Anabasis,  V,  8. 


Thucydides  and  Xenophon  337 

It  is  disappointing  that  Xenophon  has  so  little  to 
say  about  the  splendid  military  genius  and  the  noble 
character  of  the  Theban  general,  Epameinondas.  In 
the  following  passage  he  does  justice  to  his  strategy  on 
one  occasion,  when  he  almost  succeeded  in  capturing 
Sparta.  It  is  characteristic  of  our  author  that  he  re- 
sorts to  the  theory  of  providential  intervention  to  ex- 
plain what  seems  to  him  otherwise  unaccountable. 

That  the  strategy  of  the  Theban  general  was  fortunate  I 
will  not  pretend  to  assert,  but  in  the  particular  combination 
of  prudence  and  daring  which  stamps  these  exploits,  I  look 
upon  him  as  consummate.  In  the  first  place,  I  cannot  but 
admire  the  sagacity  which  led  him  to  form  his  camp  within  the 
walls  of  Tegea,  where  he  was  in  greater  security  than  he  would 
have  been  if  entrenched  outside,  and  where  his  future  move- 
ments were  more  completely  concealed  from  the  enemy. 
Again,  the  means  to  collect  materials  and  furnish  himself 
with  other  necessaries  were  readier  to  his  hand  inside  the  city ; 
while,  thirdly,  he  was  able  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  movements 
of  his  opponents  marching  outside,  and  to  watch  their  success- 
ful dispositions  as  well  as  their  mistakes.  More  than  this  :  in 
spite  of  his  sense  of  superiority  to  his  antagonists,  over  and 
over  again,  when  he  saw  them  gaining  some  advantage  in  po- 
sition, he  refused  to  be  drawn  out  to  attack  them.  It  was  only 
when  he  saw  plainly  that  no  city  was  going  to  give  him  its  ad- 
hesion, and  that  time  was  slipping  by,  that  he  made  up  his 
mind  that  a  blow  must  be  struck,  failing  which,  he  had  nothing 
to  expect  save  a  vast  ingloriousness,  in  place  of  his  former 
fame.  He  had  ascertained  that  his  antagonists  held  a  strong 
position  round  Mantinea,  and  that  they  had  sent  to  fetch 
Agesilaus  and  the  whole  Lacedaemonian  army.  He  was  fur- 
ther aware  that  Agesilaus  had  commenced  his  advance  and 
was  already  at  Pellene.  Accordingly  he  passed  the  word  of 
command  to  his  troops  to  take  their  evening  meal,  put  himself 
at  their  head  and  advanced  straight  upon  Sparta.  Had  it  not 
been  for  the  arrival  (by  some  providential  chance)  of  a  Cretan, 
who  brought  the  news  to  Agesilaus  of  the  enemy's  advance,  he 


23^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

would  have  captured  the  city  of  Sparta  like  a  nest  of  young 
birds  absolutely  bereft  of  its  .natural  defenders.  As  it  was, 
Agesiiaus,  being  forewarned,  had  time  to  return  to  the  city  be- 
fore the  Thebans  came,  and  here  the  Spartans  made  distribu- 
tion of  their  scanty  force  and  maintained  watch  and  ward, 
albeit  few  in  numbers,  since  the  whole  of  their  cavalry  were 
away  in  Arcadia,  and  so  was  their  foreign  brigade,  and  so  were 
three  out  of  their  twelve  regiments. 

Arrived  within  the  city  of  Sparta,  Epameinondas  abstained 
from  gaining  an  entry  at  a  point  where  his  troops  would  have 
to  fight  on  level  ground  and  under  attack  from  the  houses 
above ;  where  also  their  large  numbers  would  give  them  no 
superiority  over  the  small  numbers  of  the  foemen.  But,  sin- 
gling out  a  position  which  he  conceived  would  give  him  the  ad- 
vantage, he  occupied  it  and  began  his  advance  against  the 
city  upon  a  downward  instead  of  an  upward  incline. 

With  regard  to  what  subsequently  took  place,  two  possible 
explanations  suggest  themselves  :  either  it  was  miraculous,  or 
it  may  be  maintained  that  there  is  no  resisting  the  fury  of  des- 
peration. Archidamus,  advancing  at  the  head  of  but  a  hun- 
dred men,  and  crossing  the  one  thing  which  might  have 
been  expected  to  form  an  obstacle  to  the  enemy,  began  march- 
ing uphill  against  his  antagonists.  At  this  crisis  these  fire- 
breathing  warriors,  these  victorious  heroes  of  Leuctra,  with 
their  superiority  at  every  point,  aided,  moreover,  by  the 
advantage  of  their  position,  did  not  withstand  the  attack  of 
Archidamus  and  those  with  him,  but  swerved  in  flight.  The 
vanguard  of  Epameinondas'  troops  was  cut  down ;  when, 
however,  flushed  with  the  glory  of  their  victory,  the  citizens 
followed  up  their  pursuit  beyond  the  right  point,  they  in  turn 
were  cut  down, — so  plainly  was  the  demarking  line  of  victory 
drawn  by  the  finger  of  God. — HelUnica^  VII,  8-14. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

.    THE   ORATORS.      DEMOSTHENES 

Eloquence  among  the  Early  Greeks  —  The  Conditions  under 
which  Oratory  became  an  Art  —  The  Sophists  and  the 
Rhetoricians — The  Influence  of  Sicily — Tne  Professional 
Speech -writers — The  Ten  Attic  Orators:  Antiphon  — 
Andocides  —  Lysias  —  Isocrates  —  Isseus  —  iCschines  — 
Hyperides — Lycurgus — Deinarchus — Demosthenes — His 
early  Trainin^^ — The  Prosecution  of  his  Guardians — The 
Private  Orations — The  Public  Prosecutions — The  First 
Orations  before  the  People  —  The  Orations  against  Philip 
— After  the  Battle  of  Chseronea  —  The  Oration  On  the 
Crown — The  Harpalus  Affair — His  Death — Demosthenes 
the  Consummation  of  Greek  Oratory  —  Selections  from  the 
Third  Oiynthiac,  the  Third  Philippic^  the  Oration  On  the 
Crown^  and  from  iCschines'  Against  Ctesiphon. 

The  gift  of  persuasive  speech  was  always  highly 
prized  among  the  Greeks.  In  the  Homeric  poems  it 
was  a  rarer  possession  than  valor,  and  was  esteemed 
no  less  highly.  Peleus  sent  Phoenix  to  the  wars  with 
his  son  Achilles  to  teach  him  to  be  *'both  a  speaker  of 
words  and  a  doer  of  deeds."  Odysseus  was  preemi- 
nent among  the  heroes  as  an  orator.  *'When  he 
uttered  his  great  voice  from  his  chest,  and  words 
like  unto  the  snowflakes  of  winter,  then  no  mortal  man 
could  contend  with  Odysseus."  Into  the  mouth  of 
Odysseus  Homer  puts  this  estimate  of  the  value  of  elo- 
quence: **The  gods  do  not  give  every  gracious  gift  to 
all,  neither  shapeliness,  nor  wisdom,  nor  skilled  speech. 
For  one  man  is  feebler  than  another  in  presence,  yet 
the  gods  crown  his  words  with  beauty,  and  men  behold 

339 


340  Homer  to  Theocritus 

him  and  rejoice,  and  his  speech  runs  surely  on  his  way 
with  sweet  modesty,  and  he  shines  forth  among  the 
gathering  of  the  people,  and  as  he  passes  through  the 
town  men  gaze  on  him  as  a  god.*'  In  later  times  it 
was  the  impassioned  appeal  of  Solon  that  stirred  the 
Athenians  to  renew  the  struggle  for  the  possession  of 
Salamis.  The  influence  of  Themistocles  is  expressly 
attributed  to  his  ready  oratory;  and  without  his  remark- 
able gift  of  persuasion,  to  which  his  contemporaries 
bear  ample  witness,  Pericles  could  not  have  swayed  to 
his  will  for  over  thirty  years  the  fickle  Athenian 
democracy. 

But  during  all  this  time  eloquence  was  considered 
an  unusual  gift,  and  its  triumphs  were  due  to  the 
imposing  personality  of  the  speaker,  an  impressive 
manner  of  delivery,  and  the  force  of  the  facts  pre- 
sented, rather  than  to  the  arts  of  rhetoric.  Oratory 
had  not  yet  come  to  be  regarded  as  an  art,  nor  were 
the  effects  of  speech  upon  an  audience  studied  with 
the  conscious  purpose  of  enhancing  them  by  improving 
the  style  and  composition.  But  with  the  growth  of 
democratic  institutions  and  the  spread  of  education 
among  the  masses,  the  importance  of  a  skilful  arrange- 
ment of  the  thoughts  to  be  presented  before  the  popular 
assemblies  and  the  courts  of  law  and  of  a  perspicuous 
and  vigorous  style  was  more  clearly  recognized.  The 
cultivation  of  oratory  as  an  art  and  the  rise  of  rhet- 
oric was  the  result.  In  communities  where  absolute 
freedom  of  speech  was  allowed  and  where  the  populace 
had  been  accustomed  for  generations  to  hear  and 
criticise  the  works  of  the  greatest  poets,  as  at  Athens, 
the  demands  made  upon  the  public  speaker  grew 
apace.     The  quick-witted  audience  reacted  promptly 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  341 

and  powerfully  upon  the  speaker.  A  neatly-phrased 
maxim,  a  novel  turn  of  expression,  a  clever  parry  of  an 
objection,  striking  collocations  of  words,  figures  of 
thought  and  of  speech — such  things  delighted  the  ear 
and  won  applause  and  success.  In  the  last  quarter  of 
the  fifth  century  the  tendency  toward  a  highly  devel- 
oped rhetoric  set  in  strongly.  It  exercised  a  marked 
influence  upon  tragedy,  as  is  seen  especially  in  the 
dialogue  portions  of  the  plays  of  Euripides,  and  is 
clearly  observed  in  the  speeches  in  Thucydides. 

Oratory  as  a  branch  of  literature  was  developed 
under  the  influence  of  two  classes  of  teachers,  the 
sophists  and  the  rhetoricians,  although  the  former  term 
was  often  applied  to  the  latter  class  also.  The  sophists 
('*wise  men,**  *'teachers  of  wisdom")  were  professional 
teachers  of  all  the  branches  which  tended  to  fit  the 
youth  for  a  successful  public  life.  Public  speaking 
was  naturally  included.  The  principal  sophists  who 
taught  in  Athens  were  all  aliens — i.  e.,  non- Attic 
Greeks:  Protagoras  of  Abdera,  Prodicus  of  Ceos, 
Thrasymachus  of  Calcedon,  and  Hippias  of  Elis.  They 
were  clever  rather  than  profound,  and  the  **art  of 
speech"  which  they  taught  rested  upon  a  superficial 
and  often  disingenuous  method  of  argumentation  by 
which  they  professed  to  be  able  **to  make  the  worse 
argument  appear  the  better."  By  their  ostentatious 
dress  and  manner,  the  high  fees  which  they  charged, 
their  subtlety  and  shallowness,  and  also  because  they 
were  innovators  from  abroad,  great  prejudice  was 
aroused  against  them  on  the  part  of  the  old-fashioned 
and  the  more  thoughtful  Athenians.  Men  like  Socrates, 
who  employed  similar  methods  to  some  extent,  but  who 
was  in  no  sense  a  professional  teacher,  shared  in  the 


342  Homer  to  Theocritus 

reproach  which  came  to  attach  to  the  name  of  **  soph- 
ist/* although  the  name  itself  was  honorable  enough. 

It  was  in  Sicily,  however,  and  not  in  Athens,  that  the 
theory  of  rhetoric  was  first  developed.  The  social  and 
political  conditions  there  were  in  many  points  similar 
to  those  in  Athens  in  the  latter  half  of  the  fifth  century. 
For  the  practical  purpose  of  meeting  the  needs  of 
people  who  had  to  plead  cases  before  the  law  courts, 
Corax  wrote  a  manual,  developed  later  by  a  pupil, 
Tisias,  through  whom  it  came  to  Athens.  Besides 
some  hints  on  arguments,  this  manual  gave  little  but 
elementary  instruction  as  to  the  parts  into  which 
a  speech  should  be  divided.  But  the  greatest  impulse 
which  Athenian  oratory  received  from  Sicily  came  from 
an  accomplished  speaker,  Gorgias  of  Leontini,  who 
came  on  a  mission  to  Athens  in  427  B.  C.  His  brilliant 
style  made  a  deep  impression  on  the  Athenians,  who, 
largely  through  his  persuasion,  ventured  upon  the  dis- 
astrous Sicilian  expedition. 

The  teachings  of  the  sophists  and  the  influence  of 
the  Sicilian  school  of  rhetoric  brought  oratory  to  the 
level  of  a  department  of  literature  through  the  profes- 
sional speech-writers  of  Athens.  The  Athenian  who 
was  obliged  to  prosecute  or  defend  a  case  before  the 
court  could  not  employ  a  lawyer  to  speak  for  him,  but 
had  to  speak  for  himself.  If  he  had  no  skill  in  oratory, 
he  employed  a  professional  speech-writer  to  prepare 
a  speech  for  him.  This  he  committed  to  memory  and 
delivered  as  his  own,  but  the  real  author,  to  further 
his  own  interests,  published  the  composition  under  his 
own  name.  A  large  proportion  of  the  extant  orations 
owe  their  origin  and  their  preservation  to  this  custom. 
The  skill  of  the  speech-writer  was  shown  not  only  in 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  343 

the  disposition  and  arrangement  of  the  subjects  which 
his  client  was  to  bring  before  the  court,  and  the  style 
and  diction  of  the  speech,  but  also  in  his  adaptation 
both  of  subject-matter  and  of  style  to  the  individuality 
of  the  client.  Most  of  the  speech-writers  were  accom- 
plished orators  themselves;  but  qualities  of  another 
kind  were  needed  to  make  the  orator  a  successful 
pleader  by  proxy. 

The  later  Greek  critics  drew  up  a  canon  of  ten 
Attic  orators,  the  greatest  of  whom  was  Demosthenes. 
Before  considering  him,  we  must  pass  briefly  in  review 
the  lesser  names,  some  of  which  are  of  great  signifi- 
cance in  the  development  of  Attic  oratory.  The  earli- 
est was  Antiphon,  whom  Thucydides  considered  the 
greatest  orator  of  the  day.  He  was  deeply  interested 
in  the  political  movements  of  Athens,  and  was  tried 
and  executed  in  411  B.  C.  for  his  participation  in  the 
revolution  of  the  Four  Hundred.  Of  the  fifteen  extant 
speeches  twelve  are  rhetorical  exercises,  sketches  of 
speeches  which  might  be  delivered  in  imaginary  cases 
of  homicide,  two  on  each  side.  The  other  three  were 
written  for  real  causes,  the  best  being  On  the  Murder 
of  HerodeSy  a  defense  of  a  young  man  from  Mytilene 
charged  with  the  murder  of  Herodes,  an  Athenian. 
In  Antiphon  the  art  of  the  speech-writer  is  not  very 
highly  developed.  Little  is  said  about  the  evidence, 
but  a  great  deal  about  the  improbability  of  the 
charge.  His  style  was  vigorous  and  elaborate,  but  not 
easy  and  graceful.  No  attempt  was  made  to  adapt 
the  speeches  to  the  personality  of  the  client  who  deliv- 
ered them. 

Unlike  Antiphon,  Andocides  was  not  a  professional 
writer    of    speeches  nor    especially    trained   in    the 


344  Homer  to  Theocritus 

schools  of  rhetoric.  Our  interest  in  him  is  largely 
personal,  for  he  was  involved  in  the  scandal  of  the 
mutilation  of  the  Hermae/  which  so  shocked  and  terri- 
fied Athens  in  415  B.  C.  He  went  into  exile,  and  was 
restored  to  citizenship  only  by  the  general  amnesty  of 
402  B.  C.  In  411  he  unsuccessfully  applied  for  a  par- 
don, delivering  a  speech,  On  the  Return^  which  is  still 
extant.  The  old  charges  were  revived  against  him  in 
399  B.  C,  but  he  defended  himself  successfully  in  the 
speech  On  the  Mysteries^  in  which  his  best  qualities  as 
an  orator  are  exhibited.  A  third  speech  is  preserved, 
On  the  Peace  with  Sparta^  being  a  report  of  the  results 
of  an  embassy  on  which  he  was  sent  in  390  B.  C. 

Lysias,  one  of  the  most  perfect  of  all  writers  of 
Attic  prose,  was  born  at  Athens  about  440  B.  C.  His 
father  was  a  citizen  of  Syracuse,  so  that  the  son  could 
not  become  an  Athenian  citizen  except  by  a  special 
enactment.  Political  reasons  prevented  such  action 
in  his  case.  After  spending  some  years  in  southern 
Italy,  he  removed  to  Athens  in  412  B.  C,  where  he  con- 
tinued to  live,  excepting  a  brief  period  of  exile  in  404 
B.  C,  until  his  death  at  the  age  of  eighty.  During 
the  reign  of  terror  under  the  Thirty  Tyrants  his  prop- 
erty and  that  of  his  brother  was  confiscated,  and  his 
brother  put  to  death,  Lysias  barely  escaping  with  his 
life.  On  his  return,  after  the  restoration  of  the 
democracy,  he  delivered  his  most  famous  speech. 
Against  Eratosthenes^  one  of  the  Thirty  who  was  directly 

*  Statues  of  Hermes^  which  stood  before  the  private  houses  and  public 
buildiiiifs.  One  night,  just  before  the  fleet  was  to  sail  for  Sicily,  all  these 
statues  were  mutilated.  It  was  the  sacrilege  of  this  act,  and  the  suspicion 
that  it  was  the  work  of  conspirators,  which  caused  the  consternation  of  the 
populace.  Stories  were  then  circulated  that  some  of  the  young  men  had 
committed  another  act  of  sacrilege  — the  revealing  of  the  sacred  rites  con- 
nected with  the  mysteries  of  Eleusis.  AIci blades,  one  of  the  Athenian  gen- 
erals in  charge  of  the  Sicilian  Expedition,  was  implicated  in  these  scanaals 
and  obliged  to  go  into  exile. 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  345 

responsible  for  his  brother's  execution — the  only  ora- 
tion which  we  know  to  have  been  delivered  at  Athens 
by  Lysias  himself.  One  other  oration,  of  which  only 
a  fragment  is  preserved,  he  delivered  at  the  festival 
at  Olympia  in  388  B.  C,  urging  all  the  Greeks  to 
unite  against  their  common  enemies.  The  rest  of  the 
orations  still  preserved,  thirty-two  in  number,  were 
written  for  others  to  deliver.  As  a  speech-writer 
Lysias  won  unprecedented  success.  He  probably  took 
up  this  profession  on  account  of  the  loss  of  his  prop- 
erty, and  must  have  been  constantly  employed,  for 
over  two  hundred  speeches  by  him  were  known  in 
antiquity.  The  qualities  in  which  he  excelled  were 
his  simplicity  and  lucidity  of  style,  his  purity  of 
diction,  and  especially  his  skillful  adaptation  of  both 
style  and  matter  to  the  character  and  condition  of 
the  speaker.  He  was  a  good  student  of  human  nature, 
knowing  how  to  put  his  client  into  sympathy  with  his 
hearers  at  the  outset,  employing  all  the  resources  of 
his  art  to  conciliate  and  to  persuade,  yet  at  the  same 
time  concealing  his  art  by  indulging  in  no  rhetoric 
which  would  betray  the  speech-writer  behind  the 
speaker. 

With  Isocrates  we  come  to  an  orator  of  an  alto- 
gether different  type.  While  Lysias  was  eminently 
practical,  Isocrates  aimed  not  at  practical  results  but 
at  a  literary  reputation.  He  was  also  a  fashionable 
teacher,  receiving  large  fees  for  his  services,  so  that 
the  term  ''sophist**  was  correctly  applied  to  him, 
although  he  felt  that  he  was  far  above  the  common 
level  of  the  class,  for  he  was  a  creative  artist  as  well  as 
a  teacher.  Born  at  Athens  in  436  B.  C,  he  studied 
under  the  greatest  sophists  of  the  day,  and  had  some 


34^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

connection  with  the  circle  of  Socrates.  He  lacked  the 
courage  and  physical  vigor  to  enter  upon  a  public 
career,  and  devoted  himself  at  first  to  writing  speeches 
for  others.  Six  orations  of  this  class  are  preserved. 
He  then  became  a  teacher  of  rhetoric,  numbering 
among  his  pupils  many  of  the  eminent  statesmen,  his- 
torians, orators,  and  tragic  poets  of  the  next  genera- 
tion. His  reputation  as  a  teacher,  however,  was  more 
than  equaled  by  his  fame  as  a  writer  of  artistic  prose. 
He  brought  the  florid,  periodic  style  to  perfection. 
He  was  not  content  with  purity  of  diction,  well- 
rounded,  sonorous  periods,  and  the  use  of  the  various 
figures  of  speech;  he  gave  to  his  prose  the  further 
advantage  of  rhythms,  especially  at  the  close  of  his 
periods,  and  carefully  avoided  the  concurrence  of 
vowels  between  words,  which  gave  an  effect  displeasing 
to  the  ear.  The  style  perfected  by  him  became  the 
model  for  later  Greek  prose,  formed  the  basis  of 
Cicero's  style,  and,  through  Cicero,  has  influenced 
modern  literary  prose.  But  the  orations  of  Isocrates 
are  monuments  of  style  rather  than  of  thought.  They 
were  written  for  display,  and  suffer  from  the  defects 
in  substance  incident  to  merely  epideictic  composition. 
We  feel  that  the  political  doctrines  on  which  he  expends 
so  much  skill  were  but  a  literary  pretense.  The  most 
brilliant  of  his  writings  is  the  Panegyricus^  intended 
for  delivery  at  the  gathering  {panegyris)  of  the  Greeks 
at  Olympia,  on  the  elaboration  of  which  he  is  said  to 
have  spent  ten  years.  In  it  he  develops  the  idea 
which  he  cherished  through  life — the  necessity  of  the 
united  action  of  all  the  Greeks  against  the  Persian 
Empire.  Of  the  twenty-one  orations  extant  the 
majority  belong  to  the  same  class  as  the  Panegyricus^ 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  347 

of  which  the  Areopagiticus,  a  plea  for  the  restoration 
of  its  ancient  functions  to  the  Court  of  the  Areopagus, 
may  be  especially  mentioned.  Isocrates  died,  at  an 
advanced  age,  in  338  B.  C,  just  after  the  battle  of 
Chaeronea.* 

Isseus  was  a  contemporary  of  Isocrates,  but  his  ora- 
tions place  him  rather  in  the  same  class  with  Lysias. 
He  was  a  speech-writer  by  profession,  and  devoted 
himself  particularly  to  cases  involving  the  laws  of 
inheritance.  Eleven  of  his  orations  are  preserved. 
They  all  deal  with  abstruse  and  complex  legal  ques- 
tions, and  are  of  the  highest  importance  for  our  knowl- 
edge both  of  Athenian  family  life  and  of  the  laws  of 
intestate  succession.  Isaeus  combined  a  clear  and 
forceful  style  with  complete  technical  mastery  of  his 
subject,  and,  as  the  first  great  artist  of  forensic  con- 
troversy, may  be  regarded  as  a  forerunner  of  Demos- 
thenes. 

-^schines  was  born  of  respectable  Attic  parents  in 
389  B.  C,  being  a  few  years  older  than  his  great  rival, 
Demosthenes.  His  father  was  obliged  by  poverty  to 
fit  his  son  for  a  useful  rather  than  a  public  career. 
After  the  usual  military  service,  in  which  he  acquitted 
himself  honorably,  iEschines  became  a  clerk  in  some 
government  office.  The  possession  of  an  excellent 
voice  and  a  good  presence,  however,  directed  him  to 
the  stage,  where  he  spent  a  number  of  years  as  a  tragic 
actor,  taking  rdles  of  minor  importance.  Returning 
again  to  his  clerical  office,  he  gradually  made  his  way, 
by  means  of  influence  and  of  his  native  ability,  to 

^The  story  that  be  committed  suicide  is  probably  a  fable.  Milton  refers 
to  it  in  the  lines : 

"That  dishonest  victory 
At  Chsronea,  fatal  to  liberty, 
Killed  with  report  that  old  man  eloquent." 


348  Homer  to  Theocritus 

a  position  of  some  importance  in  political  life.  He 
was  sent  on  several  embassies,  twice  as  a  colleague 
of  Demosthenes.  He  was  bitterly  attacked  for  his 
part  in  the  mission  to  Philip  of  Macedon,  which 
resulted  in  the  peace  of  Philocrates  (346),  and  defended 
himself  first  in  the  oration  Against  Timarchus  (345), 
and  again  against  Demosthenes  in  the  speech  On  the 
Embassy  (343),  both  of  which  are  still  extant.  On  the 
latter  occasion  he  narrowly  escaped  conviction. 
A  bitter  feud  with  Demosthenes  was  the  result.  When, 
in  336  B.  C,  Ctesiphon  proposed  that  Demosthenes 
should  receive  a  golden  crown  from  the  state  in  recog- 
nition of  his  public  services,  ^schines  opposed  the 
motion  in  the  oration  Against  Ctesiphon^  an  elaborate 
and  eloquent  attack  upon  the  whole  life  and  public 
conduct  of  his  rival.  The  attack  failed,  and  ^Eschines, 
who  received  less  than  one-fifth  of  the  votes  cast, 
chose  to  leave  Athens  rather  than  submit  to  the  heavy 
fine  which  was  imposed  in  such  cases.  As  a  represen- 
tative of  the  Macedonian  party  in  Athens  and  an 
opponent  of  the  patriotic  policy  of  Demosthenes, 
^schines  fails  to  win  our  sympathy  and  respect;  but 
it  cannot  be  denied  that  he  was  an  orator  of  first-rate 
ability  and  of  brilliant  natural  gifts,  probably  the 
greatest  orator  of  his  time  after  Demosthenes.  The 
three  extant  orations  were  published  as  a  vindication 
of  his  conduct.  He  had  not  received  the  elaborate 
training  of  Demosthenes,  nor  did  he  look  upon  oratory 
as  a  profession.  He  seems  generally  to  have  spoken 
extempore.  He  excels  in  brilliant  narrative  rather 
than  in  close  argumentation ;  but  there  is  a  lack  of  the 
conviction,  moral  earnestness,  and  high  patriotic 
motives  that  distinguish  Demosthenes. 


._  i 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  349 

The  patriotic  party  at  Athens  received  the  sup- 
port of  two  other  of  the  ten  great  orators  of  the  canon, 
Hypereides  and  Lycurgus.  The  former  was  a  man  of 
wealth  and  influence  and  an  orator  of  the  highest 
order.  His  speeches  reveal  the  simplicity  and  grace 
of  Lysias,  but  lack  the  passion  and  fire  of  Demosthenes. 
He  cultivated  the  easy,  conversational  style  in  address- 
ing the  jury  (for  the  custom  had  arisen  of  allowing 
friends  of  the  parties  directly  interested  in  a  case  to 
make  supplementary  speeches),  thus  adopting  the 
tactics  of  the  modern  lawyer.  There  is  a  refinement 
in  the  tone  of  his  speeches  which  is  often  wanting  in 
Demosthenes,  especially  in  referring  to  his  opponents. 
He  became  an  opponent  of  Demosthenes  after  the 
latter  had  adopted  a  conciliatory  policy  toward  Alex- 
ander. A  considerable  portion  of  the  speech  Against 
Demosthenes  is  preserved,  in  which  a  serious  charge  of 
bribing  is  brought  against  the  latter.  This  and  five 
other  orations  have  been  discovered  on  papyrus  frag- 
ments found  in  Egypt  at  various  times  since  1847,  the 
latest  in  1892.  Among  these  is  a  large  portion  of  the 
Funeral  Oration  on  the  soldiers  who  fell  in  the  Lamian 
war  (322  B.  C),  regarded  in  antiquity  as  the  most 
perfect  oration  of  its  kind.  Only  one  oration  of 
Lycurgus,  the  remarkable  statesman  who  had  charge 
of  the  Athenian  finances  from  338  to  326,  is  extant. 
By  the  force  of  his  character  and  intellectual  attain- 
ments he  gained  a  place  among  the  Ten  Orators, 
although  he  did  not  cultivate  oratory  for  its  own  sake. 
The  last  of  the  Ten  Orators  in  the  canon  was 
Deinarchus,  a  Corinthian  by  birth,  a  supporter  of  the 
party  which  opposed  Demosthenes  and  favored  Philip 
of  Macedon.     Three  of  his  speeches  are  preserved. 


350  Homer  to  Theocritos 

We  come  now  to  the  greatest  orator  of  antiquity. 
Demosthenes  was  bom  in  384  B.  C.  His  father, 
a  wealthy  manufacturer  of  weapons,  died  when  he  was 
seven  years  old.  Discovering  at  an  early  age  that  his 
inheritance  had  greatly  diminished  through  either 
the  dishonesty  or  the  mismanagement  of  his  guardians, 
he  determined  to  become  an  orator,  that  he  might 
himself  gain  redress  through  the  courts  of  law.  He 
seemed  little  fitted  either  by  nature  or  by  his  education 
to  become  a  public  speaker.  His  voice  was  weak  and 
he  lisped,  and  his  manner  was  awkward.  He  had  been 
allowed  to  neglect  outdoor  sports  and  the  training  of 
the  gymnasium,  which  constituted  an  important  part 
of  the  education  of  the  Athenian  youth.  With  indom- 
itable determination  he  applied  himself  to  overcome 
these  defects.  We  are  told  that  he  declaimed  with 
pebbles  in  his  mouth  to  correct  the  lisping,  spoke 
against  the  roar  of  the  breakers  to  gain  voice  and  pres- 
ence of  mind  in  the  face  of  a  tumult,  confined  himself 
for  long  periods  to  an  underground  chamber  in  study, 
took  lessons  in  delivery  from  a  famous  actor  and  in 
legal  argumentation  from  Isaeus.  At  the  age  of 
twenty  he  prosecuted  his  guardians  and  obtained  a 
verdict.  The  four  speeches  which  grew  out  of  these 
cases,  Against  Aphobus  and  Onetor^  are  still  preserved. 

But  his  patrimony  was  so  impaired  that  he  became 
a  professional  speech-writer.  His  activity  in  this 
direction  was  confined  to  the  next  fifteen  years. 
Thirty-two  private  orations  are  preserved,  of  which 
only  about  one-third,  including  the  four  above  men- 
tioned, are  considered  genuine.  The  speech  For 
Phormio  is  considered  the  best  of  this  class.  Mean- 
while he  began  to  take  part  in  public  affairs.     Before 


Poctnlt  SUtae.  VsticaD  Museom,  Rome. 


'*>> 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  351 

appearing  before  the  public  assembly,  however,  he 
came  before  the  courts  and  the  Senate  in  cases  inyolT- 
ing  public  interests.  The  speecfa^  On  iAf  Naval  Crown 
(359),  Against  Androtion  (355)  and  Timocrates  were 
written  for  others  to  deliver.  His  first  appearance  in 
person  in  a  public  prosecution  was  in  354,  with  the 
speech  Against  Leptines^  a  brilliant  effort,  in  which  he 
defends  the  policy  of  rewarding  by  exempting  from 
special  taxation  citizens  who  have  deserved  well  of 
their  country.  The  speech  Against  Aristocrates  (352) 
introduces  him  to  matters  of  foreign  policy.  The 
speech  Against  Meidias  (349),  who  had  assaulted 
Demosthenes  in  the  theatre  while  the  latter  was  dis- 
charging his  duties  as  choregus,  was  never  delivered, 
but  shows  at  least  how  the  young  reformer  had  already 
got  himself  hated. 

Meanwhile  Demosthenes  had  steadily  pushed  for- 
ward into  active  participation  in  the  affairs  of  the 
state.  In  the  speeches  before  the  Assembly  On  the 
Navy  Boards  (354),  For  Megalopolis  (352),  and  For  the 
Rhodians  (351)  he  advocated  administrative  reforms 
and  a  more  vigorous  foreign  policy.  But  his  real 
strength  was  not  shown  until,  in  a  succession  of  nine 
speeches,  he  warned  Athens  of  the  great  danger  that 
threatened  her  and  all  Hellas  from  the  north  in  the 
person  of  Philip,  king  of  Macedon,  who  had  gradually 
been  enlarging  his  dominions  and  was  now  threatening 
some  of  the  Athenian  possessions.  The  First  Philippic 
(351)  was  followed  by  the  three  Olynthiac  orations 
(349-8).  Olynthus,  the  most  powerful  Greek  city  in 
the  north,  the  head  of  a  strong  confederacy  of  cities, 
was  threatened  by  Philip.  Demosthenes,  realizing 
that  the  interests  of  free  Greece  were  vitally  concerned 


352  Homer  to  Theocritus 

in  its  safety,  urged  the  Athenians  to  send  a  strong 
force  of  troops  to  its  assistance.  He  failed,  however, 
to  convince  Athens  of  the  gravity  of  the  situation  and 
to  arouse  her  to  put  forth  all  her  strength  at  the  critical 
moment. 

Olynthus  fell  in  the  year  348.  Philip  now  directed 
his  attention  southward.  By  his  admission  to  the 
Amphictyonic  Council  in  346  he  became  a  Greek 
power,  and  by  his  diplomacy  and  intrigue  won  a  strong 
party  of  supporters  in  Athens  itself.  Demosthenes  at 
first,  in  the  oration  On  the  Petue  (346),  supported  the 
treaty  of  peace  that  was  concluded  with  Philip,  he 
himself,  with  iEschines,  having  taken  part  in  the 
embassy  which  had  arranged  the  terms.  But  he  soon 
saw  through  the  designs  of  Philip,  and  renewed  his 
attacks  upon  him  in  the  Second  Philippic  (344),  On  the 
Chersonese^  and  the  Third  Philippic  (341).  The  oration 
On  the  Embassy  (343)  was  directed  against  iEschines, 
who  was  charged  with  having  betrayed  the  interests  of 
Athens  in  the  mission  which  resulted  in  the  peace  of 
346.  So  step  by  step  Demosthenes,  who  was  now  the 
acknowledged  leader  of  the  anti-Macedonian  party, 
opposed  the  designs  of  Philip  with  all  the  fervor  of  his 
oratory.  The  conflict  broke  out  into  open  warfare  in 
340.  Demosthenes  succeeded  in  prevailing  upon 
Thebes  to  join  Athens  in  the  field  against  Philip.  The 
decisive  battle  was  fought  at  Chaeronea  in  338.  Philip 
inflicted  a  crushing  defeat  upon  the  allies.  Demos- 
thenes took  part  in  the  battle  and  fled  with  the  rest. 

After  the  defeat  at  Chaeronea  Demosthenes  was 
chosen  to  deliver  the  funeral  oration  over  the  fallen. 
The  blow  which  overthrew  the  liberties  of  Athens  did 
not  break  his  spirit.     He  courageously  faced  the  situ- 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  353 

ation,  and  contributed  both  time  and  money  to  improv- 
ing the  affairs  of  the  state.  For  his  services  Ctesi- 
phon  proposed  that  the  city  should  crown  him  with  a 
golden  crown  at  the  City  Dionysia.  iEschines  opposed 
the  motion  by  bringing  action  against  Ctesiphon  for 
making  an  illegal  proposal.  For  some  reason  the  case 
was  not  tried  before  the  people  until  the  year  330. 
Demosthenes  defended  Ctesiphon  in  his  masterpiece, 
the  oration  On  the  Crawn^  in  which  he  reviewed  his 
own  line  of  conduct.  iEschines  was  defeated  and 
obliged  to  leave  Athens.  In  the  last  period  of  his  life 
the  leadership  gradually  passed  out  of  the  hands  of 
Demosthenes.  He  was  charged  with  having  received 
money  from  Harpalus,  the  treasurer  of  Alexander,  who 
had  absconded  to  Athens.  He  claimed  that  he  had 
used  the  money  for  the  city,  but  the  Areopagus  inflicted 
a  heavy  fine  upon  him,  which  he  could  not  pay.  He 
accordingly  went  into  exile.  In  322  he  took  poison  to 
escape  falling  into  the  hands  of  the  Macedonians,  and 
died  on  the  island  of  Calauria,  off  the  coast  of  Argolis. 
To  one  who  studies  the  growth  of  Athenian  elo- 
quence in  the  century  that  preceded  the  maturity  of 
Demosthenes,  it  seems  that  Greece  had  been  preparing 
the  way  all  this  time  for  her  greatest  and  most  perfect 
orator,  the  champion  of  her  liberty.  The  natural  and 
unimpeded  growth  which  we  have  marked  in  other 
branches  of  Greek  literature  is  illustrated  perhaps 
nowhere  so  clearly  as  in  oratory.  The  ancients  found 
in  Antiphon  the  best  representative  of  the  grand  style, 
in  Lysias  of  the  simple  style,  and  in  Isocrates  of  the 
middle  style,  best  suited  to  rhetorical  display.  Each 
had  achieved  success  according  to  his  ideals  of  art. 
Furthermore.  Isaeus  had  attained  the  mastery  of  the 


354  Homer  to  Theocritus 

art  of  legal  argumentation.  These  stages  in  the 
growth  of  oratory  were  each  built  upon  the  founda- 
tions laid  by  the  earlier  theoretical  and  practical 
exponents  of  forensic  rhetoric,  and  corresponded  to 
the  external  conditions  of  legal  and  public  speaking 
in  each  period.  And  finally  Demosthenes,  having  at 
his  command  all  of  the  resources  which  his  predeces- 
sors had  severally  learned  to  employ,  united  in  himself 
all  of  the  excellences  of  them  all.  But  there  was  some- 
thing more  in  his  oratory  than  rhetorical  excellence, 
though  he  surpassed  in  wealth  of  vocabulary,  variety 
of  expression,  and  melody  of  rhythm.  He  was  intel- 
lectually and  morally  the  superior  of  any  of  his 
contemporaries.  These  are  the  qualities  which  made 
Demosthenes  the  far-sighted  and  loyal  statesman. 
His  public  speeches  are  penetrated  with  a  lofty  moral- 
ity and  a  fervent  patriotism,  which,  in  spite  of  the 
bitter  and  sometimes  coarse  invective  which  he  too 
often  discharges  against  his  adversaries,  lift  them  to 
a  higher  plane  than  that  reached  by  any  other  orator  in 
antiquity.  In  tardy  recognition  of  his  self-sacrificing 
patriotism,  his  fellow-citizens  a  generation  after  his 
death  set  up  a  statue  of  him,  bearing  this  inscription: 
""If  thou  hadst  had  strength  equal  to  thy  wisdom, 
Demosthenes,  never  would  the  Ares  of  Macedon  have 
ruled  over  Hellenes.** 

It  is  impossible  to  gain  an  adequate  idea  of  Demos- 
thenes' style  through  the  medium  of  any  existing 
English  translation.  A  few  selections  will  serve  at 
least  to  show  his  earnestness  and  some  of  the  broader 
features  of  his  manner  in  the  public  orations.  For 
the  other  orations  Kennedy's  translation  is  used;  for 
the  oration  On  the  Crown  that  of  Sir  Robert  Collier. 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  355 


THE  DANGER  OF  TRUSTING   PHILIP 

They  who  advise  for  the  best  cannot  always  gratify  their 
audience,  though  they  would;  for  the  safety  of  the  state  must 
be  attended  to;  their  opponents,  by  the  very  counsel  which  is 
agreeable,  advance  Philip^s  interest.  One  party  required  con- 
tribution; the  other  said  there  was  no  necessity;  one  was  for 
war  and  mistrust;  the  other  for  peace,  until  they  were  ensnared. 
And  so  on  for  everything  else;  not  to  dwell  on  particulars,  the 
one  made  speeches  to  please  for  the  moment,  and  gave  no 
annoyance;  the  other  offered  salutary  counsel  that  was  offensive. 
Many  rights  did  the  people  surrender  at  last,  not  from  any 
such  motive  of  indulgence  or  ignorance,  but  submitting  in  the 
belief  that  all  was  lost.  Which,  by  Zeus  and  Apollo,  I  fear 
will  be  your  case,  when  on  calculation  you  see  that  nothing  can 
be  done.  I  pray,  men  of  Athens,  it  may  never  come  to  this! 
Better  die  a  thousand  deaths  than  render  homage  to  Philip,  or 
sacrifice  any  of  your  faithful  counsellors.  A  fine  recompense 
have  the  people  of  Oreus  got  for  trusting  themselves  to  Philip's 
friends  and  spuming  Kuphrseus!  Finely  are  the  Eretrian  com- 
mons rewarded  for  having  driven  away  your  ambassadors  and 
yielded  to  Clitarchus!  Yes;  they  are  slaves,  exposed  to  the 
lash  and  the  torture.  Finely  he  spared  the  Olynthians,  who 
appointed  Lasthenes  to  command  their  horse  and  expelled 
Apollonides!  It  is  folly  and  cowardice  to  cherish  such  hopes, 
and,  while  you  take  evil  counsel  and  shirk  every  duty,  and 
even  listen  to  those  who  plead  tor  your  enemies,  to  think 
you  inhabit  a  city  of  such  magnitude  that  you  cannot  suffer 
any  serious  misfortune.  Yea,  and  it  is  digraceful  to  exclaim 
on  any  occurrence,  when  it  is  too  late:  "Who  would  have 
expected  it?  However,  this  or  that  should  have  been  done, 
the  other  left  undone."  Many  things  could  the  Olynthians 
mention  now,  which,  if  foreseen  at  the  time,  would  have  pre- 
vented their  destruction.  Many  could  the  Orites  mention, 
many  the  Phocians,  and  each  of  the  ruined  states.  But  what 
would  it  avail  them?  As  long  as  the  vessel  is  safe,  whether  it 
be  great  or  small,  the  mariner,  the  pilot,  every  man  in  turn 
should  exert  himself,  and  prevent  its  being  overturned  either 
by  accident  or  design;  but  when  the  sea  hath  rolled  over  it> 


35^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

their  efforts  are  vain.  And  we  likewise,  O  Athenians,  whilst  we 
are  safe,  with  a  magnificent  city,  plentiful  resources,  lofty 
reputation — what  must  we  do?  many  of  you,  I  dare  say,  have 
been  longing  to  ask.  Well,  then,  I  will  tell  you:  I  will  move 
a  resolution;  pass  it  if  you  please. 

