UC-NRLF 
 
 $B ^^^ ats 
 

 ("i- 1 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2007 witii funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 littp://www.arcliive.org/details/fromliomertotlieocOOcappricli 
 
HOMER, 
 ideal Portrait Buut. Naples Museum. 
 
FROM HOMER TO 
 THEOCRITUS' 
 
 A Manual of Greek Literature 
 
 Jh 
 
 Vf 
 
 EDWARD CAPPS 
 
 PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF CHICAGO 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON 
 
i 
 
 .■i^^" 
 
 Copyright, 1901, by 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 
 
 Published, November, 1901 
 
PREFACE 
 
 This volume aims to present a concise but complete 
 survey of the Greek literature of the classical period, 
 extended so as to include the two branches of poetry, 
 the New Comedy and the Idyll, which were brought to 
 perfection after the overthrow of Greek liberty by Alex- 
 ander. I have tried, so far as space would permit, to 
 place in their proper setting each branch of literature 
 and each author, keeping constantly in mind the course 
 of development of the literature as a whole. Selections 
 from representative English translations are quoted in 
 connection with the principal authors, more extensively 
 for the poets than for the writers of prose. It is hoped 
 that this feature of the book will be found acceptable, 
 both to the general reader who has not the time, even 
 if he has the training and equipment, for comprehen- 
 sive readings in the Greek texts, and to the average 
 student whose attainments in Greek are not sufficiently 
 extensive to furnish an adequate background for the 
 most profitable study of the ordinary manuals. In the 
 choice of selections I have been guided mainly by my 
 own judgment of the merits of existing translations, so 
 far as they were known or accessible to me ; but the 
 determining consideration in many instances has been 
 the accessibility of a translation to the general public. 
 
 The present edition is almost one-half larger than 
 the first edition, issued in 1900. Extensive alterations 
 have been made in the plates, so that, besides the in- 
 sertion of three new chapters, considerable additions 
 
 V 
 
 376163 
 
vi Preface 
 
 have been made to almost all of the former chapters. 
 A ^Bibliographical Appendix and an Index have been 
 added. The latter has been made very full, so as to 
 include, in addition to subjects, brief indications as to 
 the pronunciation and identity of names of persons and 
 places mentioned in the text and in the quotations. 
 
 I am under great obligations to Professor William 
 Cranston Lawton for many helpful suggestions and 
 criticisms as well as for his generous permission to use 
 his admirable translations of Euripides, the hexameter 
 poets, and the comic fragments. My indebtedness to 
 the many Greek scholars and men of letters upon 
 whom I have drawn for facts, ideas, and translations is 
 specifically acknowledged, when possible, in the text, 
 and, in a more comprehensive manner, in the Biblio- 
 graphical Appendix. 
 
 Edward Capps. 
 Chicago, October 15, 1901. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTEX »AC« 
 
 I. Introductory, i 
 
 II. Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad, . 14 
 
 III. The Main Action of the Iliad, ... 35 
 
 IV. The Odyssey. Homer and Troy, . . 75 
 V. The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod, . .119 
 
 VI. The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets, . 141 
 
 VII. Choral Lyric. Pindar, . . . .168 
 
 VIII. Tragic Poetry. ^Eschylus, . . .182 
 
 IX. Sophocles, . . . . • » .215 
 
 X. Euripides, 237 
 
 XI.. Comic Poetry. Aristophanes, . • .273 
 
 XII. The Historians. Herodotus, . • .301 
 
 XIII. Thucydides and Xenophon, . . .317 
 
 XIV. The Orators. Demosthenes, . . • 339 
 XV. Philosophical Prose. Plato, . . . 362 
 
 XVI. Aristotle, 382 
 
 XVII. The Lost Writers of the Fourth Cen- 
 tury, 403 
 
 XVIII. Theocritus and His age, .... 441 
 
 Bibliographical Appendix, 457 
 
 Index • • 465 
 
 Vll 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Homer Frontispiece 
 
 Ideal Portrait Bust, Naples Museum. 
 
 FACING 
 i PAGB 
 
 Theatre of Dionysus, Athens i88 
 
 Sophocles 216 
 
 Portrait Statue, Lateran Museum, Rome. 
 Euripides 238 
 
 Portrait Statue, Vatican Museum, Rome. 
 
 A Chorus of Birds 276 
 
 From an Attic Vase, Sixth Centuiy B.C, British Museum. 
 
 Demosthenes 350 
 
 Portrait Statue, Vatican Museum, Rome. 
 
 Socrates 364 
 
 Portrait Bust, Naples Museum. 
 
 Column of Papyrus Manuscript . . • . . 406 
 
 Bacchylides, First Century B.C., British Mnseum. 
 
FROM HOMER TO THEOCRITUS 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 INTRODUCTORY 
 
 General Characteristics of Greek Literature — Originality — 
 Universality — Normal Growth — Freedom from Outside 
 Influences — Influence Upon Modem Literatures and Mod- 
 ern Thought — Literature a Product — The Greek People 
 — Achaeans — iColians — Dorians — lonians — The Attic Dia- 
 lect — Political Organization — Diversity of Political Condi- 
 tions—Physical Environment— Love of Nature— Publica- 
 tion of Greek Literature— Periods of Greek Literature. 
 
 The literature of ancient Greece forms an ideal 
 introduction to the study of literature in general, not 
 only because it is the earliest literature of Europe and 
 has exercised a powerful influence upon fill succeeding 
 literatures, and not simply because it is still and always 
 will be one of the great world literatures, but also 
 because, as an object of study, it presents certain gen- 
 eral characteristics the consideration of which cannot 
 but prove instructive to all students. / 
 
 Apart from the intrinsic excellence in form and 
 thought of the Greek masterpieces, upon which it 
 would be superfluous to dwell here, we may emphasize 
 first the originality of the Greek literature. Inheriting 
 no literary traditions, surrounded by peoples who could 
 furnish them no literary models, the Greeks wrought 
 out, practically unaided, through the force of their 
 
i Homer to Theocritus 
 
 own genius, most of the literary forms which the races 
 of Europe have accepted as typical and universal. To 
 appreciate fully the significance of this achievement 
 we must bear in mind that even the chief types of 
 prose, to say nothing of poetry, have of course no 
 existence in the nature of things, but are the results 
 of repeated experimentation and of conscious effort 
 to present the subject-matter in the most appropriate 
 and effective artistic form. Now the most perfect 
 orations of Demosthenes and the dialogues of Plato 
 embody the results of such experiments extending 
 over several generations in Greece. The orations of 
 Demosthenes and the dialogues of Plato were accord- 
 ingly distinctively Greek creations. Cicero, on the 
 other hand, depended upon his Greek models rather 
 than upon his predecessors in Rome. Roman oratory, 
 therefore, and the dialogue as exemplified in Cicero, 
 were not distinctively Roman creations. The origi- 
 nality of the Greeks in literature was shown in every 
 branch which they attempted, both in prose and in 
 poetry. 
 
 But their originality would not be a matter of such 
 importance were it not for the further fact that the 
 forms and types which the Greeks originated were 
 themselves of an essentially universal character. 
 Other races also have brought certain literary forms 
 to perfection. The Vedic hymns of the early Hindus, 
 the penitential psalms of the Babylonians, the 
 prophetic writings of the Hebrews, and the satires in 
 verse of the Romans, are all creations original with 
 these peoples, and to them were satisfactory forms of 
 literary expression. But these types have not appealed 
 to the artistic sense of other races in the same way, 
 
Introductory 3 
 
 but have remained peculiar to the peoples which 
 originated them. They are unique and sometimes 
 really great, but in no sense universal. The great crea- 
 tions of the Greeks, on the other hand, have furnished 
 the western hemisphere with its highest ideals in 
 literary form in many branches. This is due to the 
 fact that the Greeks had above all other peoples, 
 ancient or modern, an artistic sense for what was 
 beautiful in form and appropriate in expression, as is 
 well illustrated by their temples and statues. They 
 did not achieve their ideals all at once, but only 
 after ages of effort. But every step in the progress 
 toward perfection was directed by instincts which 
 rarely erred. 
 
 Perhaps the most instructive characteristic of 
 Greek literature, considered in the course of its devel- 
 opment, is the fact that its progress toward perfection 
 was a normal growth. Changes were slow and regu- 
 lar, never taking on the character of a revolution. 
 This is the result, largely, of the fact to which we 
 have already alluded, the relative freedom from out- 
 side influences. Consequently the causes which 
 determined the development of this literature are 
 more easily discerned and the course of the changes 
 traced with greater precision than in the case of any 
 other literature. The Greeks were, of course, 
 indebted to other nations in various ways, and we may 
 not overlook such influences as we may detect with 
 certainty. Along with the alphabet they doubtless 
 received intellectual stimulus from the Phoenicians; 
 from the oriental races of Asia Minor they derived 
 important ideas in music and religion which exercised 
 no little influence upon their poetry and morals, 
 
4 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Egypt, Assyria, Persia, and Rome in turn were respon- 
 sible for accessions of knowledge and extended their 
 horizon. The Greeks were far from insensible to 
 the merits of other peoples, and gladly laid them 
 under contribution. But after taking all these things 
 into consideration, Greek literature as a whole can be 
 studied as essentially the product of a single people; 
 for from without they received but impulses, never a 
 fully developed principle nor a perfected literary form. 
 Consequently the growth of the literature as a whole 
 was regular and normal, and the various kinds of liter- 
 ature, corresponding to successive stages in the social, 
 political, and moral development, were produced in 
 an orderly succession. Epic poetry, for example, 
 reflects the patriarchal stage in Greek civilization; 
 Lyric poetry, the aristocratic; the Drama, the demo- 
 cratic; while Prose, representing the period of highest 
 popular culture, came to its flower after Poetry. 
 
 We have referred to the influence of the Greek 
 literature upon the literatures of modern Europe. 
 Directly or indirectly, it has been the predominating 
 influence. This influence has been exerted partly 
 through the medium of the Latin literature, espe- 
 cially upon the literatures of southern Europe, and 
 for a long time upon those of northern Europe, 
 and in part directly, especially perhaps during the 
 last two centuries, owing to the revival of Greek 
 studies in England, Germany, and France. The 
 poetry of Tennyson and Browning, to take English 
 examples, is permeated by Greek influences, and can 
 be properly studied and fully appreciated only by going 
 back to the Greek masterpieces which furnished 
 inspiration and suggestion in rhythms, style, and 
 
Introductory j 
 
 imagery. The same is true of the great classical 
 writers of Germany and France. Nor can we over- 
 look the value of a knowledge of Greek literature on 
 the purely intellectual side, for its practical bearing 
 on modern thought. Almost every department of 
 modern life has received impulse and direction from 
 the great thinkers of Greece — religion, ethics, philos- 
 ophy, politics, and science. 
 
 The life of a great man can not be rightly under- 
 stood without a knowledge of his ancestry, early 
 training, the social, political, and religious conditions 
 of his time — in short, all of the influences which 
 helped to mould his character and determine his con- 
 duct. A mere chronological account of his doings 
 would be wholly inadequate as a biography. So it is 
 with the literature of a people. While we may get 
 enjoyment and profit from the reading of a certain 
 book without knowing its author or the age whose 
 characteristics are reflected in it, yet the advantage 
 of this sort of reading is, after all, but slight in com- 
 parison with that to be had from a study of the same 
 book as the expression of an individual and of a 
 people, the product of a certain civilization. The 
 more remote from^ our own time the people whose lit- 
 erary products we study, and the more extensive and 
 varied the literature, the more necessary it becomes 
 to gain the vantage-ground from which our view will 
 be least obstructed, our vision most true. To this 
 end we should know as much as possible of the people, 
 of their racial characteristics as moulded by their envi- 
 ronment, their religious beliefs and practices, their 
 view of nature, their social and family life, their insti- 
 tutions, language, art, history. Within the limits of 
 
6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 this book we shall have to confine ourselves to a few 
 suggestions and general topics, and to short accounts 
 of the various branches of literature and of the several 
 authors. But the right point of view should be con- 
 stantly kept in mind, and the reader should have fre- 
 quent recourse to some of the manuals of history, art, 
 mythology, and social life to which reference is made 
 in the bibliographical appendix to this volume. 
 
 In prehistoric times, probably as late as fifteen hun- 
 dred years before Christ, the branch of the Indo-Euro- 
 pean race which we know as the Greeks was confined to 
 the little peninsula of Greece and the outlying islands, 
 to which they had migrated at some earlier period. 
 But Greece is small and its soil too poor to support a 
 large population. The surplus population soon took to 
 the sea, and planted colonies on the most inviting sites 
 all over the shores of the Mediterranean. Southern 
 Italy and Sicily, the Ionian and ^gaean islands were 
 occupied; colonies were established far up the Nile 
 and along the northern shores of Africa, as far west 
 as Marseilles and beyond the Dardanelles in the east. 
 Greek civilization followed each colony, and inter- 
 course with the mother country, intellectual as well 
 as commercial, was never allowed to cease. All the 
 important offshoots of the early stock contributed 
 something to Greek culture and to the common 
 literature. 
 
 Before the period of emigration and colonization 
 the dominant people in Greece were the Achaeans. 
 This is the name by which Homer designates the peo- 
 ple who went against Troy. In the historical period, 
 however, we find three great divisions of the Greeks, 
 distinguished from each other by dialect, customs, 
 
Introductory 7 
 
 and racial qualities — ^olians, Doriar^^nd lonians. 
 Since each of these families had its^wn distinctive 
 part in Greek literature, it is necessary to know where 
 they were settled, and, briefly, how they differed from 
 each other. 
 
 The main seat of the ^Eolians, when literary his- 
 tory begins, was the island of Lesbos and the adjoin- 
 ing coasts of Asia Minor. But the early home of the 
 stock was in northern Greece, where the Thessalians, 
 Boeotians, and ^tolians remained their chief represen- 
 tatives. Only the ^olians of Asia Minor and the 
 Boeotians on the mainland were fertile in literature, 
 and these two branches, through being long separated 
 and subject to widely different conditions, had retained 
 few common characteristics, except in speech, at the 
 time when writers appeared among them. The atmos- 
 phere of Boeotia is heavy and moist, and the inhabitants 
 came to be regarded by their neighbors as sluggish 
 and dull. These qualities certainly do not appear, 
 however, in the few great writers and generals who 
 sprang from Boeotian soil. As for the Lesbians, as 
 the climate of that part of Asia Minor is mild and 
 relaxing, conducive to luxury and ease, so the people 
 were impressionable, luxurious, and imaginative. 
 Lesbos became the home of the poetry of passion and 
 intense personal feeling. 
 
 Some time after the Homeric age the Dorians 
 migrated southward from northern Greece, driving 
 out or making subject a part of the old Achaean popu- 
 lation. In historical times the chief Dorian settle- 
 ments were Megara and Corinth on the isthmus; 
 Argolis, Laconia, and Messena in the Peloponnesus; 
 Crete and Rhodes in the ^gaean Sea, and the south- 
 
8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 west portion^K Asia Minor; Syracuse in Sicily, and 
 Tarentum in sMithern Italy. The Spartans of Laconia 
 were regarded as the Dorians of the Dorians. Keep- 
 ing themselves aloof from alien influences, they devel- 
 oped, certainly, the most typical Dorian civilization, 
 whereas the Corinthians and Syracusans mixed freely 
 with the rest of the world and lost more of the family 
 characteristics. The Spartans were warlike and 
 reserved, devoutly religious, intolerant of innovations, 
 unemotional. The terse and rugged Dorian dialect, 
 with its prevailing broad vowel-sounds, always seemed 
 to the Greeks peculiarly appropriate to the stately 
 choral odes in honor of the gods, which the Spartans 
 first brought to perfection. 
 
 By far the most important in the history of Greek 
 literature were the lonians, and of the lonians the 
 older branch which occupied Attica and Euboea. The 
 settlements along the coasts of Asia Minor between 
 the -^olic cities in the north and the Doric on the 
 south were Ionian, and also most of the islands of the 
 ^gaean. The lonians claimed numerous colonies 
 besides in Italy, Sicily, and throughout the Mediter- 
 ranean. The language of the lonians was soft and 
 flowing, abounding in vowel sounds, forming a strik- 
 ing contrast with the Doric. Even the prose writings 
 of the lonians seem to have a poetic flavor, due to the 
 rich and varied grace inherent in the language itself. 
 The Attic dialect, which gradually became to a large 
 degree the universal language of cultured Greeks, is 
 a modified form of the Ionic, uniting energy and dig- 
 nity to softness and grace. The perfected Attic of 
 the time of Demosthenes was distinctly a literary 
 dialect, developed by generations of conscious effort 
 
Introductory 9 
 
 to improve it, and adapting itself in a^onderful de- 
 gree to the demands of all varieties of prose and 
 poetry. It is a peculiar feature of Attic poetry that it 
 freely employs, along with the local dialect, also the 
 Doric and the old Ionic in forms of composition in 
 which the latter seemed more appropriate. In 
 tragedy, for example, we may find Homeric forms 
 in narrative portions that partake of the Homeric 
 style, Doric in the lyric portions sung by the chorus, 
 and the old Ionic in the dialogue. The Athenians 
 instinctively associated certain styles of composition 
 with the dialect in which each style had reached its 
 highest development outside of Athens. In this way, 
 either by imitation or by assimilation, they appropri- 
 ated to their own use all forms of expression that would 
 help to make their own language the most perfect 
 literary instrument. 
 
 The three great families of which we have spoken 
 were never united as separate political organisms. 
 Even contiguous members of the same family were 
 often independent of one another. The colonies also 
 were self-governing. Owing to the configuration of 
 the Grecian peninsula its inhabitants were cut up into 
 numerous separate communities of liberty-loving folk, 
 shut off from each other by mountain ranges and 
 branches of the sea. The result was a large number 
 of little governments, some democratic, some oli- 
 garchical, all imbued with the spirit of liberty and 
 independence, furnished by nature with the best of 
 fortifications for self-defense, and each determined 
 to work out its own problem of polity and society for 
 itself. Constantly quarreling with one another, the 
 larger states trying to absorb the smaller and aspiring 
 
lo Homer to Theocritus 
 
 each to the %nor of being the acknowledged leader, 
 they came but gradually to a realization of their com- 
 mon Hellenic brotherhood. At the same time the 
 states of Asia Minor were always under the shadow of 
 the Persian Empire, either as tributary subjects or else 
 fighting an unequal contest for independence ; while in 
 Sicily and Italy tyrants succeeded in establishing them- 
 selves for a longer period than elsewhere. This great 
 diversity of social and political conditions was naturally 
 not without its influence upon the literary productions 
 of the various states, and in each state the constant po- 
 litical vicissitudes were in turn reflected in its literature. 
 In this respect the literature of Greece presents a much 
 more complex problem for the student than that of 
 Rome, where for centuries every notable literary pro- 
 duction emanated from the capital itself. 
 
 Foremost among the influences which helped to 
 mould the Greek race, giving to all of its members 
 certain common characteristics and ideals and to each 
 member its own distinctive individuality, we must 
 consider the land in which it lived. ^Never was 
 a gifted people more fortunate in its habitation. By 
 reason of its latitude, Greece has a southern climate ; 
 and yet the mountains, everywhere dominating the 
 plains, temper the warm air and instill a northern 
 vigor. In the low valleys and on the islands the palm 
 and pomegranate flourish, while on the hills are found 
 the hardy northern cereals, and still higher up the 
 pine and the fir. No spot on the mainland is more 
 than forty miles from the sea, which furnishes an easy 
 means of communication between the various districts 
 and with the outside world. The mountains and the 
 
Introductory il 
 
 sea — these are the two leading facts in the geography 
 of Greece. Add to these the remarkable clearness 
 and brilliancy of the atmosphere and the exceptional 
 beauty and variety of the scenery, and we have at 
 once the key to the understanding of many things not 
 only in the history of the Greek people, but also in the 
 wonderful literature which they produced. 
 
 Greek literature reveals, especially in the poets, a 
 profound and intimate sympathy with nature. The 
 Greek lived in the open air, the inhabitant of the 
 city no less than the countryman. He was a keen 
 and discriminating observer, and none of nature's 
 moods nor the significance of the phenomena of life 
 about him, whether animate or inanimate, escaped 
 him. Nature was not with him an object of conscious 
 study and contemplation, as with us, but rather a daily 
 companion, an intimate friend. Doubtless the pas- 
 sionate love of the beautiful, which the Greeks pos- 
 sessed to a greater extent than any other people, was 
 inspired by the exceptionally beautiful surroundings 
 in which they lived. 
 
 In studying the Greek literature we must constantly 
 bear in mind a fundamental difference between it and 
 other literatures in the means by which an author's 
 works were brought to the knowledge of the public. 
 Almost the whole body of classical Greek literature 
 was presented to a hearing, not to a reading, public. 
 The art of writing was known in Greece certainly as 
 early as the eighth century, but at this early time the 
 materials employed were stone and other hard mate- 
 rials. Even in the age of Pericles, when we first hear 
 of libraries, it is doubtful if books could be made with 
 sufficient ease and cheapness to enable any but the 
 
12 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 few to buy them. The Homeric poems were at first 
 chanted by bards at the courts of the chieftains, and 
 were probably not committed to writing until long 
 after the period of epic poetry had passed. The 
 songs of the lyric poet were sung by the poet himself 
 to his friends, or by choruses to a larger public. The 
 drama was, of course, performed in the theatre, and 
 mainly in this way became familiar to the people. The 
 tragedy composed with a view to being read, not 
 acted, is a phenomenon which occurs only after the 
 period of the decline had set in. So it was with early 
 prose writing also. Herodotus recited a part of his 
 history first at the Olympic festival. Oratory was 
 necessarily oral. In short, we may safely say that 
 there was no reading public, as we understand the 
 term, before the time of Pericles. After these first oral 
 publications, the great works of epic and lyric poetry 
 became known throughout the Greek world by means 
 of travelers or traveling minstrels and choruses. 
 Without doubt this direct contact of the people with 
 the author not only quickened the minds of the peo- 
 ple and cultivated their taste, but also reacted pow- 
 erfully upon the author himself, and thus hastened 
 the progress toward perfection. 
 
 For almost three thousand years the Greek peo- 
 ple have never ceased to have a literature of their 
 own. The Greeks of to-day not only have a consid- 
 erable body of popular poetry, but boast of a goodly 
 and growing number of writers of no mean ability, 
 both in prose and in poetry. During the Byzantine 
 period — that is, from the time of the Emperor Justin- 
 ian to the fall of Constantinople (529 to 1453) — Greek 
 letters flourished, though few great works were pro- 
 
Introductory 13 
 
 duced. It is our purpose here to study only the liter- 
 ature of ancient Greece, and principally that of the 
 classical period — that is, to the destruction of Greek 
 liberty by Alexander. The ancient period naturally 
 falls into five great periods: (i) the Age of Epic 
 Poetry, from Homer to the end of the eighth century; 
 (2) the Age of Lyric Poetry, the seventh, sixth, and 
 part of the fifth centuries; (3) the Attic Period, to 
 the conquests of Alexander; (4), the Alexandrine 
 Age, down to the Roman conquest; (5) the Roman 
 Age, to the time of Justinian. The first three of 
 these five periods come more especially within the 
 scope of this book. It is fitting that we should devote 
 the larger part of our attention to poetry, which to-day 
 claims the larger share of our interest and admiration. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 EPIC POETRY. INTRODUCTION TO THE ILIAD 
 
 The Earliest Literature of Europe — Precursors of the Epic 
 — Legendary Bards — The Marriage Hymn — The Dirge- 
 Secular Tendency of Religious Poetry— The Minstrel- 
 Minstrel Themes in Homer— The Poets of the Iliad and 
 Odyssey — ^^X\xx2\ and Literary Epics — The Trojan War 
 before the Iliad— Tht Marriage of Peleus and Thetis — 
 The Apple of Discord — The Judgment of Paris — The 
 Rape of Helen— The Summoning of the Greek Chieftains 
 —The First Years of the Siege — The Story of the Iliad— 
 Theme, the Wrath of Achilles — An2i\yi\^ of Book I. 
 
 At the very threshold of Greek literature stand the 
 two majestic poems which for almost three thousand 
 years have commanded the admiration of the world — 
 the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer. The literature of 
 Europe as well as of Greece begins with these two 
 poems, which for centuries were at once the Bible and 
 the Milton of the Greek people. Although of very 
 early origin, composed long before writing was em- 
 ployed for literary purposes, they are not the crude 
 productions of a primitive people, like the early epics 
 of other races, but are extended works of a highly 
 polished art, reflecting an advanced stage of civiliza- 
 tion. This is a phenomenon, without parallel else- 
 where, which invites the student to the interesting 
 but complicated problem of their origin. It is the 
 unique distinction of the Homeric poems, however, as 
 compared with the earliest literature of other peoples, 
 that, in spite of the multitude of recondite questions 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 15 
 
 concerning their authorship and orginal form which 
 have occupied the scholar, the reader who wishes 
 merely to enjoy them as works of literature has little 
 need of learned commentary or exposition. The 
 heroic deeds and marvelous adventures of which 
 Homer has to tell are simply told. The poems are 
 complete narratives in themselves, and in the main 
 supply their own setting as regards persons, situa- 
 tions, and environment. Most of the books which 
 have been written about Homer have been written out 
 of Homer himself. The research and exploration of 
 recent times have, it is true, shed a flood of light upon 
 the civilization of the Homeric age, but they have 
 added comparatively little to our knowledge of the 
 Homeric poems as works of literature, except in dem- 
 onstrating that the story of the Trojan war is not 
 entirely the creation of a poet's fancy. 
 
 There are no remains of a Greek literature before 
 Homer. Even the Greeks of the classical period pos- 
 sessed nothing earlier than the Iliad. It is impossible 
 to suppose, however, that poems so perfect as works 
 of art could have come into being without forerun- 
 ners. There must have been bards before Homer, 
 just as certainly as there were sculptors before 
 Pheidias. The very perfection of the Parthenon frieze 
 presupposes the practice of carving in marble for gen- 
 erations, even if we had no earlier remains of Greek 
 sculpture. Greek legend recognizes this necessity, for 
 it records the names of certain mythical bards, such 
 as Orpheus, Musseus, and Olympus, servants of the 
 Muses, who, in the remote past — an indefinite time 
 before Homer — sang in honor of the gods. The earli- 
 est literature of the Indo-European race to which we 
 
1 6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 belong, the Vedas of the early Hindus, consist mainly 
 of short hymns, of praise or entreaty, to the early 
 Indian gods. So, long before Homer, in the child- 
 hood of the Greek race, there were doubtless poets 
 who voiced the religious feelings of the people and 
 contributed their share to the development of the 
 poetic art which the authors of the Iliad and Odyssey 
 inherited in its perfected form. 
 
 The most important events of family life also 
 called for celebration in song. At the marriage of the 
 mortal Peleus with the goddess Thetis, we are told, 
 the Muses themselves sang the wedding hymn. In 
 the description of the shield of Achilles which is given 
 in the ///W (i8, 493 ff.), the poet says that Hephaestus 
 **fashioned thereon two fair cities of mortal men. In 
 the one were espousals and marriage feasts, and 
 beneath the blaze of torches they were leading the 
 brides from their chambers through the city, and loud 
 arose the bridal song. And young men were whirling 
 in the dance, and among them flutes and viols 
 sounded high ; and the women standing each at her 
 door were marveling." Not less old than the mar- 
 riage hymn is the dirge for the dead. One of the 
 scenes depicted on the shield of Achilles was a vine- 
 yard, in which maidens and youths were plucking the 
 clusters of grapes. **In the midst of them a boy made 
 pleasant music on a clear-toned viol, and sang thereto 
 a sweet Linos-song with delicate voice; while the 
 rest with feet falling together kept time with the music 
 and song.** The Linos-song was one of the earliest 
 known to the Greeks, and is thought to be a lament 
 for the departing summer, which had been personified 
 as a young boy, Linos. Although a dirge, it had 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 17 
 
 now become " a sweet song " for the youth to smg at 
 the joyous vintage. These early dirges, which had 
 taken their place among the poetry of the people, 
 doubtless suggested the form of the funeral chant 
 over the body of the dead, the words of which were 
 necessarily improvised. When the body of Hector was 
 brought back to Troy by his father, Priam, " they laid 
 him upon a fretted bed, and set beside him minstrels, 
 leaders of the dirge, who wailed a mournful lay, 
 while the women made moan with them" {Iliad, 24, 
 722 ff.). Then Hector's wife, Andromache, his 
 mother, Hecabe, and Helen, the wife of his brother 
 Paris, stepped forward one after another and sang their 
 lament. When the hero Achilles was slain in battle, 
 the chanting of dirges lasted seventeen days. The 
 shade of Agamemnon thus speaks to the shade of 
 Achilles in Hades (Odyssey, 24, 24 ff.) : " And forth 
 from the sea came thy mother with the deathless 
 maidens of the waters, when they heard the tidings ; 
 and a wonderful wailing rose over the deep, and trem- 
 bling fell on the limbs of all the Achaeans, . . Then 
 round thee stood the daughters of the ancient one 
 of the sea, holding a pitiful lament, and they clad 
 thee about in raiment incorruptible. And all the 
 nine Muses, one to the other replying, with sweet 
 voices began the dirge ; then thou wouldst not have 
 seen an Argive but wept as mightily rose up the clear 
 chant." 
 
 We have seen, then, that before Homer the Greeks 
 possessed several varieties of poetry which assumed 
 a more or less literary form. Those which we have 
 considered were originally all of a religious nature ; for 
 even the marriage hymns and the dirge grew out of 
 
1 8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 religious observances. But, as in the case of the 
 Linos-song, some of these varieties had early acquired 
 a popular form. The constant tendency was to divest 
 religious poetry of its liturgical character. The 
 Homeric poems record the existence before Homer of 
 another class of poetry, which possesses barely a trace 
 of the religious origin from which it doubtless 
 sprung — the stories of the exploits of heroes. It is of 
 this class of poetry that the Iliad and the Odyssey 
 give us the best picture. 
 
 The minstrels form a distinct class in Homeric soci- 
 ety. As servants of the Muses they enjoy especial 
 privileges, and receive at the hands of the chieftains 
 exceptional honor and respect. When Agamemnon 
 departed for Troy, he intrusted his household to the 
 care of a minstrel, and Odysseus, after slaying all the 
 suitors, spares the life of Phemius, who had been 
 associated with the suitors, on the plea that **god had 
 put into his heart all manner of lays.*' When guests 
 are gathered together in the halls of a chieftain, min- 
 strels sing to them. *'Song and dance, these are the 
 accompaniments of the feast." Odysseus, after his 
 entertainment at the palace of King Alcinous, where 
 he had heard the bard Demodocus, says: **King 
 Alcinous, most notable of all the people, verily it is 
 a good thing to list to a minstrel such as this one, like 
 to the gods in voice. Nay, as for me, I say that there 
 is no more gracious or perfect delight than when 
 a whole people makes merry, and the men sit orderly 
 at feast in the halls and listen to the singer, and the 
 tables beside them are laden with bread and flesh, and 
 a wine-bearer, drawing the wine, serves it round and 
 pours it into the cups. This seems to me wellnigh 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 19 
 
 the fairest thing in the world.** {Odyssey^ 9, 2 ff.) 
 By his choice of a theme and by his spirited render- 
 ing of it the bard could affect his hearers with either 
 joy or sorrow at will. The audience looked upon him 
 as really inspired. Alcinous says of Demodocus: 
 **The god hath given minstrelsy to him as to none 
 other, to make men glad in what way soever his spirit 
 stirs him to sing." Again, he is called "the beloved 
 minstrel, whom the Muse loved dearly, and she gave 
 him both good and evil; of his sight she reft him, but 
 granted him sweet song." When the swineherd 
 Eumaeus wishes to impress upon Penelope the charms 
 of the stranger who proves afterward to be Odysseus, 
 he says: **Even as when a man .gazes upon a singer, 
 whom the gods have taught to sing words of yearning 
 joy to mortals, and they have a ceaseless desire to 
 hear him, so long as he will sing, even so he charmed 
 me.'* 
 
 In the Iliad^ Achilles, when refraining from warfare 
 on account of his quarrel with Agamemnon, is seen 
 by his tent "taking his pleasure of a loud lyre. 
 Therein he was delighting his soul and singing the 
 glories of heroes." Traces are found of such lays on 
 the Labors of Heracles and on the Quest of the Golden 
 Fleece. The minstrels in the Odyssey also sing of the 
 "glorious deeds of men," but we are often told pre- 
 cisely what the subject of the song is. On one occa- 
 sion it is "the loves of Ares and Aphrodite." At 
 other times it is of the exploits and adventures con- 
 nected with the Trojan war. Phemius sang among 
 the suitors "of the pitiful return of the Achaeans that 
 Pallas Athene laid on them as they came forth from 
 Troy." Penelope overhears the tale, which reminds 
 
ao Homer to Theocritus 
 
 her of the long absence of her husband ; and weeping 
 she spake unto the minstrel: **Phemius, since thou 
 knowest many other charms for mortals, deeds of men 
 and gods, which bards rehearse, some one of these do 
 thou sing as thou sittest by them, and let them drink 
 their wine in silence ; but cease from this pitiful strain 
 that ever wastes my heart within my breast, since to 
 me, above all women, hath come a sorrow comfort- 
 less. *' Her son Telemachus, however, rebukes her, 
 saying: **As for him, it is no blame if he sings the 
 ill-faring of the Danaans ; for men always prize that 
 song the most which rings newest in their ears.** 
 {Odyssey^ i, 325 ff.) Again, in the palace of Alcinous, 
 when Odysseus was present, **the Muse stirred the 
 minstrel (Demodocus) to sing the songs of famous 
 men, even that lay whereof the fame had then reached 
 the wide heaven — namely, the quarrel between Odys- 
 seus and Achilles.** Odysseus drew his cloak over 
 his head and wept. Later on, Odysseus summons 
 Demodocus, and says: **Come now, change thy strain, 
 and sing of the fashioning of the horse of wood, 
 even the guileful thing that godly Odysseus led up into 
 the citadel when he had laden it with the men who 
 wasted Ilios. '* And Demodocus is able to comply. 
 
 These passages are of especial interest because of 
 the fact that the themes of which the minstrels sang 
 are precisely of the kind which Homer weaves 
 together to form the Iliad and the Odyssey^ although 
 some of the songs, such as the story of the quarrel 
 of Achilles and Odysseus and the stratagem of the 
 wooden horse, are not actually found in the Iliad 
 itself. From the passages which we have cited several 
 conclusions may be drawn on the subject of pre- 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 21 
 
 Homeric poetry: (i) Besides the short poems of a 
 religious nature, such as the hymns to the gods and 
 the responses of the oracles, there was current in the 
 Greek world a large number of short poems that be- 
 longed more especially to domestic life — e. g., mar- 
 riage chants and dirges; (2) a professional class of 
 minstrels existed, whose repertoires included songs 
 on many themes, imaginary incidents in the lives of 
 the gods, and the exploits of heroic men; (3) the 
 exceptional honor shown to the minstrels and the 
 eagerness of the people for new songs would encour- 
 age the production of new poenas on the models of 
 those already popular; (4) the Iliad and Odyssey diVQ 
 made up of a great many such songs as those which 
 the minstrels sang; (5) the perfection of the poetic art 
 of the Iliad and Odyssey is explained by the existence 
 in Greece of minstrel poets long before these poems 
 were composed; (6) the poets of the Iliad and the 
 Odyssey were either the greatest of the minstrel poets, 
 producing original poems of large compass in the 
 manner of the earlier short lays, or else they were 
 great collectors of the previously existing songs, 
 which they put together to form a consistent whole, 
 adding only the narrative needed to connect the 
 separate lays. This is a part of the Homeric question 
 which will be discussed later on. 
 
 The Iliad and Odyssey are epic poems. The Greek 
 word epos^ from which the adjective **epic*' is derived, 
 meant orginally a **word'* or **saying," and in the 
 plural was applied to the sayings in verse, such as the 
 oracles, or the lays of the minstrels. Since these 
 were composed in the hexameter verse, the measure 
 in which Longfellow's Evangeline is written, and were 
 
22 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 recited to the accompaniment of the lyre, and not 
 *'sung" in the modern sense, epic poetry came to mean 
 narrative poetry in hexameter verse, as opposed to 
 the melic or song poetry, and the term was applied 
 to the longer poems of this kind. According to Aris- 
 totle, an epic poem should have a dignified theme and 
 should form a consistent organic whole. This 
 means that it cannot consist of a series of discon- 
 nected narratives with no leading thought running 
 from beginning to end. A mere chronicle in verse 
 could not constitute an epic poem-. Every part of the 
 narrative must conduce to the completion of the main 
 theme. 
 
 The poems of Homer satisfy this definition of epic 
 poetry no less than the great epics since written, as, 
 for example, Vergil's ^neid and Milton's Paradise 
 Lost. But there is one fundamental difference be- 
 tween the Homeric and the later epics. The differ- 
 ence may be indicated by calling the Homeric poems 
 natural epics, and the ^neid and Paradise Lost literary 
 epics. Homer tells his story simply and for its own 
 sake; Milton selects a noble theme and marshals all 
 of his learning to embellish it. The unsophisticated 
 people for whom Homer sang needed to know only 
 their gods and their heroes to understand the nar- 
 rative ; but every page of Milton teems with allusiohs 
 gathered from the whole world of literature and his- 
 tory. He wrote for learned readers. 
 
 The Iliad is a narrative of only a single episode in 
 the Trojan war. The action of the Iliad embraces 
 altogether only fifty-one days in the tenth year of the 
 war. The story of the events which precede the Iliad 
 were known to the Greeks through another early epic 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 23 
 
 poem, now lost, composed after the Iliad^ in the 
 eighth century before Christ. It was entitled the 
 Cypria^ and its reputed author was Stasinus of Cyprus. 
 The hero of the poem is Paris. The story, as told in 
 the Cypria^ is briefly as follows : 
 
 Zeus, the king of the gods, alarmed at the increase 
 of men upon the earth, resolves to reduce the popula- 
 tion. Now both he and his brother Poseidon, god 
 of the seas, loved the beautiful sea-nymph Thetis. 
 But there was a prophecy which foretold that Thetis 1 
 should have a son who would prove mightier than his' 
 father. To save themselves from such an event, 
 therefore, it was agreed that Thetis should marry 
 a mortal, Peleus, king of Thessaly. All of the gods 
 and goddesses were bidden to the wedding, save only 
 Eris, or Discord. But Zeus sends her also, that the 
 quarrel may arise that shall lead to the Trojan war. 
 Now Eris casts into the midst of the wedding guests 
 a golden apple, inscribed "to the fairest." Hera, the 
 wife of Zeus, and his daughter Athene, goddess of 
 wisdom and prowess in warfare, and Aphrodite, god- 
 dess of love, all claim the prize. Zeus commands 
 Hermes, the messenger of the gods, to conduct the 
 three goddesses to Mount Ida, where Alexander or 
 Paris, son of Priam, king of Ilios or Troy, was tending 
 his flocks as a shepherd, quite unaware of his princely 
 birth. Paris was to decide the dispute.^ The god- 
 desses accordingly appeared before him, each display- 
 ing her charms and proposing tempting bribes. Hera 
 offered the sovereignty of Asia and great riches ; 
 Athene, great glory and renown in war ; Aphrodite, 
 
 * See Tennyson's description of the Judgment of Paris in the poem 
 CBnone, xamed for the first wife of Paris. 
 
24 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 the fairest of all women for his wife. The decision 
 was in favor of Aphrodite, who accordingly received 
 the golden apple. The two slighted goddesses con- 
 ceived a great hatred toward Troy, the country of the 
 umpire, and made their wrath felt heavily upon the 
 Trojans during the war. 
 
 Paris, by the help of Aphrodite, got himself 
 acknowledged as the son of Priam, equipped a fleet, 
 and sailed to Greece in search of the fairest among 
 women. He was hospitably received by Meneiaus, 
 king of Sparta. There, in the absence of the king, in 
 violation of the sacred laws of hospitality, he won the 
 love of Helen, the king's wife, and carried her back to 
 Troy. Now Helen was not only the queen of Meneiaus, 
 but also the daughter of Zeus himself, by Leda, wife of 
 Tyndareus, whom the king of the gods had visited in 
 the guise of a swan. All the princes of the Achaeans 
 had wooed her, entering into a solemn compact with 
 each other that they would all defend the rights of 
 the successful suitor. Accordingly Meneiaus called 
 upon the other leading chieftains and upon his brother 
 Agamemnon, king of Mycenae, the most powerful of 
 them all, to help him avenge the wrong and bring back 
 Helen. With some difficulty they are induced to join 
 in the adventure, and at last, under the chief com- 
 mand of Agamemnon, assemble at Aulis in Boeotia 
 with a fleet of over a thousand ships. The most 
 prominent chieftains, after Agamemnon and Meneiaus, 
 were Odysseus, king of Ithaca; Nestor, king of 
 Pylos; Achilles and his chosen friend, Patroclus of 
 Hellas; Idomeneus of Crete; Diomedes of Argos, and 
 Ajax, son of Telamon, of Salamis. The fleet is long 
 delayed by adverse winds sent by Artemis, until 
 
Epic Poetry. Introductian to the Iliad 25 
 
 Agamemnon consents to the sacrifice of his daughter 
 Iphigeneia, to propitiate the wrath of the goddess. 
 The start is made, and at length, after some misad- 
 ventures, of which the most serious was the abandon- 
 ment on the isle of Lemnos of Philoctetes, the pos- 
 sessor of the bow and unerring arrows of Heracles, 
 the fleet reaches the shores of the Hellespont at the 
 foot of the plain of Troy. The restoration of Helen 
 is demanded of the Trojans, who refuse. 
 
 The siege of Ilios' now begins. But it was not 
 a close investment. The Greeks were encamped upon 
 the beach beside their ships, which were drawn up 
 upon the shore. The citadel, in which the Trojans 
 were obliged to confine themselves, owing to the 
 prowess of Achilles, was about three miles inland. 
 There were occasional attacks and sallies. But the 
 Greeks seem mainly to have occupied themselves with 
 sweeping the surrounding country for provisions. 
 Detachments were continually sent out under some 
 chieftain to sack the small towns and to bring in the 
 booty, whether of men or supplies, to be divided 
 among the army. It was in one of these raids that 
 Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis, and king of the 
 Myrmidons, ravaged Thebe and Lyrnessus, and brought 
 back among the spoils the two beautiful women, 
 Chryseis and Briseis. The former was assigned to 
 Agamemnon to be his handmaiden, the latter to 
 Achilles. So far the Cypria and the first nine years of 
 the war. Chryseis proves to be the daughter of Chry- 
 ses, priest of Apollo. The god avenges the insult to 
 his priest by sending a pestilence upon the Greek 
 
 » In Homer, the citadel of Priam, the chief city of his kingdom, is called 
 Ilios, known to the Romans as Ilium, and the country is Troia, " Troy«land." 
 The latter name came to be used for the city also. 
 
26 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 army. From this circumstance arises the quarrel 
 between Agamemnon and Achilles with which the 
 Iliad opens. 
 
 The traditional title of the poem does not quite 
 accurately give its theme. Ilias, in English Iliads 
 properly means the *' Story of Ilios. " But the real 
 theme is the Wrath of Achilles and is given in the 
 first verse of the poem, in the invocation to the Muse : 
 
 O goddess! sing the wrath of Peleus' son, 
 Achilles, sing the deadly wrath that brought 
 Woes numberless upon the Greeks, and swept 
 To Hades many a valiant soul, and gave 
 Their limbs a prey to dogs and birds of air, — 
 For so had Jove^ appointed, — from the time 
 When the two chiefs, Atrides,^ king of men, 
 And great Achilles, parted first as foes. 
 
 1, 1-8. Bryant. 
 
 It is only with this conception of the subject of the 
 Iliad that the poem has unity. Through Achilles* 
 wrath the Greeks were obliged to fight without his 
 aid, and could not win. The death of Patroclus 
 ensued. Then, through love of his friend, the wrath 
 of Achilles is directed against the Trojans. Witli 
 Hector's death Patroclus is avenged. This is the 
 story, and throughout the poem our interest centres 
 
 *Jove, or Tupiter, the Latin form of Zeus. Most of the standard trans- 
 lations give the Latin instead of the Greek names of the gods, though they 
 are not always really equivalent. This would now be considered a fault, 
 but was the prevailing custom a generation ago. The most common equiv- 
 aleaift are: Neptune for Poseidon; Pluto for Hades; Vulcan for Hepbses- 
 tusTjuno for Hera; Minerva for Athene; Venus for Aphrodite; Mars for 
 Ares; Diana for Artemis; Mercury for Hermes; Saturn tor Cronus; Latona 
 for Leto. 
 
 •Atrides (more properly Atreides), i.e., son of Atreus, Agamemnon. It 
 might also mean Menelaus, the brother of Agamemnon. The ending "-ides" 
 in Greek signifies "son of." So Peleides = Achilles, son of Peleus; Tydeides 
 = Diomedes, son of Tydeus, etc. Sometimes it may mean "descendant of"; 
 e.g., Alceides = Heracles, whose grandfather was Alcseus, and i£acide8 s 
 Achilles, son of Peleus, son of iEacus. 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 27 
 
 in the hero Achilles, vehement in love as in hate, 
 whether he is sulking in his tent or fighting in the 
 foremost ranks. But there are many incidents in an 
 extended epic like this, and not all of them attach 
 themselves closely to the leading theme. 
 
 The wrath of Achilles, then, arising from his quar- 
 rel with Agamemnon, was the cause of the woes of 
 the Greeks. The account of the origin of the quarrel 
 occupies about one-half of the first book.* 
 
 Which of the gods put strife between the chiefs. 
 That they should thus contend? Latona's son 
 And Jove's. Incensed" against the king he bade 
 A deadly pestilence appear among 
 The army, and the men were perishing. 
 For Atreus' son with insult had received 
 Chryses the priest, who to the Grecian fleet 
 Came to redeem his daughter, ofifering 
 Uncounted ransom. In his hand he bore 
 The fillets of Apollo, archer-god, 
 Upon the golden sceptre, and he sued 
 To all the Greeks, but chiefly to the sons 
 Of Atreus, the two leaders of the host:— 
 
 " Ye sons of Atreus, and ye other chiefs, 
 Well-greaved Achaeans, may the gods who dwell 
 Upon Olympus give you to o'erthrow 
 The city of Priam and in safety reach 
 Your homes; but give me my beloved child. 
 And take her ransom, honoring him who sends 
 His arrows far, Apollo, son of Jove." 
 
 Then all the other Greeks, applauding, bade 
 Revere the priest and take the liberal gifts 
 He offered, but the counsel did not please 
 Atrides Agamemnon; he dismissed 
 The priest with scorn, and added threatening words: — 
 
 *The Iliad and the Odyssey were divided each into twenty-four books 
 by an Alexandrian scholar in the third century before Christ. The divisions 
 art often arbitrary and were made simply for convenience. 
 
28 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ** Old man, let me not find thee loitering here 
 Beside the roomy ships, or coming back 
 Hereafter, lest the fillet thou dost bear 
 And sceptre of thy god protect thee not. 
 This maiden I release not till old age 
 Shall overtake her in my Argive home. 
 Far from her native country, where her hand 
 Shall throw the shuttle and shall dress my couch. 
 Go, chafe me not, if thou wouldst safely go." 
 
 I, 9-42. Bryant. 
 
 The old man obeyed, and walked silently along the 
 shore of the loud-sounding sea, and prayed aloud to 
 Apollo. And Phoebus Apollo heard him. 
 
 Down he came, 
 Down from the summit of the Olympian mount, 
 Wrathful in heart; his shoulders bore the bow 
 And hollow quiver; there the arrows rang 
 Upon the shoulders of the angry god. 
 As on he moved. He came as comes the night, 
 And, seated from the ships aloof, sent forth 
 An arrow; terrible was heard the clang 
 Of that resplendent bow. At first he smote 
 The mules and the swift dogs, and then on man 
 He turned the deadly arrow. All around 
 Glared evermore the frequent funeral piles. 
 Nine days already had his shafts been showered 
 Among the host, and now, upon the tenth, 
 Achilles called the people of the camp 
 To council. 
 
 h 57-72. Bryant. 
 
 Now when they were all assembled, Achilles, fieet 
 of foot, arose, and proposed that they should inquire 
 of some soothsayer or priest to tell them why Apollo 
 was so wroth against them. Perchance he would 
 accept a rich sacrifice and take away the pestilence. 
 Then spake Calchas, the augur, who knew both things 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 29 
 
 that were and that should be and that had been be- 
 fore: ** Achilles, dear to Zeus, thou biddest me tell 
 the wrath of Apollo, the king that smiteth afar. 
 Therefore will I speak, but do thou make covenant 
 with me, and swear that verily with all thy heart thou 
 wilt aid me both by word and deed. For of a truth 
 I deem that I shall provoke one that ruleth all the 
 Argives with might, and whom the Achaeans obey. * * 
 Achilles thus reassures Calchas: *'Be of good courage, 
 and speak whatever soothsaying thou knowest. No 
 man while I live and behold the light on earth shall 
 lay violent hands upon thee amid the hollow ships; no 
 man of all the Danaans, not even if thou mean 
 Agamemnon, that now avoweth him to be the greatest 
 far of the Achaeans." 
 
 EmboldenM thus, th* unerring prophet spoke: 
 
 " Not for neglected hecatombs or pray'rs, 
 But for his priest whom Agamemnon scorn'd, 
 Nor took his ransom, nor his child restor'd; 
 On his account the Far-destroyer sends 
 This scourge of pestilence, and yet will send; 
 Nor shall we cease his heavy band to feel. 
 Till to her sire we give the bright-eyed girl, 
 Unbought, unransom'd, and to Chrysa's shore 
 A solemn hecatomb despatch; this done. 
 The God, appeas'd, his anger may remit." 
 
 I, 108-118. Derby. 
 
 The hero, son of Atreus, wide-ruling Agamemnon, 
 then stood up before them, sore displeased ; and his 
 dark heart within him was greatly filled with anger, 
 and his eyes were like flashing fire. He calls the aged 
 seer a prophet of evil, praises the maid Chryseis, but 
 agrees to give her up to save his people. He asks, 
 however, that a recompense be provided for him, 
 
30 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 that he alone of all the Achseans be not left without 
 a prize. Achilles springs to his feet and reminds 
 Agamemnon that all the spoil taken from the cap- 
 tured towns has already been apportioned. ** Yield 
 thou the damsel to the god, and we Achseans will pay 
 thee back threefold and fourfold if ever Zeus grant us 
 to sack the well-walled city of Troy." But Agamem- 
 non suspects the motives of Achilles, and answers thus : 
 
 " Think not, Achilles, valiant though thou art 
 In fight, and godlike, to defraud me thus; 
 Thou shalt not so persuade me, nor o'erreach. 
 Think'st thou to keep thy portion of the spoil. 
 While I with empty hands sit idly down? 
 The bright-ey'd girl thou bidd'st me to restore; 
 If then the valiant Greeks for me seek out 
 Some other spoil, some compensation just, 
 *Tis well: if not, I with my own right hand 
 Will from some other chief, from thee perchance, 
 Or Ajax, or Ulysses, wrest his prey; 
 And woe to him on whomsoe'er I call!" 
 
