THE ION OF EURIPIDES Εοηίιοη: C. J. CLAY & SONS, CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE, Ave Maria Lane. tffambritJflc: DEIGHTON, BELL AND CQ. Icipjifl: F, A. BROCKHAUS. ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ΙΩΝ THE ^^^/^lJι^Qι: ΙΟΝ• OF EURIPIDES WITH A TRANSLATION INTO ENGLISH VERSE AND AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY A. W. VERRALL Litt. D. OF Lincoln's inn barrister-at-la\v FELLOW AND TUTOR OF TRINITY COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE CAMBRIDGE AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS 1890 [Αϊ/ Rights reserved'\ ®amt)rilige : PRINTED BY C. J. CLAY, M.A. AND SONS, AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. TO WALTER LEAF Lttt. D. My dear Leaf, If you will permit, it will be a great pleasure to me that this book- should testify, as long as it may, to our twenty years of intimate association in life and in study. Yours affectionately, A. W. VERRALL PREFACE. Trinity College, Cambridge, September lo, 1890. It is expected that in the approaching term the Ion will be acted in Cambridge. The Syndicate of the Pitt Press have honoured me with the proposal that I should take this occasion of writing upon the play ; and the present book is the result. The final stages of the preparation have necessarily been compressed into a very short time. This would not be any excuse for crude or hasty opinions, nor is it so pleaded. But I may perhaps ask indulgence on this ground, if the details are not as perfect as they should be. That they are not much more imperfect is due to the staff of the Press, to whom I owe my cordial thanks. The books which I have chiefly used are the commentaries of my friend Mr M. A. Bayfield (Head Master of Christ's College, Brecon) and of Paley, the article on Delphi by Dr W. Smith, and that on Oracuhmi by L. Schmitz {Diet. Geog. and Diet. Aitt. respectively). In the notes a quotation from Mr Bayfield is marked with a Β : but his book has been before me throughout and I have used it as unscrupulously as he could desire. I am also indebted to a curious book on the play (a translation with preface etc.) by H. B. L. (Williams and Norgate, 1889) for most important aid, the nature of which will appear in the proper place. The legends connected with the plot have been recently discussed in a work with which I am not unacquainted, and to which I have gone upon occasion {^Mythology and Monuments viii PREFACE. of Ancient Athens ^ by Jane E. Harrison and Margaret De G. Verrall, Macmillan, 1890). For personal assistance I have to thank Miss Harrison and, as often before, Dr Jackson of Trinity College and Mr R. A. Neil of Pembroke College. The chief interest of this volume will be found in the Introduction and Translation. The notes are for the most part traditional and as brief as I could make them. The places in which any noticeable interpretations have been proposed are so few, that I may as well collect them, for the convenience of the student, here instead of in an Index : — vv. 103 — 04, 323—29, 379, 404, 476 fif., 500, 517, 527, 554, 579—81, 602—06, 649, 702, 721, 755, 828, 916, 922, 929—30, 1095, 1 106, 1 1 17— 18, 1 130, 1 171, 121 1, 1235 — 36, 1246, 1251, 1264, 1266—81, 1295 — 1305, 1355, 1396, 1410, 1427, 1493, 1562. With regard to the text it is traditional throughout. The MSS. are irregularly written, but most of the errors are trivial and have been corrected with certainty. It has been my intention to notice the MSS., wherever there appeared to be any actual or probable disagreement as to the proper reading, but otherwise not. There is scarcely a place in which the doubt is important. I have so far as possible excluded all critical marks from the text itself. In a book intended to serve as a basis for criticism it is better (as a reviewer of my Agamenmon observed) to mark all doubts in this way. But as the purpose of this book is purely literary, and it cannot be supposed that any editor would take it for his sole apparatus critictis^ I have preferred to avoid a disfigurement, which, unless it is carried out more thoroughly than ever it has been yet, is really mis- leading. Conjectures of mine there are almost none. I have put άκμάν for αΚκάν in v. 484, ά\\α...νόσω for άΧ\Λ...νοσώ in V. 755, κάΧως for καλώς in v. 1410, and have made suggestions upon znj. 1235 and 1424. A. W. V. CONTENTS. Introduction. I. Gods and Machines II. The Figures of the Omphalos . III. 'The Unity of Time' IV. The Parodos or Entrance of the Chorus XI xlvi xlviii Hx Text, Translation, and Notes INTRODUCTION. I. Gods and Machines. A Woman. But now this fellow, this Euripides, By representing deities in his plays, Has brought the men to think they don't exist'. Aristophanes. He prayeth best, who loveth best All things both great and small. Coleridge. At the end of the prologue to the play before us, the god Hermes, by whom it is spoken, retires among the bay-trees in the precinct of Delphi, declaring his intention to 'see out' the events which Apollo has determined to accomplish in the course of the day. It is much to be wished, that we had been permitted to hear in an epilogue, instead of the vacuous revelations of the goddess Athena, the remarks of the divine Interpreter upon the events which he actually saw, and that we might have had the help of his critical sagacity in forming our own opinion. He went away doubtless a wiser and, one must suppose, a sadder god ; and he must have carried impartiality almost to a fault if, with Paley, he could 'safely pronounce the lofi one of the most perfect of the Greek Tragedies'. Indeed he would have been generally supported in a more strictly qualified judgment. Accident has given me lately the opportunity of hearing many remarks upon the Ion, more free ^ Thesni. 450. νυν δ' ouros, iv ταΰσιν rpay^diais ποιών, Tovs &νδρα$ avaweweiKev ουκ etvai ^eoi/s. A xii INTRODUCTION. than those which we are accustomed to print; and I find that, whether in print or in talk, the admiration, which the play must always excite, is almost always accompanied by emphatic re- serves. *A fine play, — but the story is disgusting.' Ά fine play, — but most of the characters are detestable' — 'but without much serious interest' — 'but much better in the earlier scenes' — *but weak at the end' — 'but why wind up with a dens ex machina}' — 'but Athena is really absurd!' Such is, I think, in brief the state of opinion. Now it appears on consideration that of these objections, in all of which there is much apparent justice, the first three, to the incidents, the characters, and the tone of the poet, may be traced to a common source. The facts are revolting (strangely so, in the crudity of statement, for the artistic reserve of Athenian tragedy); and the characters, even that of Ion, are not by any means perfect or purely agreeable to contemplate. But the highest tragedy is composed of such facts and such characters. Why is it that in this case we do feel a certain resentment against the use of the common material.^ Is it not because, in the penetrating words of the third objection, the play is wanting, or supposed to be wanting, in 'serious interest'.•* No objection is made to the matter of the Oedipus Tyranmis, not, that is, by any one who has studied it, for it is constantly made in anticipation by those who have not. In the solemn and profound interest, which Sophocles feels and excites, all sense of disgust is merged. We feel that if the poet has taken a horrible subject, it is because he had an awful message to deliver ; and we not only pardon but thank him. In the Ion we, speaking generally, feel nothing of the kind. We do not and cannot believe that Euripides really cared about his message, or had any message in particular. And why do we disbelieve in the sincerity of his interest.^ Be- cause^ — I have heard and read this again and again — because, if he really cared about his story, if he regarded it as anything more than the pastime of an hour, to be forgotten when we leave the theatre, he never could have dismissed us with the miserable explanations of his goddess in the machine. It is the truth. The close of the play is indeed so futile and disappointing as to cast back a shadow upon the whole. If the speech of Athena is really the Poet's last word, if we are to go INTRODUCTION. xiii away content, taking her view of the facts for our own, then Euripides cannot be acquitted of trifling and paltering with everything that deserves respect, with love and hate, with God and man, with life and death: then indeed, for such a purpose and to such an end, he had no right to drag us through the windings of such a labyrinth : then indeed we must wonder how a writer capable of such unmeaning insults can ever have had any power upon the creed and convictions of his contemporaries and of the world. Let us place the story before us : The scene shows the court and altar before the temple of Apollo at Delphi. Hermes, as prologue, informs us that in Athens, many years before, Creusa, a daughter of the house of Erechtheus, the noblest house in Athens, was ravished by Apollo, gave birth in secret to a son {Ion), and left him in a cradle, with tokens upon him, at a certain cave. Thence, by Apollo's com- mand, Hermes conveyed the cradle and child to the temple at * Delphi and left it upon the steps. The prophetess of Apollo, -^ the Pythia, found him and brought him up. He is now adult, 4 and is still in the service of the temple. Creusa, the mother, has since married Xuthus. They have no children, and are coming to-day to consult Apollo on this matter. It is the intention of Apollo upon this opportunity to procure the restoration of Ion to Athens. As he does not wish to make public the true facts, he will, through the oracle, declare to Xuthus that Ion is Xuthus' son. In this belief Xuthus will take him to Athens, where the truth will be disclosed to Ion and Creusa only ; and thus all objects will be attained. Ion appears; and after a preliminary scene, which exhibits his simple piety and content, Creusa arrives, a little in advance of her husband. She lays before Ion, as the case of a pre- tended friend, the story of herself and Apollo. 'Her friend' wishes to ascertain whether the child is living or dead. Ion, shocked and incredulous, declares it impossible that the god should be consulted on such a matter at all. Xuthus arrives and enters the temple to enquire of the oracle respecting the childlessness of himself and his wife. On coming out again he meets Ion at the door, and greets him as a son, xiv INTRODUCTION. the oracle having 'given him, as the son of his body, the first person whom he should meet on departing'. Ion's astonishment is quickly overborne by the oracle's authority; and on enquiry, conducted between the father and son, it is found that there has been a passage in the life of Xuthus, which removes all ground for surprise. Ion, though wounded and mortified to know himself base-born, acquiesces; and Xuthus proposes to celebrate the occasion with a public feast to the Delphians, at which, to spare Creusa, Ion shall appear as his friend and intending visitor. Ion shall conduct the feast; while Xuthus himself repairs to Parnassus, where, from the probable circum- stances of the birth, it is proper that a sacrifice should now be offered. Some female slaves of Creusa, who are present, are forbidden on pain of death to inform their mistress. Up to this point, it will be seen, the action follows the anticipation of Hermes, and seems to have attained the 'divine' ends, when it is disconcerted very simply by the action of the slaves. Creusa arrives with an old man-slave, in whose charge she had been as a child. The others at once betray the secret of Xuthus. Creusa, in a scene of extraordinary power, flings away shame, for the sake of such revenge as she can have against the god, and shrieks the whole story of her wrong ' in the ears of Apollo', cursing and reviling him to his face. Her ancient guardian, who has already declared the 'discovery' of Ion to be a fraud pre-arranged by Xuthus, proposes to punish it by the murder of Ion. Creusa produces a precious and mysterious poison, an heir-loom in her family, which she carries on her person. The slave undertakes to put it in Ion's cup at the feast. In the next scene the failure of the plot is announced and described. An ominous word, happening to fall at the right moment, warned Ion to spill, instead of drinking, the poisoned cup. Before a second cup could be presented, the poison was detected by the death of a dove which drank of it, the emissary put to the torture, and Creusa's guilt discovered. She has been condemned to death. Creusa, closely pursued by Ion and the crowd, flies to the altar» of Apollo before the temple, from which they hesitate to drag her away. Her fate however seems certain; but suddenly INTRODUCTION, xv the prophetess brings from the temple the cradle, in which Ion was found at the door, wath the tokens in it, and bids him use them to find his mother. Creusa declares the cradle to be that of her child, and undergoes with success the test of describing, without seeing them, the tokens within. Ion flings himself into her arms, and a scene of rapture ensues. This however is soon brought to an end, when Ion, who naturally supposes himself, as before, to be the son of Xuthus, is told by Creusa that his father was not Xuthus, and then that his real father was Apollo. From this point {τκ 1485) we must look more closely. At the first moment Ion, relieved from the shock of finding himself, for the second time in the same day, stamped as a vulgar bastard, receives the astounding disclosure as Svelcome, if true'. But he never again refers to it as accept- able either to his faith or his feelings; and almost immediately {iK 1 5 16) in a whispered dialogue of painful interest, urges Creusa to retract it and to admit that his father was a man. It is indeed manifest, that he could not, without contradiction to nature and his character, be made to accept the disclosures of Creusa, at all events under the circumstances, as either grateful to him or even credible. It is the least part of the evil that, accepting Creusa's story, he, with his delicate and religious mind, must see in himself the fruit of an outrage, which he had denounced with indignation, when he supposed himself unconnected with it. ' That might be met by rejecting the fatherhood of Apollo, of which no proof has been offered. But — and here is the thorn which cannot be escaped — part of Creusa's story, her own motherhood, has been proved, upon evidence furnished with Apollo's.sanction;'and the fact so proved seems utterly irreconcileable with what Apollo by the oracle had stated respecting Xuthus. Then — then — the oracle, the oracle of Delphi, is false ! And if so, what is truth, what is proveable, what or who is believable or worth believing any longer at all } That is the appalling question which forces itself upon Ion, and which Euripides thus brings home to his audience by a story, which they knew to be only too probable. Ό θβος αληθής; ή μάτην μαντβνβταί; — this, and not any question purely personal, is the doubt, says Ion, which 'confounds my soul, as well it may'. V. I. ό xvi INTRODUCTION. In the time of Euripides, and at Athens in particular, no question was more pressing. The Oracle of Delphi was the very corner-stone of the Olympian religion. Sophocles in the Oedipus Tyrannus {v. 892 ff.) puts the case clearly and truly. There, as in the Ion, grave doubts have been thrown on the truth of this all-important witness to revelation. "If this is to pass," say the Thebans frankly, "there will be an end of religion {eppei τά θεία) altogether. No more pilgrimages for us ! Why worship at all .•* " But in that play Sophocles, whose attitude is orthodox, like that of Aeschylus, though with a difference, signally justifies the suspected oracle; and religion stands firmer than ever. Let us see what Euripides does for it. That Euripides, and those for whom he spoke, hated and despised the Olympian religion is written all over his work. Their hate was chiefly moral, their contempt chiefly intel- lectual. They detested the doctrin^-olLthe^^ods for its im- morality; they scorned it as resting ultimately upon the im- posture of prophecy and other fraud. Delphi was to them the main position of the enemy. To Apollo in particular Euripides seldom shows any mercy ; to assail Apollo and the authority of Delphi is a motive constantly present with him, very strong in such works as the Orestes and the Andromache, dominant and absorbing in the Ion. The selection of this antagonist, partly due to his singular importance, is also explained by the special circumstances of the time. We have it on record*, that the partiality of Delphi to Sparta in the Peloponnesian war greatly assisted the anti-religious movement in Athens, and destroyed among the Athenian party the credit of the oracle itself To an Athenian free-thinker therefore Delphi was at once the mightiest and the most assailable of his enemies ; and the point of the problem presented to Ion is that it raises, with all the poignancy of pathetic circumstance, an intellectual and moral question profoundly agitating then, and marking for us a critical point in the history of human thought. Now let us consider for a moment what sort of answer, from the orthodox point of view, could be made. What would have been said at Delphi by the Delphian 'princes'.? They certainly ^ Plutarch, Detnosth. 10. fe INTRODUCTION. xvii could not have produced Athena, at least not before Athenians and in the end of the fifth century, though a century or so earlier they might perhaps have done so with success in Athens itself \ What answer then could they themselves have made ? One only ; the false declaration must be explained away. This art, with the auxiliary art of ambiguity, are necessary branches of the oracular profession, and were well understood at Delphi. The classic example is that of Croesus, who having ruined himself on the faith of an assurance, that, if he made a certain expedition, he would 'destroy a mighty army', was informed that the army, to which the prediction pointed, was that of Croesus himself. In the case of Ion escape was more difficult, since the god had certainly used, in speaking to Xuthus, the unlucky expression ' son by birth '. On the other hand, he had also said ' son given ' ; and nothing remained but to fix upon that and make the most of it. This is precisely what Creusa does {iK 1534). But the simple honesty of Ion rejects the quibble with scorn. With no more success does Creusa try to make out for the lie a motive, which though not respectable, is not altogether selfish {v. 1539). Ion is too sincere not to see that, since the problem is purely logical, the motive of the false statement is irrelevant. * My question ', he says, ' is too deep for such reply '. In utter perplexity he is about to give the oracle, by a direct enquiry from himself, a chance as it were of re- tracting, when — Athena appears above the roof. Such being the knot to be solved, let us now consider the solution. To say that Athena cuts it, without untying, is to pay her an unmerited compliment. She does not touch the nodus at all. Whatever she said, how could she } This goddess, or this part of a goddess (for we seem not to be shown the whole of her, though we doubtless see all that there is), this divine ττρόσωιτον, heaved up by the machine, is herself a walking or rather a swinging fallacy, a personified igiioratio clenchi\ A goddess of Olympus, and a goddess ' rising above ' the Delphian temple, is to give bail for the Oracle of Delphi ! And where then is the security for herself.^ As is the speaker, so is her speech. It ignores the question, and Ion bluntly tells her so. More than half of it is spurious legend, compli- 1 Herod, i. 60. b2 xviii INTRODUCTION, mentary to Athens but nothing to the matter. In the other half she repeats, point for point and almost without change, the explanations which Creusa has already offered in vain, and which now fall the flatter after exposure. Her apology comes to this : * Yes, the facts are precisely as you can hardly believe. You, Ion, are the son of Creusa and Phoebus, who is indeed the selfish, brutal being that, on that hypothesis, he has been freely called. (In fact it is because he is ashamed to show himself, that I am here). He did tell, and through his oracle, the lie in question ; his motive, if that mattered, was no better, but a trifle worse, than Creusa has said ; and he does propose to save his credit by the quirk which has been treated with such contempt. As to the question asked, whether then the Delphian oracle is worthy of credence or not, I do not choose to answer directly; but I leave you to suppose, if you please, that it is not. I have only to add, that (since Ion will grow up into an excellent father and hero of the Ionian race) all this is of no importance, and you may all go happily home, convinced that revelation is a fraud and faith a delusion. And of this there is no shadow of doubt, no possible, probable shadow of doubt, — for I am Pallas Athena!' No wonder that she produces no effect ! For she produces none. Creusa indeed is ready, as she was ready before, to recant everything, to forget everything, except that she has recovered her child. Her servants are still, as ever, the servile echo of her sentiments. But Ion } It was to re-assure Ion that Athena came. " Daughter of Zeus, not with disbelief shall we receive thy words. I believe that I am the son of Apollo and Creusa. That was not incredible before^ Such is his reply, his first and only word ; neither Creusa nor the goddess can bring him to speak again. His silence is indeed so strange, so incomprehensible, if we suppose that the story is really coming to a triumphant conclusion upon the faith of Athena's me.ssage, that in modern editions two speeches are actually taken from Creusa to put in his mouth\ Better proof we could not have, how impossible it is to reconcile his attitude with the supposition that his difficulties have been cleared away. And we, the readers, what do wc think.!