Third  Philippic,  63-71. 

THE   ORATIONS   ON   THE    CROWN 

Demosthenes  begins  the  oration  On  the  Crown  by 
an  appeal  to  the  gods  for  a  fair  and  impartial  hearing. 
Then,  after  briefly  indicating  the  issues  of  the  trial,  of 
vast  importance  to  himself  but  involving  no  serious 
consequences  for  ^schines,  he  introduces  his  answer 
to  the  charges  brought  against  his  conduct  by  the 
following  impressive  adjuration: 

As  I  am,  it  appears,  to  render  an  account  to-day  both  of 
the  whole  of  my  private  life  and  of  my  public  conduct,  I  desire 
once  more  to  invoke  the  gods;  and  in  your  presence  I  here 
implore  them,  in  the  first  place,  that  whatever  measure  of  good 
will  I  have  entertained  to  the  state  and  to  you  all,  the  same 
may  be  meted  to  me  upon  this  trial;  and  next,  that  you  may  be 
guided  to  such  a  determination  of  this  cause  as  may  consist  with 
our  country's  honour  and  with  the  sacred  duty  of  every  juror. 

The  concluding  words  of  the  oration  are  no  les? 
impressive.     I  use  Lord  Brougham's  rendering: 

Let  not,  O  gracious  God,  let  not  such  conduct  receive  any 
measure  of  sanction  from  thee!  Rather  plant  even  in  these 
men  a  better  spirit  and  better  feelings!  But  if  they  are  wholly 
incurable,  then  pursue  them,  yea,  themselves  by  themselves,  to 
utter  and  untimely  perdition,  by  land  and  by  sea;  and  to  us 
who  are  spared  vouchsafe  to  grant  the  speediest  rescue  from 
our  impending  alarms,  and  an  unshaken  security. 

For  the  sake  of  comparison,  one  of  the  most  effect- 
ive passages  in  the  oration  of  iCschines,  in  which  he 
holds  Demosthenes  up  to  scorn,  is  introduced  here 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  ,357 

side  by  side  with  a  passage  from  the  speech  of 
Demosthenes,  in  which  the  latter  pays  his  respects  to 
iSschines: 

O  thou,  who  on  every  occasion  of  great  and  important 
action  hast  proved  of  all  mankind  the  most  worthless,  in  the 
insolence  of  language  the  most  astonishing,  canst  thou  attempt, 
in  the  face  of  these  thy  fellow-citizens,  to  claim  the  honor  of  a 
crown  for  the  misfortunes  into  which  thou  hast  plunged  thy 
city?  Or,  should  he  claim  it, can  you  restrain  your  indignation, 
and  has  the  memory  of  your  slaughtered  countrymen  perished 
with  them?  Indulge  me  for  a  moment,  and  imagine  that  you 
are  now  not  in  this  tribunal,  but  in  the  theatre,  imagine  that  you 
see  the  herald  approaching  and  the  proclamation  prescribed 
in  this  decree  on  the  point  of  being  delivered,  and  then  con- 
sider whether  the  friends  of  the  deceased  will  shed  more  tears 
at  the  tragedies,  at  the  pathetic  stories  of  the  great  characters 
to  be  presented  on  the  stage,  or  at  the  insensibility  of  their 
country?  What  inhabitant  of  Greece,  what  human  creature, 
who  has  imbibed  the  least  share  of  liberal  sentiments,  must 
not  feel  the  deepest  sorrow  when  he  reflects  on  one  transaction 
which  he  must  have  seen  in  the  theatre,  when  he  remembers, 
if  he  remembers  nothing  else,  that  on  festivals  like  these,  when 
the  tragedies  were  to  be  presented  (in  those  times  when  the 
state  was  well  governed  and  directed  by  faithful  ministers),  a 
herald  appeared,  and  introducing  those  orphans  whose  fathers 
had  died  in  battle,  now  arrived  at  maturity,  and  dressed  in  com- 
plete armor,  made  a  proclamation  the  most  noble  and  the  most 
effectual  to  excite  the  mind  to  glorious  actions;  that  these 
youths,  whose  fathers  lost  their  lives  in  fighting  bravely  for  their 
country,  the  people  had  maintained  to  this  their  age  of  maturity; 
that  now,  having  furnished  them  with  complete  suits  of  armor, 
thejr  dismiss  them,  with  prayers  for  their  prosperity,  to  attend 
to  their  respective  affairs,  and  invite  them  to  aspire  to  the 
highest  offices  of  the  state.  Such  were  the  proclamations  in  old 
times,but  such  are  not  now  heard.  And  were  the  herald  to  intro- 
duce the  person  who  had  made  these  children  orphans,  what 
could  he  say  or  what  could  he  proclaim?  Should  he  speak  in 
the  form  prescribed  in  this  decree,  yet  the  odious  truth  would 
still  force  itself  upon  you;  it  would  seem  to  strike  your  ear^ 


358  Homer  to  Theocritus 

with  a  language  different  from  that  of  the  herald.  It  would 
tell  you  that  the  Athenian  people  crowned  this  man,  who 
scarcely  deserves  the  name  of  a  man,  on  account  of  his  virtue* 
though  a  wretch  the  most  abandoned,  and  on  account  of  his 
magnanimity,  though  a  coward  and  a  deserter  of  his  post  Do 
not,  Athenians,  I  conjure  you  by  all  the  powers  of  heaven, 
do  not  erect  a  trophy  in  your  theatre  to  perpetuate  your  own 
disgrace.  Do  not  expose  the  weak  conduct  of  your  country  in 
the  presence  of  the  Greeks,  do  not  recall  all  their  grievous  and 
desperate  misfortunes  to  the  minds  of  the  wretched  Thebans, 
who,  when  driven  from  their  habitations  by  this  man,  were 
received  within  these  walls,  whose  temples,  whose  children, 
whose  sepulchral  monuments  were  destroyed  by  the  corrup- 
tion of  Demosthenes  and  the  Macedonian  gold. 

iCschines,  Against  Ctesiphon^  152-157. 

Compare  this  passage  from  Demosthenes: 

Contrast  then,  iCschines,  calmly  and  dispassionately,  the 
principal  incidents  of  our  respective  lives,  and  put  it  to  the 
audience,  whose  fortune  would  each  of  them  take  for  a  choice. 
You  were  a  schoolmaster,  I  a  scholar;  you  performed  initia- 
tions, I  was  initiated;  you  danced  in  the  chorus,  I  paid  the 
dancers;  you  sat  as  clerk,  I  spoke  in  the  assemblies;  you  acted 
third  parts,  I  was  a  spectator;  you  broke  down,  I  hissed.  All 
your  public  conduct  has  been  in  the  interest  of  our  enemies; 
mine  of  my  country.  Omitting  other  subjects  of  comparison, 
let  us  come  to  this  very  day:  my  merits  are  being  considered, 
and  it  is  admitted  by  general  consent  that  I  have  done  no 
wrong.  You  have  come  to  be  regarded  as  a  calumniator;  nay, 
more,  you  run  a  serious  risk  of  failing  to  obtain  one-fifth  of 
the  votes,  and  being  incapacitated  from  calumniating  again. 
Such  is  the  brilliant  fortune,  observe  you,  which  has  attended 
your  life,  and  which  inspires  you  with  such  contempt  of  mine! 
Come,  now,  let  me  read  to  you  all  the  public  testimonials 
relating  to  the  office  which  I  have  filled;  and  by  way  of  coun* 
terblast  do  you  recite  to  us  the  quotations  which  you  murdered: 

"  I  come  from  darkness  and  the  gates  of  Hell." 

And- 

"  Unwillingly  I  bring  the  news  of  ill." 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  359 

111  betide  you,  say  I  —  may  you  be  confounded  for  a  vile 

citizen  and  bad  actor  by  gods  above  and  men  below!    [To  the 

clerk,]    Read  the  testimonies. 

On  the  Crown,  265-268. 

In  the  following  noble  appeal  Demosthenes  main- 
tains that  the  course  of  wisdom  is  always  the  course 
of  honor,  whatever  the  outcome  may  be : 

What  is  past  and  gone  is,  by  general  consent,  thrown  aside; 
there  is  little  use  in  even  discussing  it;  the  future  it  is  or  the 
present  which  calls  for  the  action  of  the  statesman.  At  that  time 
some  calamity  seemed  impending;  others  had  already  befallen 
us.  By  the  existing  circumstances  judge  my  policy,  instead 
of  reproaching  me  with  the  event.  The  issue  of  all  things  is 
in  the  hands  of  Providence;  the  choice  of  measures  it  is  which 
indicates  the  sagacity  of  the  statesman.  Impute  it  not  as  a 
crime  to  me  if  it  was  Philip's  fortune  to  conquer  in  battle;  the 
event  of  the  battle  was  not  in  my  hands,  but  in  the  hands  of 
God.  That  I  did  not  conceive  all  the  expedients  which  human 
foresight  could  suggest,  that  I  did  not  put  them  into  practice 
honestly,  diligently,  and  with  exertions  beyond  my  strength,  or 
that  I  did  not  adopt  an  honorable  policy,  worthy  of  the  State 
and  necessary  to  its  preservation — show  me  this,  and  accuse 
me  if  you  will.  But  if  the  tempest  that  has  swept  over  us  has 
been  too  strong,  not  only  for  ourselves  but  for  all  the  other 
states  of  Greece — what  then?  You  might  as  well  hold  the  ship- 
owner, who  has  taken  all  precautions  and  furnished  every 
necessary  equipment,  answerable  for  the  wreck  of  his  vessel 
if  her  tackle  were  broken  or  torn  in  pieces  by  a  storm!  *'.But 
I  did  not  pilot  the  vessel,'*  he  might  say;  no  more  did  I  lead 
your  troops  to  battle.  I  was  not  the  disposer  of  Fortune.  For- 
tune is  the  disposer  of  all  things 

Why,  if  right  were  done,  the  man  who  has  made  the 
calamities  of  Greece  the  capital  on  which  to  found  his  reputa- 
tion ought  to  perish,  instead  of  being  an  accuser;  that  man  can 
be  no  friend  to  his  country  who  has  profited  by  the  same  con- 
junctures as  his  enemies.  That  this  is  so  you  make  manifest 
by  your  life,  by  your  actions,  by  the  part  which  you  take  in 
public  affairs,  and,  what  is  more,  by  the  part  which  you  do  not 


360  Homer  to  Theocritus 

take.  Is  anything  on  foot  which  promises  public  advantage  ? 
iCschines  is  mute.  Has  anything  gone  wrong  and  taken  a  turn 
adverse  to  your  interests?  iCschines  is  ready  for  action;  as 
old  fractures  and  sprains  become  painful  afresh  when  the  body 
is  attacked  by  disease. 

But  as  he  bases  his  invective  so  much  on  the  event,  I  will 
venture  on  an  assertion  which  may  appear  somewhat  para- 
doxical. By  all  the  Heavenly  Powers  be  not  amazed  at  my 
audacity,  but  give  me  your  favorable  attention.  I  affirm,  then, 
that  if  the  future  had  been  apparent  to  us  all;  if  all  men  had 
foreseen  it;  if  you,  iCschines,  had  foretold  it  and  proclaimed 
it  at  the  top  of  your  voice  instead  of  preserving  total  silence, 
nevertheless  the  State  ought  not  to  have  deviated  from  her 
course,  if  she  had  regard  to  her  own  honor,  the  traditions  of 
the  past,  or  the  judgment  of  posterity.  As  it  is,  she  is  looked 
upon  as  having  been  unsuccessful  in  her  policy — the  lot  of  all 
mankind  when  such  is  the  will  of  Heaven;  but  if,  claiming  to 
be  the  foremost  state  in  Greece,  she  had  deserted  her  post,  she 
would  have  incurred  the  reproach  of  betraying  all  Greece  to 

Philip But  counsels  such  as  these  were  intolerable 

to  the  Athenians  of  those  former  days— opposed  to  their  tradi- 
tions, alien  to  their  nature  —  nor  in  all  time  has  any  man  ever 
succeeded  in  persuading  this  country  to  side  with  powerful 
wrong-doers  and  to  embrace  secure  slavery;  but  our  whole 
national  existence  has  been  one  continual  struggle  for  the 
foremost  place  in  the  career  of  glory  and  renown.  How  sacred 
you  deem  the^e  sentiments,  how  consonant  with  the  genius 
of  your  country,  you  yourselves  testify  by  the  veneration  in 
which  you  hold  the  memories  of  your  ancestors  who  have 
acted  upon  them.  And  you  are  in  the  right;  for  who  can 
withhold  admiration  from  the  heroism  of  those  men  who  had 
the  resolution  to  leave  this  city  and  their  fatherland,  and  to 
embark  on  shipboard,  rather  than  submit  to  the  dictation  of 
a  foreign  power,  choosing  Themistocles,  the  adviser  of  the 
measure,  for  their  commander,  and  stoning  to  death  Cyrsilus, 
who  counselled  submission  to  the  imperial  mandates?  Stoning 
him,  do  I  say?  why,  your  very  wives  stoned  his  wife!  The 
Athenians  of  those  days  went  not  in  quest  of  an  orator  or 
general  who  could  help  them  to  prosperous  slavery;  but  they 


The  Orators.     Demosthenes  361 

scorned  life  itself,  if  it  were  not  the  life  of  freedom.  Each  of 
them  regarded  himself  as  the  child,  not  only  of  his  father  and 
of  his  mother,  but  of  his  country.  And  what  is  the  difference? 
He  who  regards  himself  as  the  child  of  his  parents  only  awaits 
the  approach  of  death  m  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  but  he 
who  regards  himself  as  the  child  also  of  his  country  will  be 
ready  to  lay  down  his  life  rather  than  see  her  enslaved,  and 
will  deem  the  insults  and  indignities  to  which  the  citizens  of  a 
subjected  state  must  needs  submit  more  terrible  than  death. 

On  the  Crown,  i92-2o6. 


CHAPTER  XV 

PHILOSOPHICAL   PROSE.     PLATO 

The  Separation  of  Natural  Philosophy  from  Mythology — The 
Protest  of  Xenophanes — The  Pre-Socratic  Speculations 
and  the  Sophists — Socrates,  his  Life  and  Teachings — 
Plato — The  Foundation  of  the  Academy — The  Dialogue 
as  a  Branch  of  Prose  Literature — The  Personality  of  Soc- 
rates in  the  Platonic  Writings — Sketch  of  the  Principal 
Dialogues — Plato's  Style — Selections:  Socrates*  Views 
about  Death — The  Death  of  Socrates — A  Summer  After- 
noon on  the  Ilissus — Stories  about  Socrates. 

The  mythological  system  of  the  early  Greeks,  first 
worked  out  and  reduced  to  a  system  by  the  poets, 
especially  by  Hesiod,  included  not  only  a  theology  but 
also  a  cosmogony.  The  origin  of  the  universe  was 
explained  in  accordance  with  the  prevalent  conception 
of  the  nature  and  attributes  of  the  gods.  In  other 
words,  the  agencies  of  nature  were  personified  and  the 
phenomena  of  the  physical  world  were  but  the  outward 
manifestations  of  the  activities  of  the  gods,  each  work- 
ing in  his  appropriate  sphere.  But  this  system  did  not 
long  satisfy  the  more  thoughtful  minds  of  Greece.  In 
the  sixth  century  men  began  to  look  for  a  more  rational 
explanation  of  nature,  for  some  fundamental  principles 
which  would  account  for  the  origin  of  the  visible  world 
without  recourse  to  the  gods.  Thus  natural  philosophy, 
out  of  which  grew  the  natural  sciences  on  the  one  hand 
and  philosophy  and  ethics  on  the  other,  became  sepa- 
rated from  theology.  The  first  clear  protest  against 
the  traditional  and  current  anthropomorphic  religion, 

362 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  3^3 

with  its  low  standards  of  conduct,  is  found  in  the 
verses  of  the  poet  Xenophanes,  who  flourished  toward 
the  middle  of  the  sixth  century.  Lawton  has  thus 
translated  his  memorable  hexameters: 

Everything  is  ascribed  to  the  gods  by  Hesiod  and  Homer, 
Whatsoever  among  mankind  is  shameful  and  wicked. 
Numberless  lawless  deeds  of  the  gods  by  them  are  recorded, 
Thievishness,  unchastity,  ay,  and  deceit  of  each  other! 
Still  men  hold  the  belief  that  the  gods  were  bom  and 

begotten, 
Wear  such  garb  as  themselves,  and  have  like  bodies  and 

vices 

Yet  it  is  certain,  if  hands  were  bestowed  upon  oxen  or  lions, 
If  with  their  hands  they  could  draw,  and  the  works  of  men 

should  accomplish,  — 
Horses  like  unto  horses,  and  oxen  in  likeness  of  oxen, 
So  would  they  draw  their  figures  of  gods,  and  fashion  the 

bodies. 
Like  in  every  way  to  their  own! 

Greek  philosophy  had  its  origin  not  in  Greece 
proper,  but  in  the  colonies  of  Ionia  and  southern 
Italy.  We  cannot  attempt  here  to  mention  the  found- 
ers of  the  various  schools,  or  to  outline  their  theories 
as  to  the  origin  of  the  universe — matters  which  belong 
properly  to  the  history  of  Greek  philosophy  rather  than 
to  the  history  of  literature.  They  wrote  some  in  verse 
and  others  in  prose,  but  only  scanty  fragments  of 
their  writings  have  come  down  to  us.  The  first  of  the 
pre-Socratic  philosophers  who  exercised  an  important 
influence  upon  Attic  literature  was  Anaxagoras  of 
Clazomenae,  in  Asia  Minor,  who  resided  in  Athens  for 
many  years  during  the  age  of  Pericles  and  contributed 
largely  to  the  intellectual  awakening  which  character- 
ized the  end  of  the  fifth  century.     He  was  banished 


364  Homer  to  Theocritus 

from  Athens  in  431  for  impiety,  one  of  the  charges 
against  him  being  that  he  declared  the  sun  to  be  a  clod 
and  not  a  god.  Then  followed  the  sophists,  of  whose 
influence  on  the  development  of  artistic  prose  dis- 
course we  have  already  spoken.  They  were  not  inter- 
ested in  the  speculations  about  the  origin  of  things  so 
much  as  in  the  practical  questions  of  ethics,  politics, 
and  knowledge  in  general.  Their  influence  on  the 
spirit  of  the  time  in  breaking  up  the  old  faith  and  in 
transforming  education  was  enormous. 

So  the  way  was  paved  for  Socrates,  the  greatest 
figure  in  the  history  of  Greek  thought.  Though  he 
contributed  nothing  to  Greek  literature  directly,  yet 
his  influence  as  a  teacher  upon  the  philosophical  liter- 
ature of  the  ancient  world  was  so  profound  that  we 
may  well  pause  a  moment  to  review  his  life  and  teach- 
ings. Bom  in  469  B.  C. ,  he  followed  at  first  his  father's 
trade  as  a  sculptor.  Soon,  however,  he  devoted  him- 
self to  ethical  speculation.  He  did  not,  like  the  soph- 
ists, teach  for  pay,  but  mingled  freely  with  all  men  in 
the  streets,  in  the  market-place,  or  in  the  gymnasia — 
in  short,  wherever  he  could  find  an  audience.  He 
conceived  that  he  had  a  divine  call  to  question  men 
as  to  their  beliefs,  and  thus  to  awaken  in  them  first 
a  consciousness  of  their  own  ignorance  and  then 
a  desire  for  real  knowledge.  His  method  was  that  of 
question  and  answer,  or  dialectic.  By  this  process  he 
sought  to  obtain  clearer  notions  of  virtue  and  knowl- 
edge, framing  tentative  definitions  by  comparing 
a  number  of  specific  cases  involving  the  same  general 
term — that  is,  by  the  method  of  inductive  reasoning. 
In  this  way  he  proved  that  no  one  wittingly  does 
wrong,  for  right-doing  is  the  only  way  to  happiness. 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  365 

and  every  man  desires  happiness.  Therefore  virtue 
is  the  knowledge  of  what  really  conduces  to  happi- 
ness— that  is,  wisdom.  And  the  various  qualities 
which  constitute  virtue — for  example,  courage,  piety, 
and  temperance — are  determined  by  reference  to  what 
is  wise  in  the  particular  class  of  circumstances  involved. 
Thus,  bravery  depends  upon  the  knowledge  of  what  is 
really  dangerous  and  what  is  not,  and  so  on. 

Socrates'  teachings  covered  the  whole  range  of 
practical  ethics.  He  believed  that  every  man  should 
contribute  to  the  welfare  of  the  state,  and  himself  set 
an  example  by  taking  part  in  several  campaigns.  His 
course  of  life  kept  him  in  great  poverty,  but  he  had 
trained  himself  "  to  want  so  little  that  he  was  never  in 
want."  As  to  matters  of  religion  he  did  not  expressly 
discard  the  old  polytheism,  but  he  held  that  there  was 
one  supreme  God,  who  ordered  all  things  for  good 
and  to  whom  men  should  look  for  guidance  in  matters 
beyond  their  own  range  of  knowledge.  He  believed 
in  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  though  he  could  not 
prove  the  doctrine  by  reasoning.  Socrates  further 
thought  that  he  possessed  a  sort  of  inward  monitor, 
which  he  termed  a  deity,  which  never,  indeed,  told  him 
what  course  of  action  to  follow,  but  checked  him  when 
about  to  take  a  wrong  step.  The  views  which  he 
held  were  so  original,  his  method  of  propagating  them 
so  calculated  to  provoke  the  personal  hostility  of  the 
men  whom  he  questioned  and  refuted,  and  his  own 
indifference  both  to  the  conventionalities  of  society 
and  to  the  accepted  beliefs  so  frankly  avowed,  that  he 
early  became  an  object  of  dislike  to  many.  As  early 
as  423  he  was  the  object  of  attack  of  the  Clauds  of 
Aristophanes.     The  fact  that  some  of  his  followers,  as 


366  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Alcibiades  and  Critias,  became  prominent  as  disturb- 
ing factors  in  Athenian  politics,  increased  the  prejudice 
against  him.  After  the  democratic  reaction  that  fol- 
lowed the  revolution  of  404,  charges  were  brought 
against  him  to  the  effect  that  he  undermined  religion 
and  corrupted  the  youth.  He  was  tried,  condemned, 
and  put  to  death  in  399  B.  C. 

Our  knowledge  of  Socrates  is  derived  mainly  from 
the  writings  of  his  pupils,  especially  Xenophon  and 
Plato,  through  whom  he  comes  to  have  a  place  in  the 
history  of  Greek  literature.  Plato,  whose  real  name 
was  Aristocles,  but  who  was  called  Plato  from  the 
breadth  of  his  shoulders,  was  probably  bom  in  429, 
the  year  of  the  death  of  Pericles.  He  received  a  lib- 
eral education  in  the  three  branches,  letters,  music, 
and  athletics.  He  made  the  acquaintance  of  Socrates 
and  joined  his  followers  when  about  twenty  years  of 
age.  After  the  death  of  his  master  he  left  Athens  for 
a  time,  spending  several  years  in  extensive  travel  and 
in  study.  He  visited  the  court  of  Dionysius  I,  tyrant 
of  Syracuse,  but  offended  the  monarch,  and  was  sold 
into  slavery  by  a  Spartan  to  whom  Dionysius  delivered 
him.  Ransomed  by  a  friend,  he  returned,  about  387 
B.  C,  to  Athens,  where  he  purchased  an  estate  north- 
west of  the  city,  near  the  precinct  of  the  hero  Acade- 
mus,  called  the  Academeia,  or  Academy — a  grove 
which  contained  promenades  and  a  gymnasium.  Here 
he  set  up  his  school  of  philosophy.  Men  came  from 
all  quarters  of  Greece  to  hear  him.  He  limited  his 
hearers  to  a  small  number,  and  though  he  charged  no 
fee,  he  accepted  presents.  After  ten  years  he 
revisited  Syracuse,  hoping  to  make  a  model  king  out 
of  Dionysius  II,  who  had  succeeded  to  the  tyranny. 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  367 

In  this  hope  he  was  grievously  disappointed  and  was 
glad  to  escape  to  Athens  again.  Again  he  visited 
Syracuse  in  order  to  reconcile  the  king  with  his  friend 
Dion,  at  whose  invitation  he  had  previously  gone  to 
Syracuse  but  whom  the  tyrant  had  exiled.  In  this 
plan,  too,  he  failed.  He  died  at  Athens  about  347  B.  C. 
Plato  is  almost  the  only  writer  of  antiquity  whose 
writings  have  come  down  to  us  complete.  We  have 
forty-two  dialogues .  under  his  name,  of  which  some 
twenty-five  are  probably  genuine.  This  is  not  the 
place  to  consider  Plato's  philosophical  system ;  we  can 
at  most  give  some  idea  of  the  subject-matter  of  his 
principal  works  and  define  his  place  in  the  history  of 
literature.  In  the  first  place  he  adopted  the  dialogue 
form  of  composition,  and  was  the  first  to  bring  it  to 
perfection.  He  chose  the  dialogue,  doubtless,  in  the 
first  instance,  because  it  truthfully  reproduced  the 
manner  of  Socrates'  intercourse  with  his  followers, 
and  retained  it  because  the  dialectic  method  suited 
best  his  plan  of  philosophical  inquiry  and  exposition. 
We  are  told  that  in  his  youth  he  essayed  not  only  other 
branches  of  poetry  but  also  tragedy.  The  dramatic 
form  of  the  dialogue  undoubtedly  appealed  to  his 
artistic  literary  instincts.  He  graphically  indicates 
the  scenery,  draws  his  characters  with  realism  and 
fidelity,  and  develops  the  plot  with  all  of  the  skill  of 
a  dramatic  artist.  In  fact  the  dialogue,  in  his  hands, 
takes  a  place  in  prose  literature  beside  history  and 
oratory  that  corresponds  closely  to  the  position  of 
tragedy  in  poetry  after  the  epic  and  lyric  forms.  But 
some  exceptions  must  be  made  as  regards  the  dra- 
matic form  of  the  Platonic  dialogues.  Plato  pays  little 
attention  to  chronological  consistency  in  choosing  his 


368  Homer  to  Theocritus 

characters  and  fixing  the  time  of  action.  In  one 
instance  he  makes  Socrates,  who  died  in  399,  refer  to 
an  event  of  the  year  387.  Again,  in  the  later  dia- 
logues the  dramatic  elements  are  neglected  and 
become  a  mere  frame  for  the  discussion,  which  tends 
to  become  a  monologue.  Two  of  Plato's  works,  the 
Apology  and  the  Menexenus^  are  not  dialogues,  but 
speeches. 

It  is  to  be  observed,  in  the  second  place,  that  the 
personality  and  the  teachings  of  Socrates  pervade  all 
of  Plato's  writings.  Socrates  is  always  one  of  the 
characters  in  the  dialogues,  and  it  is  he  who  is  repre- 
sented as  delivering  the  two  speeches.  The  doctrines 
that  are  developed  are  always  put  in  the  mouth  of 
Socrates,  and  Plato  never  claims  them  as  his  own. 
He  mentions  himself  but  twice.  It  is  therefore 
a  question  how  far  we  are  to  suppose  that  the  Socra- 
tes of  Plato  is  the  real  Socrates.  We  may  believe  that 
he  depicts  the  character  and  personality  of  his  master 
with  essential  fidelity,  and  truthfully  exhibits  his 
methods  of  inquiry  after  truth.  But  the  great  philo- 
sophical ideas^  which  are  developed  are  those  of  Plato; 
nor  can  we  determine  how  largely  he  was  indebted  to 
Socrates  for  the  suggestions  which  led  up  to  them. 
Naturally  the  earlier  dialogues  contain  more  of  Socra- 
tes and  less  of  Plato. 

No  chronological  arrangement  of  Plato's  dialogues 
that  has  yet  been  proposed  is  entirely  satisfactory. 
Several  attempts  at  a  logical  classification  were  made 
in  antiquity,   the  most  valuable  of  which  recognizes 

'We  may  mention  especially  the  Theory  of  Ideas,  the  Doctrine  of  Recol- 
lection, and  the  Theory  of  Love,  for  the  explanation  of  which  we  must  refer 
to  the  manuals  of  Greek  philosophv,  or  to  Professor  Sborey's  article  on  Plato 
in  Warner's  Library  of  the  World^s  Best  Literature. 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  369 

two  classes — the  Dialogues  of  Search,  in  which  Plato 
attacks  a  problem  from  all  sides,  with  only  tentative, 
or  even  negative,  results;  and  the  Dialogues  of 
Exposition,  in  which  positive  results  are  reached. 
For  literary  study,  however,  a  simpler  grouping  will  be 
convenient.  Let  us  consider  first  the  four  pieces 
which  relate  to  the  trial  and  death  of  Socrates,  the 
EuthyphrOy  Apology ^  CritOy  and  Phado,  In  the  first- 
named  Socrates,  on  his  way  to  the  trial,  is  represented 
as  meeting  Euthyphro  and  engaging  him  in  a  discus- 
sion on  piety.  The  Apology  is  Plato's  version  of 
Socrates*  noble  speech  before  the  jurors.  The  first 
part  is  the  defense  proper,  followed  by  the  proposal  by 
Socrates  of  the  counter-penalty,  and  ending  with  an 
address  to  the  jurors  after  the  rendering  of  the  verdict. 
In  the  Crito  we  find  Socrates  in  prison.  Crito,  one  of 
his  followers,  visits  him  and  tries  to  win  his  consent  to 
a  plan  of  escape,  but  Socrates  proves  that  he  cannot, 
as  a  good  citizen,  violate  the  laws  of  his  country. 
The  Phado  contains  an  account  of  the  last  conversa- 
tion and  of  the  death  of  Socrates.  The  theme  of  the 
conversation  is  the  immortality  of  the  soul.  This 
dialogue  is  the  most  famous  of  Plato's  writings,  not 
only  on  account  of  the  sublime  picture  of  Socrates' 
death,  of  a  pathos  unapproached  in  literature,  but  also 
on  account  of  the  infinite  importance  for  mankind  of 
the  main  subject.  Five  of  the  shorter  dialogiies  in 
the  more  intimate  Socratic  spirit  may  be  grouped 
together:  the  Lysis^  on  friendship;  the  Charmides,  on 
chastity;  the  Laches,  on  courage;  the  Hippias  minor,, 
a  comparison  of  Achilles  and  Odysseus;  and  the  lotiy 
an  interesting  discussion  with  a  Homeric  rhapsodist. 
In  four  dialogues  the  attitude  of  Socrates  toward 


370  Homer  to  Theocritus 

the  sophists  is  illustrated.  These  are  the  Protagoras^ 
GorgiaSy  Euthydemus^  and  Cratylus^  each  named  after 
the  sophist  with  whom  Socrates  holds  a  discussion. 
The  Protagoras  is  one  of  Plato's  masterpieces  as  a 
dramatic  dialogue.  With  fine  irony  the  arrogance  and 
empty  pretensions  of  the  sophists  as  a  class,  illustrated 
by  their  principal  representative,  are  exposed.  The 
subject  of  the  debate  is  the  possibility  of  teaching 
virtue.  No  decision  is  reached,  but  the  subject  is 
taken  up  again  in  the  Meno^  in  which  the  proposition 
is  defended  that  virtue  is  knowledge,  and  that  knowl- 
edge is  but  a  recollection  of  what  the  soul  knew  in 
a  previous  existence — a  doctrine  familiar  to  us  from 
Wordsworth's  Ode  on  Intimations  of  Immortality  from 
Recollections  of  Early  Childhood^  and  used  again  by 
Plato  in  the  Phcedo,  The  Gorgicts  is  directed  against 
the  pretensions  of  the  rhetoricians,  represented  by  the 
great  Sicilian,  but  discusses  some  of  the  higher  ques- 
tions of  ethics.  For  example,  the  Christian  doctriile 
is  maintained  that  it  is  a  greater  evil  to  do  than  to 
suffer  inJHistice.  Socrates  also  protests  against  the 
theory  that  good  is  pleasure  and  evil  is  pain,  and 
insists  on  an  absolute  standard  of  morality  without 
regard  to  consequences.  In  a  similar  manner,  in  the 
PhadruSy  Socrates,  beginning  and  ending  with  a  criti- 
cism of  rhetoric,  devotes  his  attention  mainly  to 
another  theme.  Here  the  subject  is  love — philosophic 
love,  **the  divine  impulse  which  leads  us  to  long  for 
immortality  and  to  seek  after  perfection.  **  The  open- 
ing scene  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  in  Greek  litera- 
ture— the  m:eeting  of  Socrates  and  his  young  friend 
Phaedrus  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus.  The  Symposium 
is  closely  connected  with  the  Phadrus  in  subject,  for 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  371 

a  large  part  of  it  is  devoted  to  a  consideration  of  love. 
It  is  perhaps  the  most  perfect  as  a  work  of  literature, 
as  it  is  certainly  one  of  the  most  charming  of  the  dia- 
logues of  Plato.  It  is  an  account  of  a  banquet  given 
at  the  house  of  Agathon,  the  tragic  poet,  Among 
the  guests  were  Alcibiades,  the  po6l  Aristophanes,  and 
Socrates.  Toward  the  close  Alcibiades  gives  a  won- 
derful description  of  Socrates,  extolling  his  virtues, 
but  not  sparing  his  ugliness. 

Passing  over  the  dialogues  of  more  strictly  philo- 
sophical interest,  as  the  Theatetus^  SophisteSj  Politicus^ 
Timaus,  CritiaSy  ParmenideSy  and  PhilebuSy  and  the 
spurious  or  suspected  writings,  of  which  but  one  is  of 
literary  interest — the  Menexenus^  a  funeral  oration 
which  Socrates  pretends  to  have  learned  from  Aspasia 
— we  come  to  the  greatest  constructive  work  of  Plato, 
the  Republic,  It  has  come  down  to  us  in  ten  books, 
but  was  originally  conceived  as  a  smaller  work,  grad- 
ually growing  in  the  author's  hands  to  its  present  com- 
pass. It  is  thrown  into  the  form  of  a  dialogue  held 
in  Peiraeus  at  the  house  of  Cephalus,  the  father  of 
the  orator  Lysias.  Socrates,  Cephalus,  and  his  son 
Polemarchus,  Glaucus  and  Adeimantus,  brothers  of 
Plato,  and  several  others  were  present.  The  thread 
of  the  dialogue  is,  however,  very  slender,  since  Soc- 
rates talks  most  of  the  time,  with  few  interruptions. 
The  conversation  turns  first  upon  the  question  as  to 
what  justice  is,  then  upon  the  founding  and  organiza- 
tion of  an  ideal  city  or  state  based  upon  justice.  This 
leads  to  the  consideration  of  the  education  both  of 
mind  and  of  body  which  the  citizens  of  such  a  state 
should  receive,  and  the  virtues — viz.,  wisdom,  courage, 
self-control,  and  righteousness^-which  in  such  a  well- 


37^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ordered  state  must  result  from  such  an  education. 
Socrates  then  develops  his  theory  of  the  community  of 
wives  and  children,  and  of  the  training  of  those  who 
are  to  be  the  ''guardians, "  or  qualified  rulers  of  the 
state.  Returning  in  the  last  book  to  the  subject  of 
poetry  as  a  part  of  education,  he  lays  down  the  rule 
that  the  only  poetry  allowed  in  the  ideal  state  will  be 
hymns  in  honor  of  the  gods  and  of  righteous  men. 
He  had  already  decided  against  Homer  and  Hesiod 
because  they  attribute  wicked  actions  to  the  gods  and 
dwell  upon  the  unworthy  passions  of  men.  After 
a  few  words  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  the  hope 
of  which  is  to  inspire  the  righteous  citizen,  he  closes 
with  the  famous  myth  of  £r  the  son  of  Armenius. 

We  cannot  dwell  longer  upon  this  book,  which  has 
charmed  and  stimulated  the  world  of  letters  and  philos- 
ophy, and  has  inspired  such  works  as  St.  Augustine's 
City  of  God  2SiA  More's  Utopia^  nor  upon  Plato's  last 
work,  the  LawSy  in  which  he  modifies  some  of  his  views 
about  the  ideal  state,  and  works  out  some  of  the  details 
of  its  government.  After  a  word  about  Plato's  style 
we  may  pass  to  the  selections  from  his  writings.  Plato 
was  essentially  a  poet,  though  he  chose  to  work  in 
prose.  His  style  **is  on  the  borderland  between 
poetry  and  prose ;  it  has  exquisite  conversational  ease 
and  grace;  it  has  also  bursts  of  soaring  eloquence, 
when  we  seem  to  be  listening  to  the  words  of  one  who 
is  actually  looking  on  some  glorious  vision"  (Jebb). 
A  characteristic  of  his  dialogues  is  his  occasional 
employment  of  "myths,"  or  parables  drawn  from  the 
realm  of  fancy,  by  which  he  enlivens  the  dialogue  and 
illustrates  his  doctrines.  Plato  occupies  a  place  in 
English  literature  as  well  as  in  Greek,  thanks  to  Jow* 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  373 

ett's  incomparable  translation,  from  which  the  follow- 
ing selections  are  taken : 

SOCRATES'   VIEWS  ABOUT  DEATH 

Let  us  reflect  in  another  way,  and  we  shall  see  that  there 
is  great  reason  to  hope  that  death  is  a  good;  for  one  of  two 
things  —  either  death  is  a  state  of  nothingness  and  utter  uncon- 
sciousness, or,  as  men  say,  there  is  a  change  and  migration 
of  the  soul  from  this  world  to  another.  Now  if  you  suppose 
that  there  is  no  consciousness,  but  a  sleep  like  the  sleep 
of  him  who  is  undisturbed  even  by  dreams,  death  will  be 
an  unspeakable  gain.  For  if  a  person  were  to  select  the 
night  in  which  his  sleep  was  undisturbed  even  by  dreams, 
and  were  to  compare  with  this  the  other  days  and  nights 
of  his  life,  and  then  were  to  tell  us  how  many  days  and 
nights  he  had  passed  in  the  course  of  his  life  better  and 
more  pleasantly  than  this  one,  I  think  that  any  man,  I  will 
not  say  a  private  man,  but  even  the  great  king,  will  not  find 
many  such  days  or  nightSt  when  compared  with  the  others. 
Now  if  death  be  of  such  a  nature,  I  say  that  to  die  is  gain; 
for  eternity  is  then  only  a  single  night.  But  if  death  is  the 
journey  to  another  place,  and  there,  as  men  say,  all  the 
dead  abide,  what  good,  O  my  friends  and  judges,  can  be 
greater  than  this?  If  indeed  when  the  pilgrim  arrives  in 
the  world  below,  he  is  delivered  from  the  professors  of  justice 
in  this  world,  and  finds  the  true  judges,  who  are  said  to  give 
judgment  there,  Minos  and  Rhadamanthus  and  JEacvls  and 
Triptolemus,  and  other  sons  of  God  who  were  righteous  in 
their  own  life,  that  pilgrimage  will  be  worth  making.  What 
would  not  a  man  give  if  he  might  converse  with  Orpheus 
and  Musseus  and  Hesiod  and  Homer?  Nay,  if  this  be  true, 
let  me  die  again  and  again.    .    .    . 

Wherefore,  O  judges,  be  of  good  cheer  about  death,  and 
know  of  a  certainty,  that  no  evil  can  happen  to  a  good  man, 
either  in  life  or  after  death.  He  and  his  are  not  neglected  by 
the  gods;  nor  has  my  own  approaching  end  happened  by 
mere  chance.  But  I  see  clearly  that  the  time  had  arrived 
when  it  was  better  for  me  to  die  and  be  released  from  trouble: 


374  Homer  to  Theocritus 

wherefore  the  oracle  gave  no  sign.  For  which  reason,  also,  I 
am  not  angry  with  my  condemners*  or  with  my  accusers; 
they  have  done  me  no  harm,  although  they  did  not  mean  to 
do  me  any  good;  and  for  this  I  may  gently  blame  them. 