 I, 153-165. Derby. 
 
 Achilles, stung by these words, indignantly re- 
 proaches Agamemnon. The wrongs they came to 
 avenge upon Troy were not his own, but those of 
 Menelaus. **A11 this thou reckonest not, nor takest 
 thought thereof; and now thou threatenest thyself to 
 take my meed of honor, wherefor I travailed much, 
 and the sons of the Achaeans gave it me. Never win 
 I meed like unto his, when the Achaeans sack any pop- 
 ulous city of Trojan men ; my hands bear the brunt 
 of furious war, but when the apportioning cometh, 
 then is thy meed far ampler, and I betake me to the 
 ships with some small thing, yet mine own, when 
 I have fought to weariness. Now will I depart to 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad 31 
 
 Phthia, seeing it far better to return home on my 
 beaked ships; nor am I minded here in dishonor to 
 draw thee thy fill of riches and of wealth." 
 
 Him answered Agamemnon, king of men: 
 "Desert, then, if thou wilt; I ask thee not 
 To stay for me; there will be others left 
 To do me honor yet, and, best of all. 
 The all-providing Jove is with me still. 
 Thee I detest the most of all the men 
 Ordained by him to govern ; thy delight 
 Is in contention, war, and bloody frays. 
 If thou art brave, some deity, no doubt. 
 Has thus endowed thee. Hence then to thy home. 
 With all thy ships and men ! there domineer 
 Over thy Myrmidons;* I heed thee not, 
 Nor care I for thy fury. Thus, in turn, 
 I threaten thee ; since Phoebus takes away 
 Chryseis, I will send her in my ship 
 And with my friends, and, coming to thy tent. 
 Will bear away the fair-cheeked maid, thy prize, 
 Briseis, that thou learn how far I stand 
 Above thee, and that other chiefs may fear 
 To measure strength with me, and brave my power." 
 
 I, 224-243. Bryant. 
 
 Achilles lays his hand to his sword, doubting 
 whether he shall forthwith slay Agamemnon. But 
 Athene came to him from heaven. She stood beside 
 him and caught him by the golden hair, visible to him 
 alone, and of the rest no man beheld her. She prom- 
 ises Achilles that if he will stay his anger goodly 
 gifts will yet come to him by reason of this slight. So 
 Achilles thrust the great sword back into the sheath, 
 and was not disobedient to the saying of Athene. 
 But he in nowise ceased his wrath, but angrily taunts 
 the king, and says: 
 
 *Tbe name of the Thessalian tribe over which Achilles ruled. 
 
32 Homer to Theocritua 
 
 " And now I say. 
 
 And bind my saying with a mighty oath : 
 By this my sceptre, which can never bear 
 A leaf or twig, since first it left its stem 
 Among the mountains — for the steel has pared 
 Its boughs and bark away, to sprout no more, 
 And now the Achaian judges bear it, they 
 Who guard the laws received from Jupiter, 
 Such is my oath— the time shall come when all 
 The Greeks shall long to see Achilles back. 
 While multitudes are perishing by the hand 
 Of Hector, the man-queller ; thou, meanwhile. 
 Though thou lament, shalt have no power to help. 
 And thou shalt rage against thyself to think 
 That thou hast scorned the bravest of the Greeks." 
 
 As thus he spoke, Pelides to the ground 
 Flung the gold-studded wand, and took his seat. 
 
 I, 298-314. Bryant. 
 
 Then in their midst rose up Nestor, the clear-voiced 
 orator of the Pylians, he from whose tongue flowed 
 discourse sweeter than honey. Two generations of 
 mortal men had he seen perish, and he was king 
 among the third. Vainly he tried to allay the passions 
 of the two chieftains. Achilles will yield the maiden 
 Briseis to Agamemnon, but continues to defy his 
 authority. The assembly breaks up. Agamemnon 
 sends Chryseis back to her home, and has Briseis 
 brought from Achilles' tent to his own. Apollo is 
 appeased, but Achilles' abiding wrath remains. 
 Seated on the beach of the sea, he prayed earnestly to 
 his mother, Thetis. And his mother heard him as she 
 sat in the sea-depths beside her aged sire. With 
 speed arose she from the gray sea, like a mist, and 
 sat her before the face of her weeping son, and 
 stroked him with her hand. Achilles then tells Thetis 
 his great sorrow, and entreats her to ask of Zeus that 
 
Epic Poetry. Introduction to the Iliad ;^2 
 
 he shall now give 'aid to the Trojans, and that the 
 Achaeans shall be given over to slaughter, in order that 
 Agamemnon may perceive his blindness in that he 
 honored not at all the best of the Achaeans. 
 
 Thetis pities her son, and urges him to refrain 
 utterly from battle. So Achilles sat by his swift-far- 
 ing ships, still wroth. He betook him neither to the 
 assembly nor to war, but consumed his heart in tarry- 
 ing in his place, and yearned for the war-cry and for 
 battle. And Thetis, when the gods were returned 
 from a banquet among the ^Ethiopians, forgot not 
 her son's charge, but rose up from the sea-wave, and 
 at early morn mounted up to great heaven and 
 Olympus. There found she Cronus* son, of the far- 
 sounding voice, sitting apart from all on the topmost 
 peak of many-ridged Olympus. So she sat before his 
 face, and with her left hand clasped his knees, and 
 with her right touched him beneath the chin, and 
 spake in prayer to Zeus : 
 
 " O Jupiter, my father, if among 
 The immortals I have ever given thee aid 
 By word or act, deny not my request. 
 Honor my son, whose life is doomed to end 
 So soon ; for Agamemnon, king of men, 
 Hath done him shameful wrong : he takes from him 
 And keeps the prize he won in war. But thou, 
 Olympian Jupiter, supremely wise. 
 Honor him thou, and give the Trojan host 
 The victory, until the humbled Greeks 
 Heap large increase of honors on my son.*' 
 
 h 633-643. Bryant 
 
 Zeus hesitates to promise, for he fears to be at vari- 
 ance with Hera, his wife, who favors the Greeks on 
 account of the decision of Paris. But he at last bowed 
 
34 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 his dark brow, and the ambrosial locks waved from 
 the king's immortal head, and he made great Olympus 
 shake. Hera suspects the motive of Thetis' visit, and 
 expostulates with Zeus on his interference with her 
 plans, but Zeus rebukes her severely, so that she is 
 afraid. Hephaestus comforts his mother Hera, and 
 the gods make merry at the banquet. 
 
 So ends the first book, which forms the prologue to 
 the main action of the poem. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 THE MAIN ACTION OF THE ILIAD 
 
 The Preparation for Battle — Catalogue of the Opposing 
 Forces — The First Day of Battle — The Combat of Paris 
 and Menelaus — Pandarus violates the Truce — The Valor 
 of Diomedes — The Parting of Hector and Andromache — 
 The Combat of Ajax and Hector — Selections— ThQ Second 
 Day of Battle — The Repulse of the Greeks — The Embassy 
 to Achilles — The Treachery of Dolon — Selections — Th» 
 Third Day of Battle — The Trojans break down the Wall 
 of the Camp — Poseidon aids the Greeks — The Ships are 
 set on Fire — Patroclus fights in Achilles' Armor — The 
 Rout of the Trojans— The Slaying of Patroclus— The Fight 
 for his Body— The Armor of Achilles— The Turning-point 
 of the VXoi — Selections — 'Dit Fourth Day of Battle- 
 Achilles drives back the Greeks — The Slaying of 
 Hector — Selections — The Epilogue — The Funeral of 
 Patroclus — The Ransom of Hector's Body — Selections, 
 
 The main action of the Iliad occupies the next 
 twenty-one books, large portions of which are not 
 strictly necessary to the unfolding of the plot, 
 although in the main they illustrate the great need 
 which the Greeks have for the help of Achilles, who 
 remains apart until Patroclus, his friend, is slain. In 
 this interval occur three days of fierce battle. 
 
 On the first day (Books II to VII) Agamemnon, 
 who has been beguiled by a dream sent of Zeus into the 
 belief that he will speedily capture Troy, even without 
 the aid of Achilles, marshals his hosts and prepares 
 for battle, although the people at first, thinking that 
 he despairs of final victory, rush to the ships and are 
 with difficulty recalled. An imposing catalogue of the 
 
 35 
 
36 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 leaders of the Greek and Trojan forces, with the con- 
 tingents furnished by each, closes the second book. 
 The third book is occupied mainly with the fight of 
 Paris with Menelaus in single combat, both armies 
 having taken a solemn oath that the victor should 
 receive Helen and the treasure that was stolen with 
 her, thus ending the war Paris is about to be taken 
 captive by Menelaus when Aphrodite intervenes and 
 rescues her favorite. While the armies are separated, 
 waiting for the duel to begin, Helen, in a famous 
 scene, points out to Priam from the walls of Troy the 
 greatest warriors on the Greek side. The fourth book 
 opens with an assembly of the gods on Olympus. 
 Hera and Athene, in order to insure the final defeat 
 of the Trojans, win the reluctant consent of Zeus to 
 their plan that the Trojans shall violate their solemn 
 pledge to deliver up Helen to Menelaus as victor over 
 Paris. So Athene incites Pandarus, the Lycian archer, 
 who fights on the Trojan side, to shoot an arrow at 
 Menelaus during the armistice. The Greeks, outraged 
 by this act of treachery, furiously renew the battle. 
 In the fifth book the heroes on both sides do mighty 
 deeds of valor, iEneas, Hector, and Sarpedon for the 
 Trojans, Menelaus, Agamemnon, and Diomedes for 
 the Greeks. But Diomedes is conspicuous above them 
 all. He would have slain ^neas but for Aphrodite's 
 intervention, and by Athene's aid wounds both Aphro- 
 dite and Ares when they take the field for the Trojans. 
 There is less fighting in the sixth book. Glaucus, 
 the Lycian ally of the Trojans, meets Diomedes in 
 battle, but recognizing each other as family friends, 
 they part in friendship. Hector goes back to Troy to 
 prepare sacrifices to Athene, in the hope that she may 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 37 
 
 withdraw her support from the Greeks. In a touching 
 scene he bids farewell to Andromache, his wife, and 
 to his child, Astyanax, and returns to the battlefield. 
 In the seventh book, Ajax, son of Telamon, is chosen 
 by lot as champion of the Greeks to fight Hector in 
 single combat. They fight desperately, the advantage 
 being slightly on the side of Ajax, but night puts an 
 end to the encounter. During the next two days the 
 dead are buried and the Greeks build a strong wall 
 about their ships. We quote a few characteristic pas- 
 sages from this section of the poem : 
 
 THE ASSEMBLY OF THE GREEKS 
 
 Up rose the sceptered monarchs, and obeyed 
 
 Their leader's call, and round them throng'd the crowd 
 
 As swarms of bees, that pour in ceaseless stream 
 
 From out the crevice of some hollow rock, 
 
 Now clust'ring, and anon 'mid vernal flow'rs. 
 
 Some here, some there, in busy numbers fly; 
 
 So to th' assembly from their tents and ships 
 
 The countless tribes came thronging ; in their midst, 
 
 By Jove enkindled. Rumour urged them on. 
 
 Great was the din, and as the mighty mass 
 
 Sat down, the solid earth beneath them groan*d ; 
 
 Nine heralds rais'd their voices loud, to quell 
 
 The storm of tongues, and bade the noisy crowd 
 
 Be still, and listen to the heaven-born kings. 
 
 At length they all were seated, and awhile 
 
 Their clamours sank to silence. 
 
 11,98-113. Derby- 
 
 AGAMEMNON ADDRESSES THE ARMY 
 
 *' But now on me hath aegis-bearing Jove, 
 The son of Saturn, fruitless toil impos'd, 
 And hurtful quarrels ; for in wordy war 
 About a girl Achilles and myself 
 Engag'd ; and I, alas! the strife began : 
 
2%^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Could we be friends again, delay were none, 
 How short soe'er, of Ilion's final doom. 
 But now to breakfast, ere we wage the fight. 
 Each sharpen well his spear, his shield prepare, 
 Each to his fiery steeds their forage give, 
 Each look his chariot o'er, that through the day 
 We may unwearied stem the tide of war ; 
 For respite none, how short soe'er, shall be 
 Till night shall bid the storm of battle cease. 
 With sweat shall reek upon each warrior's breast 
 The leathern belt beneath the covering shield ; 
 And hands shall ache that wield the pond'rous spear; 
 With sweat shall reek the fiery steeds that draw 
 Each warrior's car ; but whomsoe'er I find 
 Loitering beside the beaked ships, for him 
 'Twere hard to 'scape the vultures and the dogs." 
 
 He said ; and from th' applauding ranks of Greece 
 Rose a loud sound, as when the ocean wave, 
 Driv'n by the south wind on some lofty beach. 
 Dashes against a prominent crag, expos'd 
 To blasts from every storm that roars around. 
 
 n, 430-455- Derby 
 
 THE MARSHALING OF THE GREEK HOSTS 
 
 The high-voic't heralds instantly he charg'd to call to arms 
 The curl'd-head Greeks ; they call'd ; the Greeks straight 
 
 answer'd their alarms. 
 The Jove-kept kings, about the kings all gather'd, with their aid 
 Rang'd all in tribes and nations. With them the gray-eyed Maid 
 Great iEgis (Jove's bright shield) sustain'd, that can be never 
 
 old. 
 Never corrupted, fring'd about with serpents forg'd of gold. 
 As many as suffic'd to make a hundred fringes, worth 
 An hundred oxen, every snake all sprawling, all set forth 
 With wondrous spirit. Through the host with this the Goddess 
 
 ran, 
 In fury casting round her eyes, and furnisht every man 
 With strength, exciting all to arms and fight incessant. None 
 Now liked their lov'd homes like the wars. And as a fire upon 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 39 
 
 A huge wood, on the heights of hills, that far off hurls his light; 
 So the divine brass shin'd on these, thus thrusting on for fight, 
 Their splendour through the air reacht heaven. And as about 
 
 the flood 
 Cayster, in an Asian mead, flocks of the airy brood, 
 Cranes, geese, or long-neckt swans, here, there, proud of their 
 
 pinions fly, 
 And in their falls lay out such throats, that with their spiritfull 
 
 cry 
 The meadow shrieks again ; so here, these many nation'd men 
 Flow'd over the Scamandrian field, from tents and ships; 
 
 the din 
 Was dreadfull that the feet of men and horse beat out of earth. 
 And in the florishing mead they stood, thick as the odorous 
 
 birth 
 Of flowers, or leaves bred in the spring ; or thick as swarms 
 
 of flies 
 Throng then to sheep-cotes, when each swarm his erring wing 
 
 applies 
 To milk dew'd on the milk-maid's pails ; all eagerly dispos'd 
 To give to ruin th* Ilians. And as in rude heaps clos'd, 
 Though huge goatherds are at their food, the goatherds easly 
 
 yet 
 Sort into sundry herds ; so here the chiefs in battell set. 
 Here tribes, here nations, ordring all. Amongst whom shin'd 
 
 the king. 
 With eyes like lightning-loving Jove, his forehead answering, 
 In breast like Neptune, Mars in waist. And as a goodly bull 
 Most eminent of all a herd, most wrong, most masterful. 
 So Agamemnon Jove that day made overheighten clear 
 That heaven-bright army, and preferr'd to all th* heroes there. 
 
 II. 379-412. Chapman. 
 
 PRIAM AND HELEN ON THE WALLS OF TROY 
 
 And Priam lifted up his voice and called to Helen : '* Come 
 hither, dear child, and sit before me, that thou mayest see thy 
 former husband and thy kinsfolk and thy friends. I hold thee 
 not to blame ; nay, I hold the gods to blame who brought on 
 me this dolorous war of the Achaeans." . . . And Helen, 
 
40 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 fair among women, spake and answered him : " Reverend art 
 thou to me and dread, dear father of my lord ; would that sore 
 death had been my pleasure when I followed thy son hither, 
 and left my home and my kinsfolk, and my daughter in her 
 girlhood, and the lovely company of my age-fellows. But that 
 was not so, wherefore I pine with weeping." . . . And 
 thirdly the old man saw Ajax, and asked : " Who then is this 
 other Achaean warrior, goodly and great, preeminent above the 
 Argives by the measure of his head and broad shoulders ? " 
 And long-robed Helen, fair among women, answered : " This 
 is huge Ajax, bulwark of the Achaeans. And on the other side 
 amid the Cretans standeth Idomeneus like a god, and about 
 him are gathered the captains of the Cretans. Oft did Mene- 
 laus, dear to Zeus, entertain him in our house, whene'er he came 
 from Crete. 
 
 Clearly the rest I behold of the dark-eyed sons of Achasa, 
 Known to me well are the faces of all; their names I remember; 
 Two, two only remain, whom I see not among the commanders, 
 Castor, fleet in the car, — Polydeuces, brave with the cestus, — 
 Own dear brethren of mine, — one parent loved us as infants, — 
 Are they not here in the host, from the shores of loved 
 
 Lacedaemon ? 
 Or, though they came with the rest in ships that bound through 
 
 the water, 
 Dare they not enter the fight, or stand in the council of 
 
 heroes, 
 All for fear of the shame and the taunts my crime has 
 
 awakened ? " 
 So said she — they long since in Earth's soft arms were reposing, 
 There, in their own dear land, their Fatherland, Lacedaemon.' 
 
 Ill, 234-244. Hawtrey. 
 
 * This exquisite translation by Hawtrey in tiie metre of the original " is 
 ttie one version," says Matthew Arnold, *' of any part of the //tadf which in 
 some degree reproduces for me the original effect of Homer." 
 
 I have given the context in the prose version of Lang, Leaf, and Myers, 
 for the juxtaposition of blank verse and hexameters would give offense. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 41 
 
 VALOR OF DIOMEDES 
 
 But of Tydides none might say to whom 
 His arm belonged, or whether with the hosts 
 Of Troy or Greece he mingled in the fight : 
 Hither and thither o'er the plain he rush'd, 
 Like to a wintry stream, that brimming o'er 
 Breaks down all barriers in its rapid course , 
 Nor well-built bridge can stem the flood, nor fenct 
 That guards the fertile fields, as down it pours 
 Its sudden torrent, swoll'n with rain from heav'n. 
 And many a goodly work of man destroys : 
 So back were borne before Tydides' might 
 The serried ranks of Troy, nor dar'd await, 
 Despite their numbers, his impetuous charge. 
 
 V, 98-1 10. Derby. 
 
 ENCOUNTER OF DIOMEDES AND GLAUCUS 
 
 Then Tydeus' son, and Glaucus, in the midst. 
 Son of Hippolochus, stood forth to fight ; 
 But when they near were met, to Glaucus first 
 The valiant Diomed his speech address'd : 
 
 Who art thou, boldest man of mortal birth? 
 For in the glorious conflict heretofore 
 I ne'er have seen thee ; but in daring now 
 Thou far surpassest all, who hast not fear'd 
 To face my spear ; of most unhappy sires 
 The children they, who my encounter meet. 
 But if from heav'n thou com'st, and art indeed 
 A god, I fight not with the heav'nly powers. 
 
 But be thou mortal, and the fruits of earth 
 
 Thy food, approach, and quickly meet thy doom." 
 
 To whom the noble Glaucus thus replied : 
 "Great son of Tydeus, why my race enquire ? 
 The race of man is as the race of leaves : 
 Of leaves, one generation by the wind 
 Is scattered on the earth ; another soon 
 In spring's luxuriant verdure bursts to light. 
 So with our race ; these flourish, those decay. 
 
42 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 But if thou would'st in truth enquire and learn 
 The race I spring from, not unknown of men ; 
 There is a city, in the deep recess 
 Of pastoral Argos, Ephyre by name : 
 There Sisyphus of old his dwelling had, 
 Of mortal men the craftiest ; Sisyphus, 
 The son of i^olus ; to whom was born 
 Glaucus ; and Glaucus in his turn begot 
 Bellerophon, on whom the gods bestow'd 
 The gifts of beauty and of manly grace. 
 
 Three children there to brave Bellerophon 
 Were born ; Isander, and Hippolochus, 
 Laodamia last, belov'd of Jove. 
 
 I from Hippolochus my birth derive : 
 To Troy he sent me, and enjoin'd me oft 
 To aim at highest honours, and surpass 
 My comrades all ; nor on my father's name 
 Discredit bring, who held the foremost place 
 In Ephyre, and Lycia's wide domain. 
 Such is my race, and such the blood I boast.'* 
 
 He said ; and Diomed rejoicing heard ; 
 His spear he planted in the fruitful ground. 
 And thus with friendly words the chief address'd ; 
 
 " By ancient ties of friendship we are bound ; 
 For godlike CEneus in his house received 
 For twenty days the brave Bellerophon. 
 • • . . . . 
 
 So I in Argos am thy friendly host ; 
 Thou mine in Lycia, when I thither come : 
 Then shun we, e'en amid the thickest fight, 
 Each other's lance ; enough there are for me 
 Of Trojans and their brave allies to kill, 
 As heaven may aid me, and my speed of foot ; 
 And Greeks enough there are for thee to slay. 
 If so indeed thou canst ; but let us now 
 Our armour interchange, that these may know 
 What friendly bonds of old our houses join." 
 Thus as they spoke, they quitted each his car; 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 43 
 
 Clasp*d hand in hand, and plighted mutual faith. 
 Then Glaucus of his judgment Jove deprived, 
 His armour interchanging, gold for brass, 
 A hundred oxen's worth for that of nine. 
 
 VI, 141-278. Derby. 
 
 PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE 
 
 Hector left in haste 
 The mansion, and retraced his way between 
 The rows of stately dwellings, traversing 
 The mighty city. When at length he reached 
 The Scaean gates, that issue on the field, 
 His spouse, the nobly dowered Andromache, 
 Came forth to meet him — daughter of the prince 
 EStion, who, among the woody slopes 
 Of Placos, in the Hypoplacian town 
 Of Thebd, ruled Cilicia and her sons. 
 And gave his child to Hector, great in arms. 
 She came attended by a maid, who bore 
 A tender child — a babe too young to speak — 
 Upon her bosom — Hector's only son. 
 Beautiful as a star, whom Hector called 
 Scamandrius, but all else Astyanax — 
 The city's lord— since Hector stood the sole 
 Defence of Troy. The father on his child 
 Looked with a silent smile. Andromache 
 Pressed to his side meanwhile, and, all in tears, 
 Clung to his hand, and, thus beginning, said : 
 
 " Too brave ! thy valor yet will cause thy death. 
 Thou hast no pity on thy tender child, 
 Nor me, unhappy one, who soon must be 
 Thy widow. All the Greeks will rush on thee 
 To take thy life. A happier lot were mine. 
 If I must lose thee, to go down to earth, 
 For I shall have no hope when thou art gone, — 
 Nothing but sorrow. Father have I none, 
 And no dear mother. Great Achilles slew 
 My father when he sacked the populous town 
 Of the Cilicians,— Thebfe with high gates. 
 
44 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 'Twas there he smote Eetion, yet forbore 
 
 To make his arms a spoil ; he dared not that. 
 
 But burned the dead with his bright armor on, 
 
 And raised a mound above him. Mountain-nymphs, 
 
 Daughters of aegis-bearing Jupiter, 
 
 Came to the spot and planted it with elms. 
 
 Seven brothers had I in my father's house, 
 
 And all went down to Hades in one day. 
 
 Achilles, the swift-footed, slew them all 
 
 Among their slow-paced bullocks and white sheep. 
 
 My mother, princess on the woody slopes 
 
 Of Placos, with his spoils he bore away. 
 
 And only for large ransom gave her back. 
 
 But her Diana, archer-queen, struck down 
 
 Within her father's palace. Hector, thou 
 
 Art father and dear mother now to me. 
 
 And brother and my youthful spouse besides. 
 
 In pity keep within the fortress here, 
 
 Nor make thy child an orphan nor thy wife 
 
 A widow. Post thine army near the place 
 
 Of the wild fig-tree, where the city walls 
 
 Are low and may be scaled. Thrice in the war 
 
 The boldest of the foe have tried the spot — 
 
 The Ajaces and the famed Idomeneus, 
 
 The two chiefs born to Atreus, and the brave 
 
 Tydides, whether counselled by some seer, 
 
 Or prompted to the attempt by their own minds.' 
 
 Then answered Hector, great in war: "All this 
 I bear in mind, dear wife ; but I should stand 
 Ashamed before the men and long-robed dames 
 Of Troy, were I to keep aloof and shun 
 The conflict, coward-like. Not thus my heart 
 Prompts me, for greatly have I learned to dare 
 And strike among the foremost sons of Troy, 
 Upholding my great father's fame and mine ; 
 Yet well in my undoubting mind I know 
 The day shall come in which our sacred Troy, 
 And Priam, and the people over whom 
 Spear-bearing Priam rules, shall perish all. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 45 
 
 But not the sorrows of the Trojan race, 
 
 Nor those of Hecuba herself, nor those 
 
 Of royal Priam, nor the woes that wait 
 
 My brothers many and brave — who all at last, 
 
 Slain by the pitiless foe, shall lie in dust — 
 
 Grieve me so much as thine, when some mailed Greek 
 
 Shall lead thee weeping hence, and take from thee 
 
 Thy day of freedom. Thou in Argos then 
 
 Shalt, at another's bidding, ply thy loom. 
 
 And from the fountain of Messeis draw 
 
 Water, or from the Hypereian spring, 
 
 Constrained unwillingly by the cruel lot. 
 
 And then shall some one say who sees thee weep, 
 
 •This was the wife of Hector, most renowned 
 
 Of the horse-taming Trojans, when they fought 
 
 Around their city.' So shall some one say, 
 
 And thou shall grieve the more, lamenting him 
 
 Who haply might have kept afar the day 
 
 Of thy captivity. O let the earth 
 
 Be heaped above my head in death before 
 
 I hear thy cries as thou art borne away!" 
 
 So speaking, mighty Hector stretched his arms 
 To take the boy ; the boy shrank crying back 
 To his fair nurse's bosom, scared to see 
 His father helmeted in glittering brass. 
 And eyeing with afifright the horse-hair plume 
 That grimly nodded from the lofty crest. 
 At this both parents in their fondness laughed ; 
 And hastily the mighty Hector took 
 The helmet from his brow and laid it down 
 Gleaming upon the ground, and, having kissed 
 His darling son and tossed him up in play. 
 Prayed thus to Jove and all the gods of heaven : 
 
 •' O Jupiter and all ye deities, 
 Vouchsafe that this my son may yet become 
 Among the Trojans eminent like me. 
 And nobly rule in Ilium. May they say, 
 'This man is greater than his father was ! ' 
 When they behold him from the battlefield 
 
46 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Bring back the bloody spoil of the slain foe. 
 That so his mother may be glad at heart." 
 
 So speaking, to the arms of his dear spouse 
 He gave the boy ; she on her fragrant breast 
 Received him, weeping as she smiled. The chief 
 Beheld, and, moved with tender pity, smoothed 
 Her forehead gently with his hand and said : 
 
 " Sorrow not thus, beloved one, for me. 
 No living man can send me to the shades 
 Before my time ; no man of woman born, 
 Coward or brave, can shun his destiny. 
 But go thou home, and tend thy labors there, — 
 The web, the distaff, — and command thy maids 
 To speed the work. The cares of war pertain 
 To all men born in Troy, and most to me." 
 
 Thus speaking, mighty Hector took again 
 His helmet, shadowed with the horse-hair plume. 
 While homeward his beloved consort went. 
 Oft looking back, and shedding many tears. 
 
 VI, 505-633. Bryant. 
 
 COMBAT OF AJAX AND HECTOR 
 
 He spake, and, brandishing his ponderous lance. 
 Hurled it ; and on the outer plate of brass. 
 Which covered the seven bullock-hides, it struck 
 The shield of Ajax. Through the brass and through 
 Six folds of hides the irresistible spear 
 Cut its swift way, and at the seventh stopped. 
 Then high-born Ajax cast his massive spear 
 In turn, and drove it through the fair, round shield 
 Of Priam's son. Through that bright buckler went 
 The rapid weapon, pierced the well-wrought mail. 
 And tore the linen tunic at the flank. 
 But Hector stooped, and thus avoided death. 
 They took their spears again, and, coming close. 
 Like lions in their hunger, or wild boars 
 Of fearful strength, joined battle. Priam's son 
 Sent his spear forward, striking in the midst 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 47 
 
 The shield of Ajax, but it broke not through 
 The brass ; the metal turned the weapon's point. 
 While Ajax, springing onward, smote the shield 
 Of Hector, drave his weapon through, and checked 
 His enemy's swift advance, and wounded him 
 Upon the shoulder, and the black blood flowed. 
 Yet not for this did plumed Hector cease 
 From combat, but went back, and, lifting up 
 A huge, black, craggy stone that near him lay. 
 Flung it with force against the middle boss 
 Of the broad sevenfold shield that Ajax bore. 
 The brass rang with the blow. Then Ajax raised 
 A heavier stone, and whirled it, putting forth 
 His arm's immeasurable strength ; it brake 
 Through Hector's shield as if a millstone's weight 
 Had fallen. His knees gave way ; he fell to :arth 
 Headlong ; yet still he kept his shield. At once 
 Apollo raised him up ; and now with swords. 
 Encountering hand to hand, they both had flown 
 To wound each other, if the heralds sent 
 As messengers from Jupiter and men 
 Had not approached, — Idaeus from the side 
 Of Troy, Talthybius from the Grecian host, — 
 Wise ancients both. Betwixt the twain they held 
 Their sceptres, and the sage Idaeus spake : — 
 
 " Cease to contend, dear sons, in deadly fray ; 
 Ye both are loved by cloud-compelling Jove, 
 And both are great in war, as all men know. 
 The night is come ; be then the night obeyed." 
 
 Vn, 316-360. Bryant. 
 
 The second day of battle begins in the eighth book. 
 Zeus remembers his promise to avenge the wrongs of 
 Achilles. He therefore commands the gods to help 
 neither side, to the end that the Trojans may have the 
 advantage. Zeus himself, however, constantly inter- 
 feres in favor of the Trojans. The Greeks are driven 
 back into their camp by the ships, while the Trojans 
 
4^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 bivouac on the plain, confidently expecting victory on 
 the morrow. The Greeks are panic-stricken. During 
 the night Agamemnon summons them to an assembly, 
 and proposes that they take ship for home, seeing that 
 they should never capture Troy. Diomedes opposes 
 the plan, and the Achaeans shout approval. Agamem- 
 non is persuaded by his chieftains to send an embassy 
 to Achilles with offering of rich gifts and the girl 
 Briseis, whom he had taken away, if only he will 
 cease from his wrath. Phoenix, Ajax, and Odysseus 
 bear the message, but Achilles indignantly rejects their 
 overtures. The account of the embassy occupies the 
 ninth book. On the same night Odysseus and Diomedes 
 steal into the Trojan camp and capture Dolon, whom 
 Hector has sent to spy upon the Greeks. Dolon 
 betrays the position of the Thracian king, Rhesus. 
 Rhesus is slain in his sleep, and his snow-white horses 
 are brought back to the camp by the ships. These 
 adventures fill the tenth book. A few selections from 
 this portion of the poem follow • 
 
 THE TROJANS BIVOUAC UPON THE PLAIN 
 
 So Hector spake : the Trojans roar'd applause ; 
 Then loosed their sweating horses from the yoke, 
 And each beside his chariot bound his own ; 
 And oxen from the city, and goodly sheep 
 In haste they drove, and honey-hearted wine 
 And bread from out the houses brought, and heaped 
 Their firewood, and the winds from off the plain 
 Roll'd the rich vapour far into the heaven. 
 And these all night upon the bridge of war 
 Sat glorying ; many a fire before them blazed : 
 As when in heaven the stars about the moon 
 Look beautiful, when all the winds are laid. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 49 
 
 And every height comes out, and jutting peak 
 And valley, and the immeasurable heavens 
 Break open to their highest, and all the stars 
 Shme, and the shepherd gladdens in his heart: 
 So many a fire between the ships and stream 
 Of Xanthus blazed before the towers of Troy, 
 A thousand on the plain ; and close by each 
 Sat fifty in the blaze of burning fire ; 
 And eating hoary grain and pulse the steeds, 
 Fixt by their cars, waited the golden dawn. 
 
 VIII, 542-561. Tennyson, 
 
 AGAMEMNON'S PROPOSAL TO ACHILLES* 
 
 ** O ancient man, most truly hast thou named 
 My faults. I erred, and I deny it not. 
 That man indeed is equal to a host 
 Whom Jupiter doth love and honor thus. 
 Humbling the Achaian people for his sake. 
 And now, since, yielding to my wayward mood 
 I erred, let me appease him, if I may. 
 With gifts of priceless worth. Before you all 
 I number them, — seven tripods which the fire 
 Hath never touched, six talents of pure gold. 
 And twenty shining caldrons, and twelve steeds 
 Of hardy frame, victorious in the race, 
 Whose feet have won me prizes in the games. 
 No beggar would he be, nor yet with store 
 Of gold unfurnished, in whose coffers lay 
 The prizes those swift steeds have brought to me. 
 Seven faultless women, skilled in household arts, 
 I give moreover, — Lesbians, whom I chose 
 When he o'erran the populous Lesbian isle, — 
 Damsels in beauty who excel their sex. 
 These I bestow, and with them I will send 
 Her whom I took away, Briseis, pure — 
 I swear it with a mighty oath — as pure 
 As when she left his tent. All these I give 
 
 'Addressed to Nestor io a meeting of the chieftains. 
 
so Homer to Theocritus 
 
 At once ; and if by favor of the gods 
 
 We lay the mighty city of Priam waste, 
 
 He shall load down his galley with large store 
 
 Of gold and silver, entering first when we, 
 
 The Greeks, divide the spoil. Then may he choose 
 
 Twice ten young Trojan women, beautiful 
 
 Beyond their sex save Helen. If we come 
 
 Safe to Achaian Argos, richly stocked 
 
 With milky kine, he may become to me 
 
 A son-in-law, and cherished equally 
 
 With my sole son Orestes, who is reared 
 
 Most royally. Three daughters there, within 
 
 My stately palace-walls, — Chrysothemis, 
 
 Laodice, and Iphianassa,^ — dwell. 
 
 And he may choose among them, and may lead 
 
 Home to the house of Peleus her who best 
 
 Deserves his love. Nor need he to endow 
 
 The bride, for I will give an ampler dower 
 
 Than ever father to his daughter gave, — 
 
 Seven cities with thronged streets, — Cardamyle, 
 
 Enope, grassy Hira, Pherae famed 
 
 Afar, Antheia with rich pasture-fields, 
 
 JEpeia. beautiful, and Pedasus 
 
 With all its vineyards ; all are near the sea. 
 
 And stand the last before you reach the coast 
 
 Of sandy Pylos. Rich in flocks and herds 
 
 Their dwellers«are, and they will honor him 
 
 As if he were a god, and, ruled by him. 
 
 Will pay large tribute. These will I bestow, 
 
 Let but his anger cool and his resolve 
 
 Give way. 'T is Pluto who is deaf to prayer 
 
 And ne'er relents, and he, of all the gods 
 
 Most hateful is to men. Now let the son 
 
 Of Peleus yield at length to me, who stand 
 
 Above him in authority and years." 
 
 IX, 138-195. Bryant. 
 
 *Id later Greek tradition Laodice is known as Electra and Iphianassa as 
 Ipbigeneia. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 51 
 
 ACHILLES* REPLY TO AJAX 
 
 Achilles the swift-footed answered thus: — 
 
 ** Illustrious Ajax, son of Telamon, 
 
 Prince of the people ! All that thou hast said, 
 
 I well perceive, is prompted by thy heart. 
 
 Mine swells with indignation when I think 
 
 How King Atrides mid the assembled Greeks 
 
 Heaped insults on me, as if I had been 
 
 A wretched vagabond. But go ye now 
 
 And bear my message. I shall never think 
 
 Of bloody war till noble Hector, son 
 
 Of Priam, slaughtering in his way the Greeks, 
 
 Shall reach the galleys of the Myrmidons, 
 
 To lay the fleet in flames. But when he comes 
 
 To my own tent and galley, he, I think, 
 
 Though eager for the combat, will desist." 
 
 IX, 803-817. Bryant. 
 
 The third day of battle occupies the next eight 
 books (XI to XVIII). In the eleventh Agamemnon 
 distinguishes himself, but is wounded and obliged to 
 retire, as are also Diomedes and Odysseus. In the 
 twelfth the fighting goes against the Greeks. The 
 Trojans press forward to the wall around the camp. 
 Sarpedon breaks through the wall, but is opposed by 
 Ajax, son of Telamon. Hector breaks down the gates 
 with a huge stone, and the Trojans pour through the 
 breach. In the thirteenth book Poseidon comes from 
 the sea to rally the Greeks while Zeus is inattentive. 
 They defend their ships valiantly, though the Trojans 
 press them hard. Idomeneus slays many Trojan lead- 
 ers, while Ajax, son of Telamon, and Ajax, son of 
 Oileus, check the progress of Hector. In the four- 
 teenth book, Zeus, beguiled by Hera, sleeps on Mount 
 Ida, thus enabling Poseidon to continue his interfer- 
 
$2 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ence in favor of the Greeks. Ajax, son of Telamon, 
 fells Hector with a huge stone, and the latter is carried 
 out of the fight. The tide of battle is now against the 
 Trojans; but Zeus, in the fifteenth book, awakens, and 
 seeing the work of Poseidon, angrily orders him off 
 the field. Apollo, at the behest of Zeus, revives Hec- 
 tor, who reenters the battle-line. The Trojans again 
 drive back the Greeks, this time to the ships them- 
 selves, and set their ships on fire. 
 
 A critical moment has arrived. Achilles is resolved 
 not to help the Greeks until the Trojans shall threaten 
 his own ships. But Patroclus, seeing the rout of the 
 Greeks, prevails upon Achilles to lend him his armor, 
 that the Trojans may think that Achilles has returned 
 to battle. Achilles arms his soldiers, the Myrmidons, 
 and sends them into the battle under Patroclus' com- 
 mand. The tide of battle at once changes again. The 
 Trojans are driven back from the ships and the fire 
 is quenched. Patroclus pushes the Trojans out beyond 
 the walls of the camp. He slays Sarpedon, king: of 
 the Lycians and son of Zeus, the mightiest of the 
 Trojan allies. Hector and the Trojans fall back to 
 Troy, which Patroclus vainly assaults. Finally, Hec- 
 tor, with Apollo's aid, slays Patroclus. The account of 
 Patroclus' part in the battle occupies the sixteenth 
 book. The seventeenth is devoted to the fight over 
 Patroclus' body. Hector dons the armor of Achilles, 
 which he has stripped from the body of Patroclus, 
 but he is unable to get possession of the body. Men- 
 elaus and Ajax, with the Myrmidons, close in around 
 it, and retire slowly and with difficulty toward their 
 camp. In the eighteenth book Achilles is told of the 
 death of Patroclus. He appears unarmed beyond the 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 53 
 
 wall of the camp, and by his appearance and terrible 
 shouting so frightens the Trojans that Patroclus* body- 
 is brought safely within the camp. Achilles is resolved 
 to avenge upon Hector the death of his friend. Thetis, 
 his mother, entreats Hephaestus to make a new set of 
 armor for Achilles. The book closes with a descrip- 
 tion of Achilles* shield. 
 
 The turning-point in the plot of the Iliad is the 
 death of Patroclus. Up to this time Agamemnon and 
 the Greeks have learned by bitter defeat the full mean- 
 ing of the wrath of Achilles. The prophecy of 
 Achilles, that **verily longing for Achilles shall come 
 hereafter upon the sons of the Achseans, one and all," 
 has been fulfilled by the will of Zeus. But Achilles 
 had not yet, even when the Greeks were obliged to 
 fight to save the ships from the flames, fed his grudge 
 to the full. The death of his dearest friend was neces- 
 sary to cause him to forget the insult put upon him 
 by Agamemnon, that he might avenge upon Hector 
 a still greater grief. Dante expressed this interpreta- 
 tion in the words: ** Achilles, who at the last was 
 brought to fight by love." A few passages from this 
 third eventful day of battle follow : 
 
 SARPEDON TO HIS BROTHER GLAUCUS 
 
 ** Why boast we, Glaucus, our extended reign, 
 Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycian plain. 
 Our numerous herds that range the fruitful field, 
 And hills where vines their purple harvest yield, 
 Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crown'd, 
 Our hearts enhanced with music's sprightly sound? 
 Why on these shores are we with joy survey'd. 
 Admired as heroes, and as gods obey'd, 
 Unless great acts superior merit prove. 
 And vindicate the bounteous powers above? 
 
54 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 'T is ours, the dignity they give to grace ; 
 The first in valor, as the first in place ; 
 That when with wandering eyes our martial bands 
 Behold our deeds transcending our commands. 
 Such, they may cry, deserve the sovereign state, 
 Whom those that envy dare not imitate ! 
 Could all our care elude the gloomy grave. 
 Which claims no less the fearful and the brave. 
 For lust of fame I should not vainly dare 
 In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war. 
 But since, alas ! ignoble age must come, 
 Disease, and death's inexorable doom, 
 The life, which others pay, let us bestow, 
 And give to fame what we to honor owe ; 
 Brave though we fall, and honor'd if we live, 
 Or let us glory gain, or glory give ! '* 
 
 XII, 310-328. Pope.> 
 
 THE VALOR OF HECTOR 
 
 Fiercely he rag'd, as terrible as Mars 
 With brandish'd spear ; or as a raging fire 
 'Mid the dense thickets on the mountain-side. 
 The foam was on his lips ; bright flashed his eyes 
 Beneath his awful brows, and terribly 
 Above his temples wav'd amid the fray 
 The helm of Hector ; Jove himself from Heav*n 
 His guardian hand extending, him alone 
 With glory crowning 'mid the host of men ; 
 But short his term of glory : for the day 
 Was fast approaching, when, with Pallas* aid, 
 The might of Peleus' son should work his doom. 
 Oft he assay'd to break the ranks, where'er 
 The densest throng and noblest arms he saw; 
 But strenuous though his efforts, all were vain : 
 They, mass'd in close array, his charge withstood ; 
 Firm as a craggy rock, upstanding high, 
 
 *In this passage, in Matthew Arnold's judgment, Pope was at his best. 
 These famous lines were quoted by Lord Granville on his death-bed, wheo 
 considering the preliminary articles of the Treaty of Paris. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 55 
 
 Close by the hoary sea, which meets unmov'd 
 The boist'rous currents of the whistling winds, 
 And the big waves that bellow round its base ; 
 So stood unmov'd the Greeks, and undismay'd. 
 At length, all blazing in his arms, he sprang 
 Upon the mass ; so plunging down, as when 
 On some tall vessel, from beneath the clouds 
 A giant billow, tempest-nurs'd, descends ; 
 The deck is drench'd in foam ; the stormy wind 
 Howls in the shrouds ; th' aflfrighted seamen quail 
 In fear, but little way from death remov'd ; 
 So quailed the spirit in ev'ry Grecian breast. 
 
 As when a rav'ning lion on a herd 
 Of heifers falls, which on some marshy mead 
 Feed numberless, beneath the care of one, 
 Unskill'd from beasts of prey to guard his charge ; 
 And while beside the front or rear he walks^ 
 The lion on th' unguarded centre springs, 
 Seizes on one, and scatters all the rest ; 
 So Hector, led by Jove, in wild alarm 
 Scatter'd the Grecians all. 
 
 XV, 704-741. Derby. 
 
 THETIS FORETELLS ACHILLES' DEATH 
 
 There, as he groan*d aloud, beside him stood 
 His Goddess-mother ; she, with bitter cry, 
 Clasp'd in her hands his head, and sorrowing spoke : 
 ** Why weeps my son ? and what his cause of grief? 
 Speak out, and naught conceal ; for all thy pray'r 
 Which with uplifted hands thou mad'st to Jove, 
 He hath fulfiU'd, that, flying to their ships, 
 The routed sons of Greece should feel how much 
 They need thine aid, and deep disgrace endure." 
 
 To whom Achilles, deeply groaning, thus : 
 " Mother, all this indeed hath Jove fulfiU'd ; 
 Yet what avails it, since my dearest friend 
 Is slain, Patroclus ? whom I honoured most 
 Of all my comrades, lov'd him as my soul. 
 
56 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Him have I lost : and Hector from his corpse [arms 
 
 Hath stripp'd those arms, those weighty, beauteous 
 
 A marvel to behold, which from the Gods 
 
 Peleus receiv'd, a glorious gift, that day 
 
 When they consign'd thee to a mortal's bed. 
 
 How better were it, if thy lot had been 
 
 Still 'mid the Ocean deities to dwell, 
 
 And Peleus had espous'd a mortal bride ! 
 
 And now is bitter grief for thee in store, 
 
 Mourning thy son, whom to his home retum'd 
 
 Thou never more shalt see ; nor would I wish 
 
 To live, and move among my fellow men, 
 
 Unless that Hector, vanquish'd by my spear, 
 
 May lose his forfeit life, and pay the price 
 
 Of foul dishonour to Patroclus done." 
 
 To whom, her tears o'erflowing, Thetis thus : 
 " E'en as thou sayst, my son, thy term is short ; 
 Nor long shall Hector's fate precede thine own." 
 
 Achilles, answ'ring, spoke in passionate grief : 
 "Would I might this hour, who fail'd to save 
 My comrade slain ! Far from his native land 
 He died, sore needing my protecting arm. 
 And I, who ne'er again must see my home, 
 Nor to Patroclus, nor the many Greeks 
 Whom Hector's hand hath slain, have rendered aid ; 
 But idly here I sit, cumb'ring the ground : 
 I, who amid the Greeks no equal own 
 In fight ; to others, in debate, I yield. 
 
 In search of Hector now, of him who slew 
 My friend, I go ; prepar'd to meet my death, 
 When Jove shall will it, and th' Immortals all. 
 From death not e'en the might of Hercules, 
 Though best belov'd of Saturn's sons, could fiy, 
 By fate and Juno's bitter wrath subdued. 
 I too, since such my doom, must lie in death ; 
 Yet, e'er I die, immortal fame will win." 
 
 XVIII, 76-133. Derby. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 57 
 
 THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES 
 
 And first he forged the huge and massive shield, 
 Divinely wrought in every part, —• its edge 
 Clasped with a triple border, white and bright. 
 A silver belt hung from it, and its folds 
 Were five ; a crowd of figures on its disk 
 Were fashioned by the artist's passing skill, 
 For here he placed the earth and heaven, and here 
 The great deep, and the never-resting sun 
 And the full moon, and here he set the stars 
 That shine in the round heaven, — the Pleiades, 
 The Hyades, Orion in his strength. 
 And the Bear near him, called by some the Wain, 
 That, wheeling, keeps Orion still in sight, 
 Yet bathes not in the waters of the sea. 
 
 There placed he two fair cities full of men ; 
 In one were marriages and feasts ; they led 
 The brides with flaming torches from their bowers, 
 Along the streets, with many a nuptial song. 
 There the young dancers whirled, and flutes and lyres 
 Gave forth their sounds, and women at the doors 
 Stood and admired 
 
 Around the other city sat two hosts 
 In shining armor, bent to lay it waste, 
 Unless the dwellers would divide their wealth, — 
 All that their pleasant homes contained, — and yield 
 The assailants half. As yet the citizens 
 Had not complied, but secretly had planned 
 An ambush. Their beloved wives meanwhile. 
 And their young children, stood and watched the walls, 
 With aged men among them, while the youths 
 Marched on, with Mars and Pallas at their head. 
 Both wrought in gold, with golden garments on. 
 Stately and large in form, and over all 
 Conspicuous, as in bright armor, as became 
 The gods ; the rest were of an humbler size. 
 • ••...• 
 
 There, too. the artist placed a field which lay 
 
58 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Deep in ripe wheat. With sickles in their hands 
 The laborers reaped it. Here the handfuls fell 
 Upon the ground ; there binders tied them fast [went 
 With bands and made them sheaves. Three binders 
 Close to the reapers, and behind them boys, 
 Bringing the gathered handfuls in their arms. 
 Ministered to the binders. Staff in hand. 
 The master stood among them by the side 
 Of the ranged sheaves and silently rejoiced. 
 Meanwhile the servants underneath an oak 
 Prepared a feast apart ; they sacrificed 
 A fatling ox and dressed it, while the maids 
 Were kneading for the reapers the white meal. 
 
 A vineyard also on the shield he graved, 
 Beautiful, all of gold, and heavily 
 Laden with grapes. Black were the clusters all ; 
 The vines were stayed on rows of silver stakes. 
 He drew a blue trench round it, and a hedge 
 Of tin. Only one path was there by which 
 The vintagers could go to gather grapes. 
 Young maids and striplings of a tender age 
 Bore the sweet fruit in baskets. Midst them all, 
 A youth from his shrill harp drew pleasant sounds, 
 And sang with soft voice to the murmuring strings. 
 They danced around him, beating with quick feet 
 The ground, and sang and shouted joyously. 
 • •••••• 
 
 And there illustrious Vulcan also wrought 
 A dance, — a maze like that which Daedalus 
 In the broad realms of Gnossus once contrived 
 For fair-haired Ariadne. Blooming youths 
 And lovely virgins, tripping to light airs. 
 Held fast each other's wrists. The maidens wore 
 Fine linen robes ; the youths had tunics on 
 Lustrous as oil, and woven daintily. [swords 
 
 The maids wore wreaths of flowers ; the young men 
 Of gold in silver belts. They bounded now 
 In a swift circle, — as a potter whirls 
 With both his hands a wheel to try its speed. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 59 
 
 Sitting before it, — then again they crossed 
 Each other, darting to their former place. 
 A multitude around that joyous dance 
 Gathered, and were amused, while from the crowd 
 Two tumblers raised their song, and flung themselves 
 . About among the band that trod the dance. 
 
 Last on the border of that great glorious shield 
 He graved in all its strength the ocean-stream. 
 
 XVIII, 601-750. Bryant. 
 