* xhe more atten- ^ w. 1617 — 18. INTRODUCTION. xix lively the close of the play is read, the more clearly we shall see that, after the epilogue as before, we are left with a question which, unless it is answered in the play, is not answered at all ; that the goddess is no more, and is not offered for anything more, than a convenient piece of machinery, from behind which the author says to the audience, " I have shown you a story sad and obscure, composed of incidents which, whether or not they happened long ago, might certainly happen to-day. Upon the facts of the case, and upon the grave questions which arise out of it, you have no doubt formed an opinion ; many of you, I doubt not, have read my tale or heard it recited already ; or you will form an opinion after reading and reflexion. And — I congratulate you on all the glories of Athens." There is another indication that the epilogue is not given us by Euripides for his real exposition. The epilogue (and the prologue) are full of miracle and miraculous antiquity. The drama proper contains nothing plainly miraculous at all, and is 'modern', not in details indeed but in its whole spirit and colour. Certainly the Athenian dramatists were not careful of anachronism ; but there are limits to license. The Eunienides of Aeschylus, for example, is of course full of matter not strictly consistent with the age supposed; but nevertheless the general tone is suitable enough to a time when Athena and Apollo walked among men and pleaded before the judges of Athens. The tone of the Ion is that of the age after Pericles. Nor was Euripides indifferent to the 'modern' character of his play; as we may see by this. The miraculous elements in the story are grouped with the name of Erichthonius. In the most prevalent genealogy Creusa was but three generations from Erichthonius himself But Euripides at starting, and everywhere, implies a long pedigree between them\ In one respect (we may observe in passing) the commentaries have put into the story a character- istic rather too modern. The prophetess of the play is some- times described as old and venerable. There is no internal evidence for this, and the external evidence is against it. The PytJiia of early times was always young^ For the avoiding of scandals, the practice grew up of appointing an old woman, who ^ w. 20, 722, 1000, etc. ^ See the article on Oracidicm mentioned in the preface. XX INTRODUCTION. played the part of a girl and was so dressed, the γραΟ? αντίτται^ of the prologue to the Einnenides. Aeschylus by an ' anachron- ism ' sanctions this practice. But it was not fully established even in his time or till long after; for the final adoption of it is attributed to a scandal two centuries later than Euripides. In times when there was a royal house of Erechtheidae in Athens, there was also a young not an old Pythia in Delphi. In the absence therefore of any intimation to the contrary, we should assume that the facts are in keeping. Since then Euripides has left us with a question, and a self- refuted answer to it, which in effect refers us to the play and to our- selves ; let us proceed as we are directed, and construct from the play that authentic epilogue which Euripides holds in his hand. Let us suppose that the jubilant Creusa and the unsatisfied Ion have departed with their attendants, the crowd is dispersed, and Athena risen above or withdrawn below, as we prefer to think. The sun is behind the mountains; and the conclave of Delphi, the priests, sacrificers, judges, the proxeni or entertainers of pilgrims, and the rest\ are gathered round the great altar in the evening light, eagerly conversing over the events of the day. The prophetess with some women is sitting apart. Suddenly from the portico behind them proceeds a solemn voice, which says, It was not well done! ; and a man advances towards the startled assembly, followed by a large party from the colonnades and gardens around. 'May we ask, friend ' says one of the principal ministers, a proxenus^ 'the reason of this intrusion.-^' 'Respected Delphian', answers the spokesman, 'we are Athe- nians in attendance upon Xuthus. He has returned from Par- nassus, where most of us were with him; but I and one or two more have been here throughout. Our companions found us in your precinct, in converse, as you will not be surprised to learn, with Hermes. The Son of Maia, I grieve to say, was in no good humour. It seems that the day has gone not quite as Apollo had led him to expect. He betrayed his expectations this morning in a soliloquy which may, he fears, have been overheard ; "and then", said he, "I shall be ridiculous. I shall complain at the temple. Or rather", and here I thought he looked malicious, ' w. 94, 414, 1 219, etc. INTRODUCTION. xxi 'you shall carry my complaint. Go to the fore-court; you will ind them all there; and tell them from me, that it was not kindly done'\ I hope that, having obeyed the god, we have Our pardon'. The Proxenus {after a pause). Well, Athenian, you have lelivered the message,... two messages. We will offer to the Son >f Maia such explanations and sheep as may content him. It mly remains that we bid you good-bye, and congratulate you m the excellent effect, which must be produced in Athens by le relation of to-day's proceedings. Our heart yearns for the :ity of Athena, so distracted in these latter days by the deceits )f the unbeliever. But after this story — Athenian. Indeed I hope so, I think so. Yes .•*... 'House of Erechtheus, sons of Earth, long-lost heir. Daughter of Zeus, aegis, Gorgon, eternal olive, Ionian stock, imperial race, Geleontes, Hopletes, Argades'...Yes.? The story must be most advantage- ous to religion and to Delphi,... entirely satisfactory... to a certain portion of the audience. Prox. And the rest } Ath. Ah, noble Delphian, the rest! They are the men who read, who read, a dangerous thing for some of us ! The Epsilon, of which your temple preserves a specimen, is now, you know, a drug in the market; and even ΓΝωθι οεΛγτοΝ and μηΔεν λγλν, excellent as mottoes, are, as literature, insufficient for the de- mand. {Several Delphians put their hands to tJieir swords) Prox. Sir, if this affront — Ath. Most respected, you mistake the matter. Violence to us (we are many and citizens of Athens) is as needless as unde- served. You have but to dismiss us and we go. Only for your own sakes do not assume that this story, from which you hope so much, will pass in Athens uncriticized, or that every one there, women and men, will be of Creusa's opinion, rather than of Ion's. {A pause.) Shall we go then, shall we relate the affair as it stands, and add only this, that we asked you, as we most humbly ask, for a little enlightenment, and that you sent us away 'i {Murmurs. The chief personages confer aside) TJte P7Ophetess. Let him go. Prox. I think not. The Proph. Let him go ! xxii INTRODUCTION. 1 TJte Priest of Zeus. Surely not. [To the Athenians^ My sons, you also mistake. Delphi is open; let us hear your difficulty. Ath. Then, reverend father, it is this. For us, young men of Athens, who are accustomed to our stiff jurisprudence and patient courts of law, the methods of inspiration (with all respect to your white hair) are a little quick. We know that Apollo, acquired the oracle from Themis, but the institutions of the foundress seem to be fallen into contempt. In Athens for instance, an instance merely, we could not hunt a woman to death, for a crime attempted only, without placing her before her judges. {TJie Priest makes a depi^ecating gesture) The spirit of litigation, you will confess and deplore it, has penetrated our whole minds. When therefore this story, or rather (and here is the point) these two stories respecting the birth of Ion come to be repeated among us, there will be, I assure you, advocates for both ; our party here present is not unanimous; and it will be thought proper to hear both sides. Will you kindly hear now through me the defenders of your first, your discredited story, and graciously remember, if I should offend, that I arh but giving you a faithful representation of my sceptical clients } Priest. Continue. Ath. We say then, prophetess and ministers, that within a few hours you have put forth three statements concerning the parentage of this boy. You have declared, by your oracle, that he is the son of Xuthus. You have since affirmed him, through the Pythia though not by the oracle, to be the son of Creusa, and through One whom we would rather not name (but Her evidence is at any rate yours), to be the son of Apollo. One of these statements at least is untrue. You say that it is the statement made *by inspiration'. We note the admission for what it may be worth. And ive say, more tender of your god than you, that the first statement, the inspired statement, is true ; that you know it to be true, and could prove it, prophetess and ministers, if you chose ; that you made it, to be just to you, partly because it was true, and partly for other motives, not right, but not unkind. We say — {Murmurs and exclamations?) Priest. But, Athenian, — INTRODUCTION, xxiii Ath, One moment ! Another Athenian. Go on, Cephisophon ! Several Athenians. Yes, yes ! Proxenns. Cephisophon ? The actor ? Priest. And poet. Ceph. And friend of the poet. Prox. Go on. Ceph, Between two contradictory statements, made by the same deponent, probabilities must decide. — Which is the likeher .^ Which is confirmed by other testimony t Which (sup- posing it untrue) had the witness the less temptation to make 1 Let us put together all we know from you, from Xuthus, and otherwise, of your original story; and let us see how it looks\ Some fifteen or sixteen years ago, there was held in Delphi, and on yonder mountain, one of those nocturnal rites, which to the profit of your city and the edification of the world, are celebrated, one year out of two, in honour of your Bacchus or Bromius. To this feast, among the pious and the... adven- turous, came an ardent young man from Phthia. He was enter- tained, as we know, by one of yourselves, one of your official proxeni. I think, Sir {to the Proxe7ms), but it is no matter, that you were the man. Prox. Go on, sir infidel ! I know your name. Ceph. I shall find one for you ! {continning) This official then received young Xuthus, feasted him liberally, and intro- duced to him some women — Or {to the Proxenus) shall I say procured... ? Prox. Cephisophon ! Ceph. Pandarus ! (Outcries.) Priest. Peace, peace ! (Si/ence) Athenian, is it part of your stiff jurisprudence to butt at the patient court.? Ceph. Pardon ! I will be careful, {continuing) This intoxi- cated... no, I mean, this initiated youth was duly introduced to some of your Delphian women, who were to spend a religious night upon Parnassus. {He looks doubtfully at the Priest?) Priest. Proceed, Sir. Ceph. In due time took place another ceremony, also held, I fear, with less pomp and edification but perhaps not less ^ vv, 5J7 if., 714 if., prologue, etc. xxiv INTRODUCTION. regularity, in the alternate years. {A patise.) Whatever may have been the position of the mother at the time of the initiation — we find her first, remember, in an official house, — at the time of the birth she was connected very closely with the intimate service of your temple. {A laugh.) Priest. Hush ! Ceph. You laugh ! Who found the child ^ {A silence.) The Prophetess. I did. Ceph. Where? Proph. On the temple-steps. CepJi, When } {A silence^ At what hour } I understood from Hermes*, or at any rate I have heard, that — Proph. At sunrise ; when I entered the temple. Ceph. Ah ! Now at Athens, men of Delphi, it will certainly be asked, how often such a thing has occurred, and how many women of your town can or could possibly obtain access, during the night, to this walled precinct, this fortress as in fact it is, full of jealously guarded treasure; and how — Cries. Hermes ! Athena ! Pallas ! Hermes ! Ceph. Oh yes! We know that Jiere you can bring all Olympus to say that it was not by the mother that the child was laid at the temple; that it was brought from Athens through the air^! But for the moment, remember, you are supposed to be arguing before judges of Athens. Did you note what the lady Creusa said about the difficulty of proving in such a court the alleged fatherhood of Apollo' 1 At any rate I can tell you that Pallas Athena knows Athens and her own dignity far too well to appear for examination in an Athenian dicastery. If it were the Areopagus even ! But happily there is no murder in the case, and this modern procedure is so scrupulous ! As for Hermes, why, he 'knows Athens' too, as Apollo remarked to him^; and besides he is vexed, as I said before, and vowed he would have no more to do with the matter. So that unless you can find some other and... different witness, I fear there will be a suspicion, that it must have been the mother who did it after all. The prophetess thought so, I am sure, when she found the child ^ Did you not } * See the prologue. * v. 36, v. 1599 ; but see w. 1453 — 56. ^ V. 1541. ^ V. 30. • V. 44. • INTRODUCTION. xxv Proph. Yes. Ceph. That it was a woman of Delphi ? PropJi. That it was a woman of Delphi. CepJi. And never doubted it till to-day .-* Proph. And never doubted it... Ceph. {continuing hastily). Then what happens } No questions asked ; no search for the parents ; the child is accepted and brought up in the temple. Is that... usual .-* Well, the time goes by. Xuthus, the father of the boy, whose relation- ship to him (we shall say and, until the re-appearance of Hermes, Athens as a jury will believe) was necessarily known to one person among you, a person not far from the tripod, — Xuthus, I say, went to the wars, won fame and fortune there, and married a lady of princely rank in Athens\ All this, being notorious, you knew — it is your business to know all that you can, — and one in particular knew. Time went on, and they had no child. At last you learnt, some of you learnt, and one in particular learnt with a strange mixture of joy and misery, that they were about to consult you on their distress. I say you learnt this before their arrival, for they knew it at the oracle of Trophonius, where Xuthus first enquired, and Tro- phonius gave to him a hint of what Apollo's answer would be'^ Now we cannot suppose that Apollo would be more com- municative to Trophonius and his people than to you. Xuthus and Creusa then were coming. The infant of Xuthus was grown to man, reared in comfort, in splendour even, and advanced to a place of trust ^ — by the same interest which preserved him at first. He had been reared — Ah, men and women, let us be friends ! — in those good lessons, which you can truly teach, and could teach (we think, but let us not quarrel) as well or better if you were of one mind with us. He was fit for the high fortune of his father ; he had a right to it even, in a certain sense; and it was resolved that he should have it. The oracle declared to Xuthus — and that time, if ever, it was something divine which spoke in the prophetess — the oracle declared, with absolute truth in letter and spirit, that his own son should be given him, and the person designed by the oracle was Ion. 1 See the prologue, etc. ^ w. 300, 407. ^ v. 54, 326. xxvi INTRODUCTION. How can you, or how can we, go back from this story now, consistent, probable, confirmed to common sense by circum- stance and testimony, and in rehgion by the highest sanction known ? Or if it is to be a question not of truth but expediency, then surely it is better that you should acknowledge an error in yourselves, than that you should have to defend the oracle by the subterfuges we have heard. And consider this, for you are not without hearts : you have laid it down\ as a condition of the happiness which, upon the strength of your second story, you have promised to this unhappy family, that Xuthus should be kept in ignorance. Cannot you learn better from the almost fatal failure of Xuthus himself.-* You know that your dishonest condition is also impossible; that shortly, tomorrow, perhaps to- night, love or malice will carry the matter, no secret even now, and husband and wife will know that you have paltered with one, if not with both, and they under your guidance have tried to deceive each other. Have mercy upon them ! Take back your retractation quickly, or there may well be murder yet! Truly, if you do, the lady Creusa is likely to break her heart. But neither can she be spared, if you do not. She also will see after the first rapture, or will be made to see, that her supposed possession has no warranty worth trust. Such are the goods of deceit ! Give us then, give us the best bad chance, and your own truth again to begin with ! {A pause) Prophetess. If indeed it were best for — Priest. Athenian, this is all impious folly ! In the first place, the young man has been proved the son of your lady, * proved ' after the fashion of your own human courts, as you very well know : and your * judges ' would laugh at us for our pains, if for our own or any interest we could be tempted to deny it. But further, your tender argument for the truth of the god, as you please to call it, comes to this — that we, who dictate the answers of the prophetess, did on this occasion dictate a truth. A noble defence ! We know that such things are said of us by you and your like, and we scorn them. You have professed to meet us frankly and friendly. Take then a frank and friendly answer. As the god is true, that which the prophetess said to Xuthus, not one of us put in her mouth. ^ V. 1601. INTRODUCTION. xxvii CepJi. {lookiiig at the prophetess). Quite possible. She may have known the father herself, {starting and then controlling himself) I could believe you ! Proxcnns. But you do not believe us ; for you sneer. Explain then, pray, if the oracular answer was a plot in favour of Ion, why did we not say simply that Ion was the son } Why did we risk everything by directing Xuthus to ' the first he should meet on leaving the temple'.-* How could we know who this would be, or bring Ion at the right moment to the door.? The words of the oracle were not only true, sub- stantially true, as the blessed Athena showed, but bear on the face of them the stamp of a miraculous revelation ! Ceph. Ha ! A miracle, a revelation ! {approaching the Proxemis) The next man you hit will be Cephisophon ! {He strikes him a light blow, and parries that which the Delphian returns) A prophecy ! Several Delphians. Sacrilege ! Ceph. A prophecy ! {A langh here and there?) How could I know whom you would next hit } Because I knew who would next hit you. How could your conclave, sitting in the mid sanctuary, know that Ion would be at the door } Because you could detain the enquirer, and did, till Ion was at the door. He was your own door-keeper^; his business on a day of consultation was to be about the entrance. He was not obliged to be there always, it is true ; and it chanced that his duty took him away just after Xuthus had entered". What followed.? That as long as Ion was absent, Xuthus remained with you ; and that at the first moment when Ion came back, and his voice was heard in conversation outside, Xuthus * was sped ' (quoth the handmaidens) from the interview to meet his son. You must have been glad when it was over, for the accidental absence was awkward, and the interview had to be made as long as it well could be'. {Muttering.) Besides you took another precaution. The youth's name was, had always been, Ion. How do I know that .? From Hermes^ that is, from my mother-wit, as the slave did'l You 1 VV. 219, 414. 2 ^^ ^24. 3 W. 510—516, V. 787. ^ iv. 81, where the addition of BeC^v implies that mortals had used the name before. 