Still  I  have  a  favour  to  ask  of  them.  When  my  sons  are 
grown  up,  I  would  ask  you,  O  my  friends,  to  punish  them;  and 
I  would  have  you  trouble  them,  as  I  have  troubled  you,  if  they 
seem  to  care  about  riches,  or  anything,  more  than  about  virtue; 
or  if  they  pretend  to  be  something  when  they  are  really  noth- 
ing,— then  reprove  them,  as  I  have  reproved  you,  for  not  caring 
about  that  for  which  they  ought  to  care,  and  thinking  that  they 
are  something  when  they  are  really  nothing.  And  if  you  do 
this,  both  I  and  my  sons  will  have  received  justice  at  your 
hands. 

The  hour  of  departure  has  arrived,  and  we  go  our  ways — I 
to  die,  and  you  to  live.   Which  is  better  God  only  knows. 

Apology,  S2-S3' 

THE  DEATH   OF  SOCRATES 

"  Wherefore,  Simmias,  seeing  all  these  things,  what  ought 
not  we  to  do  that  we  may  obtain  virtue  and  wisdom  in  this 
life?  Fair  is  the  prize,  and  the  hope  great!  A  man  of  sense 
ought  not  to  say,  nor  will  I  be  very  confident,  that  the  descrip- 
tion which  I  have  given  of  the  soul  and  her  mansions  is  exactly 
true.  But  I  do  say  that,  inasmuch  as  the  soul  is  shown  to 
be  immortal,  he  may  venture  to  think,  not  improperly  or 
unworthily,  that  something  of  the  kind  is  true.  The  venture 
is  a  glorious  one,  and  he  ought  to  comfort  himself  with  words^ 
like  these»  which  is  the  reason  why  I  lengthen  out  the  tale. 
Wherefore,  I  say,  let  a  man  be  of  good  cheer  about  his  soul, 
who  having  cast  away  the  pleasures  and  ornaments  of  the 
body  as  alien  to  him  and  working  harm  rather  than  good, 
has  sought  after  the  pleasures  of  knowledge;  and  has  arrayed 
the  soul,  not  in  some  foreign  attire,  but  in  her  own  proper 
jewels,  temperance,  and  justice,  and  courage,  and  nobility, 
and  truth  —  in  these  adorned  she  is  ready  to  go  on  her  journey 
to  the  world  below,  when  her  hour  comes."    .... 

Now  the  hour  of  sunset  was  near,  for  a  good  deal  of  time 
had  passed  while  he  was  within.   When  he  came  out,  he  sat 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  375 

down  with  us  again  after  his  bath,  but  not  much  was  said. 
Soon  the  jailer^  who  was  the  servant  of  the  Eleven,  entered 
and  stood  by  him,  saying:  —  "To  you,  Socrates,  whom  I  know 
to  be  the  noblest  and  gentlest  and  best  of  all  who  ever  came 
to  this  placet  I  will  not  impute  the  angry  feelings  of  other 
men,  who  rage  and  swear  at  me,  when,  in  obedience  to  the 
authorities,  I  bid  them  drink  the  poison  —  indeed,  I  am  sure 
that  you  will  not  be  angry  with  me;  for  others,  as  you  are 
aware,  and  not  I,  are  to  blame.  And  so  fare  you  well,  and 
try  to  bear  lightly  what  must  needs  be — you  know  my  errand." 

Then  bursting  into  tears  he  turned  away  and  went  out. 
Socrates  looked  at  him  and  said:  "I  return  your  good  wishes, 
and  will  do  as  you  bid.**  Then  turnmg  to  us,  he  said:  "  How 
charming  the  man  is:  since  I  have  been  in  prison  he  has 
always  been  coming  to  see  me,  and  at  times  he  would  talk 
to  me,  and  was  as  good  to  me  as  could  be,  and  now  see 
how  generously  he  sorrows  on  my  account.  We  must  do  as 
he  sayst  Crito;  and  therefore  let  the  cup  be  brought,  if  the 
poison  is  prepared:  if  not,  let  the  attendant  prepare  some.'* 

"  Yet,**  said  Crito,  "  the  sun  is  still  upon  the  hill-tops,  and 
I  know  that  many  a  one  has  taken  the  draught  late,  and 
after  the  announcement  has  been  made  to  him,  he  has  eaten 
and  drunk,  and  enjoyed  the  society  of  his  beloved;  do  not 
hurry  — there  is  time  enough.  Socrates  said:  "Yes,  Crito, 
and  they  of  whom  you  speak  are  right  in  so  acting,  for  they 
think  that  they  will  be  gainers  by  the  delay;  but  I  am  right 
in  not  following  their  example,  for  I  do  not  think  that  I 
should  gain  anything  by  drinking  the  poison  a  little  later; 
I  should  only  be  ridiculous  in  my  own  eyes  for  sparing  and 
saving  a  life  which  is  already  forfeit.  Please  then  to  do  as 
I  say,  and  not  to  refuse  me." 

Crito  made  a  sign  to  the  servant,  who  was  standing  by; 
and  he  went  out,  and  having  been  absent  for  some  time, 
returned  with  the  jailer  carrying  the  cup  of  poison.  Socrates 
said:  "You,  my  good  friend,  who  are  experienced  in  these 
matters,  shall  give  me  directions  how  I  am  to  proceed." 
The  man  answered:  "You  have  only  to  walk  about  until 
your  legs  are  heavy,  and  then  to  lie  down,  and  the  poison 
will  act.**    At  the  same  time  he>  handed  the  cup  to  Socrates, 


376  Homer  to  Theocritus 

who  in  the  easiest  and  gentlest  manner,  without  the  least 
fear  or  change  of  colour  or  feature,  looking  at  the  man  with 
all  his  eyes,  Echecrates,  as  his  manner  was,  took  the  cup 
and  said:  "What  do  you  say  about  making  a  libation  out 
of  this  cup  to  any  god?  May  I,  or  not?  "  The  man  answered: 
"  We  only  prepare,  Socrates,  just  so  much  as  we  deem  enough.** 
'*I  understand,**  he  said:  "but  I  may  and  must  ask  the  gods 
to  prosper  my  journey  from  this  to  the  other  world  —  even 
so  —  and  so  be  it  according  to  my  prayer.**  Then  raising 
the  cup  to  his  lipi,  quite  readily  and  cheerfully  he  drank 
o£E  the  poison.  And  hitherto  most  of  us  had  been  able  to 
control  our  sorrow;  but  now  when  we  saw  him  drinking,  and 
saw  too  that  he  had  finished  the  draught,  we  could  no  longer 
forbear,  and  in  spite  of  myself  my  own  tears  were  flowing 
fast;  so  that  I  covered  my  face  and  wept,  not  for  him,  but 
at  the  thought  of  my  own  calamity  in  having  to  part  from 
such  a  friend.  Not  was  I  the  first;  for  Crito,  when  he  found 
himself  unable  to  restrain  his  tears,  had  got  up,  and  I  followed; 
and  at  that  moment,  Apollodorus,  who  had  been  weeping  all 
the  time,  broke  out  in  a  loud  and  passionate  cry  which  made 
cowards  of  us  all.  Socrates  alone  retained  his  calmness: 
"What  is  this  strange  outcry?**  he  said.  "I  sent  away  the 
women  mainly  in  order  that  they  might  not  misbehave  in 
this  way,  for  I  have  been  told  that  a  man  should  die  in 
peace.  Be  quiet  then,  and  have  patience.**  When  we  heard 
his  words  we  were  ashamed,  and  refrained  our  tears;  and 
he  walked  about  until,  as  he  said,  his  legs  began  to  fail, 
and  then  he  lay  on  his  back,  according  to  the  directions, 
and  the  man  who  gave  him  the  poison  now  and  then  looked 
at  his  feet  and  legs;  and  after  a  while  he  pressed  his  foot 
hard,  and  asked  him  if  he  could  feel;  and  he  said,  "No**; 
and  then  his  leg,  and  so  upwards  and  upwards,  and  showed 
us  that  he  was  cold  and  stiff.  And  he  felt  them  himself, 
and  said,  "When  the  poison  reaches  the  heart,  that  will  be 
the  end.'*  He  was  beginning  to  grow  cold  about  the  groin, 
when  he  uncovered  his  face,  for  he  had  covered  himself  up, 
and  said  —  they  were  his  last  words — he  said:  "Crito,  I  owe 
a  cock  to  Asclepius;  will  you  remember  to  pay  the  debt?" 
*'The  debt  shall  be  paid,'*  said  Crito;  "is  there  anything 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  377 

else  ?  "  There  was  no  answer  to  this  question ;  but  in  a  minute 
or  two  a  movement  was  heard,  and  the  attendants  uncovered 
him ;  his  eyes  were  set,  and  Crito  closed  his  eyes  and  mouth. 
Such  was  the  end,  Eche crates,  of  our  friend  ;  concerning 
whom  I  may  truly  say,  that  of  all  men  of  his  time  whom 
I  have  known,  he  was  the  wisest  and  justest  and  best. 

PhadOy  63-67. 

A  SUMMER  AFTERNOON  ON  THE  ILISSUS 

Phabdrus.  But  if  I  am  to  read,  where  would  you  please 
to  sit  ? 

SOCRATBS.  Let  us  turn  aside  and  go  by  the  Ilissus  ;  we 
will  sit  down  at  some  quiet  spot. 

Ph.  I  am  fortunate  in  not  having  my  sandals,  and  since 
you  never  have  any,  I  think  that  we  may  go  along  the  brook 
and  cool  our  feet  in  the  water ;  this  will  be  the  easiest  way, 
and  at  midday  and  in  the  summer  is  far  from  being  unpleasant. 

S.  Lead  on,  and  look  out  for  a  place  in  which  we  can  sit 
down. 

Ph.     Do  you  see  that  tallest  plane-tree  in  the  distance  ? 

S.    Yes. 

Ph.  There  are  shade  and  gentle  breezes,  and  grass  on 
which  we  may  either  sit  or  lie  down. 

S.     Move  forward. 

Ph.  I  should  like  to  know,  Socrates,  whether  the  place  is 
not  somewhere  here  at  which  Boreas  is  said  to  have  carried  off 
Orithyia  from  the  banks  of  the  Ilissus  ? 

S.    Such  is  the  tradition. 

Ph.  And  is  this  the  exact  spot  ?  The  little  stream  is  de- 
lightfully clear  and  bright ;  I  can  fancy  that  there  might  be 
maidens  playing  near. 

S.  I  believe  that  the  spot  is  not  exactly  here,  but  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  lower  down,  where  you  cross  to  the  temple 
of  Artemis,  and  there  is,  I  think,  some  sort  of  an  altar  of 
Boreas  at  the  place. 

Ph.  I  have  never  noticed  it ;  but  I  beseech  you  to  tell 
me,  Socrates,  do  you  believe  this  tale  ? 

S.  The  wise  are  doubtful,  and  I  should  not  be  singular  if, 
like  them,  I  too  doubted.    I  might  have  a  rational  explanation 


378  H  omer  to  Theocritus 

that  Orithyia  was  playing  with  Pharmacia,  when  a  northern 
gust  carried  her  over  the  neighbouring  rocks  ;  and  this  being 
the  manner  of  her  death,  she  was  said  to  have  been  carried 
away  by  Boreas.  There  is  a  discrepancy,  however,  about  the 
locality ;  according  to  another  version  of  the  story  she  was 
taken  from  the  Areopagus,  and  not  from  this  place.  Now  I 
quite  acknowledge  that  these  allegories  are  very  nice,  but  he 
is  not  to  be  envied  who  has  to  invent  them  ;  much  labour  and 
ingenuity  will  be  required  of  him  ;  and  when  he  has  once  be- 
gun, he  must  go  on  and  rehabilitate  Hippocentaurs  and  chi- 
meras dire.  Gorgons  and  winged  steeds  flow  in  apace,  and 
numberless  other  inconceivable  and  portentous  natures.  And 
if  he  is  sceptical  about  them,  and  would  fain  reduce  them  one 
after  another  to  the  rules  of  probability,  this  sort  of  crude 
philosophy  will  take  up  a  great  deal  of  time.  Now  I  have  no 
leisure  for  such  enquiries  ;  shall  I  tell  you  why  ?  I  must  first 
know  myself,  as  the  Delphian  inscription  says  ;  to  be  curious 
about  that  which  is  not  my  concern,  while  I  am  still  in  igno- 
rance of  my  own  self,  would  be  ridiculous.  And  therefore  I 
bid  farewell  to  all  this ;  the  common  opinion  is  enough  for  me. 
For,  as  I  was  saying,  I  want  to  know  not  about  this,  but  about 
myself ;  am  I  a  monster  more  complicated  and  swollen  with 
passion  than  the  serpent  Typho,  or  a  creature  of  a  gentler  and 
simpler  sort,  to  whom  Nature  has  given  a  diviner  and  lowlier 
destiny  ?  But  let  me  ask  you,  friend,  have  we  not  reached  the 
plane-tree  to  which  you  were  conducting  us  ? 

Ph.     Yes,  this  is  the  tree. 

S.  By  Herd,  a  fair  resting-place,  full  of  summer  sounds 
and  scents.  Here  is  this  lofty  and  spreading  plane-tree,  and 
the  agnus  castus  high  and  clustering,  in  the  fullest  blossom 
and  the  greatest  fragrance  ;  and  the  stream  which  flows  be- 
neath the  plane-tree  is  deliciously  cold  to  the  feet.  Judging 
from  the  ornaments  and  images,  this  must  be  a  spot  sacred  to 
Achelous  and  the  nymphs.  How  delightful  is  the  breeze : — 
so  very  sweet ;  and  there  is  a  sound  in  the  air  shrill  and  sum- 
merlike which  makes  answer  to  the  chorus  of  the  cicadee. 
But  the  greatest  charm  of  all  is  the  grass,  like  a  pillow  gently 
sloping  to  the  head.  My  dear  Phaedrus,  you  have  been  an 
admirable  guide. 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  379 

Ph.  What  an  incomprehensible  being  you  are,  Socrates  : 
When  you  are  in  the  country,  as  you  say,  you  are  really  like 
some  stranger  who  is  led  about  by  a  guide.  Do  you  ever  cross 
the  border  ?  I  rather  think  that  you  never  venture  even  out- 
side the  gates. 

S.  Very  true,  my  good  friend  ;  and  I  hope  that  you  will 
excuse  me  when  you  hear  the  reason,  which  is,  that  I  am  a 
lover  of  knowledge,  and  the  men  who  dwell  in  the  city  are  my 
teachers,  and  not  the  trees  or  the  country.  Though  I  do  in- 
deed believe  that  you  have  found  a  spell  with  which  to  draw 
me  out  of  the  city  into  the  country,  like  a  hungry  cow  before 
whom  a  bough  or  bunch  of  fruit  is  waved.  For  only  hold  up 
before  me  in  like  manner  a  book,  and  you  may  lead  me  all 
round  Attica,  and  over  the  wide  world.  And  now  having  ar- 
rived, I  intend  to  lie  down,  and  do  you  choose  any  posture  in 
which  you  can  read  best.     Begin. 

Ph.    And  now  as  the  heat  is  abated  let  us  depart. 

S.  Should  we  not  offer  up  a  prayer  first  of  all  to  the  local 
deities  ? 

Ph.    By  all  means. 

S.  Beloved  Pan,  and  all  ye  other  gods  who  haunt  this  place, 
give  me  beauty  in  the  inward  soul ;  and  may  the  outward  and 
inward  man  be  at  one.  May  I  reckon  the  wise  to  be  the 
wealthy,  and  may  I  have  such  a  quantity  of  gold  as  a  temper- 
ate man  and  he  only  can  bear  and  carry. — Anything  more  ? 
The  prayer,  I  think,  is  enough  for  me. 

Ph.  Ask  the  same  for  me,  for  friends  should  have  all 
things  in  common. 

S.     Let  us  go. 

Phaedrusy  229-231 ;  279. 

STORIES  ABOUT  SOCRATES 

Alcibiades.  I  have  told  you  one  tale,  and  now  I  must 
tell  you  another,  which  is  worth  hearing, 

**  Of  the  doings  and  sufferings  of  the  enduring  man  ' 

while  he  was  on  the  expedition  to  Potidaea.     One  morning  he 
was  thinking  about  something  which  he  could  not  resolve  ;  he 


J  80  Homer  to  Theocritus 

would  not  give  it  up,  but  continued  thinking  from  early  dawn 
until  noon — there  he  stood  fixed  in  thought ;  and  at  noon  at- 
tention was  drawn  to  him,  and  the  rumour  ran  through  the 
wondering  crowd  that  Socrates  had  been  standing  and  think- 
ing about  something  ever  since  the  break  of  day.  At  last,  in 
the  evening  after  supper,  some  lonians,  out  of  curiosity  (I 
should  explain  that  this  occurred  not  in  winter  but  in  sum- 
mer), brought  out  their  mats  and  slept  in  the  open  air  that  they 
might  watch  him  and  see  whether  he  would  stand  all  night. 
There  he  stood  until  the  following  morning ;  and  with  the  return 
of  light  he  offered  up  a  prayer  to  the  sun,  and  went  his  way. 

I  will  also  tell,  if  you  please, — and  indeed  I  am  bound  to 
tell — of  his  courage  in  battle  ;  for  who  but  he  saved  my  life  ? 
Now  this  was  the  engagement  in  which  I  received  the  prize  of 
valour  ;  for  I  was  wounded  and  he  would  not  leave  me,  but  he 
rescued  me  and  my  arms  ;  and  he  ought  to  have  received  the 
prize  of  valour  which  the  generals  wanted  to  confer  on  me 
partly  on  account  of  my  rank,  and  I  told  them  so  (this,  again, 
Socrates  will  not  impeach  or  deny),  but  he  was  more  eager 
than  the  generals  that  I  and  not  he  should  have  the  prize. 
There  was  another  occasion  on  which  his  behavior  was  very 
remarkable — in  the  flight  of  the  army  after  the  battle  of  De* 
Hum,  where  he  served  among  the  heavy-armed, — I  had  a  bet- 
ter opportunity  of  observing  him  than  at  Potidaea,  for  I  was 
myself  on  horseback,  and  therefore  comparatively  out  of  dan- 
ger. He  and  Laches  were  retreating,  for  the  troops  were  in 
flight,  and  I  met  them  and  told  them  not  to  be  discouraged, 
and  promised  to  remain  with  them  ;  and  there  you  might  have 
seen  him,  Aristophanes,  as  you  describe,  just  as  he  is  in  the 
streets  of  Athens,  stalking  like  a  pelican,  and  rolling  his  eyes, 
calmly  contemplating  enemies  as  well  as  friends,  and  making 
very  intelligible  to  everybody,  even  from  a  distance,  that  who- 
ever attacked  him  would  be  likely  to  meet  with  a  stout  resist- 
ance ;  and  in  this  way  he  and  his  companion  escaped — for  this 
is  the  sort  of  man  who  is  never  touched  in  war ;  those  only  are 
pursued  who  are  running  away  headlong.  I  particularly  ob- 
served how  superior  he  was  to  Laches  in  presence  of  mind. 

Many  are  the  marvels  which  I  might  narrate  in  praise  of 
Socrates ;  most  of  his  ways  might  perhaps  be  paralleled  in 


Philosophical  Prose.     Plato  381 

another  man,  but  his  absolute  unlikeness  to  any  other  human 
being  that  is  or  ever  has  been  is  perfectly  astonishing.  You 
may  imagine  Brasidas  and  others  to  have  been  like  Achilles  ; 
or  you  may  imagine  Nestor  and  Antenor  to  have  been  like  Peri- 
cles ;  and  the  same  may  be  said  of  other  famous  men,  but  of 
this  strange  being  you  will  never  be  able  to  find  any  likeness, 
however  remote,  either  among  men  who  now  are  or  who  ever 
have  been — other  than  that  which  I  have  already  suggested  of 
Silenus  and  the  satyrs  ;  and  they  represent  in  a  figure  not 
only  himself,  but  his  words.  For,  although  I  forgot  to  men- 
tion this  to  you  before,  his  words  are  like  the  images  of 
Silenus  which  open  ;  they  are  ridiculous  when  you  first  hear 
them  ;  he  clothes  himself  in  language  that  is  like  the  skin  of 
the  wanton  satyr — for  his  talk  is  of  pack-asses  and  smiths  and 
cobblers  and  curriers,  and  he  is  always  repeating  the  same 
things  in  the  same  words,  so  that  any  ignorant  or  inexperi- 
enced person  might  feel  disposed  to  laugh  at  him ;  but  he  who 
opens  the  bust  and  sees  what  is  within  will  find  that  they  are 
the  only  words  which  have  a  meaning  in  them,  and  also  the 
most  divine,  abounding  in  fair  images  of  virtue,  and  of  the 
wisest  comprehension,  or  rather  extending  to  the  whole  duty 
of  a  good  and  honourable  man. — This,  friends,  is  my  praise 
of  Socrates. 

Symposium^  220-222. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

ARISTOTLE 


Aristotle's  Place  in  Greek  Literature — His  Life — Aristotle  and 
Plato — Aristotle  and  Alexander — The  Lyceum — The  Sur- 
vival of  Aristotle's  MSS.— His  Style— The  Plan  of  his 
Writings — The  Constitution  of  Athens — Selection:  An 
Estimate  of  Pericles — The  Ethics — Selection :  The  Virtue 
of  Liberality— The  Politics — Selection  :  Man's  Instinct  for 
the  Political  Life — The  Rhetoric — Selection:  On  Equity 
— The  Poetics — Selection:  Definition  of  Tragedy — Aris- 
totle in  Relation  to  his  Age. 

The  claims  of  Aristotle  to  a  place  in  a  survey  of 
Greek  literature  rest  upon  an  entirely  different  basis 
from  those  of  his  teacher,  Plato.  Plato  clothed  even 
the  most  abstruse  philosophical  speculations  in  a  liter- 
ary dress,  and  his  writings  rank  among  the  greatest 
things  in  pure  literature  through  their  very  perfection 
of  form  and  charm  of  style.  With  Aristotle,  however, 
the  substance  is  everything,  the  outward  dress  appar- 
ently a  matter  of  indifference.  It  is  safe  to  say  that  no 
one  of  his  extant  works  deserves  a  place  in  a  history  of 
literature  on  the  basis  of  literary  merit.  But,  for  all 
that,  Aristotle  is  the  most  commanding  figure  in  the 
history  of  Greek  thought.  Dante  truly  calls  him  "  the 
master  of  those  who  know."  He  was  a  creator  as  truly 
as  was  Aeschylus  or  Plato,  though  in  a  different  way. 
It  is  fitting,  therefore,  that  a  brief  account  should  be 
given  of  his  life  and  writings. 

Aristotle  was  born  in  the  year  384  in  Stageira,  a 
town  in  southwestern  Thrace  near  the  borders  of 
Macedonia.     His  father  was  Nicomachus,  physician  to 

382 


Aristotle  383 

Amyntas  II  of  Macedon.  This  fact  is  of  significance 
as  indicating  the  atmosphere  of  culture  in  which  Aris* 
totle  was  bred,  the  scientific  trend  of  his  early  educa- 
tion, and  the  relations  of  his  family  with  the  royal  house 
of  Macedon.  On  the  death  of  his  father  Aristotle  in- 
herited an  independent  fortune,  and  soon  after,  at  the 
age  of  seventeen,  betook  himself  to  Athens  to  complete 
his  education.  Athens  was  at  this  time  *'  the  school  of 
Hellas  "  in  a  far  greater  degree  than  when  it  was  so 
characterized  by  Pericles.  Isocrates  was  at  the  zenith 
of  his  fame  as  a  teacher  of  rhetoric,  and  the  Academy 
was  firmly  established.  As  to  Aristotle's  relations  with 
Isocrates,  we  are  not  informed  precisely  ;  it  is  altogether 
probable,  however,  that  the  eager  student  made  the 
most  of  this  opportunity  of  hearing  the  brilliant  rhet- 
orician. At  least  we  may  infer,  from  Aristotle's  frequent 
quotations  from  the  works  of  Isocrates,  that  the  latter's 
methods  had  been  the  object  of  his  careful  study. 

On  the  return  of  Plato  from  Syracuse  (about  365), 
Aristotle  at  once  enrolled  himself  among  his  disciples 
and  remained  a  member  of  the  Academy  until  Plato's 
death  in  347.  During  these  years,  in  which  Plato  was 
entering  upon  the  last  phase  of  his  philosophical  think- 
ing, the  sharp  contrast  in  the  intellectual  natures  of  the 
two  men  must  have  become  more  and  more  apparent. 
Aristotle  was  practical,  hard-headed,  unimaginative,  and 
scientific  in  his  manner  of  thinking;  Plato,  on  the 
other  hand,  always  an  enthusiastic  idealist,  showed  a 
strong  tendency  in  his  later  years  toward  mystical 
speculations,  in  which  Aristotle  could  have  had  little 
interest  or  sympathy.  Writers  of  a  later  age  speak  of 
conflicts  arising  between  teacher  and  pupil  ;  but  in 
their  extant  writings^  at  any  rate,  there  is  no  trace  of 


384  Homer  to  Theocritus 

an  estrangement.  On  the  contrary,  though  Aristotle 
often  departs  from  the  doctrines  which  Plato  incul- 
cated, he  always  refers  to  him  with  respect  and  even 
affection,  avoiding  the  tone  of  polemical  controversy. 
On  one  occasion  he  says,  when  attacking  a  view  of 
Plato  :  "  Plato  and  Truth  are  both  beloved,  but  it  is  a 
sacred  duty  to  prefer  Truth." 

After  the  death  of  Plato,  Aristotle  spent  several 
years  abroad,  most  of  the  time  at  the  court  of  his  friend 
and  fellow-student,  Hermeias,  king  of  Atameus,  in 
Asia  Minor,  whose  adoptive  daughter  he  married. 
Returning  to  Athens  for  a  time,  he  shortly  afterward, 
in  342,  accepted  the  invitation  of  Philip  of  Macedon  to 
take  charge  of  the  education  of  his  son,  Alexander.  He 
accordingly  took  up  his  residence  near  the  Macedonian 
capital.  There  he  remained  until  335,  when  Alexander, 
succeeding  to  the  throne,  entered  upon  the  campaign 
against  Persia  which  was  the  beginning  of  his  career  of 
conquest.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  something 
more  about  this  remarkable  relationship — the  youth 
who  was  to  conquer  the  world  by  arms  sitting  at  the 
feet  of  the  philosopher  whose  studies  had  embraced  the 
whole  world  of  thought.  We  can  trace  to  the  influence 
of  Aristotle  Alexander's  enthusiastic  love  of  Homer, 
his  known  admiration  for  some  of  the  poets  of  his  own 
day,  and  his  interest  in  scientific  things,  and  we  are 
told  that  he  afterwards  assisted  Aristotle  in  his  scien- 
tific pursuits  by  sending  him  rare  specimens  of  animals 
collected  in  his  travels  and  by  gifts  of  money.  We 
should  probably  be  right  in  believing,  further,  that  Ar- 
istotle's influence  was  a  potent  factor  in  developing  the 
splendid  genius  and  in  inspiring  some  of  the  grand  con- 
ceptions of  the  young  prince.    Alexander's  dream  of  a 


Aristotle  385 

world  empire  under  Greek  sway  seems  to  have  been 
foreshadowed  in  ^  passage  in  the  Politics :  **  The  Hel- 
lenic race  possesses  a  combination  of  the  best  qualities 
which  fall  to  the  lot  of  the  human  species,  being  both 
high-spirited  and  intellectual ;  and  if  they  could  all  to- 
gether form  a  political  state,  the  Greeks  might  govern 
the  world." 

Returning  to  Athens  in  335,  Aristotle  established  his 
school  of  learning  at  the  Lyceum,  a  gymnasium  lying 
near  the  city  to  the  southwest.  From  their  custom  of 
hearing  the  lectures  in  the  shaded  walks  (peripatai)  of 
this  precinct,  the  members  of  the  school  received  the 
name  of  Peripatetics.  We  are  told  that  there  were  two 
courses  of  lectures  :  in  the  morning  on  the  more  diffi- 
cult subjects  (esoteric),  intended  for  a  small  circle  of 
hearers,  those  who  had  already  been  initiated  into  the 
methods  of  the  school,  and  in  the  afternoon  those  of  a 
more  popular  nature  (exoteric).  The  school  achieved 
an  immediate  success  and  became  the  rival  of  the  Acad- 
emy.  There  Aristotle  worked  and  taught  uninterrupt- 
edly for  twelve  years.  When  Alexander  died  in  323,  a 
violent  political  reaction  against  the  Macedonian  party 
in  Athens  set  in,  and  Aristotle  found  himself  involved 
in  a  legal  action  for  impiety.  Unwilling,  as  he  said, 
that  Athens,  already  guilty  of  the  blood  of  Socrates, 
should  ''commit  a  second  crime  against  philosophy," 
he  retired  to  Chalcis  in  Euboea,  where  he  died  the  fol- 
lowing year.  It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  the  lives  of  the 
two  men  whom  we  should  select  as  the  most  prominent 
men  in  Athens  during  the  eventful  period  from  350  on, 
Demosthenes  and  Aristotle,  ran  parallel  throughout; 
the  dates  of  their  birth  and  death  are  the  same.  And 
yet  no  trace  is  to  be  found  of  any  contact  between  them 


386  Homer  to  Theocritus 

and  they  seem  to  have  been  entirely  without  influence 
upon  one  another. 

The  productive  activity  of  Aristotle,  no  less  than 
the  many-sidedness  of  his  learning,  excite  our  wonder 
and  admiration.  We  have  an  ancient  catalogue  of  his 
works,  prepared  toward  the  end  of  the  third  century 
before  Christ,  in  which  we  find  no  less  than  146  titles 
and  about  400  books.  This  catalogue  probably  repre- 
sented the  works  of  Aristotle  contained  in  the  great 
library  at  Alexandria.  There  are  extant  to-day,  apart 
from  the  fragments  of  about  100  lost  works,  47  trea- 
tises, most  of  them  not  mentioned  in  the  Alexandrian 
catalogue.  Another  catalogue  from  antiquity,  prepared 
about  two  centuries  after  the  other,  gives  about  1,000 
books,  among  them  those  which  have  come  down  to  us. 
This  striking  discrepancy  is  explained  by  a  remarkable 
story,  believed  to  rest  on  good  authority,  which  is  of 
interest  as  showing  by  what  narrow  chances  some  of 
the  most  precious  works  of  antiquity  have  been  pre- 
served. Aristotle,  we  are  told,  left  his  manuscripts  to 
his  pupil,  Theophrastus,  who  succeeded  him  in  the 
direction  of  the  Lyceum.  Theophrastus  bequeathed 
them  to  one  Neleus,  of  Scepsis  in  the  Troad.  To 
secure  them  from  the  book-collectors  who  were  scour- 
ing the  country  in  the  interests  of  the  library  at  Per- 
gamum,  Neleus  hid  them  in  a  vault.  There  they  lay 
for  a  century  and  a  half,  exposed  to  the  ravages  of 
time,  until  the  descendants  of  Neleus  sold  them  to  an 
Athenian  bibliophile  who  carried  them  to  Athens. 
Thence  they  were  carried  to  Rome  by  Sulla,  who  capt- 
ured Athens  in  the  year  86.  In  Rome  they  were 
finally  arranged,  edited,  and  published.  Now  in  the 
latter  half  of  the  first  century  the  Alexandrian  library 


Aristotle  3  87 

was  destroyed  by  fire.  The  bulk  of  the  extant  works 
of  Aristotle,  therefore,  goes  back  to  the  subterranean 
vault  in  the  Troad.  They  are  the  works  which  the 
author  left  unpublished  and,  as  a  rule,  unfinished. 

We  have  spoken  disparagingly  of  the  literary  form 
and  style  of  Aristotle's  writings.  We  now  see  the  ex- 
planation. The  criticism  is  just  when  applied  to  the 
ixtant  works  as  a  whole,  but  allowance  should  be  made 
for  the  fact  that  they  had  not  been  prepared  for  publi- 
cation by  the  author.  The  more  learned  works,  in  their 
present  form,  suggest  rather  the  lecturer's  note-books. 
The  ancients  had  a  favorable  opinion  of  Aristotle's 
style.  Cicero  and  other  competent  judges  praise  *  the 
golden  flood  of  his  eloquence,"  the  lucidity,  sweetness, 
and  dignity  of  his  language.  They  evidently  had  in 
mind  the  earlier  works,  now  lost,  published  during  the 
author's  lifetime,  notably  the  dialogues.  It  would,  in- 
deed, have  been  strange  if  the  pupil  of  Isocrates  and 
Plato  should  have  been  entirely  indifferent  to  the  artistic 
side  of  his  writings.  The  one  work  intended  for  the 
general  public  which  we  possess  reveals  a  care  in  com- 
position and  a  lucidity  of  style  for  which  one  looks  in 
vain  in  the  other  treatises. 

All  of  the  extant  works  of  Aristotle  form  parts  of 
an  organic  whole.  Together  they  constitute  a  cyclo- 
pedia of  human  knowledge  as  it  then  was,  and  yet 
something  vastly  greater  than  a  mere  collection  and 
classification  of  concrete  facts,  although  in  collecting 
such  material  Aristotle  showed  extraordinary  zeal.  It 
was  rather  his  purpose  to  discover  the  principles  which 
correlate  and  explain  phenomena,  to  formulate,  that  is, 
a  philosophy  of  the  system  of  the  universe.  He  seems 
jd  have  gone  at  this  prodigious  undertaking  systemat- 


388  Homer  to  Theocritus 

ically.  We  do  not  know  precisely  the  order  in  which 
the  several  works  were  written,  but  we  may  follow  his 
purpose  according  to  the  manner  in  which  his  writings 
group  themselves  into  one  organic  whole.  After  the 
realm  of  knowledge  had  been  divided  into  the  several 
branches  which  we  call  sciences,  the  materials  were 
collected  for  the  study  of  each  science.  The  results  of 
these  preliminary  observations  were  published  in  popu- 
lar form.  In  another  series  of  treatises,  together  con- 
stituting the  Organon^  or  "  Instrument "  of  reasoning, 
Aristotle  established  his  scientific  method,  which  was 
mainly  deductive,  <>.,  reasoning  from  a  general  truth 
down  to  a  specific  case.  By  his  analysis  of  the  proc- 
esses of  logic  he  was  able  to  formulate  for  the  first 
time  the  syllogism.  In  the  field  of  logic  perhaps  his 
most  important  and  permanent  contributions  to  human 
thought  were  made.  Aristotle  next  undertook  the 
comprehensive  and  systematic  treatises  on  the  several 
sciences,  taking  up  first  the  physical  and  practical 
sciences,  and  then  metaphysics,  which  he  was  wont  to 
term  the  "  first  philosophy." 

This  is  not  the  place  for  a  detailed  account  of  the 
logical  works  of  Aristotle,  in  which  he  laid  down  for  ail 
time  the  laws  of  formal  reasoning,  nor  of  his  writings 
on  natural  history,  which  cover  most  of  the  subjects 
now  embraced  in  the  physical  and  biological  sciences. 
For  the  same  reason  we  must  pass  over  the  Metaphysics. 
We  turn,  then,  to  a  brief  consideration  of  the  five  trea- 
tises which  are  of  more  general  interest. 

The  Constitution  of  Athens  is  one  of  a  series  of  158 
essays,  undertaken  as  preliminary  studies  for  the  Poli^ 

>  Lord  Bacon  entitled  his  %xvk\,  work  the  Ncvmm  Orgmnum  with  reference 
to  Aristotle's  work. 


Aristotle  389 

tics^  on  the  constitutions  of  various  states.  This  essay, 
however,  was  not  put  into  its  present  form  until  about 
330  B.C.  Although  the  most  important  of  the  series, 
both  on  account  of  the  interest  attaching  to  Athens  and 
because  of  the  accuracy  of  Aristotle's  information,  this 
valuable  treatise  was  totally  lost  to  the  world  for  fifteen 
centuries  or  more.  It  was  discovered  in  1890  on  some 
rolls  of  papyrus  found  in  Egypt  and  acquired  by  the 
British  Museum.  From  the  fact  that  it  is  written  on 
the  wrong  side  of  the  papyrus,  the  right  side  being 
filled  with  business  accounts,  we  conclude  that  it  is  a 
copy  which  some  private  individual  had  had  made  for 
his  own  use.  The  work  falls  into  two  parts.  The  first 
part  is  historical,  describing  the  successive  changes  in 
the  government  of  Athens  from  the  earliest  times,  inter- 
spersed with  interesting  character-sketches  and  brief 
but  illuminating  critical  estimates  and  judgments  on 
the  part  of  the  author.  The  second  part  is  an  analysis 
of  the  political,  administrative,  and  judicial  organiza- 
tion of  Athens  as  it  was  at  the  time  of  writing.  The 
style  of  the  first  part  shows  Aristotle  as  an  easy  writer, 
who  aims  only  at  a  lucid  narrative  suited  to  the  subject. 
Aristotle's  account  of  men  and  events  seems,  on  the 
whole,  remarkably  free  from  partisan  bias.  We  find  it 
difficult,  however,  to  accept  the  following  estimate  of 
Pericles,  of  whom  it  is  clear  that  Aristotle  does  not 
altogether  approve,  clashing  as  it  does  with  the  tradi- 
tion which  we  have  hitherto  followed.  But  it  is  fortu- 
nate that  we  at  last  have  the  other  side  presented  to  us. 

After  this  Pericles  assumed  the  position  of  popular  leader, 
having  first  distinguished  himself  while  still  a  young  man  by 
prosecuting  Cimon  on  the  audit  of  his  official  accounts  as  gen- 
eral.    Under  his  auspices  the  constitution  became  still  more 


390  Homer  to  Theocritus 

democratic.  He  took  away  some  of  the  privileges  of  the 
Areopagus,  and,  above  all,  he  turned  the  policy  of  the  state 
in  the  direction  of  naval  dominion,  which  caused  the  masses 
to  acquire  confidence  in  themselves  and  consequently  to  take 
the  conduct  of  affairs  more  and  more  into  their  own  hands. 
Moreover,  forty-eight  years  after  the  battle  of  Salamis,  in  the 
archonship  of  Pythodorus,  the  Peloponnesian  war  broke  out, 
during  which  the  populace  was  shut  up  in  the  city  and  became 
accustomed  to  gain  its  livelihood  by  military  service,  and  so, 
partly  voluntarily  and  partly  involuntarily,  determined  to  as- 
sume the  administration  of  the  state  itself.  Pericles  was  also 
the  first  to  institute  pay  for  service  in  the  law  courts,  as  a  bid 
for  popular  favour  to  counterbalance  the  wealth  of  Cimon. 
The  latter,  having  private  possessions  of  royal  splendour,  not 
only  performed  the  regular  public  services  magnificently,  but 
also  maintained  a  large  number  of  his  fellow-demesmen.  Any 
member  of  the  deme  of  Laciadae  could  go  every  day  to 
Cimon's  house  and  there  receive  a  reasonable  provision ;  and 
his  estate  was  guarded  by  no  fences,  so  that  anyone  who  liked 
might  help  himself  to  the  fruit  from  it.  Pericles'  private 
property  was  quite  unequal  to  this  magnificence,  and  accord- 
ingly  he  took  the  advice  of  Damonides  of  Oia  (who  was  com* 
monly  supposed  to  be  the  person  who  prompted  Pericles  in 
most  of  his  measures,  and  was  therefore  subsequently  ostra- 
cised), which  was  that,  as  he  was  beaten  in  the  matter  of 
private  possessions,  he  should  make  presents  to  the  people 
from  their  own  property  ;  and  accordingly  he  instituted  pay 
for  the  members  of  the  juries.  Some  persons  accuse  him  of 
thereby  causing  a  deterioration  in  the  character  of  the  juries, 
since  it  was  always  the  inferior  people  who  were  anxious  to 
submit  themselves  for  selection  as  jurors,  rather  than  the  men 
of  better  position.  Moreover,  bribery  came  into  existence 
after  this,  the  first  person  to  introduce  it  being  Anytus,  after 
his  command  at  Pylus.  He  was  prosecuted  by  certain  indi- 
viduals on  account  of  his  loss  of  Pylus,  but  escaped  by  bribing 
the  jury. 

So  long,  however,  as  Pericles  was  leader  of  the  people, 
things  went  tolerably  well  with  the  state ;  but  when  he  was 


Aristotle  391 

dead  there  was  a  great  change  for  the  worse.  Then  for  the 
first  time  did  the  people  choose  a  leader  who  was  of  no  repu- 
tation among  men  of  good  standing,  whereas  up  to  this  time 
such  men  had  always  been  found  as  leaders  of  the  democ- 
racy. .  .  .  The  best  statesmen  at  Athens,  after  those  of 
early  times,  seem  to  have  been  Nicias,  Thucydides  (the  gen- 
eral), and  Theramenes. 

Constitution  of  Athens ^  27-28.     Kenyon. 