 The fourth day of battle occupies the next four 
 books (XIX-XXII). In the nineteenth Achilles is 
 reconciled to Agamemnon, who restores Briseis and 
 gives rich gifts besides. The Greeks issue forth to 
 battle, which is renewed in the twentieth book. 
 Achilles dominates the field, looking always for Hec- 
 tor, ^neas narrowly escapes being killed by him. 
 The gods interfere freely on both sides. Achilles, in 
 the twenty-first book, fights with the river-god Sca- 
 mander, which overflows its banks to help the Trojans, 
 and is barely saved by Hera and Hephaestus. Achilles 
 chases the Trojans inside the citadel. In the twenty- 
 second book. Hector, in spite of the entreaties of his 
 father and mother, goes out to meet Achilles, but fear 
 comes upon him, and he flees thrice around the walls 
 of Troy. Zeus tries the fate of the warriors in the 
 balance, and Hector is doomed. But he makes 
 a brave stand at the last, and is slain by Athene's 
 guile. Achilles then drags the body of Hector after 
 his chariot. Patroclus' death is avenged. The main 
 action of the Iliad is at an end, and the plot worked 
 out to its completion. From these four books a few 
 selections follow: 
 
6o Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ACHILLES DONS HIS ARMOR 
 
 As when the flakes of snow fall thick from heaven, 
 Driven by the north wind sweeping on the clouds 
 Before it, so from out the galleys came 
 Helms crowding upon helms that glittered fair, 
 Strong hauberks, bossy shields, and ashen spears. 
 The gleam of armor brightened heaven and earth, 
 And mighty was the sound of trampling feet. 
 Amidst them all the great Achilles stood, 
 Putting his armor on ; he gnashed his teeth ; 
 His eyes shot fire ; a grief too sharp to bear 
 Was in his heart, as, filled with rage against 
 The men of Troy, he cased his limbs in mail, 
 The gift of Vulcan, from whose diligent hand 
 It came. And first about his legs he clasped 
 The beautiful greaves, with silver fastenings. 
 Fitted the corselet to his bosom next. 
 And from his shoulders hung the brazen sword 
 With silver studs, and then he took the shield. 
 Massive and broad, whose brightness streamed as far 
 As the moon's rays. And as at sea the light 
 Of beacon, blazing in some lonely spot 
 By night, upon a mountain summit, shines 
 To mariners whom the tempest's force has driven 
 Far from their friends across the fishy deep. 
 So from that glorious buckler of the son 
 Of Peleus, nobly wrought, a radiance streamed 
 Into the sky. And then he rais'd and placed 
 Upon his head the impenetrable helm 
 With horse-hair plume. It glittered like a star, 
 And all the shining tufts of golden thread, 
 With which the maker's hand had thickly set 
 Its cone, were shaken. Next the high-born chief 
 Tried his new arms, to know if they were well 
 Adjusted to his shape, and left his limbs 
 Free play. They seemed like wings, and lifted up 
 The shepherd of the people. Then he drew 
 From its ancestral sheath his father's spear. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 6i 
 
 Heavy and huge and tough. No man of all 
 The Grecian host could wield that weapon save 
 Achilles only. 'Twas a Pelian ash, 
 Which Chiron for his father had cut down 
 On Pelion's highest peak, to be the death 
 Of heroes. 
 
 XIX, 433-475- Bryant. 
 
 ACHILLES AND HIS STEEDS 
 
 Achilles mounted, in a blaze 
 Of arms that dazzled like the sun, and thus 
 Called to his father's steeds with terrible voice : 
 
 " Xanthus and Balius, whom Podargd bore,— 
 A noble stock,— I charge you to bring back 
 Into the Grecian camp, the battle done. 
 Him whom ye now are bearing to the field. 
 Nor leave him, as ye left Patroclus, dead." 
 
 Swift-footed Xanthus from beneath the yoke 
 Answered him with bowed head and drooping mane 
 That, flowing through the yoke-ring, swept the ground; 
 For Juno gave him then the power of speech : 
 
 ** For this one day, at least, we bear thee safe, 
 O fiery chief, Achilles I but the hour 
 Of death draws nigh to thee, nor will the blame 
 Be ours ; a mighty god and cruel fate 
 Ordain it. Not through our neglect or sloth 
 Did they of Troy strip ofiE thy glorious arms 
 From slain Patroclus. That invincible god, 
 The son of golden-haired Latona, smote 
 The hero in the foremost ranks, and gave 
 Glory to Hector. Even though our speed 
 Were that of Zephyr, fleetest of the winds, 
 Yet certain is thy doom to be o'ercome 
 In battle by a god and by a man." 
 
 Thus far he spake, and then the Furies checked 
 His further speech. Achilles, swift of foot, 
 Replied in anger : ' Xanthus, why foretell 
 My death? It is not needed ; well I know 
 My fate, — that here I perish, far away 
 
62 Homer to Theocritas 
 
 From Peleus and my mother. I shall fight 
 Till I have made the Trojans sick of war." 
 
 He spake, and shouting to his firm-paced steeds, 
 Drave them, among the foremost, toward the war. 
 
 XIX, 483-516. Bryant. 
 
 THE GODS DESCEND TO BATTLE 
 
 But when the powers descending swell'd the fight, 
 Then tumult rose ; fierce rage and pale affright 
 Varied each face : then Discord sounds alarms, 
 Earth echoes, and the nations rush to arms. 
 Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls. 
 And now she thunders from the Grecian walls. 
 Mars hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror shrouds 
 In gloomy tempests and a night of clouds : 
 Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours 
 With voice divine from II ion's topmost towers : 
 Now shouts to Simols, from her beauteous hill ; 
 The mountain shook, the rapid stream stood still. 
 Above, the sire of gods his thunder rolls, 
 And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles; 
 Beneath, stern Neptune shakes the solid ground ; 
 The forests wave, the mountains nod around ; 
 Through all their summits tremble Ida's woods. 
 And from their sources boil her hundred floods. 
 Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain. 
 And the toss'd navies beat the heaving main. 
 Deep in the dismal regions of the dead. 
 The infernal monarch rears his horrid head, 
 Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay 
 His dark dominions open to the day, 
 And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, 
 Abhorr'd by men and dreadful even to gods. 
 
 Such war the immortals wage ; such horrors rend 
 The world's vast concave, when the gods contend. 
 
 XX, 47-66. Pope. 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 63 
 
 THE RIVER SCAMANDER BATTLES WITH ACHILLES 
 
 Thus as he spoke from oflf the lofty bank 
 Achilles springing in mid-current plung'd ; 
 Then high the swelling stream, tumultuous, rose 
 In all its angry flood ; and with a roar 
 As of a bellowing bull, cast forth to land 
 The num'rous corpses by Achilles slain ; 
 And many living, in his cavern'd bed 
 Concealed, behind the whirling waters sav'd. 
 Fierce, round Achilles, rose the boiling wave, 
 And on his shield descending, drove him down ; 
 Nor migrht he keep his foothold ; but he grasp'd 
 A lofty elm, well-grown, which from the clifiE 
 Uprooted, all the bank had torn away, 
 And with its tangled branches check'd the flow 
 Of the fair river, which with all its length 
 It bridg'd across ; then springing from the deep, 
 Swiftly he fled in terror o'er the plain. 
 Nor ceas'd the mighty river, but pursued, 
 With darkly-ruffling crest, intent to stay 
 Achilles' course, and save the Trojan host. 
 Far as a jav'lin's flight he rush'd, in speed 
 Like the dark hunter eagle, strongest deem'd 
 And swiftest wing'd of all the feather'd race. 
 So on he sped ; loud rattled on his breast 
 His brazen armour as before the god, 
 Cow' ring, he fled ; the god behind him still 
 With thund'ring sound pursued. As when a man 
 From some dark-water'd spring through trenches leadSi 
 'Mid plants and gardens, th* irrigating stream. 
 And, spade in hand, th' appointed channel clears ; 
 Down flows the stream anon, its pebbly bed 
 Disturbing ; fast it flows with bubbling sound, 
 Down the steep slope, o'ertaking him who leads, — 
 Achilles so th' advancing wave o'ertook, 
 Though great his speed ; but man must yield to gods. 
 Oft as Achilles, swift of foot, essay'd 
 To turn and stand, and know if all the gods, 
 
64 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Who dwell in heav'n, were leagued to daunt his soul ; 
 
 So oft the heav'n-born river's mighty wave 
 
 Above his shoulders dash'd ; in deep distress 
 
 He sprang on high ; then rush'd the flood below, 
 
 And bore him oflf his legs, and wore away 
 
 The soil beneath his feet ; then, groaning, thus, 
 
 As up to heav'n he look'd, Achilles cried : 
 
 XXI, 269-312. Derby. 
 
 THE DEATH OF HECTOR 
 
 Still, with quick steps, the fleet Achilles pressed 
 On Hector's flight. As when a hound has roused 
 A fawn from its retreat among the hills. 
 And chases it through glen and forest ground, 
 And to close thickets, where it skulks in fear 
 Until he overtake it, Hector thus 
 Sought vainly to elude the fleet pursuit 
 Of Peleus' son. As often as he thought, 
 By springing toward the gates of Troy, to gain 
 Aid from the weapons of his friends who stood 
 On the tall towers, so often was the Greek 
 Before him, forcing him to turn away. 
 
 When the twain had come 
 
 For the fourth time beside Scamander's springs, 
 The All-Father raised the golden balance high. 
 And, placing in the scales two lots which bring 
 Death's long dark sleep,— one lot for Peleus' son. 
 And one for knightly Hector,— by the midst 
 He poised the balance. Hector's fate sank down 
 To Hades, and Apollo left the field. 
 
 The blue-eyed goddess Pallas then approached 
 The son of Peleus with these winged words : — 
 
 ** Renowned Achilles, dear to Jupiter! 
 Now may we, as I hope, at last return 
 To the Achaian army and the fleet 
 With glory. Hector slain, the terrible 
 In war. Escape he cannot, even though 
 The archer-god Apollo fling himself 
 With passionate entreaty at the feet 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 65 
 
 Of Jove the ^gis-bearer. Stay thou here 
 And breathe a moment, while I go to him 
 And lure him hither to encounter thee." 
 
 She spake, and he obeyed, and gladly stood 
 Propped on the ashen stem of his keen spear ; 
 While, passing on, Minerva overtook 
 The noble Hector. In the outward form 
 And with the strong voice of Deiphobus, 
 She stood by him and spake these winged words : — 
 
 " Hard pressed I find thee, brother, by the swift 
 Achilles, who, with feet that never rest, 
 Pursues thee round the walls of Priam's town. 
 But let us make a stand and beat him back," 
 
 And then the crested Hector spake in turn : 
 ** Deiphobus, thou ever hast been dear 
 To me beyond my other brethren, sons 
 Of Hecuba and Priam. Now still more 
 I honor thee, since thou hast seen my plight, 
 And for my sake hast ventured forth without 
 The gates, while all the rest remain within. " 
 
 And the blue-eyed Pallas spake again : — 
 ** Brother, 'tis true, my father, and the queen, 
 My mother, and my comrades, clasped my knees 
 In turn, and earnestly entreated me 
 That I would not go forth, such fear had fallen 
 On them all ; but I was grieved for thee. 
 Now let us combat valiantly, nor spare 
 The weapons that we bear, and we shall learn 
 Whether Achilles, having slain us both. 
 Will carry to the fleet our bloody spoil. 
 Or die himself, the victim of thy spear." 
 
 The treacherous goddess spake, and led the way ; 
 And when the advancing chiefs stood face to face, 
 The crested hero, Hector, thus began : — 
 
 ** No longer I avoid thee as of late, 
 O son of Peleus ! Thrice around the walls 
 Of Priam's mighty city have I fled. 
 Nor dared to wait thy coming. Now my heart 
 Bids me encounter thee ; my time is come 
 
66 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 To slay or to be slain. Now let us call 
 The gods to witness, who attest and guard 
 The covenants of men. Should Jove bestow 
 On me the victory, and I take thy life, 
 Thou shalt meet no dishonor at my hands ; 
 But, stripping off the armor, I will send 
 The Greeks thy body. Do the like by me." 
 The swift Achilles answered with a frown : 
 * ** Accursed Hector, never talk to me 
 
 Of covenants. Men and lions plight no faith, 
 Nor wolves agree with lambs, but each must plan 
 Evil against the other. So between 
 Thyself and me no compact can exist, 
 Or understood intent. First, one of us 
 Must fall and yield his life-blood to the god 
 Of battles. Summon all thy valor now. 
 A skilful spearman thou hast need to be, 
 And a bold warrior. There is no escape, 
 For now doth Pallas doom thee to be slain 
 By my good spear. Thou shalt repay to me 
 The evil thou hast done my countrymen." 
 
 He spake, and, brandishing his massive spear, 
 Hurled it at Hector, who beheld its aim 
 From where he stood. He stooped, and over him 
 The brazen weapon passed and plunged to earth. 
 Unseen by royal Hector, Pallas went 
 And plucked it from the ground, and brought it back 
 And gave it to the hands of Peleus' son. 
 While Hector said to his illustrious foe : — 
 
 " Godlike Achilles, thou hast missed thy mark; 
 Nor hast thou learned my doom from Jupiter, 
 As thou pretendest. Thou art glib of tongue, 
 And cunningly thou orderest thy speech. 
 In hope that I who hear thee may forget 
 My might and valor. Think not that I shall flee, 
 That thou mayst pierce my back ; for thou shalt send 
 Thy spear, if God permit thee, through my breast 
 As I rush on thee. Now avoid in turn 
 My brazen weapon . Would that it might pass 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 67 
 
 Clean through thee, all its length ! The tasks of war 
 For us of Troy were lighter for thy death, 
 Thou pest and deadly foe of all our race ! " 
 
 He spake, and brandishing his massive spear 
 Hurled it, nor missed, but in the centre smote 
 The buckler of Pelides. Far away 
 It bounded from the brass, and he was vexed 
 To see that the swift weapon from his hand 
 Had flown in vain. He stood perplexed and sad ; 
 No second spear had he. He called aloud 
 On the white-bucklered chief, Deiphobus, 
 To bring another ; but that chief was far. 
 And Hector saw that it was so, and said : — 
 
 " Ah me ! the gods have summoned me to die. 
 I thought my warrior friend, Deiphobus, 
 Was by my side ; but he is still in Troy, 
 And Pallas has deceived me. Now my death 
 Cannot be far, — is near ; there is no hope 
 Of my escape, for so it pleases Jove 
 And Jove's great archer-son, who have till now 
 Delivered me. My hour at last is come ; 
 Yet not ingloriously or passively 
 I die, but first will do some valiant deed, 
 Of which mankind shall hear in after time." 
 
 He spake, and drew the keen-edged sword that hung. 
 Massive and finely tempered, at his side. 
 And sprang — as when an eagle high in heaven. 
 Through the thick cloud, darts downward to the plain 
 To clutch some tender lamb or timid hare. 
 So Hector, brandishing that keen-edged sword, 
 Sprang forward, while Achilles opposite 
 Leaped toward him, all on fire with savage hate, 
 And holding his bright buckler, nobly wrought, 
 Before him. On his shining helmet waved 
 The four-fold crest ; there tossed the golden tufts 
 With which the hand of Vulcan lavishly 
 Had decked it. As in the still hours of night 
 Hesper goes forth among the host of stars. 
 The fairest light of heaven, so brightly shone. 
 
68 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Brandished in the right hand of Peleus' son, 
 The spear*s keen blade, as, confident to slay 
 The noble Hector, o'er his glorious form 
 His quick eye ran, exploring where to plant 
 The surest wound. The glittering mail of brass 
 Won from the slain Patroclus guarded well 
 Each part, save only where the collar-bones 
 Divide the shoulder and the neck, and there 
 Appeared the throat, the spot where life is most 
 In peril. Through that part the noble son 
 Of Peleus drave his spear ; it went quite through 
 The tender neck, and yet the brazen blade 
 Cleft not the windpipe, and the power to speak 
 Remained. The Trojan fell amid the dust, 
 And thus Achilles boasted o'er his fall : — 
 
 ** Hector, when from the slain Patroclus thou 
 Didst strip his armor, little didst thou think 
 Of danger. Thou hadst then no fear of me. 
 Foul dogs and birds of prey shall tear thy flesh ; 
 The Greeks shall honor him with funeral rites." 
 
 And then the crested Hector faintly said : 
 " I pray thee by thy life, and by thy knees. 
 And by thy parents, suffer not the dogs 
 To tear me at the galleys of the Greeks. 
 Accept abundant store of brass and gold, 
 Which gladly will my father and the queen, 
 My mother, give in ransom. Send to them 
 My body, that the warriors and the dames 
 Of Troy may light for me the funeral pile." 
 
 The swift Achilles answered with a frown :— • 
 " Nay, by my knees entreat me not, thou cur, 
 Nor by my parents. I could even wish 
 My fury prompted me to cut thy flesh 
 In fragments, and devour it, such the wrong 
 That I have had from thee. There will be none 
 To drive away the dogs about thy head, 
 Not though thy Trojan friends should bring to me 
 Tenfold and twentyfold the offered gifts. 
 And promise others, — not though Priam, sprung 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 69 
 
 From Dardanus, should send thy weight in gold. 
 Thy mother shall not lay thee on thy bier, 
 To sorrow over thee whom she brought forth ; 
 But dogs and birds of prey shall mangle thee." 
 
 And then the crested Hector, dying, said : 
 ** I know thee, and too clearly I foresaw 
 I should not move thee, for thou hast a heart 
 Of iron. Yet reflect that for my sake 
 The anger of the gods may fall on thee, 
 When Paris and Apollo strike thee down. 
 Strong as thou art, before the Scaean gates." 
 
 Thus Hector spake, and straightway o'er him closed 
 The night of death ; the soul forsook his limbs, 
 And flew to Hades, grieving for its fate, — 
 So soon divorced from youth and youthful might. 
 
 XXII, 232-451. Bryant. 
 
 As the first book is the prologue to the main action 
 of the Iliad^ so the twenty-third and twenty-fourth 
 books form the epilogue. The story of Achilles* wrath 
 is fully told; there remain but two matters about 
 which the poet may fairly inform us, though they are 
 not strictly necessary to the plot — the burial of Patro- 
 clus and the disposition of Hector's body. To the 
 Greek mind these seemed matters of the highest 
 importance, far more so than to us. In the twenty- 
 third book, Achilles makes mourning for Patroclus, 
 and has a stately pyre of wood erected, on which he 
 lays the body and burns it, together with twelve Tro- 
 jan victims and with animal sacrifices. The ashes 
 are placed in an urn, and a mound of earth heaped 
 over it. Games are then celebrated in honor of the 
 dead. The last book tells of Hector. Each day 
 Achilles has dragged his body behind his chariot 
 around the body of Patroclus, and thinks to dishonor 
 it still more. But his mother, Thetis, at the bidding 
 
70 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 of Zeus, tells Achilles to give back Hector's body to 
 Priam for a ransom. Priam enters the camp at night, 
 under the escort of Hermes, bearing a rich ransom to 
 Achilles. Achilles receives him kindly, and delivers 
 the body to him, granting also a truce from battle for 
 eleven days. During this time the funeral rites of Hec- 
 tor are performed, with an account of which the poem 
 closes. Two passages from these books are added : 
 
 PRIAM'S SUPPLICATION TO ACHILLES 
 
 Unmarked the royal Priam entered in. 
 And, coming to Achilles, clasped his knees, 
 And kissed those fearful slaughter-dealing hands, 
 By which so many of his sons had died. 
 
 And thus King Priam supplicating spake : 
 
 •* Think of thy father, an old man like me, 
 God-like Achilles! On the dreary verge 
 Of closing life he stands, and even now 
 Haply is fiercely pressed by those who dwell 
 Around him, and has none to shield his age 
 From war and its disasters. Yet his heart 
 Rejoices when he hears thou yet dost live. 
 And every day he hopes that his dear son 
 Will come again from Troy. My lot is hard. 
 For I was father of the bravest sons 
 In all wide Troy, and none are left me now. 
 Fifty were with me when the men of Greece 
 Arrived upon our coast ; nineteen of these 
 Owned the same mother and the rest were born 
 Within my palaces. Remorseless Mars 
 Already had laid lifeless most of these, 
 And Hector, whom I cherished most, whose arm 
 Defended both our city and ourselves, 
 Him didst thou lately slay while combating 
 For his dear country. For his sake I come 
 To the Greek fleet, and to redeem his corse 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 71 
 
 I bring uncounted ransom. O, revere 
 
 The gods, Achilles, and be merciful. 
 
 Calling to mind thy father! happier he 
 
 Than I ; for I have borne what no man else 
 
 That dwells on earth could bear,— have laid my lips 
 
 Upon the hand of him who slew my son." 
 
 He spake: Achilles sorrowfully thought 
 
 Of his own father. By the hand he took 
 
 The suppliant, and with gentle force removed 
 
 The old man from him. Both in memory 
 
 Of those they loved were weeping. The old king, 
 
 With many tears, and rolling in the dust 
 
 Before Achilles, mourned his gallant son. 
 
 Achilles sorrowed for his father's sake. 
 
 And then bewailed Patroclus, and the sound 
 
 Of lamentation filled the tent. 
 
 XXIV, 600-648. Bryant 
 
 THE LAMENTATION OVER HECTOR'S BODY 
 
 The throng gave way and let the chariot pass ; 
 And having brought it to the royal halls, 
 On a fair couch they laid the corse, and placed 
 Singers beside it, leaders of the dirge. 
 Who sang a sorrowful, lamenting strain. 
 And all the women answered it with sobs. 
 White-armed Andromache in both her hands 
 Took warlike Hector's head, and over it 
 Began the lamentation midst them all: 
 
 " Thou has died young, my husband, leaving me 
 In this thy home a widow, and one son. 
 An infant yet. To an unhappy pair 
 He owes his birth, and never will, I fear, 
 Bloom into youth; for ere that day will Troy 
 Be overthrown, since thou, its chief defence. 
 Art dead, the guardian of its walls and all 
 Its noble matrons and its speechless babes, 
 Yet to be carried captive far away. 
 And I among them, in the hollow barks ; 
 And thou, my son, wilt either go with me. 
 
72 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Where thou shalt toil at menial tasks for some 
 
 Pitiless master ; or perhaps some Greek 
 
 Will seize thy little arm, and in his rage 
 
 Will hurl thee from a tower and dash thee dead, 
 
 Remembering how thy father, Hector, slew 
 
 His brother, son, or father ; for the hand 
 
 Of Hector forced full many a Greek to bite 
 
 The dust of earth. Not slow to smite was he 
 
 In the fierce conflict ; therefore all who dwell 
 
 Within the city sorrow for his fall. 
 
 Thou bringest an unutterable grief, 
 
 O Hector, on thy parents, and on me 
 
 The sharpest sorrows. Thou didst not stretch forth 
 
 Thy hands to me, in dying, from thy couch. 
 
 Nor speak a word to comfort me, which I 
 
 Might ever think of, night and day, with tears." 
 
 So spake the weeping wife : the women all 
 
 Mingled their wail with hers, and Hecuba 
 
 Took up the passionate lamentation next : — 
 
 ** O Hector, thou who wert most fondly loved 
 Of all my sons ! While yet thou wert alive. 
 Dear wert thou to the gods, who even now. 
 When death has overtaken thee, bestow 
 Such care upon thee. All my other sons 
 Whom swift Achilles took in war he sold 
 At Samos, Imbrus by the barren sea, 
 And Lemnos harborless. But as for thee. 
 When he had taken with his cruel spear 
 Thy life, he dragged thee round and round the tomb 
 Of his young friend, Patroclus, whom thy hand 
 Had slain, yet raised he not by this the dead ; 
 And now thou liest in the palace here. 
 Fresh and besprinkled as with early dew, 
 Like one just slain with silent arrows aimed 
 By Phoebus, bearer of the silver bow." 
 
 Weeping she spake, and woke in all who heard 
 Grief without measure. Helen, last of all 
 Took up the lamentation, and began : — 
 
 ** O Hector, who wert dearest to my heart 
 
The Main Action of the Iliad 73 
 
 Of all my husband's brothers, — for the wife 
 
 Am I of godlike Paris, him whose fleet 
 
 Brought me to Troy, — would I had sooner died I 
 
 And now the twentieth year is past since first 
 
 I came a stranger from my native shore, 
 
 Yet have I never heard from thee a word 
 
 Of anger or reproach. And when the sons 
 
 Of Priam, and his daughters, and the wives 
 
 Of Priam*s sons, in all their fair array, 
 
 Taunted me grievously, or Hecuba 
 
 Herself, — for Priam ever was to me 
 
 A gracious father, — thou didst take my part 
 
 With kindly admonitions, and restrain 
 
 Their tongues with soft address and gentle words. 
 
 Therefore my heart is grieved, and I bewail 
 
 Thee and myself at once, — unhappy me ! 
 
 For now I have no friend in all wide Troy, — 
 
 None to be kind to me : they hate me all." 
 
 Weeping she spake : the mighty throng again 
 Answered with wailing. Priam then addressed 
 The people : " Now bring wood, ye men of Troy, 
 Into the city. Let there be no fear 
 Of ambush from the Greeks, for when of late 
 I left Achilles at the dark-hulled barks, 
 He gave his promise to molest no more 
 The men of Troy till the twelfth morn shall rise." 
 
 He spake, and speedily they yoked the mules 
 And oxen to the wains, and came in throngs 
 Before the city walls. Nine days they toiled 
 To bring the trunks of trees, and when the tenth 
 Arose to light the abodes of men, they brought 
 The corse of valiant Hector from the town 
 With many tears, and laid it on the wood 
 High up, and flung the fire to light the pile. 
 
 Now when the early rosy-fingered Dawn 
 Looked forth, the people gathered round the pile 
 Of glorious Hector. When they all had come 
 Together, first they quenched the funeral fires, 
 Wherever they had spread, with dark-red wine, 
 
74 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 And then his brothers and companions searched 
 
 For the white bones. In sorrow and in tears 
 
 That streaming stained their cheeks, they gathered them> 
 
 And placed them in a golden urn. O'er this 
 
 They drew a covering of soft purple robes, 
 
 And laid it in a hollow grave, and piled 
 
 Fragments of rock above it, many and huge. 
 
 In haste they reared the tomb, with sentries set 
 
 On every side, lest all too soon the Greeks 
 
 Should come in armor to renew the war. 
 
 When now the tomb was built, the multitude 
 
 Returned, and in the halls where Priam dwelt, 
 
 Nursling of Jove, were feasted royally. 
 
 Such was the mighty Hector's burial rite. 
 
 XXIV, 91 1 to the end, Bryant 
 
 i^HR 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE ODYSSEY. HOMER AND TROY 
 
 The Trojan War after the I/tad— The Epic Cycle — The 
 Story of the Odyssey — Its Structure — Analysis of the 
 Poem — The Adventures of Telemachus — Odysseus reaches 
 the Land of the Phaeacians and relates his Adventures 
 
 to Alcinous — His Arrival at Ithaca — The Slaying ofjhe 
 
 jlope — 
 )grapny — Momeric Society 
 Homeric Theology — Troy — The Mycenaean Age — The 
 
 Suitors — The Recognition of Odysseus by Penelope — The 
 
 r— Ho 
 
 Homeric Age — Homeric Geography — Homeric Society — 
 Homeric Theology 
 Homeric Question. 
 
 Although the Iliad gives the complete story of the 
 Wrath of Achilles ^ it not only presupposes an acquaint- 
 ance on the part of the hearer with the events of the 
 first nine years of the war, but also looks forward to 
 the completion of the story of the expedition against 
 Troy. The fall of Troy is predicted, and the death of 
 Achilles; while the fate of other actors in the narrative 
 is darkly foreshadowed. Now the Greeks possessed 
 a series of epic poems by various hands and of differ- 
 ent dates, arranged so as to form a continuous history 
 of the mythical world. This series was called by them 
 the Epic Cycle. It began with the marriage of 
 Heaven and Earth, and ended with the slaying of 
 Odysseus by his son Telegonus. The last eight poems 
 of the Epic Cycle contained a continuous, although 
 not always a consistent, account of the Trojan War, 
 thus forming a smaller Trojan Cycle within the larger 
 series. The place of the Iliad and Odyssey of Homer 
 in the Trojan Cycle may be briefly indicated 
 
 
 ^ >^^^'^ 
 
 ^\ 
 
j6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 As we have already seen, the Cypria^ of doubtful 
 authorship, brought the story of the Trojan expedition 
 down through the first nine years of the war. Then 
 came the Iliad. After the Iliad the ^thiopis^ by 
 Arctinus of Miletus (about 776 B. C), took up the 
 story. The queen of the Amazons, Penthesileia, comes 
 to the aid of Troy, but is slain by Achilles. Achilles 
 is slain by an arrow, shot by Paris but directed by 
 Apollo, which wounds him in the heel, where alone he 
 is vulnerable. Ajax and Odysseus contend for Achil- 
 les' armor, which is awarded to the latter. Ajax 
 takes his own life. Then came the Little Iliad^ of 
 doubtful authorship (of about 700 B. C). Philoctetes 
 is brought from the isle of Lemnos for the sake of 
 the bow and arrows of Heracles which he possesses, 
 without which Troy cannot be taken. Odysseus 
 devises the stratagem of the wooden horse filled with 
 armed warriors. In the Ilioupersis (Destruction of Troy)^ 
 by Arctinus of Miletus, the wooden horse is taken 
 into the city by the Trojans themselves. Troy is 
 captured and burned. Laocoon and one of his sons 
 are strangled by the huge serpents, -^neas makes his 
 escape, but Priam is killed by Neoptolemus, the son 
 of Achilles. The Greeks start for home. The Nostoi 
 (Return of the Heroes)^ by Agias of Troezen (about 750 
 B. C), dealt chiefly with the return of Menelaus and 
 Agamemnon and the slaying of the latter by his wife, 
 Clytemnestra. The Odyssey comes next in the series, 
 and after the Odyssey the Telegoneia^ a poem of much 
 later date than the others. 
 
 The theme of the Odyssey is the Return of Odysseus, 
 The difficulties that beset him after he leaves Troy 
 furnish the elements of the plot. He is constantly 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 77 
 
 thwarted on his homeward journey by Poseidon, and 
 even after he reaches Ithaca he finds the insolent suit- 
 ors of his wife, Penelope, in possession of his house. 
 How Odysseus, the man of many resources, surmounts 
 all these difficulties, regaining at last both his native 
 land and his wife — this is the story of the poem. 
 
 But the poet does not recount the adventures of 
 his hero in chronological order, beginning with the 
 departure from Troy. Like Vergil and Milton he 
 plunges in medias res^ finding a later occasion for the 
 recital of preceding events by the hero himself. 
 Selecting a critical moment in the tenth year after the 
 fall of Troy, he first briefly depicts the present predic- 
 ament of Odysseus and the situation, of affairs at his 
 home in Ithaca, and then begins the narrative. At 
 first we follow the adventures of Telemachus, the son 
 of Odysseus, as he searches for news of his father. 
 Later on we are transferred to Calypso's isle, where 
 Odysseus is detained by the fair enchantress. His 
 release is obtained by the efforts of Athene. He 
 reaches the land of the Phaeacians, where he is enter- 
 tained by King Alcinous. There he tells of his former 
 adventures, a narrative which occupies about one- 
 fourth of the whole poem. Finally he reaches Ithaca, 
 where he slays the suitors and is restored to his wife 
 and possessions. By this scheme of composition the 
 poet greatly enhances the plot and prevents his 
 story from becoming a mere chronicle of adventures. 
 The action of the poem covers just forty-two days. 
 The following outline by books will show its struc- 
 ture: 
 
 I-IV. The quest of Telemachus for his father. 
 V. Odysseus leaves Calypso's isle and reaches the 
 
78 
 
 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 land of the Phaeacians. This book covers twenty- 
 four days. VI-XII. Odysseus among the Phaeacians. 
 He recites his adventures during the two years between 
 the fall of Troy and his captivity on Calypso's isle, 
 where he was detained seven years. XIII-XV. The 
 return of Odysseus to Ithaca. The return of Tel- 
 emachus. XVI-XXIV. Odysseus slays the suitors, 
 and is recognized by Penelope and his father, 
 Laertes. 
 
 As in the Iliad^ the theme is given in the invoca- 
 tion to the Muse, which is followed by a statement of 
 the situation. 
 
 Tell me, O Muse, of that sagacious man 
 Who, having overthrown the sacred town 
 Of Ilium, wandered far and visited 
 The capitals of many nations, learned 
 The customs of their dwellers, and endured 
 Great sufifering on the deep ; his life was oft 
 In peril, as he labored to bring back 
 His comrades to their homes. He saved them not. 
 Though earnestly he strove ; they perished all, 
 Through their own folly ; for they banqueted. 
 Madmen! upon the oxen of the Sun, — 
 The all-o'erlooking Sun, who cut them oflf 
 From their return. O goddess, virgin-child 
 Of Jove, relate some part of this to me. 
 Now all the rest, as many as escaped 
 The cruel doom of death, were at their homes 
 Safe from the perils of the war and sea, 
 While him alone, who pined to see his home 
 And wife again. Calypso, queenly nymph, 
 Great among goddesses, detained within 
 Her spacious grot, in hope that he might yet 
 Become her husband. Even when the years 
 Brought round the time in which the gods decreed 
 That he should reach again his dwelling-place 
 In Ithaca, though he was with his friends, 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 79 
 
 His toils were not yet ended. Of the gods 
 
 All pitied him save Neptune, who pursued 
 
 With wrath implacable the godlike chief, 
 
 Ulysses, even to his native land. 
 
 1, 1-29. Bryant. 
 
 The gods assemble on Olympus while Poseidon is 
 absent among the ^Ethiopians. Athene intercedes 
 with Zeus for Odysseus : 
 
 *' But I am grieved 
 For sage Ulysses, that most wretched man. 
 So long detained, repining, and afar 
 From those he loves, upon a distant isle 
 Girt by the waters of the central deep, — 
 A forest isle, where dwells a deity, 
 The daughter of wise Atlas, him who knows 
 The ocean to its utmost depths, and holds 
 Upright the lofty columns which divide 
 The earth from heaven. The daughter there detains 
 The unhappy chieftain, and with flattering words 
 Would win him to forget his Ithaca. 
 Meanwhile, impatient to behold the smokes 
 That rise from hearths in his own land, he pines 
 And willingly would die. Is not thy heart, 
 Olympius, touched by this? And did he not 
 Pay grateful sacrifice to thee beside 
 The Argive fleet in the broad realm of Troy? 
 Why then, O Jove, art thou so wroth with him? '* 
 
 1, 62-80. Bryant. 
 
 It is decreed by Zeus that Odysseus is to return 
 home in spite of Poseidon. Athene goes to Ithaca, 
 appearing disguised to Telemachus, who tells her of 
 his troubles : 
 
 Again Telemachus, the prudent, spake: 
 *• Since thou dost ask me, stranger, know that once 
 Rich and illustrious might this house be called 
 While yet the chief was here. But now the gods 
 Have grown unkind and willed it otherwise; 
 
8o Homer to Theocritus 
 
 They make his fate a mystery beyond 
 The fate of other men. I should not grieve 
 So deeply for his loss if he had fallen 
 With his companions on the field of Troy, 
 Or midst his kindred when the war was o'er. 
 Then all the Greeks had built his monument. 
 And he had left his son a heritage 
 Of glory. Now has he become the prey 
 Of Harpies, perishing ingloriously, 
 Unseen, his fate unheard of, and has left 
 Mourning and grief, my portion. Not for him 
 Alone I grieve ; the gods have cast on me 
 Yet other hardships. All the chiefs who rule 
 The isles, Dulichium, Same, and the groves 
 That shade Zacynthus, and who bear the sway 
 In rugged Ithaca, have come to woo 
 My mother, and from day to day consume 
 My substance. She rejects not utterly 
 Their hateful suit, and yet she cannot bear 
 To end it by a marriage. Thus they waste 
 My heritage, and soon will seek my life." 
 
 1,286-311. Bryant. 
 
 Athene encourages Telemachus to go forth to seek 
 tidings of his father. Telemachus orders the suitors 
 from the house, but is answered with insults. He 
 then (Book II) calls an assembly of the elders of his 
 own people, but appeals to them in vain to help him. 
 One of the suitors thus complains to him of Penelope : 
 
 *• What word is this thou speakest to our shame. 
 Who dost with foul disgrace our honour brand? 
 Know, then, that not the Achaians are to blame. 
 But thine own mother, who doth understand 
 Sleights more than all the women in the land. 
 For now behold a three years' space is gone. 
 Even as I speak the fourth is nigh at hand, 
 Since with vain hopes she hath our hearts undone. 
 
 For bent on endless wiles she promises each one. 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 81, 
 
 Now of all others hearken this device 
 Which in her mind the queen did frame. She reared 
 There in her halls a mighty loom of price. 
 Anon before the suitors she appeared. 
 And said : * Young men, my suitors, what I feared 
 Is come ; divine Odysseus is no more : 
 Woo ye, but leave my widowhood revered 
 A little while until my task is o'er. 
 Lest my long-purposed work fall void for evermore. 
 
 I for Laertes weave a funeral sheet 
 Against the final debt that he must pay ; 
 And I were shamed the Achaian dames to meet, 
 Should the long slumber find but shroudless clay 
 Of one who owned much lordship in his day.' 
 So did she speak amid the suitor-throng, 
 And so persuaded our large heart gave way. 
 Daily she weaved ; then working grievous wrong, 
 By night the woof unwound, with torches ranged along. 
 
 So for three years she prospered in her wile. 
 But when the fourth came with the seasons' flight, 
 One of her women, making known the guile. 
 Showed us the queen unwinding in the night. 
 So force, not will, constrained her to the right« 
 Know then the suitors* answer in thy mind, 
 And know Achaia here in the open light — 
 Send to her sire thy mother, to be assign'd 
 To whoso in his eyes and hers shall favour find." 
 
 11,85-114. Worsley. 
 
 Telemachus sets sail for Pylos and Sparta, accom- 
 panied by Athene in the guise of Mentor. At Pylos 
 (Book III) the aged Nestor tells of the fate of the 
 Greek chieftains who left Troy, but has no tidings of 
 Odysseus. At Sparta (Book IV) Menelaus and Helen 
 entertain him. Helen recognizes him by his likeness 
 to his father. *'None, I say, have I ever yet seen so 
 like another, man nor woman — wonder comes over me 
 
82 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 as I look on him — as this man is like the son of great- 
 hearted Odysseus, Telemachus, whom he left a new- 
 born babe in his house, when for the sake of me, 
 shameless woman that I was, ye Achaeans came up under 
 Troy with bold war in your hearts." At length Tel- 
 emachus questions Menelaus for tidings of his father. 
 Then Menelaus relates how once, on the journey from 
 Troy, when becalmed on an island near the mouth of 
 the Nile, he had laid hold of Proteus, the Old Man 
 of the Sea, and had compelled him to declare the fate 
 of his companions and to direct him homeward. 
 Proteus told of the death of Ajax, son of Oileus, and 
 of Agamemnon; "a third," he added, '*still living, 
 lingers yet on the wide sea." Menelaus would fain 
 know his name. Proteus answered : 
 
 " 'It is Laertes' son, whose dwelling stands 
 In Ithaca. I saw him in an isle, 
 And in the cavern-palace of the nymph 
 Calypso, weeping bitterly, for she 
 Constrains his stay. He cannot leave the isle 
 For his own country; ship arrayed with oars 
 And seamen has he none to bear him o'er 
 The breast of the great ocean. But for thee, 
 'Tis not decreed that thou shalt meet thy fate 
 And die, most noble Menelaus, where 
 The steeds of Argos in her pastures graze. 
 The gods will send thee to the Elysian plain. 
 And to the end of earth, the dwelling-place 
 Of fair-haired Rhadamanthus. There do men 
 Lead easiest lives. No snow, no bitter cold, 
 No beating rains, are there ; the ocean-deeps 
 With murmuring breezes from the West refresh 
 The dwellers. Thither shalt thou go ; for thou 
 Art Helen's spouse, and son-in-law of Jove.' " 
 
 IV, 709-727. Bryant. 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 83 
 
 Meanwhile at Ithaca the suitors lay a plot to slay 
 Telemachus on his return. Penelope is overwhelmed 
 with grief at the news of her son's departure, but she 
 is consoled by a dream sent by Pallas Athene. 
 
 At the opening of the fifth book we are transferred 
 to Calypso's isle, leaving Telemachus at Sparta. Zeus, 
 at the instance of Athene, commands Hermes to bear a 
 message to Calypso : 
 
 So spake he, nor did Hermes aught withhold. 
 He nimbly underneath his feet made fast 
 Fair-shining sandals of ambrosial gold, 
 Wherewith the wide sea, with the blowing blast, 
 And land unmeasured he of old had passed ; 
 Then took the wand which can men's eyes subdue, 
 Whomso he listeth in long sleep to cast, 
 And sleeping wake to breathe and feel anew — 
 This holding in his hand the Slayer of Argus flew. 
 
 He on Pieria pitched, and in the sea 
 Shot from the ether. Him the waves upbore 
 Like to some bird that on the watch for prey 
 Searches the barren sea-gulfs o'er and o'er, 
 And dips her feathers in the ocean hoar. 
 So Hermes through the yielding waters drave 
 Till the nymph's island rose his eyes before. 
 Gladly he came forth from the dark-blue wave, 
 And through the land walked on, and came to a great cave. 
 
 There dwelt the fair-haired nymph, and her he found 
 Within. Bright flames, that on the hearth did play. 
 Fragrance of burning cedar breathed around. 
 And fume of incense wafted every way. 
 There her melodious voice the livelong day, 
 Timing the golden shuttle, rose and fell. 
 And round the cave a leafy wood there lay. 
 Where green trees waved o'er many a shady dell. 
 Alder and poplar black and cypress sweet of smell. 
 
84 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Thither the long-winged birds retired to sleep, 
 Falcon and owl and sea-crow loud of tongue, 
 Who plies her business in the watery deep ; 
 And round the hollow cave her tendrils flung 
 A healthy vine, with purpling clusters hung ; 
 And fountains four, in even order set, 
 Near one another, from the stone out-sprung, 
 Streaming four ways their crystal-showery jet 
 Through meads of parsley soft and breathing violet 
 
 So that a god, if any came that way. 
 For wonder, admiration, and delight 
 Would stand agaze, as Hermes gazed that day; 
 Who, having satisfied his soul with sight. 
 Moved where the broad cave did his steps invite. 
 Nor did Calypso, nymph divine, I trow, 
 His features or his form not read aright. 
 For never do the gods— not even though 
 Asunder far they dwell— each other fail to know. 
 
 But he, large-hearted one, Odysseus brave, 
 Within was found not. He sat weeping sore 
 Hard by the breakings of the barren wave. 
 Where he did oft afflict his soul before. 
 And through the floods unfruitful evermore 
 Yearned a set gaze with many a tear and groan. 
 Heart-broken captive on a hated shore. 
 
 V, 43-83. Worsley. 
 
 Calypso, bidden by Hermes, releases Odysseus, 
 though not without an effort to induce him to stay. 
 
 " Child of Laertes, wouldst thou fain depart 
 Hence to thine own dear fatherland? Farewell! 
 Yet, couldst thou read the sorrow and the smart, 
 With me in immortality to dwell 
 Thou wouldst rejoice and love my mansion well. 
 Deeply and long thou yearnest for thy wife; 
 Yet her in beauty I perchance excel. 
 Beseems not one who hath but mortal life 
 With forms of deathless mould to challenge a vain strife.** 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 85 
 
 To whom the wise Odysseus answering spake: 
 •*0 nymph Calypso, much revered, cease now 
 From anger, nor be wroth for my wife's sake. 
 All this I know and do myself avow. 
 Well may Penelope in form and brow 
 And stature seem inferior far to thee, 
 For she is mortal, and immortal thou. 
 Yet even thus 'tis very dear to me 
 My long-desired return and ancient home to see.** 
 
 V, 203-220. Worsley. 
 
 Odysseus builds a huge raft and sets sail. On the 
 eighteenth day, as he nears the Phgeacian land, 
 Poseidon spies him and sends a great storm. His 
 raft is wrecked, but a sea-nymph gives him her veil to 
 keep him from sinking. For two days he is driven by 
 the waves, narrowly escaping death on the rocks, but 
 Athene finally directs him to the mouth of a river. 
 He swims ashore, takes shelter in a thicket, and falls 
 asleep in a bed of dry leaves. 
 
 We come now (Book VI) to one of the most cele- 
 brated scenes in the poem. Athene appears in a dream 
 to Nausicaa, daughter of Alcinous, king of the Phaea- 
 cians, taking on the likeness of a playmate of the 
 princess, and thus addresses her: 
 
 " Nausicaa, has thy mother then brought forth 
 A careless housewife? Thy magnificent robes 
 Lie still neglected, though thy marriage day 
 Is near, when thou art to array thyself 
 In seemly garments, and bestow the like 
 On those who lead thee to the bridal rite; 
 For thus the praise of men is won, and thus 
 Thy father and thy gracious mother both 
 Will be rejoiced. Now with the early dawn 
 Let us all hasten to the washing-place. 
 I too would go with thee, and help thee there. 
 That thou mayst sooner end the task, for thou 
 
86 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Not long wilt be un wedded. Thou art wooed 
 Already by the noblest of the race." 
 
 Soon the bright morning came. Nausicaa rose, 
 Clad royally, as marvelling at her dream 
 She hastened through the palace to declare 
 Her purpose to the father and the queen. 
 She found them both within. Her mother sat 
 Beside the hearth with her attendant maids, 
 And turned the distaff loaded with a fleece 
 Dyed in sea-purple. On the threshold stood 
 Her father, going forth to meet the chiefs 
 Of the Phaeacians in a council where 
 Their noblest asked his presence. Then the maid 
 Approaching her beloved father, spake: 
 
 " I pray, dear father, give command to make 
 A chariot ready for me, with high sides 
 And sturdy wheels, to bear to the river-brink. 
 There to be cleansed, the costly robes that now 
 Lie soiled. Thee likewise it doth well beseem 
 At councils to appear in vestments fresh 
 And stainless. Thou hast also in these halls 
 Five sons, two wedded, three in boyhood's bloom, 
 And ever in the dance they need attire 
 New from the wash. All this must I provide." 
 
 She ended, for she shrank from saying aught 
 Of her own hopeful marriage. He perceived 
 Her thought and said: "Mules I deny thee not. 
 My daughter, nor aught else. Go then; my grooms 
 Shall make a carriage ready with high sides 
 And sturdy wheels, and a broad rack above.'* 
 
 VI, 32-90. Bryant. 
 
 So Nausicaa and her maidens drove down to the 
 river and washed the linen garments. Laying these 
 upon the beach to dry, they fell to playing at ball. But 
 the princess, throwing the ball at one of the company, 
 missed the girl and cast the ball into the river, whereat 
 they all raised a piercing cry. Odysseus was awakened 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 87 
 
 from his sleep, and crept forth from the thicket, 
 hiding his nakedness with a leafy bough. The other 
 maidens fled, but Nausicaa alone stood firm. Odysseus 
 thus addresses her: 
 
 " O queen, I am thy suppliant, whether thou 
 Be mortal or a goddess. If perchance 
 Thou art of that immortal race who dwell 
 In the broad heaven, thou art, I deem, most like 
 To Dian, daughter of imperial Jove, 
 In shape, in stature, and in noble air. 
 If mortal and a dweller of the earth, 
 Thrice happy are thy father and his queen, 
 Thrice happy are thy brothers ; and their hearts 
 Must overflow with gladness for thy sake, 
 Beholding such a scion of the house 
 Enter the choral dance. But happiest he 
 Beyond them ail, who, bringing princely gifts, 
 Shall bear thee to his home a bride ; for sure 
 I never looked on one of mortal race, 
 Woman or man, like thee, and as I gaze 
 I wonder. 
 • *••••• 
 
 queen, have pity on me, since to thee 
 
 1 come the first of all. I do not know 
 A single dweller of the land beside. 
 Show me, I pray, thy city ; and bestow 
 Some poor old robe to wrap me, — if, indeed, 
 In coming hither, thou hast brought with thee 
 Aught poor or coarse. And may the gods vouchsafe 
 To thee whatever blessing thou canst wish. 
 Husband and home and wedded harmony. 
 
 There is no better, no more blessed state. 
 Than when the wife and husband in accord 
 Order their household lovingly. Then those 
 Repine who hate them, those who wish them well 
 Rejoice, and they themselves the most of all," 
 
 VI, 187-233. Bryant. 
 
88 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Nausicaa gives him clothing, and promises to take 
 him to the city. Odysseus, after bathing and clothing 
 himself, glows with beauty and grace, whereat the 
 princess whispers to her maidens: * 'Would that such 
 an one might be called my husband, dwelling here, 
 and that it might please him here to abide.'* But she 
 prudently directs him to follow her only to the gates 
 of the city, lest some one of the baser sort among the 
 people make it a reproach to her to be seen with 
 a strange man. She directs him, however, to the 
 palace of her father. 
 
 In the seventh book Odysseus reaches the palace of 
 Alcinous, which the poet thus describes : 
 
 For, like the sun's fire or the moon*s, a light 
 Far streaming through the high-roofed house did pass 
 From the long basement to the topmost height. 
 There on each side ran walls of flaming brass, 
 Zoned on the summit with a blue bright mass 
 Of cornice ; and the doors were framed of gold ; 
 Where, underneath, the brazen floor doth glass 
 Silver pilasters, which with grace uphold 
 Lintel of silver framed; the ring was burnished gold. 
 
 And dogs on each side of the door there stand, 
 Silver and gold, the which in ancient day 
 Hephaestus wrought with cunning brain and hand» 
 And set for sentinels to hold the way. 
 Death cannot tame them, nor the years decay. 
 And from the shining threshold thrones were set. 
 Skirting the walls in lustrous long array, 
 On to the far room, where the women met. 
 With many a rich robe strewn and woven coverlet. 
 
 There the Phaeacian chieftains eat and drink, 
 While golden youths on pedestals upbear 
 Each in his outstretched hand a lighted link, 
 Which nightly on the roval feast doth flare. 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 89 
 
 Outside the courtyard stretched a planted space 
 Of orchard, and a fence environed all the place. 
 
 There in full prime the orchard-trees grow tall. 
 Sweet fig, pomegranate, apple fruited fair. 
 Pear and the healthful olive. Each and all 
 Both summer droughts and chills of winter spare; 
 All the year round they flourish. Some the air 
 Of Zephyr warms to life, some doth mature. 
 Apple grows old on apple, pear on pear. 
 Fig follows fig, vintage doth vintage lure; 
 Thus the rich revolution doth for aye endure. 
 
 With well-sunned floor for drying, there is seen 
 The vineyard. Here the grapes they cull, there tread. 
 Here falls the blossom from the clusters green; 
 There the first blushings by the suns are shed. 
 Last, flowers forever fadeless — bed by bed; 
 Two streams; one waters the whole garden fair; 
 One through the courtyard, near the house, is led; 
 Whereto with pitchers all the folk repair. 
 All these the god-sent gifts to king Alcinous were. 
 
 VH, 84-132. Worsley. 
 
 Entering the palace, Odysseus is kindly received 
 by the king and his queen, Arete. The latter recog- 
 nizes his garments, and hears the story of his ship- 
 wreck and succor at the hands of her daughter. 
 Alcinous (Book VIII) orders a well-manned ship to 
 be made ready to convey Odysseus to his home. Mean- 
 while the minstrel Demodocus sings of the quarrel of 
 Odysseus and Achilles, whereat Odysseus weeps. The 
 Phaeacians engage in athletic contests. Odysseus, 
 challenged to show his skill, at first declines on the 
 ground of his great sorrow, but at length, when 
 taunted by a young man, he rises angrily, and throws 
 a huge stone far beyond the marks reached by the 
 others. Demodocus again sings, this time of the 
 
90 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 loves of Ares and Aphrodite. Alcinous and his chief- 
 tains bring many costly presents to Odysseus. At the 
 banquet with which the day closes Demodocus sings 
 of the wooden horse. Odysseus weeps again. Alci- 
 nous, noticing this, asks Odysseus his name and his 
 country. 
 
 Odysseus then reveals (Book IX) who he is, and 
 begins the story of his adventures since leaving Troy. 
 Driven by a storm as they were rounding Cape Malea, 
 on the tenth day they reached the land of the Lotus- 
 eaters. 
 