5 V. 830. xxviii INTRODUCTION, had put in your oracle one of your favourite mystic puns, con- necting the person designated with this name\ So that if by extraordinary ill-luck you had not pitched Xuthus straight upon his son, you would have fallen back on the ' substantial truth ', that no one but Ion was called Ion ! (Laughter and indigna- tion}) In this way you also secured a minor but not undesirable object, that his name should not be changed. You knew that Xuthus — even if you gave no hint ; we do not know all that passed— would look in the oracle for a name. We all consult the seer on these occasions ; the women will have it. And look- ing he could not miss. The reason why the child was called Ion, you need not ask ; for though I can guess, I shall not tell you. {Exclamations. ) And do not, I advise you, ask me for proof that voices at the temple-door are audible within ^ You know they are; and you may get more proof than you want. A miracle ! Such miracles are the whole of your trump — I mean, your mystery. It is thus that you play with the hearts of men. You find out (it is not hard) what is the thing for which your petitioner sighs; and you offer it to him with just some such simple hocus-pocus as, aided by his own eagerness, will make him take the boon for divine. You impose on no man, except (but the exception is sufficient) in his own case. Xuthus would have kissed your hands for joy. But the slaves of Creusa } Their wishes were against you, and they suspected fraud on the spot^ Would any one of them have been so scrupulous, if you had offered to reveal that she was a born Athenian } A miracle ! Gods in heaven ί {Angiy outcries on all sides.) Proxenus. Enough, Cephisophon of Athens ! You can now have no insult left. Go, go all of you ; and lay your case before any dicastery from Alpha to Iota. See how the lady Creusa will answer you, and what will be said when her proofs are produced! {Tliey prepare to go?) She has the tokens, and it is where they are that this * suit ' must be heard. 1 r/. 831 : iiTTtj σνναντ-ηση σοι Ιων {'Των) Iovtl were the terms in full. Plainly this may be rendered, if convenient, 'whoever, being Ion, shall meet' etc. 2 From the door to the Adytum seems to have been about 100 ft. ' V. 685, V. 692. INTRODUCTION. xxix CepJi. {going). Oh, the tokens ! We shall see. There is nothing in that. {Laughter) Priest {laiighing). Man alive ! You are a miracle yourself, a miracle of presumption! {Many of the Athenians applaud) If it were not so late in the day, it would be amusing to know — Prophetess {to him aside). Ah, let him go ! Ceph. To see my case ! No, thank you ! Priest. You need not fear, Sir. No advocate will appear for us. Ceph. I have no fear, no care, except for the truth. There is nothing in the tokens. What we shall say is this : — When Ion was given to Xuthus, you supposed and expected that the husband would keep his secret. If he could not (as it proved), then you trusted that the wife would accept the fact and submit. Unluckily for your game, one of your human draughts-men would not be played. The unhappy lady came here charged to breaking with a passionate sorrow and hope, which then you did not know. In her agony she betrayed herself to others and to you, actually shrieking into the shrine (where some of you sit*) the story of her wrong ^ (I said you should hear again from the door.) Evil advisers seized the moment, and hurried her into a crime, which accident detected before the accomplishment. Your full-fed fanatical rabble, led by the young man, whose honest head had been a little turned by the superstitious extravagance which you teach for law^ and whose anger on his own account was natural enough, rushed in a body to your magistrates. What you, the judges, would have done, if free, I do not know. A minority actually voted for mercy*. But in fact you merely registered the sentence of your sacred and rascally populace. {The Priest smiles in spite of himself) What could you do } You bethought yourselves of the secret you had discovered, of the outrage and the lost child. Could anything be made of that } Creusa fled — here, to your own altar, pursued by Ion and the mob. They hesitated ; but it was plain that they would not hesitate long. Ion was haranguing (not without force) against ^ 7Λ 414. "^ V. <)\\. 3 Tjv. 1220 — 25. * V. 1223, V. 1251. XXX INTRODUCTION. the abuses of the sanctuary. You were in a fearful extremity. You saw your altar about to be defiled with an act which no one out of Delphi would distinguish from murder\ Such ^ things have happened before ; I need not tell you the story of Neoptolemus^ You foresaw the horror, perhaps the vengeance of Athens and Hellas. You saw — I really beg your pardon ; you are not fiends ! — you saw a woman about to suffer a fate too horrible for any desert, and hideously disproportionate with hers; and you saw an innocent lad, your pupil and favourite, about to load himself with a life-long danger, a life-long remorse'. What could you do } What spell could you cast over your wolves broke loose, or what fence put round the victim } What, but the inviolable sanctity of a mother} That even fanaticism might respect. But how were you to deceive.? You had fore- stalled your credit by telling the truth. Your fiction could only pass, if it seemed to be proved against you. There was nothing for it but the basket- trick, — the cradle, an old device, not cer- tain by any means, but worth trying in such a strait. You made up your bundle according to the disclosures of Creusa, and the prophetess brought it out. There is nothing whatever in the tokens. Proxenus. A very pretty story, and I hope your men of law will like it! You are out of your senses! {General applause^ How, in the whole time between the detection of the assassin and the production of 'our' evidence, could we possibly make these preparations } Where should we find an old cradle, fifteen years old, — Ceph. {looking at the prophetess?) Ah, where indeed.? Proxejtns. Silence ! It is my turn. Where should we find the cradle, which Creusa was to recognize as that in which her infant had been exposed, on the Acropolis of Athens, fifteen years before? 'The disclosures of Creusa'! Supposing that we knew them, what where they.? I have heard, we have all heard by this time, of her behaviour, and the reproaches, retracted since and outrageous then, which she dared to fling in the face of the paternal and provident god. She said, I believe, that she ' w. 1259 — 60, w, 1310 — II. "^ Eur. Androm. 1085. 3 w. 1327—35. INTRODUCTION. xxxi had exposed Apollo's child, with tokens upon it, in the hope that it might be saved and that she might find it again. But she did not, I feel sure, give the least hint what the tokens were\ as we could easily prove by the evidence of her slaves. Even if (I take the words out of your mouth) somebody from within was attracted by her outcry, and picked up, at this useful door, while she and her villainous old guardian remained near it, some frag- ments of their talk about the exposure of the child, even then, I say, it is certain, and they would tell us, that they did not go into details^ I will grant you — I wish for every one's sake that this folly should go no further, and I beg you to follow me and see where you are — I will grant you the utmost that reason will allow. We knew in the temple, we could not help it, that Creusa had exposed a babe, with its baby-things upon it. We could assume, as of course, that one of these things would be the baby-necklace : all children wear one, and many a child has been recognized by it before now — the common story. It would be wrapped, for recognition, in some ornamented wrapping; I give you that; and (here I go rather far) we might guess, knowing that the mother was very young^, that she could use such wrapping as she had*, and one which she would be sure of knowing again, a shawl of her own work. We might possibly guess (and here I go very far indeed) that, foreseeing the too probable chance of the poor child's death, she could put... a wreath on it^ We have all., seen such. And I think these admissions are ample. {Murmurs of assent.) Now then, my legal brother, for an experiment ! Go to one of your forensic friends, and ask him, upon these data, to procure the evidence; the necklace, of the exact pattern, out of the thou- sand oddities which mothers invent for the express purpose of distinction; the shawl, with the very device which the girl had woven upon it; the wreath, of the particular leaf. Give him a year, and see what you get! {Applause, and then a silence^ Answer, Cephisophon, how could we know these things } Ceph. How could you know them } By divination. Proxenus. By....^* 1 V. 918. 2 ^. 955. 3 vv. 887 fif. 4 V. 26, V. 1489. ^ V. 18, V. 27. V. I. ' C xxxii INTRODUCTION. Ceph, By divination; from the oracle! {Amazement). Priest. Athenian, be serious! This is no jest! Ceph. 'Be serious!' You tax my patience; — Priest. A poor revenue! Ceph. 'No jest!' Are you serious yourself? You have for- gotten, it seems, that it is you, and not I, whose case presumes that the god. lied, or quibbled, and may be supposed an impostor. I am for the god against you! I can still assume, what you, his ministers, apparently cannot imagine, that the god might have some little knowledge above the common. What do you mean? You profess to be in communication with an all-seeing deity; you offer to reveal from Him (for a consideration) the secrets of every man's business and bosom, of the unknown future, of the unseen world. And then, when I humbly suppose, that in a crisis of your own affairs, and His, you might seek or be called to the tripod, and might learn there, about a fact which none should know better than He, a little more than (as you have said) we could all guess, and just enough to save His altar from pollution — when I suppose this, you tell me to be serious ! No, no ; you must choose between your oracle and your proofs! (A pause. One or two Atkeftians laugh gently) Priest. Well, Athenian, we do not seem likely to under- stand one another ; and the evening wears. Farewell, and do as you please. Ceph. Farewell then 1 — One thing more. The cradle, I see, lies still by the altar. May I look at the tokens ? {He goes to the cradle and looks in). Priest, They are gone, as we told you. The mother has them. Do you think she would leave behind the proofs of her son's identity ? You had best take the cradle too. Ceph. Thanks. And the wreath of olive ? For I see that is still inside. Priest. Then take it certainly. Ceph. {with the wreath in his hand). She cannot care for it much; and I am not surprised. For between ourselves, I do not think she expected to find it. Proxenus. How can you say so ? She was asked what was in the cradle, and said at once, * Three things, a necklace, a shawl, and a wreath.' INTROD UCTION. xxxiii Ceph. Did she ? Then I was mistaken. Prox. Did she not ? Ceph, Well, no. She described the shawl, and that was produced ; she described the necklace, and that was produced. Then Ion said, * There is 07ie thing more '. And she said, there might be a wreath*. Prox. Well, it is the same thing. Ceph. Perhaps. Well, I will take it. Though it cannot last long, I fear, having been plucked fifteen years ago, laid in a cavern, carried fifty miles through the air in a few hours, and left ever since in some dark corner known only to the prophetess^ — Why, Apollo save us ! // is perfectly green ! (^Sensation.) Priest. Let me look. The light is not good. {Cephisophon hands it.) Proxenus. Of course it is green; It is sacred olive, gathered by Creusa at her home on your Acropolis, close to the cave. Ceph. Of course. I, or any one, might have known that. But why should it be green t Prox. Really this is not decent! You, an Athenian, do not know, and did not hear Creusa say^ that ' it must be green ' — Ceph. ' If it still existed '— Prox. Precisely ; ' having once grown on that sacred tree.' Anot/ier Athenian. Why, Cephisophon, every one knows that! Ceph. An old wives' fable, Anytus, learnt by the poor girl from the servants (such as her tutor, whom they have tortured to death) and revived with the other memories. {Angry murmurs amojig the Atheniaiis.) Anytits. Come, come, Cephisophon; this is going too far ! Remember that there is such a thing as an impeachment for impiety. Ceph. You shall impeach me, Anytus, and with my own assistance, {to the Priest) Well, as it is miraculous, I will certainly take it. Priest {giving it). Here it is. Ceph. Indeed it is not. The miraculous wreath was taken ^ V. 1432. - z'. 1361. ^v. 1435. c 2 xxxiv INTRODUCTION, away with the rest by Creusa ; I picked these two twigs of olive myself in the precinct just before we came, and tied them together as you see. Several of my friends here can witness to the fact, — and so will Hermes, if you can find him. I have had the thing on my arm all the time, and slipped it from under the robe (a convenient place), when I put my hand into the cradle. However ' it is the same thing'. Take it, Anytus {throwing it) ; you may want it for the impeachment. {Silence) Well.^* {Silence). The Prophetess {aside to the Priest). Oh, send him away ! (Cephisophon looks at her with compassion and shntgs his shoulders) Priest {to her). Why 1 Absurd ! Not at this moment certainly, {to hint) Well, Sir wizard, your trick has come off. We will, if you please, dismiss the wreath. But — {Cephisophon goes towards the cradle). Several voices. No, no, no ! Priest {turning upon them). Fools ! Ceph. Quite so. {to the others) Why, if I had the shawl and the necklace about me, what could I make of that.? I was only going to pick up one of those woollen bands, in which the cradle was wrapped \ {to the Priest) I will ask you to give it me. ( The Priest takes one and looks at it a moment. He offers it to Cephisophon. As they hold it between them, their eyes meet.) Priest {low and gravely). This is... quite fresh. ..too^ {He lets the ba7idfall.) Ceph. {dropping it). Yes. {Sensation. The Priest stoops down and examAnes the cradle closely. He takes it up, passes his hand over it, and sets it down again. He looks at Cephisophon. Dead silence^ Ceph. And there is not on the osier-work of this cradle, which has been laid away fifteen years in these woollen bands, the slightest stain of mould to show where the bands went, nor any mark of contact on the bands '. Priest. No. (Silence). I do not understand it. {pauses ; then suddenly puts his right hand on the altar) Athenian, I swear to you by this altar and my right hand, that if there is any trick in this, I know nothing of it. Ceph. {grasping the hand). It will be the better for us ! {The Priest goes back and sits watching tmder the portico.) 1 V. 1338. 2 ^. 1389—94. « V. 1393. INTRODUCTION, xxxv Proxemis. It is quite simple : — Ceph. Will you swear ? Proxemis. CQYt2an\y...{Cephisophon grasps his left hand^ which he is extending to the altar)... not] when you demand it! The matter is quite simple. It was noticed and explained by Ion at the time. In the ordinary course no doubt there would have been stains. But that only shows the care of the god for this precious deposit. It is marvellous, another proof! Voices {in various tones). Convincing. . .wonderful. . .strange. . . ... absurd... miraculous ! Ceph. Oh miraculous ! Prox. But I see no use in going on with this any longer ; — Ceph. Nor I. The utter want of any reasonable explanation, why these proofs of the boy's birth were concealed all these years and produced at that particular moment, why they were concealed this very morning, when you were revealing him to his father — a difficulty which staggered even Ion in his ex- citement^ — would alone prove that there is fraud somewhere, even if we cannot explain all. ' The will of the god ' will not be answer enough for us ! Voices. Blasphemer ! Atheist ! Dog ! CepJi. Why, the very creature you put up to speak for Pallas — (Cries of rage : several swords are drawn.) Priest {from the portico, rising). Silence ! — The precinct and treasuries are full of extra-guards to-night, because of the day's uproar^ If any one offers violence to our friends from Athens, he shall be arrested for sacrilege. {He sits again. The tunmlt siibsides in murmtirs.) Ceph. {contimdng). The voice in your puppet, I say, itself declared, what the facts cry louder, that the motive of the trick was not to prove the parentage of the boy, who is truly Xuthus' son ; but simply to prevent the murder of Creusa. Apollo saved yon by — machinations, shall I say.'* Ox machinery^} Oh, you are cunning, you Delphians, in words ! So are some of us at Athens. Proxenus {furious). Ah ! You, who hear everything so exactly, did you hear this } Did you hear the prophetess say — ^ vv. 1340 — 1349- ^ Eur. Androm. 1098. xxxvi INTRODUCTION. you, who pretend to believe that she arranged and brought out the tokens as forged proof that Ion was son to Creusa — did you hear her say to Ion at the last moment before she went, that he should seek his mother 'first among the women of Delphi ' ^ ? Did you see her come back to say that ? And will you tell us why, if she meant him to find his mother then and there in Creusa, she did her best to put him on another track ? Why ? Why ? Ceph. {ftiriotis). Ah ! I will tell you why ! — ( The prophetess, who has come close to him in tlie dim light, toticJies his arm. He turns towards Iter. She is almost fainting, and moves her haiids. TJie rest do not see what passes. She sinks on the ground behind him.) Ceph. {turning again, with a feigned laugh). No, I cannot tell you why. {Mocking laughter.) Or yes, I will: {speaking slowly, without looking round) it was for love of Ion ! She had been ever a mother to him in name, and in love, and her parting kiss was even as a mother s kiss^. He was brought up at her knee; she nursed him from infancy, though he never knew the breast^ How could she be pleased to give him away, to a new mother, although, for his own sake and to keep his hands from blood, it had to be, although it was the zvill of heaven ? Could she gladly see him go from this place, which he knew and loved•, to a jealous city, where (for this story of his birth will never, never pass) he will have all the miseries which he foresaw*, and many others, more bitter than she can imagine ? {A pause) Men, women, why should he not come back ? His mother is, she must be, among you in Delphi. Find her ; cry for her ; tell her to forget herself and her shame, and speak, for the sake of Ion ! {He moves aside. TJie propJietess has risen to Jier feet. She raises Jier liand, points to tlie cradle, and faints. The women bear them atvay.) Ceph. {aside) The gods forgive me ! Proxe7ius. What is the meaning of this ... mummery ? Would you drive us all mad with your stage-tricks ? This will not serve, Sir actor, and you shall twist and shirk no longer. Answer me plainly. Will you dare to dispute, before us and 1 V. 1364. - w. 308—321, 1275—78, 1310— 1368 and /ΛΓΛ/«. =* V. 319. * V. 585 ff. INTRODUCTION. xxxvii elsewhere, that the necklace and woven work of Creusa were found in the cradle exactly as she described them, and that for any one not an idiot that proof is decisive ? How could we know that the pattern of her shawl was a Gorgon and a fringe of snakes ? Ceph. The aegis pattern ! The commonest thing in Athens! That was your one bit of luck. Ion said as much ^ Prox. Nonsense ! Face me. How could we know that Creusa had worked on her shawl a Gorgon and a fringe of snakes } Leave off wriggling and answer that. Ceph. She never said that she had. Prox. Man ! How dare you — Ceph. She said, she was very careful to say (evidently because it crossed her mind that 'the pattern' might not be easily recognized), that the thing was *a sampler '^ a bit of blundering prentice-work^ {Angry laughter)) that it was 'not finished ' {More laughter)^ but that the centre-piece, if her skill had been equal to her intention, had the outline of a Gorgon, and the loose ends of the stuff were like a fringe of snakes. ( Wild laughter.) Ion saw her hesitation, and thought she was trying to cheat him*. {^ OhT) I will tell you another thing, if you like. The pattern was not Athenian, but Delphian ; and the person who put, or rather left^ that shawl in the cradle (it was the baby-shawl of Ion right enough, and the work of his true mother) did so hoping against hope that Creusa, who as a fact did not recognize it^ would have actually disowned it. {Stupor.) Proxenus. Hermes help us ! I wish it was lighter. There is a figure on the wall there, of Pallas with her aegis^. I should have liked to hear you maintain, in the presence of your countrymen, that we do not know a Gorgon when we see it. Ceph. You are all against me ! You would see nothing, any more than Ion and Creusa did then. Every one was crazed with excitement. Why it passed for a proof, that she recognized the cradle ! ' A voice. So she did ! ( Torches are brought in.) Ceph. Of course she did. What did you expect } You knew that the woman had nursed for years the faith that ^ V. 1426. ^ V. 1419. ^ V. 1491. •* V. 1420. 5 2;. 1425. 