Over  against  the  natural  sciences,  which  concern 
themselves  with  the  phenomena  of  the  physical  world, 
Aristotle  set  the  practical  sciences,  which  have  to  do 
with  human  action.  He  further  distinguishes  between 
those  actions  which  involve  the  notion  of  right  and 
wrong  and  those  whose  end  is  artistic  creation.  The 
Ethics  and  Politics  fall  under  the  former  category,  the 
Poetics^  with  which  we  shall  consider  the  Rhetoric^ 
under  the  latter. 

The  Nicomachean  Ethics  receives  its  epithet  from 
Aristotle's  son,  Nicomachus,  who  may  have  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  editing  it.  It  is  distinguished  from 
the  Eudemian  Ethics^  written  by  a  disciple,  Eudemus,  but 
now  incorporated  in  the  larger  work.  In  this  treatise 
Aristotle  develops  his  theory  of  human  life.  In  his 
conception  ethics  is  only  a  branch  of  politics,  for  the 
highest  good  of  the  individual  must  be  identical  with 
the  highest  good  of  the  state,  in  which  the  individual 
finds  his  most  perfect  development.  But  Aristotle  does, 
nevertheless,  confine  himself  in  the  Ethics  to  the  good 
of  the  individual,  living  and  acting  for  himself,  and  re« 
serves  for  the  Politics  the  inquiry  into  man's  relation 
to  the  state.  Thus  it  is  that  he  establishes  ethics  as  a 
separate  science-*a  marked  advance  over  the  position 
of  Socrates  and  Plato. 


39^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  chief  end  of  man's  existence  is  conceded  to  be 
happiness.  But  this  happiness  does  not  consist  in 
pleasure,  wealth,  honor,  nor  in  any  of  the  external 
blessings,  but  in  the  activity  of  the  soul  in  accordance 
with  reason,  which  is  the  same  thing  as  saying  in  ac- 
cordance with  virtue.  Virtue  is  a  habit  of  the  soul, 
being  gained  by  the  practice  of  good  actions.  Its  char- 
acteristic is  always  to  seek  out  the  mean  between  two 
extremes,  a  doctrine  peculiarly  Greek,  crystallized  in 
the  ancient  proverb,  "  Nothing  in  excess."  The  larger 
part  of  the  Ethics  is  devoted  to  a  discussion  of  the  vari- 
ous virtues,  which  fall  into  two  categories,  moral  and 
intellectual  virtues.  The  conclusion  is  reached  that 
the  highest  happiness  consists  in  the  harmonious  exer- 
cise of  man's  highest  powers,  and,  since  the  chief  of 
these  are  intellectual,  the  truest  happiness  is  to  be 
found  in  the  life  of  contemplation,  or  philosophic 
thought. 

As  an  illustration  of  Aristotle's  analytic  method  and 
of  his  sound  common  sense  I  quote  from  his  discussion 
of  the  virtue  of  liberality : 

Things  which  admit  of  use  may  be  used  either  well  or 
badly.  But  riches  are  a  useful  thing.  Again,  the  person  who 
makes  the  best  use  of  anything  is  the  person  who  possesses 
the  virtue  appropriate  to  that  thing.  Accordingly  he  will  make 
the  best  use  of  riches  who  possesses  the  virtue  which  is  appro- 
priate to  property,  i.e.,  the  liberal  man.  Further  it  seems 
that  the  use  of  property  consists  in  spending  and  giving ;  the 
taking  and  keeping  of  property  should  rather  be  described  as 
acquisition.  Hence  it  is  more  truly  distinctive  of  the  liberal 
man  to  give  to  the  right  people  than  to  take  from  the  right 
quarter  and  not  to  take  from  the  right  quarter.  For  it  is 
more  truly  distinctive  of  virtue  to  be  the  author  than  to  be  the 
recipient  of  benefactions,  and  to  do  what  is  noble  than  to  ab- 


Aristotle  3  93 

stain  from  doing  what  is  shameful.  But  it  is  clear  that,  while 
giving  implies  doing  well  and  acting  nobly,  taking  implies 
only  being  well  treated  or  not  behaving  in  a  shameful  manner. 
Gratitude  too  is  the  due  of  one  who  gives,  not  of  one  who 
does  not  take,  and  praise  is  his  due  in  a  higher  degree.  Also, 
it  is  easier  to  abstain  from  taking  than  to  give,  for  people  are 
less  ready  to  throw  away  what  is  their  own  than  to  abstain 
from  taking  what  belongs  to  somebody  else.  Again,  people 
who  give  are  called  liberal,  people  who  abstain  from  taking 
are  not  praised  so  much  for  liberality  as  for  justice,  but 
people  who  take  are  not  praised  at  all.  Of  all  virtuous  people 
none  are  so  much  beloved  as  the  liberal ;  for  they  are  bene- 
factors, and  their  benefaction  consists  in  their  giving. 

Virtuous  actions  are  noble  and  have  a  noble  motive.  The 
liberal  man.  then,  being  virtuous,  will  give  from  a  noble  mo- 
tive and  in  a  right  spirit ;  for  he  will  give  the  right  amount, 
and  will  give  it  to  the  right  persons  and  at  the  right  time,  and 
will  satisfy  all  the  other  conditions  of  right  giving.  He  will 
do  all  this  too  with  pleasure  or  without  pain ;  for  a  virtuous 
action  is  pleasant  or  painless,  and  it  is  certainly  anything  but 
painful.  But  he  who  gives  to  the  wrong  people,  or  who  gives 
not  from  a  noble  motive  but  for  some  other  cause,  will  not  be 
called  liberal,  but  by  some  other  name ;  nor  will  he  be  so 
called  if  giving  is  painful  to  him,  as  in  that  case  he  would  pre- 
fer the  wealth  to  the  noble  action,  and  this  preference  is  illib- 
eral. Nor  will  the  liberal  man  take  from  wrong  sources  ;  for 
such  taking,  again,  is  unlike  the  character  of  one  who  is  no 
admirer  of  property.  Nor,  again,  will  he  be  inclined  to  ask 
favours;  for  one  who  is  in  the  habit  of  conferring  benefits  will 
not  be  ready  at  any  moment  to  receive  them.  When  he  does 
take,  it  will  be  from  the  right  sources,  e.g,,  from  his  own  pos- 
sessions, and  he  will  take  not  as  if  taking  were  noble,  but  be- 
cause it  is  necessary,  if  he  is  to  have  the  means  of  giving.  He 
will  not  neglect  his  own  property,  since  he  wishes  to  employ 
it  in  relieving  other  people.  He  will  refrain  from  giving 
indiscriminately  that  he  may  have  the  means  of  giving  to  the 
right  people,  and  at  the  times  and  in  the  places  where  giving 
is  noble. 


394  Homer  to  Theocritus 

If  a  man  is  excessively  liberal,  he  will  actually  go  too  far 
in  his  giving,  the  result  being  that  he  will  reserve  too  little  for 
himself ;  for  disregard  of  self  is  a  characteristic  of  liberality. 
But  in  estimating  liberality  we  must  take  account  of  a  person's 
fortune ;  for  liberality  consists,  not  in  the  amount  of  the 
money  given,  but  in  the  moral  state  of  the  giver,  and  the 
moral  state  proportions  the  gift  to  the  fortune  of  the  giver.  It 
is  quite  possible  then  that  one  who  gives  less  than  another 
may  be  more  liberal,  if  his  means  are  smaller.  It  seems  that 
people  who  have  not  made  their  own  fortune,  but  have  inher- 
ited it,  are  more  liberal,  as  they  have  never  known  what 
want  is,  and  people  are  always  fondest  of  their  own  pro- 
ductions,  ^.^.,  parents  of  their  children,  and  poets  of  Uieir 
poems. 

It  is  difficult  for  a  liberal  man  to  be  rich,  as  he  is  not  fond 
of  getting  or  of  saving  money,  but  rather  of  spending  it,  and 
values  wealth  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  as  affording  an  oppor- 
tunity of  giving.  Hence  it  is  a  reproach  often  levelled  against 
fortune  that  the  people  who  deserve  riches  most  often  have 
the  least.  But  the  fact  is  easily  explained  ;  for  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  have  wealth  or  anything  else  without  taking  the  trouble 
to  have  it.  At  the  same  time  the  liberal  man  will  not  give  to 
the  wrong  people  nor  on  any  wrong  occasion,  and  so  on  ;  for 
to  do  so  would  be  to  cease  to  act  in  a  liberal  spirit,  and  if  he 
were  to  spend  money  upon  these  objects,  he  would  not  have 
the  means  of  spending  it  upon  the  right  objects.  For  the 
liberal  man,  as  has  been  said,  is  one  who  spends  in  proportion 
to  his  substance,  and  who  spends  upon  the  right  objects.  But 
one  who  expends  in  excess  of  his  fortune  is  a  prodigal.  .  .  . 
Again,  the  liberal  man  is  easy  to  deal  with  in  money  matters. 
He  is  one  who  can  easily  be  cheated,  as  he  does  not  care  for 
money,  and  is  more  distressed  at  not  having  spent  what  is  right 
than  pained  at  having  spent  what  is  not  right. 

Ethics,  IV,  1-3.    Welldon. 

The  Politics  is  one  of  the  most  important  works  pre. 
served  to  us  from  antiquity.  It  contains  a  wealth  of 
explicit  information  invaluable  to  the  historian  and 


Aristotle  395 

student  of  Greek  society,  and  its  generalizations  are 
based  upon  information  so  accurate  and  covering  so 
wide  a  range  that  the  treatise  constitutes  a  summary 
and  compendium  of  Greek  political  experience.  In 
contrast  to  Plato,  Aristotle  recognizes  the  family  as  the 
fundamental  basis  of  the  state.  In  considering  the 
management  of  the  household  he  touches  upon  slavery, 
an  institution  which  he  takes  for  granted  and  justifies 
in  a  curious  passage.  The  citizen  must  have  leisure 
for  the  pursuit  of  the  good  and  the  beautiful.  His 
work  must  be  performed  by  instruments.  The  slave  is 
an  animate  instrument.  Nature  has  set  certain  races 
apart  for  servitude — the  ''  barbarian  "  races  as  opposed 
to  the  Greeks,  in  Aristotle's  rough  classification.  After 
a  criticism  of  the  ideal  states  proposed  by  Plato  and 
other  theorists,  and  of  several  typical  political  systems 
then  in  operation,  Aristotle  proceeds  to  lay  down  the 
outlines  of  an  ideal  state  of  his  own.  The  total  number 
of  citizens  should  be  about  20,000,  each  a  landholder  of 
moderate  wealth  and  personally  known  to  the  rulers. 
The  state  is  to  have  entire  charge  of  education,  and 
the  citizens  are  to  participate  in  the  government. 
Mechanics  and  tradesmen  cannot  be  citizens,  and  lend- 
ing money  at  interest  is  to  be  forbidden.  Aristotle 
considers  that  any  form  of  government  is  legitimate 
which  secures  the  end  and  aim  of  the  state,  namely,  the 
public  good.  He  specifies  three  legitimate  forms,  mon- 
archy, aristocracy,  and  the  constitutional  government. 
Each  tends  to  degenerate  into  perverted  forms,  which 
are  tyranny,  oligarchy,  and  the  pure  democracy  respect- 
ively. In  practice  the  mixed  constitutional  form  is  the 
best,  though  the  ideally  best  would  be  the  monarchy 
under  an  eminently  wise  and  just  ruler. 


396  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  following  passage  gives  the  key  to  Aristotle's 
conception  of  man  in  his  relation  to  the  state  : 

Thus  we  see  that  the  state  is  a  natund  institution,  that 
man  is  naturally  a  political  animal,  and  that  one  who  is  not  a 
citizen  of  any  state,  if  the  cause  of  his  isolation  be  natural  and 
not  accidental,  is  either  a  superhuman  being  or  low  in  the 
scale  of  civilization,  as  he  stands  alone  like  a  **  blot  '*  on  the 
backgammon  board.  The  ''  clanless,  lawless,  hearthless " 
man  so  bitterly  described  by  Homer  is  a  case  in  point ;  for 
he  is  naturally  a  citizen  of  no  state  and  a  lover  of  war.  Also 
that  man  is  a  political  animal  in  a  higher  sense  than  a  bee  or 
any  other  gregarious  creature  is  evident  from  the  fact  that 
nature,  as  we  are  fond  of  asserting,  creates  nothing  without  a 
purpose  and  man  is  the  only  animal  endowed  with  speech. 
Now  mere  sounds  serve  to  indicate  sensations  of  pain  and 
pleasure  and  are  therefore  assigned  to  other  animals  as  well 
as  to  man  ;  for  their  nature  does  not  advance  beyond  the 
point  of  perceiving  pain  and  pleasure  and  signifying  these 
perceptions  to  one  another.  The  object  of  speech  on  the 
other  hand  is  to  indicate  advantage  and  disadvantage  and 
therefore  also  justice  and  injustice.  For  it  is  a  special  charac- 
teristic which  distinguishes  man  from  all  other  animals  that  he 
alone  enjoys  perception  of  good  and  evil,  justice  and  injustice 
and  the  like.  But  these  are  the  principles  of  that  association 
which  constitutes  a  household  or  state.     .     .     . 

Now  the  impulse  to  political  association  is  innate  in  all  men. 
Yet  the  author  of  the  first  combination,  whoever  he  was, 
was  a  great  benefactor  of  human  kind.  For  as  man,  in  his 
condition  of  complete  development,  $.e,,  in  the  state,  is  the 
noblest  of  all  animals,  so  apart  from  law  and  justice  he  is  the 
vilest  of  all.  For  injustice  is  always  most  formidable  when  it 
is  armed ;  and  nature  has  endowed  man  with  arms  which  are 
intended  to  subserve  the  purposes  of  prudence  and  virtue  but 
are  capable  of  being  wholly  turned  to  contrary  ends.  Hence 
if  man  be  devoid  of  virtue,  no  animal  is  so  unscrupulous  or 
savage,  none  so  sensual,  none  so  gluttonous.  Just  action  on 
the  other  hand  is  bound  up  with  the  existence  of  a  state ;  for 


Aristotle  397 

the  administration  of  justice  is  an  ordinance  of  the  political 
association  and  the  administration  of  justice  is  nothing  else 
than  the  decision  of  what  is  just. 

Politics,  I,  2.    WcUdon. 

Aristotle  looks  upon  rhetoric  not  as  an  art  which 
deals  with  the  principles  of  perfection  in  form  in  prose 
discourse,  as  contrasted  with  the  art  of  poetry,  but 
rather  as  a  branch  of  logic.  It  is  not  a  fine  art,  there- 
fore, but  a  practical  art ;  or,  as  he  expresses  it,  ''  the 
art  of  discovering  all  the  possible  means  of  persuasion 
in  any  subject."  Accordingly  we  find  that  the  larger 
part  of  the  Rhetoric  is  devoted  to  a  careful  study  of  the 
kinds  of  proofs  used  by  the  orator.  It  is  interesting  to 
note  that,  among  the  ''  sources  of  persuasion  *'  at  the 
command  of  the  speaker,  Aristotle  places  first  the  per- 
sonal character  of  the  orator,  the  second  being  the 
mood  which  he  is  able  to  induce  in  his  hearers,  the 
third,  the  arguments  which  he  can  advance.  Speaking 
of  the  equipment  which  the  forensic  orator,  or  lawyer, 
should  possess,  Aristotle  has  occasion  to  make  the  fol- 
lowing remarks  on  equity,  or  "the  justice  which  sup- 
plements the  written  law  '* : 

Equity  consists  tod  in  making  allowance  for  human  infirm- 
ities, in  regarding  the  legislator  rather  than  the  law,  the  inten- 
tion of  the  legislator  rather  than  his  language,  the  purpose  of 
an  act  rather  than  the  act  itself,  and  the  whole  rather  than  the 
part,  in  considering  not  so  much  what  is  a  person's  character 
at  a  .particular  moment  as  what  it  has  invariably  or  usually 
been,  in  remembering  benefits  more  than  injuries  and  bene- 
fits received  more  than  benefits  conferred,  in  suffering  injus- 
tice patiently,  in  consenting  to  settle  disputes  by  agreement 
rather  than  by  a  trial  of  strength,  in  wishing  to  resort  to  arbi- 
tration rather  than  to  law ;  for  an  arbitrator  always  takes  the 
equitable,  whereas  a  juror  takes  the  legal  view  of  a  case,  and 


39^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

indeed  the  object  with  which  arbitration  was  devised  was  to 
ensure  the  triumph  of  equity. 

Rhetoric^  I,  13.    Welldon. 

Perhaps  the  most  famous  book  in  the  history  of  lit* 
erary  criticism  is  the  Poetics.  Aristotle  did  not  work 
out  a  complete  theory  of  aesthetics,  but  this  treatise 
shows  that  he  had  the  subject  well  in  hand  The  germ 
of  all  poetry  he  finds  in  man's  instinct  of  imitation. 
To  this  he  traces  the  other  fine  arts,  among  which  he 
includes  music,  dancing,  painting,  and  presumably 
sculpture,  but  not  architecture.  After  a  brief  analysis 
of  the  differences  between  the  various  arts  he  proceeds 
to  poetry,  and  describes  the  various  kinds.  The  basis 
of  the  distinction  between  tragedy  and  comedy,  for 
example,  is  that  tragedy  aims  to  represent  men  who  are 
above  the  average,  comedy,  those  who  are  below  the 
average.  The  origin  and  development  of  tragedy  are 
then  considered.  After  giving  his  famous  definition  of 
tragedy  the  author  enters  upon  an  exhaustive  discus* 
sion  of  plots,  following  which  are  some  practical  rules 
for  the  guidance  of  the  tragic  poet.  The  last  part  of 
the  book,  in  its  present  form,  is  devoted  to  epic  poetry, 
with  constant  references  to  tragedy.  The  second  book, 
in  which  comedy  received  a  similar  treatment,  is  now 
lose  I  quote  the  definition  of  tragedy  with  a  portion 
of  the  discussion  which  follows  : 

Tragedy,  then,  is  an  imitation  of  an  action  that  is  serious, 
complete,  and  of  a  certain  magnitude ;  in  language  embell- 
ished with  each  kind  of  artistic  ornament,  the  several  kinds 
being  found  in  separate  parts  of  the  play ;  in  the  form  of 
action,  not  of  narrative  ;  through  pity  and  fear  effecting  the 
proper  purgation  of  these  emotions.  By  '  language  embell- 
ished '  I  mean  language  into  which  rhyUim,  '  harmony '  and 


Aristotle  399 

song  enter.  By  '  the  several  kinds  in  separate  parts '  I  mean 
that  some  parts  are  rendered  through  the  medium  of  verse 
alone,  others  again  with  the  aid  of  song. 

Now  as  tragic  imitation  implies  persons  acting,  it  neces- 
sarily follows,  in  the  first  place,  that  scenic  equipment  will  be 
a  part  of  tragedy.  Next,  song  and  diction,  for  these  are  the 
medium  of  imitation.  By  *  diction '  I  mean  the  mere  metrical 
arrangement  of  the  words  :  as  for  '  song,'  it  is  a  term  whose 
sense  every  one  understands. 

Again,  tragedy  is  the  imitation  of  an  action ;  and  an  action 
implies  personal  agents,  who  necessarily  possess  certain  dis- 
tinctive qualities  both  of  character  and  thought.  It  is  these 
that  determine  the  qualities  of  actions  themselves ;  these — 
thought  and  character — are  the  two  natural  causes  from  which 
actions  spring  ;  on  these  causes,  again,  all  success  or  failure 
depends.  Hence,  the  plot  is  the  imitation  of  the  action  : — 
for  by  plot  I  here  mean  the  arrangement  of  the  incidents. 
By  character  I  mean  that  in  virtue  of  which  we  ascribe  certain 
qualities  to  the  agents.  Thought  is  required  wherever  a 
statement  is  proved,  or,  it  may  be,  a  general  truth  enunciated. 
Every  tragedy,  therefore,  must  have  six  parts,  which  parts  de* 
termine  its  quality — namely,  plot,  character,  diction,  thought, 
scenery,  song.  Two  of  the  parts  constitute  the  medium  of 
imitation,  one  the  manner,  and  three  the  objects  of  imitation. 
And  these  complete  the  list.  These  elements  have  bieen  em- 
ployed, we  may  say,  by  the  poets  to  a  man ;  in  fact,  every 
play  contains  scenic  accessories  as  well  as  character,  plot, 
diction,  song,  and  thought. 

But  most  important  of  all  is  the  structure  of  the  incidents. 
For  tragedy  is  an  imitation,  not  of  men,  but  of  an  action  and 
of  life,  and  life  consists  of  .action,  and  its  end  is  a  mode  of 
action,  not  a  quality.  Now  character  determines  men's  qual- 
ities, but  it  is  by  their  actions  that  they  are  happy  or  the 
reverse.  Dramatic  action,  therefore,  is  not  with  a  view  to  the 
representation  of  character ;  character  comes  in  as  a  subsidi- 
ary to  the  action.  Hence  the  incidents  and  the  plot  are  the 
end  of  a  tragedy  ;  and  the  end  is  the  chief  Uiing  of  all. 
Again,  without  action  there  cannot  be  a  tragedy;  without 


40b  Homer  to  Theocritus 

character  there  may  be.  The  tragedies  of  most  of  our  mod- 
ern poets  fail  in  the  rendering  of  character  ;  and  of  poets  in 
general  this  is  often  true.  It  is  the  same  in  painting ;  and 
here  lies  the  difference  between  Zeuxis  and  Polygnotus. 
Polygnotus  delineates  character  well ;  the  style  of  Zeuxis  is 
devoid  of  ethical  quality.'  Again,  if  you  string  together  a  set 
of  speeches  expressive  of  character,  and  well  finished  in  point 
of  diction  and  thought,  you  will  not  produce  the  essential 
tragic  effect  nearly  so  well  as  with  a  play  which,  however 
deficient  in  these  respects,  yet  has  a  plot  and  artistically  con- 
structed incidents.  Besides  which,  the  most  powerful  ele- 
ments of  emotional  interest  in  tragedy, — reversal  or  recoil  of 
the  action,  and  recognition  scenes — are  parts  of  the  plot.  A 
further  proof  is  that  novices  in  the  art  attain  to  finish  of  dic- 
tion and  precision  of  portraiture  before  they  can  construct 
the  plot     It  is  the  same  with  almost  all  the  early  poets. 

The  plot,  then,  is  the  first  principle,  and,  as  it  were,  the 
soul  of  a  tragedy;  character  holds  the  second  place.  A  similar 
fact  is  seen  in  painting.  The  most  beautiful  colours,  laid  on 
confusedly,  will  not  give  as  much  pleasure  as  the  chalk  out- 
line of  a  portrait.  Thus  tragedy  is  the  imitation  of  an 
action,  and  of  the  agents  mainly  with  a  view  to  the  action. 

PoeiicSf  VI,  1-16.    Butcher. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  trace  the  influence  of  Aris- 
totle upon  the  after  world.  The  mere  statement  must 
suffice  that,  in  antiquity,  almost  all  the  branches  of 
erudition  proceeded  from  him  and  the  Peripatetic 
School  which  he  founded  ;  that,  further,  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  from  the  thirteenth  century  on,  he  dominated 
marveiTously  the  world  of  scholasticism,  though  too 
often  misunderstood  and  credited  with  doctrines  not 
his  own  ;  and,  lastly,  that  modern  philosophy,  science, 
and  criticism  are  built  upon  the  foundations  which  he 
laid. 

Aristotle's  life  fell  at  the  end  of  the  old  Hellenic 


Aristotle  401 

world  of  freedom  and  artistic  creativeness  and  entered 
into  the  new,  cosmopolitan,  Hellenistic  world  which 
was  ushered  in  by  the  conquests  of  Alexander.  He 
belonged  to  the  one  but  was  no  small  factor  in  shaping 
the  other.  It  was  a  fortunate  circumstance  for  Greece 
and  for  humanity  that  an  Aristotle  was  at  hand  pre- 
cisely when  the  transformation  of  Greece  was  taking 
place,  to  bring  together  and  to  summarize  the  results 
of  the  creative  period  and  to  hand  down  the  essence  of 
its  experiences  and  achievements  to  the  new  and  com- 
plex civilization  that  was  to  follow.  All  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life  and  training  conspired  to  fit  him  for 
this  mission.  He  was  born  just  beyond  the  borders  of 
Greece  proper,  but  of  Greek  parentage  and  in  a  city 
colonized  by  Ionian  Greeks.  The  two  civilizations, 
Greek  and  barbarian,  which  lay  side  by  side  there,  he 
could  observe  and  judge  for  himself.  He  became 
enough  of  an  Athenian  to  enable  him  to  comprehend 
fully  and  sympathetically  the  political  and  literary 
democracy  of  Athens,  yet  without  the  partisanship  and 
narrow-mindedness,  which,  for  example,  insisted  upon 
reckoning  the  Macedonians  as  barbarians.  The  early 
scientific  training  which  he  had  received  under  the  di- 
rection of  his  father,  a  physician,  was  supplemented, 
before  the  impressionable  age  had  passed,  by  intimate 
contact  with  the  most  spiritual  and  cultured  mind 
which  Athens  had  produced.  While  not  a  man  of 
affairs,  he  was  thrown  into  close  relations  with  that 
consummate  politician  and  strategist,  Philip  of  Mace- 
don,  and  watched  over  the  expanding  genius  of  Alex- 
ander. Plato  called  Aristotle  the  **  reader."  This  side 
of  the  man  is  remarkable.  He  knew  at  first  hand  all 
the  works  of  literature  that  Greece  had  produced,  and 


e  ^ 


402  Homer  to  Theocritus 

had  read  even  innumerable  documents  inscribed  on 
stone  and  bronze  which  threw  light  upon  institutions, 
literary  history,  chronology,  and  biography.  His  meth- 
od was  eminently  scientific.  He  wrote  upon  no  subject 
without  first  having  gathered  all  available  materials 
and  digested  the  writings  of  his  predecessors  in  the 
field.  Aristotle  would  have  been  a  wonderful  man  in 
any  age  ;  but  it  would  be  difficult  to  find  in  all  literary 
history  a  parallel  to  this  remarkable  coincidence  of  the 
time  and  the  man. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

THE  LOST  WRITERS  OF  THE  FOURTH  CENTURY 

The  Importance  of  the  Lost  Literature  of  the  Fourth  Cen- 
tury— Books  and  their  Publication  in  Antiquity — At- 
tic Tragedy  the  First  Book — Papyrus  and  Parchment — 
Causes  of  the  Loss  and  Preservation  of  Books — Sources 
of  our  Fragments — The  Philosophers,  Zeno  and  Epi- 
curus— The  Historians,  Philistus,  Ephorus,  and  Theo- 
pompus — Tragedy  after  the  Fifth  Century — The  Minor 
Contemporaries  of  Euripides — The  Tragic  Poets  of  the 
Fourth  Century,  Carcinus,  Astydamas,  Theodectas,  and 
Chaeremon — The  Rhesus  as  a  Type  of  the  Fourth  Cen- 
tury Tragedy — Comedy  after  the  Fifth  Century — The 
Middle  Comedy  and  the  New  Comedy — The  Poets  of 
the  Middle  Comedy,  Anaxandrides,  Antiphanes,  and 
Alexis — The  Poets  of  the  New  Comedy,  Philemon  and 
Menander. 

In  our  account  of  the  literature  of  the  Attic  period 
wc  have  traversed  two  important  branches  of  poetry, 
tragedy  and  comedy,  and  three  of  prose,  history,  ora- 
tory, and  philosophy.  All  of  these  were  brought  to 
perfection,  in  the  order  named,  in  the  one  hundred  and 
seventy -five  years  lying  between  the  first  play  of 
Aeschylus  and  the  death  of  Aristotle.  Considered  as  a 
whole,  this  period  was  certainly  one  of  well-rounded 
and  many-sided  completeness  \  but  if  we  look  back  at 
the  writers  of  the  fourth  century  apart  from  those  of 
the  fifth,  taking  into  account  only  those  whose  works 
are  extant,  we  are  impressed  by  the  fact  that  the  em- 
phasis in  the  fourth  century  has  apparently  been  shifted 
completely  to  prose.  We  have  not  had  occasion  to 
mention  a  single  poet  after  Aristophanes.    Although, 

403 


404  Homer  to  Theocritus 

in  comparison  with  the  great  poets  of  the  age  of  Per* 
icles,  those  of  the  next  two  generations  were  of  inferior 
merit,  and  though  the  highest  literary  achievements  of 
the  latter  period  down  to  the  death  of  Aristotle  were 
unquestionably  in  the  line  of  prose,  yet  the  impression 
which  we  have  gained  is  a  distorted  one.  In  the  eyes 
of  Aristotle  or  of  any  student  of  the  fourth-century 
literature  in  antiquity,  the  poets  contemporary  with 
Demosthenes  were  worthy  of  serious  consideration,  and 
not  simply  for  purposes  of  literary  history.  The  case 
is  different  as  regards  the  fifth-century  literature.  It 
chances  that  all  the  important  branches  are  represented 
in  that  period  by  their  greatest  writers.  In  the  fourth, 
on  the  other  hand,  we  have  only  the  greatest  orators 
and  philosophers,  and  one  historian,  Xenophon,  who 
was  really  a  product  of  the  fifth  century.  It  is  there- 
fore of  the  greatest  importance,  if  we  would  gain  a  clear 
idea  of  the  literary  activities  of  the  fourth  century,  that 
we  should  turn  our  attention  to  the  vestiges  of  the 
great  mass  of  writings  not  included  in  the  preceding 
account. 

When  we  face  the  almost  total  loss  of  the  immense 
body  of  poetry  produced  at  Athens  in  the  fourth  cen- 
tury and  the  preservation  of  only  a  fragment  of  the 
prose,  and  estimate  the  ratio  of  the  lost  to  the  pre- 
served not  only  of  that  period  but  of  Greek  literature 
in  general,  we  begin  to  realize  our  good  fortune  in 
possessing  even  a  few  of  the  masterpieces.  Dramatic 
poetry  furnishes  a  good  illustration.  During  the  Attic 
period  over  four  thousand  different  plays  were  brought 
out  at  the  two  festivals  at  Athens.  Of  these  only  forty- 
four  survive.  It  is  indeed  a  fortunate  circumstance, 
and  not  altogether  the  result  of  accident,  that,  with  one 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     405 

important  exception,  it  is  precisely  the  greatest  tragic 
and  comic  poets  of  whose  works  some  specimens  have 
been  transmitted  to  us  through  the  ages.  But  the  loss 
of  the  works  of  their  contemporaries  and  successors 
makes  it  difficult  properly  to  estimate  the  nature  and 
degree  of  their  preeminence,  the  relative  merit  of  their 
rivals,  and  the  course  of  dramatic  poetry  in  the  century 
following.  And  so  it  is,  in  a  less  degree,  with  the  other 
branches  of  literature. 

Before  proceeding  to  the  consideration  of  the  lost 
writers,  an  account  of  whom  is  necessary  as  a  supple- 
ment to  our  preceding  discussion^  let  us  briefly  recall 
the  conditions  under  which  books  were  made  and  pub- 
lished in  antiquity,  and  the  different  elements  which 
contributed. to  the  destruction  of  some  and  the  preser- 
vation of  others  in  the  course  of  the  centuries  before 
the  invention  of  printing. 

The  existence  of  books  presupposes  the  knowledge 
and  practice  of  writings  the  ability  to  compose  in  lan- 
guage a  connected  series  of  thoughts  forming  a  logical 
whole,  and  a  material  suitable  for  the  reception  of 
written  signs  and  light  enough  to  be  easily  moved  and 
handled.  As  to  the  last  point,  it  is  clear  that  the 
Egyptian  hieroglyphic  monuments  and  the  Greek  in- 
scriptions on  stone  cannot  properly  be  called  books. 
Further,  in  the  ordinary  acceptance  of  the  word,  there 
must  also  be  some  sort  of  means  of  multiplication  of 
copies,  or  publication,  before  a  manuscript  which  ful- 
fils all  the  other  conditions  becomes  a  book.  An  ora- 
tion of  Lysias,  for  example,  was  not  a  book  so  long  as 
the  only  copy  was  that  from  which  the  author  drilled 
his  client;  it  became  a  book  as  soon  as  copies  were 
made  and, given  out* 


4o6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

The  art  of  extended  composition  was  developed  in 
Greece  as  early  as  the  ninth  century,  as  the  Homeric 
poems  prove.  Writing  began  to  be  employed  in  the 
eighth  century,  but  only  for  brief  public  records,  such 
as  lists  of  priests  or  state  officials.  In  the  seventh  cen- 
tury laws  were  written  down  and  placed  where  the 
public  could  read  them.  It  is  safe  to  assume  that  the 
need  of  written  laws  was  felt  before  the  need  of  written 
poems,  especially  since  there  was  a  satisfactory  means 
of  oral  publication  of  poetry.  In  the  sixth  century 
writing  was  freely  practised.  The  materials  at  first 
employed  were  stone,  bronze,  lead,  clay,  wood,  and 
leather.  The  use  of  leather,  which,  of  all  these  ma- 
terials, was  alone  capable  of  being  so  prepared  as  to  be 
light,  durable,  and  relatively  inexpensive,  seems  not 
to  have  been  widespread  in  the  early  times.  With  the 
introduction  of  papyrus  from  Egypt  the  problem  of  a 
suitable  material  was  solved.  The  Greek  word  for 
book,  "biblos,"  or  "  biblion,"  points  to  the  use  of  the 
papyrus  plant  {byblos)  for  the  earliest  real  books  in 
Greece.  Paper  made  by  pasting  together  strips  of  the 
pulp  of  the  papyrus  reed  had  been  in  use  among  the 
Egyptians  since  at  least,  3,000  B.  C.  The  importation 
of  this  material  into  Greece,  however,  did  not  begin 
until  the  Nile  region  was  opened  up  to  Greek  mer- 
chants under  Psammetichus  in  the  seventh  century^ 
and  did  not  reach  considerable  proportions  until  long 
afterward. 

By  the  fifth  century  two  of  the  principal  conditions 
which  made  possible  the  written  book  had  been  satis- 
fied. But  there  was  not  yet  a  demand  upon  the  part 
of  the  public  for  books  as  a  means  of  gaining  an  ac- 
quaintance with  the  products  of  literature.     The  high 


■■■    l-        -    •         ,  v"   :  '   ■"'     - 

■'       'f    l<J-<7-rTJ5T"f-',K:'"-''^*'''"'^*^ 

■4    .     'T^r'^l'^'tT^'-'■+ll<«^•■^r^^„^J    . 

'-''^''•")  ;if-<(fo(f"M,-if)vf.--f--i  -^ 

ot^F-in^-f^nh  l^f  [^^*JW7^ 

HW  M  tTfKHV>J-I  Tri  M  r-J^ 

Hf  fnf-it  f+[-f-j-»cr>-Mir-i.t-'~' 
7j^,>^x:''T  r'»A*'^;-i<rp!l.  <  «iif  i>4.t  ijj 


4o8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

embargo  on  the  exportation  of  papyrus  and  forced  the 
Pergamene  authorities  to  improve  the  process  of  pre- 
paring skins  so  that  both  sides  could  be  used  for  writ- 
ing. Thus  parchment  (pergamenk^  i>.,  leather  from 
Pergamum)  was  invented — a  material  far  superior  to 
papyrus  in  point  of  durability  and  the  legibility  of  the 
writing.  But  papyrus  continued  to  be  generally  used 
until  about  the  fourth  century  after  Christ.  From  the 
fourth  to  the  sixth  century  the  makers  of  books  were 
busied  with  transferring  to  parchment  works  of  litera- 
ture preserved  till  then  on  papyrus.  Of  course  only 
the  books  which  still  held  the  attention  of  the  reading 
public  were  thus  transferred.  This  process  of  selec- 
tion naturally  left  to  perish  by  decay  many  papyrus 
rolls  containing;  things  which  we  should  regard  as  most 
precious.  When  the  first  printed  editions  of  the  clas- 
sics were  made  during  the  Renaissance,  only  parchment 
books  had  survived.  Since  then  a  few  works  of  litera- 
ture, and  a  good  deal  of  rubbish,  have  been  recovered 
on  papyrus  sheets  found  mainly  at  Herculaneum  and  in 
Egypt. 

The  above  sketch  has  suggested  how  a  large  part 
of  the  works  of  classical  literature  perished  :  many  be- 
cause never  published  in  book  form  during  the  life  of 
their  authors,  or  not  preserved  by  oral  tradition,  as 
was  Homer,  down  to  the  period  of  book-making;  others 
because  of  a  lack  of  interest  on  the  part  of  the  con- 
temporary public  in  preserving  them ;  still  others, 
often  of  the  greatest  value,  bedause  the  degenerate 
taste  of  a  later  age  suffered  them  to  perish  by  neglect. 
The  perishable  nature  of  papyrus  was  responsible  for 
the  result  in  the  two  last  cases.  Other  factors  may  be 
mentioned  :  the  destruction  of  the  great  libraries^  the 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     409 

hostility  of  the  Christian  Church  toward  some  of  the 
pagan  literature  (Sappho,  for  example),  the  burnings 
of  Byzantium,  the  pillage  of  Constantinople  by  the 
Crusaders,  the  carrying  of  rare  and  often  unique  manu- 
scripts back  and  forth  from  the  east  to  the  west,  the 
almost  total  neglect  of  the  classical  Greek  literature  in 
Western  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages,  and  the 
thousand  and  one  chances  to  which  the  relics  of  classi- 
cal antiquity  were  subjected.  The  wonder  is  that  so 
much  survived. 

The  most  effective  cause  of  the  preservation  of  any 
given  work  has  been  of  course  its  popularity  in  antiq- 
uity, which  led  to  the  making  of  a  large  number  of 
copies.  There  was  never  any  serious  danger  of  the  loss 
of  the  Homeric  poems,  for  example.  But  the  changing 
tastes  and  needs  of  each  successive  age  brought  in 
some  new  favorite  authors  and  discarded  many  of  the 
old.  The  first  systematic  selection  of  the  "  classics" 
was  made  by  the  Alexandrian  scholars,  who  established 
canons  of  the  best  writers  in  each  branch.  To  their 
good  judgment,  above  all  other  causes,  is  due  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  works  of  the  greatest  authors  of  the 
classical  period ;  for  the  standard  they  set  up  domi- 
nated all  antiquity.  The  Romans  in  turn  made  their 
selections  from  the  canonical  writers,  the  grammarianj 
and  school  teachers  from  the  favorites  of  the  Romans, 
often  choosing  the  easiest  things,  rather  than  the  best, 
and  so  on  through  the  Byzantine  period  and  the  Middle 
Ages. 

Our  knowledge  of  the  lost  writers  is  derived  from 
allusions  to  them  and  quotations  from  them  in  ancient 
literature,  with  the  addition  of  a  few  papyrus  fragments 
and  translations  into  Latin.     Most  of  our  quotations 


41  o  Homer  to  Theocritus 

from  the  lost  poets  come  from  Athenaeus  and  Stobaeus. 
Athenaeus  wrote  in  the  third  century  after  Christ  a 
voluminous  work  entitled  "  Tht  Philosophers  of  the 
Dinner-table**  a  copious  epitome  of  which  has  come 
down  to  us.  His  main  interests,  however,  were  not 
literary  ;  he  gossips  about  foods,  sauces,  dishes,  drink- 
ing, intrigues,  and  such  trifles,  citing  appropriate  pas- 
sages, especially  from  the  comic  poets,  to  illustrate  each 
point.  Naturally  we  do  not  gain  from  him  precisely 
the  materials  needed  for  estimating  the  literary  quali- 
ties of  the  poets.  Stobaeus,  the  collector  of  an  Anthology 
of  extracts  from  over  500  writers  of  prose  and  poetry, 
lived  in  the  sixth  century  of  our  era.  To  him  we  owe 
a  large  proportion  of  the  quotations  from  the  tragic 
poets.  Still  other  quotations  are  found  in  the  gram- 
marians, who  cite  passages  to  illustrate  points  in  gram- 
mar, obsolete  words,  or  matters  of  antiquarian  interest. 
A  rather  small  proportion  of  the  collections  which 
modern  scholars  have  laboriously  gathered  together 
from  all  these  and  other  sources  have  a  literary  value, 
and  the  best  quotations  are  a  poor  substitute  for  the 
original  work. 

The  account  of  oratory  which  we  have  given  takes 
into  consideration  all  of  the  orators  of  the  canon  and 
needs  no  supplement.  But  something  should  be  said 
of  the  lost  philosophers  and  historians  and  especially 
of  the  representative  tragic  and  comic  poets.  Lyric 
poetry  also  flourished  in  the  fourth  century,  but  we 
have  very  little  direct  information  about  it  except  that 
there  was  no  poet  of  especial  prominence  and  that  the 
musical  accompaniment  tended  to  overshadow  the 
words.    We  may  therefore  leave  it  out  of  consideration 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     411 

and  turn  our  attention  to  the  branches  in  which  the 
creative  impulse  was  still  effective  or  which  are  of  im- 
portance for  the  study  of  literary  movements. 