 " Whoever tasted once of that sweet food 
 Wished not to see his native country more. 
 Nor give his friends the knowledge of his fate." 
 
 Next they came to the land of the Cyclopes, **a fro- 
 ward and a lawless folk, who plant not aught with their 
 hands, neither plow. They have neither gatherings 
 for council nor oracles of law, but they dwell in hol- 
 low caves on the crests of high hills, and each one 
 utters the law to his children and his wives, and they 
 reck not one of another. ' * Leaving the other ships 
 at a distance, he landed with the crew of one ship near 
 a lofty cave, about which was built a great pen for 
 the sheep and goats. There lived a man of monstrous 
 size, Polyphemus, one of the one-eyed Cyclopes. 
 Entering the cave, the company ate of the cheese 
 stored within and awaited the return of the giant, 
 though all but Odysseus were sore afraid. Finally 
 Polyphemus entered, driving his flocks into the cave 
 before him, then closing the doorway with a huge stone. 
 Spying the strangers, he questioned them. Odysseus 
 pretended that his ship had been wrecked and asked 
 for hospitality. 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 91 
 
 " The savage answered not, but sprang, 
 And, laying hands on my companions, seized 
 Two, whom he dashed like whelps upon the ground. 
 Their brains flowed out, and weltered where they fell. 
 He hewed them limb from limb for his repast, 
 And, like a lion of the mountain wilds. 
 Devoured them as they were, and left no part — 
 Entrails nor flesh, nor marrowy bones." 
 
 IX, 327-337. Bryant. 
 
 Odysseus was tempted to slay Polyphemus as he 
 slept, but bethought him of the huge door-stone "that 
 two and twenty wagons could not lift.'* In the morn- 
 ing the Cyclops ate two other men, drove out his 
 flocks, and blocked the door behind him. Then Odys- 
 seus and his companions sharpened the end of a great 
 club which the Cyclops had left in the cave. Polyphe- 
 mus returned and seized yet two other men for his 
 supper. He drank deeply of a strong wine which 
 Odysseus offered him, and asked the hero's name. 
 Here is Odysseus' famous reply and his account of 
 their escape : 
 
 "'Thy promised boon, O Cyclop! now I claim. 
 And plead my title; Noman is my name. 
 By that distinguish'd from my tender years, 
 *Tis what my parents call me, and my peers.' 
 The giant then: ' Our promised grace receive, 
 The hospitable boon we mean to give: 
 When all thy wretched crew have felt my power, 
 Noman shall be the last I will devour.' 
 He said: then nodding with the fumes of wine 
 Droop'd his huge head, and snoring lay supine. 
 His neck obliquely o'er his shoulders hung, 
 Press'd with the weight of sleep that tames the strong: 
 There belch'd the mingled streams of wine and blood. 
 And human flesh, his indigested food. 
 Sudden I stir the embers, and inspire 
 
92 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 With animating breath the seeds of fire; 
 
 Each drooping spirit with bold words repair. 
 
 And urge my train the dreadful deed to dare. 
 
 The stake now glow'd beneath the burning bed 
 
 (Green as it was) and sparkled fiery red. 
 
 Then forth the vengeful instrument I bring; 
 
 With beating hearts my fellows form a ring. 
 
 Urged by some present god, they swift let fall 
 
 The pointed torment on his visual ball. 
 
 Myself above them from a rising ground 
 
 Guide the sharp stake, and twirl it round and round. 
 
 As when a shipwright stands his workmen o'er, 
 
 Who ply the wimble, some huge beam to bore; 
 
 Urged on all hands, it nimbly spins about, 
 
 The grain deep-piercing till it scoops it out: 
 
 In his broad eye so whirls the fiery wood; 
 
 From the pierced pupil spouts the boiling blood; 
 
 Singed are his brows; the scorching lids grow black; 
 
 The jelly bubbles, and the fibres crack. 
 
 And as when armorers temper in the ford 
 
 The keen-edged pole-ax, or the shining sword. 
 
 The red-hot metal hisses in the lake. 
 
 Thus in his eye-ball hiss'd the plunging stake. 
 
 He sends a dreadful groan, the rocks around 
 
 Through all their inmost winding caves resound. 
 
 Scared we receded. Forth with frantic hand 
 
 He tore and dash'd on earth the goiy brand: 
 
 Then calls the Cyclops,^ all that round him dwell, 
 
 With voice like thunder, and a direful yell. 
 
 From all their dens the one-eyed race repair. 
 
 From rifted rocks, and mountains bleak in air. 
 
 All haste assembled at his well-known roar. 
 
 Inquire the cause, and crowd the cavern door. 
 
 •What hurts thee, Polypheme? What strange affright 
 
 Thus breaks our slumbers, and disturbs the night? 
 
 Does any mortal, in the unguarded hour 
 
 Of sleep, oppress thee, or by fraud or power? 
 
 *Pope uses the forms of this word incorrectly. The singular is Cyclops, 
 not Cyclop, and the plural Cyclopes, The miKtake which Pope "lakep though 
 common, should be avoided. 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 93 
 
 Or thieves insidious thy fair flocks surprise ? * 
 Thus they : the Cyclop from his den replies : 
 
 * Friends, Noman kills me ; Noman, in the hour 
 Of sleep, oppresses me with fraudful power.' 
 
 * If no man hurt thee, but the hand divine 
 Inflict disease, it fits thee to resign : 
 
 To Jove or thy father Neptune pray,* 
 
 The brethren cried, and instant strode away." 
 
 IX, 364-414. Pope. 
 
 Odysseus contrived an ingenious plan of escape. 
 Lashing together the rams three by three, he placed 
 a man under the middle one of each three. Then he 
 curled himself under the shaggy belly of the largest 
 ram in the flock. Polyphemus felt the backs of the 
 other rams as they passed him, but laid hold of the 
 great ram and gently chid him for lagging behind 
 the rest. At last, to the great relief of Odysseus, he 
 let him also pass out. Odysseus released his compan- 
 ions and they regained the ship. Then, with foolhardy 
 daring, Odysseus shouted back exultingly to the 
 Cyclops, disclosing his real name. Polyphemus first 
 hurled two huge crags at the ship and almost wrecked 
 it, then uttered the curse which caused Odysseus so 
 many sorrows before he reached his home : 
 
 "'Hear now, great monarch of the raven hair: 
 Holder of earth, Poseidon, hear my cry, 
 If thou my father art indeed, and I 
 Thy child! Or ever he the way fulfil, 
 Make thou Laertes-born Odysseus die, 
 Waster of walls! or should the high Fates will 
 That friends and home he see, then alone and late and ill 
 
 Let him return on board a foreign ship. 
 And in his house find evil!' " 
 
 IX, 528-535. Worslcy, 
 
94 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Odysseus and his companions next came (Book X) 
 to the island of ^olus, god of the winds. The god 
 gave Odysseus a bag in which were bound all the 
 noisy winds, and made it fast in the hold of the ship. 
 Then he sent forth the blast of the west wind, which 
 in nine days brought them within sight of Ithaca. 
 But while Odysseus slept for weariness, his crew, think- 
 ing the bag contained gold and silver, opened it, and 
 the winds burst violently forth, driving them back to 
 the island of ^olus, who angrily sent them away. 
 After six days* sailing they reached the land of the 
 cannibal giants, the Laestrygonians. Odysseus sent 
 out a reconnoitering party, one of whom was caught 
 and eaten. The giants rushed to the cliffs and threw 
 great rocks on the ships,** and anon there arose from 
 the fleet an evil din of men dying and ships scattered 
 withal. And like folk spearing fishes, they bore home 
 their hideous meal. * ' Eleven of the ships were wrecked 
 and their crews slain; Odysseus escaped with the 
 twelfth alone and its crew, *' stricken at heart, yet 
 glad as men saved from death.** 
 
 They came next to the island Aea, ** where dwelt 
 Circe of the braided tresses, an awful goddess of mor- 
 tal speech.** Odysseus sent one-half of his crew to 
 search out the place, but they, partaking of a potion 
 mixed for them by the enchantress, '*took on the shape 
 and voice and bristles of swine, but their mind abode 
 even as of old.** One only, who had tarried outside 
 through misgivings, came back to tell the tale. 
 Odysseus girt on his sword and went forth to rescue 
 his companions. Hermes met him, told him of the 
 charm of Circe, and gave him an antidote against it. 
 Circe prevailed upon Odysseus to remain with her, 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 95 
 
 transforming his companions back into men and swear- 
 ing to do him no harm. At the end of a year, at his 
 earnest entreaty, she let him resume his journey, tell- 
 ing him, however, that he must first go down to Hades 
 to seek the spirit of the soothsayer Teiresias. 
 
 After one day's sailing they came (Book XI) '*to 
 the limits of the world, to the deep-flowing Oceanus. 
 There is the land and the city of the Cimmerians, 
 shrouded in mist and cloud, and never does the shin- 
 ing sun look down upon them with his rays, neither 
 when he climbs the starry heavens, nor when again 
 he turns earthward from the firmament, but deadly 
 night is outspread over miserable mortals.** Reach- 
 ing the place that Circe had declared unto to him, 
 he dug a trench and filled it with the blood of victims. 
 
 Forthwith from Erebus a phantom crowd 
 Loomed forth, the shadowy people of the dead^ 
 Old men, with load of earthly anguish bowed, 
 Brides in their bloom cut off, and youths unwed, 
 Virgins whose tender eyelids then first shed 
 True sorrow, men with gory arms renowned, 
 Pierced by the sharp sword on the death-plain red. 
 All these flock darkling with a hideous sound, 
 Lured by the scent of blood, the open trench around. 
 
 XI, 36-43. Worsley. 
 
 Teiresias told Odysseus that he would reach home 
 in safety after many troubles, but warned him not to 
 slay the cattle of the Sun on the isle Thrinacia. He 
 closed with this prophecy: *'And from the sea shall 
 thine own death come, the gentlest death that may 
 be, which shall end thee foredone with smooth old age, 
 and the folk shall dwell happily around thee.** Then 
 Odysseus* mother came up to him. Thrice he sought 
 to embrace her; thrice she flitted from his arms as a 
 
^6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 shadow or even as a dream. **For even on this wise 
 is it with mortals when they die. The sinews no more 
 bind together the flesh and the bones, and the spirit 
 like a dream flies forth and hovers near." Odysseus 
 next saw all the famous women who had borne chil- 
 dren to the gods. 
 
 Odysseus would now fain cease his tale before the 
 Phseacians, for the time of sleep had come. But 
 Alcinous asks to hear about the Argives who went 
 against Troy: ** Beauty crowns thy words and wisdom 
 is within thee. Behold, the night is of great length, 
 unspeakable, and the time for sleep is not yet; tell 
 me, therefore, of those wondrous deeds. I could 
 abide even till the bright dawn, so long as thou couldst 
 endure to rehearse all these woes of thine in the hall." 
 So Odysseus goes on to tell of his meeting with the 
 shades of Atreus, Achilles, Ajax, and Heracles, and 
 describes the tortures of Tantalus and Sisyphus. His 
 conversation with the ghost of Achilles is famous: 
 
 "'Ulysses! what hath moved thee to attempt 
 This greatest of thy labors? How is it 
 That thou hast found the courage to descend 
 To Hades, where the dead, the bodiless forms 
 Of those whose work is done on earth, abide ? * 
 
 "He spake; I answered: 'Greatest of the Greeksl 
 Achilles, son of Peleus! 'Twas to hear 
 The counsel of Teiresias that I came. 
 If haply he might tell me by what means 
 To reach my rugged Ithaca again. 
 For yet I have not trod my native coast. 
 Nor even have drawn nigh to Greece. I meet 
 Misfortunes everywhere. But as for thee, 
 Achilles, no man lived before thy time, 
 Nor will hereafter live, more fortunate 
 Than thou, — for while alive we honored thee 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 97 
 
 As if thou wert a god, and now again 
 In these abodes thou rulest o'er the dead; 
 Therefore, Achilles, shouldst thou not be sad.* 
 "I spake; Achilles quickly answered me: — 
 • Noble Ulysses, speak not thus of death. 
 As if thou couldst console me. I would be 
 A laborer on earth, and serve for hire 
 Some man of mean estate, who makes scant cheer, 
 Rather than reign o'er all who have gone dovm 
 To death.' " 
 
 XI, 581-606. Bryant. 
 
 Leaving the place of the shades, Odysseus then 
 (Book XII) sailed past the isle of the Sirens, who 
 bewitch all men by their singing. ** Whoso draws 
 nigh them unwittingly and hears the sound of their 
 voice, never does he see wife or babes on his return, 
 nor have they joy at his coming." But Odysseus, 
 warned by Circe, heard the singing, but sailed past 
 unharmed ; for he bound himself fast to the mast and 
 filled the ears of the crew with wax. Next they sailed 
 between Scylla and Charybdis, two monsters of the 
 sea, one on either side of a narrow strait of seething 
 waters; but Scylla seized six of the crew and devoured 
 them, shrieking and stretching forth their hands to 
 their leader in the dread death-struggle. **And the 
 most pitiful thing was this that mine eyes have seen 
 in all my travail in searching out the paths of the sea.*' 
 Landing then on the isle Thrinacia, his companions 
 slew and ate of the sacred kine* of Helios, the sun- 
 god, in spite of the warnings of Teiresias and Circe 
 and the commands of their leader. Thereupon the 
 gods sent a great storm upon the ship and wrecked 
 her with all the crew, save only Odysseus, who lashed 
 
 »These were three hundred and sixty in number, typifying the day* in 
 the year. 
 
98 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 himself upon a mast and was brought safely, after 
 nine days, to Calypso's isle, where he remained seven 
 years. These were the adventures which Odysseus 
 related at the court of King Alcinous. 
 
 Odysseus departs (Book XIII) from the island of 
 the Phaeacians in a swift ship, provided by Alcinous, 
 taking with him a load of treasure, the gifts of the 
 Phaeacians, **such wealth as he never would have won 
 for himself out of Troy.'* He is set upon the shore 
 of Ithaca while still asleep. Poseidon, thwarted in his 
 plans concerning Odysseus, wreaks his wrath upon 
 the Phaeacians who conveyed him home. Smiting 
 their ship, it becomes a stone, fast-rooted in the sea. 
 When Odysseus awakes, wondering in what land he is, 
 Athene appears unto him in disguise, points out the 
 familiar landmarks of his native land, and tells him of 
 Telemachus in Sparta and of Penelope surrounded by 
 the shameless suitors. That he may not be recognized 
 and slain, she transforms him into a beggar: 
 
 So with her wand she touched him; and the skin 
 Shrunk on the flexile limbs, the auburn hair 
 Died, and he stooped an old man, wrinkled, thin. 
 Bleared were the bright orbs, late so wondrous fair; 
 And coarse rags, smoke-defiled, she made him wear. 
 Wrapped with vile deer's-hidc, and rude staff anon 
 Gave, and a foul scrip leathern-looped to bear. 
 
 XIII, 430-438. Worslcy. 
 
 In this disguise he appears (Book XIV) before the 
 faithful swineherd Eumaeus, an old serf of his, and is 
 entertained in his hut. Odysseus pretends that he is 
 a Cretan, and weaves a cunning tale of his adventures 
 after leaving Troy. But when he says that he has 
 recently heard tidings of Odysseus, the swineherd, 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 9g 
 
 too often deceived by such reports, refuses to believe 
 him. 
 
 Meanwhile (Book XV) Telemachus is warned by 
 Athene to hasten home to Ithaca. Menelaus gives 
 him gifts and speeds him on his way. By the advice 
 of Athene he goes first to the hut of Eumseus, thus 
 avoiding the suitors who lie in wait for his ship. In 
 the morning (Book XVI), after the arrival of Tele- 
 machus, Athene appeared unto Odysseus, invisible to 
 the others, and commands him to reveal himself to his 
 son, that they may take counsel together. She 
 restores him, for the moment, to his own form and 
 dress. Telemachus is soon convinced that this 
 stranger is indeed his father. Odysseus then inquires 
 about the number of the suitors, that he may decide 
 whether they two alone shall be able to make head 
 against them without aid or whether they must seek 
 allies. Telemachus thus replies: 
 
 " O father, I have heard of thy great fame 
 My whole life long,— how mighty is thy arm, 
 How wise thy counsels. Thou hast said great things, 
 And I am thunderstruck. It cannot be 
 That two alone should stand before a crowd 
 Of valiant men. They are not merely ten, — 
 These suitors, — nor twice ten, but many more. 
 Hear, then, their number. From Dulichium come 
 Fifty and two, the flower of all its youth. 
 With whom are six attendants. Sam^ sends 
 Twice twelve, and twenty more Achaian chiefs 
 Come from Zacynthus. Twelve from Ithaca; 
 The noblest of the isle are these, — with whom 
 Medon, the herald, comes,— a bard whose song 
 Is heavenly, — and two servants skilled to spread 
 The banquet. Should we in the palace halls 
 Assault all these, I fear lest the revenge 
 For all thy wrongs would end most bitterly 
 
lOO Homer to Theocritus 
 
 And grievously for thee. Now, if thy thought 
 Be turned to some ally, bethink thee who 
 Will combat for us with a willing heart." 
 
 Again Ulysses, the great sufferer, spake: 
 "Then will I tell thee; listen, and give good heed. 
 Think whether Pallas and her father, Jove, 
 Suffice not for us. Need we more allies? '* 
 
 XVI, 293-317. Bryant. 
 
 Eumaeus, who knows not that the stranger is Odys- 
 seus, is sent to the city to tell Penelope of her son's 
 return. The suitors are enraged that Telemachus has 
 escaped them. The next day (Book XVII) Tel- 
 emachus goes up early to the city and boldly shows 
 himself before the suitors. Later on Eumaeus conducts 
 Odysseus thither, again disguised as a beggar. 
 Arrived at the palace, Odysseus is recognized by his 
 old dog Argus : 
 
 A dog was lying near, 
 And lifted up his head and pricked his ears. 
 'T was Argus, which the much-enduring man 
 Ulysses long before had reared, but left 
 Untried, when for the hallowed town of Troy 
 He sailed. The young men oft had led him forth 
 In eager chase of wild goats, stags, and hares; 
 But now, his master far away, he lay 
 Neglected, just before the stable doors. 
 Amid the droppings of the mules and beeves, 
 Heaped high till carried to the spacious fields 
 Of which Ulysses was the lord. There lay 
 Argus, devoured with vermin. As he saw 
 Ulysses drawing near, he wagged his tail 
 And dropped his ears, but found that he could come 
 No nearer to his master. Seeing this, 
 Ulysses wiped away a tear unmarked. 
 While over Argus the black night of death 
 Came suddenly, as soon as he had seen 
 Ulysses, absent now for twenty years. 
 
 XVH, 335-398. Bryant. 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy ■ i<>^ 
 
 Odysseus goes about among the suitors begging 
 food, and Telemachus feigns not to know him. One 
 of the suitors smites him on the shoulder with a foot- 
 stool. A beggar whom the suitors call ' * Irus, ' ' because 
 he ran on errands, tries to drive Odysseus away from 
 the house (Book XVIII). The suitors arrange a box- 
 ing match between them, wherein Odysseus easily 
 smites Irus. Thereafter Odysseus is on a better foot- 
 ing with the suitors, though they still taunt him, so 
 that he almost forgets his role of beggar. Penelope 
 appears among the suitors in all her beauty and be- 
 guiles them into giving her costly presents. Odysseus 
 tests the loyalty of the maidens of Penelope and finds 
 some of them on the side of the suitors. 
 
 Telemachus and Odysseus secretly take all the 
 arms out of the great hall and place them in the armory 
 (Book XIX). Penelope calls Odysseus to her and 
 questions him. He tells her a false tale in the likeness 
 of truth, how that he had once entertained Odysseus 
 in Crete, and that he had lately heard of his home- 
 coming from the king of the Thesprotians. Penelope 
 is cheered by his words, and, disposed to treat kindly 
 the beggar who has brought the good tidings of her 
 husband's speedy return, she bids Eurycleia, a trusted 
 servant, once the nurse of Odysseus, to wash the 
 stranger's feet. This leads to the recognition of Odys- 
 seus by Eurycleia, who says to him : 
 
 " Deeply am I moved at sight of thee. 
 Hear what I say: of strangers in distress 
 Come many hither, yet have I beheld 
 No one who bears, in shape and voice and feet. 
 Such likeness to our absent lord as thou.' ' 
 Ulysses, the sagacious, thus replied: 
 
3h02 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ** O aged woman, so has it been said 
 By all who have beheld both him and me. 
 They all declare that we are very like 
 Each other; thou in this hast spoken well." 
 
 He spake; she took a shining vase designed 
 For washing feet, and poured cold water in 
 In large abundance, and warm water next. 
 Ulysses, who had sat before the hearth. 
 Moved to a darker spot, for in his mind 
 The thought arose that she might find a scar 
 Upon his limbs in handling them, and thus 
 His secret would be known. She came and bathed 
 His feet, and found the scar. 'T was where a boar 
 With his white tooth had gashed the limb, as once 
 He journeyed to Parnassus. 
 
 The aged woman, as she took the foot 
 Into her hands, perceived by touch the scar, 
 And, letting fall the limb, it struck the vase. 
 Loud rang the brass, the vase was overturned. 
 And poured the water forth. At once a rush 
 Of gladness and of grief came o'er her heart. 
 Tears filled her eyes, and her clear voice was choked. 
 She touched Ulysses on the chin, and said: — 
 
 "Dear child! thou art Ulysses, of a truth. 
 I knew thee not till I had touched the scar." 
 
 So speaking, toward Penelope she turned 
 Her eyes, about to tell her that her lord 
 Was in the palace, but the queen saw not. 
 And all that passed was unperceived by her, 
 For Pallas turned her thoughts another way. 
 
 XIX, 463-583. Bryant. 
 
 But Odysseus enjoins upon Eurycleia to tell no one 
 in the house, lest the secret be betrayed to the suitors. 
 Penelope tells Odysseus of a dream that has come to 
 her, which seemed to forbode the destruction of the 
 suitors, and adds: 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 103 
 
 «* Of dreams, O stranger, some are meaningless 
 
 And Idle, and can never be fulfilled. 
 
 Two portals are there for their shadowy shapes, 
 
 Of ivory one, and one of horn. The dreams 
 
 That come through the carved ivory deceive 
 
 With promises that never are made good; 
 
 But those which pass the doors of polished horn. 
 
 And are beheld of men, are ever true. 
 
 And yet I cannot hope that my strange dream 
 
 Came through them, though my son and I would both 
 
 Rejoice if it were so. This let me say. 
 
 And heed me well. To-morrow brings to us 
 
 The hateful morn which takes me from my home, 
 
 The palace of Ulysses. I shall now 
 
 Propose a contest. In the palace court 
 
 Ulysses in a row set up twelve stakes. 
 
 Like props that hold a galley up; each stake 
 
 Had its own ring; he stood afar, and sent 
 
 An arrow through them all. I shall propose 
 
 This contest to the suitors. He who bends 
 
 The bow with easy mastery, and sends 
 
 Through the twelve rings an arrow, I will take 
 
 To follow from the palace where I passed 
 
 My youthful married life, — a beautiful home, 
 
 And stored with wealth; a home which I shall long 
 
 Remember, even in my nightly dreams." 
 
 XIX, 679-704. Bryant. 
 
 The day of vengeance comes at last (Book XX). 
 The suitors insult Odysseus again. Athene drives 
 their wits wandering, so that when the prophet Theo- 
 clymenus, whom Telemachus brought from Pylos, 
 tells them of their impending doom, they laugh sweetly 
 at him, understanding not his words. Penelope then 
 brings out the bow and arrows of Odysseus (Book 
 XXI), and the swineherd Eumaeus brings out the axes, 
 which Telemachus arranges in a straight line. One 
 after another the suitors try to string the great bow, 
 
I04 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 but none can bend it. Odysseus calls apart the swine- 
 herd Eumaeus and a faithful neatherd whom he has 
 proved, and reveals himself to them, charging them 
 with their duties in the approaching fight. Odysseus 
 now asks to try the bow. The suitors object, but 
 Penelope and Telemachus insist upon his claim as just. 
 Odysseus takes the bow, at the same time bidding 
 Eumaeus have the doors of the women's apartment 
 closed, while the neatherd bars the outer gates of the 
 court, so that no way of escape is left for the suitors. 
 Odysseus then easily strings the bow, and *'the bow- 
 string rang sweetly at the touch, in tone like a swal- 
 low. " Then laying an arrow on the bow, *'he held the 
 notch and drew the string, even from the settle where 
 he sat, and with straight aim shot the shaft and 
 missed not one of the axes, beginning from the first 
 axe-handle, and the bronze-weighted shaft passed 
 clean through and out at the last." Then at a nod 
 from his father, Telemachus girt his sharp sword 
 about him and took a spear in his grasp, and stood by 
 Odysseus' side. 
 
 Then did Ulysses cast his rags aside, 
 And leaping to the threshold, took his stand 
 On its broad space, wi'h bow and quiver filled 
 With arrows. At his feet the hero poured 
 The winged shafts, and to the suitors called: 
 
 " That difficult strife is ended. Now I take 
 Another mark, which no man yet has hit. 
 Now shall I see if I attain my aim. 
 And, by the aid of Phcebus, win renown," 
 
 He spake, and turning, at Antinous aimed 
 The bitter shaft,— Antinous, who just then 
 Had grasped a beautiful two-eared cup of gold. 
 About to drink the wine. He little thought 
 Of wounds and death; for who, when banqueting 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 105 
 
 Among his fellows, could suspect that one 
 Alone against so many men would dare, 
 However bold, to plan his death, and bring 
 On him the doom of fate? Ulysses struck 
 The suitor with the arrow at the throat. 
 The point came through the tender neck behind. 
 Sideways he sank to earth; his hand let fall 
 The cup; the dark blood in a thick warm stream 
 Gushed from the nostrils of the smitten man. 
 He spurned the table with his feet and spilled 
 The viands; bread and roasted meat were flung 
 To lie polluted on the floor. Then rose 
 The suitors in a tumult, when they saw 
 The fallen man; from all their seats they rose 
 Throughout the hall, and to the massive walls 
 Looked eagerly; there hung no buckler there. 
 No sturdy lance for them to wield. They called 
 Thus to Ulysses with indignant words: 
 
 " Stranger, in evil hour hast thou presumed 
 To aim at men; and thou shalt henceforth bear 
 Part in no other contest. Even now 
 Is thy destruction close to thee. Thy hand 
 Hast slain the noblest youth in Ithaca. 
 The vultures shall devour thy flesh for this." 
 
 So each one said; they deemed he had not slain 
 The suitor wittingly; nor did they see. 
 Blind that they were, the doom which in that hour 
 Was closing round them all. Then with a frown 
 The wise Ulysses looked on them, and said: 
 
 " Dogs! ye had thought I never would come back 
 From Ilium's coast, and therefore ye devoured 
 My substance here, and offered violence 
 To my maid-servants, and pursued my wife 
 As lovers, while I lived. Ye dreaded not 
 The gods who dwell in the great heaven, nor feared 
 Vengeance hereafter from the hands of men; 
 And now destruction overhangs you all." 
 
 He spake, and all were pale with fear, and each 
 Looked round for some escape from death. 
 
 XXII, 1-53. Bryant. 
 
io6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 But the suitors rally and rush upon Odysseus with 
 drawn swords. Odysseus shoots one leader and Tele- 
 machus smites another with his spear. Telemachus 
 brings from the armory four suits of armor and eight 
 spears. Odysseus, so long as he had arrows, smote 
 the suitors one by one, and they fell thick upon one 
 another. But when the arrows failed, he put on hel- 
 met and shield and grasped two mighty spears. The 
 suitors are furnished by a servant with armor and 
 spears from the armory, which Telemachus had left 
 open, but the traitor is caught and suspended from 
 the roof-beam. The goat-herd and neat-herd don 
 their armor and take their stand with Odysseus and 
 Telemachus. The suitors make another onset with 
 volleys of spears, all aimed at Odysseus, but the four 
 withstand the attack and slay each his man. 
 
 They fled along the hall as flees a herd 
 
 Of kine, when the swift gadfly suddenly 
 
 Has come among them, and has scattered them 
 
 In springtime, when the days are growing long. 
 
 Meantime, like falcons with curved claws and beaks, 
 
 That, coming from the mountain summits, pounce 
 
 Upon the smaller birds, and make them fly 
 
 Close to the fields among the snares they dread, 
 
 And seize and slay, nor can the birds resist 
 
 Or fly, and at the multitude of prey 
 
 The fowlers' hearts are glad ; so did the four 
 
 Smite right and left the suitors hurrying through 
 
 The palace -hall, and fearful moans arose 
 
 As heads were smitten by the sword, and all 
 
 The pavement swam with blood. 
 
 XXII, 364-378. Bryant 
 
 All are slain except the minstrel Pheraius and 
 a faithful henchman. The unfaithful maidens are 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 107 
 
 commanded to carry out the dead and to cleanse the 
 hall ; after this Odysseus hangs them all. 
 
 Now Penelope is told that Odysseus is in the house 
 and has slain the suitors (Book XXIII), but cannot 
 believe the truth, even when assured by Telemachus 
 and Odysseus himself. **If this be in truth Odysseus," 
 she says, **and he hath indeed come home, verily we 
 shall be ware of each other the more surely, for we 
 have tokens that we twain know, even we, secret 
 from all others.'* So she spake, and the steadfast, 
 goodly Odysseus smiled. Going to the bath, he 
 came forth again changed in aspect, clothed in a 
 goodly mantle and doublet. And Athene shed great 
 beauty upon him, **and made him greater and more 
 mighty to behold, and from his head caused deep 
 curling locks to flow, like the hyacinth flower. " Then 
 Penelope, to test him, speaks thus to Eurycleia; 
 
 " Bestir thyself, 
 Dame Eurycleia, and make up with care 
 A bed without the chamber, which he framed 
 With his own hands; bear out the massive bed. 
 And lay upon it seemly coverings. 
 Fleeces and mantles for his nightly rest." 
 
 She spake to try her husband; but displeased, 
 Ulysses answered thus his virtuous queen: 
 
 " O woman, thou hast said unwelcome words. 
 Who hath displaced my bed? That task were hard 
 For long-experienced hands, unless some god 
 Had come to shift its place. No living man. 
 Even in his prime of years, could easily 
 Have moved it, for in that eiaborate work 
 There was a mystery; it was I myself 
 Who shaped it, no one else. Within my court 
 There grew an olive-tree with full-leaved boughs, 
 A tall and flourishing tree; its massive stem 
 
io8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Was like a column. Round it I built up 
 A chamber with cemented stones until 
 The walls were finished j then I framed a roof 
 Above it, and put on the well-glued doors 
 Close-fitting. Next I lopped the full-leaved boughs, 
 And, cutting off the trunk above the root. 
 Smoothed well the stump with tools, and made of it 
 A post to bear the couch. I bored the wood 
 With wimbles, placed it on the frame, and carved 
 The work till it was done, inlaying it 
 With silver, gold, and ivory. I stretched 
 Upon it thongs of oxhide brightly dyed 
 In purple. Now, O wife, I cannot know 
 Whether my bed remains as then it was. 
 Or whether some one from the root has hewn 
 The olive trunk, and moved it from its place." 
 
 He spake, and her knees faltered and her heart 
 Was melted as she heard her lord recount 
 The tokens all so truly, and she wept. 
 And rose, and ran to him, and flung her arms 
 About his neck, and kissed his brow, and said: — 
 
 " Ulysses, look not on me angrily. 
 Thou who in other things art wise above 
 All other men. The gods have made our lot 
 A hard one, jealous lest we should have passed 
 Our youth together happily, and thus 
 Have reached old age. I pray, be not incensed. 
 Nor take it ill that I embraced thee not 
 As soon as I beheld thee, for my heart 
 Has ever trembled lest some one who comes 
 I Into this isle should cozen me with words; 
 And they who practice frauds are numberless. 
 
 But now, since thou by tokens clear and true 
 Hast spoken of our bed, which human eye 
 Has never seen save mine and thine, and those 
 Of one handmaiden only, Actoris, — 
 Her whom my father gave me when I came 
 To this thy palace, and who kept the door 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 109 
 
 Of our close chamber, — thou hast won my mind 
 To full belief, though hard it was to win." 
 
 She spake, and he was moved to tears; he wept 
 As in his arms he held his dearly loved 
 And faithful wife. As welcome as the land 
 To those who swim the deep, of whose stout bark 
 Neptune has made a wreck amidst the waves. 
 Tossed by the billows and the blast, and few 
 Are those who from the hoary ocean reach 
 The shore, their limbs all crested with the brine. 
 These gladly climb the sea-beach, and are safe, — 
 So welcome was her husband to her eyes. 
 Nor would her fair white arms release his neck. 
 And there would rosy-fingered Morn have found 
 Both weeping, but the blue-eyed Pallas planned 
 That thus it should not be; she stayed the night 
 When near its close, and held the golden Mom 
 Long in the ocean depths, nor suffered her 
 To yoke her steeds that bring the light to men,— 
 Lampas and Phaethon, swift steeds that bear 
 The Morning on her way. 
 
 XXIII, 214-298. Bryant. 
 
 The story is now finished, for the plot is complete ; 
 but, as in the Iliad^ the poet adds a few touches to 
 the picture in an epilogue (Book XXIV). He first 
 tells of the descent of the souls of the suitors to 
 Hades. In Hades the souls of Agamemnon, Patroclus, 
 Antilochus, and Ajax are gathered about Achilles, 
 Agamemnon telling of the death and burial of Achilles, 
 when Hermes brings down the souls of the suitors. 
 When Agamemnon learns of the return and triumph 
 of Odysseus, he thus apostrophizes Odysseus; 
 
 " Son of Laertes, fortunate and wise, 
 Ulysses! thou by feats of eminent might 
 And valor dost possess thy wife again. 
 And nobly minded is thy blameless queen. 
 
no Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The daughter of Icarius, faithfully 
 
 Remembering him to whom she gave her troth 
 
 While yet a virgin. Never shall the fame 
 
 Of his great valor perish, and the gods 
 
 Themselves shall frame, for those who dwell on earth. 
 
 Sweet strains in praise of sage Penelope." 
 
 XXIV, 236-245. Bryant. 
 
 Meanwhile Odysseus visits his father, Laertes, and 
 finds him wasted with age and clothed in unseemly 
 garments. The old man discloses his grief for his 
 long-lost son, whereupon Odysseus declares himself, 
 showing as a token the scar upon his leg and naming 
 over the trees which he himself had planted when a boy. 
 Odysseus, Telemachus, and Laertes then go up to the 
 city to fight against the relatives of the suitors, who 
 plan to slay them. After a short struggle Athene 
 intervenes and reestablishes Odysseus in his sover- 
 eignty over Ithaca and his people. 
 
 The Iliad and Odyssey give us a well-defined picture 
 of a certain stage of Greek civilization, of the Greek 
 people in an early period of its development. The 
 Homeric Greek strongly resembles the Greek of later 
 times, but as the child resembles the father. He has 
 the same aptitudes and instincts, but they are as yet 
 relatively undeveloped, nor has civilization advanced 
 sufficiently to give his powers full play. It is the 
 childhood of the Greek race, with all the buoyancy 
 and freshness, enthusiasm and vigor; but the child- 
 hood of an essentially noble people, responsive, as 
 a rule, to its best impulses, and endowed with a pas- 
 sionate love for both spiritual and physical excellence. 
 The Odyssey gives the impression of being somewhat 
 later than the Iliad by reason of its more advanced 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy iii 
 
 conception of the gods and its broader view of life*, 
 but practically the two poems are products of the 
 same age. The Greek chronologists placed the events 
 of the Trojan war in the twelfth century before Christ. 
 The remains of the Homeric age which the spade of 
 the excavator has uncovered seem to point to a time 
 between 1200 and 1500. But the authors of the poems 
 were of a much later time, and naturally transferred 
 many of the customs and conceptions of their own day 
 to the period of their story. 
 
 Homer conceives of the earth as a sort of flat oval, 
 around which flows the river Oceanus. Just at the 
 edge is the region of the dead — the Elysian fields, 
 where roam the shades. At the extreme east and 
 west dwell the Ethiopians, the favorites of the gods. 
 Near the centre is Greece. The coast of Asia Minot 
 is well known, and many of the islands of the -Egaean 
 and Ionian seas. Phoenicia is mentioned and Egyp- 
 tian Thebes. The Nile is **the river Egyptus." Out- 
 side of this zone lie strange lands, peopledj^ith mon- 
 sters and fairies. The sky is the vast roo(J}the earth, 
 supported by pillars which the giant Atlas holds. 
 
 The prevailing form of government is monarchy, 
 but not the absolute despotism by which the people of 
 Egypt and the Orient were at this time oppressed. 
 The king consults his council of elders, and sometimes 
 calls together the whole people. But the rights of the 
 people are not guarded by constitutional restrictions 
 upon the king. If powerful enough he may override 
 both the elders and the assembly. He rules by divine 
 right; and yet the obligations of his office are distinctly 
 felt. Besides the free people there is a class of 
 slaves, captives taken in war. They may be bought 
 
112 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 and sold, and are charged with domestic labors for 
 the most part. But they are not looked upon as 
 belonging to an inferior race, nor are they cruelly 
 treated. Hired servants attend to the flocks and the 
 farms. 
 
 The Iliad and Odyssey contain charming pictures of 
 well-ordered, happy domestic life. The households of 
 Menelaus and Helen and of Alcinous and Arete reveal 
 both refinement and affection. The husband respects 
 and honors his wife, who in turn renders him both 
 affection and obedience. Children are subject to their 
 parents and care for them in old age. Hospitality 
 is regarded as a requirement of divine law. The guest 
 is always welcome. Even the beggar is not turned 
 away. The position of women is significant of an 
 enlightened people. There is not a trace of the Ori- 
 ental attitude toward her which afterward character- 
 ized Athenian society. She moves freely among men, 
 but with becoming modesty, and is invariably treated 
 with a chivalrous courtesy. Her sphere is the house- 
 hold ; war and the council are reserved for the men. 
 She directs her servants, spins, weaves, and embroi- 
 ders. As we have seen, even the princess Nausicaa 
 is not above washing the linen. In the entertainment 
 of guests the wife takes a prominent part. Polyg^ 
 my is unknown; so is divorce. But the unfaithful 
 wife and the erring husband are not wanting. 
 
 The gods of this age are men and women in their 
 passions, but possess greater beauty and power, 
 together with immortality. They are not, strictly 
 speaking, all-powerful nor all-wise. They are not 
 always good, yielding to temptations to which men are 
 subject and allowing human passions of hatred and 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 113 
 
 revenge to sway them. The universe is divided into 
 three realms, assigned to the three sons of Cronus. 
 Zeus, the oldest and most powerful, is supreme in the 
 heavens, Poseidon in the sea, and Hades in the abode 
 of the dead. The people of the earth are subject to 
 the god of the skies and the god of the seas, but the 
 former is more powerful. Next to these three in rank 
 are three others, Hera, the sister and wife of Zeus, 
 and Athene and Apollo, children of Zeus. The 
 others are more restricted in the scope of their power. 
 The gods interfere freely in the affairs of men, appear- 
 ing among them in person or in disguise, or directing 
 their doings from the height of Mount Olympus. 
 
 The age of Homer has received fresh illustration in 
 recent years from extensive excavations made in Asia 
 Minor and in Greece. Heinrich Schliemann, a Ger- 
 man merchant, was from early boyhood a devout 
 worshiper at the shrine of Homer, and conceived 
 a passionate desire to explore the scenes which Homer 
 describes. Acquiring a large fortune, he set about 
 the fulfillment of his dreams. Following the indica- 
 tions found in the poems, he excavated the hill of His- 
 sarlik in Asia Minor, near the Hellespont, and found 
 there the ruins of seven cities one upon another. He 
 himself believed that in the second city from the bot- 
 tom, where a wonderful treasure of objects in massive 
 gold, silver, bronze, and clay came to light, he had 
 found the city of Priam. More recent excavations 
 have shown, however, that the city which represents 
 best the civilization and the power of the Homeric 
 Priam was rather the sixth from the bottom. This is 
 made certain by comparison with the remains found 
 in Mycenae, the city of Agamemnon, which Schliemann 
 
1 14 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 also excavated, and at Tiryns, a still earlier fortress 
 in Argos. On many sites in Greece and on the islands 
 remains of the same civilization have been found by 
 Schliemann and others, so that now the phrase 
 "Mycenaean civilization" stands for a certain defi- 
 nite prehistoric culture which bears a very close 
 relationship with the culture revealed in the Homeric 
 poems. These discoveries have had the effect of dis- 
 sipating much of the skepticism with which the 
 Homeric poems had come to be regarded a half-cen- 
 tury ago as trustworthy documents of the past. We 
 cannot, indeed, affirm that the story of the Iliad or 
 Odyssey is true in the sense that the events described 
 ever took place. But the story of the Trojan war 
 may, after all, have grown out of certain historical 
 occurrences which in the course of time became mag- 
 nified by the poets into heroic proportions. Certain it 
 is, at least, that there once was a rich and powerful 
 city in the Troad, and at the same time, in Greece 
 proper, a rich and powerful people under the sway of 
 the lord of Mycenae. 
 
 We shall touch but briefly upon the famous Homeric 
 Question, which has existed since the second century 
 before Christ and will probably not cease to be dis- 
 cussed so long as the Homeric poems are studied. 
 The question, briefly stated, is the problem of the origin, 
 and authorship of the Iliad and Odyssey. The ancients 
 knew almost nothing about the person Homer, but 
 they believed in him, conceiving of him as a blind 
 bard, like Demodocus in the Odyssey. Many different 
 cities claimed to be his birthplace. The few vague 
 and often inconsistent stories about his life which had 
 currency seem to have been derived, as was that 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 115 
 
 concerning his blindness, from the passages in the 
 poems attributed to him which were assumed to be of 
 an autobiographical character. And these poems were 
 indefinite in number. Practically all of the heroic epic 
 poems, long and short, known to the Greeks of the 
 classical period, passed under the name of Homer, even 
 the mock-heroic Battle of the Frogs and Mice and the 
 comic Margites. The critics of the Alexandrian period 
 singled out the Iliad and Odyssey as the only genuine 
 works of Homer, and the view that these two epics 
 were of different authorship found some supporters in 
 antiquity. Other authors were sought out for the 
 other poems of the Epic Cycle, a decided preference 
 being shown for reputed relatives of Homer ; for ex- 
 ample, Stasinus, whose name came to be attached to 
 the Cypria^ was put down as Homer's son-in-law. Sim- 
 ilar uncertainty prevailed as to the date of Homer. 
 Herodotus expresses the opinion that he did not live 
 before about 850 B. C, implying that others placed him 
 earlier. Homer was thus but a shadowy personality 
 to the Greeks, and his name was but little more than 
 a generic term for epic poetry in general. 
 
 The uncritical attitude of antiquity toward Homer 
 is not surprising, considering that they knew of no lit- 
 erature but their own, and that, for centuries after the 
 dawn of literature, there was no publication and circula- 
 tion of works of literature in book form. But to the 
 modern mind the very existence of such incomparable 
 works of art as the Iliad and Odyssey at the very thresh- 
 old of Greek literary history — a phenomenon unpar- 
 alleled in other literatures — inevitably raises a doubt as 
 to the correctness of the Greek tradition. Is it possible 
 that a single poet composed the Iliad and Odyssey not 
 to speak of the other poems, at so early a date, without 
 
Ii6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 models and without training ? Could poems composed 
 so early have been transmitted to the age of written 
 literature without suffering extensive changes ? Are 
 the poems which we possess, then, the work of a poet, 
 Homer, who lived in the tenth or ninth century before 
 Christ, or are we to reject the Greek tradition in favor 
 of a more reasonable hypothesis, if one can be formu- 
 lated which satisfies the conditions ? 
 
 The problem was first seriously attacked by Pro- 
 fessor Wolf, of the University of Berlin, in the famous 
 \j FroUgomena^ published in 1795. He maintained that 
 the Homeric poems, in their earliest form, were com- 
 posed without the aid of writing and were handed down 
 by oral tradition until they were committed to writ- 
 ing by a commission appointed by Peisistratus, Ty- 
 rant of Athens (561-527). In the course of their oral 
 transmission they suffered many changes at the hands 
 of the rhapsodists, the representatives of the Homeric 
 minstrels, and also, after they were written down, at 
 the hands of editors and revisers. The original poems 
 out of which the Iliad and Odyssey were put together 
 were not all by the same author, and the artistic per- 
 fection which we now admire is due to the editors and 
 critics who gave them their present shape. This does 
 not, however, preclude the belief in a, personal Homer, 
 the great poet who wove most of the poems which en- 
 tered into the Iliad and Odyssey, 
 
 The investigation and discussion of a century have 
 shown that Wolfs theory is not the only possible ex- 
 planation of the facts. The assumption that writing 
 could not have been employed to assist in composing 
 and preserving extended poems at a time previous to 
 the age of a written literature is open to objection. 
 Then again it is not necessary to assume that Homer 
 
The Odyssey. Homer and Troy 117 
 
 was one of the primitive bards, authors of the short lays 
 woven into the Iliad and Odyssey. It is easier to assume 
 that a long period of minstrel poetry preceded him and 
 prepared the way for him, and that, coming at the close 
 and not at the beginning, of a poetic epoch, he laid 
 down the lines of a great epic poem. In the course of 
 time this original epic poem may have been enlarged 
 and altered, but without losing the artistic unity which 
 its first author gave it. This is an alternative view set 
 up in various forms by some of Wolf's successors. 
 Certain facts about the poems themselves may be ac- 
 cepted as established. The Iliad and Odyssey are cer- 
 tainly not preserved in anything like their original 
 form. There have been many alterations and additions. 
 The language even is a composite language, showing a 
 mixture of various elements and traces of different 
 ages. The Homeric dialect as we have it is not a lan- 
 guage which could ever have been spoken at any one 
 time or in any one place. It is possible, in a measure, 
 to separate some of the earlier portions of the poems 
 from the late additions, but naturally no two critics 
 quite agree as to the number and extent of the original 
 poems. 
 
 The arguments advanced by Wolf and his successors 
 in support of their various theories are too numerous 
 and complicated to be presented here. It will suffice to 
 state some of the results of the prolonged debate in 
 which most scholars now agree : There were current in 
 pre-Homeric times a multitude of short lays which grad- 
 ually, as the poetic art developed, took on a form and 
 style suited to heroic narration. Toward the end of 
 this period appeared a poet greater than any of his fore- 
 runners, who composed an epic poem on the Wrath of 
 Achilles* This poem, which may have been composed as 
 
\ 
 
 il8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 early as the tenth century, has been enlarged and in 
 
 part remodelled by later hands into our present Hiad, 
 
 The author of the original Iliad is fairly entitled to be 
 
 called Homer, the founder of the epic art. The Odyssey^ 
 
 to a greater extent than the Iliad^ is the work of a 
 
 single poet, though certain portions of it also are later 
 
 additions. It was probably composed about a century 
 
 plater than the Iliad. Possibly both the original Iliad 
 
 ^vand the original Odyssey arose in some part of Greece 
 
 i^ proper, probably in Northern Greece, and were carried 
 
 y over to Ionia by emigrants, whence they received the 
 
 imprint of Ionic society, spirit, and dialect. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 THE HOMERIC HYMNS AND HESIOD 
 
 Influence of the Early Epic on Later Greek Poetry— The Ho- 
 meric Hymns — Character of the Hymns — The Hymn 
 to Aphrodite — The Hymn to Hermes — The Hymn to De- 
 meter — Hesiod — His Relation to the Ionic Epic — The 
 Theogony —Selections — The Works and Days — Selections. 
 
 It would be difficult to overestimate the importance 
 of the Iliad and Odyssey for the subsequent develop- 
 ment of Greek poetry. Absorbing as they did all the 
 legend and song of the ages preceding the perfection 
 of epic poetry, they became the fountain-head from 
 which, for centuries afterward, the greatest poets of 
 the race drew their inspiration and material. As we 
 have seen, they cover each but a small portion of the 
 story of the Trojan War, but in both of them the 
 background of preceding events is adequately sketched, 
 the future destinies of the principal heroes are fore- 
 shadowed, and the outlines of many a heroic legend an- 
 terior to the time of the Trojan War are furnished in 
 greater or less detail. It remained for later poets to 
 fill in the missing parts of the Trojan story and to de- 
 velop the still earlier legends into independent epics. 
 Assuming that the Iliad and Odyssey had take^on essen- 
 tially their present form by the beginning of the eighth 
 century, the earlier poets of the Epic Cycle may be as- 
 signed to the eighth and seventh centuries. These 
 poets had Hesiod as well as Homer to draw upon for 
 
 119 
 
I20 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 their subject-matter, but Hesiod, as we shall see, was 
 himself largely dependent on Homer. In addition to 
 the poems of the Trojan Cycle to which reference has 
 already been made (see p. 76), the principal epics of 
 the larger Cycle dealt with the Origin of the Gods, the 
 Battles of the Gods and Giants, and the stories of 
 CEdipus and Thebes. All of these poems passed more 
 or less vaguely for Homeric during the classical period, 
 and furnished, almost without exception, the themes for 
 the tragic drama which made the fifth and fourth cen- 
 turies illustrious. When, after the lapse of several 
 centuries, epic poetry blossomed out again in the Alex- 
 andrian age, the Homeric poems were again the pre- 
 dominating influence. 
 
 All of the poems of the Epic Cycle are lost, with 
 the exception of a few fragments, but a class of hexam- 
 eter poems, thirty-four in number, still survives under 
 the name of Homer — the so-called Homeric Hymns. 
 The title is a misnomer in every way, for they are 
 neither hymns nor were they composed by Homer. 
 Varying from three lines to six hundred in length, they 
 range in date from the seventh century down to per- 
 haps the fourth or later. Thucydides the historian 
 cites one of them unquestioningly as Homer's, but we 
 have already learned to regard the attribution to Homer 
 of all epic poems of uncertain authorship and of ap- 
 proved antiquity as merely a tribute to the imperial 
 sway of the great poet's name. But the appellation 
 *' Homeric " is after all appropriate in so far as it sug- 
 gests the influence of the Homeric epic upon the 
 authors of these " hymns," although traces of Hesiodic 
 influence are not wanting. 
 
 The word " hymn " is properly used to designate a 
 complete poem in honor of some god ; generally a 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod lai 
 
 myth pertaining to the god is woven into the poem. In 
 this sense of the word only five, or possible seven, of 
 the poems of this collection are really hymns. They 
 were composed with reference to the worship of the 
 god as celebrated at some particular locality, and the 
 myth selected for treatment was therefore one which 
 would be peculiarly appropriate to the local cult of that 
 place. The hymn to Delian Apollo, for example, tells 
 the story of the birth of Apollo under the sacred palm- 
 tree at Delos, and the hymn to Demeter celebrates the 
 ^Tounding of the famous Mysteries at Eleusis. But the 
 greater number of the poems of our collection are 
 simply preludes or invocations, composed in view of 
 epic recitations to follow, the occasion being generally 
 a contest of rhapsodists at some festival. It was cus- 
 tomary at the religious festivals throughout Greece to 
 have contests in which rhapsodists, or minstrel poets, re- 
 cited some story in verse, very much as did the bards in 
 the Odyssey, The rhapsodist always prefaced his recita- 
 tion with a brief invocation to the Muses or to the god of 
 the festival, beginning with a few words of praise, then 
 relating, perhaps, some incident in the life of the god, 
 and finally asking for the god's special blessing upon 
 the singer — that is, for a victory in the contest. The 
 poems of our collection take us through the whole list 
 of the gods, and give us glimpses of the poetry, often 
 of a high degree of merit, which their worship evoked 
 at many famous sanctuaries. 
 