6 V. 210. ^ V. 1398. xxxviii INTRODUCTION. Apollo — so, to deceive her shame \ she called the brute who wronged her and, like many other villains, has escaped the justice of man — that Apollo would, must give back her child, her baby, which some one found in the cave and stole, perhaps killed, for the bit of gold that was upon it. You knew that she had come to Delphi with this express purpose^ and in a desperate hope that this might be the long-expected day^ You knew that she coveted that lad, when she saw him, and noted that by his age he might be her own *. You knew all this long before, you that were about here when she first arrived ; for you will not tell me that you, experienced confessors as you are, were deceived by the poor, stale trick of the pretended * friend ', which roused suspicions even in the artless Ion°. You knew that Ion was longing 'more than ever' for evidence of his mother^ You saw Creusa with death before her, close to her, inevitable. Then from the temple of Apollo, by the hands of Apollo's prophetess, you bring, swathed in Apollo's emblems — an old cradle ; and you say to these two beating hearts, ' In this, before Apollo's portal, Ion was found. In this are the proofs of his mother.' You throw your basket within the grasp of this heart-broken mother, just sinking into a sea of blood, — and she recognizes it ! What did you expect but that she would recognize it, that every one would be staggered, and that this beginning would save from detection, from proper ex- amination even, the rest of your imposture } Pi'oxenus [fiolding a torch to him). Pray keep your elo- quence to the point. What about the pattern of the shawl } Cries. Yes, yes, the pattern ! Ceph. The pattern.? Why the thing is as plain as that... this temple is at the centre of the earth ! A voice. Quite as plain. Ceph. How do you know that it is } {Angry laughter.) Anytiis. Cephisophon, you disgrace us! Who here, or any where else, does not know that the holy stone of Delphi marks the place where the two birds met, and that on either side of it stand the venerable figures of the eagles themselves } Ceph. Of the Gorgons themselves. 1 V. 341. 2 ^, 330—368. * V. 425. ^ vv. 308, 354. ^ v. 431. « V. 564. i INTRODUCTION. xxxix Voices. No, the Fates ! Other voices. No 1 Gorgons ! Many voices together, drowning the rest. Eagles, eagles, eagles 1 Ceph. Then why did Ion call them Gorgons?^ {A pause.) He did, for I heard him. A servant of the temple ! {A pause. To the Proxenus) Do you see now, that, unless snakes are exclusively Athenian, the pattern might be Delphian ? Or do you now think it strange, that Ion and others should take for a Gorgon a bit of rude work, which did in fact resemble a Gorgon as much as it resembled anything ? {A pause, followed by rising murmurs^ Proxenus {beside himself). An end of this ! Sir ' friend from Athens ', we have heard you out. We have listened patiently to your tissue of sophistical explanations, singly improbable, collectively absurd. We know, and you know, that you have not touched the question ; that there is another proof, certain and sole-sufficient, — the necklace. You have been pleased to assume all this while that it was merely a necklace, a common necklace. The folly of your case, on that supposition, was pointed out to you before by our kindness. But you would not be warned, and now you must take your punishment. It was no ordinary necklace. It was a family-jewel, peculiar, unique. The house of Erechtheus, as all Hellas knows (with a reverence to the Athenian's), use for this purpose, for the necklaces of their infants, a private pattern, of great antiquity, a gold chain of which the links are snakes, curiously fashioned, re- sembling and commemorating the snakes of the Gorgon slain by Athena. The model was given by Athena herself to their ancestor. Now tell me. Sir, — or rather, for I have done with you, I will ask any fair-minded man among your countrymen here {Salutes) — is it sanity to suppose, that any of us would attempt a fraud requiring, as the first necessity, that we should find, at a moment's notice, such a jewel as that .^ You saw the necklace, and know that it was genuine ; of course in the time it could not possibly have been forged. As honourable men, you will not suggest — one man only would be equal to such ^ V. 5, V. 224, and see Essay 11. On the figures of the Omphalos. xl INTRO D UCTION. impudent malice — that we keep in our treasures specimens of all the remarkable heir-looms in Hellas, for the purpose of putting them upon spurious heirs, and can find each one in the instant that it is wanted. {The Delphians gather round Cephi- sopJioii threateningly. Some of tJie A thenians go to his side, T/te Priest comes slowly down from the portico, passing the gronp.) Priest {aside to Cephisophon). I see it now. Go on. The gates shall be kept clear for you. [He passes out.) Proxenus {fioticing the by-play, frantically). Conspirator, suborner, corrupter ! {seizing Cephisophon) How did we get the necklace } There cannot at this moment be such another in Delphi ! If you would not die on the spot, retract your slanders, or tell me how we got that necklace ! Ceph. Tell you ! Ah, I will tell you indeed ! Of course, as you say, all turned and turns on the necklace. Of course without a necklace, a genuine necklace, the fraud could never have been projected. Of course it was apparently impossible and not to be thought of, that you (whoever of you committed the fraud) should have got such a necklace at the moment. And therefore, as without the necklace the fraud must have utterly failed, so with the necklace it was almost certain to succeed. Whatever blunders you had made, the ' sole-sufficient proof of the necklace would have passed off anything. The wreath was a blunder, an over-finesse. It was that which put me on the track. The shawl — well, if you do not see what that was, I shall not tell you ; though it would not matter. She will soon be... out of your reach. But the necklace was enough. And for this very reason, if you had not been blind, blinded, you might have known long ago (and I have given you hints), that we had solved this part of the enigma ; or we should have been as mad as you think us to begin the accusation. It is impossible — yes, praise be to the gods (for I believe in a Providence as well as you, a detecting Providence), it is impossible that there should be another such necklace in Delphi at this moment. And therefore it is, that I ask you with confidence — Where is tJie necklace of Erich- thonius ? {A shriek. Several of the DelpJdans run out into the darkness. Tlte rest fall back andy while Cephisophon is speaking, slip away^ ρ INTRODUCTION. xli some into the precinct, the last, with the Proxenus, into the temple) Cephisophon. Where is tJie necklace of Erichthonins ? I will tell you where it is now. In the possession of its rightful owner, the lady Creusa. And I will tell you where it was, when she was recognized for the mother of Ion. It was in the cradle. Let me trace it for you. When Creusa and her servant plotted the murder of Ion, the poison (also an heir-loom in her family, and deadly enough, though not the blood of the Gorgon) was in a little pyx, hung upon her wrist by the chain upon the model of which these baby-necklaces, used by the house of Erechtheus, are all made, the original baby- necklace (as they suppose it) of Erichthonius, put round his neck by Athena herself. This chain, with the poison-pyx and another pyx attached to it, Creusa put on the arm of the slave who was to poison the cup, where he was to keep it under his robe (remember my wreath) and ready to his hand. When the attempt was detected, there on his arm the necklace was found. Your officers, who tortured him to incriminate Creusa, of course took from him this damning evidence, and carried their proof to those of you who sit as judges/. To remove the pyxes was the work of a moment. Nothing has been heard of it since. It was this which suggested to you your pious fraud. It was because by an extraordinary and providential accident, miraculous and yet quite natural, as are all His ways, you were just then put into possession of this jewel, that you were able (you were naturally willing and anxious) to prevent a horrid act of cruelty and sacrilege. I do not say that you acted wrongly. It was a fearful situation. If, instead of putting up your puppet-goddess, you had acknowledged the deception, as you might, when it had done its work, we could perhaps have praised you. We could have pitied you, if even since, at our urgent entreaty, you had made reparation to truth. But deception was too much ingrained in you ; and now it is too late. The lady Creusa has the necklace that was found in the cradle. Either she has, or you have, the necklace of Erich- thonius. {TJie Delphians are all gone, and tlte temple door is 1 vv. 20 — 26, 267 — 270, 985 — 1038, 1208 — 1222, 1426 — 1431. xlii INTRODUCTION. closed. CepJiisopJion goes tip to it and strikes it violently zuith the knocker^). Where then, where is the necklace of Erich- thonius ? A voice from within. The necklace of Erichthonius...is lost ! Night and silence. The Athenians look round in bewilder- ment. Cephisophon from the portico leads forward Euripides by the hand. An Athenian. Let us go home. Euripides. My friend, we are at home. The play is over, the story told, and the scene is our theatre again. Good-night. An Athenian {sadly). And is there then no god, Ο Euripides .-* Euripides. Neither that do I say, or have said, Ο Chaerephon. Whence, or from whom, came to that feast the detecting dove ? Who sent that dumb creature to save, at the cost of her own ' incomprehensible agony ' the life of the kind-hearted lad, who was sorry to kill the birds ϊ^ Apollo, Chance, Providence } We know not. Only, for the gods' sake, do not think that it was the ravisher of Creusa. Which is more likely 1 That this frame of the heavens, this truly divine machine, is governed by beings upon whom our poor nature cries shame ; or that a knot of men, backed by prejudice and tempted by enormous wealth, should try by cunning to keep up a once beneficent or harmless delusion for a little while longer t For a little while ! Χρόνια μεν τά των Θεών ττως, εΙς τέλος δ' ουκ ασθενή. Good-night. Let us go to our chambers and pray, to Pallas, if you must, to Zeus if you will, but let us pray at least to the Father of men and women and beasts and birds of the air, and give the verdict according to our hearts. * V. 1612. ^ V. 179, V. 1205. INTRODUCTION, xliii In the foregoing exposition of the Ion, those who are acquainted with the recent version of the play by H. B. L/ will see that I have taken from his preface several most important hints. He was the first, so far as I am aware, who pointed out distinctly, that since the play, by its whole tone, is manifestly hostile to the Apolline religion, we are bound to look for such an explanation of the unexplained story, as may be consistent with this view, that in short it is an attack upon Delphi and must be interpreted accordingly. He observes that in the story proper, as distinct from the prologue and epilogue, there are no supernatural elements (he extends the theory of machina- tion even to the doves, which I think is a mistake) ; and he shows that the method by which the oracle is conveyed to Xuthus is a very simple piece of conjuring indeed. He also points out that the intentions of Apollo, as announced by Hermes in the prologue, are not carried out in the play, but signally defeated : and he draws the correct inference, that there is 'a change of tactics' on the part of the possessors of the oracle, and that the attribution of Ion to Apollo and Creusa is 'an after-thought'. He further remarks that the confession of Creusa furnishes for this after-thought the necessary basis of knowledge. In fact he was, if I may say so, on the road to the solution. But he did not draw the inference, to which his premisses properly lead, that, if the second story of Ion's parentage is an after-thought, the first story is probably true, and the alleged proofs of the second story are almost certainly a fraud, and further, if the whole is to be intelligible, a fraud, the motive and means of which can be detected with certainty from evidence furnished by the play itself The moment that, from this point of view, we read the scene of the recognition between ^ London, AVilliams and Norgate, 1889. xliv INTRODUCTION. Ion and Creusa, we see that at every point the absurdity or weakness of the evidence, and the blinding prepossessions of the deceived persons, are carefully exhibited, — at every point except one, the necklace. This looks at first sight like solid proof. Ergo, it is the key to the fraud ; and the rest is simple. In order to leave the facts of the story exactly as they are left by the author (which of course we are bound to do), I have not absolutely determined in my epilogue whether or not the Delphian woman, who was the mother of Ion, was the Pythia. That we are meant to suspect this is manifest. The play (and particularly the scene in which the Pythia appears, with the following speech of Ion) is full of ambiguities and of ' irony ' pointing us in this direction. I have noted some of them, but there are many more. Still I do not think that Euripides has made the evidence decisive, as that against the fraudulent tokens is decisive. The points are these; shQ foimd the infant, according to herself, at such a place and time, that it is very difficult to say who else could possibly have left it; she kept his cradle and baby-shawl for years, and could not say why ; she behaved as his mother in every respect; she knew his father, and 'gave him ' to his father of her own accord ; on the other hand, she could scarcely bring herself, under the most terrible pressure, to give him another woman for his mother. This is, if I am not mistaken, strong evidence, but not conclusive : and that, I believe, was the intention of the poet. That the thing was possible and not unlikely is manifest from nature and historic evidence. But of all the fine strokes in the drawing of Euri- pides, it is perhaps the finest, that on this point absolute proof is withheld. The probability is quite enough to make the scene in which she signs away her 'child by love though not by nature' one of the most tragic in ' the most tragic of the poets'. It is an interesting question, but unfortunately not answer- able, how much of the solution of the plot was exhibited on the stage. It depends entirely on the way in which the final scene was set and acted. It would be easy, taking the spoken parts as they stand, to arrange the accessories and action so as to give the audience anything, from a hint to a complete exposure. I think however, if it is worth while to give a mere opinion, that the exposure was not complete and did not go beyond I INTRODUCTION. xlv such a very slight hint as I have put into the stage-directions. An explicit and public attack on the prevalent religion, not safe-guarded by the orthodox license of comedy, would pro- bably have been scandalous to the majority and dangerous to the author, even though directed mainly against the unpopular oracle. If the time was very near, when Plato would propose to proscribe Homer, nearer still was the prosecution and death of Socrates. To the ultimate purpose the stage-exhibition at the Dionysia was indifferent. In the condition of literature at Athens, among a society in close intercourse, the circle chiefly interested must have known the play and the aim of it before they went to the theatre. Those who did not could not fail to see on the stage, what modern students have gene- rally seen in the bare text and through all the difficulties of language, that the plot is unsolved and the play in fact un- finished. Within a few days all who cared to know more would know everything, and the rest could shut their eyes. Thus appearances were saved ; and the work of the free-thinker was better done, as Aristophanes shows us, than the broadest satire could have done it. Whether the Oracle of Delphi was always a fraud and no- thing more, is a question beyond our limits. Euripides has not said so, neither need we. Personally I do not believe it. That in the fifth century it was deeply stained with fraud, and had ceased to do any service equal to its mischief, is certain : and that is enough. II. The Figures of the Omphalos. On the two figures which stood on either side of the holy stone of Delphi see Professor Middleton's article on the temple in The Jourjtal of Hellenic Studies (Vol. IX. p. 295). They were commonly called eagles, and are so represented un- mistakeably in a few late works of art, such as coins. The representations do not agree with one another and have no pre- tensions to fidelity. But that the figures were also supposed to be Gorgons, is rightly inferred by Hermann from v. 224 of this play and Aesch. Euin. 49 (where note the whole context). I have implied in the * epilogue ' that there was even a third hypothesis, that some called them Fates. My reason is this. Pausanias in his description of the temple of Delphi, which is even worse arranged than is usual with him, does not appear to mention the omphalos among the objects contained in the building. He describes it, briefly and without mention of the figures (x. 16. 2), but quite apart from the contents of the temple itself And as we know not only that the omphalos was in the building, but that it was one of its most famous and characteristic treasures, this extraordinary omission requires to be accounted for. Now in the naos or cella of the temple, the second chamber, between the pronaos and the adytum, Pausanias says that there was *an altar of Poseidon, because in the most ancient times the oracle was the property of Poseidon also ; and there are also there images of two Fates. Beside them instead of the third Fate stands a Zeus Moiragetes, also (called }) an Apollo Moiragetes '. The ' altar of Poseidon ' seems to be mentioned by Pausanias alone, (x. 24. 4.) Is it then possible (I put it forward merely as a suggestion to meet the difficulty) that these mysterious two Fates of Delphi were in fact identical with the two Gorgon-eagles, or at least derived from them ; and that the explanation of Pausanias' omission is simply that his * altar of Poseidon ' was the omphalos itself.