Plato  and  Aristotle  during  their  lives  overshadowed 
all  the  other  philosophers,  but  two  new  schools  were 
founded  in  the  second  half  of  the  fourth  century  which 
soon  came  into  prominence  and  exercised  an  important 
influence  on  literature  and  life.  Zeno  (345-265)  was  the 
founder  of  the  Stoic  school,  so  called  from  the  stoa  or 
porch,  decorated  with  the  paintings  of  the  great  artist 
Polygnotus,  in  which  the  lectures  were  held.  The  Stoic 
philosophy,  which  we  might  better  call  a  religion,  owed 
its  prominence  in  Greek  and  Roman  life  to  its  strict 
system  of  morals.  In  the  conception  of  Zeno  god  was 
the  supreme  Reason  which  regulates  the  universe.  The 
laws  of  nature  are  the  laws  of  god.  To  live  in  harmony 
with  nature  was  therefore  the  life  for  which  all  men 
should  strive,  and  they  can  attain  this  life  by  controlling 
the  passions  in  accordance  with  the  dictates  of  reason. 
Among  the  adherents  of  Stoicism  we  find,  especially 
among  the  Romans,  upon  whom  this  philosophy  took 
strong  hold,  some  of  the  noblest  characters  produced 
by  paganism. 

Epicurus  (341-270),  the  founder  of  the  Epicurean 
philosophy,  taught  a  doctrine  in  many  respects  quite 
the  opposite  of  that  of  Zeno.  As  the  latter  emphasized 
virtue  and  the  control  of  the  passions,  Epicurus  taught 
that  pleasure  was  the  chief  aim  of  existence.  Discard- 
ing an  explanation  of  the  universe  in  which  god  was 
the  lawgiver  and  director,  he  attributed  all  things  to 
chance.  The  existence  of  gods  was  not  denied,  but  it 
was  held  that  they  did  not  trouble  themselves  about 
human  affairs.     Although  the  doctrine  of  pleasure,  if 


411  Homer  to  Theocritus 

pleasure  is  properly  defined,  was  not  necessarily  de- 
structive of  good  morals,  yet  its  tendency  was  vicious. 
Epicureanism  came  to  be  regarded  by  the  Christian 
church  as  the  very  antithesis  of  Christianity  and  the 
embodiment  of  paganism.  The  doctrine  of  Epicurus  is 
best  known  to  us  through  the  great  Roman  poet  Lu- 
cretius, who,  in  his  poem  on  the  Nature  of  the  Universe^ 
closely  adhered  to  the  teachings  of  the  founder  of  the 
school. 

Taking  up  the  historians,  we  come  first  to  a  contem- 
porary of  Xenophon,  also  a  man  of  afifairs — Philistus  of 
Syracuse,  a  partisan  and  general  of  the  two  Sicilian 
tyrants  Dionysius.  Like  Thucydides  he  had  leisure 
during  a  period  of  banishment  to  devote  himself  to  the 
writing  of  a  history,  mainly  of  events  which  had  fallen 
under  his  own  observation.  His  History  of  Sicily^  in 
thirteen  books,  began  with  the  earliest  times  and  was 
brought  down  to  the  year  362.  In  style  and  composi- 
tion he  seems  to  have  resembled  Thucydides  in  many 
respects,  though  as  an  historian  he  fell  far  short  of  his 
great  model. 

Xenophon  was  the  last  of  the  Attic  historians  whose 
training  for  historical  composition  was  derived  from  the 
field  of  action.  Under  the  influence  of  Isocrates  the 
rhetoricians  now  occupied  this  province.  Instead  of 
statesmen  and  generals,  whose  personal  contact  with  af- 
fairs had  developed  in  them  the  power  of  accurate  obser- 
vation and  critical  judgment,  and  whose  chief  aim  was 
to  present  a  faithful  record  of  facts  and  impressions, 
we  now  meet  with  a  school  of  historians  with  whomi 
fine  writing  was  of  greater  importance  than  the  sub- 
stance of  history.  And  yet  the  two  principal  represen- 
tatives of  this  tendency,  Ephorus  and  Theopompus^ 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     413 

each  made  notable  contributions  to  Greek  literature, 
and  their  works  were  long  regarded  as  standard  his- 
tories. 

Ephorus  came  to  Athens  from  Cyme  in  Asia  Minor 
and  studied  under  Isocrates,  who  suggested  the  theme 
of  his  greatest  work.  His  history  in  thirty  books  was 
the  first  universal  history  of  Greece.  Discarding  as  un- 
trustworthy the  mythological  accounts  of  early  Greece 
and  taking  the  return  of  the  Heracleidae  to  the  Pelo- 
ponnesus (dated  by  ancient  chronologists  eighty  years 
after  the  fall  of  Troy)  as  the  first  authentic  event  in 
Greek  history,  he  brought  his  narrative  down  to  the 
siege  of  Perinthus  in  340.  For  the  larger  portion  of 
his  history  he  depended  upon  the  earlier  historians 
rather  than  upon  his  own  research,  taking  large  sec- 
tions almost  verbatim  out  of  Herodotus,  for  example. 
He  was  decidedly  weak  in  descriptions  of  military 
operations,  and  not  especially  critical  in  his  method, 
but  his  work  was  extensively  read  and  favorably  re- 
garded. 

Theopompus  of  Chios  was  also  a  pupil  of  Isocrates 
and  in  his  earlier  years  gained  a  considerable  reputa- 
tion as  an  accomplished  orator  for  special  occasions. 
His  greatest  rhetorical  triumph  was  his  panegyric  on 
King  Mausolus  of  Caria,  whose  splendid  tomb,  the 
Mausoleum,  was  one  of  the  wonders  of  ancient  arch- 
itecture. His  two  great  historical  works  were  the 
Hellenica^  in  twelve  books,  a  continuation  of  Thucyd- 
ides'  history  down  to  the  battle  of  Cnidos  in  394,  and 
the  PhiHppica  in  fifty-eight  books.  The  latter  had  for 
its  central  theme  the  reign  of  Philip  I.  of  Macedon,  but 
by  indulging  in  frequent  and  extended  digressions  it 
covered  practically  the  whole  history  of  the  time,  so 


414  Homer  to  Theocritus 

far  as  the  Greek  world  was  concerned.  The  narrative 
of  Theopompus  abounded  in  anecdotes,  too  often  of  a 
scandalous  nature,  which  made  him  a  favorite  source 
of  information  for  the  trivial  writers  of  a  later  age. 
The  ancients  were  of  varying  opinions  as  to  his  merits 
as  an  historian,  but,  to  judge  by  his  influence  on  later 
historians  and  men  of  letters  for  many  centuries,  he  is 
entitled  to  be  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  important  of 
Greek  historians. 

From  the  time  of  the  first  tragic  contest  in  the  reign 
of  Peisistratus,  down  to  the  second  or  third  century 
after  Christ,  new  tragedies  continued  to  be  written  and 
put  upon  the  stage.  But  the  period  of  growth  and 
development  practically  ended  with  the  death  of  Soph- 
ocles and  Euripides.  Old  tragedies  were  regularly  pro- 
duced along  with  the  new  after  the  first  part  of  the 
fourth  century,  and  thus  Sophocles  and  especially  Eu- 
ripides held  their  place  in  popular  favor.  The  influence 
of  the  three  great  tragic  poets  had  fixed,  seemingly  in- 
alterably,  the  laws  of  the  tragic  composition.  Attempts 
at  innovation  were  few  and  unsuccessful.  By  giving  up 
the  chorus  the  Greeks  might  have  taken  the  first  step 
toward  the  development  of  the  modern  conception  of 
tragedy ;  but  the  tradition  was  too  strong.  Tragedy 
had  developed  out  of  the  chorus.  The  most  serious 
duty  of  the  poet  or  manager  had  always  been  the  train- 
ing of  the  chorus.  The  whole  organization  of  the  dra- 
matic performances  at  Athens  centred  around  the 
chorus,  which  the  State  had  assumed  the  obligation  of 
furnishing  to  the  poets  who  were  admitted  to  the  tragic 
contests.  And  so  the  chorus  was  retained  even  after  it 
had  come  to  be  a  convention  rather  than  an  integral 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     415 

part  of  tragedy.  It  is  characteristic  of  the  period  of 
the  decline  that  the  lines  by  which  the  chorus  was  at- 
tached to  the  plot  were  loosened,  although  it  still  fur- 
nished an  important  part  of  the  spectacle.  As  regards 
the  subject  matter,  the  same  stories  taken  from  my- 
thology continued  to  be  worked  over  again  and  again, 
with  only  such  changes  as  the  cleverness  of  the  poet 
could  devise  or  the  taste  of  the  times  demanded. 
Medea  could  be  made  to  conceal  her  children  from  her 
husband,  instead  of  killing  them ;  or,  on  the  other  hand, 
the  horrors  of  the  original  conception  could  be  height- 
ened by  detailed  descriptions  of  the  bloody  deed.  The 
most  important  development  in  tragedy  was  in  the 
manner  of  its  presentation.  The  scenic  arrangements 
were  perfected.  More  attention  was  given  to  preserv- 
ing the  illusion  by  the  invention  of  better  stage  ma- 
chinery and  more  skilful  scene-painting,  and,  above  all, 
the  amateurish  performers  of  the  earlier  times  were  re- 
placed by  professional  actors.  The  fourth  century  was 
the  age  of  great  actors.  Again,  dramatic  perform- 
ances were  no  longer  confined  to  Athens  nor  to  Attica. 
Almost  every  village,  after  the  fourth  century,  had  its 
own  permanent  theatre  and  its  annual  festival.  Troupes 
of  professional  performers,  including  poets,  were  sent 
out  to  the  local  festivals  by  the  powerful  guilds  of 
^'  Dionysiac  Artists"  which  had  their  headquarters  in 
the  principal  cities. 

Before  taking  up  the  tragic  poets  of  the  fourth  cen- 
tury we  may  mention  three  poets  of  the  latter  half  of 
the  fifth  century  who  are  entitled  to  a  place  next  to 
Sophocles  and  Euripides.  Two  of  them.  Ion. of  Chios 
and  Achaeus  of  Eretria,  were  admitted  into  the  Alex- 
andrian canon  beside  the  three  masters.    Achaeus  was 


41 6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

especially  esteemed  for  his  satyr-dramas,  in  which  he 
was  regarded  as  second  only  to  Aeschylus.  Ion  was  a 
versatile  man  of  letters,  tr.tiing  his  attention  with  dis- 
tinction to  both  prose  and  poetry.  On  one  occasion  he 
wr^n  ♦*!#»  firrt  priTi*  in  hnth  tragpily  and^jnjthc 
cafltb.  He  and  Achaeus  began  their  careers  as  tragic 
poets  about  the  same  time  as  Euripides.  The  third  is 
Agathon,  who  won  his  first  victory  in  416  B.  C.  The 
scene  of  Plato's  Symposium  is  the  banquet  given  in 
Agathon's  house  in  celebration  of  this  victory.  Agathon 
took  up  his  residence  at  the  Macedonian  court  some 
time  before  405,  greatly  to  the  loss  of  the  Athenian 
stage.  In  spite  of  the  jeers  of  the  comic  poets  at  his 
foppishness  and  elfeminacy,  he  was  a  poet  of  unusual 
ability,  somewhat  inclined  to  innovations.  He  ventured 
once  to  abandon  the  subjects  taken  from  mythology  in 
favor  of  a  purely  fictitious  subject  in  the  Flower^  which 
Aristotle  found  worthy  of  commendation,  though  he 
elsewhere  criticises  him  for  his  loose  handling  of  the 
chorus  and  for  faulty  plot-construction. 

In  the  Frogs  Aristophanes  puts  into  the  mouth  of 
Dionysus  some  rather  gloomy  sentiments  about  thie 
outlook  for  tragedy  after  the  death  of  Euripides  and 
Sophocles.  Explaining  to  Heracles  why  he  has  deter- 
mined to  go  down  to  Hades  after  Euripides,  Dionysus 
says  :  "  I  want  a  clever  poet,  for  the  good  are  all  dead 
and  gone — only  the  worthless  are  left  behind."  "  What," 
replies  Heracles,  ''isn't  lophon  (the  son  of  Sophocles) 
still  alive?"  "Well,  that's  the  only  good  thing  left 
then,  if  you  can  call  it  good ;  I'm  not  quite  sure  about 
it  myself.  I  must  first  find  out  what  he  can  do  without 
Sophocles  to  help  him."  "Then  there's  Xenocles," 
suggests    Heracles.      "  Confound    Xenocles."      "And 


Lost  Writers  pf  the  Fourth  Century     417 

Pythangelus." — We  can  fancy  what  Dionysus  would 
have  said  about  Pythangelus  if  he  had  not  been  inter- 
rupted. There  is  a  good  deal  of  comic  exaggeration  in 
this  conversation,  for  the  poet  was  obliged  to  provide  a 
sufficient  motive  for  the  extraordinary  adventure  of  his 
hero  ;  yet  we  can  well  believe  that  the  opinions  put  into 
the  mouth  of  Dionysus  found  a  response  in  the  hearts 
of  many  an  Athenian  in  the  audience.  But,  though  the 
golden  age  of  tragedy  had  in  truth  passed  away,  yet  the 
next  two  generations  produced  several  poets  who  found 
favor  with  the  Athenians,  won  the  approbation  of 
Aristotle,  and  were  read  and  quoted  for  many  centuries 
afterward.  The  most  important  were  Carcinus,  Asty- 
damas,  Theodectas,  and  Chaeremon. 

Carcinus  was  the  grandson  of  the  tragic  poet  Car- 
cinus,  ridiculed  unmercifully  by  Aristophanes,  and  son 
of  Xenocles,  who,  though  so  summarily  dismissed  by 
the  comic  poet  in  the  passage  just  quoted,  yet  succeeded 
in  defeating  Euripides  in  415.  The  younger  Carcinus 
was  a  pupil  of  Isocrates  and  a  fair  representative  of  the 
rhetorical  tendency  which  prevailed  in  tragic  composi- 
tion in  the  fourth  century.  Trammelled  by  the  conven- 
tionalities which  tradition  had  established,  these  prod- 
ucts of  the  school  of  Isocrates  wasted  in  the  cultivation 
of  a  florid  forensic  style  talents  that  would  better  have 
been  devoted  to  the  truly  dramatic  side  of  tragedy. 
The  success  of  Carcinus  in  winning  eleven  victories  at 
the  City  Dionysia  attests  his  popularity  at  Athens, 
which  also  brought  him  an  invitation  to  visit  the  court 
of  Dionysus  at  Syracuse,  where  he  spent  some  years. 

Astydamas,  like  Carcinus,  was  the  scion  of  a  family 
famous  in  the  annals  of  tragedy.  His  father  was  Asty- 
damas, who  won  his  first  victory  in  398,  the  son  of 


41 8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

MorsimuSy  of  whom  the  comic  poets  have  much,  but 
nothing  good,  to  say,  and  Morsimus  was  in  turn  the 
son  of  Fhilocles,  who  defeated  Sophocles  when  the  lat- 
ter brought  out  the  Oedipus  Rex,  This  Philocles  was 
the  son  of  Aeschylus'  sister,  who  married  the  tragic 
poet  Philopeithes.  Several  other  members  of  the  family 
of  Aeschylus  were  tragic  poets,  including  his  two  sons, 
one  of  whom,  Euphorion,  had  the  distinction  of  defeat- 
ing both  Sophocles  and  Euripides  when  the  latter  pro- 
duced his  Medea,  Tragic  poetry  was  a  profession,  and 
not  merely  a  branch  of  literature.  Father  initiated  son 
in  the  difficult  technical  arts  of  musical  composition, 
the  training  of  choruses  in  dancing  and  singing,  stage- 
management,  and  the  like.  The  families  of  Sophocles 
and  Euripides  also  illustrate  this  tendency.  Two  sons 
of  the  former,  lophon  and  Ariston,  and  a  grandson, 
Sophocles,  who  brought  out  the  Oedipus  at  Colonus^ 
gained  a  name  in  tragedy,  and  a  son  or  nephew  of 
Euripides,  the  younger  Euripides,  who  produced  the 
Bacchanals  and  the  Iphigeneia  among  the  TaurianSy  seems 
to  have  won  several  victories.  To  return  to  Astydamas 
the  younger,  his  most  notable  success  was  with  the 
ParthenopaeuSy  a  subject  which  seems  never  to  have  re- 
ceived tragic  treatment  before.  When  it  was  exhibited 
in  340  the  people  were  so  enthusiastic  in  their  approval 
of  it  that  they  voted  the  author  the  honor  of  a  statue 
in  the  newly  built  theatre,  an  honor  hitherto  reserved 
for  Aeschylus,  Sophocles,  and  Euripides.  Astydamas 
won  fifteen  victories  in  all,  eight  at  the  City  Dionysia. 

Theodectas  was  one  of  the  most  accomplished  men 
of  the  age.  A  native  of  Phaselis  in  Lycia,  he  came 
to  Athens,  studied  under  Isocrates  and  Plato,  and  be- 
came the  intimate  friend  of  Aristotle,  who  was  nearly 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     419 

of  the  same  age.  His  profession  was  at  first  oratory, 
but  he  later  turned  his  attention  to  tragedy,  in  which 
he  achieved  a  conspicuous  success.  The  epitaph  on  his 
tombstone  records  the  fact  that  in  thirteen  contests  he 
won  eight  victories.  Seven  of  these  were  at  the  greater 
festival.  The  reputation  which  he  gained  as  a  poet 
was  scarcely  greater  than  his  fame  as  an  orator.  He 
was  one  of  the  speakers  at  the  panegyric  competition 
in  honor  of  Mausolus  at  which  the  historian  Theopom- 
pus  won  the  prize*-  He  also  wrote  a  much-quoted  book 
on  rhetoric. 

Chaeremon  is  the  first  known  representative  of  a 
class  of  tragic  poets  which  soon  became  numerous-— 
those  whose  plays  were  not  intended  for  the  stage.  He 
may  have  exhibited  also,  but  Aristotle  expressly  men- 
tions him  as  one  of  those  '*  who  write  to  be  read,  whose 
plays  are  in  everybody's  hands."  From  the  very  begin- 
ning of  tragic  competitions,  many  plays  were  of  course 
written  which  were  not  exhibited  in  the  theatre,  but 
they  were  not  published,  as  were  Chaeremon's,  nor  was 
the  public  interested  in  them.  The  tendency  of  which 
we  have  spoken,  to  make  tragedy  the  vehicle  of  brilliant 
rhetoric,  necessarily  led  to  the  production  of  works 
which  were  not  adapted  to  scenic  representation. 
There  was  now  a  demand  for  such  plays  in  cultivated 
circles,  and  their  authors  escaped  from  the  burden  of 
training  the  chorus  and  directing  the  performance. 
Besides,  it  had  now  become  the  fashion  for  men  who 
aspired  to  a  literary  reputation  to  undertake  the  writ- 
ing of  tragedies  as  an  elegant  accomplishment. 

Nothing  remains  of  these  four  writers,  nor  of  the 
lesser  tragic  poets,  which  assists  us  materially  in  form<* 
ing  an  estimate  of  the  style  and  manner  of  the  tragedy 


4.ao  Homer  to  Theocritus 

of  the  period.  But  there  is  extant  in  the  manuscripts  of 
Euripides  a  play  by  an  unknown  author,  the  Rhesus^ 
which  is  now  generally  believed  to  have  been  written 
in  the  first  half  of  the  fourth  century.  It  may  serve  to 
give  us  a  clearer  idea  of  one  kind  of  tragedy  produced 
after  the  passing  of  the  golden  age.  Euripides  wrote 
a  Rhesus^  but  not  this  Rhesus,  which  has  only  been  pre- 
served from  destruction  by  the  protection  of  the  great 
poet's  name. 

The  Rhesus  is  a  dramatization  of  the  tenth  book  of 
the  Iliad,  The  scene  is  the  Trojan  camp  on  the  plain  of 
Troy.  In  the  background  we  see  the  tent  of  Hector. 
The  time,  between  midnight  and  dawn.  Enter  the 
sentinels  of  the  camp,  who  form  the  chorus,  and  sum- 
mon Hector  from  his  tent.  They  have  come  to  tell 
him  of  strange  disturbances  in  the  camp  of  the  Greeks 
— a  multitude  of  lights,  the  gathering  of  the  men  about 
Agamemnon's  tent,  and  shouting — and  warn  him  to  be 
on  his  guard  against  a  hostile  attempt.  Hector,  always 
too  confident,  believes  that  the  enemy  is  planning  an 
escape  under  cover  of  darkness.  He  is  about  to  arouse 
his  army  for  an  attack,  but  Aeneas,  more  cautious, 
advises  sending  a  spy.  Dolon  volunteers  and  soon  sets 
out  upon  his  dangerous  mission.  A  shepherd  now  ar- 
rives with  the  welcome  tidings  that  Rhesus,  the  long-ex- 
pected Thracian  ally  of  the  Trojans,  is  approaching  with 
his  army.  Rhesus  himself  soon  appears  and  is  wel- 
comed by  Hector.  They  plan  the  coming  battle,  both 
confident  of  an  easy  victory.  Rhesus  then  retires  to 
rest  with  his  men,  at  a  place  designated  by  Hector  just 
without  the  camp.  The  Thracians,  as  it  turns  out, 
wearied  by  their  long  march  and  thinking  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Hector's  army  a  sufficient  guarantee  against 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     4a  i 

harm,  fail  to  set  a  watch.  After  the  departure  of 
Rhesus  the  camp  is  again  hushed  in  silence  except  for 
the  chanting  of  the  sentinels  as  they  march  back  to 
their  posts  at  the  outskirts  of  the  army.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  scene  is  vacant  At  this  juncture  Odysseus 
and  Diomedes  enter  the  camp.  They  have  caught  and 
slain  Dolon,  after  first  getting  from  him  the  Trojan 
watchword  for  the  night  They  look  into  Hector's 
tent,  for  they  have  come  to  slay  him  in  his  sleep,  but 
find  the  tent  empty.  As  they  are  about  to  go  back  to 
their  camp,  Athene  appears  and  urges  them  to  slay 
Rhesus  and  lead  away  his  marvellous  snow-white 
horses.  Paris,  disturbed  by  noises  in  the  camp,  en- 
ters just  as  the  two  Greeks  are  about  to  set  out  on  this 
new  errand,  but  Athene,  by  pretending  that  she  1% 
Aphrodite,  gets  him  easily  out  of  the  way.  Suddenly  an 
alarm  is  raised.  Odysseus  enters  running,  followed  by 
the  sentinels,  who  have  just  been  relieved  and  are  re- 
turning to  their  beds.  Odysseus  is  caught  and  chal- 
lenged, but  gives  the  password  and  is  set  free.  As  he 
slips  away  in  the  darkness,  the  charioteer  of  Rhesus,  all 
covered  with  blood,  rushes  in  and  announces  the  murder 
of  his  master  and  the  theft  of  the  horses.  He  accuses 
Hector  of  foul  play.  Hector,  evidently  moved  by  the 
charge  but  having  no  defence,  sends  the  charioteer 
away.  Then  Terpsichore,  mother  of  Rhesus,  comes 
down  from  on  high  to  take  away  the  body  of  his  son, 
reveals  the  authors  of  the  deed,  and  curses  Odysseus. 
As  the  day  dawns  Hector  bids  all  depart  and  prepare 
for  battle. 

This  brief  outline  will  serve  to  show  the  main  char- 
acteristics of  the  play-—realism  and  movement.  There 
is  no  pause  in  the  action.    The  scene  is  constantly 


422  Homer  to  Theocntus 

filled  with  ''alarums  and  excursions."  We  catch  the 
air  of  restlessness  which  pervades  the  Trojan  camp. 
The  characters  are  lifelike,  though  not  drawn  with 
delicacy.  The  most  interesting  feature  is  the  chorus. 
It  is  admirably  managed  throughout  and  by  no  means 
on  conventional  lines.  Its  sympathy  with  the  actors  is 
complete  and  its  part  in  the  action  of  the  first  impor- 
tance for  the  development  of  the  plot.  The  choral 
odes  are  not  long  nor  ambitious  in  the  lyric  sense,  but 
always  appropriate.  The  poet  has  shown  unusual 
skill  in  motiving  its  presence  on  the  scene  and  es- 
pecially in  removing  it  at  the  critical  moment  when 
Odysseus  and  Diomedes  are  about  to  enter  the  camp. 
The  sentinels'  station  is  at  the  outposts  of  the  camp ; 
their  first  entrance  is  for  the  purpose  of  informing  the 
chieftain  of  the  doings  of  the  enemy ;  their  reentry, 
when  they  catch  Odysseus,  is  after  they  have  been  re- 
lieved and  are  returning  to  rest  The  rdle  of  Athene 
reminds  us  of  the  opening  scene  of  Sophocles'  Ajax, 
and  the  deus  ex  machina  is  in  the  Euripidean  manner. 
The  author  was  not  a  great  poet,  though  he  was  a  clever 
playwright.  Evidently  a  close  student  of  the  earlier 
poets,  he  was  neither  a  servile  imitator  nor  under  the 
vicious  influence  of  the  rhetorical  school.  We  should 
be  glad  to  believe  that  the  qualities  which  distinguish 
this  piece — animation,  realism,  a  fair  degree  of  the 
spectacular  without  sacrifice  of  the  character-drawing, 
and  clever  plot-construction — were  not  below  the  level 
of  the  average  fourth-century  tragedy. 

The  resources  of  comedy  Were  not  exhausted  in  the 
fifth  century,  brilliant  as  were  the  achievements  of 
CratiAus,  Eupolis,  Aristophanes,  and  the  other  repre- 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     423 

sentatives  of  the  Old  Comedy.  Under  these  poets  it 
had  reached  a  stage  of  development  comparable  to  that 
of  tragedy  in  the  early  part  of  the  fifth  century  under 
Phrynichus  and  Aeschylus.  The  age  of  artistic  per- 
fection, represented  in  tragedy  by  Sophocles,  was  still 
to  come.  We  have  seen  that  the  plays  of  Aristophanes 
were  characterized  by  extravagant  fantasy,  youthful 
exuberance,  buffoonery,  obscenity,  and  merciless  satire 
on  individuals  and  the  state,  all  expressed  in  a  form  in 
which  plot  and  the  harmonious  welding  of  the  parts 
into  an  artistic  whole  counted  for  little.  The  chorus 
had  been  accepted  from  tragedy  as  the  necessary  cen- 
tral ingredient  of  the  dramatic  form,  and  was  employed 
to  assist  in  the  unfolding  of  an  elementary  plot.  Ad- 
vantage was  taken  of  its  presence  to  enchance  the  spec- 
tacle through  grotesque  impersonations,  and  its  num- 
bers added  materially  to  the  animation  of  the  action. 
But,  from  the  artistic  point  of  view,  it  was  constantly 
used  in  violation  of  the  dramatic  proprieties,  especially 
in  the  parabasis,  where  illusion  was  thrown  to  the 
winds  and  the  chorus  spoke  out  on  irrelevant  topics  as 
the  mouthpiece  of  the  poet. 

A  people  penetrated  by  the  artistic  instinct  of  the 
Athenians  was  certain  to  create  a  more  perfect,  harmoni- 
ous, universal  form  of  comedy  than  this.  Within  three 
quarters  of  a  century  after  the  death  of  Aristophanes 
the  task  was  accomplished.  The  interval  was  a  period 
of  transition,  designated  by  general  consent  as'  the 
Middle  Comedy.  Its  limits  may  be  set  roughly  as.  388; 
the  year  'of  Aristophanes'  last  plajr,  and  321,  the  date 
of  the  first  play  of  Menander.  The  New  Comedy  may 
be  said  to  begin  with  the  latter  date  and  td  extend  to 
about  250.     All  dates,  however,  which  are  set  to  mark 


424  Homer  to  Theocritus 

periods  in  a  branch  of  literature  whose  growth  and 
development  were  constant  and  gradual,  must  be  ac- 
cepted as  in  some  degree  arbitrary. 

The  changes  which  comedy  underwent  before  it 
reached  a  universal  form  were  normal  and  inevitable, 
but  they  were  accelerated  at  two  critical  epochs  by 
changes  in  the  political,  social,  and  intellectual  condi- 
tions at  Athens.  The  first,  at  the  end  of  the  fifth  cen- 
tury, were  the  results  of  the  Peloponnesian  War,  which 
shattered  the  imperialistic  aspirations  of  Athens,  broke 
the  spirit  of  the  extreme  democracy,  directed  the  atten- 
tion of  the  people  more  to  internal  affairs,  tempered 
the  violence  of  party  strife,  and  paved  the  way  for  an 
improved  social  and  intellectual  life.  The  second  epoch 
was  the  overthrow  of  Greek  freedom  by  Alexander, 
which  made  possible  the  thoughtful  and  refined  cosmo- 
politan society  of  the  third  century.  But  it  is  impor- 
tant to  remember  that  these  events  did  not  interrupt 
the  normal  growth  of  comedy,  but  only  hastened  a 
process  that  had  already  made  noticeable  headway. 

Aristotle,  writing  during  his  last  residence  in  Athens 
(335-323),  remarks  that  the  poet  Crates,  who  was  about 
a  decade  earlier  than  Aristophanes,  had  initiated  im- 
portant changes  in  the  spirit  of  the  Old  Comedy.  Put- 
ting aside  the  lampooning  of  individuals,  he  "  general- 
ized "  his  plots.  The  kind  of  mirth  which  the  other 
poets  excited,  he  explains  elsewhere,  was  essentially 
malicious,  for  it  involved  the  discomfiture  of  another. 
A  higher  form  of  humor  is  that  which  derives  pleasure 
from  the  frailties  and  foibles  of  human  nature  in  gen* 
eraly  in  such  a  way  as  not  to  inflict  pain.  He  might 
have  gone  further  and  included.'' the  incongruities,  ab- 
surditiesy  and  cross-purposes  of  life^  its  blunders  and 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     425 

its  discords,  its  imperfect  correspondences  and  adjust- 
ments, and  that  in  matters  intellectual  as  well  as  moral  " 
(Butcher).  In  another  passage  Aristotle  calls  attention 
to  a  difference  between  the  Old  Comedy  and  that  of 
his  time  in  the  matter  of  refinement  and  good  taste ; 
the  coarse  obscenity  habitual  to  the  former  had  given 
way  to  the  innuendo  ;  the  language  is  now  such  as  it  is 
honorable  for  a  gentleman  to  enjoy.  We  learn  from 
these  observations  two  important  tendencies  of  the 
Middle  Comedy,  which  became  characteristics  of  the 
New.  With  Crates,  who  began  those  changes,  we  may 
associate  one  of  the  best-known  of  the  comic  poets  of 
the  time,  Plato,  not  to  be  confounded  with  his  name- 
sake, the  philosopher.  Plato's  life  extended  into  the 
period  of  the  Middle  Comedy,  and  he  is  often  spoken 
of  as  a  representative  of  that  period.  Aristophanes 
himself,  in  his  later  plays,  modified  both  his  abusive- 
ness  and  his  obscenity,  and  thus  participated,  though 
not  markedly,  in  the  new  movement. 

The  poets  of  the  Middle  and  New  Comedy  were 
more  fortunate  than  the  contemporary  tragic  poets  in 
that  they  were  not  fettered  by  conventionalities  fixed 
by  the  practice  of  their  predecessors,  either  as  to  sub- 
ject-matter or  as  to  form.  There  was  no  recognized 
normal  pattern  after  which  Aristophanes  modelled  his 
plays,  as  we  have  seen.  There  was  the  general  attempt 
to  approximate  the  structure  of  tragedy,  but  in  a  very 
loose  manner.  The  later  plays  of  Aristophanes  omit 
the  parabasis  altogether,  and  in  general  make  a  more 
limited  use  of  the  chorus.  The  parabasis,  which  was 
probably  a  characteristic  feature  of  the  early  unliterary 
comus^  taken  over  into  comedy  in  spite  of  its  violations 
of  the  principles  of  dramatic  art,  always  was  of  the 


4^6  Homer  to  Theocritus 

nature  of  an  alien  growth  and  very  naturally  disap- 
peared altogether  in  the  fourth  century.  The  chorus, 
which  was  by  no  means  essential  to  the  dramatic  form 
and  was  in  fact  imported  into  comedy  from  tragedy, 
diminished  gradually  in  importance  and  at  some  time 
during  the  period  of  the  New  Comedy  was  omitted  en- 
tirely, or  at  least  was  employed  in  an  entirely  different 
function — to  fill  in  the  pauses  of  the  action.  When  this 
point  was  reached,  comedy  had  arrived  at  its  full  growth, 
structurally,  and  had  become,  like  a  modern  play,  a  suc- 
cession of  acts,  each  conducing  to  the  development  and 
solution  of  a  plot. 

No  less  important  was  the  freedom  from  limitations 
as  to  subject-matter.  The  range  of  subjects  was 
limited  only  by  the  inventiveness  of  the  poets,  as  in  the 
earlier  period.  But  the  early  poets  had  left  almost  un- 
touched the  most  fertile  field  of  all — human  nature  and 
society — while  they  had  exhausted  the  field  of  politics. 
At  least  we  may  believe  that  the  public,  after  the  fall 
of  Athens,  the  revolution,  and  the  restoration  of  the 
democracy,  no  longer  cared  to  grant  to  the  comic  poets 
the  old  license,  and  would  no  longer  allow  them  to  as- 
sume the  old  rdle  of  censors  of  statesmen,  public  men, 
and  matters  of  state  policy  and  administration.  The 
taste  of  the  age,  besides,  was  different.  The  tumult- 
uous and  extravagant  fantasy  of  the  preceding  age 
could  not  satisfy  a  people  who  had  learned  to  find 
pleasure  in  the  elegant  discussions  of  the  schools  of 
rhetoric  and  philosophy,  in  fine  observations  and  analy- 
sis. There  was  need  of  a  nearer  approach  to  real  life. 
But  the  transition  was  not  made  without  attempts 
in  other  directions.  During  the  Middle  Comedy  paro- 
dies of  mythological  subjects  were  especially  in  vogue. 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     427 

The  stories  of  the  births,  marriages,  banquets,  and  gal- 
lant adventures  of  the  gods  were  turned  to  ridicule.  It 
was  an  age  of  rationalism  and  the  people  doubtless 
sympathized  with  such  attacks  upon  the  absurd  features 
of  the  old  religion.  There  were  also  parodies  of  trage- 
dies and  the  stories  of  the  epic,  and  the  current  schools 
of  philosophy  did  not  escape.  But  the  most  significant 
tendency  was  the  increasing  attention  given  to  subjects 
from  daily  life,  as  such  titles  as  these  indicate :  the 
Fuller^  the  Fisherwomatiy  the  Master  of  Arms.  Stock 
characters  appear  oftener,  such  as  the  parasite,  the 
cook,  and  the  blustering  soldier.  In  the  plays  of  this 
class  we  see  the  beginnings  of  the  New  Comedy. 

The  number  of  comedies  produced  in  the  fourth  cen- 
tury was  enormous.  Athenaeus  asserts  that  he  had 
read  800  comedies  of  this  period.  We  know  that  the 
number  of  comedies  produced  at  each  festival  was  in- 
creased from  three  to  five,  so  that  the  number  of 
comedies  performed  at  Athens  yearly  was  ten,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  outside  exhibitions.  Of  the  numerous 
poets  whose  names  we  know  three  stand  out  from  the 
rest — Anaxandrides,  Antiphanes,  and  Alexis. 

Anaxandrides  was  a  native  of  Rhodes,  born  near  the 
turn  of  the  fourth  century.  He  won  ten  victories  in 
all,  of  which  seven  were  at  the  City  Dionysia.  He  is 
said  to  have  given  prominence  in  his  plays  to  intrigue 
and  runaway  marriages.  These  two  fragments  give  an 
idea  of  his  manner  : 

HEALTH,  BEAUTY,  WEALTH 

Whoe'er  it  was  that  made  the  drinking  song, 
Who  put  health  first,  as  though  it  were  the  best. 
So  far  was  right ; — but  second  he  set  beauty. 


4^8  Homer  to  Theocritus 

And  riches  third !  There  he,  you  see,  was  daft; 
For  after  health  is  wealth  the  chiefest  thing, — 
A  handsome  starveling  is  a  wretched  beast  1 

Lawton. 


MARRIAGE 

A  man  who  doubts  if  he  should  marry. 
Or  thinks  he  has  good  cause  to  tarry. 
Is  foolish  if  he  takes  a  wife, 
The  source  of  half  the  plagues  in  life  I 
A  poor  man  to  a  rich  wife  sold 
Exchanges  liberty  for  gold. 
If  she  has  nothing,  then,  'tis  true. 
There  is  a  different  ill  to  rue  ; 
For  now  he  has,  with  all  his  need, 
Two  mouths  instead  of  one  to  feed. 
Perhaps  she's  ugly ;  married  life 
Thenceforth  is  never-ending  strife ! 
Perhaps  she's  pretty  ;  then  your  boast 
Is  made  by  all  your  friends  their  toast 
Does  ugly,  handsome,  poor,  or  rich. 
Bring  most  ill  luck? — I  know  not  which. 

Paley. 

Antiphanes  was  also  a  non-Athenian  by  birth,  as 
was  an  increasing  number  of  the  poets  of  Athens  from 
the  fourth  century  on.  Born  about  385,  he  died  about 
310,  after  having  exhibited  almost  fifty  years.  We  are 
told  that  he  was  the  author  of  from  280  to  365  plays,  but 
these  figures  can  hardly  be  trustworthy.  He  was,  how- 
ever, an  exceptionally  productive  poet,  which  perhaps 
accounts  for  the  fact  that  he  won  so  few  victories,  rel- 
atively— thirteen  in  all,  five  only  at  the  City  Dionysia. 
The  following  fragment  is  the  best  possible  illustration 
of  the  fact  to  which  allusion  has  already  been  .made — 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     419 

the  restriction  of  tragedy  to  a  narrow  cycle  of  mytho- 
logical subjects,  worked  over  ad  nauseam  by  earlier 
poets,  and  the  freedom  of  the  comic  poet  in  this  respect 
— an  advantage  of  which  Antiphanes  here  pretends  to 
complain  ! 


THE  COMIC  POET'S  GRIEVANCES 

Happy  in  every  way  the  lot 
Of  tragic  poets  f     First,  because  the  tale 
Is  perfectly  to  the  spectators  known , 
Ere  aught  is  said.     The  poet  only  need 
Remind  them  :  for  if  I  say  *  *  Oedipus,^* 
Why,  all  the  rest  they  know.     .    .     » 
Besides,  when  they  have  nothing  more  to  say. 
Then  like  a  finger  their  machine  they  raise. 
And  that  suffices  for  their  audience. 

Nothing  of  this  have  we,  but  everything 
We  must  invent :  new  names,  new  circumstancCi 
Present  conditions,  the  catastrophe, 
The  episodes.     If  one  be  overlooked, 
Chremes  and  Pheidon  hiss  us  from  the  stage. 

Lawton. 

Undoubtedly  the  greatest  poet  of  the  Middle 
Comedy  was  Alexis,  a  native  of  Thurii  in  Southern 
Italy.  In  his  remarkably  long  life  of  over  100  years 
(376  to  271)  he  witnessed  the  complete  evolution  of  the 
New  Comedy  from  the  Middle  and  actively  participated 
in  both,  for  his  literary  activity  extended  from  about  357 
to  his  death.  The  fragments  reveal  a  poet  of  unusual 
gifts  of  humor  and  invention.  The  philosophical  strain, 
the  half-serious,  half-humorous  reflections  on  the  prob- 
lems of  life  and  death,  illustrated  in  the  first  selec- 
tion, is  entirely  in  the  manner  of  the  New  Comedy. 


430  Homer  to  Theocritus 


VANITY  FAIR 

This  is  a  mere  excursion  we  enjoy. 
We  who  are  living,  who  are  but  released — 
As  for  some  festival — from  death  and  gloom. 
For  our  diversion  we  to  light  are  sent, — 
This  light  of  life  ;  and  whoso  laughs  and  drinks 
And  loves  the  most,  in  the  brief  time  we  here 
May  tarry,  and  at  the  banquet  wins  him  so 
The  prize, — he  best  contented  hies  him  home  1 

Lawton. 

FISH 

Living  and  dead  the  monsters  of  the  deep 
As  foes  to  man  their  evil  influence  keep. 
A  boat's  capsized :  a  shark  is  close,  and  swallows 
The  wretch  who  helpless  in  the  breakers  wallows. 
He's  caught  by  fish  ;  but  when  they're  caught  by  us. 
Dead  though  they  be,  they  put  us  in  a  fuss ; 
So  dear  are  they  to  buy,  we've  lost  our  all 
If  once  we  stop  to  haggle  at  a  stall. 

Paley. 


WINE  AND   MAN 

In  wine  and  man  this  difference  appears  : 
The  old  man  bores  you,  but  the  old  wine  cheers. 
Men  do  not,  like  your  wine,  improve  by  age ; 
The  more  their  years,  the  less  their  ways  engage. 

Paley. 