 One of the hymns to Aphrodite (V) may serve to 
 illustrate the shorter preludes : The subject is the birth 
 of the goddess from the sea-foam. 
 
 I shall sing of the revered Aphrodite, the golden-crowned, 
 the beautiful, who hath for her portion the mountain crests of 
 
122 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 sea-girt Cyprus. Thither the strength of the west wind moist- 
 ly blowing carried her amid soft foam over the wave of the re* 
 sounding sea. Her did the golden-snooded Hours gladly wel- 
 come and clad her about in immortal raiment, and on her 
 deathless head set a well-wrought crown, fair and golden, and 
 in her ears put earrings of orichalcum and of precious gold. 
 Her delicate neck and white bosom they adorned with chains 
 of gold, wherewith they bedecked the golden-snooded Hours 
 themselves, when they come to the glad dance of the Gods in 
 the dwelling of the Father. Anon when they had thus adorned 
 her in all goodliness they led her to the Immortals, who gave 
 her greeting when they beheld her, and welcomed her with 
 their hands ; and each God prayed that he might lead her 
 home to be his wedded wife, so much they marvelled at the 
 beauty of the fair-garlanded Cytherean. 
 
 Hail, thou of the glancing eyes, thou sweet winsome god- 
 dess, and grant that I bear off the victory in this contest, and 
 lend thou grace to my song, while I shall both remember thee 
 and another singing. Lang. 
 
 Passing now to the longer hymns, we quote first a 
 portion of the hymn to Hermes (II). It is a recital, 
 half serious, half mocking, of the tricks and adventures 
 of the infant Hermes — his birth on Mount Cyllene, his 
 invention of the lyre, his theft of Apollo's flocks, his 
 plea in his own defence before the court of Zeus, and 
 his final reconciliation with his brother. The poet 
 Shelley has reproduced the light and spirited tone of 
 the original, so well adapted to the character of the 
 subject. Here is the account of the invention of the 
 lyre from the tortoise-shell : 
 
 The babe was born at the first peep of day ; 
 
 He began playing on the lyre at noon ; 
 And the same evening did he steal away 
 
 Apollo's herds. The fourth day of the moon^ 
 On which him bore the venerable May, 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 123 
 
 From her immortal limbs he leaped full soon, 
 Nor long could in the sacred cradle keep, 
 But out to seek Apollo's herds would creep. 
 
 Out of the lofty cavern wandering, 
 
 He found a tortoise, and cried out " A treasure t " 
 (For Mercury first made the tortoise sing). 
 
 The beast before the portal at his leisure 
 The flowery herbage was depasturing, 
 
 Moving his feet in a deliberate measure 
 Over the turf. Jove's profitable son 
 Eying him laughed, and laughing thus begun : 
 
 " A useful godsend are you to me now, 
 
 King of the dance, companion of the feast. 
 
 Lovely in all your nature ! Welcome, you 
 Excellent plaything ! Where, sweet mountain-beast} 
 
 Got you that speckled shell ? Thus much I know, 
 You must come home with me and be my guest ; 
 
 You will give joy to me, and I will do 
 
 All that is in my power to honour you. 
 
 Better to be at home than out of door, 
 So come with me ; and, though it has been said 
 
 That you, alive, defend from magic power, 
 I know you will sing sweetly when you're dead." 
 
 Thus having spoken, the quaint infant bore, 
 Lifting it from the grass on which it fed, 
 
 And grasping it in its delighted hold. 
 
 His treasured prize into the cavern old. 
 
 Then, scooping with a chisel of gray steel. 
 He bored the life and soul out of the beast. 
 
 Not swifter a swift thought of woe or weal 
 Darts through the tumult of a human breast 
 
 Which thronging cares annoy — not swifter steal 
 The flashes of its torture and unrest 
 
 Out of the dizzy eyes — than Maia's son 
 
 All that he did devise hath featly done. 
 
124 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 And through the tortoise's hard stony skin ^- 
 
 At proper distances small holes he made ; 
 And fastened the cut stems of reeds within : 
 
 And with a piece of leather overlaid 
 The open space ; and fixed the cubits in, 
 Fitting the bridge to both ; and stretched o'er all 
 Symphonious chords of sheep-gut rhythmical. 
 
 When he had wrought the lovely instrument, 
 He tried the chords, and made division meet, 
 
 Preluding with the plectrum ; and there went 
 Up from beneath his hand a tumult sweet 
 
 Of mighty sounds, and from his lips he sent 
 A strain of unpremeditated wit, 
 
 Joyous and wild and wanton — such you may 
 
 Hear among revellers on a holiday. 
 
 He sung how Jove and May of the bright sandal 
 
 Dallied in love not quite legitimate ; 
 And his own birth, still scoffing at the scandal, 
 
 And naming his own name, did celebrate ; 
 His mother's cave and servant-maids he planned all 
 
 In plastic verse, her household stuff and state, 
 Perennial pot, trippet, and brazen pan : — 
 But singing he conceived another plan. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 The hymn to Demeter (IV) ^ is of exceptional beauty 
 and interest — " an example of Greek religious faith in 
 its most pensive and romantic aspects." Its theme is 
 the rape of Persephone by Hades, Demeter's agonizing 
 search for her lost daughter, her sojourn among mor- 
 tals, Persephone's restoration to her mother, and the 
 founding of the Mysteries at Eleusis. Symbolizing 
 originally some of Nature's most mysterious phenom- 
 ena, — the changing seasons, the death of the earth 
 
 * The only manuscript of this hymn, a copy made in the fourteenth century, 
 was found by a strange chance in a stable at Moscow in 1772. 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 125 
 
 and its rebirth in the Spring — this story came to have 
 for the Greeks the most profound ethical and religious 
 significance. " Perhaps the most pathetic and signifi- 
 cant of all Greek myths," says Mr. Lawton, " is the tale 
 of the daughter untimely snatched by Hades to his 
 underworld, and of her divine mother who finds her 
 chief consolation in administering to humanity's needs." 
 An outline of the poem follows, the translations and 
 most of the paraphrase by Andrew Lang : 
 
 Of fair-tressed Demeter, Demeter, holy goddess, I begin to 
 sing : of her and her slim-ankled daughter whom Hades 
 snatched away, the gift of wide-beholding Zeus ; but Demeter 
 knew it not, she that bears the Seasons, the giver of goodly 
 crops. For her daughter was playing with the deep-bosomed 
 maidens of Oceanus, and was gathering flowers — roses, and 
 crocuses, and fair violets in the soft meadow, and lilies, and 
 hyacinths, and the narcissus which the earth brought forth as 
 a snare to the fair-faced maiden, by the counsel of Zeus and 
 to pleasure the Lord of many Guests. Wondrously bloomed 
 the flower, a marvel for all to see, whether deathless gods or 
 deathly men. From its root grew forth a hundred blossoms, 
 and with its fragrant odour the wide heaven above and the 
 whole earth laughed, and the salt wave of the sea. Then the 
 maiden marvelled, and stretched forth both her hands to seize 
 the fair plaything, but the wide-wayed earth gaped in the 
 Nysian plain, and up rushed the Prince, the Host of many 
 Guests, the many-named son of Cronos, with his immortal 
 horses. Maugre her will he seized her, and drave her off 
 weeping in his golden chariot, but she shrilled aloud, calling 
 on Father Cronides, the highest of gods and the best. But he 
 far off sat apart from the gods in his temple haunted by pray- 
 ers, receiving goodly victims from mortal men. By the design 
 of Zeus did the brother of Zeus lead the maiden away, the 
 Lord of Many, the Host of many Guests, with his deathless 
 horses ; right sore against her will, even he of many names, 
 the son of Cronos. 
 
 Now, so long as the Goddess beheld the earth, and the 
 
126 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 starry heaven, and the tide of the teeming sea, and the rays 
 of the sun, and still hoped to behold her mother dear, and the 
 tribes of the eternal gods ; even so long, despite her sorrow, 
 hope warmed her high heart ; then rang the mountain peaks, 
 and the depths of the sea, to her immortal voice, and her lady 
 mother heard her. Then sharp pain caught at her heart, and 
 with her hands she tore the wimple about her ambrosial hair, 
 and cast a dark veil about her shoulders, and then sped she 
 like a bird over land and sea in her great yearning ; but to her 
 there was none that would tell the truth, none, either of gods, 
 or deathly men, nor even a bird came nigh her, a soothsaying 
 messenger. Thereafter for nine days did Lady Deo roam the 
 earth, with torches burning in her hands, nor ever in her sor- 
 row tasted she of ambrosia and sweet nectar, nor laved her 
 body in the baths. 
 
 The Goddess then went to Helios, that watches 
 both for gods and men, and stood before his car and 
 questioned him. 
 
 *' Helios, be pitiful on me that am a goddess, if ever by 
 word or deed I gladdened thy heart. My daughter, whom I 
 bore, a sweet plant and fair to see— it was her shrill voice I 
 heard through the air unharvested, even as of one violently 
 entreated, but I saw her not with my eyes. But do thou who 
 lookest down with thy rays from the holy air upon all the land 
 and sea, do thou tell me truly concerning my dear child, if 
 thou didst behold her ; who it is that has gone off and rav- 
 ished her away from me against her will ; who is it of gods or 
 mortal men ? " 
 
 On learning the truth from Helios, Demeter was 
 wroth with Zeus, and grief more dread and bitter fell 
 upon her. She held apart from the gathering of the 
 gods, and in the form of an ancient crone, who knows 
 no more of child-bearing and the gifts of Aphrodite, 
 she went among the cities and fields of men. The 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 127 
 
 daughters of Celeus, Prince of Eleusis, beheld her at 
 the wayside as they came to fetch the fair-flowing 
 water from the well. Quickly they told their mother, 
 Metaneira, and anon, sent by her, they ran, like deer 
 in the spring-time, along the hollow chariot way, their 
 hair dancing on their shoulders, in color like the crocus 
 flower. Speedily they brought her to the house of 
 Celeus, and as the goddess stood on the threshold her 
 head touched the roof-beam, and she filled the doorway 
 with the Hght divine. Wonder and awe seized the 
 mother, and she rose from her high seat and bade the 
 goddess be seated. Then Demeter sat down and held 
 the veil before her face. Long in sorrow and silence 
 sat she so, and spake to no man nor made any sign, but 
 smileless she sat, nor tasted food nor drink, wasting 
 with long desire for her deep-bosomed daughter. 
 
 Comforted at length by Metaneira, Demeter takes 
 charge of the new-born babe, Demophoon, child of 
 many prayers, sent to Metaneira in her later years and 
 beyond her hope. He grew like a god, upon no mortal 
 food, for Demeter anointed him with ambrosia, breath- 
 ing sweetness over him and keeping him in her bosom. 
 At night she was wont to hide him in the fire like a 
 brand, and she would have made him exempt from age 
 and death forever, had not the mother spied on her in 
 the night from her fragrant chamber, and cried aloud in 
 terror. Then Demeter, in her wrath, threw the child 
 upon the ground, assumed her immortal shape, declared 
 her divinity, and ordained the establishment of her 
 worship in Eleusis. Celeus accordingly built an altar 
 and a temple. But the grief of the Goddess again 
 came upon her. The most dread and terrible of years 
 did she bring for mortals upon the fruitful earth, and 
 the earth would not send up its seed. Zeus sent Iris to 
 
128 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 command Demeter to return to Olympus, but she 
 thought no more for ever to enter fragrant Olympus, 
 and no more to allow the earth to bear her fruit, until 
 her eyes should behold her fair-faced daughter. 
 
 When the far-seeing Zeus, the lord of the thunder- 
 peal, had heard the thing, he sent Hermes to Erebus to 
 win over Hades with soft words, and persuade him to 
 bring up holy Persephone into the light that her mother 
 might behold her and that her anger might relent. 
 And the Prince of the Dead did not disobey, but with 
 loving words addressed Persephone, and in his golden 
 chariot brought her to the temple where dwelt Demeter. 
 But first he gave her stealthily sweet pomegranate seed 
 to eat, that she might not abide for ever beside revered 
 Demeter. So Demeter and her daughter did cheer each 
 other the livelong day with love in oneness of heart, 
 and their minds ceased from sorrow, and great gladness 
 did each win from other. But the daughter had eaten 
 of the food of the dead, and Zeus decreed that she must 
 dwell in Hades a third portion of the year ; but when 
 the earth blossomed with all manner of fragrant flowers, 
 then should she come forth again from beneath the 
 murky gloom and abide among the Olympian gods with 
 her mother. So Demeter is comforted and is reconciled 
 with Zeus, 
 
 Speedily she sent up the grain from the rich glebe, and the 
 wide earth was heavy with leaves and flowers ; and she has- 
 tened, and showed the thing to the kings, the dealers of doom ; 
 to Triptolemus, and Diodes the charioteer, and mighty Eu- 
 molpus, and Celeus the leader of the people ; she showed 
 them the manner of her rites, and taught them her goodly 
 mysteries, holy mysteries which none may violate, or search 
 into, or noise abroad, for the great curse from the gods re- 
 strains the voice. Happy is he among deathly men who hath 
 
'I'he Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 129 
 
 beheld these things ! And he that is uninitiate, and hath no 
 lot in them, hath never equal lot in death beneath the murky 
 gloom. ^ 
 
 Now when the Goddess had given instruction in all her 
 rites, they went to Olympus, to the gathering of the other 
 gods. There the Goddesses dwell beside Zeus the Lord of the 
 Thunder. Holy and revered are they. Right happy is he 
 among mortal men whom they dearly love ; speedily do they 
 send as a guest to his lofty hall Plutus, who giveth wealth to 
 mortal men. But come thou that boldest the land of fragrant 
 Eleusis, and sea-girt Paros, and rocky Antron, come, Lady 
 Deo ! Queen and giver of goodly gifts, and bringer of the 
 Seasons ; come thou and thy daughter, beautiful Persephone, 
 and of your grace grant me goodly substance in requital of 
 my song ; but I wiU mind me of thee, and of other min- 
 strelsy. 
 
 With the name of Homer Greek tradition coupled 
 that of another epic poet, Hesiod. But the personality 
 of Hesiod does not entirely elude us, as does that of 
 Homer. He himself gives us in his poems a number of 
 facts about his life. His father was a citizen of Cyme, 
 in Asia Minor, and migrated to the little town of Ascra, 
 in Boeotia, at the foot of Mount Helicon, 
 
 Ascra, in winter vile, most villainous 
 In summer, and at no time glorious, 
 
 as the poet describes his home. There Hesiod was 
 born and spent his life. On his father's death his 
 brother, Perses, defrauded him of his rightful share in 
 
 » The poet has reference here to the Mysteries celebrated each year at 
 Eleusis— the purest and most spiritual of all forms of Greek worship. We do 
 not know what doctrines were inculcated there, but the greatest minds of 
 Greece always refer with profound respect and awe to the rites, which seem to 
 have impressed upon the initiated the belief in the immortality of the soul, 
 and the conviction that, for those whose hands and hearts were pure, all would 
 be well in the future life. The Eleusinian Mysteries have not been withont 
 influence upon some of the rites of the Christian church. 
 
130 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 the estate — an event which embittered Hesiod and in- 
 spired many of his moral teachings. As to the date of 
 Hesiod, Herodotus speaks of him as a contemporary of 
 Homer ; but he was undoubtedly later than the period 
 of the Iliad zxiA Odyssey^ the influence of which is read- 
 ily distinguished in his poems. It is probable that he 
 lived somewhere about 800 B. C. 
 
 "Homer and Hesiod," says Herodotus, "were the 
 first to compose theogonies and to give the gods their 
 epithets, to allot them their several offices and occupa- 
 tions, and to describe their forms." Asa poet Hesiod 
 cannot rank with Homer for a moment ; but his influence 
 upon the Greeks as a teacher of practical morals and 
 religion, or rather theology, was comparable to that of 
 Homer alone. The colonists from Ionia, who settled 
 in western Greece, among whom was Hesiod's father, 
 brought with them something of the culture and of the 
 literary and social traditions which were embodied in 
 the Ionic epic. Although brought up in an environment 
 totally different from that which had produced the Ho- 
 meric poetry, Hesiod's writings throughout reveal a 
 close dependence upon Homer, both in the conception 
 of the universe and the gods, and in the language and 
 verse through which he gives expression to his teachings. 
 
 Alexander the Great once said that Homer was 
 reading for kings, Hesiod for peasants. This contrast 
 reflects the difference both in the environment out of 
 which the two branches of the epic sprung and also the 
 purpose of the two poets. The Homeric poems were 
 perfected in Ionia, where life was eager and bustling, 
 occupied with adventures of the sea and in constant 
 contact with travellers from strange lands ; where, too, 
 the stories of the Trojan war were sung by wandering 
 minstrels. Life in Boeotia offered a striking contrast. 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 13 1 
 
 Not only were the Boeotians less imaginative than the 
 lonians, but their daily routine of agricultural and pas- 
 toral labors was unbroken by stirring adventures of the 
 present or thrilling tales of the past. Hesiod, besides, 
 seems to scorn the romances of Homer, as he indicates 
 in the passage quoted below, and aims rather to tell the 
 plain, homely truths of the farm to narrating the glow- 
 ing fictions of the heroic age. 
 
 Had he lived a few centuries later, Hesiod would not 
 have been a poet, but a writer of prose, for both his 
 subjects and his gifts are essentially prosaic. But prose 
 had not yet come into being, since writing was not yet 
 employed for literary purposes and there was no read- 
 ing public. So Hesiod wrote in verse, as all of his con- 
 temporaries did, and his sayings were thus easily 
 remembered ; for the lore which the farmers, to whom 
 he addressed himself in the main, should carry with 
 them in their work, had to be conveyed in the form 
 most easily memorized. This was the origin and the 
 justification of early Greek didactic poetry. 
 
 In the T^eogof^iJlesiod. brings together the legends 
 about the origin of the universe and the gods, and at- 
 tempts to reduce to a system the often vague and con- 
 flicting stories of early mythology. The prelude is a 
 rhapsody in honor of the Muses, in which the poet de- 
 scribes their dances on Helicon, the hymns they sing in 
 praise of the gods, their employments in heaven, their 
 birth and influence ; he finally invokes their blessing 
 and announces his theme. I use Elton's translation 
 throughout. 
 
 Begin we from the Muses, O my song ! 
 Whose mansion is the mountain vast and holy 
 Of Helicon ; where aye with delicate feet 
 Fast by Jove's altar and purpureal fount 
 
ija Homer to Theocritus 
 
 They tread the measured round : their tender limbs 
 
 Lav*d in Permessian waters, or the stream 
 
 Of blest Olmfus, or pure Hippocrene, 
 
 On the high top of Helicon they wont 
 
 To lead the mazy measure, breathing grace, 
 
 Enkindling love, and glance their quivering feet. 
 
 Thence break they forth tumultuous, and enwrapt 
 
 Wide with dim air, through silence of the night 
 
 Shape their ethereal way, and send abroad 
 
 A voice in stilly darkness beautiful. 
 
 They to Hesiod erst 
 Have taught their stately song ; the whilst his flocks 
 He fed beneath all-sacred Helicon. 
 Thus first those goddesses their heavenly speech 
 Addressed, — th' Olympian Muses born from Jove : 
 " Night- watching shepherds ! beings of reproach ! 
 Ye grosser natures, hear ! We know to speak 
 Full many a fiction false, yet seeming-true, 
 Or utter at our will the things of truth." 
 
 So said they, daughters of the mighty Jove 
 All-eloquent, and gave unto my hand 
 Wondrous ! a verdant rod ; a laurel-branch 
 Of bloom unwithering ; and a voice imbreath'd 
 Divine ; that I might utter forth in song 
 The future and the past : and bade me sing 
 The blessed race existing evermore, 
 And first and last resound the Muses' praise. 
 
 From the Muse 
 And Phoebus, archer-god, arise on earth 
 Minstrels and men of song ; but kings arise 
 From Jove himself. Unutterably blest 
 He whom the Muses love. A melting voice 
 Flows ever from his lips : and is there one 
 Whose aching heart some sudden anguish wrings ? 
 But lo I the bard, the Muse's minister. 
 Awakes the strain : he sings the mighty deeds 
 Of men of yore : the praise of blessed gods 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 133 
 
 In heaven : and straight, though stricken to the soul, 
 He shall forget, nor aught of all his griefs 
 Remember : so the blessing of the Muse 
 Hath instantaneous turn'd his woes away. 
 
 Daughters of Jove, all hail ! but O inspire 
 The lovely song ! the sacred race proclaim 
 Of ever-living gods ; who sprang from Earth, 
 From the starr'd Heaven, and from the gloomy Night, 
 And whom the salt Deep nourish'd into life. 
 Declare how first the gods and earth became ; 
 The rivers, and th' immeasurable sea 
 High-raging in its foam : the glittering stars, 
 The wide-impending heaven ; and who from these 
 Of deities arose, dispensing good : 
 Say how their treasures, how their honours each 
 Allotted shar'd : how first they held abode 
 On many-cav'd Olympus : — this declare, 
 Ye Muses I dwellers of the heavenly mount, 
 From the beginning ; say, who first arose ? 
 
 1-15; 32-48; 137-165. 
 Then follows a Cosmogony^ or Origin of the Universe, 
 From Chaos came forth Earth, Hell, Love, and Night. 
 Night brings forth Day ; Earth produces Heaven and 
 the Sea. The Cosmogony blends into the Theogony 
 proper, or Origin of the Gods^ into which are interwoven 
 some of the legendary fables which stand out in Greek 
 mythology, such as the crime and punishment of Pro- 
 metheus, the creation of Pandora,^ the first woman, and 
 the battle of the gods and the Titans. 
 
 THE CREATION OF WOMAN. 
 
 [Zens, enraged by the gift of fire to men by Prometheus, devises ill 
 for mankind, and commands Hephaestus to fashion woman.] 
 
 And now the crippled artist-god, 
 Illustrious, moulded from the yielding clay 
 A bashful maiden's image, as advis*d 
 
 * The &mous story of Pandora's casket is found in the Works and Days, 
 
134 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Saturnian Jove. Then Pallas azure-eyed 
 Bound with the zone her bosom, and with robe 
 Of silvery whiteness deck'd her folded limbs ; 
 With her own hands a variegated veil 
 Plac'd on her head, all-marvellous to sight ; 
 Twin'd with her tresses a delicious wreath 
 Of mingled verdure and fresh-blooming flowers ; 
 And clasp'd her brows with diadem of gold : — 
 This Vulcan with his glorious hands had framed 
 Elaborate, pleasing to the sire of gods. 
 Full many works of curious craft, to sight 
 Wondrous, he grav'd thereon ; full many beasts 
 Of earth, and fishes of the rolling main ; 
 Of these innumerable he there had wrought — 
 And elegance of art there shown profuse. 
 And admirable — e'en as though they moved 
 In very life, and utter'd animal sounds. 
 
 But now when this fair mischief, seeming-good, 
 His hand had perfected, he led her forth 
 Exulting in her grac'd attire, the gift 
 Of Pallas, in the midst of gods and men. 
 On men and gods in that same moment seiz'd 
 The ravishment of wonder, when they saw 
 The deep deceit, th* inextricable snare. 
 For lo ! from her descend the tender sex 
 Of Woman ~a pernicious kind : on earth 
 They dwell, destructive to the race of men : 
 With Luxury they, not life -consuming Want, 
 i'lFitly consorted. And as drones within 
 j The close-roof d hive, cooperative in works 
 i Slothful and base, are nurtur'd by the bees, — 
 These all the day till sinks the ruddy sun 
 Haste on the wing, their murm'ring labours ply. 
 And still cement the white and waxen comb ; 
 ', Those lurk within the sheltering hive close-roof 'd, 
 i And gather in their greedy maw the spoils 
 VOf others' labour, — such are womankind ; 
 They whom the Thunderer sent, a bane to man, 
 111 helpmates of intolerable toils. 
 
 Theogony, 759-800. 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hcsiod 135 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE GODS AND TITANS. 
 
 All on that day rous'd infinite the war, 
 
 Female and male : the Titan deities, 
 
 The gods from Saturn sprung, and those whom Jove 
 
 From subterraneous gloom releas'd to light : 
 
 Terrible, strong, of force enormous ; burst 
 
 A hundred arms from all their shoulders huge ; 
 
 From all their shoulders fifty heads upsprang 
 
 0*er limbs of sinewy mould. They then array'd 
 
 Against the Titans in fell combat stood, 
 
 And in their nervous grasp wielded aloft 
 
 Precipitous rocks. On th* other side alert 
 
 The Titan phalanx clos'd : then hands of strength 
 
 Join'd prowess, and display 'd the works of war. 
 
 Tremendous then th' immeasurable sea 
 
 Roar'd ; earth resounded ; the wide heaven throughout 
 
 Groan'd shattering : from its base Olympus vast 
 
 Reel'd to the violence of gods : the shock 
 
 Of deep concussion rock'd the dark abyss 
 
 Remote of Tartarus : the shrilling din 
 
 Of hollow tramplings, and strong battle-strokes, 
 
 And measureless uproar of wild pursuit. 
 
 So they reciprocal their weapons hurl'd 
 
 Groan-scattering ; and the shout of either host 
 
 Burst in exhorting ardour to the stars 
 
 Of heaven ; with mighty war-cries either host 
 
 Encountering clos'd. 
 
 Nor longer then did Jove 
 Curb his full power ; but instant in his soul 
 There grew dilated strength, and it was fiU'd 
 With his omnipotence. At once he loos'd 
 His whole of might, and put forth all the god. 
 The vaulted sky, the mount Olympian, flash'd 
 With his continual presence : for he pass'd 
 Incessant forth, and scatter'd fires on fires. 
 Hurl'd from his hardy grasp the lightnings flew 
 Reiterated swift ; the whirling flash 
 Cast sacred splendour, and the thunderbolt 
 Fell : roar'd around the nurture-yielding earth 
 
136 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 In conflagration, far on every side 
 
 Th' immensity of forests crackling blaz'd : 
 
 Yea, the broad earth burn'd red, the streams that mix 
 
 With ocean, and the deserts of the sea. 
 
 Round and around the Titan brood of Earth 
 
 RoU'd the hot vapour on its fiery surge ; 
 
 The liquid heat air's pure expanse divine 
 
 Sufifus'd : the radiance keen of quivering flame 
 
 That shot from writhen lightnings, each dim orb, 
 
 Strong though they were, intolerable smote, 
 
 And scorch'd their blasted vision. Through the void 
 
 Of Erebus the preternatural glare 
 
 Spread, mingling fire with darkness. But to sec 
 
 With human eye, and hear with ear of man, 
 
 Had been, as if midway the spacious heaven, 
 
 Hurtling with earth, shock' d — e'en as nether earth 
 
 Crash'd from the centre, and the wreck of heaven 
 
 Fell ruining from high. So vast the din. 
 
 When, gods encountering gods, the clang of arms 
 
 Commingled, and the tumult roar'd from heaven. 
 
 Shrill rush'd the hollow winds, and rous'd throughout 
 
 A shaking, and a gathering dark of dust, 
 
 The crash of thunders and the glare of flames, 
 
 The fiery darts of Jove : full in the midst 
 
 Of either host there swept the roaring sound 
 
 Of tempest, and the shouting : mingled rose 
 
 The din of dreadful battle. There stern strength 
 
 Put forth the proof of prowess, till the fight 
 
 Declin'd. 
 
 Theogony^ 883-948. 
 
 THE ABODE OF NIGHT. 
 
 There of Night 
 Obscure the dismal dwellings rise, with mists 
 Of darkness overspread. Full in the front i 
 Atlas upholding heaven his forehead rears 
 And indefatigable hands. There Night 
 And Day near passing, mutual greeting still 
 
"^^he Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 137 
 
 Exchange, alternate as they glide athwart 
 The brazen threshold vast. This enters, that 
 Forth issues ; nor the two can one abode 
 At once constrain. This passes forth, and roams 
 The round of earth ; that in the mansion waits, 
 Till the due season of her travel come. 
 Lo ! from the one the far-discerning light 
 Beams upon earthly dwellers ; but a cloud 
 Of pitchy darkness veils the other round, 
 Pernicious Night, aye leading in her hand 
 Sleep, Death's half-brother ; sons of gloomy Night, 
 There hold they habitation. Death and Sleep, 
 Dread deities ; nor them the shining Sun 
 E'er with his beam contemplates, when he climbs 
 The cope of heaven, nor when from heaven descends. 
 
 Theogonyy 988-1008. 
 
 The Works and Days is Hesiod's longest poem. In 
 its present form it consists of three parts — a poem, 
 containing moral advice, addressed to his brother Per- 
 ses ; then the Works, on the operations of the farm ; 
 and lastly the Days, or calendar of lucky and unlucky 
 days for doing particular things. It is the second por- 
 tion, the WorkSf which furnished Vergil with the model 
 for his GeorgicSy though the original cannot compare 
 with the imitation as a work of literary art. Through- 
 out the poem are found pithy sayings which passed into 
 proverbs, such as " The half is greater than the whole," 
 " The immortal gods placed sweat before virtue," and 
 many others still current. Here are a few characteris- 
 tic passages : 
 
 THE IRON AGE. 
 Oh would that Nature had denied me birth 
 Midst this fifth race, this iron age of earth ; 
 That long before within the grave I lay, 
 Or long hereafter could behold the day ! 
 Corrupt the race, with toils and griefs opprest, 
 
138 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Nor day nor night can yield a pause of rest : 
 
 Still do the gods a weight of care bestow, 
 
 Though still some good is mingled with the woe. 
 
 Jove on this race of many-languag'd man 
 
 Speeds the swift ruin which but slow began ; 
 
 For scarcely spring they to the light of day, 
 
 Ere age untimely strews their temples gray. 
 
 Nor sire with son, with brethren brethren blend, 
 
 Nor host with guest, nor friend, as erst, with friend : 
 
 Reckless of heaven's revenge the sons behold 
 
 Their hoary parents wax too swiftly old ; 
 
 And impious point the keen dishonouring tongue. 
 
 With hard reproofs and bitter mockeries hung : 
 
 Nor grateful in declining age repay 
 
 The nurturing fondness of their better day. 
 
 Now man's right hand is law : for spoil they wait. 
 
 And lay their mutual cities desolate : 
 
 Unhonour'd he by whom his oath is fear*d ; 
 
 Nor are the good belov'd, the just rever'd ; 
 
 With favour grac'd the evil-doer stands, 
 
 Nor curbs with shame nor equity his hands ; 
 
 With crooked slanders wounds the virtuous man, 
 
 And stamps with perjury what hate began. 
 
 Lo ! ill-rejoicing Envy, wing'd with lies, 
 
 Scattering calumnious rumors as she flies, 
 
 The steps of miserable men pursue, 
 
 With haggard aspect, blasting to the view. 
 
 Till those fair forms in snowy raiment bright 
 
 From the broad earth have wing'd their heavenly flight, 
 
 Caird to th' eternal synod of the skies, 
 
 The virgins Modesty and Justice rise : 
 
 And leave forsaken man to mourn below 
 
 The weight of evil and the cureless woe. 
 
 Works and Days, 227-264. 
 
 ON BORROWING. 
 If aught thou borrowest, well the measure weigh ; 
 The same good measure to thy friend repay : 
 Or more, if more thou canst, unask'd concede ; 
 So shall he prompt supply thy future need. 
 
The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod 139 
 
 Dishonest gains avoid : dishonest gain 
 
 Equivalent to loss will prove thy bane. 
 
 Who loves thee, love ; him woo that friendly woos : 
 
 Give to the giver ; but to him refuse 
 
 That giveth not : their gifts the generous earn, 
 
 But none bestows where never is return. 
 
 Works and Days, 479-488. 
 
 THRESHING TIME. 
 
 When first Orion's beamy strength is born, 
 
 Then let thy labourers thresh the sacred corn. 
 
 Smooth be the level floor, on breezy ground, 
 
 Where winnowing gales may sweep in eddies round ; 
 
 Hoard in thy ample bins the meted grain ; 
 
 And now, as I advise, thy hireling swain 
 
 From forth thy house dismiss, when all the store 
 
 Of kindly food is laid within thy door ; 
 
 And to thy service let a female come. 
 
 But childless, for a child were burdensome. 
 
 A sharp-tooth'd dog maintain, nor thrifty spare 
 
 To feed his fierceness high with pampering care ; 
 
 Lest the day-slumbering thief thy nightly door 
 
 Wakeful besiege, and sppil thy plunder'd store. 
 
 For ox and mule the yearly fodder lay. 
 
 And pile th' abundant straw, the plenteous hay : 
 
 This care dispatch'd, refresh the wearied swain 
 
 With rest, and loose thy oxen from the wain. 
 
 Works and Days, 831-848. 
 
 ON MARRYING. 
 
 When full matureness crowns thy manhood's pride. 
 Lead to thy mansion the consenting bride : 
 Thrice ten thy sum of years, the nuptial prime ; 
 Nor fall far short, nor far exceed the time. 
 Four years the ripening virgin should consume, 
 And wed the fifth of her expanded bloom. 
 A virgin choose, that morals chaste, imprest 
 By thy wise love, may stamp her yielding breast ; 
 
140 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Some known and neighbouring damsel be thy prize. 
 And wary bend around thy cautious eyes ; 
 Lest by a choice imprudent thou be found 
 The merry mock of all the dwellers round. 
 No better lot has Providence assign'd 
 Than a fair woman with a virtuous mind : 
 Nor can a worse befal, than when thy fate 
 Allots a worthless, feast-contriving mate. 
 
 Works and Days, 963-978, 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE ELEGIAC, IAMBIC, AND MELIC POETS 
 
 The Change in the Social and Political Conditions of Greece 
 — Lyric Poetry — The three Branches of Lyric — Elegiac 
 Poetry — Callinus — Tyrtaeus — Mimnermus — Solon — 
 Theognis — The Anthology— Iambic Poetry — A;-chilochus 
 — Melic Poetry— Alcae us— Sappho — Anacreon. 
 
 Between the age represented by Homer and Hesiod 
 and the end of the sixth century great changes took 
 place in Greece, essentially altering the conditions of 
 social and political life. These changes were, briefly 
 stated, the overthrow of monarchies, colonizing move- 
 ments, and the extension of commerce. Where there 
 had been monarchies we now find either oligarchies, as 
 in Sparta and Athens, or tyrannies,* as in Corinth, 
 Lesbos, and Syracuse. Toward the end of this period 
 democracies took the place of tyrannies. It was 
 a period of revolutions, and revolutions stir men's 
 minds and broaden their experiences. The tendency 
 of the time was toward the liberty of the individual. 
 The sending out of colonies and the expansion of com- 
 merce were results of the political unrest, and also 
 tended to develop the individual and bring the private 
 citizen into prominence. 
 
 Now lyric poetry is essentially the expression of 
 the individual. It delineates the poet's own thoughts 
 and feelings, and as such is contrasted with epic 
 
 *The word " tyrant" in Greek does not necessarily imply an oppressive 
 ruler, but simply one who has usurped authority or who holds it by uncon* 
 •titutional means. 
 
T42 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 poetry, the narration of external circumstances, and 
 with dramatic poetry, the representation of another's 
 experiences. The Greeks themselves had no word 
 which corresponds to this meaning of ** lyric,*' which 
 to them meant only that which is sung or recited to 
 the accompaniment of the lyre. They used less com- 
 prehensive designations for the various kinds of poetry 
 that were neither epic nor dramatic. But the charac- 
 teristics implied in our modern term are found in the 
 Greek poetry of which we speak, and are traceable to 
 the political and social movements above outlined. 
 
 The germs of Greek lyric poetry are to be sought 
 in the early history of the people. We have already 
 spoken of the wedding-chant and the dirge, the hymn 
 to the gods, and the peopk's song in the pre-Homeric 
 days. There were songs appropriate to almost every 
 situation in life. In these the poet found occasion to 
 express his own feelings, and they all developed into 
 recognized branches of lyric poetry. Only a few 
 remnants of these early attempts are preserved to us, 
 of which one of the oldest and the most interesting 
 is the *' Swallow Song," which the boys of Rhodes 
 sang each year, going fom house to house and demand- 
 ing a present for the good news of returning spring: 
 
 She is here, she is here, the swallow ! 
 Fair seasons bringing, fair years to follow I 
 
 Her belly is white, 
 
 Her back black as night ! 
 
 From xour rich house 
 
 Roll forth to us 
 
 Tarts, wine, and cheese : 
 
 Or if not these, 
 
 Oatmeal and barley-cake 
 
 The swallow deigns to take. 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 143 
 
 What shall v^e have? or must we hence away? 
 Thanks, if you give; if not, we'll make you pay! 
 
 The house-door hence we'll carry; 
 
 Nor shall the lintel tarry; 
 
 From hearth and home your wife we'll rob; 
 She is so small 
 
 To take her off will be an easy job! 
 Whate'er you give, give largess free! 
 Up! open, open to the swallow's call! 
 No grave old men, but merry children we! 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 We have also a Linus-song of great antiquity: 
 
 O, Linus, thee the gods did grace; 
 
 For unto thee they gave, most dear. 
 First among men the song to raise 
 
 With shrill voice sounding high and clear; 
 But Phoebus thee in anger slays, 
 
 And Muses mourn around thy bier. 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 The Greek poetry which we designate as lyric was 
 known to the Greeks themselves under three general 
 classes, each named either after the metre employed 
 or^the manner of its recitation. These classes are 
 Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic. Their literary develop- 
 ment was in this order. The two first classes received 
 their names from the metres used. The ancient elegy 
 was always composed in the elegiac couplet, consisting 
 of a dactylic hexameter followed by the so-called penta- 
 meter.* Iambic poetry was written in the iambic verse, 
 generally consisting of six iambic feet.'' The word 
 
 'Illustrated in these lines of Longfellow: 
 Now the meadows are blooming with flowers of various colors, 
 And with untaught throats carol the garrulous birds. 
 
 "As this line from Shakespeare: 
 
 Then let's make haste away and look unto the main. 
 
144 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 raelic is derived from 7nelos, " song V (cf . melody), and 
 was applied strictly to poetry intended for singing. 
 So the term ** choral" was used for melic poetry com- 
 posed with a view to production by a chorus with the 
 accompaniment of the dance. To these three classes 
 of lyric poetry should be added the epigram, the short 
 commemorative poem designed to be inscribed on a 
 tombstone or monument of some kind. 
 
 The Greek word for elegy is believed to be Phry- 
 gian in origin, and elegiac poetry was always in early 
 time recited to the accompaniment of the flute, which 
 was a Phrygian invention. The subject of the Greek 
 elegy ranges from war to political philosophy, from 
 moral advice to the pleasures of life, but it is always 
 the expression of the poet's own feelings. The later 
 Greek elegy, like the Roman imrtations, was largely 
 on the subject of love. But the modern meaning, 
 a poem of sorrow or melancholy, was not present to 
 the mind of the classical Greeks. 
 
 The earliest Greek elegiac poet of whom we know 
 was Callinus of Ephesus, who flourished about the be- 
 ginning of the seventh century B. C. In the one 
 extant poem he exhorts his countrymen to battle 
 against the invading barbarians : 
 
 How long will ye slumber? when will ye take heart 
 And fear the reproach of your neighbors at hand? 
 Fie! comrades, to think ye have peace for your part, 
 Whilst the sword and the arrow are wasting our land! 
 Shame! grasp the shield close! cover well the bold breast! 
 Aloft raise the spear as ye march on the foe! 
 With no thought of retreat, with no terror confessed, 
 Hurl your last dart in dying, or strike your last blow. 
 Oh, 'tis noble and glorious to fight for our all,— 
 For our country, our children, the wife of our love! 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 145 
 
 Death comes not the sooner; no soldier shall fall, 
 Ere his thread is spun out by the sisters above. 
 Once to die is man's doom; rush, rush to the fight! 
 He cannot escape, though his blood were Jove's own. 
 For a while let him cheat the shrill arrow by flight; 
 Fate will catch him at last in his chamber alone. 
 Unlamented he dies; — unregretted. Not so, 
 When, the tower of his country, in death falls the brave; 
 Thrice hallowed his name amongst all, high or low. 
 As with blessings alive, so with tears in the grave. 
 
 Henry Nelson Coleridge. 
 
 The few extant elegies of Tyrtaeus very closely 
 resemble in subject and in style this poem of Callinus. 
 Tyrtaeus lived early in the seventh century, and is 
 said to have been an Athenian who migrated to Sparta 
 when the Spartans were engaged in war with the Mes- 
 senians. His songs so thrilled the Spartans that they 
 soon brought the war to a victorious close. His 
 march song was sung before and during battle, and 
 became almost the national hymn of the Spartans. 
 The following is the longest extant poem — an Exhor- 
 tation to Battle. 
 
 How glorious fall the valiant, sword in hand, 
 In front of battle for their native land! 
 But oh I what ills await the wretch that yields, 
 A recreant outcast from his country's fields! 
 The mother whom he loves shall quit her home. 
 An aged father at his side shall roam; 
 His little ones shall weeping with him go. 
 And a young wife participate his woe; 
 While scorned and scowled upon by every face. 
 They pine for food, and beg from place to place. 
 Stain of his breed! dishonoring manhood's form. 
 All ills shall cleave to him: affliction's storm 
 Shall blind him wandering in the vale of years, 
 Till, lost to all but ignominious fears, 
 
14^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 He shall not blush to leave a recreant's name, 
 
 And children like himself, inured to shame. 
 
 But we will combat for our father's land, 
 
 And we will drain the lifeblood where we stand, 
 
 To save our children: — fight ye side by side, 
 
 And serried close, ye men of youthful pride, 
 
 Disdaining fear, and deeming light the cost 
 
 Of life itself in glorious battle lost. 
 
 Leave not our sires to stem the unequal fight, 
 
 Whose limbs are nerved no more with buoyant might; 
 
 Nor, lagging backward, let the younger breast 
 
 Permit the man of age (a sight unblest) 
 
 To welter in the combat's foremost thrust. 
 
 His hoary head disheveled in the dust. 
 
 And venerable bosom bleeding bare. 
 
 But youth's fair form, though fallen, is ever fair, 
 
 And beautiful in death the boy appears, 
 
 The hero boy, that dies in blooming years: 
 
 In man's regret he lives, and woman's tears; 
 
 More sacred than in life, and lovelier far, 
 
 For having perished in the front of war. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 Far different are the elegiacs of Mimnermus of 
 Smyrna, who lived toward the end of the seventh cen- 
 tury. Brought up in the soft luxury of Ionia, his 
 poems breathe of indolence and pleasure, but pervad- 
 ing all is a tender melancholy induced by the reflec- 
 tion that youth is soon past and old age and death are 
 at hand. **When the flower of youth is past, " he says, 
 **it is best to die at once," and again, **may the doom 
 of death overtake me, free from disease and care, in 
 my sixtieth year." This poem is addressed to his 
 sweetheart Nanno: 
 
 What's life or pleasure wanting Aphrodite? 
 
 When to the gold-haired goddess cold am I, 
 When love and love's soft gifts no more delight me, 
 
 Nor stolen dalliance, then I fain would die! 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 147 
 
 Ah! fair and lovely bloom the flowers of youth; 
 
 On men and maids they beautifully smile: 
 But soon comes doleful eld, who, void of ruth, 
 
 Indifferently afflicts the fair and vile; 
 Then cares wear out the heart; old eyes forlorn 
 
 Scarce reck the very sunshine to behold — 
 Unloved by youths, of every maid the scorn — 
 
 So hard a lot God lays upon the old. 
 
 J. A. Symonds, Sr. 
 
 Solon, the great lawgiver of Athens and one of the 
 seven sages of Greece (first part of sixth century), 
 used the elegy both as a vehicle of political teaching 
 and to record his reflections on life in general. Some 
 of his early verses stirred the Athenians to renew the 
 struggle with the Megarians for the possession of 
 Salamis. '*Up, let us go to Salamis, to fight for the 
 lovely island and to wipe out our deep disgrace." 
 Referring to the reforms which he had carried through 
 by arbitrating between the rich and the poor, he says: 
 **I gave the common folk as much as is enough, 
 neither less nor more than their due meed ; but as to 
 those who had rule and the splendor of wealth, to 
 those also I gave counsel, even that they should not 
 uphold cruelty. I took my stand, I spread my strong 
 shield over both, and suffered neither to prevail by 
 wrong." But he sees the dangers that encompass 
 the state: "From storm-clouds descend furious snow 
 and hail, and thunder is born of bright lightning; so 
 great men produce the overthrow of states, and into 
 the bondage of a despot's power the people fall unwit- 
 tingly. Easy it is to raise the storm, but hard to curb 
 the whirlwind ; yet must we now take thought of all 
 these things." 
 
 Solon's prayer is interesting for the light which it 
 
148 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 throws on the moral ideals of the time: ** Grant us 
 wealth from the blessed gods, and from all men a good 
 name. May I be sweet to my friend and bitter to my 
 foe, revered by the one and dreaded by the other. 
 Money I desire, but no ill-gotten gain ; for the wealth 
 that the gods give lasts and fleets not away, but the 
 fruits of insolence and crime bring vengeance sure, 
 though slow. Zeus seeth all things, and like a wind 
 scattering the clouds, which shakes the deep places of 
 the sea and rages over the corn land, and comes at 
 last to heaven, the seat of gods, and makes a clear 
 sky to be seen, whereupon the sun breaks out in glory 
 and the clouds are gone — so is the vengeance of Zeus. 
 He may seem to forget, but sooner or later he strikes; 
 perchance the guilty man escapes, yet his blameless 
 children or remote posterity pay the penalty." 
 
 The greatest of all the elegiac poets as a moral 
 teacher was Theognis of Megara, who flourished about 
 550 B. C. His poems reveal the storm and stress of 
 the period in which he lived. Theognis was a noble- 
 man of this Dorian city, but driven out and dispos- 
 sessed by a democratic revolution he traveled here 
 and there in exile, his thoughts constantly embittered 
 by his own evil fortune. Most of his poems were 
 addressed to a young friend, Cyrnus, son of Polypas, 
 to whom he was greatly attached and for whose 
 guidance and instruction he wrote. Because of the 
 practical worldly wisdom of his maxims and the 
 respectability of his views Theognis was much in 
 vogue throughout the Greek world, and his writings 
 were condensed and used in the schools by the side of 
 Homer and Hesiod for the instruction of the young. 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 149 
 
 A part of this collection (about 1,400 lines) has come 
 down to us. A few selections follow in Frere's 
 translation : 
 
 A TRUE FRIEND 
 
 A trusty partisan, faithful and bold, 
 Is worth his weight in silver or in gold, 
 For times of trouble. But the race is rare; 
 Steady, determined men, ready to share 
 Good or ill fortune! Such, if such there are. 
 Could you survey the world and search it round* 
 And bring together all that could be found, 
 The largest company you could enroll, 
 A single vessel could embark the whole! 
 So few there are I the noble manly minds 
 Faithful and firm, the men that honour binds; 
 Impregnable to danger and to pain 
 And low seduction in the shape of gain. 
 
 BREEDING 
 
 With kine and horses, Cymus! we proceed 
 By reasonable rules, and choose a breed 
 For profit and increase, at any price; 
 Of a sound stock, without defect or vice. 
 
 But, in the daily matches that we make. 
 The price is everything; tor money's sake 
 Men marry; women are in marriage given: 
 The churl or ruffian that in wealth has thriven 
 May match his offspring with the proudest race: 
 Thus everything is mix'd, noble and basel 
 
 If then in outward manner, form, and mind 
 You find us a degraded, motley kind. 
 Wonder no more, my friend! the cause is plain. 
 And to lament the consequence is vain. 
 
 ADAPTATION 
 
 Join with the world; adopt with every man 
 His party views, his temper, and his plan; 
 
1 50 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Strive to avoid offense, study to please, 
 Like the sagacious inmate of the seas 
 That an accommodating colour brings, 
 Conforming to the rock to which he clings. 
 With every change of place changing his hue; 
 The model for a statesman such as you. 
 
 THEOGNIS* PRAYER 
 
 May Jove assist me to discharge the debt 
 Of kindness to my friends, and grant me yet 
 A further boon— revenge upon my foes! 
 With these accomplished, I could gladly close 
 My term of life — a fair requital made; 
 My friends rewarded, and my wrongs repaid. 
 Gratitude and revenge, before I die, 
 Might make me deem'd almost a deity! 
 
 THE BEST LOT 
 
 Not to be bom — never to see the sun- 
 No worldly blessing is a greater one! 
 And the next best is speedily to die, 
 And lapt beneath a load of earth to lie! 
 
 RESIGNATION 
 
 Entire and perfect happiness is never 
 Vouchsaf'd to man; but nobler minds endeavour 
 To keep their inward sorrows unreveal'd. 
 With meaner spirits nothing is conceal'd. 
 Weak, and unable to conform to fortune. 
 With rude rejoicing or complaint importune. 
 They vent their exultation or distress. 
 Whate'er betides us, grief or happiness. 
 The brave and wise will bear with steady mind 
 Th' allotment unforeseen and undefined 
 Of good or evil, which the gods bestow, 
 Promiscuously dealt to man below. 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 151 
 
 THE IMMORTAL FAME OF CYRNUS 
 
 Lo, I have given thee plumes wherewith to skim 
 The unfathomed deep, and lightly hover around 
 Earth's huge circumference. Thou shalt be found 
 At banquets on the breath of psean and hymn : 
 To shrill-voiced pipes with lips of seraphim, 
 
 Lovely young men thy rapturous fame shall sound ; 
 Yea, when thou liest lapped in the noiseless ground, 
 Thy name shall live, nor shall oblivion dim 
 Thy dawn of splendour. For these lands, these isles, 
 These multitudinous waves of refluent seas. 
 Shall be thy pleasure ground wherethrough to roam, 
 Borne by no steed, but wafted by the smiles 
 Of Muses violet-crowned, whose melodies. 
 While earth endures, shall make all earth thy home. 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 We have considered above the greatest of the poets 
 of this period who are known as elegiac poets. But 
 the elegy was cultivated also by poets whose greatest 
 achievements lay in another field, and throughout the 
 history of Greek literature the elegant elegiac couplet 
 was used by poets like Simonides, -^schylus, and 
 Sophocles, by prose writers such as Plato and Aristotle, 
 and a host of others, as an appropriate vehicle for the 
 expression of sentiments in honor of the dead, for 
 commemorative and dedicatory inscriptions, for con- 
 ceits on the subject of love, art, and in fact the 
 whole range of human interests. Most of those now 
 extant are found in a collection called the Anthology,* 
 in which are preserved several thousand short poems, 
 covering a range of over a thousand years. A few of 
 the most notable of these epigrams are here given : 
 
 » This Antholoey,— " Garland of Flowers," or, as we should say, "Golden 
 Treasury of Song, —was collected in the tenth century of our era. Many 
 other epigrams have since been added from inscriptions excavated in 
 Greece. 
 