•* It is quite likely that it was said to have been INTRODUCTION. xlvii the altar of Poseidon in those ' very ancient times ' when Poseidon owned the oracle. Pausanias, who certainly ' mixed up his notes', as Prof. Middleton says, will then simply have forgotten to tack the name omphalos in the right place. That the ompJialos was in the naos^ where the 'altar' was, is I think clear, if anything is, from Pausanias' own account taken with the other evidence\ This supposition would add point to two places in tragedy. In the prologue to the Eumenides, the prophetess, with these omphalos-figures in her mind, debates with herself whether the Furies are more like feuiales {^υναΐκα^) or Gorgons. If the question was doubtful in the case of the figures themselves, the allusion is the more to the purpose. In the play before us {v. 1422), Ion, when Creusa mentions the Gorgon of the pattern, exclaims ώ ZeO, rt? ημα^ €κκυνη^€τ€Ϊ Ίτότμο^ ; ' Zeus, what fate is this which is tracking us like a JioiindV I have shown that the point of the situation turns on the fact that the pattern is really meant for one of the omphalos-figures, and therefore might be a Gorgon, because it might be almost anything. Now Ion's exclamation certainly contains a hint at eagles, the hounds of Zens {jcvve^ Αως), as they were called (Aesch. Prom. 1022, Agam. 136). If the figures were also thought to ho: fates, then 7ΓΟτμο<ς is allusive too, and the point is complete. The truth no doubt is that the works, the originals (for they were changed), were extremely archaic and rude, and that little could really be decided, but that they were meant for creatures of some kind and seemed to have wings. The ultimate pre- valence of the eagles is due to the merits of the corresponding legend. The advocates of the Fates were embarrassed by the number ; and Gorgons were ovhlv ττρος τον Άττόλλω. But for this very reason we may be sure that this tradition is the older and more genuine, and that the figures were more like Gorgons than anything else. Pindar is for eagles {Pyth. IV. 6) ; which in him means only that this was the version which the Delphians wished to circulate. Aeschylus puts the Gorgon-theory in front and the Fates next. Euripides uses .the whole dispute for his own purpose. ^ See Mr Bayfield's Introduction to the Ion, p. xvi. V. I. d III. ' The U7iity of Time'. Although this subject has an important bearing on the exposition, or at least upon the representation, of the Ion, we might and should have passed it over, but for its intrinsic and present interest apart from this particular play. In truth I hesitate to begin, for of * The Unity of Time * it may almost be said that it would offer no difficulties, if only it had never been explained. The practice of the Greek dramatists was necessary and rational. The remark of Aristotle upon it, tantortim catissa malortim, is true and accurate. But a series of accidents, curiously illustrating the growth of opinion, has led from simplicity into complication, and from complication into en- tanglement ; until at last the enquirer, who may unluckily try to go to the bottom of the matter, will find himself involved in paradoxes, which would pose a college of metaphysicians. As a general rule, a drama must be divided into scenes. If the story is at all complicated or extensive, it cannot be set forth, with any truth to nature, in one single uninterrupted dialogue. In representation therefore there must be some means of marking the breaks, of showing where the audience are to go forward in imagination from the supposed time of one dialogue to the supposed time of the next. The simplest, which has been used in all times when better could not be done, is to clear the boards for a short interval and then send on the actors again. But this is not satisfactory. If the interval is very short, the interruption is not well expressed to the eye. Unless it is very short, the expectant house will become impatient. In modern theatres the problem is solved completely by the curtain. But to the theatre of the Athenians a curtain was not well adapted, and the occasions of performance were such as to require that no time should be wasted. We do not know (and for the age of the great tragedians it is very improbable) that INTRODUCTION, xlix they used a curtain at all. Instead of it they employed a device peculiar to the growth of drama among themselves, the choric ode. With Aeschylus, with whom our full knowledge begins, the practice was perfectly settled. For every play there was a particular body of performers called specially the chorus, related to the plot sometimes as principals, more often as subordinates. In the dialogues they took part with the rest. But when the play was to be interrupted, in the gaps between scene and scene, these performers executed sets of symmetrical dance- movements, which were in themselves an exhibition highly pleasing to the Greek taste; and in order to connect these * dances ' with the play, they accompanied their movements with symmetrical songs, the topics of which were more or less adapted to the dramatic situation. Every means was taken, which might make these performances more efficient as a break in the play. The mere change, from the more or less natural action of the stage-play to the wholly unnatural action of the dances, was much. But much more was done. Not only the metres but the language and vocabulary of the songs were made as unlike those of the play as they could be. Such was the * curtain ' of Aeschylus. We are not now concerned to show with what skill the tragedians of Athens got out of this device all the possible advantages, how beautiful, appropriate, and helpful to the audience these interval-songs were made. We are concerned only with their mechanical function as a break, with the effect which the use of them had in limiting the means of the dramatist, and specially in limiting the extent of supposed time which the action of the play from first to last could conveniently cover. In the nature of things, as every one now agrees, and with one brief modern exception always has agreed, there is not any limit at all to the length of this supposed time, or to the length of the lapse which the audience are to suppose at a break. The descent and rise of the curtain may signify an hour, a day, week, year, years, or whole generation, if necessary. The dramatist has only to let us know with sufficient accuracy, by the dialogue before and after (or by ' Τιιηε, as Chorus \ or the programme, or how else he pleases), how much time and what events are to pass ; and we suppose accordingly. d 2 1 INTRODUCTION, Nor was it ever imagined by the Greek playwrights or the Greek critics that any such limit was desirable, or required by the nature of plays any more than of narratives. They began, as Aristotle tells us, by treating the one very much as the other. '•' Tragedy ", he says, " endeavours as far as possible to confine its action within the limits of a single revolution of the sun, or nearly so; but the time of narrative (epic) is unlimited. This however at first was more the case with Tragedy itself "\ But they very soon found that, as practised by them, drama in this respect, as in many others, was not free but bound. They struggled against restriction; not even Euripides submits to it completely. But restriction was necessary ; and the reason is apparent; most clearly perhaps, if we consider the rare cases in which they disregarded it. The breaks were to be marked with songs, sung on the scene by performers in the play. The presence of these performers at all the scenes could seldom be quite natural. But the shorter the supposed action of the piece, and the shorter the supposed intervals, the less would be the discrepancy between the facts presented and the natural facts. By the indulgence of the audience, and in view of the necessity, a moderate discrepancy might be tolerated. It was found, and the nature of things shows why, that the point at which the discrepancy began to be flagrant and intolerable, was when the audience were told to pass in imagination from day to day. Night is the great natural interrupter of actions and changer of situations. That the same body of persons should be found standing about, at the same place, at various intervals during the day, is conceivable though it does not often happen. That they should be found there day after day, not to say week after week, is inconceivable and ridiculous. For this simple common-sense reason Greek tragedy "endeavoured, as far as possible" to confine the action within the limit of a day. There are two, perhaps only two, extant plays, whose action clearly exceeds the usual limit, the Sttppliants of Euripides and the Eiimenides of Aeschylus. In the Suppliants'^ there is an interval comprising the preparation and march of an Athenian army to Thebes, a battle there, and the return : the interval is * Ar. Poet. cap. 5. • v. 598. > INTRODUCTION. li represented by a peculiar lyric dialogue among the chorus, mothers of the dead Argives whose recovery from the enemy is the object of the expedition. With a curtain, nothing would be more simple. But conceive the performance without ! And this example brings out another point. If very long intervals were allowed, offences must arise out of the personal identity of the chorus and the identity of the place, desirable in Greek theatres from the simplicity of their scenery. The place of the action is the altar at Eleusis, to which the Argive mothers have come to implore aid. In the earlier scenes this works very well. But why should the mothers be assembled at the same altar, all of them and no one else, some weeks afterwards, ready to receive there the news of the victory 1 Equally instructive is the other case, the only case in which the restriction is infringed with success. In the £.unienides the chorus are a troop of gods. They can appear therefore with perfect propriety, the same troop and the same gods, at intervals as long as the poet chooses : they could even, if they pleased, be elsewhere in the intervals and yet apparent on the scene all the time. Accordingly the tiresome restriction is at once cast off with the reason of it, and the action leaps a year or so without the slightest embarrassment \ The Ion conforms to the limitation, and with unusual success. The best example is the Seven against Thebes^ which is perhaps that almost impossible thing, a choric drama formally unimpeach- able. The limitation of time imposed by the use of the chorus had many indirect effects, one of which we will mention, as it applies to our play. In order to get as much time for the action as the case would allow, it was common to start it in the morning, and even with sunrise or before. In a single case this is no disadvantage ; the Ion is proof to the contrary. But it must have become monotonous, when we have it in the Persians^ Seven, Agamemnon, CJioephori, the Ajax, Electra, Antigone, the Ion, Helena, Electra, Medea, in all these plays expressly, and in many others, in fact in most, by implication. Another result ^ The scene is also changed ; but if it were not, there would be no difficulty. The chorus of the Prometheus are also gods, but that play has no time at all. The divine colloquy may occupy hours or centuries, as we prefer to think. lii INTRODUCTION. of the practice, also applying to our play, is that since with the best intentions it was often difficult to get the action into a day, the relations of the incidents to one another in time are apt to be left rather vague. Necessity grew into habit, and a Greek play will seldom bear minute examination from this point of view. Professor Lewis Campbell has recently illustrated this in the Classical Review^. In the Ion itself the incidents will not work out quite satisfactorily. It is a little odd, for instance, if we come to think of it, that Xuthus, who thought he might be back from Parnassus for the beginning of Ion's feast, has not got back after all that occurs before the end of the play. But we do not come to think of it ; and in a general way the events look fairly like those of a day, which, as Aristotle says, is the result desired. Such was with the Greeks 'the unity of time', for which pompous and disastrous term there is of course no authority in Aristotle. Before coming to modern developments, let us make some remarks, (i) The statement of Aristotle is not a precept at all*''. Aristotle knows how to express an opinion, when he wishes to do so, and in this case he expresses none ; probably because he saw that it was but a choice of evils. (2) The limit has nothing whatever to do with any supposed continuity in the action. The action of every Greek play is discontinuous, that of the Seven, which occupies a few hours, just as much as that of the Suppliafits of Euripides, which occupies weeks. Both plays, and all the plays, consist of scenes, in which the story ^ Vol. IV. p. 299. He exaggerates somewhat, even making difficulties where there are none. For example, in Uit Sttpplices of Aeschylus, **when the ship that brings Aegyptus' sons is seen, Danaus consoles his daughters by telling them that the landing cannot be effected till late in the evening {v. 769). Within 100 lines after- wards {v. 842) the Herald comes, and no contradiction is hinted as arising between this and that." There is no contradiction. The landing which cannot be effected, and is not, is that of a force sufficient to overpower the protecting Argives. The landing effected is that of a herald and small party to claim the fugitives and of course, if no one opposes, to take them. This landing might be made with ease in an hour. But Professor Campbell's general position is quite sound. Of his attempt to apply it to the case of the Agamemnotty I can only say, with all respect, that it is as if one were to argue thus : * Since this piece of elastic, six inches long, will easily stretch to nine, and to twelve without breaking, why should it not stretch to twelve yards?' ^ Professor Campbell properly calls it *a rough generalization'. INTRODUCTION, liii proceeds according to the imitative representation on the stage, and intervals, in which the story jumps an imaginary gap, and the interlude before the audience does not imitate the action of the story or any natural action at all. (3) The limit has nothing to do with the real time occupied in performing the play, which indeed, as Aristotle says, is *no matter of art'. The time taken by the performance has no more necessary bearing on the story of a drama than the time spent in reading has upon the story of a novel. (4) There was no conventional presumption among Greek dramatists and audiences about the length of the action supposed. It was the business of the author then, as it is now, to explain, so far as was necessary, how long his story took and how long were the intervals. No doubt after a course of choric dramas audiences began to expect the sunrise and all the rest, — one of the reasons perhaps why choric drarna had not a long life. The later forms do not concern us. And now we ourselves have to pass (with an appropriate dance and ode) from Aristotle to the Renaissance. When Du Bellay, Jodelle, and their successors set about renovating French literature by the study of antiquity, they took the ancient tragedy along with the rest, and in the first instance they took it entire, chorus and all. For precepts they went very properly to Aristotle, and in their enthusiasm made a precept out of his guarded statement about the tragic day. This slight error would have mattered little, if playwrights had held to the chorus ; for then * the unity of time ' would have protected itself by arms stronger than any authority. But the dramatic chorus, rooted originally in habits peculiarly Greek, and not a thriving plant on its own soil, would not bear the transplantation and the nipping influence of the curtain. It fell away. Then came the blunder, the extraordinary blunder, we might call it, if the mistakes of one generation were not so often strange to another. Missing the reasons of the Greek practice, the critics insisted that 'Aristotle's rule' was universally valid and applicable to all drama as such. The next thing was to find reasons for it ; and here they are : — With respect to the comparison drawn by Aristotle between the length of the action in narrative and in drama, we will remark, that uninterrupted continuity is much more necessary in an action which we witness as spectators Uv INTRODUCTION. present at the place, than in an action of which we merely read or hear a recital. It is not natural that we should suppose ourselves passing days and nights, without sleep, drink, or food, in the contemplation of what goes on, or should suppose that, being all the time in the same building, we are carried to different places. This is the reason of the unity of time (day)^ and place, which is a necessity of the theatre ^, It is a salutary lesson to read such a passage as this, and to remember that the author was a man not without sense, who in the days of Addison had a considerable reputation both in France and elsewhere. The absurdity of Bossu's rule in itself, and the equal absurdity of the theory on which it is based, are now apparent. But the strangest thing of all is that he should have believed his reasoning to lead to his rule. Manifestly, if the time of the supposed action in a drama is to be limited by the physical needs of the spectator, supposed to be really present throughout, then a ' revolution of the sun ' is far too long. Four or five hours will be the extreme limit, and two hours the limit desirable. Of course this could not altogether escape notice ; and the next stage was the strangest of all. If the rule of notre Aristote did not fit the French justification, taut pis pour la regie: it must be changed till it did, and it was changed. For the sake of symmetry with ' the unity of action ' (a not bad term for the proper connexion of every part in a drama with the whole), the identity of scene, which drama was supposed to require, had been inaccurately called 'the unity of place' and the limitation to a day had been foolishly called ' the unity of time'. Now for eager and not very clear-headed disputants, from unity to continuity is an easy glide. And the French reasons did undoubtedly point to the doctrine (also absurd, but that is a trifle), that the total action performed on the stage ought to cover one continuous space of supposed time. Accord- ingly by unity of time ' Aristotle ' was taken, whenever it was convenient, to have meant continuity of time. All this had been done long before Bossu, whose paragraph presents in miniature a conspectus of the embroglio. By way of climax we may note that all this while the critics were fighting with ' jour', the slight ambiguity of this word in French did something to confuse the confusion. ^ Bossu, Tniitc dti Poeine Epiqm. Liv. Π. chap. 1 8 (beginning). INTRODUCTION. Iv equal zeal for 'the five acts'; though the only possible inference from their theory was that every drama should consist of one single scene. However for this wonderful doctrine, in the middle of the 17th century, a pertinacious host was in arms. If not formidable, they were annoying. Corneille, in the preface to The Cid and elsewhere, condescended to say in his imperial manner that he had complied, so far as might be, not only with those veritable rules of dramatic art which Aristotle had laid down for all time, but also with those 'inconvenient' restrictions, which had been fathered upon Aristotle by the French critics. The Cid kindled all France and blazed over Europe. Post hoc, propter hoc. Louis the Fourteenth humbled Holland, devastated the Palatinate, threatened the Empire, — and * Aristotle's rule ' was proved. In practical application nothing could permanently maintain such a structure against the shocks of experiment; and in the theatre ' the rule ' has long been dead. But the errors of specu- lation die more slowly than those of practice, because they can be so carefully kept from the wind. When it had been seen that the ' classic ' theory of the drama was worthless in its aesthetic and practical aspect, it continued to exercise an influence in its historic aspect, though in truth this was rather the worse part of the two: and to this day 'the unity of time' continues to haunt the discussion of Greek drama, in which it has not much more right than the Cartesian vortices. The subsequent story is also curious; but I have been too long already and must now be brief. The rule, we have said, emerged from controversy in the form that the action of a drama should be continuous and limited to (at most) one day ; and with a Nota bene, that such was the established practice of the Greeks. Now of course in one sense 'the action' of Greek tragedies was continuous, that is to say, there were performers before the audience throughout. This continuity of performance was not at all the continuity of the French rule, which referred not to the performance, but to the supposed time of the story presented. This supposed time, as already observed, was in Greek plays not always continuous, but always discontinuous and broken by the choric odes. Here Ivi INTRODUCTION. however again was a distinction easily missed ; and by some it was missed ; so that the notion went on and goes on, here and there, that * continuity of action ' was a requirement of the Greeks'. With this was joined the notion, also derived from the French controversy, that the limit to a day was with the Greeks a fixed conventional presumption. Now comes the last and not least remarkable episode. It might have been expected that, when the tragedians came to be more carefully studied, these notions would have been quickly exploded by producing the examples of the Suppliants (of Euri- pides) and the Eumenidcs (not to mention others less clear '^X in which it is palpable that the supposed action is extended be- yond a day, beyond many days, and is interrupted by long breaks. And so these notions would have been exploded ; but for the accident, that one single play, one of the greatest and most familiar works of Greek art, presented, with regard to the time of the action, a puzzling problem ; and that by refining the residuum of the French controversy it seemed possible to extract out of it an answer to this problem. I need not say that I refer to the Agamemnon. That the action of the Agamemnon falls within a day (and much less) is shown not by any presumption, but by manifest internal evidence. It was supposed to be equally clear, that the events comprised in it were such as would in reality occupy weeks. A notion, a German notion this time ! What if in Greek drama the supposed time was ' ideal ', and had no relation to the real time which the events would occupy ? This would account for the contradiction attributed to the Agamemnon^ because one sufficient assumption will account for any thing, however enor- mous. It would also bring in the relics of the French rule, since an ideal time, which has no relation to events, can of course be continuous and discontinuous at once, just as an interval in such an ideal time can have simultaneously or successively as many different measures as we please. It would also give (at last) an excellent and truly philosophic account of * the unity ' and ' the day', since in limiting their plots to an ideal day the Greeks * In the Introduction to the Agamemnon I have myself used in one or two places phraseology derived from this confusion, though my argument is clear of it. ' e.g. the Andromache^ which 1 hoped to discuss here, but must jxistpone. INTRODUCTION. Ivii would not really have limited them at all; and of course ideal time has unity, and multitude too, and contains in itself all other true properties of a metaphysical entity. Thus or somewhat thus was evolved the terminology of the following passages \ seldom heard except in connexion with the Agamemnon, but in that connexion often : Now if in the Eumenidcs months or years might elapse between the exordium and what follows it, why may not the action of several days be silently assumed elsewhere between one episodium and the next ? Why indeed ? Who ever has said or thought otherwise ? 