The  New  Comedy  differed  from  the  Middle  Comedy 
in  form  in  two  respects — the  chorus  was  either  omitted 
or  used  only  to  fill  the  pauses  between  acts,  and  a  new 
kind  of  prologue  was  introduced.  Instead  of  employ- 
ing the  opening  scene  to  explain  the  subject  and  the 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     43 1 

plot,  one  of  the  characters  of  the  piece,  or  sometimes  a 
fanciful  creation  like  "  Air"  or  "Fear,"  came  forward 
and  gave  the  necessary  preliminary  indications  as  to 
the  theme,  scene  of  action,  and  the  like.  This  device 
enabled  the  poet  to  put  himself  en  rapport  with  the 
audience  at  the  start,  for  he  made  the  most  of  this  op- 
portunity for  humorous  turns  or  even  for  personal  allu- 
sions, and  to  begin  the  action  immediately  in  the  first 
act.  The  all-important  distinction,  however,  was  the 
complete  realization  of  the  ideal  toward  which  the 
poets  of  the  fourth  century  had  been  groping — to  give 
comedy  as  its  exclusive  subject  the  faithful  representa- 
tion of  contemporary  life,  and  therefore,  to  a  large  de- 
gree, of  all  life.  Philemon  and  Menander  promptly 
grasped  this  ideal  and  thereby  created  a  new  type  of 
literature — the  comedy  of  manners.  In  making  comedy 
the  mirror  of  human  life  and  experience  they  were  but 
following  the  example  set  by  Euripides  in  tragedy  a 
century  before.  From  now  on  the  names  of  Euripides 
and  Menander  were  joined  together  as  the  typical  and 
unexcelled  representatives  of  tragedy  and  comedy  in 
the  portrayal  of  the  pathos  and  the  humor  of  man's  do- 
ings and  destiny. 

We  possess  a  large  number  of  fragments  of  the 
poets  of  the  New  Comedy,  many  of  them  of  high  liter- 
ary merit  and  of  more  than  usual  general  interest,  for 
these  poets  excelled  in  crystallizing  into  a  few  pithy 
words  the  maxims  of  life  and  coined  proverbis  which 
have  passed  in  large  numbers  into  the  world's  common 
stock  of  aphoristic  wisdom.  But  the  best  idea  of  the 
nature  of  the  New  Comedy  is  to  be  gained  from  the 
Roman  comic  poets,  Plautus  and  Terence,  who  frankly 
took  their  plays  from  the  Greek  with  little  alteration, 


43  2  Homer  to  Theocritus 

though  they  often  impaired  the  simplicity  of  the  plots 
of  the  originals  by  introducing  complicating  episodes. 
We  also  learn  from  the  Characters  of  Theophrastus,  who 
succeeded  Aristotle  in  the  direction  of  the  Lyceum, 
something  of  the  fine  analysis  of  character  which  under- 
lay the  truthful  portrayals  of  the  New  Comedy;  for 
these  interesting  sketches  of  common  human  types 
were  admittedly  drawn,  not  from  life  as  Theophrastus 
observed  it,  but  from  representations  of  the  comic  stage. 
Every  phase  of  life,  every  human  passion  and  failing, 
were  depicted  with  profound  insight,  with  an  unerring 
instinct  for  the  humorous  side,  but  at  the  same  time 
with  a  universal  sympathy  which  contrasts  strongly 
with  the  merciless  satire  of  the  Old  Comedy.  Great 
characters  of  marked  individuality,  such  as  Shakspeare's 
Falstaff,  were  not  created,  but  rather  types  of  common 
characters,  such  as  the  indulgent  father,  the  intriguing 
slave,  the  parasite,  the  blustering  soldier,  the  prostitute, 
the  spoiled  and  extravagant  son,  the  too-trustful  girl, 
and  the  like.  The  passion  of  love  is  of  course  prom- 
inent in  this  literature,  in  fact  is  the  essential  element 
in  almost  every  play,  as  it  is  in  the  modern  novel.  In- 
deed the  romantic  novel  has  many  points  of  similarity 
with  the  New  Comedy. 

The  greatest  poets  of  the  New  Comedy  were,  in 
chronological  order,  Philemon,  Menander,  Diphilus, 
Poseidippus,  and  ApoUodorus.  The  literary  activity 
of  all  five  falls  between  330  and  250.  We  shall  present 
in  greater  detail  only  the  two  who  were  regarded  by 
antiquity  as  distinctly  superior  to  all  the  rest,  Phile- 
mon and  Menander. 

Philemon  was  by  birth  a  Syracusan,  but  was  admitted 
into  Athenian  citizenship.     His  first  victory  in  a  comic 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     433 

contest  was  won  in  327.  He  died  about  262.  In  his 
long  life  of  ninety-nine  years  he  produced  nearly  ninety 
plays.  By  all  accounts  he  was  more  popular  at  Athens 
during  his  lifetime  than  his  contemporary  and  rival, 
Menander,  but  the  verdict  of  posterity  has  unanimously 
given  the  palm  to  the  latter.  The  following  selections 
illustrate  particularly  the  serious  side  of  the  poet ; 


HONESTY 

Not  honest  he  who  weakly  does  no  wrong, 
But  he  who  will  not  do  it  when  he's  strong ; 
Nor  he  who  timidly  resists  small  gains, 
But  who  from  great,  though  safely  held,  abstains  ; 
Nor  who  from  rules  of  casuists  derives 
Pedantic  virtue,  but  who  ever  strives, 
With  disposition  guileless  and  sincere, 
Honest  to  be,  not  merely  to  appear. 

Paley. 


MANY  MEN   MANY  MINDS 

Why,  pray,  did  he  who  made  us,  as  'tis  told, 
And  all  the  beasts  besides, — Prometheus, — give 
To  other  animals  one  nature  each  ? 
For  full  of  courage  are  the  lions  all, 
And  every  hare,  again,  is  timorous. 
One  fox  is  not  of  crafty  spirit,  one 
Straightforward  ;  but  if  you  shall  bring  together 
Three  times  ten  thousand  foxes,  you  will  find 
One  character  is  common  to  them  all. 
But  we, — so  many  as  our  bodies  are. 
No  less  diverse  our  natures  you  will  find. 

Lawton. 


434  Homer  to  Theocritus 


PEACE  IS  HAPPINESS 

It  is  a  question  of  philosophers, 
So  have  I  heard,  whereon  much  time  is  spenty— 
What  is  the  real  Good.     None  find  it.    One 
Says  Virtue ;  and  another  Prudence.     I, 
Who  in  the  country  dwell,  and  dig  the  earth, 
Have  found  it :  it  is  Peace  1     O  dearest  Zeus, 
How  loving  is  the  goddess,  and  how  kind  ! 
Marriages,  festivals,  kin,  children,  friends, 
Food,  wine,  health,  riches,  happiness,  she  gives* 
And  if  of  all  these  things  we  are  deprived, 
Dead  is  the  life  of  men  while  ye^  they  live  1 

Lawton. 

THE  SNAIL 

A  happy  creature  is  your  snail  indeed ! 
Just  where  he  pleases  he  can  live  and  feed. 
And  if  a  neighbor  gives  him  any  bother, 
With  house  on  back  he  moves  off  to  another  I 

Paley. 

THE  FEAR  OF  GOD 

Have  faith  in  God  and  fear ;  seek  not  to  know  him ; 
For  thou  wilt  gain  naught  else  beyond  thy  search  : 
Whether  he  is  or  is  not,  shun  to  ask  : 
As  one  who  is,  and  sees  thee,  always  fear  him. 

Symonds. 

Menander,  the  "  star  of  the  New  Comedy,'*  as  the 
ancients  called  him,  was  born  in  342  and  diec}  about 
292.  In  his  birth,  temperament,  education,  and  envi- 
ronment he  was  unusually  blessed  by  fortune.  His 
parents  were  Athenians  of  the  beautiful  village  of  Ce- 
phisia,  near  Athens.      Alexis,  the  great   poet  of  the 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     43  5 

Middle  Comedy,  was  his  uncle.  In  his  early  manhood 
he  came  under  the  influence  of  Theophrastus  and  Epi- 
curus, one  the  thoughtful  student  of  philosophy,  natural 
history,  and  rhetoric,  the  other  the  genial  preacher  of 
the  doctrine  of  pleasure.  Endowed  with  an  ample  fort- 
une, he  wds  happy  in  the  love  of  Glycera,  with  whom  he 
spent  what  the  ancients  considered  an  ideal  life  at 
his  villa  in  Peiraeus.  The  mutual  affection  of  Me- 
nander  and  Glycera  became  in  later  times  the  theme  of 
romantic  writers.  His  amiable  personal  qualities  and 
his  beauty  endeared  him  to  all ;  even  his  one  defect 
was  turned  to  his  credit  in  this  description  :  "  With  a 
squint  of  the  eyes  but  clear-visioned  of  mind."  His 
favorite  author  was  Euripides,  the  poet  of  human  life, 
whose  influence  upon  him  was  marked.  But  in  the  ex- 
quisite delicacy  of  his  art  and  in  his  instinct  for  har- 
mony of  form  and  grace  of  expression  he  is  rather  to 
be  compared  with  Sophocles.  With  reference  to  the 
fidelity  with  which  he  mirrcJred  life  an  ancient  admirer 
exclaimed  :  "  Menander  and  Life,  which  of  you  is  the 
imitator  of  the  other?"  In  the  thirty  years  from  the 
time  of  his  first  appearance  as  a  poet  (321)  to  his 
death,  he  composed  over  one  hundred  plays.  His  pop- 
ularity with  the  Athenian  audiences  seems  to  have  been 
less  than  that  of  Philemon  ;  he  won  only  eight  victories. 
His  conscientiousness  as  an  artist  may  aqcount  for  this 
in  part.  But  after  his  death  he  was  the  favorite  comic 
poet  with  both  the  Greek  and  Roman  world,  and  hun- 
dreds of  proverbs  which  he  first  coined  were  current 
in  all  conditions  of  society  long  after  the  Christian  era. 
It  was  mainly  Menander's  influence  that  determined 
Roman  comedy,  and,  through  this  'medium,  established 
the  type  of  comedy  for  modern  Europe. 


436  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Only  fragments  of  Menander  are  preserved,  except 
in  the  Latin  translations.  There  is  ground  for  hope, 
however,  that  a  complete  play  will  yet  be  recovered. 
His  popularity  in  antiquity  must  have  caused  a  great 
many  copies  of  his  works  to  be  made.  How  it  hap- 
pened that  no  manuscript  survived  till  the  age 'of  print- 
ing is  a  mystery.  There  is,  indeed,  a  notice  of  the 
eighteenth  century  concerning  a  manuscript  of  his 
plays  still  existing  in  Constantinople,  and  there  have 
been  reports  of  another  in  the  Vatican  ;  but  persistent 
search  in  the  libraries  of  Europe  has  brought  none  to 
light.  Within  the  last  quarter  century,  however,  and 
especially  in  the  past  five  years,  several  of  the  longest 
fragments  which  we  possess  have  been  discovered  on 
papyri  from  Egypt,  so  that  it  is  possible  that  one  day  a 
complete  roll  will  be  found.  If  we  except  Sappho,  the 
loss  of  no  Greek  author  has  been  so  keenly  felt  by  the 
modern  world.  A  few  selections  from  the  fragments 
follow  : 

MAN'S  TROUBLES 

All  brutes  created — count  them  if  you  can — 
More  happy  are  and  have  more  sense  than  man. 
See  !  here's  a  donkey  first ;  all  say,  "  Poor  thing  T' 
And  yet  no  troubles  from  himself  do  spring. 
He  only  bears  the  hard  lot  nature  gave  ; 
But  we  besides  self-centred  evils  have. 
Should  some  one  sneeze,  we're  vexed  ;  if  words  are  said 
That  sting,  we're  angry  ;  a  bad  dream  we  dread ; 
A  hooting  owl  will  fill  us  with  affright ! 
Such  follies  make  not  nature's  burdens  light. 
For  thus  we  are  weighted  with  imported  ill ; 
I^ws,  strifes,  and  party  views  our  cup  of  misery  filL 

Paley. 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Centuro     437 


WHOM  THE  GODS  LOVE  DIE  YOUNG 

Whom  the  gods  love  die  young ;  that  man  is  blest 
Who  having  viewed  at  ease  this  solemn  show 
Of  sun,  stars,  ocean,  fire,  doth  quickly  go 
Back  to  his  home  with  calm  uninjured  breast. 

Be  life  or  short  or  long,  'tis  manifest 
Thou  ne'er  wilt  see  things  goodlier,  Parmeno, 
Than  these  ;  then  take  thy  sojourn  here  as  though 
Thou  wert  some  playgoer  or  wedding-guest. 

The  sooner  sped,  the  saflier  to  thy  rest. 
Well-furnished,  foe  to  none,  with  strength  at  need 
Shalt  thou  return ;  while  he  who  tarries  late, 

Faints  on  the  road  out- worn,  with  age  oppressed. 
Harassed  by  foes  whom  life's  dull  tumults  breed ; 
Thus  ill  dies  he  for  whom  death  long  doth  wait. 

A  paraphrase  by  Symonds. 


THE  CLAIMS  OF   LONG  DESCENT 

Our  family !     'Twill  be  the  death  of  me  I 
Pray,  if  you  love  me,  mother,  harp  no  more 
Upon  our  family  I    'Tis  they  to  whom 
Nature  accords  no  other  excellence 
Who  trust  to  monuments,  or  high  descent, 
And  count  how  many  ancestors  were  theirs ! 
Nor  have  they  more  than  all  men  : 

Who  doth  live 
That  had  not  grandsires  ?     Else  how  came  he  here  ? 
And  if  he  cannot  name  them,  'tis  some  change 
Of  home,  or  lack  of  friends,  accounts  for  this ; 
And  wherein  is  he  worse  than  those  who  boast  ? 
He  who  is  fitted  for  heroic  deeds, 
Mother,  although  he  be  an  African, 
Or  savage  Scythian, — he  is  noble  bom. 
Was  Anacharsis  not  a  Scythian  ? 

Lawton. 


438  Homer  to  Theocritus 


KNOW  THYSELF 

When  thou  wouldst  know  thyself,  what  man  thou  art. 
Look  at  the  tombstones  as  thou  passest  by  : 
Within  those  monuments  lie  bones  and  dust 
Of  monarchs,  tyrants,  sages,  men  whose  pride 
Rose  high  because  of  wealth,  or  noble  blood, 
Or  haughty  soul,  or  loveliness  of  limb  ; 
Yet  none  of  these  things  strove  for  them  'gainst  time 
One  common  death  hath  ta'en  all  mortal  men. 
See  thou  to  this,  and  know  thee  who  thou  art. 

Symonds. 


KNOW  THY  NEIGHBOR 

For  many  reasons  'tis  unwisely  said 
To  know  thyself ;  more  profitable  it  is 
To  know  thy  neighbors  ! 

Lawton. 


THE  HUNGRY  GUEST 

The  gods  confound  the  man  who  first  invented 

This  measuring  time  by  hours !     Confound  him,  too, 

Who  first  set  up  a  dun -dial — chopping  up 

My  day  into  these  miserable  slices  ! 

When  I  was  young  I  had  no  dial  but  appetite, 

The  very  best  and  truest  of  all  timepieces  ; 

When  that  said  *  Eat,'  I  ate— if  I  could  get  it. 

But  now,  even  when  I've  the  chance  to  eat,  I  must  not. 

Unless  the  sun  be  willing !  for  the  town 

Is  grown  so  full  of  those  same  cursed  dials. 

That  more  than  half  the  population  starve ! 

Collins,  from  a  translation  by  Plautos. 


Lost  Writers  of  the  Fourth  Century     439 


APHORISMS 

The  heavy  stone  that  from  the  hand  is  hurled 
We  cannot  check,  nor  word  that  leaves  the  tongue. 

Grievous  indeed  has  been  our  error,  when 
We  are  ashamed  to  tell  the  deed  we  do. 

Thrice  wretched,  who  by  his  economies 
Hath  hoarded  hatred  doubling  all  his  wealth. 

'TIS  not  the  quantity  we  drink  that  marks 
The  drunkard,  but  our  own  capacity ! 

Who  would  command,  and  is  not  soldier-bred, 
Leads  forth  but  sacilfices  to  the  foe. 

Lawton. 


A  joke  without  a  point,  inane  and  bald, 
Itself  a  joke  on  joking  may  be  called. 

A  handsome  person,  with  perverted  will, 
Is  a  fine  craft  that's  handled  without  skill. 

Let  not  your  friend  your  cherished  secrets  hear  ? 
Then,  if  you  quarrel,  you've  no  cause  for  fear. 

More  love  a  mother  than  a  father  shows  : 
He  thinks  this  is  his  son ;  she  only  knows. 

Marriage,  if  truth  be  told  (of  this  be  sure). 
An  evil  is — ^but  one  we  must  endure. 

Paley. 


440  Homer  to  Theocritus 

A  good  wife  is  the  rudder  of  a  house. 

A  virtuous  woman  is  man's  salvation. 

He  is  well-cleansed  that  hath  his  conscience  cliean. 

The  workman  still  is  greater  than  his  work. 

Common  are  the  things  of  friends. 

Poor  soil  makes  brave  men. 

Evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners. 

(Quoted  by  St  Paul.) 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THEOCRITUS    AND   HIS   AGE 

Literary  Athens  in  the  Fourth  Century — The  Effect  of  the  Loss 
of  rolitical  Freedom  upon  Greek  Literature — The  Spread 
of  Greek  Civilization  with  Alexander's  Conquests — Char- 
acteristics of  the  Alexandrine  Literature  —  Bucolic  Poetry 
—  Theocritus — Bion  and  Moschus — Selections. 

During  the  fourth  century  before  Christ  Athens 
maintained  unchallenged  her  position  as  the  fountain- 
head  and  home  of  Greek  letters.  After  the  Pelopon- 
nesian  war  the  political  leadership  had  passed  first  to 
Lacedaemon  and  then  to  Thebes;  and  Athens  had  not 
fully  regained  her  old  prestige  when  the  power  of 
Macedon  began  to  dominate  Greek  politics.  But  none 
the  less  the  greatest  poets,  historians,  and  philoso- 
phers continued  as  before  to  make  their  home  in 
the  Attic  capital.  To  have  a  recognized  standing  there 
in  the  schools  of  rhetoric  and  philosophy,  before  the 
courts  and  popular  assembly,  in  the  theatre,  or  in  the 
more  purely  literary  circles,  was  the  natural  ambition 
of  every  aspiring  writer  of  the  Greek  world.  Syracuse 
had  not  ceased  to  produce  writers  of  merit,  but  even 
the  efforts  and  example  of  the  elder  Dionysius  could 
not  make  her  a  rival  of  Athens.  The  literary  aspira- 
tions of  Dionysius  himself  were  not  satisfied  until  his 
tragedies  had  been  crowned  by  a  victory  in  the  Athenian 
theatre ;  and  Plato,  in  spite  of  his  dissatisfaction  with 
the  Athenian  democracy,  found  the  atmosphere  of  the 

441 


44^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Sicilian  capital  uncongenial.  The  attitude  of  Athens 
toward  the  stranger  of  Greek  birth  was  hospitable  and 
generous.  Merit  was  frankly  recognized,  and  even 
Athenian  citizenship  was  freely  conferred  upon  those 
who  brought  honor  to  their  adopted  city.  The  society 
of  literary  people  there  consequently  became  more  and 
more  cosmopolitan. 

The  political  supremacy  of  Macedon  after  the  bat- 
tle of  Chaeronea  (338)  was  responsible  for  momentous 
changes  both  in  the  character  of  Greek  literature  and 
in  the  relation  of  Athens  to  it.  With  the  death  of 
political  liberty  in  Greece,  the  creative  spirit,  and  the 
genius  which  goes  with  it,  slowly  but  surely  passed 
away.  There  were  still  writers  innumerable.  The  art 
of  elegant  composition  in  prose  and  verse  survived, 
but  the  spirit  was  fettered.  The  conditions  which  had 
produced  Homer,  Sappho,  Sophocles,  Aristophanes, 
Thucydides,  Plato,  and  Demosthenes  had  departed 
forever.  Greece  was  yet  to  produce  great  writers,  but 
the  distinctively  Hellenic  flavor  which  had  made  the 
earlier  literature  preeminent  for  all  time  was  gradually 
weakened,  and  then  lost  altogether.  The  quick  and 
wholesome  reaction  of  an  intelligent  populace  upon 
the  poets,  orators,  and  historians,  who  addressed  the 
public  directly  and  depended  upon  the  popular  ver- 
dict— B,  relationship  which  was  possible  only  in  a  free 
citizen-state — now  gave  place  to  the  unsafe  and  often 
capricious  judgment  of  a  literary  oligarchy.  The  result 
was  affectation  in  place  of  simplicity.  One  exception, 
however,  must  be  noted.  For  at  least  two  genera- 
tions after  Alexander's  death  the  conditions  of  dra- 
matic performances  at  Athens  favored  the  cultivation 
of  the   comedy  of  manners.     The  New  Comedy  of 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  443 

Philemon,  Menander,  and  their  successors  was  essen- 
tially a  new  type  of  literature,  a  fresh  and  natural 
adaptation  of  an  old  form  to  new  conditions.  It  was 
the  last  flower  of  literature  that  sprang  spontaneously 
from  the  soil  of  Attica. 

The  loss  of  the  old  creative  spirit,  however,  was  in 
part  compensated  by  the  wider  diffusion  of  Greek 
culture  which  followed  the  conquests  of  Alexander. 
Greek  civilization  was  spread  throughout  Asia  and 
Egypt,  and  over  portions  of  Europe  which  had  once 
been  counted  barbarian.  The  cultivated  world  came 
to  $peak  and  to  write  Greek.  In  the  kingdoms  which 
arose  from  Alexander's  empire  new  centres  of  culture 
sprang  up  and  became  centres  of  learning  and  litera- 
ture. Alexandria  in  Egypt,  and  later,  Pergamum  in 
the  Troad,  now  shared  with  Athens,  Syracuse,  and 
the  lesser  capitals  the  distinction  which  had  once 
belonged  almost  exclusively  to  Athens.  Athens  con- 
tinued to  be  the  greatest  university  town,  on  account 
of  her  ancient  prestige  and  her  flourishing  schools  of 
philosophy ;  but  Alexandria  soon  attracted  the  writers 
of  best  ability.  The  period  extending  from  about 
the  beginning  of  the  third  century  down  to  the  Roman 
conquest  is  known  as  the  Alexandrine  period  of  Greek 
literature.  The  literature  of  the  post-classical  period — 
in  fact,  the  whole  civilization — is  often  called  **  Hellen- 
istic," from  the  fact  that,  while  Hellenic  in  its  general 
character,  the  people  who  participated  in  it  were  not 
exclusively  pure  Hellenes.  But  the  term  is  somewhat 
vague  and  often  misused. 

The  literature  of  the  Alexandrine  age,  with  the 
exception  of  the  New  Comedy,  was  essentially  a  book- 
literature — that  is,   the  authors  addressed  a  reading 


444  Homer  to  Theocritus 

public  and  no  longer  the  people  at  large  through  oral 
recitation  or  performance.  This  was  true  even  of 
tragedy  to  a  considerable  extent,  Chasremon,  a  poet  of 
the  fourth  century,  having  first  set  the  example 
of  writing  tragedies  not  intended  for  the  stage.  In  the 
second  place,  it  was  mainly  an  imitative  or  derivative, 
and  not  an  original,  literature.  The  canons  of  the 
great  classical  writers  in  each  branch  were  established, 
their  unapproachable  excellence  acknowledged,  and 
the  new  poets,  instead  of  drawing  their  inspiration 
directly  from  life,  labored,  by  careful  study  of  the  old 
models,  to  reproduce  their  literary  qualities.  The 
most  extensive  as  well  as  the  best  work  of  this  kind 
was  the  Arganautica  of  ApoUonius  of  Rhodes  (194 
B.  C),  an  epic  narrative  of  Jason's  quest  of  the  golden 
fleece — ^a  good  example  of  the  **literary"  as  opposed 
to  the  ''natural"  epic.  Mention  should  also  be  made 
of  the  Hymns  to  the  Gods  by  Callimachus  (260  B.  C), 
and  the  famous  Hymn  to  Zeus  by  Cleanthes. 

As  a  direct  result  of  the  conditions  above  outlined, 
Alexandrine  poetry  tended  to  be  highly  artificial  and 
affected.  Lyric  poetry  flourished  mainly  in  the  form 
of  the  elegy  and  the  epigram.  As  the  artistic  taste  of 
the  time  showed  a  predilection  for  cut  gems,  so  the 
elegant  epigram  of  from  four  to  eight  verses  found 
especial  favor.  A  very  large  number  of  the  poems  of 
the  Anthology  go  back  to  this  period.  The  epigram 
was  diverted  from  its  original  use  for  commemorative 
or  dedicatory  inscriptions,  and  was  largely  employed 
as  a  vehicle  for  conceits  on  any  topic  of  interest  to 
the  literary  circles.  The  elegy  was  closely  related 
to  the  epigram,  but  permitted  of  the  more  extended, 
ballad-like    narrative  of  love-adventures,   tales  from 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  445 

mythology,  and  complimentary  descriptions  of  court 
favorites.  The  Lock  of  Berenice^  by  Callimachus,  pre- 
served in  the  translation  of  Catullus,  illustrates  the 
character  of  much  of  the  poetry  of  the  period.  The 
poet  relates  how  some  tresses  of  hair  which  Berenice, 
queen  of  Ptolemy  III,  had  laid  upon  an  altar,  had 
been  taken  by  the  gods  and  placed  among  the  constel- 
lations of  the  heavens.  The  Alexandrine  elegiac 
poets  exercised  a  strong  influence  upon  the  Roman 
poets  of  the  Augustan  age. 

It  was  an  age  also  of  science  and  erudition.  The 
first  Ptolemy  had  founded  at  Alexandria  the  Museum, 
where  men  of  learning  came  together  for  study  and 
instruction  and  were  maintained  at  the  expense  of 
the  Icing.  A  great  library  was  founded  in  connection 
with  this  'Temple  of  the  Muses,*  and  another  elsewhere 
in  the  city,  the  two  containing  over  five  hundred 
thousand  rolls.  The  great  library  at  Pergamum  con- 
tained over  two  hundred  thousand  rolls  when  its  treas- 
ures were  presented  to  Cleopatra  by  Antony  and  incor- 
porated with  the  libraries  at  Alexandria.  Famous 
scholars  were  placed  at  the  head  of  these  libraries. 
They  took  up  the  lines  of  work  which  Aristotle  had 
inaugurated  at  Athens,  and  gathered  about  themselves 
men  of  encyclopaedic  learning.  Great  attention  was 
given  to  literary  history  and  criticism,  biography, 
mythology,  chronology,  philology,  astronomy,  mathe- 
matics, and  the  other  sciences.  From  these  hothouses 
of  learning  sprang  up  a  multitude  of  books  on  every 
conceivable  subject,  works  which  laid  the  foundations 
of  modern  knowledge  in  many  branches — ^as,  for  exam- 
ple, the  famous  Elements  of  Euclid.  It  was  at  Alex- 
andria, under  the  patronage  of  the  Ptolemies,  that  the 


44^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Septuagint   translation   of    the    Old  Testament   was 
made. 

It  was  during  the  first  half -century  of  the  Alex- 
andrine period,  a  time  so  unfavorable  to  original  crea- 
tions in  pure  literature,  that  the  last  flower  of  true 
Greek  poesy  came  to  bloom.  The  bucolic  or  pastoral 
poetry  of  Theocritus  represented  a  natural  reaction 
from  the  conventionalities  of  the  over-refined  life  of  the 
Egyptian  court,  with  its  luxuries,  flatteries,  and  arti- 
ficial standards  of  taste.  It  was  a  revolt  from  art  to 
nature.  Sicily  was  the  birthplace  of  this  branch  of 
poetry,  which  was,  in  the  main,  the  natural  outgrowth 
of  the  conditions  of  peasant  life  in  Sicily.  We  have 
already  had  occasion  to  note,  in  connection  with  the 
comedies  of  Epicharmus,  the  innate  gift  of  mimicry 
and  dramatic  impersonation  possessed  by  the  Sicilians, 
in  common  with  the  southern  Italians.  Sophron 
(about  440  B.  C.)  developed  one  species  of  mimic 
poetry,  the  mime  or  farce,  in  which  detached  situa- 
tions were  represented,  but  without  a  real  plot.  Again, 
there  was  current  among  the  Sicilian  peasantry 
a  romantic  legend  of  the  shepherd  Daphnis,  who  pined 
away  and  died  for  love.  Stesichorus  seems  to  have 
been  the  first  to  introduce  Daphnis  into  literature. 
And  finally  the  shepherds  had  the  custom  of  contend- 
ing in  song  for  a  prize,  singing  alternate  strains  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  shepherd's  pipe.  These  three 
elements  all  entered  into  the  type  of  bucolic  poetry 
brought  to  perfection  by  Theocritus. 

The  bucolic  poets  employed  the  hexameter  verse. 
But  the  shepherd's  song  approaches  lyric  poetry  some- 
what in  form,  in  that,  as  a  rule,  several  verses  are 
bound  together  into  groups  or  stanzas,  either  by  the 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  447 

thought  or  by  recurring  verses,  which  constitute 
a  refrain.  The  term  "bucolic,"  which  strictly  implies 
only  the  neatherd,  is  freely  used  to  include  the 
shepherd,  goatherd,  swineherd,  or  representatives  of 
other  rural  occupations.  The  single  poem  is  called  an 
** idyll,"  or  ** little  picture,"  which  is  really  a  broader 
term  than  bucolic,  for  it  includes  also  the  poems  of 
a  dramatic  or  descriptive  nature  which  are  not  pastoral. 

Theocrittis  (about  270  B.  C),  the  greatest  of  the 
pastoral  poets,  was  born  either  in  Syracuse  or  on  the 
island  of  Cos.  He  probably  spent  a  large  part  of  his 
life  at  Syracuse,  where  he  enjoyed  the  patronage  of 
Hiero  II.  He  also  was  connected  with  the  court  of 
Ptolemy  Philadelphus  at  Alexandria.  His  poems 
addressed  to  these  monarchs  show  that  he  was  not 
unskilled  in  the  servile  flattery  with  which  the  satellites 
of  the  court  addressed  their  royal  patrons.  He  was 
a  member  of  the  literary  group  which  centred  in  Cos, 
to  which  the  poet  Aratus,  whom  St.  Paul  quotes  (Acts 
xvii,  28),  also  belonged.  He  wrote  mainly  in  the 
Dorian  dialect  of  Sicily.  Thirty-one  poems  and  some 
epigrams  are  handed  down  under  his  name,  some  of 
which,  however,  are  later  imitations.  About  half  of 
these  poems,  most  of  which  may  properly  be  called 
idylls,  are  bueolic  in  their  character.  Others  are 
mimes,  scenes  from  mythology,  and  occasional  poems. 

Theocritus  does  not  escape  entirely  from  the  arti- 
ficiality of  his  age.  Under  the  mask  of  shepherds* 
names  he  often  introduces  himself  and  his  literary 
friends.  Nor  do  his  shepherds  always  employ  language 
perfectly  in  keeping  with  their  character.  The  erotic 
«train  that  is  present  in  most  of  the  idylls  is  also 
a  mark  oi  the  Alexandrine  age.     But  in  spite  of  these 


44^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

limitations,  which  are  equally  true  of  all  pastoral 
poetry,  from  Vergil's  Eclogues  to  Milton's  Lycidas  and 
Shelley's  Adonais^  Theocritus  reveals  everywhere 
a  true  feeling  for  nature  and  a  genuine  sympathy  for 
the  experiences  of  rural  life. 

Of  the  two  other  pastoral  poets  of  Greece,  Bion  and 
Moschus,  we  know  little  more  than  that  the  former 
was  a  younger  contemporary  of  Theocritus  and  that 
Moschus  was  a  pupil  of  Bion.  Bion's  Lament  for 
Adonis^  a  rather  extravagant  and  turgid  poem,  has 
been  imitated  by  Shelley.  The  Lament  for  Bion^  by 
Moschus,  has  been  much  admired,  and  contains  some 
exquisite  passages.  The  works  of  these  poets,  and  of 
Theocritus,  as  well  as  some  imitations  of  unknown 
authorship,  are  preserved  in  a  collection  made  in  the 
time  of  Augustus.  At  the  head  of  the  collection  was 
placed  the  following  bucolic  idyll  of  Theocritus,  evi- 
dently because  it  was  considered  by  antiquity,  as  it 
still  is  to-day,  the  most  perfect  and  charming  poem  of 
its  kind.     I  quote  it  entire : 

THE  DEATH   OF  DAPHNIS 
THYRSIS  AND  A  GOATHERD 

Th.  Sweet  are  the  whispers  of  yon  pine  that  makes 
Low  music  o  *er  the  spring,  and,  Goatherd,  sweet 
Thy  piping ;  second  thou  to  Pan  alone. 
Is  his  the  horned  ram  ?  then  thine  the  goat. 
Is  his  the  goat  ?  to  thee  shall  fall  the  kid  ; 
And  toothsome  is  the  flesh  of  unmilked  kids. 

Go.   Shepherd,  thy  lay  is  as  the  noise  of  streams 
Falling  and  falling  aye  from  yon  tall  crag. 
If  for  their  meed  the  Muses  claim  the  ewe. 
Be  thine  the  stall-fed  lamb  ;  or  if  they  choose 
The  lamb,  take  thou  the  scarce  less- valued  ewe. 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  449 

Th.  Pray,  by  the  nymphs,  pray,  Goatherd,  seat  thee  here 
Against  this  hill-slope  in  the  tamarisk  shade, 
And  pipe  me  somewhat,  while  I  guard  thy  goats. 

Go.    I  durst  not,  Shepherd,  O  I  durst  not  pipe 
At  noontide ;  fearing  Pan,  who  at  that  hour 
Rests  from  the  toil  of  hunting.    Harsh  is  he ; 
Wrath  at  his  nostrils  aye  sits  sentinel. 
But,  Thrysis,  thou  canst  sing  of  Daphnis'  woes ; 
High  is  thy  name  for  woodland  minstrelsy : 
Then  rest  we  in  the  shadow  of  the  elm 
Fronting  Priapus  and  the  Fountain-nymphs. 
There,  where  the  oaks  are  and  the  Shepherd's  seat. 
Sing  as  thou  sang*st  erewhile,  when  matched  with  him 
Of  Libya,  Chromis ;  and  I  '11  give  thee,  first. 
To  milk,  ay  thrice,  a  goat — she  suckles  twins. 
Yet  ne'ertheless  can  fill  two  milk-pails  full ; — 
Next,  a  deep  drinking-cup,  with  sweet  wax  scoured. 
Two-handled,  newly  carven,  smacking  yet 
O'  the  chisel.    Ivy  reaches  up  and  climbs 
About  its  lip,  gilt  here  and  there  with  sprays 
Of  woodbine,  that  enwreathed  about  it  flaunts 
Her  saffron  fruitage.    Framed  therein  appears 
A  damsel  ('tis  a  miracle  of  art) 
In  robe  and  snood :  and  suitors  at  her  side. 
With  locks  fair-fiowing,  on  her  right  and  left, 
Battle  with  words,  that  fail  to  reach  her  heart. 
She,  laughing,  glances  now  on  this,  flings  now 
Her  chance  regards  on  that :  they,  all  for  love 
Wearied  and  eye-swoln,  find  their  labour  lost. 
Carven  elsewhere  an  ancient  fisher  stands 
On  the  rough  rocks ;  thereto  the  old  man  with  pains 
Drags  his  great  casting-net,  as  one  that  toils 
Full  stoutly :  every  fibre  of  his  frame 
Seems  fishing ;  so  about  the  gray-beard's  neck 
(In  might  a  youngster  yet)  the  sinews  swell. 
Hard  by  that  wave-beat  sire  a  vineyard  bends 
Beneath  its  graceful  load  of  burnished  grapes ; 
A  boy  sits  on  the  rude  fence  watching  them. 
Near  him  two  foxes :  down  the  rows  of  grapes 


450  Homer  to  Theocritus 

One  ranging  steals  the  ripest ;  one  assails 
With  wiles  the  poor  lad's  scrip,  to  leave  him  soon 
Stranded  and  supperless.     He  plaits  meanwhile 
With  ears  of  com  a  right  fine  cricket- trap, 
And  fits  it  on  a  rush  :  for  vines,  for  scrip, 
Little  he  cares,  enamoured  of  his  toy. 

The  cup  is  hung  all  round  with  lissom  briari 
Triumph  of  iColian  art,  a  wondrous  sight 
It  was  a  ferryman's  of  Calydon  : 
A  goat  it  cost  me,  and  a  great  white  cheese. 
Ne'er  yet  my  lips  came  near  it,  virgin  still 
It  stands.    And  welcome  to  such  boon  art  thoo^ 
If  for  my  sake  thou 'It  sing  that  lay  of  lays. 
I  jest  not :  up,  lad,  sing  :  no  songs  thou'lt  own 
In  the  dim  land  where  all  things  are  forgot. 

THE  SONG  OF  THYRSIS 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
The  voice  of  Thrysis.     iCtna's  Thrysis  I. 
Where  were  ye,  Nymphs,  oh  where,  while  Daphnis  pined  ? 
In  fair  Peneiis,  or  in  Pindus'  glens  ? 
For  great  Anapus'  stream  was  not  your  haunt. 
Nor  i£tna's  cliff,  nor  Acis'  sacred  rill. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
O'er  him  the  wolves,  the  jackals  howled  o'er  him ; 
The  lion  in  the  oak-copse  mourned  his  death. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
The  kine  and  oxen  stood  around  his  feet. 
The  heifers  and  the  calves  wailed  all  for  him^ 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
First  from  the  mountain  Hermes  came,  and  said, 
"  Daphnis,  who  frets  thee  ?     Lad,  whom  lov'st  thou  so  ?  " 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
Came  herdsmen,  shepherds  came,  and  goatherds  came ; 
All  asked  what  ailed  the  lad.     Priapus  came 
And  said,  ''  Why  pine,  poor  Daphnis,  while  the  maid 
Foots  it  round  every  pool  and  every  grove." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song, 
**  O  lack-love  and  perverse,  in  quest  of  thee  ; 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  451 

Herdsman  in  name,  but  goatherd  rightlier  called. 
With  eyes  that  yearn  the  goatherd  marks  his  kids 
Run  riot,  for  he  fain  would  frisk  as  they :" 

BegtHt  sweet  maids^  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  With  eyes  that  yearn  dost  thou  too  mark  the  laugh 
Of  maidens,  for  thou  may*st  not  share  their  glee.'* 
Still  naught  the  herdsman  said  :  he  drained  alone 
His  bitter  portion,  till  the  fatal  end. 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
Came  Aphrodite,  smiles  on  her  sweet  face. 
False  smiles,  for  heavy  was  her  heart,  and  spake : 
"  So,  Daphnis,  thou  must  try  a  fall  with  Love ! 
But  stalwart  Love  hath  won  the  fall  of  thee.*' 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song* 
Then  *'  Ruthless  Aphrodite,"  Daphnis  said, 
"  AccursM  Aphrodite,  foe  to  man ! 
Say'st  thou  mine  hour  has  come,  my  sun  hath  set  ? 
Dead  or  alive,  shall  Daphnis  work  Love  woe." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  Fly  to  Mount  Ida,  where  the  swain  (men  say) 
And  Aphrodite — to  Anchises  fiy; 
There  are  oak  forests,  here  but  galingale. 
And  bees  that  make  a  music  round  the  hives.'* 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  Adonis  owed  his  bloom  to  tending  flocks 
And  smiting  hares,  and  bringing  wild  beasts  down." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  Face  once  more  Diomed :  tell  him, '  I  have  slain 
The  herdsman  Daphnis ;  now  I  challenge  thee.* " 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"Farewell,  wolf,  jackal,  mountain-prisoned  bear! 
Ye  '11  see  no  more  by  grove  or  glad ;  or  glen 
Your  herdsman  Daphnis  t    Arethuse,  farewell. 
And  the  bright  streams  that  flow  down  Thymbris'  side/ 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
"  I  am  that  Daphnis  who  lead  here  my  kine, 
Bring  here  to  drink  my  oxen  and  my  calves." 

Begin,  sweet  maids,  begin  the  woodland  song. 
**  Pan,  Pan,  oh,  whether  great  Lyceum's  crags 


45^  Homer  to  Theocritus 

Thou  haant*8t  to-day,  or  mightier  Maenalus, 
Come  to  the  Sicel  isle  I    AtMindon  now 
Rhium  and  Helic^,  and  the  mountain-cairn 
(That  e'en  gods  cherish)  of  Lycaon's  son!  '* 

Forget^  sweet  maids^  forget  your  woodland  song. 
"  Come,  king  of  song,  o'er  this  my  pipe,  compact 
With  wax  and  honey-breathing,  arch  thy  lip  : 
For  surely  I  am  torn  from  life  by  Love." 

Forget,  sweet  maids,  forget  your  woodland  song. 
"  From  thicket  now  and  thorn  let  violets  spring, 
Now  let  white  lilies  drape  the  juniper. 
And  pines  grow  figs,  and  nature  all  go  wrong ; 
For  Daphnis  dies.    Let  deer  pursue  the  hounds. 
And  mountain-owls  out-sing  the  nightingale." 