152 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 SIMONIDES OF CEOS 
 
 THERMOPYLAE 
 
 Go, tell the Spartans, thou that passest by. 
 That here obedient to their laws we lie. 
 
 W. L. Bowles. 
 
 INCOMIUM ON THOSE WHO DIED AT THERMOPYLAE* 
 
 Of those who at Thermopylae were slain, 
 
 Glorious the doom and beautiful the lot ; 
 Their tomb an altar : men from tears refrain 
 
 To honour them, and praise, but mourn them not. 
 Such sepulchre nor drear decay 
 Nor all-destroying time shall waste ; this right have they. 
 Within their graves the home-bred glory 
 
 Of Greece was laid : this witness gives 
 Leonidas the Spartan, in whose story 
 
 A wreath of famous virtue ever lives. 
 
 Stirling. 
 
 PLATAEA 
 
 These to their country brought an endless name, 
 When death's dark cloud around themselves they drew ; 
 
 Nor dying did they die : their virtue's fame 
 From Hades brings them back to live anew. 
 
 Lord Neaves. 
 
 AESCHYLUS 
 
 EPITAPH WRITTEN BY HIMSELF 
 
 This tomb the dust of Aeschylus doth hide, 
 Euphorion's son, and fruitful Gela's pride : 
 How tried his valour Marathon may tell. 
 And long-haired Medes, who know it all too well. 
 
 Plumptre. 
 
 s This (kmous poem suits the context here, though not in elegiacs. 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 1^53 
 
 ION OF CHIOS 
 
 TO EURIPIDES 
 
 Hail, dear Euripides, for whom a bed 
 
 In black-leaved vales Pierian is spread : 
 
 Dead though thou art, yet know thy fame shall be 
 
 Like Homer's, green through all eternity. 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 PLATO 
 TO AN UNKNOWN 
 
 Thou wcrt the morning star among the living, 
 
 Ere thy fair light had fled ; 
 Now, having died, thou art, as Hesperus, giving 
 
 New splendour to the dead. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 SIMMIAS OF THEBES 
 
 TO SOPHOCLES 
 
 Quietly o*er the tomb of Sophocles, 
 Quietly, ivy, creep with tendrils green ; 
 
 And, roses, ope your petals everywhere, 
 While dewy shoots of grapevine peep between. 
 
 Upon the wise and honeyed poet's grave, 
 
 Whom Muse and Grace their richest treasures gave. 
 
 Lilla Cabot Perry. 
 
 CALLIMACHUS 
 
 TO HERACLEITUS 
 
 They told me, Heracleitus, they told me you were dead : 
 
 They brought me bitter news to hear and bitter tears to shed. 
 
 I wept, as I remembered, how often you and I 
 
 Had tired the sun with talking and sent him down the sky. 
 
 And now that thou art lying, my dear old Carian guest, 
 
 A handful of gray ashes, long, long ago at rest. 
 
 Still are thy pleasant voices, thy nightingales, awake, 
 
 For Death, he taketh all away, but them he cannot take. 
 
 Cory. 
 
154 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 JULIAN OF EGYPT 
 
 A FADED BEAUTY 
 
 I, Lais, who on conquered Greece looked down with haughty 
 
 pride ; 
 I, to whose courts in other days a swarm of lovers hied, 
 O, ever-lovely Venus ! now this mirror give to thee ; 
 For my present self I would not, and my past I cannot, see. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE TOMB 
 
 " Cruel is death." " Nay, kind. He that is ta'en 
 
 Was old in wisdom, though his years were few." 
 ** Life's pleasure hath he lost." ** Escaped life's pain ; " 
 " Nor wedded joys — " *' nor wedded sorrows, knew." 
 
 Goldwin Smith. 
 
 ANTIPATER OF SIDON 
 
 TO SAPPHO 
 
 Sappho thou coverest, Aeolian land ! 
 
 The Muse who died, 
 Who with the deathless Muses, hand in hand, 
 
 Sang, side by side ! 
 Sappho, at once of Cypris and of Love 
 
 The child and care ; 
 Sappho, that those immortal garlands wove 
 
 For the Muses' hair ! 
 Sappho, the joy of Hellas, and thy crown. 
 
 Ye Sisters dread. 
 Who spin for mortals from the distaff down 
 
 The threefold thread. 
 Why span ye not for her unending days, 
 
 Unsetting sun. 
 For her who wrought the imperishable lays 
 
 Of Helicon ? 
 
 Andrew Lang. 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 155 
 
 MELEAGER 
 
 TO HELIODORA 
 
 ril twine sweet violets, and the myrtle green ; 
 Narcissus will I twine, and lilies sheen ; 
 I'll twine sweet crocus, and the hyacinth blue ; 
 And last I twine the rose, love's token true : 
 That all may form a wreath of beauty, meet 
 To deck my Heliodora's tresses sweet. 
 
 Goldwin Smith. 
 
 PTOLEMY 
 
 ON THE STARS 
 
 Though but the being of a day, 
 When I yon planet's course survey, 
 
 This earth I then despise : 
 Near Jove's eternal throne I stand, 
 And quaff from an immortal hand 
 
 The nectar of the skies. 
 
 Philip Smyth. 
 
 ANONYMOUS 
 
 TO PARTHENOPHIL 
 
 Of our great love, Parthenophil, 
 This little stone abideth still 
 
 Sole sign and token : 
 I seek thee yet, and yet shall seek, 
 Though faint my eyes, my spirit weak 
 
 With prayers unspoken. 
 Meanwhile, best friend of friends, do thou. 
 If this the cruel fates allow, 
 
 By death's dark river, 
 Among those shadowy people, drink 
 No drop for me on Lethe's brink : 
 
 Forget me never I 
 
 Symonds. 
 
156 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The light and rapid iambic measure from which 
 iambic poetry derives its name, was early felt to be 
 peculiarly appropriate to sharp and swift retort, to 
 pungent raillery and biting satire. In the Homeric 
 Hymn to Demeter the mourning goddess is at last stirred 
 to laughter by the bright jests of a girl, lambe. The 
 iambic rhythm is that most frequently employed in 
 the colloquial language of common life, and is the fit 
 vehicle for dialogue and for verse that deals with 
 topics drawn from the range of daily experiences. 
 It received the satirical stamp which was afterward 
 always associated with the word " iambic " from the 
 first poet who employed it extensively, Archilochus. 
 
 Archilochus flourished in the first half of the seventh 
 century. His life was full of adventure and romance. 
 He is said to have been engaged to be married to 
 Neobule, whose father withdrew his consent to the 
 match. Archilochus then in iambic verse publicly 
 denounced his former sweetheart, her father, and her 
 sisters, scathing them with all the vehemence of his 
 venomous nature. Neobuld and her sisters straight- 
 way hanged themselves, as the story goes. However 
 fanciful this story may be, the fact remains that 
 Archilochus was a poet of vigor, cruel wit, and a genius 
 for personal satire. He was ranked by the Greeks 
 among their greatest and most original poets, and the 
 iambic verse, which he brought to perfection, was 
 destined to play a great part in the most perfect of 
 literary forms which Greece produced — the drama. 
 Unfortunately only a few fragments of his writings 
 remain, and for most of these no verse translation 
 exists. Characteristic are: **One thing I can — 
 requite with great ill the man who does me ill," and 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 157 
 
 "O Lord Apollo, point me out the guilty and smite 
 them as thou canst smite." Another side of his char- 
 acter, as of his genius, is revealed in these splendid 
 verses, addressed to his own soul : 
 
 Tossed on a sea of troubles, Soul, my Soul, 
 
 Thyself do thou control 
 
 And to the weapons of advancing foes 
 
 A stubborn breast oppose; 
 
 Undaunted 'mid the hostile might 
 
 Of squadrons burning for the fight. 
 
 Thine be no boasting when the victor's crown 
 
 Wins the deserved renown; 
 
 Thine no dejected sorrow when defeat 
 
 Would urge a base retreat: 
 
 Rejoice in joyous things — nor overmuch 
 
 Let grief thy bosom touch 
 
 'Midst evil, and still bear in mind, 
 
 How changeful are the ways of humankind. 
 
 William Hay. 
 
 Symonds has translated three exquisite lines, a pic- 
 ture of a young girl. ** Greek sculpture is not more 
 pure in outline than this fragment"; 
 
 Holding a myrtle-rod she blithely moved, 
 And a fair blossoming rose; the flowing tresses 
 Shadowed her shoulders, falling to her girdle. 
 
 Of the two other poets who inaugurated iambic 
 satire in Greece, Sfmonides of Amorgos and Hipponax 
 of Ephesus, there is little to say. From the few verses 
 of the latter which survive it is clear that he was vul- 
 gar, if clever. Semonides has many disagreeable and 
 spiteful things to say about women. Already the 
 Greeks, especially the lonians, had departed from the 
 chivalrous attitude toward women which characterized 
 the Homeric age, and we find more and more evidence 
 
158 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 of the influence of Oriental ideals in this respect as we 
 approach the classical period. 
 
 The poems belonging to the two branches of lyric 
 poetry which we have considered were essentially in- 
 tended for recitation. Melic poetry, on the other hand, 
 was the poetry of song. Unlike the greater number of 
 poems of the same order in English, which generally 
 are not set to music, the musical accompaniment was 
 an essential part of Greek melic poetry. The poet 
 was also a musical composer. The instrument which 
 was used for the accompaniment was the harp or lyre. 
 This instrument had been known to the Greeks from 
 remote times; its invention was attributed to Hermes. 
 But the early lyre had only four strings; the musical 
 element in song in Homeric times must consequently 
 have been of a very simple, monotonous nature. The 
 invention of the seven-stringed lyre, whose range was, 
 of course, a complete octave, was attributed by 
 antiquity to Terpander of Lesbos, who flourished 
 about 660 B. C. The rapid development of melic 
 poetry after this epoch was a natural consequence of 
 this invention. 
 
 Choral poetry must be distinguished as a separate 
 branch of melic poetry, for a third element, not found 
 in the latter, was essential to it—the dance. The 
 fact, too, that the choral was suhg by a chorus of 
 persons, and not by an individual, led to an important 
 distinction. A chorus must be organized and trained. 
 Therefore, while the simple song could be rendered 
 on any occasion in private life, the choral belonged 
 rather to public life and assumed a much more elab- 
 orate and formal character. Choral performances 
 were especially appropriate to occasions of public 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 159 
 
 worship or to the celebration of events in which the 
 public was especially interested. Another distinction 
 arises out of these differences: the song was per- 
 fected by the .^olians of Lesbos, whose social and 
 political conditions tended to develop the individual 
 and whose temperament was easily stirred to expres- 
 sion of personal feelings; but the choral reached its 
 earliest development among the Dorians of Sparta, 
 where the state was everything and the individual 
 nothing. We shall consider first the melic poets of 
 the Lesbian school. 
 
 The life of the earliest great poet of the Lesbian 
 school, Alcaeus, seems to have been as stormy as the 
 political condition of his own island. He belonged to 
 the nobility, which was engaged in constant struggles 
 against one tyrant after another. During a period of 
 exile he took refuge in Egypt and saw service in the 
 army under the Pharaoh. The latter part of his life 
 he spent in Lesbos, having become reconciled with 
 his former enemy, the famous tyrant Pittacus, one of 
 the seven sages. There is a tradition that he loved 
 his countrywoman, the poet Sappho, to whom he said : 
 "Chaste Sappho, violet-tressed, softly smiling, I fain 
 would speak, but shame restrains me." Sappho's 
 answer is recorded: '*Hadst thou felt desire for things 
 good or noble, and hadst not thy tongue framed some 
 evil speech, shame had not filled thy eyes, but thou 
 hadst spoken honestly about it." Only a few frag- 
 ments of the poems of Alcaeus* survive, and these are 
 
 *The Alcaic stanza, which is named for Alcsus, was a favorite of Hor* 
 »ce. These lines of Tennyson represent it : 
 
 O miffhtv-mouthed inventor of harmonies, 
 O skilled to sing of time or eternity, 
 God-gifted organ voice of England, 
 Milton, a name to resound for ages. 
 
1 60 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 not fair specimens of his poetical skill. The finest is 
 an allegory — the storm-tossed state — translated by 
 Sir William Jones: 
 
 Now here, now there, the wild waves sweep. 
 Whilst we, betwixt them, o'er the deep 
 
 In shattered tempest-beaten bark 
 With labouring ropes are onward driven. 
 
 The billows dashing o'er our dark 
 Upheaved deck — in tatters riven 
 Our sails — whose yawning rents between 
 The raging sea and sky are seen. 
 Loose from their hold our anchors burst, 
 
 And then the third, the fated wave, 
 Comes rolling onward like the first, 
 
 And doubles all our toil to save. 
 
 Most of the fragments have to do with wine. The 
 following description of a winter day furnished the 
 model for one of the best-known odes of the Roman 
 poet Horace, who was deeply indebted to Alcaeus. 
 
 The rain of Zeus descends, and from high heaven 
 
 A storm is driven: 
 And on the running water-brooks the cold 
 
 Lays icy hold; 
 Then up: beat down the winter; make the fire 
 
 Blaze high and higher; 
 Mix wine as sweet as honey of the bee 
 
 Abundantly; 
 Then drink with comfortable wool around 
 
 Your temples bound. 
 We must not yield our hearts to woe, or wear 
 
 With lasting care; 
 For grief will profit us no whit, my friend. 
 
 Nor nothing mend: 
 
 But this our best medicine, with wine fraught 
 
 To cast out thought. * 
 
 Symonds. 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets i6i 
 
 Of the life of Sappho, the greatest poet of the Les- 
 bian school, very little is known with certainty. The 
 accounts which have come down to us were compiled 
 centuries after her time, after her personality, of 
 unique interest in the history of literature, had 
 become enveloped in a haze of romantic and malicious 
 fables. She was a native of Mytilene, the capital of 
 Lesbos, and belonged to the highest nobility of the 
 island. That she lived about the beginning of the 
 sixth century is inferred from her acquaintance with 
 Alcaeus. She is said to have gone in exile to Sicily, 
 owing, doubtless, to the political troubles in which the 
 Lesbian aristocracy was involved. She was the cen- 
 tre of a club of women devoted to the cultivation of 
 poetry, such an association as JEo\ia.n and Dorian 
 women often formed, comparable to the group of 
 Socrates and his followers in Athens. She was mar- 
 ried to a wealthy Andrian, to whom she bore 
 a daughter, of whom she sings: 
 
 I have a child, a lovely one, 
 
 In beauty like the golden sun, 
 
 Or like sweet flowers of earliest bloom; 
 
 And Cleis is her name, for whom 
 
 I Lydia's treasures, were they mine, 
 
 Would glad resign. 
 
 Merivale. 
 
 The ancients tell of her unrequited love for a beauti- 
 ful youth named Phaon, for whom she threw herself 
 from the Leucadian cliff into the sea. But this 
 romance does not appear until three centuries after 
 her death and is probably pure fable. 
 
 Antiquity was of one mind as regards Sappho's 
 merits as a poet. She was known simply as *'the 
 
1 6a Homer to Theocritus 
 
 poetess/* just as Homer was **the poet." Plato said 
 of her; 
 
 Some thoughtlessly proclaim the Muses nine; 
 A tenth is Lesbian Sappho, maid divine. 
 
 In this verdict modern writers have unanimously 
 concurred. Mr. Symonds says: **The world has 
 suffered no greater literary loss than the loss of 
 Sappho's poems. So perfect in the smallest frag- 
 ments that we muse in a sad rapture of astonishment 
 to think what the complete poems must have been. . . . 
 Of all the poets of the world, of all the illustrious 
 artists of all literature, Sappho is the one whose every 
 word has a peculiar and unmistakable perfume, a seal 
 of absolute perfection and inimitable grace.*' Her in- 
 fluence upon lyric poetry in ancient and modern times 
 has been marked. 
 
 Sappho was preeminently a poet whose songs were 
 but the natural outpourings of the soul. All the pas- 
 sion of her ^olian blood, her intense love of beauty 
 in nature, her every thought and feeling, found unre- 
 strained expression in her poems. To the Athenians 
 of a later day the freedom which the -^olians and 
 Dorians allowed their women was unintelligible. In 
 Athens the brilliant women who shone in male society 
 were exclusively of one class. In the phrase of Peri- 
 cles the ideal of womanly virtue was *'not to be talked 
 about for good or evil among men.'* It is not sur- 
 prising, therefore, that later Greek tradition miscon- 
 strued her perfect frankness and traduced her good 
 name. But to-day only the ignorant fail to discover 
 the sources from which calumnies against her character 
 have sprung. To such ignorance, however, is due 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 163 
 
 the fact that so little now remains of her poems and 
 those of her contemporaries, for the early Christian 
 emperors commanded them to be burned. Only one 
 complete poem survives, the larger part of another, 
 and a considerable number of short fragments. The 
 Sapphic stanza, brought to perfection by her, is imi- 
 tated in the first of the following translations : 
 
 PRAYER TO APHRODITE 
 
 Glittering-throned, undying Aphrodite, 
 Wile-weaving daughter of high Zeus, I pray thee 
 Tame not my soul with heavy woe, dread mistress. 
 
 Nay, nor with anguish! 
 But hither come, if ever erst of old time 
 Thou didst incline and listenedst to my crying 
 And from thy father's palace down descending 
 
 Camest with golden 
 Qiariot yoked: thee fair swift-flying sparrows 
 Over dark earth with multitudinous fluttering 
 Pinion on pinion, through middle ether 
 
 Down from heaven hurried. 
 Quickly they came like light, and thou, blest lady. 
 Smiling with clear undying eyes didst ask me 
 What was the woe that troubled me, and wherefore 
 
 I cried to thee ; 
 What thing I longed for to appease my frantic 
 Soul; and whom now must I persuade, thou askedst, 
 Whom must entangle to thy love, and who now, 
 
 Sappho, hath wronged thee? 
 Yea, for if now he shun, he soon shall chase thee; 
 Yea, if he take not gifts, he soon shall give them; 
 Yea, if he love not, soon shall he begin to 
 
 Love thee, unwillingly. 
 Come to me now too, and from tyrannous sorrow 
 Free me, and all things that my soul desires to 
 Have done, do for me, queen, and let thyself too 
 
 Be my great ally. 
 
 J. A. Symonds. 
 
164 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 TO A LOVED ONE 
 
 Blest as the immortal gods is he, 
 The youth who fondly sits by thee. 
 And hears and sees thee all the while 
 Softly speak and sweetly smile. 
 
 •Twas this deprived my soul of rest, 
 And raised such tumults in my breast; 
 For while I gazed, in transport lost, 
 My breath was gone, my voice was lost: 
 
 My bosom glowed ; the subtle flame 
 Ran quick through all my vital frame ; 
 O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung; 
 My ears with hollow murmurs rung. 
 
 In dewy damp my limbs were chilled; 
 My blood with gentle horror thrilled; 
 My feeble pulse forgot to play; 
 I fainted, sank, and died away. 
 
 Ambrose Philips. 
 
 TO A MAIDEN 
 
 Of foliage and flowers love-laden 
 
 Twine wreaths for thy flowing hair. 
 With thine own soft fingers, maiden. 
 
 Weave garlands of parsley fair. 
 For flowers are sweet, and the Graces 
 
 On suppliants wreathed with may 
 Look down from their heavenly places, 
 
 But turn from the crownless away. 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 A GIRL IN LOVE 
 
 Oh, my sweet mother, 'tis in vain, 
 I cannot weave as once I wove. 
 
 So wildered is my heart and brain 
 
 With thinking of that youth I love. 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 165 
 
 MIDNIGHT 
 The moon hath left the sky ; 
 Lost is the Pleiads' light : 
 
 It is midnight 
 And time slips by : 
 But on my couch alone I lie. 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 ON RESTRAINING ANGER 
 When through thy breast wild wrath doth spread 
 
 And work thy inmost being harm, 
 Leave thou the fiery word unsaid, 
 Guard thee ; be calm. 
 
 Michael Field. 
 
 THE NIGHTINGALE 
 The tawny sweet-winged thing 
 Whose cry was but of Spring. 
 
 Swinburne. 
 
 TO AN UNCULTURED LESBIAN WOMAN 
 Thou liest dead, and there will be no memory left behind 
 Of thee or thine in all the earth, for never didst thou bind 
 The roses of Pierian streams upon thy brow ; thy doom 
 Is writ to flit with unknown ghosts in cold and nameless gloom. 
 
 Edwin Arnold. 
 
 TO AN AWKWARD GIRL 
 What country maiden charms thee, 
 
 However fair her face, 
 Who knows not how to gather 
 Her dress with artless grace ? 
 
 Wharton. 
 
 FRAGMENT OF A WEDDING SONG 
 Artists, raise the rafters high ! 
 
 Ample scope and stately plan — 
 Mars-like comes the bridegroom nigh, 
 Loftier than a lofty man. 
 
 Anon. 
 
1 66 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Anacreon of Teos lived in the latter part of the sixth 
 century. Gaining celebrity as a poet at the court of 
 Polycrates, Tyrant of Samos, he was summoned to 
 Athens to adorn the court of the tyrant Hipparchus, 
 son of Peisistratus. He thus became one of the group 
 of brilliant poets whose activity centred at Athens at 
 this time. Anacreon was essentially a court poet and 
 his songs rarely touched upon themes more serious 
 than love and wine. His poems, characterized always 
 by elegance and grace, achieved a wide popularity and 
 were widely imitated. The majority of the poems 
 which have come down under his name are spurious and 
 of late origin — the so-called Anacreontics. A specimen 
 of these is given below after two selections from the 
 remains of Anacreon, all in the translation of Thomas 
 Moore. The first selection strikes a note uncommon in 
 this poet. 
 
 OLD AGE 
 Golden hues of youth are fled ; 
 Hoary locks deform my head. 
 Bloomy graces, dalliance gay. 
 All the flowers of life decay. 
 Withering age begins to trace 
 Sad memorials o'er my face ; 
 Time has shed its sweetest bloom, 
 All the future must be gloom ! 
 This awakes my hourly sighing ; 
 Dreary is the thought of dying I 
 Pluto's is a dark abode. 
 Sad the journey, sad the road : 
 And, the gloomy travel o*er, 
 Ah ! we can return no more ! 
 
 YOUTH AND PLEASURE 
 Rich in bliss, I proudly scorn 
 The stream of Amalthea*s horn ! 
 
The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets 167 
 
 Nor should I ask to call the throne 
 Of the Tartessian prince ^ my own ; 
 To totter through his train of years, 
 The victim of declining fears. 
 One little houi^f joy for me 
 Is worth a du^ternity ! 
 
 DRINKING— AN ANACREONTIC 
 Observe when mother earth is dry, 
 She drinks the droppings of the sky ; 
 And then the dewy cordial gives 
 To every thirsty plant that lives. 
 The vapours, which at evening weep. 
 Are beverage to the swelling deep ; 
 And when the rosy sun appears, 
 He drinks the ocean's misty tears. 
 The moon, too, quaffs her paly stream 
 Of lustre from the solar beam. 
 Then, hence with all your sober thinking ! 
 Since Nature's holy law is drinking ; 
 I'll make the laws of Nature mine. 
 And pledge the universe in wine ! 
 
 * Arganthonius, ruler of Tartessus in Spain (the Tarsish of the Bible) about 
 600 B. C, is said by Herodotus to have reigned 80 years and to have reached 
 the age of 120 years. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 CHORAL LYRIC. PINDAR 
 
 The Dorian School — Alcman — Stesichorus — Arion — Simon- 
 ides — Bacchylides — Pindar — His Life — The Festivals 
 and Games — The Epinician Ode — Analysis of the Seventh 
 Olympian — Pindar's Preludes — The Future Life in Pin- 
 dar — Fragment of a Dirge. 
 
 We turn now to the lyric poets of the Dorian 
 school. The Dorians themselves seem to have pro- 
 duced very few poets, but Sparta attracted from out- 
 side some poets of the first order who succeeded won- 
 derfully in catching the spirit of Dorian institutions 
 and in conforming to the requirements of Dorian 
 taste. Now Sparta was strictly a military state, and 
 all of its institutions conformed to the demands of 
 a society organized for the production of soldiers. 
 All sentiments except those of partiotism and religion 
 were discouraged. The themes of their poets must be 
 the glorious traditions of the race, the praise of the 
 gods, a victory of some Dorian in the athletic games, 
 the celebration of some important civic event, and the 
 like. Furthermore, the lyric poet should voice not 
 his own sentiments, but those of the people, and his 
 song must be of a kind in which the public could 
 participate. The result was a highly developed choral 
 lyric, in which the words and music were supplemented 
 by the stately evolutions of the chorus. The stamp 
 of the Dorian genius was so impressed upon this 
 branch of poetry that the choral, even when composed 
 
 i68 
 
Choral Lyric. Pindar 169 
 
 by an Athenian or Boeotian, always retained the Doric 
 dialect (see page 9). Of choral lyric there were as 
 many varieties as there were occasions which called 
 for the song. We shall have occasion to notice 
 a number of these varieties. 
 
 Alcman was one of the earliest of the Dorian lyric 
 poets (660 B. C). It was he who first gave an artistic 
 form to the choral ode by arranging it in balancing 
 stanzas, the first stanza, or strophe (''turning"), 
 accompanying an evolution of the chorus to the right; 
 the second, or antistrophe, a corresponding movement 
 to the left, and so on through the ode. The longest 
 and most notable fragment remaining, discovered in 
 Egypt in 1855, is a choral for maidens, a branch 
 in which Alcman gained especial distinction. His 
 description of a night in Lacedaemon shows a true 
 sympathy with nature: "The summits of the moun- 
 tains are sleeping, and the ravines, the headlands, and 
 the torrent courses, the leaves that the black earth 
 nourishes, and all creeping things, the wild creatures 
 of the hills, and the race of bees, and the monsters in 
 the depths of the dark sea, and sleep is upon the 
 tribes of the wide-winged birds." 
 
 Stesichorus^ of Sicily (620 B. C.) perfected the form 
 of the choral lyric by adding a third member to each 
 pair of stanzas, the epode, sung by the chorus' stand- 
 ing, after the two preceding evolutions of strophe and 
 antistrophe. His Palinode (Recantation) to Helen was 
 famous. In an ode he had told the usual story about 
 Helen's flight to Troy, and of the misery her sin had 
 caused. Thereupon he was stricken with blindness, 
 
 ^His real name was Tisias, but he was called Stesichoros, "Marshal 
 of Cborusen," from his skill as a choral poet. 
 
170, Homer to Theocritus 
 
 for Helen had become a goddess. So he wrote the 
 Palinode^ beginning: *'Not true is this story. Thou 
 didst not go in the well-benched ships, nor didst thou 
 come to the citadel of Troy.*' He then develops the 
 fiction that a phantom of Helen was taken to Troy; 
 and his sight was promptly restored. 
 
 Arion of Corinth, a Lesbian by birth, was a little 
 later than Stesichorus, and claims a large place in the 
 history of the choral lyric. It was he who elaborated 
 the dithyramb, or the choral hymn to Dionysus, out of 
 which tragedy developed. He fixed the number of 
 the chorus at fifty, and seems to have given a distinc- 
 tive character to the evolutions of the dithyrambic 
 chorus and to the manner of the performance. 
 Herodotus tells a quaint story of how he was thrown 
 into the sea by pirates and was carried safely to land 
 by dolphins, charmed by his singing. 
 
 With Simonides of Ceos a new era in lyric poetry 
 begins. Toward the end of the sixth century Athens 
 succeeded in ridding herself of the tyrants Hippias 
 and Hipparchus, and established the democracy. 
 These rulers, on the whole enlightened sovereigns, 
 had drawn a large number of brilliant literary men to 
 Athens, among whom were Anacreon and Simonides. 
 Soon after the establishment of the democracy Athens 
 and Greece passed through the tremendous struggle 
 for freedom with the Persians, the invasion of Darius 
 culminating at Marathon and the second attack under 
 Xerxes being repulsed at Salamis and Plataea — glori- 
 ous victories in which all Greece had a share, though 
 to Athens fell the largest part. The Greeks began to 
 feel that they were one people and that Athens was 
 their leader and champion. From this time on Athens 
 
Choral Lyric. Pindar 171 
 
 became the literary centre of Greece, and for two 
 centuries the history of Greek literature can almost be 
 said to be that of Athenian literature. 
 
 The life of Simonides fell in these stirring times. 
 The greater portion of his life he spent at the courts 
 of the tyrants. But he identified himself at once with 
 the Athenian democracy, and after the Persian wars 
 voiced the sentiments of liberty-loving Greece in the 
 famous epigrams on the fallen to which we have 
 already referred. He died at the court of Hiero, 
 in Syracuse, loaded with honors. Highly gifted by 
 nature, Simonides was yet a professional poet who 
 tuned his lyre according to the pay. The story is 
 told that he once received a commission to write 
 a poem in celebration of a victory won by a team of 
 mules. He refused, alleging that the subject was too 
 ignoble for his muse. But when the reward was 
 increased he wrote the spirited poem which begins, 
 **Hail! ye daughters of horses, swift as the winds." 
 Simonides won distinction in almost every branch of 
 lyric poetry, especially in epinicia, or odes celebrating 
 victories in the games — a branch in which he was the 
 rival of Pindar — and in the epigram. The following 
 beautiful fragment of a dirge is extant. Danae and 
 her babe Perseus, her son by Zeus, are adrift at sea 
 in a chest, committed to the waves to die by Danae*s 
 father : 
 
 When, in the carven chest, 
 The winds that blew and waves in wild unrest 
 Smote her with fear, she, not with cheeks unwet. 
 Her arms of love round Perseus set. 
 And said: O child, what grief is mine! 
 But thou dost slumber, and thy baby breast 
 Is sunk in rest. 
 
172 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Here in the cheerless brass-bound bark, 
 Tossed amid starless night and pitchy dark. 
 
 Nor dost thou heed the scudding brine 
 Of waves that wash above thy curls so deep, 
 Nor the shrill winds that sweep, — 
 Lapped in thy purple robe's embrace, 
 
 Fair little face! 
 But if this dread were dreadful too to thee. 
 Then wouldst thou lend thy listening ear to me; 
 Therefore I cry, — Sleep, babe, and sea, be still. 
 And slumber our unmeasured ill! 
 
 Oh, may some change of fate, sire Zeus, from thee 
 Descend, our woes to end! 
 But if this prayer, too overbold, offend 
 Thy justice, yet be merciful to me! 
 
 J. A. Symonds. 
 
 Bacchylides, the nephew of Simonides, was also 
 a court poet. Although he was far inferior as a poet 
 to his uncle, a universal interest attaches to him at 
 present from the fact that a papyrus roll containing 
 twenty of his odes was discovered in Egypt in 1896 
 and acquired by the British Museum. Before that 
 time only a few pages of short fragments were pre- 
 served. Most of his odes were written to celebrate 
 victories at the athletic games, but several are of 
 a religious import. In one of the later occurs a pretty 
 scene. Theseus and the Athenian youths who were 
 offered yearly as a sacrifice to the Minotaur are on 
 the ship with Minos, king of Crete. Minos insults 
 one of the maidens, whereat young Theseus defies the 
 king, who throws a ring into the sea, challenging 
 Theseus to prove his divine origin. 
 
 "Into the waves leapt the hero, and gentle eyes dropped a 
 tear, boding dire disaster. But dolphins, denizens of the sea, 
 bore strong Theseus swiftly to the palace of the knightly sire. 
 
Choral Lyric. Pindar 173 
 
 He reached the gods' abode, and there beheld with awe the 
 daughters of blessed Nereus; for from their glorious limbs 
 gleamed a radiance as of fire as with supple feet they delighted 
 their heart in the dance. And Amphitrite threw about him 
 a purple mantle, and on his shining locks set a faultless wreath 
 twined with roses, a wedding-gift once from Aphrodite. At 
 the ship's stern he rose. Ah! in what thoughts he disturbed 
 the Cretan king when he came from the sea undrenched, a 
 marvel to all. On his limbs gleamed the god's gifts, and the 
 radiant maidens with new-born courage lifted up a shout of 
 joy. The sea resounded with the peal, and the boys standing 
 near with sweet voices raised a paean of praise." 
 
 As -^olian song reached its highest point with 
 Sappho, so the Dorian choral ode culminates in Pindar, 
 its latest representative. But though Pindar's odes 
 were Dorian in form, continuing and perfecting the 
 traditions which began with Alcman and Stesichorus, 
 yet Pindar, like Simonides, was thoroughly Pan-Hel- 
 lenic in spirit, belonging to no one branch of the 
 Greek people. Born at Thebes, in Bceotia, in 522 B. 
 C, of an old aristocratic family, he was early trained 
 in music and in poetry for a professional career. Of 
 the details of his life we have little knowledge, but he 
 certainly traveled widely, visiting both the scenes of 
 the great national games which he celebrated and the 
 countries of his royal patrons. He died about 452, 
 after an active literary career of fifty years. 
 
 Pindar was some thirty years the junior of Simon- 
 ides. He had scarcely made his debut in the literary 
 world when the threatening storm of the Persian inva- 
 sion roused all Greece to united action in defense of 
 liberty. The glorious share which Simonides had in 
 perpetuating the memory of the heroism of Marathon, 
 Thermopylae, Salamis, and Plataea has already been 
 
T74 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 mentioned. Pindar was no less loyal than his elder 
 rival, but Thebes, his native city, alone of all the 
 states of central and southern Greece, held herself 
 aloof and even supported the barbarian. Pindar 
 nowhere speaks openly of his state's disgrace, but his 
 deep sympathy with the cause of Greek freedom is 
 shown in the allusion to *'the intolerable suffering for 
 Hellas which some god hath turned aside for us," and 
 by his memorable apostrophe to *'violet-crowned, 
 illustrious Athens, the theme of poets, bulwark of 
 Greece." But it was not Pindar's good fortune to be 
 the poet of Greek liberty. His title to be called the 
 poet of all Hellas, and not of one section alone, arises 
 rather from his connection with the great national 
 festivals, in which all branches of the Greek race came 
 together as one people. 
 
 These festivals were four in number. The Olym- 
 pian, in honor of Zeus, was held at Olympia, in Elis, 
 once in four years. The prize for the victors in the 
 games was a wreath of wild olive The next in 
 importance was the Pythian, held at Delphi every four 
 years in honor of Apollo. The prizes were a wreath of 
 laurel and a palm branch. The Isthmian and Nemean 
 were of lesser importance compared with the two 
 others, and were celebrated every two years, the one 
 at Corinth, in honor of Poseidon, the other at Nemea 
 in Argolis, in honor of Zeus. The prizes were wreaths 
 of parsley and of pine respectively. It is hard for 
 us to realize the immense importance which attached 
 to these religious gatherings. The Greeks flocked to 
 them from all corners of the Mediterranean. A sacred 
 truce from hostilities was observed during the festival, 
 and safe conduct was guaranteed by each state to 
 
Choral Lyric. Pindar 175 
 
 every pilgrim passing through its territory. The prin- 
 cipal events of the festival were the athletic contests, 
 to which only Greeks of pure descent were admitted. 
 Of these the most important was the foot-race, '*the 
 two hundred yards dash." The victor in this event, 
 at Olympia gave his name to the whole period of four 
 years. Even sober historians like Thucydides date 
 political events by the Olympiad *'in which So-and-so 
 won the foot-race." Princes and men of wealth alone 
 could contend in the chariot-race, but the highest 
 honor of all could be won by the humblest. The victor 
 lent distinction to his native town forever, and the 
 greatest poets and sculptors were called upon to per- 
 petuate the fame of the victor, his family, and his city. 
 
 Pindar was of all the poets of his time the best 
 fitted by birth, training, and genius to do justice to 
 such subjects as the great religious festivals offered 
 him. An aristocrat through and through, he makes 
 the nobility of family and the proud traditions of race 
 stand out in high relief. Closely connected himself 
 with the worship of Apollo at Delphi, he keeps the 
 religious aspect of the festivals in the foreground, not 
 permitting the mere athletic side to overshadow all 
 else. Keenly alive to the grander and more imposing 
 aspects of external nature, he never lets us forget the 
 splendid scenes through which his subject leads him. 
 And finally, with his superb genius as a poet and his 
 marvelous mastery of musical and choral technique, 
 he produced poems which are perfect as works of art. 
 The Greeks counted him their greatest lyric poet. 
 
 Of his epinician odes, or odes of victory, forty-four 
 are extant. It is impossible to give an adequate idea 
 of the splendor of these odes through the medium of 
 
1 76 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 translations. Our language has neither the rhythm 
 nor the diction to represent Pindar. Even in the 
 orginal they are difficult reading, owing to the 
 obscurity of thought arising from swift transition and 
 allusions to which w^e no longer possess the key. The 
 Greek hearer had the advantage of us in these matters, 
 but especially in the accompanying music and dance, 
 both indispensable to the general effect. But we may 
 at any rate examine the structure of the Pindaric ode 
 and illustrate some of its poetical qualities. 
 
 Some Greek has won a victory in the games. The 
 poet who is called upon to celebrate this victory must 
 tell who, in what event, and at what festival, and 
 must praise the victor for his prowess and good for- 
 tune, and congratulate his family and his state. It 
 is Pindar's manner to weave these facts into his ode 
 in such a way as not to put us into possession of all 
 the facts at once, nor to make too prominent the per- 
 son of the victor. He magnifies rather the festival, 
 or the noble lineage of the victor, or a mythological 
 incident suggested by his career, or the heroic and 
 mythical legends associated with the festival, the 
 victor, or the victor's native city. This subject, which 
 usually occupies the larger central portion of the ode, 
 is known as the *'myth" of the poem, and is attached 
 to the introduction by means of a swift note of transi- 
 tion which is likely to escape the unobserving reader. 
 At the end of the ode the poet returns to his theme by 
 a similar transition, often concluding by a note of 
 warning or advice or by a reference to the undying 
 fame which the poet's gifts confer. Interwoven in 
 the poem we often find interesting bits of moralizing 
 on the problems of this world and the next. 
 
Choral Lyric. Pindar 177 
 
 An analysis of the seventh Olympian ode will serve 
 us as an illustration of the structure of a Pindaric ode. 
 It is in honor of Diagoras of Rhodes, the most cele- 
 brated athlete of his time, winner in the boxing-match. 
 
 Introduction. — As when a man takes from his wealthy 
 hand a goblet foaming with the dew of grape, and gives it 
 with healths and pledges to his youthful son-in-law to bear 
 from one home to the other home, golden, the crown of his 
 possessions, gracing the feast and glorifying his kinsman, 
 and makes him in the eyes of the assembled friends to be 
 envied for his harmonious wedlock; so I, sending outpoured 
 nectar, the Muses' gift, to conquering heroes, the sweet fruit 
 of the soul, greet them like gods, victors at Olympia and 
 Pytho. 
 
 Theme. — Happy is he whom good report encompasseth; 
 now on one man, now on another, doth the Grace that giveth 
 joy to life look with favor, and tune for him the lyre and 
 the stops of music manifold. Thus with the sound of the 
 twain am I come with Diagoras sailing home, to sing the 
 sea-girt Rhodes, child of Aphrodite and bride of Helius, that 
 I may glorify, as a tribute to his boxing, a mighty man who 
 hath won crowns by Alpheus' Stream and at Castalia, and his 
 father Demegetus, in whom Justice hath her delight. 
 
 The allusion to the home and the ancestry of Dia- 
 goras leads up to the myth, which here falls into two 
 parts. The first part tells of the colonization of 
 Rhodes by Tlepolemus, son of Heracles and ancestor 
 of Diagoras; then follows the explanation of the origin 
 of the worship of Helius and Athene on the island. 
 The main part of the myth, taken as a whole, is the 
 story of the birth of Rhodes from the sea: 
 
 Myth. — Now the ancient story of men saith that when Zeus 
 and the other gods made division of the earth among them, not 
 yet was Rhodes apparent in the open sea, but in ths briny 
 depths lay hid. And none drew the lot for Helius, who was 
 
lyS Homer to Theocritus 
 
 absent; so they left him portionless of land, that holy god. 
 And when he spake thereof Zeus would cast lots afresh; 
 but he sufifered him not, for he said that beneath the hoary 
 sea he saw a certain land waxing from its root in earth, 
 that should bring forth food for many men and rejoice in 
 flocks. And the son of Cronus promised him that the isle 
 sent up to the light of heaven should thenceforth be his 
 share. And his speech had fulfilment. There sprang up from 
 the watery main an island, and the father who begetteth the 
 sun's rays hath the dominion thereof, even the lord of fire- 
 breathing steeds. 
 
 Returning to his theme, the poet swiftly recounts 
 the athletic previous victories of Diagoras, and con- 
 cludes thus: 
 
 Conclusion. — Do thou, O Father Zeus, glorify the accus- 
 tomed Olympian winner's hymn and the man who hath done 
 valiantly with his fists. Give him honor at the hands of citizens 
 and strangers; for he walketh in the straight way that abhor- 
 reth insolence, having learnt well the lessons his true soul hath 
 taught him, which hath come to him from his noble sires. . . 
 Surely with the joys of his family the whole city maketh glad. 
 But in a moment of time the varying breezes shift their course. 
 
 Pindar's introductions to his odes are especially 
 brilliant. **As when with golden columns reared 
 beneath the well-walled palace porch we build a splen- 
 did hall, so will I build my song. At the beginning 
 of a work we must make the portal radiant from afar. '* 
 The most admired is the prelude to the first Pythian 
 ode, in honor of Hiero, tyrant of Syracuse, winner 
 in the chariot-race : 
 
 O golden lyre, 
 Apollo's, dark-haired Muses' joint heirloom, 
 
 Alert for whom 
 The dancer's footstep listens, and the choir 
 Of singers wait the sound, 
 Beginning of the round 
 
Choral Lyric. Pindar 179 
 
 Of festal joy, whene'er thy quivering strings 
 Strike up a prelude to their carolings. 
 
 Thou slakest the lancM bolt of quenchless fire; 
 Yea, drooped each wing that through the aether sweeps. 
 Upon his sceptre Zeus's eagle sleeps. 
 
 The bird-king crowned! 
 The while thou sheddest o'er his beaked head bowed 
 
 A darkling cloud, 
 Sweet seal of the eyelids, — and in dreamful swound 
 His rippling back and sides 
 Heave with thy music's tides; 
 Thou bidst impetuous Ares lay apart 
 His keen-edged spear, and soothe with sleep his heart; 
 Thou launchest at the breasts of gods, and bound 
 As by a spell, they own thy lulling power, 
 Latoides's and the deep-zoned Muses' dower. 
 
 Newcomer. 
 
 Pindar's view of the future life, with its system of 
 just rewards and punishments, is unusually definite for 
 his time. In the second Olympian he weaves these 
 thoughts into the myth : Among the dead, sinful souls 
 at once pay penalty, and the crimes done in this realm 
 of Zeus are judged beneath the earth by one who gives 
 sentence under dire necessity. 
 
 Sir. But in the happy fields of light, 
 Where Phoebus with an equal ray 
 Illuminates the balmy night, 
 
 And gilds the cloudless day. 
 In peaceful, unmolested joy, 
 The good their smiling hours employ. 
 Them no uneasy wants constrain 
 
 To vex the ungrateful soil. 
 To tempt the dangers of the billowy main. 
 And break their strength with unavailing toil, 
 A frail disastrous being to maintain. 
 
 But in their joyous calm abodes. 
 
i8o Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The recompense of justice they receive; 
 
 And in the fellowship of gods, 
 Without a tear eternal ages live. 
 While banished by the fates from joy and rest. 
 Intolerable woes the impious soul infest. 
 
 Antistr. But they who, in true virtue strong. 
 The third purgation can endure; 
 And keep their minds from fraudful wrong 
 
 And guilt's contagion, pure; 
 They through the starry paths of Jove 
 To Saturn's blissful seat remove: 
 Where fragrant breezes, vernal airs, 
 
 Sweet children of the main, 
 Purge the blest island from corroding cares. 
 And fan the bosom of each verdant plain: 
 Whose fertile soil immortal fruitage bears; 
 
 Trees, from whose flaming branches flow, 
 Arrayed in golden bloom, refulgent beams; 
 
 And flowers of golden hue, that blow 
 On the fresh borders of their parent streams. 
 These by the blest in solemn triumph worn, 
 Their unpolluted hands and clustering locks adorn. 
 
 Epode Such is the righteous will, the high behest 
 Of Rhadamanthus, ruler of the blest; 
 The just assessor of the throne divine. 
 On which, high raised above all gods, recline, 
 Linked in the golden bands of wedded love, 
 The great progenitors of thundering Jove. 
 There in the number of the blest enrolled 
 Live Cadmus, Peleus, heroes famed of old; 
 And young Achilles, to these isles removed, 
 Soon as, by Thetis won, relenting Jove approved. 
 
 Gilbert West. 
 
 Pindar covered the whole range of choral poetry, 
 but apart from the odes of victory only a few frag- 
 ments remain. The following fragment of a dirge 
 gives another picture of Elysium: 
 
Choral Lyric. Pindar i8i 
 
 Shines for them the sun's warm glow 
 When 'tis darkness here below: 
 And the ground before their towers. 
 Meadow-land with purple flowers, 
 Teems with incense-bearing trees. 
 Teams with fruit of golden sheen. 
 Some in steed and wrestling feat. 
 Some in dice take pleasure sweet, 
 Some in harping: at their side 
 Blooms the spring in all her pride. 
 Fragrance all about is blown 
 
 O'er that country of desire. 
 Even as rich gifts are thrown 
 
 Freely on the far-seen fire. 
 Blazing from the altar-stone. 
 
 But the souls of the profane, 
 
 Far from heaven removed below. 
 Flit on earth in murderous pain 
 
 'Neath the unyielding yoke of woe; 
 While pious spirits tenanting the sky. 
 Chant praises to the mighty one on high. 
 
 Conington. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 TRAGIC POETRY. iESCHYLUS 
 
 Athens the Literary Centre of Greece — The Beginnings of 
 Tragedy — Arion and the Dithyramb — Thespis — The 
 Satyr-Drama — The Dramatic Festivals at Athens — The 
 Dramatic Contest — The Theatre — The Position of the 
 Actors and the Chorus — The Number of Contestants and 
 Performers — The Three Unities — The Subjects of Trag- 
 edy — ^schylus — The Structure of a Greek Tragedy illus- 
 trated by the Agamemnon of jEschylus~ll\iQ Libation- 
 Bearers — The Furies — The Suppliants — The Persians 
 — The Seven against Thebes — ThQ PromethetiS Bound. 
 
 At the beginning of the fifth century an observer 
 of literary movements in Greece might have been seri- 
 ously in doubt as to whether Syracuse or Athens was 
 destined to become the literary centre of the Hellenic 
 world. The brilliant court maintained in Athens by 
 Peisistratus and his sons down to the overthrow of the 
 tyranny in 510, a court distinguished by the presence 
 of Simonides, Anacreon, and other poets, was sur- 
 passed in the next generation by that of Hiero in 
 Syracuse, who drew to his city such lyric poets as 
 Simonides, Pindar, and Bacchylides, Epicharmus, the 
 founder of comedy, and even ^schylus, the father of 
 tragedy. Before the establishment of the democracy 
 Athens had produced but one poet of distinction — 
 Solon, the legislator. But in the latter part of the 
 sixth century a new type of poetry was rapidly being 
 developed, the drama, which was to become the 
 greatest literary creation of the Greek people after 
 
 182 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 183 
 
 the epic of Homer. As the lonians of Asia Minor 
 had brought the epic to perfection, the iEolians of 
 Lesbos the song lyric, and the Dorians the choral 
 lyric, so now it fell to the Athenians, who, though 
 lonians by race and in temperament, yet shared some 
 of the best qualities of the Dorians, to contribute the 
 drama. Thanks to this supreme creation and to her 
 political supremacy resulting from the wars with Per- 
 sia, Athens soon overshadowed Syracuse and from the 
 middle of the fifth century to the middle of the third 
 was the Acknowledged literary and intellectual centre 
 of Hellas. 
 
 The order in which the three great branches of 
 poetry, epic, lyric, and dramatic, were developed in 
 Greece is the best illustration of the significant fact to 
 which we have already alluded — the natural and normal 
 growth of Greek literature. In each age we find the 
 type of poetical expression which most perfectly 
 reflects the order of beliefs and sentiments of the peo- 
 ple, a type which, both in form and in content, is 
 a natural outgrowth of the type which preceded it. 
 Epic poetry was developed from the minstrel's songs, 
 which arose in response to the conditions of the patri- 
 archal society of the Homeric age. The choral lyric 
 sprang from the religious observances of the Dorian 
 society under the new conditions of a later period, 
 but retained the mythological and heroic elements of 
 the epic moulded to a new form. The Greek drama 
 pwesupposes both the epic and the choral lyric, the sub- 
 ject-matter and inspiration of the former, the religious 
 and structural elements of the latter, adopting at the 
 same time for the dialogue the iambic form which had 
 already been perfected by Archilochus. 
 
184 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 We have seen that the festivals in honor of the gods 
 were the occasion for the performance of choral com- 
 positions. In the course of time a certain kind of 
 choral came to be regarded as peculiarly appropriate to 
 the worship of a particular god. Thus the dithyramb 
 came to be employed exclusively in the worship of 
 Dionysus, the god of wine. We have seen, also, that 
 Arion, at Corinth, first gave the dithyramb its distinc- 
 tive character. Now among the Dorian folk it was 
 believed that Dionysus, in his roaming over the hills 
 from one seat of worship to another, was accompanied 
 by sportive, mischief-loving beings, half animal, half 
 human, whom they called "satyrs." These beings 
 were popularly represented as having the legs, ears, 
 snub-nose, and shaggy hair of a goat, attached to the 
 human form — precisely like Pan, who was himself 
 a satyr. It was a natural, but none the less a far- 
 reaching idea of Arion's, to dress up his dithyrambic 
 chorus of fifty men or boys in the likeness of satyrs, 
 and to have them sing, in character^ of the adventures 
 and sufferings of their lord and leader, Dionysus. In 
 this way the decisive step was taken toward the devel- 
 opment of a story to be acted — impersonation. The 
 song of such a Dionysiac chorus at some time received 
 the name of "tragedy," or "goat-song" (Jragos^ 
 "goat," and odi^ "song"), which was retained for the 
 species of poetry which grew out of the dithyramb 
 even after the original significance of the word was 
 lost sight of. 
 