1 say ' silently,' because the interval is of course not thought of Why is it not 'thought of just as much as any other necessary part of the story ? In the continuity of the idealized action the interruption of darkness and repose is eliminated, together with many other irrelevancies of actual life, by a tacit agreement between the poet and his audience... There are two places in the Agamemnon^ which may be adduced to illustrate the systole and diastole which belong to the ideal management of time in tragedy ^ etc. This language and the underlying theory, the last remains of a fruitless controversy, I do not propose to criticise. I doubt if I understand them ; I doubt if any one does ; I cannot think them likely to make any thing clear ; and I am sure they have not elucidated Greek drama. Nor of course can I now defend the different answer, an English answer, which I have offered for the problem of the Agamemnon. As I have stated it, I shall leave it to defend itself; as Professor Campbell understands it, it is quite indefensible ^ But it is much more pleasant to argue against dead and disreputable Delphians than against oracular but friendly Professors. I have only to say that in my humble opinion there have been episodes enough in this drama of ' the ^ Classical Review, Vol. IV. pp. 304, 305. 2 Prof. Campbell, to my amazement, supposes me to say that the audience learnt the story of the Agamemnon from the play itself. No one ever could think this as to the Agamemnon^ or any other play of Aeschylus, or, we may add, of Sophocles^ Most of the story is always taken as known. My own language on the point is explicit and repeated : see pp. xiii, xiv, xxxiv, xlvii, Ix. Nor is this the only point on which I must refer my critic to what I have actually written. Iviii INTRODUCTION. unities', which has already had its day of three centuries; the ^ audience will be pleased with the exodus ; and it is high time j that 'the unity of time' and 'the ideal time', ideally united, should march out of time altogether. IV. The Parodos, ar Entrance of the Chorus. In the preceding- essay we have discussed one of the effects produced upon Greek drama by the peculiar device of the chorus. To work out this subject in full would be matter for a book ; but there is one branch which I should like to follow here, because we have a remarkable clue to it in the Io7t, The main function of the chorus was to mark the breaks between the scenes by their odes and dances. Thus the dramatist was provided with a more or less efficient ' curtain ', when he had got his chorus into the orchestra. But first he had to get them there. The practical result was, that either the play must begin with a scene admitting the presence of secondary personages to a large number, or else before the end of the first scene some excuse must be provided for bringing such a body of persons on. Between these alternatives much was to be said for the first, and so far as we have evidence to judge, it was first preferred. Aeschylus, who re-created and practically created tragedy, had the advantage of first choice. In three of his seven remaining plays,^ the chorus are 'on' at the opening, and in a fourth^ though not 'on', they are approaching the place of action when the play opens, and no special reason has to be found for their entrance. But this could not continue. By their difficulty, above discussed, with regard to the time of action, the drama- tists were already condemned to a certain monotony in their opening, always a difficult matter to manage. It would have been intolerable to add to this monotony of time the monotony of always starting with a full scene; and besides, the chorus, troublesome enough in any case, would often have seriously interfered with the necessary freedom of the first exposition. Moreover to start with the chorus was much more convenient 1 Persians^ SiippUanis, Eumenides. ^ Choephori. Ix INTRODUCTION, or less inconvenient when they were principal persons, as in the Suppliants and Ettmenides of Aeschylus. But the topics admitting this treatment were soon exhausted, and experiment showed also that the true development of the drama was in another direction. Accordingly the poets fell back on the alternative, in Sophocles and Euripides almost universal, of bringing on the chorus in or after the first scene; and then they had to find a * motive for the Parodos'. In great straits they were. Three times in the extant plays of Euripides the hero or heroine utters in the first scene cries which resound in the neighbourhood^; we have eight sets of friendly and inquiring visitors ^ generally brought to the place by ' rumours ' ; and neither in Sophocles nor in Euripides, as a general rule, have these persons anything much to do, when they come, except to sing the choric odes. In the Medea their presence is a gross absurdity, and the poet, in order to get his magnificent play through at all, is forced to ignore them. After going through some years of Dionysia, it must have been hard not to smile, when the 'shrieks' were raised or the 'proclamation' issued. The inevitable outcome is seen in the Phoenissae and the Iphig-enia atAtdis, where the chorus, when wanted, just march in, without pretending to have any dramatic account to give of themselves. But before this could happen, choric drama must have been in a perilous state. In all the extant plays there are but two parodi, which seem quite natural and dramatically good, those of the Seven against Thebes, and the Oedipus at Colonus, But even when a ' motive ' had been provided, the difficulty was by no means at an end. Until the chorus were there, the dramatist had no means of breaking his action. Now suppose that the general course of the play required the chorus to be composed of persons who could not arrive till long after the time when the action started. The case arises, for example, in the Aga- meinno7t and in the Io7t. The Agamemnon begins in the night ; the chorus have not only to be ' summoned ' but roused. The Ion begins in the precinct of Delphi at day-break, and with ^ The Stippliants ( Eur. ) is an exception. 2 Medea, Helena, Ileraclidae. ' Medea, Uippolytus, Andromache, Alcestis, Helena, Orestes^ Electro, Here. Ftirens. TNTR OD UCTTON. Ixi the earliest preparations of the sacred ministers. The chorus are visitors at Delphi. From the circumstances and the course of the play it is plain that some considerable time must be supposed to elapse between the opening and their appearance, more time than it is convenient to represent by a spoken scene on the stage. In the case of the Agamemnon I suggested, as a mere guess without proof, that between the prologue and the entrance of the chorus, there was some pageant or purely mimic perform- ance with music but without words, which might help to explain the intention. In the Ion we have all the proof, which from the nature of the case we could have, that this was so. When Ion appears, he is accompanied by certain ministers {iK 94), whom he immediately dismisses to fit themselves by ablution for the office of the day and then return to the temple and perform certain services on behalf of persons coming for consultation. On the stage those who are directed to return are generally seen to do so. What the services were, we know from τ/. 418. A general sacrifice had to be offered, to ascertain from the omens that the day was proper for consultation ; and when Xuthus arrives, he hears that this has been done. Now in what place was it done } On the great altar in front of the •temple. This is not merely probable, but proved, both by the words Ίτρο ναοΰ^ in v. 420, and by the description of the death of Neoptolemus in the Andromache^. There Neoptolemus offers for himself the sacrifice of consultation within the steps, that is, on the raised platform before the temple, upon which the great altar stood. He is afterwards slain on the altar. That the whole scene (according to Euripides' version) passes outside of the temple is evident^ Now in the Ion the stage (a stage probably very much like that lately discovered at Megalopolis, only of wood, some six ^ That vabs here and here only should mean the cella, or second chamber, of the temple, and ττρό ναοϋ in the pronaos, cannot, I think, be reconciled with the language of the play generally : vab% is several times used for the whole building, and no notice is ever taken of the divisions. (See vv. 314, 316, ναοίσι 5' οίκβΐ$...άφίκον ραόν). Besides, it does not appear that there was any altar of sacrifice in the />rofiaos. ^ w. 1 1 Γ I fF. ^ Note ζ'Γ'. II 15, ii2o — 23. Ixii INTRODUCTION. feet high and approached by a steep* flight of steps) represents this very platform, and on it stands the altar, where Creusa takes refuge. To what purpose then should the playwright first direct the audience to expect a performance at this place, and afterwards by reference assume that it has been done, if he did not mean them to see it done ? The point in' the play where it should be done and must be, if done at all, is between the first scene and t/ie entrance of the chorus ; where something of the kind would be of great dramatic use. Surely then we may safely assume that the performance did take place at that point, and that the playwright took this opportunity of amusing the lovers of spectacle, and of exhibiting, as his general purpose required, the pomp and splendour of the oracular establishment. Apart from this, the chorus of the Ion is not specially in- teresting, though it is in its dramatic relation about as good as any after Aeschylus. The odes are exquisite. But the most interesting feature connected with it is this of the preliminary pageant, which I notice in the expectation that, notwithstanding the natural difficulty of the enquiry, other demonstrable instances may be found. ^ V. 739. Note that here Creusa and her tutor plainly enter not on the stage plat- form, but below. So no doubt does Xuthus at v. \o\. The plot of the slave and Creusa {v. 970 ff.) is probably debated at or near the foot of the steps, not on the plat- form above. ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ΙΩΝ ν. Ι, ΤΠΟΘΕΧΙΧ*. Κρβονσαν την ^Έρβ'χθβως ^ΑττόΧλων φθβίρα^: ejKvov βττοίησβν iv * Αθήναις' ή δε το ^βννηθβν ύττο την άκρόττόλιν Ιξίθηκβ, τον αντον τότΓον καΙ του άΒίκηματος καΐ της Χοχείας μάρτυρα λα- βοΰσα. το μεν οΰν βρέφος 'Έρμης άνελό μένος εΙς ΑεΧφούς ηνε^γκεν' εύρουσα δ' η ττροφήτις ανέθρεψε' την Κρεουσαν δε Ηοΰθος ε^ημε' συμμαγ^σας yap ^ Αθηναίοις την βασιΧείαν καΐ τον της ττροειρημενης ^γάμον εΧαβε Βώρον. τούτω μεν ονν αλΧος τταΐς ουκ ε^ενετο' τον δ' εκτραφεντα ύττο της ττροφητώος οΐ ΑεΧφοΙ νεωκόρον εττοίησαν. 6 δε α^νοών εΒούΧευσε τω ττατρί. Ή σκηνή του Βράματος υττόκειται εν ΑεΧφοΐς. ^ This is a mere summary of the prologue. ^, 5 ', 5 D ΤΑ TOT ΔΡΑΜΑΤΟΣ ΠΡΟΣΩΠΑ. ΕΡΜΗ2. ΙΩΝ. Χ0Ρ02 ΘΕΡΑΠΑΙΝΙΔΩΝ ΚΡΕ0Υ^Η2. ΚΡΕΟΥΣΑ. Η0ΥΘ02. ΠΡΕ2ΒΥΤΗ5 η ΠΑΙΔΑΓΩΓΟΙ. ΘΕΡΑΠΩΝ ΚΡΕΟΥ^ΗΧ ΠΥΘΙΑ -iJTOL ΠΡΟΦΗΤΙ^. ΑΘΗΝΑ. ί— 2 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ΙΩΝ Scene : before the temple of Apollo at Delphi, Time : just before sunrise. Enter HERMES. EPMHX. *Ατλα9, γ^αλκεοίσι νωτοίς ουρανον θέων παλαιοί^ οίκον ίκτρίβων, θέων μυας εφυσε ΜαΓαι^, η μ iyeivaro ^Ερμην μεγίστω ΖηνΙ, δαιμόνων λάτριν. ηκω Se Αελφων την8ε γην, ϊν ομφαλον 5 μέσον καθίζων Φοΐβος νμνωΒεΙ βροτοίς τά τ οντά καΧ μέλλοντα θεσπίζων αεί. εστίν γαρ ουκ άσημος Ελλήνων πόλις της γρνσολόγγου Παλλάδος κεκλημενη, ον παιδ' *Έ>ρε^Θεως Φοίβος εζενξεν γάμους ΙΟ βία Κρεονσαν, ένθα προσβόρρονς πέτρας Παλλάδος υπ ογθω της ^Αθηναίων )(θονος Μακράς καλονσυ γης άνακτες *Ατθί8ος. άγνώς Βε πατρί, τω θεω γαρ ην φίλον, γαστρος Βυηνεγκ ογκον ως δ' ηλθεν γβονος^ 15 1. The long syllable preceding ουρανόν violates the law of the final cretic. Cf. Phoeii. 747 άμφότερον' άπολίΐφθ€ν yap ovdev θάτίρον. There are a few other more or less clear examples of the irregularity. 3. |j.ias : ' of one goddess ', Pleione. Some connexion seems to be intended between θίων and θ(ων μιας. One of the host of heaven (perhaps it is meant) bestowed a tender reward for his pains. But we want more knowledge of the story. eeov άλίας Shilleto. 5. ό(ΐψαλόν. In the temple 'close by the earia stood the famous omphalos. It was a rounded conical white stone, similar in shape to half an G:^ων) Creusa only is in thought, but the plural is used, as often, when the character (the mistress as such) rather than the individual is meant. μ€ θ€οΰ Hermann, θίον μί MSS. γύαλα. See on v. 220. 235. The 24 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ παρούσας δ' άμφΐ τάσδ' έρωτας. Enter Creusa, attended. Ιίΐ. VevvaiOTy]^ σοι, και τρόπων τεκμιηριον το (τχτιρ^ h(.^^^ τόδ', τιτις el ποτ , ω yvvai. yvoiT] δ' αν ώς τα πολλά y ανθρώπου πέρι το (τχημ' Ι8ών τις, el πέφνκβν €vyevης. 240 εα. αλλ' έζεπΧηζάς /χ', όμμα avyKXi^aaaa σον, 8ακρνοίς θ* -ιτγράνασ evyevrj παρηίΒα, ώς είδες ayva Αοξίον χρηστηρυα. τί ποτέ μερίμνης εΙς toS" ηλθβς, ω yvvai ; ου πάντες άλλοι γυάλα λενσσοντες θεον 245 -χαίρονσυν, εντανθ^ ο/χ/χα σοζ/ 8ακρνρροεΙ. ΚΡΕ0Τ2Α. ί1 ^ει^ε, το μεν σον ουκ άπαιΒεύτως εχευ εΙς θανματ εΚθείν δακρύων εμων περί. εyω ο ιοονσα τουσο Απόλλωνος οομους, μνήμην παλαιάΐ' άνεμετρησάμην τινά. 250 εAcε6 οε τοζ^ νουν εσγρν ενυαο ονσα περ. ώ τΧημονες yvva'Lκες' ω τολμήματα θεών τί 8ητα ; ποί 8ίκην άνοίσομεν, εΐ των κρατούντων άΒίκίαυς ολούμεθα ; Ιίΐ. τί -χρήμα δ' άνερεύνητα 8υσθνμεΙ, yύvaι ; 255 ΚΡ. ovhiv μεθηκα τοζα' τάπΧ τωδε δε ετγώ τε σιγώ, κα\ συ μη φρόντίζ" ετι. Ιίΐ. τίς δ' εΤ ; πόθεν γης ήλθες ; εκ ποίας πάτρας πεφνκας ; όνομα τί σε καλεΐν ημάς γρεών ; ΚΡ. Κρέουσα μεν μοι τουνομ , εκ δ' Έρεγ^θεως 200 πεφυκα, πατρίς yrj δ' ^Αθηναίων πόλις. Ιίΐ. ω κλεινόν οίκούσ άστυ, γενναίων τ απο τραφείσα πατέρων, ώς σε θαυμάζω^ γυζ^αι. subject of the sentence is Παλλ. ΐνοικα μίλαθρα, the predicate τρόφιμα μίΚαθρα κ.τ.λ. 236. τταρούσ-αβ : the predicate of the sentence. 237. γίνναιότη? σοι (coTi). γ€νραι6τητος των Boissonade, Badham. 244. μ(ρ£μ.νη$ TOBe : t/u's state or point of dubious thought. 247. Thy behaviour {rh Ά^οίι/α γηθβν έζανβίλβτο ; ΚΡ. €19 παρθένους γβ -χ^είρας, ου τεκουσά νιν, 270 ΙΩ. διδωσ-ί, δ', ωσπερ έν γραφή νομίζεται ; ΚΡ. Κέκροπός γε σωζειν παυσίν οΰ^ όρώμενον. ΙΩ. ηκουσα λυσαυ παρθένους τευ-χ^ος θέας. ΚΡ. τοιγαρ θανουσαι σκόπελον τ^/χα^αζ^ πέτρας. ΙΩ. εΐεν TL Sal tOS' ; αρ αληθές, η μάτην λόγο 9 ; 275 ΚΡ. τι χρημ έρωτας ; και γαρ ου κάμνω σχολή. Ι Ω. πατήρ ^Έρεχθεύς σας έθυσε συγγόνους ; ΚΡ. ετλη προ yata9 σφάγια παρθένους κτανεΐν. ΙΩ. συ δ' έξεσωθης πως κασιγνητων μόνη ; ΚΡ. βρέφος νεογνον μητρός ην έν άγκάλαις. 28ο ΙΩ. πατέρα δ' αληθώς χάσμα σον κρύπτει χθονός ; ΚΡ. πληγοΧ τριαίνης ποντίου σφ^ απώλεσαν. ΙΩ. Μ,ακραΙ δε χώρος έστ έκεΐ κεκλημένος ; ΚΡ. τι Ο ιστορείς τοο ; ως μ ανεμνησας τίνος. ΙΩ. τίμα σφε Ώύθιος άστραπαί τε Τίύθιαι ; 285 (L. Dindorf). 264. ' Thus far I ai7i happy' ; και gives the emphasis. 265. He pauses between curiosity and respect. Creusa encourages him to proceed. 267. For a full discussion of these legends see the reference on V. 23. •ΐΓρόγονο5 ττατηρ. The common genealogy was Erichthonius — Pandion — Erechtheus. 270. Creusa thinks of her own story, which is in her mind from the first. 272. σώζίΐν.-.ούχ όρώμ€νον to keep (in the basket or cradle in which he was delivered to them) but not to see. 273—275 : an exquisite turn of dialogue. However the myth of the daughters of Cecrops may have originated (there is reason to connect it with the mysteries of the Hersephoria ; see reference above) the obvious moral of it, as a story, is that children must not be too curious; for which use, unless the young Athenians were very different from their elders, the nurses of Athens must often have wanted it. Now Ion is just displaying this characteristic of his age and temperament in the strongest light, and Creusa (see v. 276) is beginning to be a little impatient. The gentle malice of her τοιγαρ θανονσαί dashes the questioner for a moment ; but he is too eager to be stopped. o-koitcXov «ir^Tpas. According to the story which Euripides seems to follow, they flung themselves from the cliffs of the Acropolis in horror at the sight of the snakes ΙΩΝ 27 Cre. These are my happiness, and these are all. Ion. Oh tell me, is it true ? — it is averred — Cre. Sir, I await the question. Ion. That thy sire Had for his forefather a son of Earth ? Cre. Yes, Erichthonius ; little good of it Have I ! Ion. And did Athena truly take The babe from Earth ? Cre. In virgin arms, and not As mother might, she did. Ion. And trusted him, As painters use to show us, to be kept. Not seen, by Cecrops' daughters t Cre. Even so. Ion. And they, like maidens, opened, I have heard, The goddess' gift. Cre. And dying for it spilt Their blood upon the precipice. Ion. Ah ! (A pause.) But now Another story, is it true or false "i Cre. What, pray? My time does not hang heavy. Ion, Did Thy sire Erechtheus slay in sacrifice Thy sisters.? Cre. Aye, for Athens' sake he bore To shed their virgin blood. Ion. And thou wast saved. Thou only, how .-* Cre. Being a new-born babe Then in my mother's arms. Ion. And was thy sire Whelmed in the yawning earth 1 Is't true "i Cre. He sank Where the sea-trident smote. loti. And have you there A place called the Long Cliffs.? Cre. What !... Wherefore this.?... O, thou hast touched a memory! Ion. 'Tis a place Dear to our god, graced by his lightning-fire ! by which the infant was guarded. 278. irpo yaias : being at war with Eumolpus, king of Eleusis and son of Poseidon. Poseidon afterwards (see vv. 280 — 82) slew Erechtheus by an earthquake. 283. Μακραί : see V. 13. 285. Πΰθιο8 : Apollo. I cannot think it necessary or desirable to alter this, in spite of the irregular metre. Even if we cannot (with Paley) assume the pronunciation Πϋ^ -yoy, the frequent admission of anapaests, where necessary, in connexion with proper names, could easily serve, as I think, to make one pass, though the form of the name did not require it. And after all the observance of metrical rules is seldom or never quite perfect. As to the repetition Ώ.νΘιος...ΙΙνθίαι, it seems proper to the sense. Ion, amazed at Creusa's change of manner, observes with emphasis that nothing could be more natural than his interest in a 28 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ΚΡ. Τίμα- τί fxaUi] μη ποτ ωφβλόν σή> Iheiv. ΙΩ. τί he] arvyw συ τον θεοΰ τά φίλτατα; ΚΡ. ovSev ^vvolS* αντροισιν αίσγννην τινά. Ιίΐ. ποσι? δε rts σ ^γημ Αθηναίων, γύναυ; ΚΡ. ουκ άστος, αλλ* έπακτος 4ζ αλλτ^ς ^Θονόζ» 2 90 Ιίΐ. τΐ9 ; evyevrj νυν δει πζφυκεναυ τινά. ΚΡ. αονθος, π€φυκως Αίολου Διός τ απο. Ifi. /cal πώς feVos cr' cSi^ εσχεν ovcrav έγγενη ; ΚΡ. Έυβου ^Α.θηναι<ζ ecrrt τις γείτων πολις* Ιίΐ. opOLS υγροίσυν, ώς Χεγονσ, ωρισμενη. 295 ΚΡ. ταύτην επερσε ΚεκροπίΒαυς κουνώ Sopi. Ιίΐ. επίκουρος εΚθών, κατά σον γαμεΐ λεχος; ΚΡ. φερνάς γε πολέμου καΐ 8ορ6ς λαβών γέρας. Ιίΐ. συν dvSpl δ' ηκευς η μόνη χρηστηρυα ; ΚΡ. σι>ν avSpi' σηκοΐς δ' υστερεί Ύροφωνίου. 300 ΙΩ. πότερα θεατής, η γαρυν μαντευμάτων ; ΚΡ. κείνου τε Φοίβου θ^ εν θελων μαθεΐν έπος. ΙΩ. καρπού δ' υττερ γης ηκετ, η παίδων περυ ; ΚΡ. ατταιδες έσμεν χρόνυ εχοντ ευνήματα. ΙΩ. οΰδ' ετεκες ου^εν πώποτ , αλλ' ατεκνος el ; 305 ΚΡ. ό Φοίβος οΐ8ε την εμην άπαιδιαι^. ΙΩ. ώ τλημον, ώς τάλλ' ευτυ^^ουσ-* ουκ εύτυ-χεΐς. ΚΡ. σύ δ' €1 τίς; ώς σου την τεκουσαν ώλ/βισα. ΙΩ. του θεού καλοϋμαυ 8οΰλος ειμί τ', ώ yvi/ac. place connected with his patron-god. Near the Long Rocks stood an altar oi Zeus Astrapaios. From this altar on three days and nights of three months in the year lightnings were watched for in the direction of a place called Harma. When these lightnings were seen, a sacred embassy was sent to Delphi. Apollo * honoured ' the place by causing the lightnings to be seen from it. Strabo ix. p. 404 (Musgrave, Hermann, and others). 286. τ£ }iaUi, ; Why this eager questioning? (Bayfield) seems to me the best correc- tion suggested for the MSS. τ'ψα τίμα ώς μήποτ. Creusa has not recovered from the shock of painful surprise, and still suspects Ion of some motive for his questions. Ά scribe might perhaps be excused for blundering over such a sequence of letters as TIMAITIMAIEIMH'. 288. ξύνοιδα Tyrwhitt, |eV olba MSS. 295. The desire of Ion for extending and correcting his infor- mation is irrepressible. 297. elra, upon that, betrays a little surprise. Ion finds the explanation not very satisfactory, and Creusa is not far from agreeing with him. 298. λαβών : supply το \4χος. 299. σ-ύν άνδρΐ 8' ήκ6ΐ5 : He is beginning to wonder (and no wonder) what is the history of the ΙΩΝ 29 Cre. Dear to.., But urge me not! Ah, would that I Had never seen it ! Ion. Phoebus loves it well ; Thou lik'st it not ! Ah, why } Cre. 