Forget,  sweet  maids,  forget  your  woodland  song. 
So  spake  he,  and  he  never  spake  again. 
Fain  Aphrodite  would  have  raised  his  head ; 
But  all  his  thread  was  spun.    So  down  the  stream 
Went  Daphnis:  closed  the  waters  o'er  a  head 
Dear  to  the  Nine,  of  Nymphs  not  unbeloved. 

Forget,  sweet  maids,  forget  your  woodland  song. 

Now  give  me  goat  and  cup ;  that  I  may  milk 
The  one  and  pour  the  other  to  the  Muse. 
Fare  ye  well.  Muses,  o*er  and  o*er  farewell ! 
I  '11  sing  strains  lovelier  yet  in  days  to  be. 
Go.   Thyrsis,  let  honey  and  the  honey-comb 
Fill  thy  sweet  mouth,  and  figs  of  iCgilus : 
For  ne'er  cicala  trilled  so  sweet  a  song. 
Here  is  the  cup  :  mark,  friend,  how  sweet  it  smells; 
The  Hours,  thou'lt  say,  have  washed  it  in  their  well. 
Hither,  Cissaetha !    Thou,  go  milk  her !    Kids, 
Be  steady,  or  your  pranks  will  rouse  the  ram. 

Calverley. 

The  poem  of  Theocritus  which  best  represents  the 
purely  dramatic  idyll,  or  mime,  is  the  famous  dialogue 
between  two  women,  Gorgo  and  Praxinoe,  Syracusans 
of  the  middle  class  residing  in  Alexandria.     It  is  the 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  453 

day  of  the  festival  of  Adonis,  the  fair  youth  whom 
Aphrodite  loved.  The  goddess  so  grieved  for  him, 
slain  in  early  manhood  by  a  wild  boar  during  a  chase, 
that  the  gods  of  the  lower  world  permitted  him  to 
spend  one  half  of  every  year  with  her  upon  the  earth. 
The  festival  of  his  resurrection  was  widely  celebrated 
by  the  women  with  oriental  extravagance  and  passion. 
But  in  Theocritus  our  interest  is  not  in  the  festival,  but 
in  the  natural  and  unaffected  talk  of  the  two  women. 
The  poem  has  been  called  '^  a  leaf  torn  from  the  book 
of  life,"  and  Andrew  Lang  says  of  it :  "  Nothing  could 
be  more  gay  and  natural  than  the  chatter  of  the  women, 
which  has  changed  no  more  in  two  thousand  years  than 
the  song  of  birds."  The  whole  of  the  dialogue  portion 
follows  in  Lang's  translation  : 

GORGO.  Is  PraxinoS  at  home  ? 

Praxinoe.  Dear  Gorgo,  how  long  it  is  since  you  have  been 
here  1  She  is  at  home.  The  wonder  is  that  you  have  got  here 
at  last  1  £uno€,  see  that  she  has  a  chair.  Throw  a  cushion 
on  it  too. 

G.  It  does  most  charmingly  as  it  is. 

P.  Do  sit  down. 

G.  Oh,  what  a  thing  spirit  is  1  I  have  scarcely  got  to  you 
alive,  PraxinoS  !  What  a  huge  crowd,  what  hosts  of  four-in- 
hands  t  Everywhere  cavalry  boots,  everywhere  men  in  uni- 
form !  And  the  road  is  endless  :  yes,  you  really  live  too  far 
away ! 

P.  It  is  all  the  fault  of  that  madman  of  mine.  Here  he 
came  to  the  end  of  the  earth  and  took — a  hole,  not  a  house, 
and  all  that  we  might  not  be  neighbours.  The  jealous  wretch, 
always  the  same,  ever  for  spite  1  • 

G.  Don't  talk  of  your  husband,  Dinon,  like  that,  my  dear 
girl,  before  the  little  b6y, — look  how  he  is  staring  at  you  1 
Never  mind,  Zopyrion,  sweet  child,  she  is  not  speaking  about 
papa. 

P.  Our  Lady !  the  child  takes  notice. 


454  Homer  to  Theocritus 

G.  Nice  papa ! 

P.  That  papa  of  his  the  other  day — we  call  every  day  '  the 
other  day  * — went  to  get  soap  and  rouge  at  the  shop,  and  back 
he  came  to  me  with  salt — the  great  big  endless  fellow ! 

G.  Mine  has  the  same  trick  too,  a  perfect  spendthrift — 
Diocleides !  Yesterday  he  got  what  he  meant  for  five  fleeces, 
and  paid  seven  shillings  apiece  for — what  do  you  suppose  ? — 
dogskins,  shreds  of  old  leather  wallets,  mere  trash — trouble 
on  trouble.  But  come,  take  your  cloak  and  shawl.  Let  us  be 
off  to  the  palace  of  rich  Ptolemy,  the  King,  to  see  the  Adonis  ; 
I  hear  the  Queen  has  provided  something  splendid. 

P.  Fine  folks  do  everything  finely. 

G.  What  a  tale  you  will  have  to  tell  about  the  things  you 
have  seen,  to  any  one  who  has  not  seen  them!  It  seems 
nearly  time  to  go. 

P.  Idlers  always  have  holidays.  £uno€,  bring  the  water 
and  put  it  down  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  lazy  creature  that 
you  are .  Cats  like  always  to  sleep  soft !  Come,  bustle,  bring 
the  water  ;  quicker.  I  want  water  first,  and  how  she  carries 
it  I  give  it  me  all  the  same  ;  don't  pour  out  so  much,  you  ex- 
travagant thing.  Stupid  girl!  Why  are  you  wetting  my 
dress?  There,  stop,  I  have  washed  my  hands,  as  heaven 
would  have  it  Where  is  the  key  of  the  big  chest  ?  Bring  it 
here. 

G.  Praxino€,  that  full  body  becomes  you  wonderfully. 
Tell  me  how  much  did  the  stuff  cost  you  just  off  the  loom  ? 

P.  Don't  speak  of  it,  Gorgo !  More  than  eight  pounds  in 
good  silver  money, — and  the  work  on  it  I  I  nearly  slaved  my 
soul  out  over  it ! 

G.  Well,  it  is  most  successful ;  all  you  could  wish. 

P.  Thanks  for  the  pretty  speech  I  Bring  my  shawl,  and 
set  my  hat  on  my  head,  the  fashionable  way.  No,  child,  I 
don't  mean  to  take  you.  Boo !  Bogies !  There's  a  horse 
that  bites !  Cry  as  much  2^  you  please,  but  I  cannot  have 
you  lamed.  Let  us  be  moving.  Phrygia,  take  the  child,  and 
keep  him  amused,  call  in  the  dog,  and  shut  the  street  door. 

[Tkeygo  into  the  street. 

Ye  gods,  what  a  crowd  !  How  on  earth  are  we  ever  to  get 
through  this  coil  ?    They  are  like  ants  that  no  one  can  meas- 


Theocritus  and  His  Age  455 

ure  or  number.  Many  a  good  deed  have  you  done,  Ptolemy ; 
since  your  father  joined  the  immortals,  there's  never  a  male- 
factor to  spoil  the  passer-by,  creeping  on  him  in  Egyptian 
fashion— -oh !  the  tricks  those  perfect  rascals  used  to  play. 
Birds  of  a  feather,  ill  jesters,  scoundrels  all !  Dear  Gorgo, 
what  will  become  of  us  !  Here  come  the  King's  war-horses ! 
My  dear  man,  don't  trample  on  me.  Look,  the  bay's  rearing, 
see,  what  temper !  EunoS,  you  foolhardy  girl,  will  you  never 
keep  out  of  the  way  ?  The  beast  will  kill  the  man  that's  lead- 
ing him.  What  a  good  thing  for  me  that  my  brat  stays  safe 
at  home. 

G.  Courage,  Praxinofi.  We  are  safe  behind  them,  now, 
and  they  have  gone  to  their  station. 

P.  There !  I  begin  to  be  myself  again.  Ever  since  I  was 
a  child  I  have  feared  nothing  so  much  as  horses  and  the  chilly 
snake.     Come  along,  the  huge  mob  is  overflowing  us. 

G.  (To  an  old  woman,)  Are  you  from  the  Court,  mother  ? 

Old  Woman.  I  am,  my  child. 

P.  Is  it  easy  to  get  there  ? 

O.  W.  The  Achaeans  got  into  Troy  by  trying,  my  pretti- 
est of  ladies.    Trying  will  do  everything  in  the  long  run. 

G.  The  old  wife  has  spoken  her  oracles  and  off  she  goes. 

P.  Women  know  everything,  yes,  and  how  Zeus  married 
Herat 

G.  See,  PraxinoS,  what  a  crowd  there  is  about  the  doors. 

P.  Monstrous,  Gorgo !  Give  me  your  hand,  and  you, 
Eunod,  catch  hold  of  Eutychis ;  never  lose  hold  of  her,  for 
fear  lest  you  get  lost.  Let  us  all  go  in  together;  Euno€, 
clutch  tight  to  me.  Oh,  how  tiresome,  Gorgo,  my  muslin  veil 
is  torn  in  two  ialready  I  For  heaven's  sake,  sir,  if  you  ever 
wish  to  be  fortunate,  take  care  of  my  shawl ! 

A  Stranger.  I  can  hardly  help  myself,  but  for  all  that  I 
will  be  as  careful  as  I  can. 

P.  How  close -packed  the  mob  is,  they  hustle  like  a  herd 
of  swine. 

S.  Courage,  lady,  all  is  well  with  us  now. 

P.  Both  this  year  and  for  ever  may  all  be  well  with  you, 
my  dear  sir,  for  your  care  of  us.  A  good  kind  man  1  We're 
letting  EunoS  get  squeezed — come,  wretched  girl,  push  your 


456  Homer  to  Theocritus 

way  through.  That  is  the  way.  We  are  all  on  the  right  side 
of  the  door,  quoth  the  bridegroom,  when  he  had  shut  himself 
in.  with  his  bride. 

G.  Do  come  here,  Praxino€.  Look  first  at  these  em- 
broideries. How  light  and  how  lovely  !  You  will  call  them 
the  garments  of  the  gods. 

P.  Lady  Athene,  what  spinning  women  wrought  them, 
what  painters  designed  these  drawings,  so  true  they  are  ? 
How  naturally  they  stand  and  move,  like  living  creatures,  not 
patterns  woven.  What  a  clever  thing  is  man  t  Ah,  and 
himself — ^Adonis — how  beautiful  to  behold  he  lies  on  his  silver 
couch,  with  the  first  down  on  his  cheeks,  the  thrice-be- 
loved Adonis, — Adonis,  beloved  even  among  the  dead. 

A  Stranger.  You  weariful  women,  do  cease  your  endless 
cooing  talk !  They  bore  one  to  death  with  their  eternal  broad 
vowels ! 

G.  Indeed !  And  where  may  this  person  come  from  ? 
What  is  it  to  you  if  we  are  chatterboxes  ?  Give  orders  to 
your  own  servants,  sir.  Do  you  pretend  to  command  ladies 
of  Syracuse  ?  If  you  must  know,  we  are  Corinthians  by  de- 
scent, like  Bellerophon  himself,  and  we  speak  Peloponnesian. 
Dorian  women  may  lawfully  speak  Doric,  I  presume  ? 

P.  Lady  Persephone,  never  may  we  have  more  than  one 
master.  I  am  not  afraid  of  your  putting  me  on  short  com- 
mons. 

G.  Hush,  hush,  PraxinoS — ^the  Argive  woman's  daughter, 
the  great  singer,  is  beginning  the  Adonis  ;  she  that  won  the 
prize  last  year  for  dirge-singing.  I  am  sure  she  will  give  us 
something  lovely ;  see,  she  is  preluding  with  her  airs  and 
graces. 

[  The  Psalm  of  Adonis^ 

G.  Praxino€,  the  woman  is  cleverer  than  we  fancied ! 
Happy  woman  to  know  so  much,  thrice  happy  to  have  so 
sweet  a  voice.  Well,  all  the  same,  it  is  time  to  be  making 
for  home.  Diocleides  has  not  had  his  dinner,  and  the  man  is 
all  vinegar, — don't  venture  near  him  when  he  is  kept  waiting 
for  dinner.  Farewell,  beloved  Adonis,  may  you  find  us  glad, 
at  your  next  coming ! 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL    APPENDIX. 

In  compiling  this  brief  Bibliography,  the  aim  has  been  to  include 
only  such  essays  and  books  on  each  author  and  period  and  such  trans- 
lations as,  besides  being  worthy  of  recommendation,  are  easily  acces- 
sible. A  few  exceptions  have  been  made  in  favor  of  old  translations 
which  are  still  standard  works ;  they  are  generally  to  be  found  in  the 
larger  libraries. 

References  to  the  histories  of  Greek  literature  have  not  been  repeated 
under  each  chapter..  These  should  be  consulted  first  of  all.  The 
special  essays  cited  will  be  found  useful  for  quick  reference  and  for 
supplementary  reading. 

CHAFFER  I.— Introductory. 

Histories  of  Greek  Literature  : — Jevons  (i  vol.,  Scribner).  Mahaflfy 
(2  vols.,  Macmillan).  Jebb,  Primer  (Am.  Book  Co.).  For  the  poets 
alone:  Symonds,  The  Greek  Poets  (2  vols..  Harper).  Jebb,  Growth 
and  Influence  of  Classical  Greek  Poetry  (Houghton).  Under  each 
author  will  be  cited  the  articles  in  Warner' s  Library  of  the  World* s 
Best  Literature  and  the  monographs  in  the  Ancient  Classics  for 
English  Readers  (Lippincott).  For  those  who  read  French  and 
Carman :  Alfred  and  Maurice  Croiset,  Histoire  de  la  Litt/rature 
Grecque  (^  vols.,  Paris.  Fontemoing;  the  best  work  on  the  subject 
in  any  language).  Bergk,  Griechische  Literaturgeschichte  (4  vols., 
Berlin.  Weidmann),  and  Christ,  Griechische  Literaturgeschichte  (i 
vol.,    Munich.     Beck) 

Greek  History : — Holm  (4  vols.,  Macmillan).  Grote  (10  vols., 
Murray).  Abbott  (3  vols.,  as  yet.  Putnam).  Curtius  (5  vols.,  Scrib- 
ner). One  volume  histories  : — Bury  (Macmillan).  Botsford  (Macmil- 
lan). Omian  (Longmans).  For  the  Alexandrian  period  : — Mahaffy, 
Alexander's  Empire  (Putnam),  and  Empire  of  the  Ptolemies  (Mac- 
millan). 

Greek  Life  : — BlUmner,  Home  Life  of  the  Ancient  Greeks  {Cd&^i^, 
Mahaffy,  Social  Life  in  Greece  (Macmillan),  Survey  of  Greek  Civ- 
ilization  (Macmillan),  and  Primer  (Am.  Book  Co.). 

Greek  ^r/.— Tarbell,  History  of  Greek  Art  (Macmillan). 
Gardner,  Handbook  of  Greek  Sculpture  (Macmillan). 

457 


45  8  Bibliographical  Appendix 

Greek  Mythology  : — Murray,  Manual  of  Mythology  (2d  ed. ,  Scrib- 
ner).  The  same,  revised  by  Klapp  (Altemus).  Gayley,  Classical 
Myths  in  English  Literature  (Ginn).  Steading,  Temple  Primers 
(Macmillan).  Grote's  History^  Vol.  I.,  contains  a  valuable  treatise 
on  mythology. 


CHAPTERS  II.  AND  III.— Epic  Poetry.    The  Iliad. 

Seymour,  Wamet^s  Library t  **  Homer."  Symonds,  Greek  Poets, 
Chapters  III.  and  IV.  Jebb,  Greek  Poetry ^  Chapters  I.  and  II.,  and 
Introduction  to  the  Study  of  Homer  (Ginn).  Matthew  Arnold,  '*  On 
Translating  Homer,"  with  "On  the  Study  of  Celtic  Literature" 
(Macmillan).  Andrew  Lang,  Homer  and  the  Epic  (Longmans). 
Walter  Lei^,  Companion  to  the  Iliad  (Macmillan).  W.  C.  Lawton, 
Art  and  Humanity  in  Homer  (Macmillan).  Church,  Story  of  the 
Iliad  (Macmillan).     W.  L.  Collins,  Ilieid  (Ancient  Classics), 

Translations  : — Lang,  Leaf  and  Myers  (Macmillan ;  the  best  prose 
version).  Bryant  (Blank  verse.  Houghton ;  the  best  metrical  ver- 
sion). Edward,  Earl  of  Derby  (Blank  verse.  2  vols.  Coates;  often 
better  than  Bryant  in  the  more  spirited  passages).  Way  (Verse — 
rhyming  anapaestic  hezamet*ers.     Sampson  Low). 

The  most  famous  verse  translations,  now  regarded  as  English 
classics,  are  those  of  Pope  (1715-1720)  and  Chapman  (159S-1611), 
the  former  in  heroic  (ten-syllable,  rhymed)  couplets,  the  latter  in  the 
foorteen-syllable  ballad  verse.  Chapman's  translation  is  memorable 
as  having  inspired  Keats's  famous  Sonnet.  Both  renderings,  though 
finished  and  spirited,  depart  freely  from  the  original  and  often  offend 
against  modern  taste  as  regards  style.  Pope's  is  still  widely  read  and 
admired.  On  the  subject  of  translations  of  Homer  in  general  see 
Matthew  Arnold's  Essay  cited  above.  Convenient  reprints  are :  of 
Chapman,  Iliads  Morley*s  Universal  Library  (Routledge).  Temple 
Classics  (2  vols.,  Macmillan).  Iliad  and  Odyssey  in  one  volume, 
Scribner.     Of  Pope's  Iliad,  Routledge. 


CHAPTER  IV.— The  Odyssey. 

The.works  cited  under  preceding  chapter,  and  Church,  Story  of  the 
Iliad  (Macmillan).     W.  L.  Collins,  Odyssey  {Ancient  Classics), 

Translations  : — Butcher  and  Lang  (Prose.  Macmillan).  Palmer 
(Rhythmic  prose.  Houghton.)  Bryant  (Blank  verse.  Houghton). 
Worsley  (Verse — Spenserian  stanza.  Blackwoods).  Way  (Verse — 
rhyming  anapaestic  hexameters.     Sampson  Low).     Chapman  (Four* 


Bibliographical  Appendix  459 

teen-syllable  ballad  verse.  Temple  Classics,  2  vols. ,  Macmillan ;  in 
one  vol.  with  Iliads  Scribner).  Pope  (Heroic  couplets.  Bohn*s  Li- 
brary,     Macmillan). 

Butcher  and  Lang's  and  Palmer's  prose  versions  are  both  admira- 
ble for  literary  finish  and  for  fidelity  to  the  original.  Bryant  is  rather 
better  in  the  Odyssey  than  in  the  Ilicul.  Worsley's  is  of  exquisite 
workmanship,  though  the  Spenserian  stanza  introduces  several  un- 
Homeric  elements.  Way's  Odyssey t  like  his  Iliad^  has  found  some 
enthusiastic  admirers. 

Homer  and  Troy: — Schuchhardt,  SchliemanrCs  Excavations^ 
translated  by  Eugenie  Sellers  (Macmillan).  Tsountas  and  Manatt, 
Mycencean  Age  (Houghton) ;  a  consideration  of  the  civilization  re- 
vealed by  the  excavations  at  Mycenae,  Tiryns,  Troy,  and  other  sites, 
with  reference  to  the  data  furnished  by  the  Homeric  poems. 

The  Homeric  Question  : — ^Jebb's  Introduction  contains  the  best 
statement.  See  also  Leaf's  Companion^  Lang's  Homer  and  the  Epic^ 
and,  for  the  arguments  of  a  generation  ago  against  the  Homeric 
authorship,  Bonitz,  Origin  of  the  Homeric  Poems^  translated  by 
Packard  (Harper). 

CHAPTER  v.— The  Homeric  Hymns  and  Hesiod. 

Lawton,  Warner* s  Library ^  *' Homeric  H3rmns"  and  "Hesiod." 
Symonds,  Greek  Poets^  Chap.  V.  Jebb,  Greek  Poetry^  pp.  79  ff. 
(Hesiod;  does  not  treat  the  Hymns).  Lawton,  Successors  of  Homer 
(Macmillan).  Davies,  Hesiod  and  Theognis  {Ancient  Classics). 
Pater,  Greek  Studies  (Macmillan),  essay  on  "The  Myth  of  Demeter 
and  Persephone." 

Translations .'—'Homtnc  Hymns:  Lang  (Prose.  Longmans). 
Chapman  (Verse.  Scribner).  Shelley  (Verse;  often  a  paraphrase 
rather  than  a  translation.  Hymn  to  Hermes  and  six  shorter  hymns). 
Hesiod:  Banks  (Prose.  Bohn's  Library^  with  Callimachus  and 
Theognis  (Macmillan).  Elton  (Verse.  Bohn^  volume  just  men- 
tioned). Lawton's  Successors  contains  some  good  hexameter  trans- 
lations of  both  the  Hymns  and  Hesiod.  In  Pater's  Studies  is  an 
exquisite  paraphrase  of  the  Hymn  to  Demeter, 

CHAPTER  VL — ^The  Elegiac,  Iambic,  and  Melic  Poets. 

Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chapters  VII.,  X.,  XI.  and  XXII.  Jebb, 
Greek  Poetry,  Chapter  IV.  Lawton,  Wamet^s  Library,  "  Solon." 
Williams,  ibid.y  "Anthology."  Davidson,  ibid.,  "Sappho."  Da- 
vies,  Hesiod  and  Theognis  {Ancient  Classics).  Lord  Neaves, 
Anthology  {Ancient  Classics).     Wharton,  Sappho  (McClurg). 


460  Bibliographical  Appendix 

Translations: — Tyrtacus:  (Bohn^s  Library^  with  Theocritus,  etc., 
Macmillan).  Theognis:  Frere  (Verse.  Bohn*s  Library,  wiUi 
Hesiod,  etc.;  see  above).  Sappho:  Wharton  (Prose  version  by 
author,  the  best  poetical  versions  by  various  hands,  and  a  memoir. 
See  above).  Anacreon :  Thomas  Moore  (Verse.  Seventy-nine 
poems,  mostly  from  the  Anacreontics).  Anthology :  Mackail,  SeUct 
Epigrams  from  the  Anthology  (Prose.  Longmans ;  a  very  large  col- 
lection). There  are  a  nnmbier  of  collections  of  renderings  of  poems 
from  the  Anthology.  The  latest  are  those  by  Lilla  Cabot  Perry, 
From  the  Garden  of  Hellas  (United  States  Book  Company;  the 
author's  poetical  versions),  and  G.  R.  Tomson  (Verse,  by  various 
hands).  Most  of  the  essavs  cited  above  contain  verse  translations  of 
the  poets  treated.  All  of  the  poets  treated  in  this  chapter  are  well 
represented  in  Appleton,  Greek  Poets  in  English  Verse  (Houghton). 


CHAPTER  VII.— Choral  Lyric.    Pindar. 

Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chapters  X.  and  XL  Miller,  Wamer^s 
Library,  "Simonides."  Gildersleeve,  ibid.  "  Pindar."  Jebb,  Greek 
Poetry,  Chapter  V.     Morice,  Pindar  (Ancient  Classics). 

Translations  : — Bacchylides  :  Poste  (Prose.  Macmillan).  Pindar: 
Morice  (Verse.  Kegan  Paul).  Myers  (Prose.  Macmillan).  Gilbert 
West  (Verse.  London,  1769).  Newcomer's  splendid  rendering  of 
the  First  Pythian,  from  which  we  have  quoted,  is  found  in  fufi  in 
fVarnet^s  Library.  See,  also,  in  general,  Appleton,  Greek  Poets. 
(See  above. ) 

CHAPTER  VIIL— Tragic  Poetry.    Aeschylus. 

Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chapters  XII.,  XVII.,  XV.  Jebb,  Greek 
Poetry,  Chapter  VI.  White,  Warner* s  Library,  "iEschylus." 
Copleston,  yEschylus  (Ancient  Classics).  Haigh,  Tragic  Drama 
of  the  Greeks  (Oxford  University  Press).  Moulton,  Ancient  Classi- 
cal Drama  (Oxford  University  Press).  Monk  and  Verrall,  Stu- 
dents Manual  of  Greek  Tragedy  (Macmillan).  Bamett,  Greek 
Drama  ( Temple'  Primers,  Macmillan ;  the  only  work  in  English 
that  presents  the  latest  views  on  the  origin  and  early  history  of  the 
drama  and  on  the  theatre  of  the  fifth  century).  Haigh,  Attic 
Theatre  (Oxford  University  Press).  Church,  Stories  from  the  Greek 
Tragedians  (Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.). 

Translations: — iEschylus  entire:  Swanwick  (Verse.  Bohn*s 
Library.  Macmillan).  Plumptre  (Verse.  Heath).  Campbell 
(Verse.  Kegan  Paul).  Suppliants:  Morshead  (Verse.  Kegan  Paul). 
Prometheus  :  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning.  Augusta  Webster  (Verse. 
London,  1866).  More  (Prose.  Houghton).  Oresteian  Trilogy  * 
Morshead,  House  of  Atreus  (Verse.  Simpkin  &  Marshall).  Aga- 
memnon:    Dean  Milman  (Verse.     In  volume  with  Bacchanals  of 


Bibliographical  Appendix  461 

Euripides.  Murray).  Robert  Browning.  Selections :  Pollard,  Odes 
from  the  Greek  Dramatists  (Stott.  London,  1890.  Out  of  print). 
Goldwin  Smith,  Specimens  of  Greek  Tragedy  (2  vols.,  MacmiUan. 
VoL  I.,  y£schylus  and  Sophocles).     Appleton,  Greek  Poets, 


CHAPTER  IX.— Sophocles. 

Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chapters  XIII.  and  XV. ;  Jebb,  Greek 
Poetry,  Chapter  VI.  Mahaffy,  fVamer*s  Library,  **  Sophocles." 
C.  W.  Collins,  Sophocles  {Ancient  Classics) ;  Campbell,  Sophocles 
{Clcusical  Writers.  MacmiUan). 

Translations: — Sophocles  entire:  Whitelaw  (Rivington ;  best 
verse  translation).  Jebb  (with  text  edition ;  soon  to  appear  in  sepa- 
rate volume;  best  prose  translation.  MacmiUan).  Plumptre 
(Verse.  Heath).  Campbell  (Verse.  Murray).  Antigone:  Palmer 
(Prose.  Houghton).  Oedipus  the  King:  Morshead  (Verse.  Mac- 
mUlan).     Selections:  PoUard,  Smith  (Vol.  I.),  and  Appleton. 


CHAPTER  X.— Euripides. 

Jebb,  Greek  Poetry,  Chapter  VI.,  and  article  «« Euripides"  in 
Encyclopedia  Britannica,  Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chapters  XIV.  and 
XV.  Lawton,  IVamer's  Library,  "Euripides."  Donne,  Euripides 
{Ancient  Classics)  ;  Mahaffy,  Euripides  ( Classical  IVriters), 

Translations  : — Euripides  entire :  Way,  Tragedies  of  Euripides  in 
English  Verse  (3  vols.,  MacmiUan).  WodhuU,  Potter,  and  Milman 
(Verse.  3  vols.  Morley^s  Universal  Library  ;  Bacchanals  only  by 
MUman,  Alcestis,  Electra,  Orestes,  the  two  Jphigeneias,  and  Troades 
by  Potter,  the  rest  by  WodhuU).  Lawton,  Three  Dramas  of  Eu- 
ripides  (Alcestis,  Medea,  Hippolytus,  Verse,  with  running  com- 
mentary. Houghton).  Robert  Browning,  BalaustunCs  Adventure 
(Transcription  of  the  Alcestis),  and  Aristophanes*  Apology  {Heracles). 
Medea:  Augusta  Webster  (Verse.  MacmiUan,  London,  1868). 
Hippolytus  :  Fitzgerald,  The  Crowned  Hippolytus  (Verse.  London, 
1867).  Hecabe:  Symonds  (Verse.  Harpers).  Beesley,  The  Tro- 
jan Queen* s  Revenge  (Verse.  Longmans).  Bacchanals:  Milman 
(see  above).  Rogers  (Verse.  Oxford,  1872).  Cyclops:  P.  B. 
Shelley.     Selections:  PoUard,  Smith  (Vol.  II.),  and  Appleton. 


CHAPTER  XI. — Comic  Poetry.    Aristophanes. 

Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chapters  XVIII.  and  XIX.  Shorey,  War- 
net's  Library,  "Aristophanes."  W.  L.  Collins,  Aristophanes  {An- 
cient  Classics).  Church,  Stories  from  the  Greek  Comedians  (Mac- 
miUan).   Bamett,  Greek  Drama, 


462  Bibliographical  Appendix 

Translations  : — J.  H.  Frere  {Achamians,  Knights,  Birds,  Frags ^ 
and  a  portion  of  the  Peace,  Verse.  In  Vol.  III.  of  the  Works  of 
John  Hookham  Frere,  London,  1874,  2d  edition.  The  first  three 
plays  are  to  be  had  in  Morley*s  Universal  Library,  Routledge).  T. 
Mitchell  {Achamians,  Knights^  Clouds,  IVasps.  Verse.  London, 
1820).  J.  B.  Rogers  (Verse.  London.  Peace,  1867 ;  IVasps,  1875 ; 
Lysistrata,  1 878.  Rare).  C.  H.  Rudd  (eight  comedies.  Verse. 
London,  1867).     Birds :  Kennedy  (Verse.     Macmillan). 


CHAPTER  XII.— The  Historians.    Herodotus. 

Wheeler,  fVamer's  Library,  **  Herodotus."  James  Bryce,  Herod- 
otus  (Classical  Writers).  Swayne,  Herodotus  {Ancient  Classics), 
Church,  Stories  from  Herodotus  (Dodd,  Mead  &  Co.). 

Translation  : — George  Rawlinson  (4  vols. ,  with  extensive  notes. 
Appleton ;  or  in  2  vols.,  with  abridged  notes,  Scribner). 


CHAPTER  XIII.— Thucydides  and  Xenophon. 

Smyth,  Warner's  Library,  "Thucydides."  Lawton,  ibid,  "Xeno- 
phon." W.  L.  Collins,  Thucydides  {Ancient  Classics).  Sir  Alexan- 
der Grant,  Xenophon  {Ancient  Classics).  Dakyns  *'  Xenophon  "  (In 
Hellenica,  edited  by  Abbott.  Longmans),  and  Introduction  to  his 
translation. 

Translations : — ^Thucydides  :  Towett  (2  vols. ,  Oxford  Universiw 
Press,  2d  ed. ).  Xenophon :  Dakyns  (4  vols. ,  Macmillan ;  Vol.  IV. 
not  yet  published).  On  Horsemanship:  Morgan  (Little,  Brown 
&  Co.). 


CHAPTER  XIV.— The  Orators.    Demosthenes. 

Brodribb,  Demosthenes  {Ancient  Classics).  Article  "iEschines," 
Warner's  Library.  Sharp,  ibid,,  "Demosthenes."  Jebb,  Attic 
Orators  from  Antiphon  to  Isaeus  (2  vols.,  Macmillan).  Br^dif, 
Political  Eloquence  in  Greece.  Demosthenes  (translated  by  Mac- 
Mahon.  Scott,  Foresman  &  Co.).  Butcher,  Demosthenes  {Classical 
Writers). 

Translations'. — Isocrates  :  Freese  (Vol.  I.,  Bohn^s  Library, 
Macmillan).  Demosthenes:  Kennedy  (5  vols.,  Bohn^s  Library, 
Macmillan).  Sir  Roben  Collier,  Oration  of  Demosthenes  on  the 
Crown  (Longmans). 


Bibliographical  Appendix  463 


CHAPTER  XV.— Philosophical  Prose.    Plato. 

Lawton,  Successors ^  Chap.  VII.  (Xenophanes,  Parmenides,  £m- 
pedocles).  Symonds,  Greek  Poets ^  Chapters  VI.  and  VII.  (Parmeni- 
des  and  Empedocles).  Smyth,  Warner's  Library,  "Socrates." 
Shorey,  ibid.,  "Plato."  C.  W.  Collins,  Plato  {Ancient  Classics), 
Grote,  History,  Q\i9i^.  LXVII.,  "The  Sophists."  Mayor,  Sketch  of 
Greek  Philosophy  (Macmillan).  Marshall,  Short  History  of  Greek 
Philosophy  (Macmillan).  Grote,  Plato  and  the  Other  Companions  of 
Socrates  (^  vols,,  Murray). 

Translations  : — Hexameter  Philosophers :  Lawton,  Successors,  and 
Symonds,  Greek  Poets.  Plato :  Jowett  (5  vols. ,  Oxford  University 
Press,  3d  ed.  An  earlier  edition,  in  4  vols. ,  Scribner).  Republic  : 
Davies  and  Vaughan  {Golden  Treasury.  Macmillan).  Selections 
from  Jowett's  translation  are  grouped  in  several  volumes  published 
by  Scribner :  Plato's  Best  Thoughts.  Talks  with  Athenian  Youths, 
A  Day  in  Athens  with  Socrates,      Talks  with  Socrates  About  Life, 

CHAPTER  XVI.— Aristotle. 

Sir  Alexander  Grant,  Aristotle  {Ancient  Classics).  Davidson, 
Wamer^s  Library,  '*  Aristotle,"  and  Aristotle  and  the  Ancient  Edu- 
cational  Ideals  (Scribner).  Grote,  Aristotle  (2  vols.,  Murray). 
Lang,  Introductory  Essays  on  Aristotle  (Longmans).  Butcher, 
Aristotle* s  Theory  of  Poetry  and  Fine  Art  (text,  translation,  and 
essays.     Macmillan,  2d  ed.). 

Translations: — Constitution  of  Athens :  Kenyon  (2d  ed..  Bell). 
Ethics:  Welldon  (2d  ed.,  Macmillan).  Politics:  Jowett  (Oxford 
University  Press,  Vol.  I.)  and  Welldon  (2d  ed. ,  Macmillan).  Rhetoric : 
Welldon  (Macmillan).  Poetics:  Butcher  {Aristotle's  Theory,  etc.; 
see  above).  Prickard  (Macmillan).  Translations  of  some  of  the  other 
works  are  to  be  found  in  Bohh's  Library  (Metaphysics,  History  of 
Animals,  Organon). 

CHAPTER  XVII.— The    Lost    Writers    of    the   Fourth 

Century. 

Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chapters  XVI.  and  XIX.  Lawton,  War- 
ner^s  Library,  **  Philemon,  Menander,  and  the  Lost  Attic  Comedy." 
W.  L.  Collins,  Plautus  and  Terence,  Chap.  II.  {Ancient  Classics), 
On  books  and  their  publication  in  antiquity,  Johnston,  Latin  Manu- 
scripts (Scott,  Foresman  &  Co. ). 

Translations: — The  essayists  mentioned  above  all  give  transla- 
tions in  verse.  For  the  comedy,  Paley,  Fragments  ^  the  Greek 
Comic  Poets  (text  with  verse  translations,  2d  ed.,  Macmillan). 


4^4  Bibliographical  Appendix 


CHAPTER  XVIII. —Theocritus  and  his  Age. 

Symonds,  Greek  Poets,  Chap.  XXI.  Mackail,  Wdmer's  Lihrary, 
"Theocritus."  Lang,  '*  Theocritus  and  his  Age  " ;  introdaction  to 
translation. 

Translations: — Bucolic  Poets  :  Ijui^  (Golden  Treasury,  Macmil- 
lan;  best  prose  version).  Theocritus:  Calverley  (Verse.  Macmillan; 
best  verse  rendering).  Selections:  Fitzgerald,  in  Crowned Hippolytus, 
(See  under  Chap.  X.).  Mifflin,  Echoes  of  Greek  Idyls  (from  Bion  and 
Moschus,  in  sonnet  form.  Houghton).  Sedgwick,  Sicilian  Idyls, 
(Verse  renderings  from  Theocritus,  Bion,  and  Moschus.  Copeland 
&  Day.  Matthew  Arnold  translates  the  famous  Fifteenth  Idyll  of 
Theocritus  in  ''Pagan  and  Mediaeval  Religious  Sentiment,"  Essays 
in  Criticism,  Mention  should  be  made  of  Leigh  Hunt's  version 
of  Moschus'  Lament  for  Bion^  and  of  Mrs.  Browning's  Bion's 
Lament  for  Adonis. 


INDEX  OF  SUBJECTS  AND  NAMES 

Besides  the  names  which  are  of  especial  significance  in  the  history  of  Greek 
Uterature*  the  Index  aims  to  include  all  proper  names,  mentioned  in  the  text  and  in 
the  quotations,  wherever  the  context  leaves  the  identity  of  a  person  <Mr  place  ob- 
scure or  where  there  might  be  doubt  as  to  the  place  of  the  accent  in  pronunciation. 
After  the  names  of  Greek  authors  are  ^ven  in  i>arentheses  the  dates  of  their  birth 
and  death,  when  known ;  otherwise  theu-  flourishing  period  (J^or.)^  approximately. 
B.C.  is  to  be  understood  with  all  dates  not  designated  a.d. 


Abde'ra,  town  in  Thrace,  341. 

Acade'mus,  366. 

Academy  of  Plato,  366,  383,  385. 

Achaeans,  6. 

ACHAB'US  (Jlor.  444),  415. 

Acharnians  of  Aristophanes,  286^. 

Achelo'us,  a  river  god,  223,  378. 

Ach'eron,  a  river  ofthe  lower  world, 
201. 

Achilles,  24/,  51/:,  60/,  63^, 
Toff.y  96/  /  shield  of,  16,  57^ 

Acis,  a  river  at  the  foot  of  Mount 
Aetna,  450. 

Actors,  number  of,  in  tragedy,  i8c, 
in  comedy,  275 ;  r61es,  188  ;  only 
male,  189,  note ;  poet  as  actor, 
185,  215 ;  period  of  great  actors, 

415- 
Adme'tus,  24a 

Ado'nis,  festival  of,  453^ 

Ae'a  (or  Aeae'a),  Circe  s  isle,  94. 

Aeac'ides,  26,  note  2. 

Ae'acus  26,  note  2,  373. 

Aeg'ilus  (for.Aegilia),  a  deme  in 
Attica,  452. 

Aegis'thus,  193,  204,  205,  220,  252. 

Aene'as,  36,  420. 

.  Aeolians,  7;  melic  poetry  per- 
fected by,  159,  183;  position  of 
women  among,  162. 

Ae'olus,  god  of  the  winds,  94. 

Aepei'a,  town  in  Messenia,  50. 

Ars'chinbs  (389-314).  347/  ;  con- 
flict   with    Demosthenes,    348, 

3Sa/.357/. 
Abs'chylus  (sa5-456)i   152.   185, 
19a,   216,    238,   239,  382,  416; 
tragedy  in  family  of,  418  ;  and 
Sophocles,  220,  251 ;  and  Euri- 


pides, 251/.,  259 ;  in  Aristoph- 
anes* Frogs  y  296^  ;  Agamem- 
non,  192 /PC  ;  Libation  Bearer 5  ^ 
204/:  ;  Furies,  205/". ;  Suppli- 
ants, Qorj ;  Persians^  ao7^«  I 
Seven  against  TlUbes,  209^. ; 
Prometheus,  2x1^. 
Ab'sop  (Gk.  Aeso'pus;   ca,  550), 

302. 

Aethi'opis,  76. 

Agamem'non,  24,  37,  49;  tragedy 
of  Aeschylus,  193 jf.  ;  sacrifice 
of  Iphigeneia  by,  195,  203,  248. 

Agaris'ta,  313. 

Ag'athon  (^r.  end  V.  cent.).  371, 
416. 

Aga'vd,  268. 

Agesila'us,  king  of  Sparta,  330. 

A'gias,  reputed  author  of  the 
Nostoi,  76. 

A'jax  (Gk.  Ai'as),  son  of  OHens,  51, 
82. 

A'jax  (Gk.  Ai'as,  218),  sonof  Tela- 
mon,  24,  46;  tragedy  of  Soph- 
ocles, 217^,  422. 

Alcab'us  {Jlor,  600),  159^.,  161. 

Alcei'des,  s»6,  note  2. 

Alces'tis  of  Euripides,  240. 

Alcibi'ades,    277,    327,   366,    371, 

379/". 
Alcin'ous,  88^ 
Alc'man  {Jlor.  660),  169. 
Alcme'nd  (Lat  Alcmena),  mother 

of  Heracles  by  an  amour  with 

Zeus,  224,  261,  282. 
Alexander,  see  under  Paris. 
Alexander  the  Great,  130,  334,  384, 

401,  443. 
Alexandria,  317,  407,  443,  445,  447. 


465 


466  Index  of  Subjects  and  Names 


Alexandrine  period  of  Greek  litera- 
ture. 13.  443 /"• 

Albx'is  (376-271),  429,  434. 

Alphe'us,  river  of  Elis,  flowing  by 
Olympia,  177. 

Amalthei'a  (or  ^'a),  166.  **A.'s 
horn"  =  "  horn  of  plenty." 

Ama'sis,  king  of  Egypt,  311. 