 The next step in the development of tragedy was 
 taken in Attica toward the middle of the sixth century. 
 The worship of Dionysus had taken a strong hold upon 
 the people of the country district, Icaria, on the slope 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 185 
 
 of Mount PentelicusJ A festival in his honor had 
 become established there, in which "tragic" choruses 
 in the Peloponnesian manner played a part. A native 
 poet, Thespis, introduced the important innovation 
 of stepping out of the chorus of satyrs at some point 
 in the performance and reciting verses addressed to 
 the other satyrs. In addition to the element of imper- 
 sonation we now have the element of acting, though 
 in a very rudimentary form. But the new "tragic" 
 dithyramb at once found favor. The first perform- 
 ance in Athens took place in 534 B. C, under the 
 patronage of the tyrant Peisistratus. From this time 
 on the development of tragedy was rapid. Soon 
 a second actor was introduced, tradition says by 
 -^schylus. Instead of a simple dramatic narrative, 
 interrupting the songs of the chorus, we now have 
 a true dramatic action in the dialogue of the two 
 actors, interrupted by the choral songs. The chorus 
 is thus reduced to a subordinate place, though it is 
 still relatively prominent. This subordination be- 
 comes much more marked after the introduction of 
 the third actor by Sophocles, about 468 B. C. 
 
 The early tragic performance was probably rather 
 short, and the subject-matter restricted, by the very 
 satyric nature of the chorus, to themes connected with 
 the legends of Dionysus. Only a change in the cos- 
 tume of the choruses was needed to make possible 
 a larger range of subjects. But when this was done 
 the performance was no longer strictly appropriate io 
 the worship of Dionysus. A compromise was 
 adopted. Whatever the mythological subject of the 
 
 ^This site was excavated by the American School of Classical Studies 
 in Athens in 1888. The excavations disclosed many traces of the wor* 
 ship ol Dionysus. 
 
1 86 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 earlier scenes, the last scene was reserved for the old 
 satyr-chorus of Dionysus. From this fact arose the 
 strange phenomenon which we see throughout the 
 fifth century — a satyr-drama, full of burlesque and 
 ribaldry, following upon the three tragedies presented 
 by each poet. The connection seems to us incongru- 
 ous, but by this device the poet was enabled to work 
 out a serious theme quite without reference to the bois- 
 terous rites of the wine-god. Later on the poet some- 
 times substituted another play for the satyr-drama, 
 and still later only one instead of three such pieces 
 was given at each festival. But for centuries the 
 satyr-chorus was retained in some manner as a relic 
 of the early Dionysus worship out of which tragedy 
 had grown. 
 
 There were only two yearly festivals of Dionysus at 
 Athens at which dramatic performances were given — 
 the Lensean* festival in January, and the City Dionysia 
 in March. The Athenian citizen who remained in the 
 city had therefore only two opportunities a year of 
 witnessing exhibitions of tragedy and comedy. But 
 most of the villages in Attica had their local festivals 
 in December, called the Rural Dionysia, which it was 
 easy for the Athenian to attend. The December 
 exhibition at Peirseus, the port of Athens, was only 
 less important than those of the city itself. Of the 
 two city festivals the Dionysia in March was by far 
 the more brilliant occasion. The greatest poets con- 
 tended for the honor of presenting their tragedies and 
 comedies there, and Athens was thronged with visitors 
 from abroad who came to participate in the festival. 
 
 *So called from the Lenson, "Place of the Wine-press," where tho 
 festival was celebrated in early times. 
 
Tragic Poetry. iEschylus 187 
 
 The cost of the dramatic exhibitions was a charge 
 upon the state, inasmuch as the drama constituted 
 a part of the worship of the gods, the supervision and 
 regulation of which was a function of the state. But 
 under the democracy the state delegated a portion of 
 its duty to wealthy individuals. Each year the 
 magistrates selected from the lists of wealthy citizens 
 persons who, from the work to which they were 
 assigned, were called choregi, or ** chorus-leaders/* 
 Upon them fell the expense of equipping and training 
 the tragic and comic choruses, one choregus being 
 designated for each poet. The exhibitions themselves 
 took the form of contests, each poet and choregus 
 competing with the others for prizes offered by the 
 state for the best ** tragic and comic choruses" — that 
 is, for the best tragedy and the best comedy. Con- 
 tests between the leading actors, or ** protagonists," 
 of each play were organized at a later time. The 
 prizes were awarded by judges chosen by the magis- 
 trates, every precaution being taken to secure a just 
 and impartial verdict. The result of this system was 
 an intense rivalry between the poets, the choruses, the 
 choregi, and the actors, and no expense or effort was 
 spared in the competition for the coveted honor. The 
 keen participation of the spectators was also secured, 
 not only by their interest in the subjects which were 
 enacted before them, appealing to all their religious, 
 intellectual, musical, and aesthetic sentiments, but also 
 by the fact of their personal connection with the mem- 
 bers of the choruses, representing perhaps one hun- 
 dred and fifty families in the case of tragedy alone. 
 All citizens of Athens were admitted to the dramatic 
 exhibitions without charge from the time of Pericles on. 
 
1 88 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The first permanent theatre in Athens was erected 
 about the middle of the fourth century, long after Jhe 
 most brilliant period of the Attic drama had passed. 
 But the stone theatre of the fourth century probably 
 only reproduced in durable material the temporary 
 arrangements of the structure in which the dramas of 
 the great masters were performed. The Greek drama 
 was always performed in the open air, the spectators 
 sitting upon the slope of the hill, which was artificially 
 built up at the wings so that the view of every spec- 
 tator was directed toward the large circular level 
 space at the bottom called the orchestra, or *Mancing 
 place." In the centre of the orchestra was the large 
 altar of Dionysus, situated not far from the temple of 
 the god, in whose sacred precinct the theatre was 
 located. In the earliest times there was no scenic back- 
 ground, for no scenery was needed. The choruses and 
 the single actor at first had no need of dressing-rooms 
 either. But this need must have been felt as soon as 
 a series of scenes involving different characters was 
 depicted, for each actor was assigned to a number of 
 roles. The dressing-room may at first have been 
 placed at one side of the orchestra. When a scenic 
 background was introduced and painted scenery came 
 to be employed (probably about 470 B. C), the most 
 convenient place was selected for the dressing-rooms 
 — the space behind the scenery. 
 
 These, then, were the three main elements of the 
 theatre of the time of Sophocles : — the scenic back- 
 ground, which was the front of the dressing-room 
 building; the orchestra, which represented the space 
 in front of the building shown in the scenery; and 
 the auditorium, which rose from the level of the 
 
mm i 
 
Tragic Poetry, j^schylus 189 
 
 orchestra, the two wings extending a little beyond the 
 semicircle opposite the background. This simple 
 scheme was always retained in Greek theatres, although 
 both auditorium and scene-buildings were developed, 
 the one for the comfort of the spectators,' the other 
 to enhance the realism of the spectacle. 
 
 In the early period, when the slope of the Acropolis 
 was first used by the spectators, the evolutions of the 
 chorus and the recitations of the single actor, who 
 came out of the chorus, took place in the orchestra. 
 Since the spectators occupied an elevation, no eleva- 
 tion for the performers was needed to improve the 
 view, although the actor could mount the steps of the 
 great altar when special prominence was desired. 
 What was true of this early period was equally true 
 after the second and third actor had been added. 
 The erection of the building for the scenic background 
 and dressing-rooms did not alter the place of action. 
 But the actors naturally came to occupy mainly the 
 part of the orchestra nearer the scenery, which gener- 
 ally represented the home of the principal characters, 
 while the chorus retained its position near the altar in 
 the centre of the orchestra. In an orchestra whose 
 diameter was sixty feet, as at Athens, there was ample 
 room for the fifteen members of the chorus and the 
 three actors without overcrowding, nor was there 
 danger that the actors would be hidden from view by 
 the chorus. Besides, the actors were distinguished 
 by their costume'^ from the members of the chorus. 
 
 'The theatre at Athens, when completed, seated about seventeen thou- 
 sand persons comfortably. 
 
 'The more important personages in the tragedy, such as kings and 
 queens, were represented as of unusual stature. On the feet they wore 
 tne cothurnus, which added something to the height, and the wig was 
 so arranged as to increase the effect still more. The body was also 
 padded considerably. We may mention here the fact that all women's 
 rdles were taken by men. We never hear of a Greek actress. 
 
190 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 A considerable elevation for the actors alone, separat- 
 ing them from the chorus, was impossible in the 
 Greek drama, for the chorus is in constant contact 
 with the actors, and may always enter the building in 
 the background directly from the orchestra. The 
 long, narrow building called the proscenium, extend- 
 ing along the front of the scene-buildings thirteen 
 feet above the level of the orchestra, was formerly 
 believed to be an elevated stage for actors, but it is 
 now known to have been the main part of the decora- 
 tion, the roof of which was used only in exceptional 
 cases. The actors and choruses moved upon the 
 same level, as in the case of the modern opera.* 
 
 During the fifth century, in which the works of the 
 greatest dramatic poets fall, three tragic and three 
 comic poets competed at the City Dionysia, each 
 comic poet presenting one play, and the tragic poets 
 four each, three tragedies and a satyr-drama. In the 
 lifetime of ^schylus the three tragedies often dealt 
 with successive stages of the same subject, and even 
 the satyr-drama was sometimes upon the same theme. 
 The term " trilogy " refers to the group of three trage- 
 dies, ** tetralogy'' to the group of four plays. But 
 after ^schylus the members of a trilogy were not con- 
 nected in subject. The plays produced at the City 
 Dionysia were always new, but in the fourth century 
 
 *I have spoken as if the question of an elevated staee in Greek theatres 
 were settled. It is fair to say that some scholars still adhere to the old 
 view to which I have alluded above, although many have accepted as 
 a compromise the theory that in the fifth century the actors occupied 
 a low stage accessible to the chorus. But the evidence of the ruins and 
 of the extant dramas is distinctly in favor of the view which I have pre- 
 sented, which has rapidly gained adherents during the past fifteen years. 
 The Roman writer Vitruvius, who is quoted as an authority for a high 
 stage in the Greek theatre, had in mind a type of theatre peculiar to 
 Asia Minor, and not that found in Athens. In this Graeco-Roman theatre 
 actors and chorus performed upon a stage about five feet above the 
 level of the lowest seats, as in the modern theatre. 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 191 
 
 an old tragedy was sometimes revived. It is surmised 
 that in the fifth century popular old plays were 
 revived at the Lenaean festival. In any event they were 
 undoubtedly to be seen at the Rural Dionysia. The 
 tragic chorus, which at the time of Thespis probably 
 contained fifty members, numbered only twelve in 
 -^schylus's time but later was increased to fifteen. 
 The comic chorus contained twenty-four members. 
 By a convention which seems strange to us, only three 
 actors ever appeared upon the scene at the same time, 
 not counting ** mutes" and attendants. There was 
 consequently much less action in a Greek drama than 
 we are accustomed to see in a modern play, though 
 the participation of the chorus often lends greater 
 animation. 
 
 Another important difference between the ancient 
 and modern drama must be mentioned. There is 
 almost never a change of scene in tragedy during the 
 progress of the action, and in comedy rarely. This 
 is due to the constant presence of the chorus, which 
 thus fixes the scene of the action. This peculiar rule 
 is called the "unity of place.'* The rule of '* unity of 
 time'* is adhered to much more strictly than in the 
 modern drama, partly for the same reason. The 
 other unity, the "unity of action,*' is of universal 
 application, resting upon the fundamental principle of 
 dramatic art that every portion of a play must conduce 
 to the development of the main theme. 
 
 We have already stated that Greek tragedy presup- 
 poses the epic. In fact by far the greater number of 
 subjects treated by the tragic poets was taken from 
 the poems of the Epic Cycle, and almost all the rest 
 from the legendary history of the heroic age. We 
 
192 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 know of few exceptions to the rule. Phrynichus, an 
 older contemporary of .^schylus, once represented the 
 Capture of Miletus^ referring to the taking of this city 
 by the Persians. The Athenians were so affected by 
 the play that they put a heavy fine upon the poet 
 **for reminding them of their own misfortunes.** No 
 such result followed the performance of his Phoenician 
 Woman, in which he celebrated the deeds of Athens 
 in the Persian wars, nor when ^schylus produced the 
 Persians, which glorifies the victory of Salamis. No 
 other tragedies of this period are known that depart 
 from the subjects of the heroic age. ^schylus spoke 
 the truth when he said that his tragedies were but 
 crumbs from the table of Homer. 
 
 The first great poet of tragedy was ^Eschylus, who 
 was born at Eleusis in 525 B. C. and died in Sicily in 
 456. During the Persian wars he fought with con- 
 spicuous courage at Marathon and Salamis. His first 
 prize at the City Dionysia was won in 484, and alto- 
 gether he is said to have won twenty-eight victories — 
 a larger number than is recorded for any other poet. 
 Of the seventy tragedies which he wrote only seven 
 are extant. By his introduction of the second actor 
 iEschylus is entitled to be called the creator of Attic 
 tragedy. In his treatment of the chorus, his choice of 
 themes, his development of the plot, and in his whole 
 conception of the dignity of tragedy and of its mission 
 as instructor of the people in morals and religion, 
 yEschylus laid down the lines which succeeding poets 
 were to follow, with few important changes, so long 
 as tragedy was cultivated in Greece. 
 
 We may best illustrate the structure of a Greek 
 tragedy by an analysis of the Agamemnon of .^schylus, 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 193 
 
 the first play in the trilogy on the subject of the House 
 of Atreus, which was awarded the prize at the City 
 Dionysia in 458 B. C. The mythical story which 
 forms the groundwork of the trilogy is briefly as fol- 
 lows: Atreus, son of Pelops, succeeded to the throne 
 of Eurystheus, king of Argos. Thyestes, his brother, 
 who had been banished from Argos for wronging his 
 sister-in-law, returned as a suppliant. Atreus, fearing 
 to kill him, set before him at a banquet the flesh of 
 Thyestes's own children. When Thyestes knew what 
 he had done, he cursed the house of Atreus, and the 
 curse followed it for three generations. / Agamemnon 
 and Menelaus, sons of Atreus, married the sisters 
 Clytemnestra and Helen. The story of the rape of 
 Helen and the Trojan war follows. Agamemnon, it 
 will be remembered, sacrificed at Aulis his own 
 daughter, Iphigeneia. Clytemnestra, wroth at her 
 daughter's death, plotted with her paramour, ^gis- 
 thus, youngest son of Thyestes^^fcjrder Agamemnon 
 on his return from Troy. Orl^^Hier son, was sent 
 away to Phocis, and Electra, I^^Bther daughter by 
 Agamemnon, was treated as a servant. 
 
 The Agamemnon takes up the story at the point 
 when the hero's return from Troy is anxiously waited 
 at Argos. The scene is laid at Mycenae in front of 
 the palace of Agamemnon. When the tragedy begins* 
 we see on the roof of the palace a watchman, commis- 
 sioned by Clytemnestra to watch for the beacon-light 
 that should announce the fall of Troy. The prologue 
 is spoken by him.' 
 
 'A curtain was not employed in the Greek theatre. The actors took 
 their places in view of the spectators. For the same reason the favorite 
 conclusion of a play is a procession instead of a tableau. 
 
 *Morshead*s translation is used for all selections from the Agamemnon^ 
 Libation- Bearers, :vnd Eumenides, 
 
194 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 I pray the gods to quit me of my toils, 
 
 To close the watch I keep, this livelong year; 
 
 For as a watch-dog lying, not at rest, 
 
 Propped on one arm upon the palace-roof 
 
 Of Atreus' race, too long, too well I know 
 
 The starry conclave of the midnight sky ; 
 
 Too well, the splendours of the firmament. 
 
 The Lords of Light, whose kingly aspect signs— 
 
 What time they set or climb the sky in turn — 
 
 The year's divisions, bringing frost or fire ! 
 
 And now, as ever, am I set, to mark 
 
 When shall stream up the glow of signal-flame, 
 
 The bale-fire bright, and tell its Trojan tale — 
 
 Troy town is to' en : such issue holds in hope 
 
 She, in whose woman's breast beats heart of man ! 
 
 He at length sees the beacon flash out and shouts 
 the good news to the people in the palace, but not 
 without a dark word of foreboding for the future. 
 Twelve old men of Mycenae, who form the chorus, 
 now file through tj^^ide passage into the orchestra, 
 chanting^ as the}^^^^ of the expedition of the sons 
 of Atreus againstJ^^Hf beginning: 
 
 Ten livelong years have rolled away. 
 Since the twin lords of sceptred sway, 
 By Zeus endowed with pride of place. 
 The doughty chiefs of Atreus* race, 
 
 Went forth of yore, 
 To plead with Priam, face to face. 
 
 Before the judgment-seat of War! 
 
 While the elders are still singing Clytemnestra 
 comes from the palace to make a thank-offering to the 
 
 *The entrance song of the chorus is called the farodus, and gives the 
 motive for the presence of the chorus — here their anxiety about Aga- 
 memnon and the army. All that precedes the iarodus is called the 
 prologue. In it the situation is unfolded, and the audience made acquainted 
 with the subject to be presented. If the play opens with a choral march, 
 the Parodus and Prologue are identical. The song of the chorus from its 
 usual station in the orchestra is called the stasimon, and the acts which fall 
 between two stasima, episodes. The final act is known as the exodus. 
 
Tragic Poetry, -^schylus 195 
 
 gods. The altars along the front of the palace are 
 soon ablaze. The elders question her anxiously, but 
 she pays no heed. They then continue their song, 
 telling of the strange omen that appeared to the 
 chieftains at Aulis and the interpretation of Calchas 
 the seer, who prophesied the sacking of Troy but gave 
 warning of the sacrifice which Artemis would require. 
 
 At home there tarries like a lurking snake, 
 Biding its time, a wrath unreconciled, 
 
 A wily watcher, passionate to slake 
 
 In blood, resentment for a murdered child.^ 
 
 The chorus interrupt their story for a moment by 
 an appeal to Zeus : 
 
 Zeus— if to the Unknown 
 
 That name of many names seems good— — —^ 
 
 Zeus, upon thee, in utter need, I call. 
 
 Thro' the mind's every road 
 I passed, but vain are all 
 Save that which names thee Zeus, the Highest Onel 
 
 *Tis Zeus alone who shows the perfect way 
 
 Of knowledge: He hath ruled. 
 Men shall learn wisdom, by affliction schooled. 
 
 In visions of the night, like dropping rain. 
 Descend the many memories of pain 
 Before the spirit's sight: through tears and dole. 
 Comes wisdom o'er the unwilling soul. 
 
 The subject is resumed again. After a long delay 
 at Aulis, through adverse winds sent by Artemis, 
 Calchas explicitly declared that Iphigeneia must be 
 sacrificed. Agamemnon yielded at last to the demands 
 of his allies, against the dictates of his own con- 
 science and his love and in spite of the tender 
 
 'Referring to the curse of Thyestes for the murder of his children. 
 
196 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 entreaties of his daughter. The terrible sacrifice is 
 made and Agamemnon has committed a great wrong. 
 **But may all yet be well." With this prayer the 
 parodus is concluded. 
 
 The chorus now takes its stand by the altar, and its 
 leader advances toward the palace to inquire of Clytem- 
 nestra the meaning of her sacrifices. Is it for good! 
 news that has come? *'Good beyond hope," is Clytem- 
 nestra's answer. She then describes in a magnificent 
 passage the progress of the beacon-fires from Mount 
 Ida to Lemnos, from Lemnos to Athos, and so from 
 peak to peak to Argos. The victory is gained, but 
 let the victors fail not to reverence the gods of Troy 
 if they would come safely home. Clytemnestra then 
 reenters the palace, and the first episode comes to 
 a close. 
 
 In the choral ode, or stasimon^ which follows, the 
 chorus first thank the gods for the victory whereby 
 the crime of Paris is avenged. Riches and power avail 
 not to ward off the consequences of sin. 
 
 And such did Paris come 
 
 Unto Atreides' home, 
 And thence, with sin and shame his welcome to repay. 
 
 Ravished the wife away — 
 And she, unto her country and her kin 
 Leaving the clash of shields and spears and arming ships, 
 And bearing unto Troy destruction for a dower. 
 
 And overbold in sin. 
 Went fleetly through the gates, at midnight hour. 
 
 Alas for the home which Helen left desolate ! Her 
 form seems yet to bear sway in the house and hovers 
 near Menelaus in his dreams, a vain delight! But the 
 sorrows of the Achaeans are even greater than his. 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 197 
 
 Each house has its dead to mourn, and the people 
 murmur against their rulers. The god will surely 
 punish those who shed men's blood. 
 
 O'er him who vaunteth an exceeding fame, 
 
 Impends a woe condign; 
 The vengeful bolt upon his eyes doth flame. 
 
 Sped from the hand divine. 
 This bliss be mine, ungrudged of God, to feel: 
 To tread no city to the dust. 
 
 Nor see my own life thrust 
 Down to a slave's estate beneath another's heel I 
 
 Can the good tidings be true? We soon shall know, 
 for a dust-covered messenger approaches. With the 
 entrance of the messenger the elders resume their 
 place by the altar, and the second episode begins. 
 
 The messenger greets the land of Argos, its gods 
 and the king's palace, and bids prepare a loyal wel- 
 come for Agamemnon. The sufferings and losses of 
 the Greek host were many and hard to bear, but the 
 issue repays it all. 
 
 Farewell, a long farewell to all our woes! 
 
 To us, the remnant of the host of Greece, 
 
 Comes weal beyond all counterpoise of woe; 
 
 Thus boast we rightfully to yonder sun, 
 
 Like him, far-fleeted over sea and land: 
 
 *The Argive host prevailed to conquer Troy, 
 
 And in the temples of the gods of Greece 
 
 Hung up these spoils, a shining sign to Time.* 
 
 Let those who read this legend bless aright 
 
 The city and its chieftains, and repay 
 
 The meed of gratitude to Zeus who willed 
 
 And wrought the deed. So stands the tale fulfilled. 
 
 Clytemnestra comes from the palace and tells of 
 her joy at the knowledge of her husband's victorious 
 home-coming. 
 
19^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 What day beams fairer on a woman's eyes 
 
 Than this, whereon she flings the portal wide 
 
 To hail her lord, heaven-shielded, home from war? 
 
 This to my husband, that he tarry not, 
 
 But turn the city's longing into joy! 
 
 Yea, let him come, and, coming, may he find 
 
 A wife no other than he left her, true 
 
 And faithful as a watch-dog to his home— 
 
 His foeman's foe; in all her duties leal, 
 
 Trusty to keep for ten long years unmarred 
 
 The store whereon he set his master-seal. 
 
 She reenters the palace. The messenger tells the 
 chorus of the storms that scattered the Greek fleet 
 on its homeward voyage. After his departure the 
 chorus sing the second stasimon. Their subject is the 
 ruin which Helen brought on Troy. As a lion's cub, 
 caressed by young and old, at length betrays its nature 
 and rewards the kindness shown it by a bloody feast, 
 
 Even so to Ilion's city came by stealth 
 
 A spirit as of windless seas and skies, 
 A gentle phantom-form of joy and wealth, 
 
 With love's soft arrows speeding from its eyes. 
 Love's rose, whose thorn doth pierce the soul in subtle wise. 
 
 There is an ancient saying that prosperity breeds mis- 
 fortune. It is rather sin that begets sorrow, and 
 Justice works her will in spite of wealth. 
 
 Seeing Agamemnon and his train approaching, the 
 chorus give him a loyal greeting (third episode). The 
 king, still seated in his chariot, acknowledges their 
 welcome and greets the gods of the land. Clytem- 
 nestra comes from the palace to welcome him, followed 
 by attendants carrying rich cloths of purple. She 
 describes the anxiety which she had felt for his safety, 
 and tells how she had sent Orestes, the pledge and 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 199 
 
 symbol of their plighted troth, to the home of a dis- 
 tant friend, that he might not be exposed to danger in 
 case of a revolt in the land. She then bids him enter 
 the palace. 
 
 Sweet lord, step forth, 
 Step from thy car, I pray— nay, not on earth 
 Plant the proud foot, O King, that trod down Troy! 
 Women! why tarry ye, whose task it is 
 To spread your monarch's path with tapestry? 
 Swift, swift, with purple strew his passage fair, 
 That justice lead him to a home, at last. 
 He scarcely looked to see. For what remains. 
 Zeal, unsubdued by sleep, shall nerve my hand 
 To work as right and as the gods command! 
 
 Agamemnon bids her honor hjm as a mortal, not as 
 a god, for he dreads the divine envy that follows 
 excessive pride. *' Count no man happy until he ends 
 his days in prosperity." But the queen urges the 
 point, and Agamemnon reluctantly yields, though he 
 removes his sandals before stepping upon the purple, 
 lest the envy of the gods smite him. Enjoining upon 
 the queen to treat kindly the captive maiden Cassandra 
 — Priam's daughter, whom he had chosen from the 
 spoils of war — he descends from the chariot and 
 enters the palace. Clytemnestra, as she follows him, 
 utters this ominous prayer to Zeus: 
 
 Lord of Fulfilment, all my vows fulfil, 
 And whatsoe'er it be, work forth Thy will. 
 
 So ends the third episode. The words of the chorus 
 in the third stasimon strike a note of foreboding: 
 
 Wherefore, for ever, on the wings of Fear 
 
 Hovers a vision drear 
 Before my boding heart? A strain. 
 Unbidden and unwelcome, thrills mine ear. 
 
 Oracular of pain. 
 
200 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Not as of old upon my bosom's throne 
 
 Sits Confidence, to spurn 
 Such fears, like dreams, we know not to discern. . . 
 
 Ah! to some end of Fate, unseen, unguessed, 
 
 Are these wild throbbings of my heart and breast-* 
 Yea, of some doom they tell — 
 Each pulse a knell. 
 Lief, lief I were, that all 
 To unfulfilment's hidden realm might fall. 
 
 The fourth episode opens with the entrance of 
 Clytemnestra, who roughly orders Cassandra to enter 
 the palace and begin her life of slavery. Cassandra 
 remains silent in the chariot, and does not answer 
 even the gentler words of the chorus. But when 
 Clytemnestra has departed in anger, she bursts into 
 a sobbing appeal to Apollo, the cause of all her woes,* 
 and then in a frenzy of prophetic inspiration foretells, 
 in impassioned lyrics, the doom impending over Aga- 
 memnon and herself; but in language the imagery of 
 which the chorus but dimly understands.^ 
 
 Cas, Home cursed of God! bear witness unto me. 
 The visioned woes within — 
 
 The blood-stained hands of them that smite their kin— 
 
 The strangling noose, and, spattered o*er 
 
 With human blood, the reeking floor! 
 Cho. How like a sleuth-hound questing on the track, 
 
 Keen-scented unto blood and death she hies! 
 Gas. Ah! can the ghostly guidance fail, 
 
 Whereby my prophet-soul is onwards led? 
 
 Look! for their flesh the spectre-children wail. 
 
 Their sodden limbs, on which their father fed! 
 
 •Apollo, who loved her, endowed her with the gift of prophecy in return 
 for the promise of her affection. But the princess then repulsed his 
 advances. Thereupon Apollo decreed that no one should believe her 
 prophecies, and she was accordingly regarded as a madwoman and kept 
 ID confinement. 
 
 'Such a lyrical dialogue between an actor and the chorus was called 
 a kcmmos. 
 
Tragic Poetry. JEschylus 201 
 
 Cho. Long since we knew of thy prophetic fame, — 
 
 But for these deeds we seek no prophet's tongue. 
 
 Cas. God! *tis another crime — 
 
 Worse than the storied woe of olden time. 
 Cureless, abhorred, that one is plotting here — 
 A shaming death, for those that should be dear! 
 Alas! and far away, in foreign land, 
 He, that should help,* doth stand! 
 
 Cho. I knew th' old tales, the city rings withal — 
 But now thy speech is dark beyond my ken. 
 
 Cas, God! a new sight! a net, a snare of hell. 
 
 Set by her hand — herself a snare more fell! 
 
 A wedded wife, she slays her lord; 
 Helped by a dastard hand! Ye powers! whose hate 
 Of Atreus* home no blood can satiate — 
 Raise the wild cry above the sacrifice abhorred! 
 Cho. Why biddest thou some fiend, 1 know not whom, 
 Shriek o'er the house? Thine is no cheering word. 
 Back to my heart in frozen fear, I feel 
 My waning life-blood run — 
 The blood that round the wounding steel 
 Ebbs slow as sinks Life's parting sun — 
 Swift, swift and sure, some woe comes pressing on! 
 
 Cas. Woe, Paris, woe on thee! Thy bridal joy 
 
 Was death and fire upon thy race and Troy! 
 And woe for thee, Scamander's flood! 
 Beside thy banks, O river fair, 
 I grew, in tender nursing care. 
 From childhood unto maidenhood! 
 Now not by thine, but by Cocytus* stream. 
 Or Acheron's' banks, shall ring »ny boding scream. 
 Cho. Too plain is all, too plain! 
 
 A child might read aright thy fateful strain! 
 Deep in my heart their piercing fang 
 Terror and sorrow set, the while I heard 
 That piteous, low, tender word. 
 Yet to mine ear and heart a crushing pang. 
 
 ^Referring to Orestes. *Rivers of the lower world. 
 
202 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 In calmer and clearer language she now depicts the 
 doom of the house of Atreus, tracing the cause back 
 to the crime of Thyestes in wronging his brother's 
 wife, followed by the more horrible crime of Atreus ; 
 
 Behold ye — yonder, on the roof aloft, — 
 
 The spectre-children sitting— look — such shapes 
 
 As dreams are made of — semblances of babes 
 
 Slain by their kinsman's hand. 
 
 And look, what loathsome burthen piteous, 
 
 Blasting the sight, within their hands they bear. 
 
 Their own rent flesh, on which their father fed! 
 
 Tearing off her prophet's robes, she foretells the 
 vengeance of Orestes: 
 
 Ah me! 
 
 I die, yet not unheeded of the gods — 
 
 For by their will shall one requite my doom: 
 
 He, to avenge his father's blood outpoured, 
 
 Shall smite and slay, with matricidal hand. 
 
 Aye, he shall come — tho* far away he roam, 
 
 A banished wanderer in a stranger's land — 
 
 To crown his kindred's edifice of ill, 
 
 Called home to vengeance by his father's fall: 
 
 Thus have the high gods sworn, and shall fulfil. 
 
 She predicts her own death. The chorus counsel 
 flight, but in vain. Cassandra sees that her hour is 
 come, and is resolved to meet death bravely. 
 
 Once more — one utterance, but not of wail. 
 Though for my death — and then I speak no more. 
 Sun! thou whose beam I shall not see again. 
 To thee I cry: Let those whom vengeance calls 
 To slay their kindred's slayers, quit withal 
 The death of me, the slave, the fenceless prey. 
 Ah, state of mortal man, in time of weal, 
 A line, a shadow! and, if ill fate fall. 
 One wet sponge-sweep wipes all our trace away— 
 And this I deem less piteous, of the twain. 
 
Tra^c Poetry, ^schylus 203 
 
 With these last words she enters the palace, while 
 the chorus lament the uncertainty of human happiness. 
 Agamemnon has returned triumphant from Troy, but 
 is about to suffer guilt for the death of his ancestors. 
 At this point, the beginning of the exodus^ piercing 
 cries issue from the palace. The members of the 
 chorus debate about their course of action — shall they 
 call for aid or rush within to the rescue? The doors 
 of the palace are suddenly thrown open as the elders 
 are on the point of entering.^ They see the body of 
 Agamemnon lying beside that of Cassandra, and 
 Clytemnestra looking upon her bloody work. She 
 steps forward and calmly exults in what she has done. 
 
 This is the sum and issue of the strife 
 
 Wherein long since he gave my love defeat, 
 
 Of me deep-pondered and at length fulfilled. 
 
 All is avowed, and, as I smote, I stand 
 
 With foot set firm upon a finished thing! 
 
 Yea, thus I wrought — even I — ere he could move 
 
 A foot to fly, an arm to ward his doom! 
 
 Even as the trammel hems the scaly shoal, 
 
 I trapped him with inextricable toils. 
 
 The ill abundance of a baffling robe; 
 
 Then smote him, once, again — and at each wound 
 
 He cried aloud, then as in death relaxed 
 
 Each limb, and sank to earth; and as he lay, 
 
 Once more I smote him, with the third last blow. 
 
 Sacred to Hades, Saviour of the Dead. 
 
 Answering the stern reproaches of the chorus, she 
 justifies her deed, referring to the sacrifice of Iphige- 
 neia, whom he slew, as he would a sheep, to charm the 
 
 *It was an unv/ritten law of the Greek drama that no murder or violent 
 death should be represented in view of the spectators. By a device such 
 as is here employed the chorus is supposed to see and describe the 
 horrible sight, which, in its details, is not visible to the others. The tragic 
 effect is produced by their language alone, assisted by the imagination ol 
 the spectators. 
 
204 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 winds of Thrace ; and to his unfaithfulness in wedlock, 
 for he brought home Cassandra, *'who now lies as erst 
 she lay, close to his side." She trusts to -^gisthus to 
 defend her cause. The chorus raise a lament over the 
 king, which Clytemnestra interrupts, now to defend 
 her deed, now to exult in it. But the chorus chant 
 the solemn warning: 
 
 The slayer of to-day shall die to-morrow — 
 
 The wage of wrong is woe. 
 While time shall be, while Zeus in heaven is lord, 
 
 His law is fixed and stern; 
 On him that wrought shall vengeance be outpoured — 
 
 The tides of doom return. 
 The Children of the Curse abide within 
 
 These halls of high estate — 
 And none can wrench from off the home of sin 
 
 The clinging grasp of fate. 
 
 -^gisthus enters from the side and gloats over the 
 slain, for the day of vengeance has arrived for the 
 slain children of Thyestes — his own brothers. The 
 leaders of the chorus defy his authority. He shall not 
 rule over Argos if Orestes still lives. The chorus 
 advance upon the usurper with drawn swords, and 
 iEgisthus stands ready to fight. But Clytemnestra 
 intervenes and amid the taunts of the chorus leads 
 iEgisthus away with the words : 
 
 " Let the cur-pack growl and yell — 
 I and thou will rule the palace and will order all things well I " 
 
 So ends the Agame?nnon. Immediately after it, 
 without change of scene, followed the Libation Bearers, 
 As Electra and her maids pour a libation upon the 
 tomb of Agamemnon, Orestes, her brother, appears, 
 and their recognition ensues. They plan vengeance 
 
Tragic Poetry. iEschylus 205 
 
 together upon their mother, according to the com- 
 mand of Apollo given to Orestes. Gaining admission 
 to the palace in the guise of a stranger, he tells 
 Clytemnestra a false tale of his own death, at which 
 she secretly rejoices. With Electra's aid Orestes kills 
 ^gisthus and Clytemnestra. Then a frenzy of mad- 
 ness overcomes him, and he fancies that he sees in 
 pursuit of him the dreadful Furies, with dark robes 
 and snaky hair, coming to avenge his mother's murder. 
 The tragedy closes with the following chant, accom- 
 panying the outward march of the maidens who form 
 the chorus: 
 
 Behold, the storm of woe divine 
 That raves and beats on Atreus' line 
 
 Its great third blast hath blown. 
 First was Thyestes' loathly woe — 
 The rueful feast of long ago, 
 
 On children's flesh, unknown. 
 And next the kingly chief's despite. 
 When he who led the Greeks to fight 
 
 Was in the bath hewn down. 
 And now the offspring of the race 
 Stands in the third, the saviour's place, — 
 
 To save — ot to consume? 
 O whither, ere it be fulfilled, 
 Ere its fierce blast be hushed and stilled, 
 
 Shall blow the wind of doom? 
 
 The third member of the trilogy is the Furies, The 
 scene is at first at Delphi, before the temple of Apollo. 
 We see, inside the temple, Orestes clinging to the altar, 
 a suppliant of the god, and around him the dreadful 
 avenging Furies slumbering. Apollo bids Orestes be 
 of good cheer, and to escape to Athens while the 
 Furies are still asleep. As he leaves, the ghost of 
 
2o6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Clytemnestra rises and arouses the Furies to pursue. 
 They rush forth, scenting like hounds the track of 
 blood. The scene shifts to Athens. Orestes enters 
 and throws himself upon the statue of Athene, seeking 
 her protection. The Furies soon appear. Athene 
 comes down and organizes a trial before citizens of 
 Athens, thus constituting the court of the Areopagus. 
 Apollo pleads in defense of Orestes, the Furies prose- 
 cute. The vote is a tie, but Athene, who presides, 
 gives the casting vote in favor of the accused. The 
 Furies, at first outraged by this result, are appeased 
 by the promise of an honorable worship in Athens 
 under the name of Eumenides, or **the Gracious 
 Ones.** The curse upon the house of Atreus is at last 
 extinct. The play closes with a grand procession 
 in which the Eumenides are solemnly escorted to their 
 new home — a cave beneath the Areopagus. We quote 
 the song of the Furies tracking Orestes to his refuge 
 in Athens: 
 
 Ho! clear is here the trace of him we seek: 
 Follow the track of blood, the silent sign! 
 Like to some hound that hunts a wounded fawn, 
 We snuff along the scent of dripping gore, 
 And inwardly we pant, for many a day 
 Toiling in chase that shall fordo the man; 
 Far o'er and o'er the wide land have I ranged, 
 And o'er the wide sea, flying without wings 
 Swift as a sail, I pressed upon his track 
 Who now hard by is lurking, well I wot, 
 For scent of mortal blood allures me here. 
 
 Follow him, seek him — round and round 
 
 Scent and snuff and scan the ground. 
 
 Lest unharmed he slip away — 
 
 He who did his mother slay! 
 Hist — he is there! See him his arms entwine 
 Around the image of the maid divine — 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 207 
 
 Thus aided, for the deed he wrought 
 Unto the judgment wills he to be brought! 
 
 The earliest of the extant plays is the Suppliants^ 
 named for the chorus, the fifty daughters of Danaus, 
 who have fled with their father from Egypt to Argos 
 in order to escape marriage with their cousins, the 
 fifty sons of Egyptus. They are received and pro- 
 tected by the king of Argos. The earliest play the 
 date of whose production is known is the Persians^ 
 brought out in 472 B. C. The scene is laid at Susa, 
 capital of the Persian Empire. Persian elders, who 
 form the chorus, are gathered at the tomb of Darius. 
 The aged queen Atossa appears. While they ex- 
 change their anxious forebodings about the host which 
 Xerxes has led against the Greeks, a messenger ap- 
 pears and announces the disaster at Salamis. Atossa 
 summons up the ghost of her husband, Darius, who 
 predicts still greater disaster to the army in Greece 
 and warns the Persians to fight no more against the 
 Greeks, * * for the very land is an ally to them. ' * Finally 
 Xerxes appears with a few wretched followers, and, 
 with the chorus, fills the scene with extravagant lam- 
 entations. The play contains some stately choral odes 
 and a famous description of the battle of Salamis, from 
 which the following selection is taken : 
 
 But when white-steeded Day, bright to behold, 
 Held the wide earth, from the Hellenes first, 
 Like joyous chant, rang out their battle-cry. 
 And forthwith Echo, from the island rocks. 
 Sent back responsive an inspiring shout. 
 On all the Persians, cheated in their hopes, 
 Fell terror; for by no means as in flight 
 Their solemn paean did th' Hellenes sing. 
 But with stout courage speeding to the fray. 
 
2o8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The trumpet*s blare fired all their ranks, and straight, 
 
 With simultaneous dip of sounding oar, 
 
 They at the signal smote the surging brine, 
 
 And instant all conspicuous were to sight. 
 
 First the right wing, well marshall'd, took the lead: 
 
 Then their whole naval force in fair array 
 
 Bore down against us. All at once was heard 
 
 A mighty shout: "Sons of Hellenfes, on, 
 
 Your country free, your children free, your wives. 
 
 The temples of your fathers' deities, 
 
 Your tombs ancestral; for your all ye fight." 
 
 And from our side clamour of Persian speech 
 
 In answer rose; no time was then for pause, 
 
 But instant galley against galley dashed 
 
 Her armature of brass. A ship of Hellas 
 
 Led the encounter, and from the Punic barque 
 
 Sheared her high crest. Thereon as fortune led, 
 
 Ship drave on ship; at first the Persian host, 
 
 A mighty flood, made head; but soon their ships 
 
 Thronged in the strait, of mutual aid bereft, 
 
 Each against each other dashed with brazen beak, 
 
 Crushing the oar-banks of their proper fleet; 
 
 While the Hellenes ships, not without skill. 
 
 Circling around them smote: dead hulks of ships 
 
 Floated keel-upwards, and, with wrecks o'erstrewn 
 
 And slaughtered men, lost was the sea from sight. 
 
 Ay, shores and reefs were crowded with the dead. 
 
 In flight disordered every ship was rowed, 
 
 Poor remnant of the Persian armament. 
 
 Then as men strike at tunnies, or a haul 
 
 Of captured fishes, the Hellenes, armed 
 
 With splint of oar, or fragment of the wreck, 
 
 Batter'd, and clave with dislocating blows. 
 
 Shrieks and loud wailing filled the ocean brine. 
 
 Till all 'neath eye of swarthy night was lost. 
 
 But all our losses, though for ten whole days 
 
 I told them over, could I not recount. 
 
 Of this be sure, that never in one day 
 
 Perished of men so vast a multitude. 
 
 Swan wick. 
 
Tragic Poetry, -^chylus 209 
 
 The Seven against Thebes won the first prize in 467 
 B. C. The trilogy to which it belonged set forth the 
 whole tragedy of the house of Labdacus, as the plays 
 of the Oresteian trilogy give the story of the house of 
 Atreus. The aim of the poet is here again to vindi- 
 cate the divine government by exhibiting the ultimate 
 triumph of justice and the certain punishment of sin. 
 Since the legendary history of the kings of Thebes 
 furnishes the theme of a number of extant tragedies 
 of Sophocles and Euripides, we may briefly trace the 
 story here. Laius, the son of Labdacus and husband of 
 Jocasta, was king of Thebes. Seeking to evade the 
 oracle which declared that he should be slain by his 
 own son, he caused his infant to be exposed on Mount 
 Cithaeron. The child was found by a shepherd, and 
 adopted as his son and heir by Polybus, the king of Cor- 
 inth, receiving the name of (Edipus.* Grown to man- 
 hood, CEdipus was taunted with not being the true son 
 of Polybus. He inquired of the oracle at Delphi, and 
 was told only that he should slay his own father and 
 marry his own mother. To escape this fate he resolved 
 not to return to Corinth. On his way to Thebes he 
 encountered Laius and slew him. At Thebes he solved 
 the riddle of the Sphinx, obtained the kingdom as his 
 reward, and married Jocasta. By her he became the 
 father of two sons, Eteocles and Polyneices, and of two 
 daughters, Antigone and Ismene. The city was vis- 
 ited with a plague, which could not be stayed until the 
 murderer of Laius should be discovered and punished. 
 (Edipus learned the truth concerning his birth, and put- 
 ting out his eyes in grief, resigned the kingdom to his 
 sons. Jocasta liung herself in shame. His sons confined 
 
 •I.e., "Swollen-foot," for his feet were pierced by thongs when exposed 
 to die. 
 
2IO Homer to Theocritus 
 
 their father in prison, whereat CEdipus put a curse 
 upon them. The brothers quarreled about the sover- 
 eignty. Polyneices collected an army under seven 
 chieftains, including himself, and in the fight that fol- 
 lowed the brothers slew each other. The story of 
 the wanderings and death of CEdipus and of the fate 
 of Antigone will be told elsewhere. 
 
 The other members of the trilogy Drought the tragic 
 events of this story down to the siege of Thebes by 
 Polyneices. The Seven against Thebes opens with an 
 address of Eteocles to the assembled Thebans. A 
 messenger tells of the advance of the seven mighty 
 chieftains against the gates. The chorus of Theban 
 maidens enter in terror and supplicate the gods for 
 protection. A scout tells Eteocles the names of the 
 heroes stationed at the seven gates. Eteocles assigns 
 his own chieftains one against each, and himself 
 chooses his brother Polyneices to be his opponent, 
 though he knows that the curse of his father is work- 
 ing out his doom. He goes forth to battle. Soon a 
 messenger reports that the brothers have been slain by 
 each other. Their bodies are brought in, Antigone and 
 Ismene among the mourners. Then a decree is pro- 
 claimed that the body of Polyneices shall be cast out 
 unburied. Antigone resolves to bury him in spite of 
 the decree. The play closes with the funeral proces- 
 sion, Antigone and one-half of the chorus following 
 the body of Polyneices, Ismene and the other half 
 that of Eteocles. I quote from the passage in which 
 Eteocles resolves to stand against his brother 
 
 Mess. Now at the seventh gate the seventh chief. 
 Thy proper mother's son, I will announce, 
 What curses for the state he imprecates; 
 
Tragic Poetry. iEschylus 21 1 
 
 That he may stand upon the walls, he prays i— 
 That, heralded as king to all the land, 
 With paeans for its capture, he with thee 
 Fighting, may slay thee, dying by thy side. 
 Or thee, who wrong'd him, chasing forth alive. 
 Requite in kind his proper banishment. 
 Such words he shouts and calls upon the gods, 
 Who o'er his race preside and Fatherland, 
 With gracious eye to look upon his prayers. 
 Eteo. O heaven-demented race of (Edipus, 
 
 My race, tear-fraught, detested of the gods. 
 Alas, our father's curses now bear fruit! 
 But it beseems not to lament or weep, 
 Lest lamentations sadder still be born. 
 For him, too truly Polyneikes named, — 
 What his device will work we soon shall know; 
 Whether his braggart words, with madness fraught, 
 Gold-blazoned on his shield, shall lead him back. 
 Had Justice, virgin child of Zeus, in sooth. 
 Guided his deeds and thoughts, this might have been; 
 But neither when he fled the darksome womb, 
 Nor in his childhood, nor in youth's fair prime. 
 Nor when his chin thick hair o'erspread, with him 
 Hath Justice converse held, or claimed him hers; 
 Nor in this outrage on his Fatherland 
 Deem I she now beside him deigns to stand. 
 For Justice would, in sooth, belie her name 
 Did she with this all-daring man consort. 
 In these regards confiding will I go. 
 Myself will meet him. Who with better right? 
 Brother 'gainst brother, chieftain against chief, 
 And foeman against foe, I Ml take my stand. 
 Quick, bring my greaves, bulwark 'gainst spear 
 and stones. 
 
 Swanwick. 
 
 The Prometheus Bound was produced some time 
 between the Seven against Thebes and the Agamemnon. 
 It is unique among the extant Greek tragedies in that 
 
212 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 all the characters of the drama are gods or demigods. 
 It appeals to our sympathies in some ways even more 
 than the Agamemnon^ the grandest and most majestic 
 of -^schylus' creations, for its subject is the suffering 
 of a god for man's sake. In the struggle between 
 Zeus and the Titans, Prometheus, one of the Titans, 
 had taken the part of Zeus. But when Zeus, estab- 
 lished upon the throne, proposed to destroy mankind 
 and to create a new race, Promethus opposed his plan, 
 and gave to mortals fire, the seed of civilization. 
 Zeus condemned Prometheus to be nailed to a rock. 
 At this point the Prometheus Bound begins. Hephaes- 
 tus and two attendants, Force and Strength, bring in 
 Prometheus and nail him to a rock in Scythia. The 
 Titan deigns no answer to their taunts, but when they 
 depart he appeals to nature to witness his unjust pun- 
 ishment. The chorus of sea-nymphs now enter upon 
 a winged car and extend their sympathies to the suf- 
 ferer. Prometheus tells them of a great danger which 
 threatens Zeus, known only to himself.* The god 
 Oceanus enters upon a flying steed and remonstrates 
 with Prometheus for his stubborn resistance to Zeus, 
 but in vain. Then lo, a victim of Zeus' love, another 
 example of his ingratitude, visits the scene in her 
 frenzied wanderings and learns her future from Prome- 
 theus. Zeus sends Hermes to wring the secret from 
 the Titan. When Prometheus refuses the thunderbolt 
 of Zeus crashes down upon him, burying him in Tar- 
 tarus. So ends the tragedy. The play which followed 
 it in the trilogy told how Prometheus was at length 
 delivered from his torture and reconciled to Zeus. 
 
 *That, if he marry Thetis, she shall bear a son mightier than bis 
 father. See p. 33. 
 
Tragic Poetry, ^schylus 213 
 
 I quote a part of the soliloquy of Prometheus after he 
 has been chained to the rock, and from the choral ode 
 which follows: 
 
 Prom. O holy yEther, and swift-wingM Winds, 
 
 And River-wells, and laughter innumerous 
 Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all. 
 And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you! — 
 Behold me, a god, what I endure from gods! 
 
 Behold with throe on throe, 
 
 How, wasted by this woe, 
 I wrestle down the myriad years of time I 
 
 Behold, how fast around me, 
 The new King of the happy ones sublime 
 Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound 
 
 me! 
 Woe, woe, to-day's woe and the coming morrow's, 
 I cover with one groanl And where is found me 
 
 A limit to these sorrows? 
 And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown 
 Clearly all things that should be — nothing done 
 Comes sudden to my soul — and I must bear 
 What is ordained with patience, being aware 
 Necessity doth front the universe 
 With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse, 
 Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave 
 In silence or in speech. Because I gave 
 Honour to mortals, I have yoked my soul 
 To this compelling fate! Because I stole 
 The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went 
 Over the ferrule's brim, and manward sent 
 Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment. 
 That sin I expiate in this agony; 
 Hung here in fetters, *neath the blanching sky! 
 
 [TA^ sea-nymphs draw near. 
 
 Ah, ah me! what a sound! 
 What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen. 
 Of a god or a mortal, or a nature between. 
 
214 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her 
 
 bound. 
 To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain. 
 Lo! a god in the anguish, a god in the chain! 
 
 The god Zeus hateth sore, 
 
 And his gods hate again. 
 As many as tread on his glorified floor, 
 Because I loved mortals, too much evermore! 
 Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear, 
 
 As of birds flying near! 
 
 And the air undersings 
 
 The light stroke of their wings — 
 And all life that approaches I wait for in fear. 
 Chor. Fear nothing! our troop 
 
 Floats lovingly up 
 
 With a quick-oaring stroke 
 
 Of wings steered to the rock; 
 Having softened the soul of our father below! 
 For the gales of swift-bearing have sent me a soundi 
 And the clank of the iron, the malleted blow, 
 
 Smote down the profound 
 
 Of my caverns of old, 
 And struck the red light in a blush from my brow, 
 Till I sprang up unsandaled, in haste to behold, 
 And rushed forth on my chariot of wings manifold. 
 
 Mrs. Browning. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 SOPHOCLES 
 
 Sophocles — His Position in Attic Tragedy -— The Ajax — 
 The Eiectra — T\ie Philoctetes ^The Women of Trachis 
 —The CEdipus the King—Th^ CEdipus at Colonus — 
 The Antigone. 
 
 Sophocles, the second great tragic poet of Athens, 
 was born about 495 B. C. in the village of Colonus, 
 near Athens. The wealth of his father secured him 
 an excellent education and a position in the best 
 Athenian society. As a lad he was remarkable for his 
 beauty, and was chosen to lead the chorus of boys 
 which sang a hymn of praise for the victory at Salamis 
 in 480 B. C. His first victory at the City Dionysia, 
 in 468 B. C, is said to have been won at his first com- 
 petition. He defeated iEschylus on this occasion. 
 Early in his career he won applause both as a poet and 
 as an actor in a play entitled the Washerwomen^ in 
 which he played the part of the maiden Nausicaa play- 
 ing at ball. His weak voice, however, compelled him 
 to give up acting, which was gradually becoming an 
 independent profession. He made two important 
 innovations in the dramatic art, the introduction of 
 the third actor and the use of painted scenery. Both 
 as a poet and as a man he was a favorite of the 
 Athenians throughout his career, winning no less than 
 eighteen victories at the City Dionysia alone and 
 never falling below second place. Of the upward 
 
 215 
 
21 6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 of one hundred plays which he wrote in the course of 
 his long dramatic career of over sixty years only seven 
 survive. 
 