'Tis nought. I know A certain shameful secret of the rocks. {A patcse.) Ion. Hast thou a husband, an Athenian .? Cre. No, I was wedded to a foreigner. Ion. Who was he .'* Noble sure he must have been. Cre. Xuthus, of Aeolus' race, the race of Zeus. Ion. How could an alien win so proud a wife } Cre. Euboea — 'tis a neighbouring land — Ion. Beyond A parting sea, they say. Cre. To conquer it The spear of Xuthus helped the Athenian arms. . Ion. And for his meed the good soldado took y oV^ cxo^ ) Thy hand .'' Cre. His prize and guerdon. {A pause.) Ion. Is thy spouse Companion of thy pilgrimage or no } Cre. He is ; I left him at Trophonius' cave. Ion. To see or to enquire .-* Cre. In hope to win One answer there and here. Ion. And what imports The quest "ί Your lands } Or children } Cre. Children we Have none in all these years. Ion. And thou hast borne No babe, wast ne'er a mother .!* Cre. Phoebus knows My childless state. Ion. Ο miserable state, Ο fortune all for one misfortune crossed ! {A pattse.) Cre. And who art thou "i Happy the woman is Who bare thee ! Ion. Slave to Phoebus am I called, family, and how far the husband and wife are in harmony. His questions now are not those of mere curiosity, but connected with his position as an officer of the temple. 300. σ-ηκοίβ δ* ■ϋστ€ρ6ΐ. He remains behind at the precinct^ or rather he is detained by the precinct^ i.e. by the purpose of con- sulting there. I follow Mr Bayfield in taking provisionally the correction of Badham : σηκος (or σηκυνς) ev στρεφα MSS. : €νστ€φ€ται τω τον Τροφωνίου σήκω schol., pointing to a traditional or conjectural reading ^νστρίφ^ι {quasi eWrpe0erat), which however is inadmissible. σηκός (poet, σηκοί) is any sacred enclosure, here the oracular cave and sanctuary of Trophonius at Lebadea in Boeotia. 305. cltckvos sterile, as distinct from childless. 306. She turns the question by a form which, to those who know, conveys the answer. 308. ότου : gen. of respect, / think or call her happy in thee. ώλβιοτα : the tense is common in Greek with reference to sensations 30 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ΚΡ. άζ/α^τ^/Λα πόλεως, η τίνος πραθείς νπο; 3^0 ΙΩ. ουκ οΤδα, πλην ev' Αοζίον κεκλημεθα. Kr. 7)μ€υς σ α ρ avt/LS, ω gev , αντοικτειρομεν. ΙΩ. ως ^ατ) ειδό^ tJti? /χ' ετεκεν, εζ ότου τ εφνν, ΚΡ. ι^αοισι δ' οΙκεΐς τουσί8\ η κατά στεγας; ΙΩ. απαι/ ^eov /MOt 8ωμ\ Ιν αν λάβτ) μ ύπνος, 3^5 ΚΡ. παις δ' ών άφίκον ναον, r\ ι^εαι^ιας ; ΙΩ. βρέφος λεγονσιν οΐ Βοκουντες εΙΒεναί' ΚΡ. και τις γάλακτί σ εξεθρεφε ΑελφίΒων; ΙΩ. ονπωποτ εγνων μαστόν η δ' εθρεχΙ^ε με, — ΚΡ. τίς, ω ταλαίπωρ ) ως νοσονσ ηνρον νόσους. 3^0 ΙΩ. Φοίβου προφητις, μητερ ως νομίζομεν. ΚΡ. εις δ' avhp άφίκου τίνα τροφην κεκτημένος; ΙΩ. βωμοί μ* εφερβον, ουπιών τ αεί ζενος. ΚΡ. τάλαιν αρ η τεκοΰσά σ, ήτις ην ποτέ, ΙΩ. άΒίκημά του γυναικός εγενόμην ίσως. 3^5 ΚΡ. εχ^εις δβ βίοτον; ευ γαρ ησκησαι πέπλους. ΙΩ. τοις του θεού κοσμούμεθ* ^ ω 8ουλεύομεν. ΚΡ. οι5δ' ηζας εΙς ερευναν εξευρείν γονάς; ΙΩ. €^ω γαρ ού8εν, ω γύναι, τεκμηριον. ΚΡ. φευ- πεπονθε τις ση μητρί ταυτ άλλη γυνή. 33^ ΙΩ. τίς ; ει πόνου μοι ξυλλάβοι, γαίροιμεν αν. ΚΡ. ης ουνεκ ηλθον Βευρο πρΙν πόσιν μολεΐν. ΙΩ. ποών τι γ^ρηζουσ, ως υπουργήσω^ ywat; ΚΡ. μάντευμα κρυπτον Βεομενη Φοίβου μαθεϊν. ΙΩ. λεγοις αν' ημεΐς ταλλα προζενήσομεν. 335 just felt : we should use the present. 310. Dedicated by a city ? As a captive, for example, taken in war, and as part of the god's votive share in the spoil. 318. The accentuation τις some one seems better for the sense than Tiff, which? 320. How^ being in misery, have I fowid {other like) miseries! νόσος is a common word in the poet, and used with a wide meaning. 323. ο ΙΐΓΐών άβί : succeeding from time to time. 324 — 5. This exclamation and reply, with the subsequent return to the previous subject, break the course of the dialogue, and various re-arrangements are accordingly pro- posed. Mr Bayfield, for example, places these two lines after v. 329, where they fit very well. Perhaps however the irregularity is in truth an advantage. The subject of the unknown mother is associated with Creusa's secret thoughts, and is really introduced by her to lead, as it eventually does {,ν. 33o), to the case of her pretended friend. It belongs therefore to her ΙΩΝ 31 Lady, and his I am. Cre. By purchase or By public dedication ? Ion. That I bear His name is all I know. Cre. Alas, 'tis now Our turn to pity thee ! Ion, Who do not know My mother, nor my father. Ah ! Cre. The fane, Is it thy only home ? Ion. 'Tis all my home, And where I fall asleep my chamber is. Cre. Camest thou here a child ? Io7i. A babe, they say Who claim to know. Cre. Some woman of the place Gave thee to suck? Ion. I never knew the breast; A woman reared me ; her — Cre. What woman ? {aside) Ah ! How do these sorrows match with mine ! Ion. And her I hold for mother, Phoebus' prophetess. Cre. From babe to man Avho hath supported thee ? loit. The altar and succeeding visitants. These gave me food. {A pause?) Cre. Thy wretched mother! Ah! Who might she be? Ion. A woman's wrong belike Gave me my birth. {A pause?) Cre. And hast thou wealth? Thy robe Is rich. Ion. We wear the garniture of him We serve. {A patcse.) Cre. And didst thou never try to seek Thy parentage ? Ion. I have no clue. Cre. How sad ! {A long pause.) Cre. Thy mother's case... There was another such. Ion. How glad were I if she would share my grief! Who was it? Cre. She whose business brought me here ^ Before my husband. Ion. Let me know the need, That I may help. Cre. The counsel of the god Upon a secret matter. Ion. Speak, and we natural hesitation and difficulty in bringing this on {v. 336), that she should thus approach and suddenly retreat from the topic. With action, the passage would not, I think, offer any difficulty. 324. rakaiva σ ή rcKova ήτις ποτ rjv apa MSS. corr. by Dobree. 325. That he iyevcTo {was produced), and that his mother ήδικηθη, were aspects of one fact ; this is expressed in Greek by β-γβνόμψ αδίκημα, I was begot a violence, Anglice, my begetting was a violeiice. 326. βίοτον : wealth, substance, as opposed to mere τροφή. 335. •π•ρο|€νιισ-ομ€ν will manage your case, but with some reference to the Delphic use of the word for the service rendered to visitors 32 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ΚΡ. oLKOve Srj τον μνθον' αλλ' αΐ^ονμεθα. Ιί2. ου τάρα πράξβυς ovhev' άργος η θεός. ΚΡ. Φοιβω μυγηναί φησί τις φίλων ίμων — ΙΩ. Φοίβω γννη γεγωσα; μτ) \iy , ώ ζενη. ΚΡ. καί παΓδα γ ετεκβ τω θβω λάθρα πατρός. 34^ Ιίΐ. ουκ εστίν άνΒρος ά8ίκίαν αίοτχννεταυ, ΚΡ. ο φησυν αντη, καΐ πέπονθεν άθλυα. ΙΩ. τί γρημα Spdaacr, εΐ θεω σννεζνγη ; ΚΡ. τον τταΓδ' ον ετεκεν εζεθηκε Βωμάτων. ΙΩ. ο δ' εκτεθείς τταΐς ττον ^στιν; είσορα φάος; 345 ΚΡ. ουκ 6ΐ8εν οΰδβις* ταύτα καΐ μαντενομαυ. ΙΩ.. €1 δ' ονκετ εστί, τίνι τρόπω Βίεφθάρη \ ΚΡ. θηράς σφε τον 8νστηνον ελπίζει κτανεΐν. ΙΩ. ποίω τόδ* εγνω -χρω μένη τεκμηρίω ; ΚΡ. ελθονσ Ιν αντον εξεθηκ ονχ ην ρ ετι. 35^ ΙΩ. ην δε σταλαγμός εν στίβω τις αίματος; ΚΡ. ον φησί' καίτοι πολλ' επεστράφη πεΒον. ΙΩ. -χ^ρόνος δε τις τω παίδι Βιαπεπραγμενω; ΚΡ. σοι ταντον ήβης, ειπερ ην, ει^ αν μετρον. ΙΩ. ονκονν ετ άλλον νστερον τίκτει γόνον ; 35^ in introducing them (npo^eueh) to the god. Cf. Androrn. 1103, where a consulter presents himself σνν πμοξ4νοισι μάντζσίν re ΊΙυθίκοίς. 337. αργό? unproductive^ earning nothing. The word in this sense was connected with commerce (see on Med. 296), and probably άργόί r\ ^eos is or imitates a proverb of business. ή θίό? : Αιδώ?. 338. Note that the words, which, we must suppose, are spoken slowly and with great difficulty, are carefully so constructed, that their meaning does not appear, till they are followed by a pause sufficient to show that there is no more to come. The subject of μιγηναι is in suspense ; the words may be the beginning of a long story, and may relate merely to some legend with which it is connected. A moment therefore must intervene before Ion can grasp the astounding purport, which in the situation is a good dramatic point. 342. ο φησ-ιν αυτή. 'The relative clause is anticipatory. Cf Lysias, Eratosth. § 43 oBiv τής στάσεως ηρξαρ, πίρπ avdpes (φόροι κατέστησαν : the appointment of the ephors was the first step in the revolution'. B. καΐ: atso. Creusa passes in silence the foregoing suggestion. 343. τ£ χρήμα δράσ-ασ-α ; On what occasion f The circum- stances of the fact conveyed in ττίπονθ^ν άθλια would have been naturally given, if the story had been continued, by some participle, e.g. τον τταίδ' €κθ€7σα, when she exposed her child. But, as Creusa pauses again, Ion asks for the participle (if it may be so expressed) using a form of question which simply implies that such is the grammatical form of the expected answer. ΙΩΝ 33 Will forward it. Cre. This is her story then — If shame will let me tell it. Ion. Otherwise Thou failest. Never business sped with shame L Cre. Phoebus... and she... she tells it of herself... Ion. Phoebus ! A mortal woman ! Say it not ! Cre. Yes, and unknown she bare the god a child. Ion. False, false ! It was a man, and she is loth / To own the rape. Cre. She hath had wrong beside By her account. Ion. Her tale supposed, wherein ? Cre. The babe she bore she cast away. Ion. And where Now is this castaway ? Alive ? Cre. None knows : 'Tis that I come to ask. Ion. If not alive. How did he perish? Cre. Slain, as she believes. By beasts. Ion. What reason had she so to think? Cre. She came where he was cast, and found him not. Ion. Was any trace of blood upon the ground ? Cre. Nothing, she says, although she searched the place Over and over. Ion. Since the boy was lost How long is it? Cre. His age, were he alive, Would equal thine. Ion. Then hath she never since Creusa's reply takes a slightly different shape. €l θβώ (τυνβζύγη. Ion, who is still incredulous, wishes to mark that in asking for further details he does not accept the main allegation. To be clear, the sentence requires the help of pronunciation. 1 prefer this to the received interpretation, For what offence did she suffer^ if the god was her lover? (' Ion means that if she had won a god's favour, any subsequent suffering must have been caused by her own fault ') as more consistent with Ion's view of the case (see v. 437). But the verse is (for Euripides) unusually obscure. 346. καΐ : expressed in English by an emphasis, 'That is what I come to ask^ 348. Ιλπίζει: supposes : cf. the English uses of expect. 352. καίτοι and^ you must know. 353. Cf. Thuc. 3. 29 ήμ€ραι μάλιστα ήσαν ttj Μντίλήντ} βαλωκυία €πτά. 354. This verse and Mr Bayfield's note on it have been the subject of a controversy, whether in this form of hypothesis the non-reality of the supposition is necessarily conveyed by the words. See Classical Review^ Vol. IV. pp. 200, 251, 297. It is impossible to discuss the question here, as the decision, one way or the other, does not materially affect the sense. My feeling is that here Creusa does, for the purpose of this particular observation, suppose the death of the child, and would be so understood in Greek as in the English translation. είχ' αν. The elision is irregular, βιχβζ/ αν being the regular form. ηβη?• The full sense is V. I. 3 34 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ΚΡ. ά8υκ€Ϊ νιν 6 θβος, ου τεκονσα δ' άθ\ία. 355 Ιίΐ. τί δ' €1 λάθρα νιν Φοΐβος έκτρεφευ λαβών; 357 ΚΡ. τα κοινά -χαίρων ου δίκαια Spa μόνος. Ιίΐ. ώμοί' ττροσωδος τ) τΰ^τ^ τω 'μω πάθει, — ΚΡ. και σ, ω ζεν, οΧμαι μητερ άθλίαν ποθείν. 2>^0 ΙΩ. καΧ μη y in οΧκτον μ εξαγ\ ου ^λελησμεθα. ΚΡ. <τιγώ• πέραινε δ' ων σ ανιστορώ περί. ΙΩ. οίσθ* ονν δ κάμνει τον λόγου μάλιστα σοι ; ΚΡ. τί δ' ουκ εκείντ) τύ) ταλαιπωρώ νοσεί; Ιίΐ. πώς 6 θεός δ λαθείν βούλεται μαντεύσεται ; 3^5 ΚΡ. εΐπερ καθίζει τρίποδα κοινόν 'Ελλάδος. Ιίΐ. αισχυνεται το πράγμα' μη ^ζελεγχε νιν. ΚΡ. άλγύνεται δε γ' η παθουσα τη τύ-χτ). ΙΩ. ουκ εστίν όστις σοι προφητεύσει τάδε. iv τοις γαρ αντου δω/χασιζ^ κακός φανείς ^yo Φοίβος Βικαίως τον θεμιστεύοντά σοι 8ράσειεν αν τι πημ ' άπαλλάσσου, γυναν τω γαρ θεώ τάναντΓ ου μαντευτεον. εις γαρ τοσούτον ά/χα^ιας ελθοιμεν avy ει τους θεούς άκοντας εκπονησομεν 375 φράζειν α μη θελουσιν η προβωμίοις σφαγαίσι μήλων η Si οιωνών πτεροΐς. αν γαρ βία σπεύ8ωμεν ακόντων θεών^ άκοντα κεκτημεσθα τάγάθ\ ώ y^j^at, ά δ' αν διδώσ' έκόντες, ώφελούμεθα. 3^0 ΧΟ. πολλαί γε πολλοίς εισΐ συμφοραΐ βροτών. He would have been of your adult age. 355. ού τίκοΰσ-α. η τ€κουσα MSS. The correction and transference of the line to follow v. 356 (Hermann) seem necessary, though it is not easy to account for the error. 358. I/e acts unfairly itt enjoying alone what belongs to both (the pleasure of the child), /ioi/of, joined in sense with χαίρων, is displaced for emphasis. 359. The story harmonizes with what I have experienced (δ η^πονθα), i.e. not merely is like it, but by the likeness awakes my self-pity, as a string or a glass will respond to its own note when sounded near. 361. καΐ μη γβ. Yes, and do not force me, or Yes, and you must not force me. The και {and so) connects this with v. 359; the ye recognizes Creusa's comment a* μη μ en οίκτον t^ay Nauck. 363. του \6yov plea, cause : Creusa represents her absent 'friend', as an advocate, in which connexion λόγος was technical. 373. ' We must not enquire against deiiy\ a condensed, epigrammatic turn of ΙΩΝ 35 Borne child ? Cre. Alas, the god is cruel ! None. Io7i. But what if Phoebus took him and has reared In secret? Cre. Then his solitary joy Defrauds his lawful partner! (A pause?) Ion. Ah, this tale Echoes my inner woe ! Cre. For thee too, thee Doubtless a mother sighs. Ion. Compel me not To sorrows which I had forgot to feel. Cre. Pardon!... My question, let us speak of that. Ion. I mark a point wherein thy cause is weak: Dost thou ? Cre. Alas, I plead for one whose cause Is nought but weakness. Ion. May the god be asked What he would have a secret .-* Cre. That he may ! His oracle is open ! Ion. Would'st thou bare His tender honour? Cre. Truly, when I see His tender victim suffer worse than he ! Io7t. No man alive will put thy question ! No ! How justly would the god, dishonoured so Here in his proper temple, wreak his ire On him who did thine office ! Nay, retire ; And seek no divination which offends Divinity. (To this the error tends. If we would urge the gods against their will. To give us answer by the priestly skill Of sacrifices slain or birds in air.) It profits nought to win reluctant prayer In their despite, whose blessings only bless When freely they consent to our success. Chorus. Wide is the world and diversely designed, expression, expanded in the following parenthesis. 374. Our indecency would be no less (than τω ^«ώ τάναρτία μαντ^νίσθαι). For άμαθία, which signifies want of moral rather than of intellectual perception, see on Med. 223. 375. €κτΓονή<Γομ€ν : see on 7/. 1355• 377. <Γφαγαισι...'ΐΓΤ€ροΐ5: join with φράζβιν. δι* οΙωνών irTcpois Omens (given) through birds'; see on 7/. 143. Mr Bayfield marks the parenthesis as probably spurious, and it perhaps wants the terseness and clearness of Euripides. I do not how- ever see any likely motive for the insertion. 379. άκοντα... τάγαθά: l/ie blessings, when we get them, are reluctant blessings, i.e. blessings which do not mean to be such, and therefore in the end do not prove such. ουκ οντά Wakefield (for άκοντα), άνόνητα Η. Stephens; but surely άκοντα is 3—2 36 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ μορφαΐ δε ^ιαφέρονσιν tv δ' αν ευτυχές /χολις ποτ έζενροι ης ανθρώπων βί(ο. ΚΡ. ω ΦοΙββ, κάκ€υ κάνθάΒ' ον δίκαιος ει εις την άπονσαν, ηζ πάρεισιν οΐ λόγοι. 3^5 συ δ' ονκ εσωσας τον σον ον σωσαί σ ^Xpy)Vi ονθ^ Ιστορονστι μητρί μάντυς ων ερεΓς* ως, ει μεν ονκετ ίστιν, ογκωθη τάφω, el δ' βστυν, ίλθτ) μητρός εις oxpLv ποτέ. αλλ' -f iav Ί* \ρη τάδ', el προς τον Oeov 39^ κωλνόμεσθα μη μαθείν α βονλομαι. αλλ', ω ζεν, είσορω γαρ evyevrj πόσιν Έονθον πίΚας δτ} Tovhe τας Τροφωνίου Χυπόντα ^αλοί/ιας, τους ΧεΧεγμενονς λόγους σίγα προς avSpa, μη τιν αίσχυνην λάβω 395 διαΑίοΐΌυσα κρυπτά, καΐ προβη λόγος οΰχ ηττερ ημεϊς αυτόν ίζειλίσσομεν. τά γάρ γυναικών Βυσχερη προς άρσενας, καν ταΐς κακαίσιν αγαθοί μεμιγμεναυ μισονμεθ^' ούτω δυστυχείς πεφύκαμεν. / 400 Enter XUTHUS, attended by servants and Delphians. ΗΟΤΘΟΣ. Πρώτοι^ μεν ο θεός των εμών προσφθεγμάτων λαβών άπαργάς γαιρετω, συ τ, ω γυι/αι. μών -χ^ρόνως ελθών σ εξέπληξα ορρωΒία ; ΚΡ. ούΒεν γ'• άφίκου δ' εις μεριμναν αλλά μοι λεζον τί θέσπισμ εκ Τροφωνίου φέρεις, 4^5 παίδων όπως νων σπέρμα συγκραθησεται. both more poetical and more epigrammatic. 385. oi λύγοι: see on V. 363. 388. όγκωθη τάψω : that a grave-7noimd may be made him. This would be done, for the repose and honour of the spirit, when he was known to be dead, but could not, for fear of the omen and of ritual impropriety, be done before. 390. Ιάν χρη τάδ* 'probably gives the correct sense, but affords no sufficient data for emendation'. B. 398. "τίι γαρ γυναικών : ' the Condition of women is hard as compared with men ' (that of men) ; z.e. a woman is more likely to be misjudged than a man in the matter of acquaintances. This is better than to take προς apatvas * with regard to men ', meaning that men judge women harshly, since women ΙΩΝ 37 And fortunes manifold, but shall you find One single happiness in all mankind ? Creiisa. Ο Phoebus, tyrant still, now and before, To her, who here presents her absent plea, A father careless then to save his child, A prophet now deaf to the mother's prayer, To know it dead, and heap a grave for it, Or know it lives, and hope to see it yet ! Enough ! Apollo crosses us, and bars My question: let it fall. And I request You (for I see. Sir, from Trophonius' cave My noble spouse arrived and now at hand) That nothing of this converse may be told ^ To Xuthus; lest I suffer some reproach For such a delicate office, and the cause Wind to some issue other than we meant. The matters of our sex will hardly bear Men's judging; since the good and bad of us Unhappily are joined in one dislike. Enter XUTHUS, attended by servants and Delphians. Xtithiis. My happy salutation, and my first. To Phoebus, and the next, my wife, to thee ! He notices her distress. What ! Did my stay too long disquiet thee .•* Cre. Scarcely before thy coming met the thought. But say, what oracle from Trophonius .-* Is there a means to make our union blest.!* are judged quite as harshly by their own sex". B. I prefer however the other view ; as to the truth of Creusa's plea, it seems either way to have as much truth, and no more, as serves for an excuse. 401. μ4ν...τ€ differs slightly from μΙν.,Μ in throwing more emphasis on the second branch, so that often the nearest EngHsh is not only... but also. 404. // was but little {a mere nothing) at any rate; you met my anxiety, άφίκου els μί'ριμναν is modelled on such phrases as eXOeTp els xpeiav or βλθίϊν els καιρόν to come when one is wanted, at the right moment. Only the context explains the sense ; the words might and commonly would mean you became anxious. Se bict is opposed to the negative ouSeV, My anxiety was not serious, but (we 38 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ So. ουκ ηζίωσ€ του Oeov προΧαμβάΐ'βίν μαντβνμαθ* ' e^» δ* ούν βίπερ, ουκ ατταιδά /χ€ προς οίκον ηζ^ιν ovhe σ έκ χρηστηρίωρ. ΚΡ. ώ πότνία Φοίβου μητβρ, el γαρ αΙσίως 4^0 €λθοίμ€ν. α τ€ νων συμβόλαια ττροσθεν ην is τταΓδα τον σον, μεταπέσοι βελτίονα. SO. εσται τάδ'• άλλα τις προφητεύει θεού', ΙΩ. ημείς τά y εζω' των εσω δ' άλλοΐ9 μέλει, οι πλησίον θάσσουσι τρίπο^ος^ ω ζενε, 4^5 Αελφών άριστης ους εκληρωσεν πάλος. SO. καλώς' έχων 8η πάνθ^ όσων εχρηζομεν στείχοιμ! αν εΐσω' καΐ γοίρ, ώς εγώ κλύω, χρηστηριον πεπτωκε τοις επηλυσιν κοινον προ ναού' βούλομαι δ' εν ήμερα 4^0 τ^δ', αίσια yap, θεού λαβείν μαντεύματα. συ δ' άμφΐ βωμούς, ώ yuz^at, Βαφνηφόρους . λαβοΰσα κλώνας, εύτεκνους ευγου θεοΐς χρησμούς μ ενεγκεΐν εζ ^Κπόλλωνος 8όμων. Xuthus enters tlie temple. ΚΡ. eicrrai τάδ', ecrrat. Κοζίας δ' εάν θελη 4^5 νυν αλλά τάς πριν άναλαβείν αμαρτίας, άπας μεν ου yivoiT αν εις ημάς φίλος, όσον δε χρήζει^ θεός yap εστί, Χέζομαι. Exit, to the outer precinct. lil. τι ποτέ λόγοισιν η ζενη προς τον θεον κρυπτοΊσιν άεΐ λοι8οροΰσ αΐνίσσεται, 43^ ήτοι φιλούσα γ ης ύπερ jULai^Teuerat, η και τι σιγώσ ών σιωπάσ^αι χρεών; άτάρ θυγατρος της ^Ερεχθέως τι μοι should say /or) you came to prevent it. 411. σ-υμβόλαια relations, a metaphor originally taken from commerce. 413. ιτροφ. θβοΰ : * Who serves as intermediary to the god?' 417. 2χων Badham, ίχ<ύ MSS. 419. rots ίΐΓτ|λυ<Γΐν κοινόν : OH behalf of the visitors in general, to ascertain from the omens exhibited by the victim, whether the day was favourable (αΙσία) for consultation. 421. αίσ-ία γάρ : as the omens had declared. As to the place of the sacrifice and its relation to the play, see Introd., on The Parodos. 