Amor'gos,  island  of  the  Aegean, 

157- 
Amphip'olis,  town  in  Macedonia, 

318. 
Amphitri'td,  a  sea-goddess,  173. 
Amphit'ryon,     mortal     father    of 

Heracles,  363. 
Amyn'tas,  383. 
AnaVasis  of  Xenophon,  33a 
Anac'reon  (latter  half  VI.  cent.) 

166/.,  170. 
Anacreontics,  166. 
Ana'pus,  river  in  Sicily,  45a 
Anaxag'oras  {Jlor,  450),  363. 
Anaxan'drides    (yfor.   300),   437 

J* 
Anchi'ses,    father   of  Aeneas   by 

Aphrodite,  451. 
Andoc'ides  (jtor.  end  V.  cent.), 

343. 
Androm'achd,  37,  43,  353 ;  tragedy 

of  Euripides,  256. 
Andro'tion,    Athenian    politician, 

351. 
Anthei'a,  town  in  Messenia,  5a 

Anthology^  151^- >  444 :  of  Stobaeus, 
410. 

Antig'on^,  309;  in  Aeschylus,  sio; 
in  Sophocles,  330,  333^ ;  in  Eu- 
ripides, 359;  tragedy  of  Soph- 
ocles, 333/: 

Antil'ochus,  son  of  Nestor,  109. 

Antip'ater  of  Sidon  (yfor.  100), 

154. 

Antiph'anes  (385-310),  438/ 

An'tiphon  (died  411),  ^43,  353. 

Antron,  town  in  ThessaTy,  139. 

An'ytus,  one  of  the  accusers  of 
Socrates,  390. 

Aph'obus,  guardian  of  Demos- 
thenes. 350. 

Aphrodi'te  (Lat  Venus),  19,  23, 
346,  451 ;    Homeric    Hymn  to, 

131. 

Apollo,  Phoebus,  113,  364. 
ApoUodo'rus,     a    companion     of 
Socrates,  376. 


Apollodo'rus  {Jlor,  390),  433. 
ApoUon'ides.    Olynthian   general, 

355. 
Apollon'ius  of  Rhodes  Kfior- 194)« 


Apology  of  Plato,  369,  373/. 

Ara'tus  {flor,  375),  447. 

Archela'us,  kin^  of  Macedon,  338. 

Archida'mus,  kmg  of  Sparta,  338. 

ARCHiL'ocHUSof  Paros  {Jlor,  660), 
156. 

Arcti'nus,  reputed  author  of  the 
Aethiopis  and  IlioupersiSj  76. 

Areop'agus,  court  of  the,  so6,  347, 
353. 

A'res  (Lat.  Mars),  19,  36a 

Are'td,  89. 

Arethu'sa  (Eng.  sometimes  Are- 
thuse',  451),  lountain  near  Syra- 
cuse, 451. 

Arganthon'ius,  167  and  note. 

Ar'golis,  7. 

Ar  igonauts,  343. 

Ariad'n^,  58. 

Ari'on  {Jlor.  6qo),  X70,  184. 

Aris'tocles  (Plato),  ^36. 

Aristoc'rates,  Athenian  politician, 

351. 
Aris'ton  {Jlor,  end  V.  cent),  418. 

Aristoph'anes  (448 -ra.  385).  339, 
%77ff.,  393,  371,  416,  417,  422/, 
435  ;  BirdSy  27%  ff. ;  Acharnians^ 
386 jf.;  PeMty  389;  Lysislrata, 
389 ;  Thesmophoriatusae^  390  ; 
Parliament  oj  Women,  391 ;  Plu- 
tus,  391 ;  Knights^  391  JT;  Clouds, 
293/  •  366 :  WaspSf  895  ;  Frogs, 
^Sff',  416. 

Ar'istotle  (Gk.  Aristo'teles ;  384- 
333),  151,  38)i/:.  407,  411,  417, 
418,  419,  434,  433. 

Artaba'nus,  305. 

Artaxer'xes,  330. 

Ar'temis  (Lat.  Diana),  34,  346. 

Asclep'ius  (Lat.  Aescula'pius).  god 
of  healing,  343,  376. 

Aspa'sia,  companion  of  Pericles, 
a88,  371. 

Asty'anax,  37,  43,  353. 

Astyd'amas,  the  elder  {Jlor.  385), 

417- 
Astyd'amas,  the    younger  {^or, 

360),  4x7/ 
Athenae'us  (IIL  cent  A.D.),  410, 

437. 


Index  of  Subjects  and  Names  467 


Athe'nd,  Pallas  (Lat.  Minerva),  23, 
113,  2X7, 421. 

Athenians^  9 ;  relation  to  the 
drama,  183,  29Z,  295 ;  in  prose 
literature.  317  ;  in  time  of  Eurip- 
ides, 238 ;  fondness  for  litiga« 
tion,  279,  295;  contrasted  with 
the  Spartans,  323 ;  after  the 
Peloponnesian  war,  424,  426 ; 
after  loss  of  liberty,  424,  442. 

Athens,  literary  centre  of  Greece, 
171,  183,  317,  441 ;  overthrow  of 
tyrants  of,  170  ;  in  Persian  wars, 
174.  306,  315  ;  plague  at,  325. 

Atos'sa,  207. 

Atrei'des  (or-i'des),  26,  note  2. 

Attica,  8 ;  home  of  tragedy,  184,  of 
comedy,  275. 

Aulis,  harbor  on  the  northern  coast 
of  Boeotia,  195,  247. 

Babylonians,  customs  of,  accord* 
ing  to  Herodotus,  308. 

Bacchanals  of  Euripides,  268,  418. 

Bacchyl'ides  {flor,  480),  172/ 

Bards  before  Homer,  15. 

Battle  of  the  Frogs  and  Mice^  at- 
tributed to  Homer,  115. 

Beller'ophon,  prince  of  Corinth, 
possessor  of  Pegasus,  289. 

Bereni'cd,  445. 

BlON  {flor,  250),  448. 

Birds  of  Aristophanes,  278. 

Boeotians,    characteristics    of,    7, 

130- 
Books    in    antiquity,    11,    405^, 

408/ 

Bo'reas,  the  north  wind,  377. 

Bras'idas,  318. 

Brise'is,  25,  49. 

Bro'mius,  epithet  of  Dionysus,  263, 
294. 

Bucolic  poetry,  446^ 

Byzantine  period  of  Greek  liter- 
ature, 12. 

Cadmus,    mythical     founder     of 

Thebes,  268. 
Calchas,  the  seer,  28,  X95. 
Callim'achus    \flar,    260),   153, 

444,  445. 

Calli'nus  {flor.  690),  144. 
Cal'ydon,  a  town  in  Aetolia,  450. 
Calyp'so,  77,  83. 
Camby'ses,  306. 


Canon  of  classical  writers,  estab- 
lished by  Alexandrian  scholars, 

343,  409.  415.  444- 

Cap'an-eus,  one  of  the  seven  chief- 
tains against  Thebes.  261. 

Car'cinus  (first  half  IV.  cent.)* 

417- 
Cardam'yll,  town  in  Messenia,  50. 
Cassan'dra.  199,  253. 
Castalia,  fountain  at  Delphi,  265. 
Catullus,  imitator  of  Callimachus, 

445. 

Ce'crops,  mythical  first  king  of 
Athens,  294. 

Ce'leus,  prince  of  Eleusis,  one  of 
the  founders  of  the  Mysteries, 
127. 

Ceos,  island  of  the  Aegean,  near 
Athens,  170. 

Ceph'alus,  father  of  Lysias,  371. 

Cephis'ia,  434. 

Cephis'ophon,  tragic  actor  for  Eu- 
ripides, suspected  of  helping  in 
the  composition  of  his  tragedies, 
299. 

Cephi'sus,  river  near  Athens,  231. 

Cer'berus,  262. 

Chabke'mon  {flor,  350),  419,  444. 

Chaerone'a,  battle  of,  34.7,  352,  442. 

Chalce'don,  a  Greek  city  on  the 
Propontis,  341. 

Chaly'bean,  of  the  Chal'ybes,  work- 
ers in  iron  on  the  Euxine,  242. 

Charyb'dis,  97. 

Chersonese,  now  the  Peninsula  of 
the  Dardanelles,  352. 

Chion'ides  {flor,  480^,  275. 

Chios,  island  in  the  Aegean,  413, 

415. 

Chiron,  wisest  of  the  Centaurs, 
teacher  of  Achilles,  61. 

Choral  poetry,  144,  158,  168,  183. 

Chorus,  in  the  dithyramb,  170 ;  in 
the  satyr-drama,  184,  186;  in 
tragedy,  191,  203,  note,  414 ;  in 
comedy,  274,  275,  278,  281.  290, 
423,  426,  430 ;  animal  choruses  in 
comedy,  276,  277,  295  ;  in  the 
Rhesus^  422. 

Chryse'is,  25. 

Chrysoth'emis,  50,  220. 

Cicero,  2,  346. 

Cimmerians,  mythical  people  in 
Homer.  95. 

Cine'sias,  284. 


468  Index  of  Subjects  and  Names 


Cir'ce,  94. 

Classics,  selection  of  the,  409 ;  see 

under  Canon. 
Clazom'enae,  363. 
Clban'thrs  {J[or.  350),  444. 
Cleis'thenes,  tyrant  of  Sicyon,  313. 
Climate,    influence     of^    on     the 

Greeks,  10. 
Clitar'chus,  tyrant  of  Eretria,  355. 
Clouds  of  Aristophanes,  393.  3661 
Clytemnes'tra,  76  ;  in  the  Agamem- 

noHy  igsff. ;  in  Sophocles'  EUc- 

tra^  330;  in  Euripides*  EUctra^ 

Cocy'tus,  river  of  the  lower  world, 
301. 

Colchis,  country  in  Asia,  south  of 
the  Caucasus,  343. 

Colonization,  effects  of,  on  Greek 
life,  14Z. 

Colo'nus.  331. 

Comedy,  ZlZff.  ;  influence  of  trag- 
edy upon,  375,  277.  432^,  4*5 ; 
subjects  of,  S75/!,  436;  periods 
of,  375,  433.  Old.  political  ten- 
dencies of,  375, 436 ;  license  per- 
mitted to,  374,  376/.,  435.  Mid- 
dle, ^zff.  f^ew,  ^yyf^  4431 
influence    of    Euripides    upon, 

239*  431.  435- 
Comus.  the  early,  373, 374, 375. 435. 

Constituiion  of  Atheits^  attributed 
to  Xenopbon,  3x7 ;  of  Aristotle, 
388^ 

CORAX  {ftor.  450),  343, 

Corinth,  7,  8,  170,  350. 

Cra'tes  (flor.  438),  434. 

Crati'nus   (Jlar,   440),  376,  997, 

433. 

Crafylus  of  Plato,  370. 

Cre-u'sa,  364. 

Crito  of  Plato,  369. 

Croe'sus,  306. 

Cron'ides  (Zeus,  son  of  Cronus). 

I2S 

Cronus  (Lat.  Saturn),  39. 
Ctes'iphon,     Aeschines      oration 

against,  348. 
Cyclo'pes,  90 

Cyclops  of  Euripides,  337,  371. 
Cylle'nd.    Mount,    birthplace    of 

Hermes,  133. 
QrfxsAt  town  of  Asia  Minor,  239, 

413. 
Cypria,  33.  76,  115. 


Cyr'silus,  36a 

Cythere'an,  of  Cythe'ra,  island 
south  of  die  Peloponnesus,  birth- 
place of  Aphrodite,  133. 

Daed'alus,    mythical     artist    and 

builder,  maker  of  the  labyrinth 

in  Crete,  58. 
Damon'ides,  39a 
Dan'a-ans,  descendants  of  Danaus, 

King  of  the  Argives,  39. 
Dan'a^,  mother  of  Perseus,  visited 

by  Zeus  as  a  shower  of  gold,  171. 
Daphnis  in  bucolic  poetry.   446, 

449^. 

Dar'danus,  mythical  ancestor  of 
the  Trojans,  69. 

Dari'us.  307.  306. 

DeTanei'ra,  333. 

Dbinar'chus  KJlor,  335).  349. 

DeTph'obus,  65. 

Delos,  island  of  the  Aeeean,  birth- 
place of  Apollo  and  Artemis,  I3i. 

Demege'tus,  177. 

Deme'ter  (Lat.  Ceres),  Homeric 
Hymn  to,  134^. 

Demod'ocus,  18,  30,  89. 

Demoph'oon,  son  of  Celeus.  137. 

Demos'thenes    (384-333),    347, 

348,  349,  3*0/:.  385,  407. 
Deo,  epithet  of  Demeter,  136. 
Destiny,  the  belief  in,  in  the  tragic 

(>oets,  316,  351/  :   in  the  histo- 
rians, 305,  330,  337. 
Dtus    ex    machina^   433 ;    ef,  333, 

349,  353,  364,  368. 

Diag'oras   of   Rhodes,   Olympian 

Ode  in  honor  of,  177. 
Dialects,  use  of  the,  in  Attic  po> 

etry,  9  ;    Doric,  8,   168 ;    Ionic, 

8,  303  ;  Attic,  8. 
Dialogue,  first  used  by  Xenophon, 

334 ;  in  Plato,  367,  373. 
Dicaeop'olis,  386. 
Didactic  poetry,  131. 
Dioclei'des,  453. 
Di'ocles,  one  of  the  founders  of  the 

Mysteries,  138. 
Diome'des,  34,  36,  41,  431. 
Diony'sia,  at  Athens.  186,  375,  353 ; 

Rural.  186,  191. 
Diony'sius,  tyrant  of  Syracuse,  396, 

413,  417,  441. 
Diony'sus     (Bacchus),    270,    968, 
395,  416. 


Index  of  Subjects  and  Names  469 


DipH'ilus  ijier.  310)1  43a. 

Direes,  in  early  poetry,  17. 

Diuyramb,  170,  184. 

Dorians,  chimtcleristic*  of,  7/  i 
choral  poetry  perfected  among, 
159,  >» :  besiDaiiiBs  of  <Sk 
drama Bmong:,  iB4/,a73. 


Dramatic  exhibitions,  al  Athena, 

1B6/  ;  elsewhere,  1B6,  415. 
Dulicb^um,  ialaiul  in  the  Ionian 

Sea,  80. 

Echec'rates,  companioa  of  Socra- 
EftioD.  43. 

=CPb<  


Uuu,  described  by  Herodoliu, 

E^^ra.  193 ;  in  LiialUn  Btartri 
of  Aeschylus,  304/. ;  Sophocles' 
EUetra,  aao,  351 ;  Euripides' 
Eltcira,  %n. 

Elegiac  poetry,  143/,  444 

Elyaian  fields,  Ba,  96,  in,  161. 

E'neti  (Lat.  Ve'Dctil,  progenitors 
o(the  modem  Veaetlaas,  308. 

Eno'p^,  town  in  the  Peloponnesus, 
SO- 

Epameinon'dai,  337. 


Epic  Cycle,  75,  115, 191 ;   date  of 

ewlier  Mta  of,  119. 
^ic  poetry,  definition  and  kinds, 


EpIchas'hus    {Jler.    490),    074, 
e7«.44«-  , 

EPlCt;'R  US  (3^1-370),  411,  43$, 
Epigram,  151.444. 
Eplnieian  odes,  171,  173. 
Episodes.    unconnecTfd.    Is    the 

early  comedy.  374,  378,  384,  aS?. 
Eratos'>]ienes.      Lysias'      oration 

agaiad,  344. 


Er'ebus,  land  of   darkjieis,  often    . 

identified  with  Hades,  95. 
Ere'tria,  city  of  Euboea,  415. 
E'ros  fLaL  Cupid),  346. 
Ete'ocles,  309,  333,  359. 
Etkici  of  Aristotle,  ^iff. 
Enboe'a,  island  north  of  Attica,  B. 
Euclid   (Gk.    Euclei'des:   early 

111.  cent),  445. 
Eu'crates,  a  demagogue  at  Athens. 

Euel'pides,  378 
Eumae'ui,  98  -^ 


the  founders  of  die  Mysteries, 
laB. 

Eufhor'ioh  (jfcr.  430).  418. 

Euphrae'us,  patriot  of  Oreus,  op- 
ponent of  Philip,  355. 

Eu'POLis  (446-410.376,  377,  4a»- 

EuRip'iDBS  (485-406),  rs3,  316. 
%Xtf.,  416  :  realism  of,  339;  in- 
fluence of  the  new  rhetoric  upon, 
gi ;  influence  upon  the  New 
imedy,  B39,  43",  43S  ;  *■"  « 
machina  in.  333. 349, 35s.  364, 368, 
43a;  criticisms  of  AnstopbaneS 
on,  386/,  369,  390,  395^;  his 
library.  407 ;  decUne  ca  tragedy 
after,  414. 

EuRipiDBE,  the  younger  IJUr. 
400),  4r8. 

Eutyclei'a,  loi. 

Eurys'iheus,  193,  333, 361,  a£a. 

Eutkyd^miu  irf  Plato,  37O- 

Evad'ni.  a6t. 

Festivals,  athletic,  174  :  dr«lnatic, 
at  Athens,  186/.  437  ;  in  Grebes 
at  large,  415  ;  of  Adotiis,  in  Alex- 
andria, 453  ff. 

Flute,  a  Phrygian  Invention,  144. 

Folk-songs,  143/. 

Fragments  of  lost  writers,  how 
preserved.  409/ 

Frrgi  of  Aristophanes,  095^ 

Funeral  Oratioti  of  Pericles,  334  i 
of  Hypereides,  349. 

FttrUi  of  Aeschylus,  305/ 

Future  life,  views  coDceming,  In 
Homer,  Sa,  ^,  iii  ;  as  tiughl 
in  the  Mysteries,  139  ;  in  Piiit^r, 
inff- :  i"  1^0-  369.  373/^ 


470  Index  of  Subjects  and  Names 


Glyc'erA,  435. 

Gnossus,  capital  of  King  Minos, 

in  Cfete,  58. 
Golden   fleece,  quest   of,  19,  243, 


Gor'giAS  {Jhr,  437),  the  sophist, 
543 ;  dialogue  of  Plato,  370. 

Greece,  physical  characteristics  of, 
la 

Greeks,  geographical  distribution 
oft  6 ;  divisions  of  the  race,  6 ; 
political  divisions  among,  9 ; 
their  love  of  nature,  z  i ;  of  the 
Homeric  period,  no;  in  the 
lyric  age,  141 ;  in  the  Alexan- 
drine age,  442i^ 

Ha'des  (Lat  Pluto),  god  of  the 
lower  world,  36,  113 ;  the  home 
of  Hades,  or  simply  Hades,  the 
abode  of  the  dead,  109. 

Halicamas'sus,  303. 

Harpalus,  353. 

Hec'abe  (Lat.  Hecuba),  17,  72; 
tragedy  of  Euripides,  353. 

Hbcatae'us  Kflor.  500),  303. 

Hector,  36,  46,  52,  54 ;  and  Andro- 
mache, 43  ;  death  of,  64 ;  lamen- 
tation over,  71 ;  in  the  Rhesus^ 
430. 

Helen,  rape  of.  34,  Z93,  196,  348 ; 
on  the  walls  of  Troy,  39  ;  lament 
over  Hector,  72  ;  in  the  Odyssey, 
83;  Stesichorus'  Palinode  to, 
Z69;  in  Aeschylus,  Z96;  in  Eu- 
ripides, 357,  258. 

Hel'ic^,  a  town  in  Arcadia,  452. 

Hel'icon,  Mount,  regarded  as  the 
seat  of  the  Muses  from  Hesiod's 
time,  129,  136. 

Heliodo'ra,  155. 

Helius,  97,  126,  Z77. 

Hellen'ica  of  Xenophon,  33Z  ;  of 
Theopompus,  413. 

Hellenistic  period,  40Z,  443. 

Hephaes'tus  (Lat.  Vulcan),  z6. 

Hera  (Lat  Juno),  23,  Z13,  262. 

Heraclei'dae,  descendants  of  Hera- 
cles, founders  of  the  line  of  Spar- 
tan kings,  413. 

Her'acles  (Lat.  Hercules),  labors 
of,  Z9,  223/. ;  bow  ana  arrows 
of,  233,  333 ;  and  Alcestis,  340, 
36z ;  tragedy  of  Euripides,  9^iJ^.; 
in  comedy,  285,  ^i^ 


Hermae,  mutilation  of,  344    and 

note. 
Her'mes     TLat      Mercury)^    33; 

Homeric  Hymn  to,  Z33. 
Hermi'ond,  356. 
Hero'des.  343. 
Hbrod'OTUS  (ca.  490-438).  Z3,  IZ5, 

Z30, 3oa/:,  317, 319,  413. 

Hb'SIOD     (Gk.     Hesi'odus;    /l^fr. 

800?),  139^.  :    influence    of  his 

mythology,    363/ ;     Plato   and 

Hesiod,  372. 
Hes'perus,  evening  star,  Z53. 
Hexameter  verse.  21,  363. 
Hi'ero,   tyrant    of   Syracuse,   Z71, 

Z78,  Z82. 
Hippar'chus,    tyrant    of    Athens, 

z66,  Z7a 
Hip'pias,  tyrant   of  Athens,   Z70; 

the  sophist,  34Z. 
Hippoclei'des,  313. 
Hippocre'ne   (in  Eng.   sometimes 

Hip'pocrene),    a    fountain     on 

Mount  Helicon,  132. 
Hippofytus  of  Euripides,  245. 
Hippo'nax  Kficr.  540),  157. 
Hira.  town  in  the  Peloponnesus, 

50. 

Hissarlik,  site  of  ancient  Troy,  ZZ3. 

History,  301-308;  in  fourth  cen- 
tury, 412/: 

HoMBR,  literature  before,  z6,  3Z  ; 
geography  of,  zii ;  domestic  life 
m,  Z13;  gods  in,  112,  363,  377; 
age  of,  Z13;  personality  o£,  ZZ4; 
date  of,  Z15 ;  si^ificance  of  the 
term  "  Homer  "  in  antiquity,  115, 
Z20 ;  as  a  school  book,  Z48  *'  the 
poet."  162 ;  influence  on  tragedy, 
Z9Z/  ;  Plato  and  Homer,  372 ; 
Alexander's  love  of,  384  ;  trans- 
mission of,  115^.,  408,  409;  the 
Iliad,  22#. :  the  Odyssey,  7Sff- 

Homeric  Hymns,  Z2o^. 

Homeric  Poems,  earliest  literature 
of  Europe,  14  ;  simplicity  of,  Z5 ; 
civilization  represented  by,  no, 
zzz  ;  geography  of,  ziz  ;  domes- 
tic life  in,  Z12 ;  women  in,  ZZ2 ; 
composition  and  transmission  of. 
Wolfs  theory,  116;  influence  on 
later  Uterature  of,  ZZ9. 

Homeric  Question,  Z4,  31,  zz4^ 

Horace,  relation  to  Alcaeus,  i6a 

Hy'ades,  57. 


Index  of  Subjects  and  Names  471 


Hyperei'an,  of    the    spring    Hy- 

perei'a,  in  Thessaly^  45. 
Hyperbi'des  (died  322),  349. 
Hypoplacian,  lying  at  the  foot  of 

Placus,  near  Mount  Ida,  43. 

Iambic  poetry,  143,  156^ 

Ica'ria,  185. 

Ida.  Mount,  33. 

Idom'eneus,  34,  4c. 

Idyll,  447. 

Iltad^  %%ff,  \  duration  of  the  action 
of»  33;  theme  of,  26;  unity  of^ 
36 ;  division  into  books,  27.  note  ; 
turning-point  in  the  plot  of,  53  ; 
authorship  of,  1x5^;  in  its  pres- 
ent form,  118 ;  influence  of,  on 
later  literature,  119 ;  Little  /Had, 

76. 

Il'ios  (Lat  Ilium),  35  and  note. 

Iliouptr'sis^  76. 

Ilis'sus,  river  flowing  through 
Athens,  370,  377. 

Imbros.  island  in  the  northern 
Aegean,  73. 

Ion  {flor.  440),  153.  415. 

loH  of  Euripides,  264. 

lonians,  characteristics  of,  8 ;  de- 
velopment of  prose  among,  302, 
317;  early  philosophers  among, 

363- 
I'OPHON  {flor.  400),  416,  418. 

Iphianas'sa,  5a 

Iphigenei'a  (or  -i'a),  sacrifice  of,  35, 

I95>  203 ;    Euripides'   tragedies 

on,  247,  249,  418. 
Iris,  messenger  of  the  gods,  137, 

384. 
Irony,  tragic,  320,  note. 
ISAB'us  (flor,  360),  347,  3S3. 
Isme'nd,  209,  233. 
Isme'nus,  stream  near  Thebes,  261. 

ISOC'RATES  (436-338),  321.  345/:, 

353  ;  influence  as  a  teacher,  346, 

383,  412,  413,  417,  418. 
Isthmian  games,  174. 
Italy,  Southern,  6, 10,  374,  363, 439. 
Ithaca,  island  in  the  Ionian  Sea, 

24. 

ason,  343. 

ocas'ta,  209,  226^  259. 
ludgment  of  Pans,  33. 
JULIAN  of  Egypt  (VI.  cent.  A.D.), 

154. 


Knights  of  Aristophanes,  391. 
Krisaean,   of   Krissa   (Crissa)   in 

Phocis,  221. 
Kypris  or  Cypris,  the  goddess  of 

dyprus,  Aphrodite,  258. 

Labdac'idae,  descendants  of  Lab'- 
dacus  (309),  361. 

Lacedae'mon  or  Sparta,  4a 

Laci'adae,  a  deme  or  county  in 
Attica,  390. 

Laco'nia,  the  country  of  which 
Sparta  was  the  capital,  7. 

Laer'tes,  78. 

La'ius,  309. 

Lao'coon,  76. 

Laodamei'a  (or-i'a),  43. 

Lao'dicd,  50. 

Las'thenes,  an  Olynthian  who  be- 
trayed his  country  to  Philip,  355. 

Lemnos,  island  in  the  northern 
Aegean,  72. 

Lenae'a,  at  Athens,  186. 

Leonti'ni,  citv  in  Sicily,  343. 

Lep'tines,  Athenian  politician,  351. 

Lesbians,  characteristic  of,  7,  159, 
i6i/ 

Lesbos,  island  of  the  Aegean,  op- 
posite Smyrna.  158. 

Le'thd,  river  of  forgetfulness  in  the 
lower  world,  155. 

Leto  (Lat  Latona),  366. 

Libation  Bearers  of  Aeschylus, 
304/,  320,  351. 

Libraries,  the  first  in  Greece,  11, 
407 ;  at  Alexandria  and  Perga- 
mum,  385,  407/.,  445. 

Linus,  16 ;  the  Linus-song,  143. 

Literature,  Greek,  originality  of, 
I ;  universality  of,  2 ;  normal 
growth  of,  3,  183,  353 ;  influence 
of,  on  European  literatures,  4, 
239,  346,  372,  400 ;  oral  publica* 
tion  of.  11/,  131,  301,  406;  pe- 
riods ot,  13  ;  religious  nature  of, 
in  earliest  times,  17;  the  trans- 
mission of,  to  modem  times,  386, 

404/: 
Love,  as  a  motive  in  the  drama, 
323,  234,  245 ;  in  the  New  Com- 
edy, 427,  432;    first  love-story, 

333- 
Lucretius,  relation   to    Epicurus, 

412. 
Lyce'um,  385,  386,  432. 


47 2  Index  of  Subjects  and  Names 


Lyce'um,    mountain   in   Arcadia, 

4SI. 
Lycur'gus  (JU>r.  338),  349. 

Lydians,  Herodotus'  account  of^ 

,  307. 

Lyre,  158;  Hermes'  invention  of, 

123. 

Lyric  poetry,  typical  of  the  aristo- 
cratic age,  4 ;  conditions  which 
encouraged  its  rise,  141 ;  defini- 
tions, 142 ;  kinds  of,  14^  ;  in 
fourth  century,  410 ;  in  Alexan- 
drine period,  444. 

Lymes'sus,  35. 

Lys'ias  (440-360).  344/,  349, 353, 

405. 
Lysijftrata  of  Aristophanes,  389. 

Maca'ria,  361. 

Maenads,  **  frenzied  women,"  fol- 
lowers of  Dionysus,  453. 

Mao'nes  {ftor,  480),  375. 

Mai'a  (in  Eng.  sometimes  simply 
May,  133),  133. 

Malea,  southernmost  cape  of  the 
Peloponnesus,  90. 

Mantine'a,  town  of  Arcadia,  near 
borders  of  Laconia,  338. 

Mar'athon,  170,  Z73,  306. 

MargVtes,   attributedf  to   Homer, 

Mausolus,  Mausole'um,  413,  4x9. 
MeiWa  of  Euripides,  343,  418. 
Megalop'olis,  capital  of  Arcadia, 

.  351. 

Meg'ara,  wife  of  Heracles,  362. 

Megara,  country  between  Attica 
and  Corinth,  7,  147,  374,  387. 

Mele'aoer  {jlor.  100),  155. 

Melic  poetry,  143,  158. 

Memorabilia  of  Socratts^  by  Xen- 
ophon,  333,  366. 

Menan'der    (343-393),    431,  433, 

433.  *3*^ 
Menela'us,  34.  357,  358. 

Menoe'ceuis,  359. 

Messe'is,  spring  in  Laconia,  45. 

Messe'na,  7. 

Metanei'ra,  137. 

MiUtus^  Capture  of,  tragedy   by 

Phrynichus,  193. 
Milti'ades,  317. 
Mime.  446,  447. 
Miuner'mus  (latter  part  of  VIL 

cent.),  146. 


Min'otaur,  173. 

Minstrels,  in  Homer,  x8^.,  abt. 
MoR'siMUS  (end  V.  cent).  418. 
MoscHUS  (end  11.  cent),  448. 
Muse'um  at  Alexandria,  445. 
Musae'us.    legendary    bard,    25, 

373. 
Myc'ald,  promontory  on  the  coast 

of  Ionia,  near  Miletus,  307. 
Myce'nae,  113,  114,  193. 
Myr'midons,  95. 
Mysteries  at  Eleusis,  134, 139,  note, 

396,  note ;  Andocides'  speech  on, 

344. 
Mythology,  travesties  on,  in  com- 
edy, 276;  fixed  by  Homer  and 

Hesiod,  362. 
Mytile'nd,  principal  city  in  Lesbos, 

161. 

Nausic'aSj  85/:,  215. 

Neleus  ot  Scepsis,  3861. 

Ne'mean  games,  174. 

Neobuld,  156. 

Neoptol'emus,  76,  222,  256. 

Nestor,  24,  32,  49. 

Nic'ias,    Athenian     generitl    Attd( 

statesman,  332, 327,  391. 
Nicom'achus,  382,  391. 
Nysian,  of  Nysa,  the  birthplace  of  i 

Dionysus,  135. 

Oce'anus,  95,  iiz. 

Odvs'seus  (Lat.  Ulixes,  Whence 
Eng.  Ulysses), 34,  j$ff. ;  in  Soph- 
ocles' Philoctetes.  333 ;  parody 
on,  tn  Euripides  Cyciops,  271 ; 
in  the  Rhesus^  431. 

Od'yssey,  Yft  ^.;  division  into 
books,  37;  theme.  76;  duration 
of  action,  77 ;  structure,  77 ;  later 
than  the  Iliad,  116  \  audiorship, 
Z16,  Z18;  influence  on  later 
literature,  1x9. 

Oed'ipus,  story  of,  I30,  909;  the 
two  plays  of  Sophocles  on,  226^. , 
330 J^.,  418;  in  Euripides,  359. 

Oe'neus,  grandfather  of  Diotnedel, 

OTIeus,  51. 

Olmi'us,  stream  on  Mount  HeUcoii« 
133. 

Olympian,  games,  174,  3x3;  festi- 
val, 303,  34Si  346. 

Olympus,  legendary  bard,  15. 


Index  of  Subjects  ind  Names         473 


Olympus,  Mount,  in  Thessaly,  33, 

113. 

Olyh'thiiSj  351. 

One'tor,  brother-in-law  of  Demos- 
thenes'  gUardian,  Aphobus,  35a 

Oratory,  339/.,  353. 

Ores'tes,  50,  193 ;  in  Aeschylus, 
ao4/!,  905/;  in  Sophocles,  220; 
in  Euripides,  ^49,  350, 251 ;  trag- 
edy of  Euripides,  251. 

O're-us,  a  town  in  Euboea,  355. 

Orga^non  of  Aristotle,  388. 

Ori'on,  57,  139. 

Ori'tes,  citizens  of  Ore  us,  355. 

Orithy'ia,  daughter  of  Erechtheus, 
king  of  Athens,  377. 

Or'pheus,  legendary  bard,  15,  348, 

373- 

Pan,  the  god  of  flocks  and  shep- 
herds, with  a  goat's  body,  379, 

449. 
Panac'tum,  town  on  the  borders  of 

Attica  and  Boeotia,  328. 
Pan'darus,  36. 
Pando'ra,  133. 

Panegyr'icus  of  Isoci'ates,  346. 
Papyrus,  406 j^ ;  recent  discoveries 

of  manuscripts   of^    see   under 

Egypt 
Para^basis  in  comedy,  277,  282/, 

423,  425. 

Parchment,  invention  and  use  of, 
406,  408. 

Paris,  judgment  of,  23 ;  rape  of 
Helen,  34, 421. 

Parliament  of  Women  (Gk.  EccU' 
statu' sae)  of  Aristophanes,  991. 

Pamas'sus,  Mount,  265. 

Parody  in  comedy,  on  the  tragic 
poets,  376,  287,  289,  290 ;  on  me 
gods.  284,  437. 

Paros,  island  in  the  Aegean,  birth- 
place of  Archilochus,  1^6. 

Parthenon,  15. 

Parthenopae'us,  one  of  the  seven 
chieftains  against  Thebes,  418. 

Patro'clus,  24,  52. 

Peace  of  Aristophanes,  289. 

Ped'asus,  town  in  the  Pelopon- 
nesus, 50. 

Pe^'asus,  389. 

Peirae'us,  186, 435. 

Piisis'tratus,  patron  of  letters,  xx6, 
182,  414. 


Peithetae'rus,  377. 

Pelei'des,  26,  note  ^ 

Pe'leusg  16,  23. 

Pelion,  mountain  in  Thes§aly,  nea^ 
Mount  Olympus,  61. 

Pelle'nd,  town  in  Arcadia,  337. 

Peloponnesian  war,  Thucydides' 
history  of,  317^ ;  cause  of,  ac- 
cording to  Aristophanes,  287; 
effect  of,  on  comedy,  424,  436. 

Penel'opd,  19,  80.  vsrjff. 

Peine'us,  river  of  Thessaly,  4501 

Pentel'icus,  Mount,  185. 

Penthesilei'a,  76. 

Pen'theus,  368. 

Per'gamum,  library  of,  407,  443, 

445* 
Per'icles,  age  of,  11,  216,  318,  363: 

in  comedy, 376,  287,  288 ;  funeral 

oration  of,  324  ;  oratory  of,  340 ; 

Aristotle^s  estimate  of,  389. 

Perin'thus,  a  town  in  Thrace  over- 
thrown by  Philip,  413. 

Peripatetic  school,  385,  400. 

Permes'sian,  of  Permes'sus,  a  river 
of  Mount  Helicon.  132. 

Perseph'ond,  rape  of,  124^ 

Per'seus,  171. 

Persians,  Empire  of,  xo^  306,  334, 
346;  'Greek  wars  with,  304; 
Aeschylus*  play,  207;  customs 
of,  according  to  Herodotus,  308. 

Phaea'bi&ns,  77. 

Phaedo  of  Plato,  369,  374^. 

Phaedrus  of  Plato,  370,  377^. 

Phaselis,  418. 

Phei'dias,  15,  216. 

Phe'mius,  19. 

Philb'mon  (361-262),  339.  43X, 
*3«  jf.,  435. 

Philip  of  Macedon,  348,  349, 3Si#.i 

355.  384.  401.  413. 
Philippics  of  Demosthenes,  351. 

Philis'tus  (first  half  IV»  cent), 

41a. 
Philochar'idas,  328. 
Phil'ocles  (/6?r.  430),  418. 
Philoc'rates,    Athenian    politician 

who  negotiated   an  unfavorable 

peace  with  Philip,  348. 
Philocte'tes,  25,    76 ;    tragedy   of 

Sophocles,  222. 
Philop£i'trAs  (middle  V.  cent), 

418. 
Philosophy,  363^.,  403/;,  41  x/ 


474         Index  of  Subjects  and  Names 


Phoenissian  Women  [Phoenissae)  of 

Euripides,  258. 
Phryn'ichus  {/lor.  490),  192. 
Pie'ria,  sanctuary  of   the  Muses, 

near  Mount  Olympus,  83. 

Pindar  (522-452)1   73-^ 
Pindus,  mountain-range  in  North- 
em  Greece. 
Pittacus,  tyrant  of  Lesbos,  159. 
Placos,  Mount,  near  Mount  Ida,  43. 
Platae'a,  battle  of,  152,  170,  173. 
Pl^TO,  the  comic  poet  (jlor.  400), 

425. 

Plato  (Aris'tocles ;  429-347),  151, 
153.  321.  366^,  382,  383,  391. 
411,  418,  441. 

Plautus,  relation  to  the  New  Com- 
edy, 431. 

Plutus  of  Aristophanes,  291. 

Poetics  of  Aristotle,  398,^ 

Poetry,  natural  means  of  expres- 
sion in  early  Greece,  131,  302; 
in  the  fourth  century,  404. 

Politics  of  Aristotle,  394  JT. 

Pol'ybus,  209. 

Polyc'rates,  166;  ring  of,  from 
Herodotus,  31 X. 

Polydeu'ces  (Lat.  Pollux),  brother 
of  Castor  and  Helen,  40. 

Polydo'rus,  253. 

Polygno'tus,  411. 

Polymnes'tor,  253. 

Polynei'ces,  209,  230,  233,  259. 

Pol'ypas,  148. 

Polyphe'mus,  90,  271. 

Polyx'ena,  253,  254. 

PosEiDip'PUS  {flor,  280),  432. 

Posei'don  (Lat  Neptune),  23,  X13, 
285. 

Potidae'a,    town    in    Macedonia, 

379- 
Praxin'o^,  453. 

Pre-Homeric  poetry,  16,  21. 

Priam,  39,  70. 

Pria'pus,  god  of  fertility,  449. 

Prod'icus,  283,  341. 

Prologue,  in  tragedy,  194 ;  in  New 
Comedy,  431. 

Prome'theus,  Titan  and  benefac- 
tor of  mankind,  133  ;  of  Aeschy- 
lus, 211 ;  parodied  in  Aristoph- 
anes, 284. 

Prose,  late  development  of,  301 ; 
rise  of  prose  literature  in  Ionia, 
302,  317;   in  Attica.   317,   321, 


346;  importance  in  fourth  ceii« 
tury,  404. 

Protag'oras,  the  sophist,  341 ;  dia- 
logue of  Plato,  370. 

Psammet'ichus.  310,  406. 

Ptolemy  Philadelphus.  447,  453. 

Ptolemy,  astronomer   and   poet 

(IL  cent.).  155- 

Publication,  oral,  of  classical  Greek 
literature,  11,  131,  301,  406,  407; 
in  book  form,  407^,  443/ 

Pyl'ades,  friend  of  Orestes,  220, 
249. 

Pylos,  Spartan  town  on  the  western 
coast  of  the  Peloponnesus,  capt- 
ured by  Athenians,  328,  390. 

Pyth  AN'GELUS  {JloT,  end  V.  cent), 

417. 
Pythian  games,  174. 
Pythodo'rus,  390. 

Recognition  scenes  in  tragedy,  249, 
252,  note. 

Religion,  of  Homeric  poems,  ZZ2 ; 
of  Socrates,  365. 

Republic  of  Plato,  371/ 

Rhadaman'thus,  a  judge  in  the 
lower  world,  82,  373. 

Rhapsodists,  116,  121. 

Rhesus,  48 ;  the  tragedy,  237,  264, 
420/: 

Rhetoric,  influence  on  tragedy, 
238.  A^lff'  \  on  oratory,  293, 
340^  ;  on  history,  321,  412^.  ; 
preeminence  of  Isocrates  in, 
346 ;  Rhetoric  of  Aristotle,  ^97. 

Rhi'um,  promontory  on  the  Corin- 
thian Gulf,  452. 

Rhodes,  142,  427 ;  birth  from  the 
sea,  177/ 

Roman  period  of  Greek  literature, 
13. 

Sal'amis,  ode  to,  in  the  Ajax,  218  ; 

battle    of,    147,    170,   173,   307 ; 

Aeschylus'  description  of,  207. 
Sa'm^,  island  in  the  Ionian  Sea,  80. 
Sappho  {Jlor.  600),  159, 161/:,  409, 

436  ;  epigram  on,  154. 
Sarpe'don,  36,  53. 
Satire,  in  iambic  poetry.  156;  in 

comedy,  276,  423,  424. 
Satyrs,    184 ;    satyr-chorus,     185 ; 

satyr-drama,  186,  190,  240  {AU 

cestis),  416.