422. άμφΐ βωμ,ούβ €δχου: go praying roumi the altars. δαφνηφόρουδ κλώνας branches of laurel carried, to lay on the altars in sign of ΙΩΝ 39 XiUh. His modesty refused to anticipate ^ Apollo's answer ; only this he said, Neither should I, nor thou, go childless home. Cre. Oh blessed Lady, Phoebus' Mother, bless Our pilgrimage, that past displeasure end Between thy Son and us in happy change ! Xuth. So shall it be ! But which is he who doth The sacred office? Ion. That is ours, at least Without the temple; others serve within. Whose seat is nearer to the tripod, Sir, Princes of Delphi, chosen by the lot. ^ Xuth. My thanks ! I know enough, and would at once Enter. I hear, that sacrifice for all, Offered before the fane, hath marked the day Proper for foreign comers to consult : And I would use the occasion. Thou the while Take laurel-boughs, my wife, and go the round Of the altars, praying heaven that I may bring Promise of children from Apollo's house. Cre. Aye, and Amen ! Xuthus enters the temple. Cre. This day if Loxias will Make some amends at least for wrong before ; Though perfect love he cannot show, whate'er He grants, as from a god, I will accept! Exit^ to the outer precinct. Ion. What means the lady, that in covert speech Still at the god she points a dark reproach } Is it pure love for the unknown her, whose quest She doth attorney t Is it that she hides ^" Something not wordable t But what care I For daughter of Erechtheus, nought to me } supplication : in δαφνηφόρονς the• two parts of the compound Imcrel-carried apply to κΚωνας separately. 425. ίσ-ται τάδ', ^σ-ται : expressing obedience to his command and also (see v, 413) confidence in his prayer. 426. άλλα at least. άναλαβ€ΐν retrieve. 428. oy means of thy liking or of what thou ΙΩΝ 57 His fearful hours ? Give me, I say, for life The plain man's happiness and not the king's, Who loves to have base creatures for his friends But shuns the noble sort for dread of death ! Say'st thou, the gold outweighs it all, the wealth ? Methinks the pleasure of a hoard to gripe Would ill repay the scandal and the pains. Nay, modest means for me, and ease withal ! And I have had, my father, blessings here. As I would show; sweet idlesse (is there aught Men love more dearly ?), troubles little, none To jostle me (oh shame, to give the wall To baser folk !) from his discourteous path. Whether I prayed to god or talked with man, I saw not grief but always joy, and still So changed the parting for the coming guest That I was ever pleasing, ever new. And innocent, as man must pray to be, Though 'twere without his will, my nature was And custom made me for Apollo's sake. All this together weighed, I put this life Above that other. Oh father, let my life Be still, be only mine ! The joys of pride Are worth no more than lowness, if it please. Cho. {aside). Well hast thou pleaded, if the happiness Of her I love may profit by thy tastes ! Xiith. Reason the case no more, but learn thy part Of greatness, which shall here begin, my son. E'en where I found thee, with a public feast And sacrifice, neglected at thy birth. Here I will banquet thee as one I wish likesty dative of τα σα φίλα. Cf. τα των θ^ων καλά the admiration of the gods, or what the gods admii'e {v. 450). The Athenian women do not approve 'his taste', but in the circumstances gladly wish that he may have it.-^ The correction \oyots for φίλοις, suggested in one of the MSB., spoils the play between ovs eyt» φιλώ and τά σά φίλα. 651. θέλω αρξασ-θαι : ' Ι mean to make a (religious) beginning of the new life'. See 7'. 653. 654. ώζ... «φ^στιον : on the ground that I have made friends with you and am taking you home ; the feast at Delphi was to be represented as the beginning of a 58 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ SeinpoLaL τερχρω- της δ' ^ΚΘηναίων γθονος 655 αζω θεατην Βηθβν, ώς ουκ οντ Ιμόν. καΐ yap γυναίκα την έμην ου βούλομαι Χυπβίν ατ€κνον ούσαν αυτός €υτυγων. ^ρόνω δε καιρόν λαμβάνων ττροσάζομαι Βάμαρτ idv σε σκήπτρα ταμ ^χειν γθονος. 66θ Ιωζ^α δ' ονομάζω σ€ τη τύχτ) πρέπον, οθούνεκ άδυτων Ιξιοντι μοί θεοΰ ίχνος συνη\\ίας πρώτος' ^ άλλα των φίλων πληρωμή άθροίσας βουθύτω συν ήδονη πρόσβίπβ, μέλλων Δελφιδ' έκλιπεΐν πόλυν. 665 ύμΐν Se συγάν, δ/χωίδες, λέγω τάδε, . η θάνατον είπούσαισι προς Βάμαρτ Ιμην. J ΙΩ. στείχοιμ αν' %.ν δε της τύχης άπεστί μοι' ει μη γαρ ήτις μ* ετεκβν εύρησω, πάτερ, άβίωτον ημΖν' ει δ' επεύξασθαι χρεών y 670 εκ των * Αθηνών μ* η τεκουσ εΐη γυνή, ώς μοι γενηται μητροθεν παρρησία. καθαράν γαρ ην τις εις πόλί,ι/ ττεση ζενος, καν τοις λόγοισιν άστος η, το γε στόμα 8ουλον πεπαται κούκ έχει παρρησίαν. Exettnt. ΧΟ. *Ορώ 8άκρυα καΐ πενθίμους στρ. 6y6 άλαΧαγάς στεναγμών τ εισβολάς, όταν εμά τύραννος εΰτταιδιαζ/ πόσιν εχοντ ΐ8η, αύτη δ' άπαις η καΐ λελειμμενη τέκνων. 68θ τίν, ω παΐ πρόμαντι Αατούς, εχρησας ύμνωΒίαν ; πόθεν 6 παις οδ* άμφΐ ναούς σεθεν τρόφιμος εζεβα, γυναικών τίνος', proposed acquaintance. 655. rfjs δ*...χθον08: 'and the alleged reason for taking you there shall be that you may see the town '. 665. irpoo-ei-ire say farewell to. 666. λέγω νμίν aiyav τάδζ η (λβγω) θάνατον : / fit'd you hush this matter, or {threate?i) death.— — 670. ΙΐΓ-€ύξα<Γθαι : to be particular in prayer, to choose a boon, literally to pray something over and aboT.>e («Vi) the general prayer that he may find his mother, which he has made or implied already. 674. iv rois λόγοισιν on the lists or list. The technical name for the burgess-roll at Athens was καταΚο-^ο^, for which Xoyoi {account, reckoning, number) is here used as a more poetical synonym. 675. ir^ira- Tcu: κ(κτηται: see πάομαι. 676. 'π'6νθίμου9...€ΐσβολά5 : the substantives and epithets are contrasted: άλαλαγαί and (Ισβολαί together mean entry amid ΙΩΝ 59 To visit me in Athens, thither brought Not as mine own, but to admire the town. I would not that my single happiness Should give a heart-ache to my childless wife. In some good hour hereafter will I win Her leave that thou shalt have my royalty. Thy name, to fit the chance which led thy foot First to meet mine forth coming from the fane, Thy name is Ion. Now be all thy friends Convoked, and mid the pleasures of the feast Bid them farewell upon thy parting hence. Ye women, keep the secret, under pain, If ye reveal it to my wife, of death ! Ion. Father, I go; but ah, for happiness One thing I lack, my mother known; till then There is no life for me ! And, might I choose, I pray that she may prove Athenian born And give her child the freeman's right of speech. An alien in a folk of pure descent By law may be a burgess, but his lips Are slave; he cannot speak the thing he will. Exeunt. Chorus, What tearful triumph will there be At Athens' gate, what cheer and groan. When that unhappy queen shall see Her lord a father proud, and she Is lone and childless, childless and alone ! Oh prophet-god, 3s3l0fik^s Son, What strange reply thy chant hath made ! A cloister-child, whose mother none cheers^ such as would naturally welcome the return of Xuthus and Creuso, bringing Ion Avith them ; in this case, for Creusa and those who loved her, there would be cheers of jnoiirning aiid a?i entrattce of grief. άλαλαγάβ (Hermann excellently, for MSS. αΚΚα^ ye) cheers^ cries of triumph. It will be found on investigation very doubtful whether this word ever had any other than this its regular sense. €ΐσβολά5 : see v. 721 and L. and Sc. S. VV. ίίσβολή, εισβάλλω. 682. άμφι ναού5...τρόφιμθ5 together. 6ο ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ου yap με cratVei θέσφατα, 685 μη τιν εχτ) Βόλοι^. Βευμαίνω συμφοραν εφ' ο ποτέ βάσεται, άτοπος άτοπα γαρ παραΒίΒωσί μοι. 69Ο εγει h6\ov τνγαν θ* 6 ποίς αΧΚων τραφείς εζ αιμάτων. τις ου τά8ε ξννοίσεται ; φίλαι, πότερ εμα δέσποινα αντ, 695 τάδε τορώς ες ους γεγωι/ησομερ πόσιν, εν ω τα πάντ εχουσ ελπίΒων μέτοχος ην τλάμων; νυν δ' η μεν ερρει συμφοραΐς, 6 δ' εύτυχεΐ, πολίον είσπεσουσα γήρας, πόσις δ' άτίετος φίλων. μελεος, ος θυραίος εΚθών 8όμους yoi μεγαν ες ολβον ουκ εσωσεν τύχας. ολουτ', ολοιθ' ο πότνιαν εζαπαφων έμάν, καΐ θεοίσιν μη τύχοι 705 καλλίφλογα πελανον επΙ πυρί καθαγνίσας. το δ' εμον είσεται τυραννικός φίλα. f 7 ΙΟ η8η πελας 8είπνων κυρεί παις καΐ πατήρ νέος νέων. Ίώ 8είρά8ες ΐίαρνασου πέτρας επω8. 687. σ-υμφοράν ; the encounter, hap, of Ion and Xuthus, in which they suspect fraud, not perhaps disallowed by the god himself. 690. for it (the event) dubiously brings a dubious message, ιταραδίδωσ-ι : the metaphor is taken from the delivery of a letter or credential, such as a messenger might bring with him to attest his mission. See L. and Sc. s. v. παρα8ί8ωμι. After μοι the MSS. have t68c τ εύφημα or TO di ποτ (νφημα, whence Nauck ra5« θ€ον φήμα. In the uncertainty of the antistrophe {v. 710) it is impossible to say whether there is only corruption here or interpolation too. 700. aricTos ψίλων negligent of his nearest love. 702. ουκ Ισ-ωσ -cv τύχας : diffi- cult: "has not acted consistently with his fortune, i.e. has proved base, though he received the honour of a foreign alliance as a reward for virtue or valour, v. 62: compare Η el. 613. το μόρσιμον σώσασα [obsennng or keeping to my destinyW Paley: "has not preserved its fortunes, i.e. those of the house ", Bayfield. The first is nearer what the context suggests, but is more like a rendering of «σωσίν τρόιτουί or, as Badham would read, φμίνα^. 1 ΙΩΝ 6ι Can tell, nor how his life begun ! A doubtful oracle ! Oh, are we betrayed ? I fear this opportune event, With such unclear credential sent, To what intent, to what intent ? Not chance alone, but treason too Befriends the waif, the casual brew Of alien bloods. Who doubts it, w^ho ? Ο women, shall we, shall we rend Our lady's ear with such report Of him on whom did all depend Her freight of common hopes ? The port Divides them, his alive, and her's amort ! Now to the grey her aging brows Decline ; her lord neglects to love ; The stranger, whom her wealth endows, Neglects in her distress to prove His wretched faith ! Ο curse him, powers above ! Ο do not hear the traitor pray, Though incense to the fire he lay ! Ah, he shall know whom I obey. Whom I adore ! — The minutes run ; By this the new-found sire and son Their welcome-feast have nigh begun. — Ο cliffs of bare Parnassus, who embrace think however Paley so far right, that the phrase is modelled on σωζ€ΐν νόμους, €φ(τμάς etc. fo observe customs^ injunctions, etc. : hath not observed its for- tunes is a brachylogy for hath not observed the restrictions, which its fortjmes impose ιφοη him : this, having accepted them, he was in honesty bound to do. 705. μή τύχοι: mayhefail,ncA. obtain his prayer. 710: beyond restoration ; see on v. 690. The translation gives the probable sense. 711. κυρ€ΐ: must be, is probably. The uses of Kvpfiv are all derived from the original meaning of coincidence. See on Med. i(i^. 713. Ιώ Badham. Xva MSS. The protest against the intrusion of the stranger lad into the 62 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ εχ^ονσαί σκόπεΚον ο-υράνιον θ* eSpav, 7^5 LPa Βάκ^ιος άμφιπύρονς άνέγων πενκας \aLxjn)pa πη8α νυκτυπόλοίς α/χα συν Βάκχ^οας. μη TL ποτ εΙς €μαν πόλιν Ικοιθ" 6 παΐς, νέαν δ' άμ4ραν άποΚιπων Θάνοι. 7^0 στενομενα γαρ αν πόλις βχ^οί σκηχΐιυν ζενικον είσβο- λαν. . άλίσας 6 πάρος άρχαγος ωρ Έρεχθενς ai^af. f Ι Enter Creusa from the precincty accompanied by an aged slave. KP. Ω Ίτρεσβν, παιδαγωγ' Έρβ^^εως ττατρο^ 7^5 τονμον ποτ οντος, ηνίκ ην ετ εν φάει, επαιρε σαυτον προς θεού γ^ρηστηρια^ ως μοι σννησθης, ει τι Αοξίας ai/af θεσπίσμα παίδων εΙ<; γονα^ζ εφθεγξατο. συν τοϊς φιλοις γαρ η8ν μεν πράσσειν καλώς' yT^O city of Erechtheus is introduced with an apostrophe to the place of his origin: see v. 550. 720. v^av... Θάνοι: may he dying qtdt his new day, i.e. quit day {die) on this his new day. The day is called new to Ion, not merely because Ion is young, but because his finding by his father is in a sense, as Xuthus has put it, his birth-day, and is about to be so celebrated. See v. 712 beiiTva via the feast of discovery. So in Med. 648 άμάραν ravb' (ξανύσασα means in full ending viy day {life) to-day. 721. For it would be a hard constraint upon our town to receive this descent of foreigners into her gates. (Γτίνομ^να: probably from the primitive sense of στήνομαι, or στήνομαι, be pressed^ narrowed (Matthiae), not from the derived sense groan. However, the two are substantially the same for the present purpose. σ-κήψιν descent from σκήπτ€ΐν descend, applied to such things as a missile, a plague, a punish- ment ; see L. and Sc. s. v. σκήτττω. It is a very natural word to apply to an irruption, as it might be rhetorically called, of bacchanals from their moun- tain. It is admitted (see Mr Bayfield's note) that no satisfactory interpre- tation of this has been suggested upon the assumption that σκή\Ιης has its common meaning of excuse. The context shows, I think, that it has not, and explains the exceptional, but equally legitimate, meaning clearly enough. cleH time, as the great revealer of all secrets; sec v. 575 and Hipp. 105 1. That τον χρόνοι/ άμννΐσθαι should mean ' to compensate_/i?r the time ' of Ion's ΙΩΝ 71 Persuaded thee, because you had no child, To come to Delphi. So was Phoebus' truth Thy husband's lie, who reared the lad throughout With double plan ; detected, to avouch Apollo ; not detected after lapse Of time, to clothe the lad with princely power. And Ion, this belated name to suit The alleged encounter, is pretended new. Cho. Oh ! how I loathe the artists of deceit Who with machinery of imposture cloke A villain plot! An honest man for me Rather, and plain withal, than subtle-false! Slave. And this thou must endure, the worst of all, To bring for lord into thy house the son Of a slave, a motherless man, a no man's child ! Less ill it had been to recruit his race Out of a lady born, with thy consent. Pleading thy barrenness. And if refused — Who bade him wed above his proper kin } Now therefore thou must play a woman's part ! That is, with dagger, or by some surprise, Or poison thou must take thy husband's life, His and his son's, ere they can reach at thine. Flinch, and thou diest ! For if hate and hate Are brought together in one dwelling-place. One must be broken, or the other must. exile seems impossible : αμννΐσβαι has no such construction. 830. 'And the name is anachronistically pretended new '. Note carefully that καινόν is part of the predicate. The slave supposes that the name Ion had long ago been chosen, given, and probably borne by the son ; but that to colour the present deceit, it was pretended 'out of date' to be a new name, specially arising out of the circumstances. 836. τών8* ^σχατον : worse than these. 837. not coiuited in law for a person at all. 841. Ισ-ώκισ-β colonised. And if you were not pleased to consent to this (he ought to have submitted, or else) he ought to have contented his ambition with a wife from among the Aeolidae. He chose to aspire to a daughter of Erechtheus, and taking her was bound to take her fortunes 'for better for worse'. The inter- mediate step is rhetorically suppressed. 844. Supply δβί.— — 847. el... τοΰδί: 'for you must know (ye) that if you slack from this' i.e. 'do not brace yourself to do it'. See L, and Sc. s. v. νφίημι. — el yap oii φβ/σ^ι 72 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ €γω μβρ ονν σοι καί σννεκπονβΐρ θέλω 850 κοΧ σνμφονβνειρ παιδ', Ιπζ,ισεΚθων 86μοις ου 8αΐθ* οπλίζει, καί τροφεία δεσπόταυς άποΒούς θανείν τε ζων τε φέγγος είσοραν. h' γαρ TL τοις Βούλοισυν αίσχυνην φέρει, τοννομα' τα δ' άλλα πάντα των ελευθέρων 855 ovSeis κακίων δούλος, όστις εσθλος rj, ΧΟ. κάγω, φίλη δέσποινα, συμφοράν θέλω κοινουμενη TijvS' η θανείν η ζην καλώς. ** After α pause Creusa rises, and coming to the front begins to speak as if with Iter self KP. ω φυχα, πως σιγάσω ; πώς Se σκοτίας άναφηνω 86θ εύνάς, αιΒοΰς δ' άπολειφθώ ; τι γαρ εμποΒιον κώλυμα ετι μοι; προς τίν άγώι /as τιθεμεσθ* αρετής ; ου πόσις ημών προΒότης γεγονεν ; στερο μαι δ' οίκων, στερο μαι παίδων, 865 φρουΒαι δ* ελπί8ες, ας δί,α^εοτ^αι χρηζουσα καλώς ουκ εΒυνάθην σιγώσα γάμους, σιγώοτα τόκους πολυκλαύτους. αλλ' ου το Αιος πολύαστρον ε8ος 870 και την hr εμοίς σκοπέλοισι θ εάν λίμνης τ ένυδρου ΎριτωνιάΒος πότνιαν άκτάν, ουκετι κρύφω λεχος, ως στέρνων άπονησαμενη ράων εσομαι. 875 {She turns to her servants^ Badham. 863. With whom am I to enter the lists of virtue, when my husbatid etc. άγώνα$ τιθ^μ€<Γθα impose on myself a contest, metaphor from athletic games. 866. &s κ.τ.λ. : which I desired, though I could not, to compass with honour, by concealing etc. 8ιαθ^(Γθαι to arrange or manage for myself. She had hoped to be made happy by receiving news of her child from Apollo, and in this hope had guarded her reputation. Now, in her despair, that motive for concealment is gone; and she will have the one remaining satisfaction of exposing the god. 872. λίμνη?: near which ΙΩΝ 73 For me, I will assist thee to the end, And first to slay the lad; thither I go Where he prepares the feast. For them, whose bread I have eaten, I will die or I will live ! Save for the something shameful in the name, The slave hath no disgrace, and but for that May stand by virtue equal with the free. Cho. And I, dear lady, too will share the fact, Ready to live with honour, or to die. After a pause Creusa rises ^ and comMg- to the front begins to speak as if with herself. Creusa. Tell me, my heart. How can I hold my peace } Yet how disclose My hidden shame, and strip My modesty away } Nay, what remains To hinder now "i Whose virtue need I fear To fall below.? My lord, Is he not false to me "i I am cut off from home and child ; The hopes are gone, the unavailing hopes, For which I kept mine honour safe, Keeping the secret of my ravishment, The woeful secret of my babe. Now, by the starry throne of Zeus I swear. By her who dwells on Athens' height And lake Tritonis' holy shore. My bosom shall not bear That burden more. If, telling, I may go more light ! {She turns to her servants^ Athena was born, commonly identified with a lake in Libya (Aesch. Eunu 293)• 874. ώ5 since. 875. άπονησ-αμ.€νη : (supply το κρνπτόν the secret) 74 ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ στάζονσί κόραυ Βακρύουσυν €μαί, φνχα δ' άλγβΐ κακοβουλβνθβΐσ €κ τ ανυρωπων e/c τ ασανατων, ους αποΒβίζω \4κτρων προΒότας άγαρίστον<ζ, 88θ {She turns to the temple^ Ώ τα? ίπταφθόγγον μέΧπων κιθάρας ivonavy ατ dypavkoLS κέρασίν ev άψυ^οις αχεΓ Μουοται/ ύμνους €ναχτ]τονς^ σοΙ μομφάν, ω Αατονς παΐ, - 885 προς Toivh' ανγάν αιθέρος αυδάσω. ήλθες μοι γρνσω -χαίταν μαρμαίρων, evr βίς κόλπους κρόκεα πέταλα φαρεσιν ε^ρεπον άνθίζειν χρυσανταυγη, 890 -^ λευκοΐς S* εμφύς καρποίσιν γειρων εις άντρου κοιτάς κραυγάν, ώ ματερ, μ" αυδώσαΐ' θεός ομευνετας άγες άι^αιδβια ΚύπριΒί χάριν πράσσων, 895 τίκτω δ* α Βύστηνος σοι κουρον, τον φρίκα ματρος εις εύνάν βάλλω τ αν σαν. ίνα με λεχεσι μελεαν μελεοις εζεύζω τάν 8ύστανον. 900 having unloaded'. Valcknaer. αττονίσα/χει/?; MSS. — —877. κακοβουλ6υθ£ΐσα : an irregular form. According to the laws of composition the verb should be formed only through the noun-form κακόβουλος^ whence κακοβονλ^ω and κακοβουΚηθύσα. But neither κακοβουΚηθϋσ nor κακά βουΚ(νθ(Ισ is satis- factory. ' In favour of the MSS. it may be urged that the irregular forms δυσθι^σκω, δυσοίζω are found, and that the poet may have intentionally though incorrectly formed κακοβονΚίνω on the analogy of eVi^ouXf υω, wanting a stronger word, and wishing at the same time to avoid the confusion of sound with the pass. aor. of βονλομαι, which κακοβονληθύσα would cause'. B. 882. a-ypavXois to dwellers in lo7tely places^ in the country, shepherds and the like, from whose report and superstition such beliefs spring up (not epithet to κ(ρασιν). 883. κίρούτιν (the 'epic' quantity of old poetry): 'stands probably not for the two horn-like points of the lyre but for the horn sounding-board. To express the maierial the plural was necessary. Similarly Cicero Nat. Deor. 2. 59 (quoted by Musgrave) uses the plural : ΙΩΝ 75 Mine eyes with tears run o'er, My heart is aching, wroth With god and man, maimed with their malice both, Traitors to love and thankless both : And they shall 'scape no more ! {S/ie turns to the temple.) Ο thou, that from the seven-toned strings, Greatest melody, whose music rings Across the champaign from the voiceful horn, I cry thee scorn, Against the open sky, I, Son of Lato, I ! Thou camest to me, thy hair A blaze of gold. When I was gathering flowers to wear. Flowers as golden mirrors fair, Into my bosom's fold ; With clenched grasp Upon my wrists, in the instant of my shriek, ' Help, mother, help ! ', didst hale me to the grot To thine enforced clasp. Thou... god, and sparedst not Thy lust to wreak. And then, Ο misery ! I bare to thee a son, And shuddering from my mother's eye I left him there, where thou didst lie, Thou and the helpless I, There, where the deed was done. cornibus its quae ad iiervos resonant in cafitibtisJ B. άψύχοις. The horn has been alive, is now dead^ and receives a new voice and life from the music. 890. άνθίζ€ΐν: explanatory infinitive to πίταλα eSpenov, I was gathering flowers to decorate {make a wreath) with: see L. and Sc. s. v. χρνσ-ανταυγή : golden-reflecting^ a metaphor from mirrors of the metal. Cf. Hec. 936 χρνσ^ωρ (νόπτρων λ^υσσουσ' eh ανγάς. The epithet points to that brightness which, as in the buttercup, gives such delight to children : probably some such flower is meant. 891. XcvKois: white, i.e. bloodless ye ΕΥΡίπίΔΟΥ ν Όΐμοι μοί, και νυν eppei πτανοϊς άρπασθβΐς θοίνα παις μοι καΧ