 Sophocles is a true representative of the age of 
 Pericles, of the fine aristocracy of culture which makes 
 the period lying between 460 and 430 B. C. the great- 
 est and most splendid of antiquity. His relation to 
 letters is comparable to that of Pheidias to art. 
 Euripides, on the other hand, was the poet of the 
 extreme democracy, and stood for entirely different 
 ideals; while -^schylus, whose early manhood fell in 
 the stirring times in which Athens wrestled first with 
 the tyranny for political freedom and then with the 
 Persian Empire for her very existence, was of the more 
 rugged type, sturdily striving to maintain the older 
 ideals both in politics and in religion. Sophocles stands 
 nearer to ^Eschylus than to Euripides, though only 
 ten years older than the latter. Of Euripides as a poet 
 we shall speak later; as between ^schylus and Sopho- 
 cles one or two characteristics may be pointed out. 
 
 The actions of the characters in ^schylus are gov- 
 erned largely by destiny. The characters are heroic, 
 in the first place, and their fate was already fixed in 
 the legends of which the poet made use. -^schylus 
 endeavors to show how their fate was worked out 
 under the universal laws established by the gods. In 
 this sort of fatalism less stress could be laid upon 
 the operation of human motives in the individual. 
 Sophocles, on the other hand, laid greater stress upon 
 the individual and his motives and less upon the irre- 
 sistible law. His characters are accordingly more 
 human, though still heroic. In some of his plays we 
 note the development of character during the progress 
 
SOPHOCLES, 
 Portrait Statue, Lateran Museum, Rome. 
 
Sophocles 217 
 
 of the action — a thing unknown in ^schylus. The 
 details of his plays are more carefully studied, both 
 as regards the plot and the language. Under an 
 apparent simplicity lies a subtlety of thought and 
 a carefully studied adjustment of parts that only pro- 
 found study and sympathy will reveal. The best of 
 his tragedies are unsurpassed as works of art in the 
 history of literature — embodiments of beauty and 
 truth, harmony and grace. 
 
 The earliest extant play is the AJax^ produced 
 before 440 B. C. Ajax, son of Telamon, one of the 
 noblest of the heroes before Troy, contended with 
 Odysseus for the prize of Achilles* armor, which was 
 to be awarded to the bravest after Achilles. The 
 prize was given to Odysseus. Smarting under the 
 injustice of this decision, Ajax resolves to slay the 
 leaders, Agamemnon and Menelaus. Athene thwarts 
 his design and turns him, blinded by madness, against 
 the flocks, upon which he exhausts his rage, thinking 
 them his foes. At the opening of the play Athene 
 shows to Odysseus the still demented hero sitting in 
 his tent. Soon, however, Ajax returns to his senses, 
 and is overwhelmed by the knowledge of the disgrace 
 and ridicule which his act will bring upon him. He 
 resolves to die, refusing to listen to the prayers of the 
 chorus of sailors from his own home, Salamis, or of 
 his faithful wife, the captive Tecmessa. At length, 
 however, he pretends to yield to them, and goes down 
 to the sea as if to cleanse himself. Meanwhile his 
 brother Teucer arrives, and is anxious because of the 
 absence of Ajax. The chorus and Tecmessa hasten 
 away to search for him. The scene changes. Ajax 
 is seen in the background, half hidden from view. 
 
2i8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 After an appeal to the gods he hurls himself upon his 
 sword. Soon his body is found by Tecmessa and che 
 chorus. An altercation ensues between Teucer and 
 Menelaus on the question of his burial. At the request 
 of Odysseus Agamemnon decides to award Ajax an 
 honorable burial. The funeral procession closes the 
 play. This last portion, like the close of the Iliad 
 and Odyssey^ serves as an epilogue to the real plot, 
 which, to the modern mind, is concluded with the 
 death of Ajax. I quote first the beautiful choral ode 
 to Salamis: 
 
 O glorioas Salamis! 
 Thou dwellest, blest within thy sea-girt shores. 
 
 Admired of all men still; 
 While I, poor fool, long since abiding here 
 
 In Ida's grassy mead, 
 
 Winter and summer too, 
 Dwell, worn with woe, through months innumerable. 
 Still brooding o'er the fear of evil things, 
 
 That I ere long shall pass 
 To shades of Hades terrible and dread. 
 
 And now our Aias comes. 
 Fresh troubler, hard to heal, (ah me! ah me!) 
 
 And dwells with madness sore. 
 Which God inflicts; him thou of old didst send 
 
 Mighty in battle fierce; 
 
 But now in lonely woe , 
 
 Wandering, great sorrow he to friends is found, 
 And the high deeds of worthiest praise of old, 
 
 Loveless to loveless souls, 
 Are with the Atreidae fallen, fallen low. 
 
 And lo! bis mother, worn with length of days. 
 
 And white with hoary age, 
 When she shall hear his frenzied soul's disease. 
 
 With wailing, wailing loud. 
 
/ 
 
 Sophocles 219 
 
 Will she, ill-starred one, cry, nor pour the strain 
 
 Of nightingale's sad song. 
 But shriller notes will utter in lament, 
 
 And on her breast will fall 
 
 The smiting of her hands, 
 And fearful tearing of her hoary hair. 
 
 Far better would he fare in Hades dread, 
 
 Who liveth sick in soul. 
 Who, springing from the noblest hero-stock 
 
 Of all the Achseans strong, 
 Abides no longer in his native mood, 
 
 Eut wanders far astray. 
 O wretched father, what a weight of woe, 
 
 Thy son's, hast thou to learn, 
 
 Which none else yet has borne, 
 Of all the high Zeus-sprung iCacidae. 
 
 Plumptrc 
 
 The monologue of Ajax just before his death is 
 famous. I quote the last part of it: 
 
 Thou Sun, whose chariot in the heavens' high path 
 
 Rides on in glory, when thou see'st the land 
 
 Owned by my fathers, draw thy golden reins. 
 
 And tell all these my sorrows, and my doom. 
 
 To mine old father, and my mother lorn; 
 
 Ah! when she hears, poor wretch, the evil news 
 
 Through all the city, great and bitter cries 
 
 Will issue from her lips. But not tor me 
 
 Is time for vain lament. The work must now 
 
 Begin more swiftly. Come and look on me, 
 
 Death, O Death! — and yet in yonder world 
 
 1 shall dwell with thee, speak enough with thee; 
 And Thee I call, thou light of golden day. 
 Thou Sun, who drivest on thy glorious car. 
 Thee, for this last time, never more again. 
 
 O Light, O sacred land that was my home; 
 O Salamis, where stands my father's hearth. 
 Thou glorious Athens, with thy kindred race; 
 
aao Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Ye streams and rivers here, and Troia*s plains, 
 To you that fed my life I bid farewell ; 
 This last, last word does Aias speak to you ; 
 All else I speak in Hades to the dead. 
 
 Plumptre. 
 
 The Electra^ of uncertain date, is on the same 
 theme as the Libation Bearers of ^schylus — the ven- 
 geance of Orestes upon Clytemnestra and ^Egisthus. 
 But our interest is now centred upon Electra, who 
 remained at home a witness to her mother's shame and 
 the object of humiliating indignities. She bears her 
 afflictions with fortitude, confident of the return of 
 her brother. The character of her sister, Chryso- 
 themis — of good intentions but weak and timorous — 
 is an admirable foil to that of Electra. The plot is 
 enhanced by the fact that the recognition of Orestes 
 by Electra is postponed until just before the death of 
 Clytemnestra. Electra, as well as her mother, is 
 deceived by the report of his death brought by Orestes 
 himself and Pylades, disguised as strangers. Electra's 
 confidence is turned for a while to the deepest despair, 
 .^gisthus is not slain until he has uncovered the face 
 of the dead Clytemnestra, thinking to see the features 
 of Orestes, whose death would mean security to him — 
 a most effective situation, full of the tragic irony* for 
 which Sophocles is famous. I quote a portion of the 
 lyrical dialogue which takes place between Electra 
 and the chorus of Argive maidens, soon after the 
 entrance of the latter. 
 
 *By " tragic irony" we mean that contrast between the true state of 
 things, known to the spectators, and the fancied state in which a character 
 finds himself, so that his words, which to him are capable of only one con- 
 struction, suggest to the spectators something altogether different. When 
 the truth is revealed the character learns that bis own words have mocked 
 him. The mockery in the Electra is mostly in the situation itself. The 
 (Edipus is full of the more subtle irony of language applied to the situation. 
 
Sophocles 521 
 
 Chor. Not unto thee alone, 
 
 My child, of those that live 
 
 Have grief and sorrow come; 
 Nor sufferest thou aught more than those within 
 With whom thou sharest home and kith and kin, 
 Iphianassa and Chrysothemis; 
 And one is mourning in a youth obscure; 
 
 Yet happy, too, in part, 
 Whom one day the Mykenians' glorious land 
 Shall welcome as the heir of noble race, 
 
 Coming to this our soil. 
 
 As sent by grace of Zeus,— 
 
 Orestes, come at last. 
 Elec. Ah! him I wait for with unwearied hope» 
 
 And go, ah I piteous fate I 
 
 Childless, unwedded still; 
 
 My cheeks are wet with tears, 
 And still I bear an endless doom of woe. 
 
 And he, alas! forgets 
 All he has met with, all that I had taught. 
 
 What message goes from me 
 That is not mocked? For still he yearns to comei 
 
 And yet he deigneth not, 
 Yearn though he may, to show himself to us. 
 Chor. Take heart, my child, take heart; 
 
 Mighty in heaven He dwells, 
 
 Zeus, seeing, guiding all: 
 Resign to him the wrath that vexes sore. 
 And as for them, the foes whom thou dost hate. 
 Nor grieve too much, nor yet forget them quite; 
 
 Time is a calm and patient deity: 
 
 For neither he who dwells 
 Where oxen graze on far Krisaean shore, 
 The boy who sprang from Agamemnon's loins, 
 
 Lives heedless of thy woe; 
 
 Nor yet the god who reigns 
 
 By Acheron's dark shore. 
 Elec. And yet the larger portion of my life 
 
 Is gone without a hope, 
 
 And I am all too weak, 
 
222 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Who waste away in orphaned loneliness. 
 
 Whom no dear husband loves. 
 But, like an alien stranger in the house, 
 
 I do my task unmeet, 
 And tend the chambers where my father dwelt. 
 
 In this unseemly guise, 
 And stand at tables all too poorly filled. 
 
 Plumptre. 
 
 Still a third tragedy takes its subject from the 
 legends of the Trojan cycle — the Philoctetes, which 
 won the first prize in 409 B. C. This hero, on the way 
 to Troy, was bitten in the foot by a snake. The wound 
 became so noisome and the cries of the sufferer so 
 annoying that, at the instance of Odysseus, Philoctetes 
 was abandoned while asleep on the island of Lemnos. 
 Nine years passed and Troy had not fallen. A proph- 
 ecy was given to the Greeks that Troy would never be 
 taken except by the son of Achilles, and with the bow 
 of Heracles. Now this bow had been bequeathed by 
 Heracles to Philoctetes. So the Greeks sent Neopto- 
 lemus, Achilles* son, with Odysseus to fetch Philocte- 
 tes and the bow. When the play opens they have just 
 landed on the desolate island. Odysseus instructs 
 Neoptolemus how to entrap Philoctetes and get posses- 
 sion of the bow by deceit. The noble nature of the 
 lad revolts against such tricks, but at last he yields. 
 Neoptolemus and Philoctetes meet. The hero 
 implicitly trusts the son of his old friend Achilles, and 
 after the latter has promised to take him to his home, 
 puts the bow into his hands during a paroxysm of pain. 
 Touched by his sufferings Neoptolemus tells him the 
 truth, and is on the point of giving back the bow when 
 Odysseus arrives and leads him away, since Philoctetes 
 stoutly refuses to go to Troy with his betrayers. 
 
Sophocles 223 
 
 Again the noble nature of Neoptolemus asserts itself. 
 He returns in spite of Odysseus* threats and restores 
 the bow. Heracles appears in the air and promises 
 that his wound will be healed. The sufferings of 
 Philoctetes and his despair at the loss of the bow, 
 his only means of obtaining food as well as the pre- 
 cious relic of Heracles, lend pathos to the subject, 
 which, however, is attractive mainly on account of the 
 noble and generous character of Neoptolemus. 
 
 The Women of Tra^^ {dihoMt 420 B. C. ), so named 
 from its chorus ofmaidens from the village of Tra- 
 chis, near Thermopylae, is unlike any other play of 
 Sophocles in that the passion of love is the ruling 
 motive. The character of the heroine is exquisitely 
 drawn — Deianeira, wife of Heracles, daughter of 
 CEneus, king of ^Etolia. She had been sought in mar- 
 riage by the river-god Achelotis, whom Heracles had 
 conquered, taking Deianeira as his bride. The centaur 
 Nessus, whom Heracles slew on their journey home, 
 had given Deianeira a love-charm wherewith to win 
 back her husband's love should he prove unfaithful. 
 During the long years in which Heracles was perform- 
 ing the twelve labors she had not used it, though in 
 his protracted absences from home he had not always 
 remained true to her. When the play opens we find 
 Deianeira and her children at Trachis, driven from 
 Argos by fear of Eurystheus. Heracles had been 
 absent for fifteen months, nor knew she where he was. 
 But he had told her before leaving of an oracle which 
 said that when this period should expire he should 
 have rest from troubles. So she awaits news of him 
 with increasing anxiety. Soon a train of captive 
 women appears, at their head Lichas, a trusted serv- 
 
224 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ant of Heracles, who announces the hero's speedy 
 arrival. Deianeira is filled with joy until she learns 
 that the most beautiful of the maidens is loved by 
 Heracles. She recalls the love-charm, and anointing 
 a rich robe with it, sends it to her husband as a gift. 
 When he put it on it burned into his flesh — no love- 
 charm, but a poison designed by Nessus. Deianeira, 
 learning the result of her act, takes her own life. 
 Heracles is borne in on a litter, wracked with torture, 
 and learning how his suffering was caused, recognizes 
 the fact that the '*rest from trouble" promised by the 
 oracle meant his death. The first choral ode is of 
 unusual beauty : 
 
 Thee whom the starry night, 
 
 Beneath the spoiler's hand 
 
 Breathing her last, brings forth, 
 
 Whom then she lays to sleep, — 
 Thee, Sun-god, thee, bright-burning, I implore — 
 
 O tell me of Alcmena's son, 
 O thou whose rays are as the lightnings bright : 
 
 Where, where he dwelleth — 
 
 Depths of the ^Egean threading, 
 Or from mid-straight beholding either continent — 
 
 O tell me, god of keenest light ! 
 
 For with an ever-hungry heart, they say, 
 Fair Deianeira, she for whom the suitors strove. 
 Like some unhappy bird 
 Lulls never into tearless sleep 
 That hunger of her eyes ; 
 But unforgetful fear 
 For him, her absent lord. 
 She entertaining, pines 
 Upon her widowed couch of care — 
 Ill-starred, forboding all distressful chance. 
 
Sophocles 225 
 
 For, as before the untiring blast of south or north, 
 
 Across the boundless sea 
 
 We watch the march of waves 
 
 That come, and ever come — 
 Even so upon this son of Cadmus's house attends 
 
 His hard life's toilsomeness, 
 
 Increasing more and more, — 
 
 Of troubles a Cretan sea. 
 
 But from the halls of death 
 
 Some god restrains his feet, 
 
 Suffering them not to stray. 
 
 Therefore I chide thee, and this word 
 Of contradiction, not ungrateful, I will speak : 
 I say thou dost not well 
 To kill the better hope, 
 For think, a lot exempt from pain 
 The son of Cronos, king who governs all. 
 
 Ordained not for men. 
 To all men sorrow and joy alternate come. 
 Revolving, as in heaven 
 The twisting courses of the Bear. 
 
 For neither starry night 
 Abides with men, nor death, nor wealth— 
 But quickly is it gone : 
 And now another learns 
 The changeful tale of joy and loss. 
 Therefore I counsel thee, the queen. 
 To keep this ever in thy hopes : 
 For when was Zeus so careless for his sons ? 
 
 Whitelaw. 
 
 We come now to the three dramas on the fate of the 
 house of Labdacus, conceded to be the masterpieces 
 of Sophocles — (Edipus the King (about 430 B. C), 
 CEdipus at Colonus (406 B. C), and Antigone (441 B. C). 
 These three plays were not written to form a sequence, 
 as the dates will show, but they are best considered in 
 the order of the story which they tell. The CEdipus 
 
226 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 M<r Jibing, the greatest work of our poet and the most 
 perfect tragedy of antiquity, received only the second 
 prize at its production. The scene is laid at Thebes, 
 and the chorus is formed of Theban elders. CEdipus, 
 after delivering Thebes from the Sphinx by guessing 
 her riddle, became king in the stead of Laius, and 
 married his wife, Jocasta (see page 209). Twenty 
 years have passed since then. A pestilence falls upon 
 the city. CEdipus has sent to Delphi his brother-in- 
 law, Creon, to inquire of the oracle of Apollo how the 
 pest is to be stayed. Creon reports that the slayer of 
 Laius must be found and punished. CEdipus zealously 
 takes this duty upon himself. He makes proclamation 
 that whoever has knowledge of the deed shall declare 
 it, and that the murderer, whoever he is, shall be 
 treated as one accursed, barred out from intercourse 
 with men and the worship of the gods. He bids the 
 prophet Teiresias reveal the guilty one. When he 
 refuses, CEdipus insults and threatens him, until the 
 prophet in anger says: ''''Thou art the accursed defiler 
 of the land." CEdipus indignantly drives Teiresias 
 from his presence for forging prophecies in the interest 
 of Creon. He also openly accuses Creon of conspir- 
 ing for the throne. Jocasta strives to calm her hus- 
 band by illustrating the futility of prophecies ; it was 
 predicted that Laius should be slain by his son, but 
 a robber killed him where three roads meet, and the 
 son was exposed upon a mountain. This revelation 
 leads to anxious inquiries on the part of CEdipus. The 
 circumstances of Laius' death remind him of a similar 
 encounter in which he had slain a man ; but it was 
 a robber band that slew Laius. A messenger from 
 Corinth enters announcing the death of the king, 
 
Sophocles 227 
 
 Polybus, whom (Edipus believes to be his father. The 
 oracle that CEdipus shall slay his father is false, but 
 he will not return to claim the throne of Corinth lest 
 the other part of the oracle, that he should wed his 
 own mother, should yet be fulfilled. The messenger 
 reassures him by telling him that he is not the son of 
 Polybus, but was found upon a mountain when a babe, 
 his feet pierced with thongs. Jocasta sees the horrible 
 truth and begs her husband to question no further. 
 She enters the palace and takes her own life. Mean- 
 while CEdipus pushes his inquiries. From a herdsman 
 who is brought in the confession is wrung that the 
 babe found on the mountain and taken to Corinth was 
 the son of Laius. CEdipus rushes in despair into the 
 palace, and seeing the dead body of his mother and 
 wife, Jocasta, tears out his eyes. The tragedy closes 
 with the pathetic farewell of CEdipus and his daughters.- 
 It is difficult to quote from a drama like this, so 
 closely knit together that every portion is essential to 
 the whole. Step by step the proud king, conscious of 
 his own innocence, yet arrogant and guilty of having 
 tried to evade Apollo's oracle, probes into the secret 
 of his own horrible crimes. The gradual unraveling 
 of the terrible secret keeps the mind of the spectators 
 constantly on the rack with conflicting emotions. Our 
 sympathy with the unhappy prince, so eager to accom- 
 plish the work of justice at whatever cost, rises to 
 admiration when, his spirit broken and his life ruined, 
 he nobly resolves to live and does not forget his 
 country and his children. The following ode illus- 
 trates Sophocles' treatment of the chorus. A suspicion 
 has arisen of the guilt of CEdipus, and he has treated 
 Creon with inexcusable arrogance. The chorus 
 
22S Homer to Theocritus 
 
 breathes a prayer for purity in word and deed, and 
 deprecates the pride and insolence of kings. 
 
 Mine be it, mine to hold, 
 With destiny to aid, the deathless sanctity 
 
 In words. and actions manifold, 
 Whereof the laws do live and move on high. 
 
 Set in eternal spheres. 
 Born in the bright expanse of upper sky. 
 Birth of the high God, not of mortal years, 
 
 Nor unto dull oblivion a prey: 
 Strong, ageless deity is theirs, and waneth not away. 
 
 The child of earthly pride 
 Is tyranny, when once man's life doth teem 
 With wealth too great to profit or beseem. 
 
 Up, by a path untried. 
 Up to the crowning peak of bliss 
 She climbs, then headlong down the sheer abyss 
 
 Helpless she sinks to the unfooted void! 
 Yet unto God I pray that he may ne'er annul 
 Man's strife that man's estate be honoured to the full. 
 God is my help; to him my faith clings undestroyed. 
 
 But if a man, in deed or word. 
 
 Walks o'er-informed with pride and might, 
 
 By fear of justice undeterred. 
 
 Scorning the seats of deity, 
 
 111 doom, to that man drawing nigh. 
 
 His ill-starred arrogance requite! 
 
 Unless toward his proper gain 
 
 With uncorrupted hand he strain, 
 
 Unless he loathe all filthiness. 
 If with lewd hands he touch the grace of holiness! 
 Henceforth, if such things be, no mortal evermore 
 
 Can from his life repel 
 The darts of heaven and boast that foiled they fell: 
 
 If he who walks such ways 
 Deserve man's honour and his praise, 
 Wherefore with holy dance should I the Gods adore? 
 
 Morshead. 
 
Sophocles 229 
 
 The truth as regards the parentage of CEdipus is 
 revealed in this conversation between the King, the 
 Corinthian Messenger, and the Herdsman. This pas- 
 sage is a good example of the line-for-line dialogue 
 with which Greek tragedy abounds: 
 
 Me. Say then, dost thou recall that unto me 
 
 A child thou gavest for my fosterling? 
 
 He. What say'st thou? wherefore askest thou of this? 
 
 Me. {Pointing to CEdipus.) Good sir, there standeth he that 
 
 was that child. 
 
 He. Hell silence thee! wilt thou not hold thy peace? 
 
 (Ed. Peace, old man, chide him not — these words of thine. 
 
 More than his tale, deserve a chastener. 
 
 He. Wherein, most goodly lord, do I offend? 
 
 (Ed. Avowing not the child of whom he asks. 
 
 He. He speaks sans knowledge, frets himself in vain. 
 
 (Ed. Thou wilt not speak with grace, thou shalt with tears. 
 
 He. For God's sake, wrong me not, for I am old. 
 
 (Ed. Ho, bind him, bind his arms behind his back. 
 
 He. Wherefore, O hapless man? what more wouldst learn? 
 
 (Ed. Didst give to him the child of whom he asks? 
 
 He. I gave it — would that I had died that day! 
 
 (Ed. This day thou diest, if thou hide the truth. 
 
 He. Yet I die doubly, if I hide it not. 
 
 (Ed. Methinks he driveth yet at more delay. 
 
 He. Nay, nay — I have owned that I gave the child. 
 
 (Ed. Whence having it? another's or thine own? 
 
 He. Mine it was not; but by another given. 
 
 (Ed. By whom in Thebes, from what home, high or low? 
 
 He. For heaven's sake, O my master, ask no more. 
 
 (Ed. Thou art but dead, if I shall ask again. 
 
 He. God help — it was a child of Laius' house. 
 
 (Ed. a slave-child, or in his own lineage born? 
 
 He. Woe's me — in speech I stand on horror's verge. 
 
 (Ed. And I in hearing: natheless I must hear. 
 
 He. Know then, his own child it was said to be, 
 
 Go, ask thy queen within; she best can say. 
 
 (Ed. Was it she gave it thee? He. It was, O king. 
 
23 o Homer to Theocritus 
 
 CEd. And for what end? He. That I should quench its life. 
 (Ed. So hard a mother? He. By ill presage scared. 
 CEd. What presage? He. That the child should slay his sire. 
 GEd. Then why unlo this graybeard didst thou give it? 
 He. My lord, I pitied it, and deemed that he 
 
 Would bpar it hence away to his own land. 
 
 He saved it, well-a-day, for sorrow's crown. 
 
 For if thou art the child of whom he tells, 
 
 Be well assured thou wert to ill fate born. 
 CEd. Woe, woe upon me! all the issue clear — 
 
 Light, be thou dark to me for evermore! 
 
 Cursed in my birth, and in my marriage cursed. 
 
 And cursed in blood-shedding I stand revealed! 
 
 \He rushes into the palace, 
 Morshead. 
 
 CEdipus resigned the throne to Creon after his 
 unwitting crimes had been found out, and desired to 
 leave Thebes forever, but the oracle forbade. But 
 when his sons had grown to manhood, they and Creon 
 cruelly thrust him forth, an outcast. Antigone 
 attended him in his long wanderings as a beggar, but 
 Ismene stayed at home. When the CEdipus at Colonus 
 opens they have reached a grove at Colonus, near 
 Athens, where they stop to rest. Warned by the 
 citizens of the village, who form the chorus, that they 
 stand upon holy ground sacred to the Furies, CEdipus 
 recalls that the oracle had predicted that he should 
 end his life here. Theseus, king of Athens, sum- 
 moned by CEdipus, extends the protection of the city 
 to the wanderers. Ismene arrives from Thebes with 
 news of the quarrel of Eteocles and Polyneices. Soon 
 Creon comes to take CEdipus back to Thebes, since his 
 presence is necessary to the safety of the city. In 
 the struggle that follows Antigone and Ismene are 
 carried off, but Theseus rescues them and drives Creon 
 
Sophocles 23 1 
 
 back. Polynelces comes to supplicate his father for 
 aid, but is sternly dismissed. Then, in an impressive 
 scene, (Edipus enters the sacred grove and is miracu- 
 lously translated amid thunder and lightning. The 
 play is unsurpassed in beauty and in tenderness of feel- 
 ing. The peaceful and glorious death of the unhappy 
 CEdipus seems but a fitting close to a life so noble and 
 yet so full of sorrows. The most beautiful choral 
 passage is the famous ode to Colonus, the village birth- 
 place of the poet: 
 
 Of all the land far famed for goodly steeds, 
 Thou com'st, O stranger, to the noblest spot, 
 
 Colonus, glistening bright. 
 Where evermore, in thickets freshly green, 
 
 The clear-voiced nightingale 
 
 Still haunts, and pours her song, 
 
 By purpling ivy hid, 
 And the thick leafage sacred to the god, 
 
 With all its myriad fruits, 
 
 By mortal's foot untouched, 
 
 By sun's hot ray unscathed. 
 
 Sheltered from every blast; 
 There wanders Dionysos evermore. 
 
 In full, wild revelry. 
 And waits upon the Nymphs who nursed his youth. 
 
 And there, beneath the gentle dews of heaven, 
 The fair narcissus, with its clustered bells, 
 
 Blooms ever, day by day, 
 Of old the wreaths of mightiest goddesses; 
 
 And crocus golden-eyed; 
 
 And still unslumbering flow 
 
 Kephisos' wandering streams; 
 They fail not from their spring, but evermore* 
 
 Swift-rushing into birth. 
 
 Over the plain they sweep. 
 
 The land of broad, full breast. 
 
 With clear and stainless wave; 
 
2^2 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Nor do the Muses in their minstrel choirs 
 
 Hold it in slight esteem, 
 Nor Aphrodite with her golden reins. 
 
 And in it grows a marvel such as nc'et 
 
 On Asia's soil I heard, 
 Nor the great Dorian isle from Pelops namedf 
 
 A plant self-sown, that knows 
 
 No touch of withering age, 
 
 Terror of hostile swords. 
 
 Which here on this our ground 
 
 Its high perfection gains. 
 The grey-green foliage of the olive-tree, 
 
 Rearing a goodly race : 
 
 And never more shall man. 
 
 Or young or bowed with years. 
 
 Give forth the fierce command 
 
 And lay it low in dust. 
 
 For lo ! the eye of Zeus, 
 
 Zeus of our olive groves, 
 
 That sees eternally, 
 
 Caste th its glance thereon, 
 And she, Athena, with the clear, grey eyes. 
 
 And yet another praise is mine to sing, 
 Gift of the mighty God, 
 
 To this our city, mother of us all, 
 Her greatest, noblest boast. 
 Famed for her goodly steeds, 
 Famed for her bounding colts, 
 Famed for her sparkling sea. 
 
 Poseidon, son of Kronos, Lord and Kingy 
 To Thee this boast we owe, 
 For first in these our streets 
 Thou to the untamed horse 
 Didst use the conquering tit : 
 And here the well-shaped oar, 
 By skilled hands deftly plied, 
 
Sophocles 233 
 
 Still leapeth through the sea, 
 Following in wondrous guise 
 The fair Nereids with their hundred feet. 
 
 Plumptre. 
 
 After the death of (Edipus, Antigoae and Ismeno 
 returned to Thebes. The seven chieftains of Argos, 
 Polyneices at their head, came against the city, and 
 the two brothers perished by each other's hands. 
 Creon was made king. He decreed that Eteocles 
 should be buried with due honor, but that the body of 
 Polyneices/ should lie unburied, the offender against 
 this decree to be stoned to death. At this point the 
 action of the Antigone begins. Antigone, setting the 
 divine law above the edict of man, resolves to bury 
 her brother. Ismene in vain tries to dissuade her. 
 Creon has no sooner made his solemn proclamation 
 than a messenger reports that the decree has been 
 violated. Soon Antigone is led in by the guard, and 
 boldly defends her course to (^eon. Ismene would r 
 share her sister's fate, but Antigone refuses. The 
 •king's son, Haemon, to whom Antigone is betrothed, 
 pleads for her life in vain. Antigone is led away to 
 
 e immured alive. The prophet Teiresias warns Cleon V 
 that he and the city shall suffer, but Cleon cannot be 
 moved from what he arrogantly assumes to be the 
 course of justice. Haemon, cursing his father to his 
 (Pace, slays himself over the body of Antigone, who has 
 ken her own life. At the news of her son's death 
 
 he queen also takes her own life, cursing her husband. 
 
 reon, plunged into desperate grief and admitting 
 
 is fault, is led away, praying for death. In this 
 libble tragedy, for the understanding of which a mere 
 
 utline is quite inadequate, the character of Antigone 
 
^34 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 is made to stand out in bold relief above the others. 
 Symonds calls her " the most perfect female character 
 in Greek poetry." It is notable that Sophocles does not 
 accept the opportunity which his plot offered to temper 
 her hard and resolute character by emphasizing her love 
 for Hsemon. Loyalty to duty overrules all sentiment. 
 
 I quote first Creon's proclamation concerning the 
 body of Polyneices, addressed to the elders of Thebes, 
 represented by the members of chorus : 
 
 My friends, the noble vessel of our State, 
 
 After sore shaking her, the Gods have sped 
 
 On a smooth course once more. I brought you hither. 
 
 By special messengers selecting you 
 
 From all the city, first, because I knew you 
 
 Aye loyal to the throne of Laius ; 
 
 Then, both while CEdipus gave prosperous days. 
 
 And since his fall, I still beheld you firm 
 
 In sound allegiance to the royal issue. 
 
 Now since the pair have perished in an hour, 
 
 Through mutual violence, leaving their land 
 
 Oppressed with guilt of fratricidal blood , 
 
 AH rule and potency of sovereign sway, 
 
 In virtue of next kin to the deceased. 
 
 Devolves on me. But hard it is to learn 
 
 The mind of any mortal or the heart, 
 
 Till he be tried in chief authority. 
 
 Power shows the man. For he who, when supreme, 
 
 Withholds his hand or voice from the best cause, 
 
 Being thwarted by some fear, that man to me 
 
 Appears, and ever hath appeared, most vile. 
 
 He too hath no high place in mine esteem, 
 
 Who sets his friend before his fatherland. 
 
 Let Zeus whose eye sees all eternally 
 
 Be here my witness. I will ne'er keep silence 
 
 When danger lours upon my citizens 
 
 Who looked for safety, nor make him my friend 
 
 Who doth not love my country. For I know 
 
 Our country carries us, and whilst her helm 
 
 Is held aright we gain good friends and true. , 
 
Sophocles 235 
 
 Following such courses *tis my steadfast will 
 To foster Thebe's greatness, and therewith 
 In brotherly accord is my decree 
 Touching the sons of Qidipus. The man — 
 Eteocles I mean — who died for Thebes 
 Fighting with eminent prowess on her side, 
 Shall be entombed with every sacred rite 
 That follows to the grave the lordliest dead. 
 But for his brother, who, a banished man, 
 Returned to devastate and burn with fire 
 The land of his nativity, the shrines 
 Of his ancestral gods, to feed him fat 
 With Theban carnage, and make captive all 
 That should escape the sword — for Polyneices, 
 This law hath been proclaimed concerning him : 
 He shall have no lament, no funeral. 
 But lie unburied, for the carrion fowl 
 And dogs to eat his corse, a sight of shame. 
 
 Such are the motions of this mind and will. 
 Never from me shall villains reap renown 
 Before the just. But whoso loves the State, 
 I will exalt him both in life and death. 
 
 Lewis Campbell. 
 
 ^ In the following passage Antigone declares before 
 (jll^on her allegiance to the eternal laws of Right, 
 rather than to the edicts of man : 
 
 Creon. Speak thou, who bendest on the earth thy gaze, — 
 Are these things which are witnessed true or false ? 
 Antigone. Not false, but true : that which he saw he spake. 
 Cr. (to the guard). So, sirrah, thou art free; go where thou wilt. 
 
 Loosed from the burden of a heavy charge. 
 
 But tell me thou, and let thy speech be brief, — 
 
 The edict had'st thou heard which this forbade ? 
 Ant. I could not choose but hear what all men heard. 
 Cr. And did'st thou dare to disobey the law ? 
 Ant. Nowise from Zeus, methought, this edict came, 
 
 Nor Justice, that abides among the gods 
 
236 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 In Hades, who ordained these laws for men, 
 
 Nor did I deem thine edicts of such force 
 
 That they, a mortal's bidding, should o'erride 
 
 Unwritten laws, eternal in the heavens. 
 
 Not of to-day or yesterday are they, 
 
 But live from everlasting, and from whence 
 
 They sprang none knoweth. I would not, for the breach 
 
 Of these, through fear of any human pride. 
 
 To Heaven atone. I know that I must die : 
 
 How else ? without thine edict that were so ; 
 
 And if before my time, — why, this were gain, 
 
 Compassed about with ills ; — who lives as I, 
 
 Death to such life as his must needs be gain. 
 
 So is it to me to undergo this doom 
 
 No grief at all ; but had I left my brother. 
 
 My mother's child, unburied where he lay, 
 
 Then I had grieved ; but now this grieves me not. 
 
 Senseless I seem to thee, so doing ? Belike 
 
 A senseless judgment finds me void of sense. 
 
 Whitelaw. 
 
 After Hsemon's intercession for Antigone the cho- 
 rus sings this ode on the power of Love : 
 
 O Love, our conqueror, matchless in might. 
 Thou prevailest, O Love, thou dividest the prey ; 
 
 In damask cheeks of a maiden 
 
 Thy watch through the night is set. 
 
 Thou roamest over the sea ; 
 On the hills, in the shepherds' huts, thou art ; 
 Nor of deathless gods, nor of short-lived men, 
 
 From thy madness any escapeth. 
 
 Unjust, through thee, are the thoughts of the just ; 
 Thou dost bend them, O Love, to thy will, to thy spite. 
 
 Unkindly strife thou hast kindled. 
 
 This wrangling of son with sire. 
 For great laws throned in the heart 
 To the sway of a rival power give place, 
 To the love-light flashed from a fair bride's eyes. 
 
 Whitelaw. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 EURIPIDES 
 
 Euripides— His Position in Attic Tragedy— His Popularity 
 and Influence— The Alces/is— The Medea— The HippoU 
 ytus — The Trojan Plays: Iphigeneia at Aulis ^ Jphigeneia 
 among the Taurians, Orestes^ Electra^ Trojan Wontent 
 Hecabej Andromache, Helen— The Theban Plays : Phai' 
 nician Women, Suppliants— The Children of Heracles — 
 The Heracles— Iht /on— The Bacchanals— The Cyclops. 
 
 Euripides was born in 485 B. C. on the island of 
 Salamis. He received a liberal education under expen- 
 sive teachers. It is said that he was first a profes- 
 sional athlete and subsequently a painter. We are 
 told also that he was unhappily married, and his 
 domestic relations are a topic for scandalous gossip 
 in the comic poets. The ancients attributed to this 
 fact in his life the many bitter sayings about women 
 that are found in his tragedies. They called him 
 a woman-hater; and yet he portrays with exquisite 
 tenderness and grace the affectionate, self-sacrificing 
 wife, the devoted mother, and noble, pure, high- 
 minded maidenhood. His first play was brought out 
 in 455 B. C, at the age of thirty. Of the ninety odd 
 plays which he wrote eighteen survive, one of which, 
 the Cyc/opSj is the only extant specimen of the satyr- 
 drama. Another tragedy, the Rhesus, which is con- 
 tained in the manuscripts of Euripides, is believed to 
 be a work of the fourth century. Euripides was only 
 moderately successful in the competitions, his victories 
 
 237 
 
23? Homer to Theocritus 
 
 at both festivals amounting to fifteen, as against the 
 twenty-eight of ^schylus and the twenty-four of 
 Sophocles. He died in 406 B. C. in Macedonia, where 
 the last years of his life had been spent at the court 
 of the king Archelaus. 
 
 Euripides was distinctly the representative poet of 
 the last part of the fifth century. Since the establish- 
 ment of the Athenian Empire great changes had come 
 over the spirit of the Athenian people. Imperialism 
 had brought in its train a revolution in social life, 
 a higher plane of living, an eagerness for advanced or 
 novel views on ethics and religion, a larger interest 
 in political affairs. After the death of Pericles the 
 populace was all-powerful, and the success of the 
 demagogue quickened the desire of the people for 
 the new education, which was eminently *' practical,'* 
 great stress being laid upon the specious rhetoric by 
 which the worse cause was made to seem the better. 
 The audience in the theatre now took less delight than 
 formerly in the old-fashioned presentation of the old 
 doctrines of religion as exemplified in the figures of 
 mythology. They demanded striking scenes, clever 
 reasoning, splendid oratory, harrowing situations, bril- 
 liant musical effects. If a poet could present a well- 
 worn subject in a novel way, either by introducing 
 subtle dramatic devices or by reshaping the myth, so 
 much the better. Sophocles conceded not a little to 
 this tendency of the times, but always maintained the 
 lofty ideal of the tragic art which ^schylus had 
 bequeathed. But Euripides was the very embodiment 
 of the spirit of his age. A consummate playwright, 
 he employed every dramatic and theatrical means to 
 gain the desired effects, even sacrificing the harmony 
 
EURIPIDES. 
 
 Portrait Statue, Vatican Museum, Rome. 
 
Euripides ' 239 
 
 of the whole to the beauty and effectiveness of the 
 parts. Though he rarely rises to the sublime heights 
 of -^schylus, and though his tragedies are not always 
 perfect works of art, like those of Sophocles, there is 
 no doubt that they '^staged" well. 
 
 A keen observer of the men and women about him, 
 Euripides paints men as they are, while Sophocles 
 paints them as they should be.* Indeed he seems to 
 have been too bold an innovator even for his own 
 time, if we may judge by the criticisms of Aristopha- 
 nes. His popularity with the masses, however, is 
 conceded by the comic poet, and is attested by the 
 interesting fact that many of the Athenian prisoners 
 taken by the Syracusans in 411 B. C. were given their 
 liberty because they were able to recite from his plays.'' 
 In the fourth century he was easily the most popular 
 of the three master poets, and his tragedies maintained 
 themselves upon the stage well into the Christian era. 
 His influence upon the later comedy was marked. 
 The comic poet Philemon said: **If the dead, as some 
 assert, have really consciousness, then would I hang 
 myself to see Euripides." Euripides served the 
 Roman poets as a model far more than either -^schy- 
 lus or Sophocles, and through this medium he became 
 the father of the classical tragedy in France. He 
 appeals strongly to the average reader of to-day 
 because he seems, relatively, so modern. His charac- 
 ters are generally less heroic than those of his pre- 
 decessors, and therefore less remote. They exhibit 
 the passions and weaknesses of ordinary mortals, and 
 
 •A crft!cisai attributed to Sophocles himself, contrasting his own " ideal- 
 ism " with the '* realism " of his rival. 
 
 •Robert Browning makes use of this story in the framework «f his 
 transcription of the Alcestis in Balausiion's Adventure. 
 
240 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 are not merely instruments for revealing the workings 
 of divine law. His qualities as a poet are summed 
 up in the language of an enthusiastic admirer, Mrs. 
 Browning : 
 
 Our Euripides the Human 
 
 With his droppings of warm tears, 
 
 And his touches of things common 
 Till they rose to touch the spheres. 
 
 The earliest extant play is the Alcestis^ produced in 
 438 B. C. The victory was won by Sophocles, Euripi- 
 des gaining second place. The Alcestis was the fourth 
 drama in the tetralogy, taking the place of the usual 
 satyr-drama. The subject is the voluntary death of 
 Alcestis in place of her husband, Admetus, king of 
 Pherae, in Thessaly. Apollo, who had kept Admetus' 
 flocks, condemned for a fault to serve a mortal for 
 a time, loved his former master, and promised to per- 
 suade the Fates to accept a substitute when the hour 
 of death should come. The fated day arrives. None 
 but Alcestis will consent to die that Admetus may 
 live. She bids farewell to her home and children, 
 dies, and is borne forth to burial. But Heracles, who 
 has come as a guest to the house of Admetus, learns 
 the misfortune that has befallen his host, and goes 
 forth to rescue Alcestis from Death. After a struggle 
 Alcestis is delivered and restored to her home. 
 I quote the farewell of Alcestis as reported by her 
 maid -} 
 
 For when she knew the fatal day was come, 
 She bathed in river water her white flesh, 
 
 >This and the two following passages are quoted from Three Dramas of 
 Euripides by permission of the author, Mr. William Cranston Lawton. and 
 bis publishers, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin & Co. 
 
Euripides 241 
 
 And from her chests of cedar choosing forth 
 
 Raiment and ornament she decked her fair, 
 
 And standing prayed before the hearthstone thus : 
 
 " O Goddess, — for I pass beneath the earth, — 
 
 Here at the last, a suppliant, I entreat 
 
 Rear thou my children, and on him bestow 
 
 A loving wife, on her a noble spouse. 
 
 And may they not, as I their mother die, 
 
 Untimely fall, but in their native land, 
 
 And fortunate, fill out a happy life.*' 
 
 And all the shrines throughout Admetos* halls 
 
 She sought and decked with boughs, and prayed thereto, 
 
 Breaking the foliage of the myrtle twigs. 
 
 Nor wept, nor groaned ; the sorrow near at hand 
 
 Changed not the lovely color of her face. 
 
 Then hastened to her marriage-chamber and bed ; 
 
 There she indeed shed tears, and thus she spoke : 
 
 " O couch, where I put off my maiden zone 
 
 For this my husband, for whose sake I die. 
 
 Farewell. I hate thee not : thou hast destroyed 
 
 Me only ; slow to leave my spouse and thee 
 
 I die. To thee another wife will come, 
 
 Not truer, though perchance more fortunate." 
 
 And knelt, and kissed, and with the gushing tears 
 
 That from her eyelids fell the bed was moist. 
 
 When she was sated with her many tears. 
 In headlong haste she hurried from the spot, 
 But often turned her as she left the room. 
 And darted toward her nuptial couch once more. 
 Her children, clinging to the mother's robe. 
 Were weeping ; taking in her arms she kissed 
 The two in turn, as though about to die. 
 And all the servants wept throughout the halls, 
 Pitying their mistress ; and she gave her hand 
 To every one ; not one was there so base 
 But she did greet him, and by him was hailed. 
 
 In a beautiful ode the chorus celebrates the terrible 
 might of Necessity : 
 
24^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 High aloft have I been lifted 
 
 On the poets' wings of song; 
 
 Many sages' words have studied; 
 
 Nothing have I known or found 
 
 Mightier than Necessity. 
 
 Neither in the Thracian tablets 
 
 By the Orphic voice recorded, 
 
 Nor in all the drugs that Phoibos to Asclepios' children gave, 
 
 Is a cure to break her power for the troubled sons of men. 
 
 She alone hath neither altars 
 
 Nor an image to adore. 
 
 Oflferings she regardeth never. 
 
 Come not, Goddess, in my life, 
 
 Sterner than now thou art to me; 
 
 For whatever Zeus decreeth 
 
 Is fulfilled with thy assistance; 
 
 Even the Chalybean iron thou subduest in thy mighty 
 
 And thy unrelenting spirit knoweth not regret or shame. 
 
 The Medea was brought out in 431 B. C, receiving 
 the last place, although it is recognized as one of the 
 most powerful of the tragedies of Euripides. Medea 
 was the princess of Colchis, who, for love of Jason, 
 helped him by her magic arts to win the golden fleece 
 in quest of which he and the Argonauts had sailed. 
 She fled with him to Greece as his wife. But Jason 
 has abandoned her for the daughter of the king of 
 Corinth. In her jealousy Medea causes the death 
 of her rival, slays the children whom she had borne to 
 Jason, and makes her escape through the air on an 
 enchanted car. The following passage, addressed by 
 Medea to the Corinthian maidens who compose the 
 chorus, reflects, indeed, the position of woman in 
 Athenian society in the fifth century, but might almost 
 have been uttered by a woman of to-day, so well does 
 Euripides understand womankind: 
 
Euripides 243 
 
 This trouble unforeseen befalling me 
 Has crushed my soul; and since the grace of life 
 Is wholly lost, I long to perish, friends. 
 For he who was my all, — I know it well, — 
 My husband, is revealed most base of men. 
 
 Of all created things endowed with soul 
 And sense, we women are the wretchedest. 
 Who, first, with overplus of gold must buy 
 Our lord, and take a master to ourselves. 
 This is an evil even worse than ill. 
 And then the risk is great, if he we take 
 Be base or good. No honorable release 
 Have women, nor may we disown our lord. 
 Entered on novel ways and customs, each 
 Must needs divine, if she has never learned, 
 How it is best to live with him she weds. 
 
 And if, while we are toiling faithfully. 
 The husband is not chafing at the yoke, 
 Our life is enviable: else, death is best. 
 A man, when vexed with those within his home, 
 Goes forth, and frees his heart of weariness, 
 Betaking him to comrades, or a friend: 
 While we may look but to one single soul. 
 
 They say we live at home a life secure 
 From danger, while they struggle with the spear. 
 A foolish thought! I thrice would choose to stand 
 Beside my shield, ere once to bear a child. 
 
 But the same words suit not myself and thee. 
 Thou hast a city and a father's house, 
 A happy life and dear companionship. 
 I, lonely, homeless, by my husband scorned. 
 From a barbarian land as booty led. 
 Have not a mother, brother, no, nor kin. 
 With whom to seek a haven from these ills. 
 
 This much I wish I may obtain from thee. 
 If any means or plan by me be found 
 To avenge these wrongs or> Jason, on the girl 
 He has wedded, and the sire who gave him her. 
 Speak not! A woman else is full of fear. 
 
244 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Nor dares to look on violence and arms: 
 But if it chance her marriage-bed is wronged, 
 There is no soul more murderous than hers. 
 
 The conflicting passions of love and jealousy are 
 wonderfully depicted in this passage — the monologue 
 of Medea just before she slays her children: 
 
 O sons, my sons, for you there is a home 
 
 And city where, forsaking wretched me, 
 
 Ye shall still dwell and have no mother more; 
 
 But I, an exile, seek another land, 
 
 Ere I have joyed in you and seen you glad, 
 
 Ere I have decked for you the nuptial pomp. 
 
 The bride, the bed, and held the torch aloft. 
 
 Ah me! forlorn by my untempered moods! 
 
 In vain then have I nurtured ye, my sons, 
 
 In vain have toiled and been worn down by cares, 
 
 And felt the hard child-bearing agonies. 
 
 There was a time when I, unhappy one, 
 
 Had many hopes in you, that both of you 
 
 Would cherish me in age; and that your hands, 
 
 When I am dead, would fitly lay me out— 
 
 That wish of all men; but now lost indeed 
 
 Is that sweet thought, for I must, reft of you. 
 
 Live on a piteous life and full of pain; 
 
 And ye, your dear eyes will no more behold 
 
 Your mother, gone into your new strange life. 
 
 Alas 1 why do ye fix your eyes on me, 
 
 My sons ? Why smile ye on me that last smile ? 
 
 Alas ! what must I do ? for my heart faints, 
 
 Thus looking on my children's happy eyes. 
 
 Women, I cannot. Farewell my past resolves. 
 
 My boys go forth with me. What boots it me 
 
 To wring their father with their cruel fates, 
 
 And earn myself a doubled misery ? 
 
 It shall not be, shall not. Farewell resolves ! — 
 
 And yet what mood is this ? Am I content 
 
 To spare my foes and be a laughing-stock ? 
 
 It must be dared. Why, out upon my weakness. 
 
Euripides 245 
 
 To let such coward thoughts steal from my heart I 
 Go, children, to the house : and he who lacks 
 Right now to stand by sacrifice of mine 
 Let him look to it. I'll not stay my hand. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! 
 No, surely, O my heart, thou canst not do it ! 
 Racked heart, let them go safely : spare the boys. 
 Living far hence with me they'll make thee joy. 
 No : by the avenging demon gods in hell. 
 Never shall be that I shall yield my boys 
 To the despitings of mine enemies ! 
 For all ways they must die, and since *tis so, 
 Better I slay them, I who gave them birth. 
 All ways 'tis fated ; there is no escape. 
 For now, in the robes, the wreath upon her head| 
 The royal bride is perishing. I know it. 
 But since I go on so forlorn a journey, 
 And them too send on one yet more forlorn, 
 I'd fain speak with my sons. Give me, my children, 
 Give your mother your right hands to clasp to her. 
 O darling hands ! O dearest lips to me ! 
 O forms and noblest faces of my boys I 
 Be happy : but there. For of all part here 
 Your father has bereft you. O sweet kiss ! 
 O grateful breath and soft skin of my boys I 
 Go, go ; I can no longer look on you, 
 But by my sufferings am overborne. 
 Oh, I do know what sorrows I shall make ; 
 But anger keeps the mastery of my thoughts, 
 Which is the chiefest cause of human woes. 
 
 Mrs. Webster. 
 
 The Hippolytus, crowned with the first prize in 428 
 B. C, is not only one of the best tragedies of Euripi- 
 des, considered as a work of art, but is of unique 
 interest as the first extant Greek play in which the 
 passion of love is the chief motive. The hero, 
 Hippolytus, was the son of Theseus, the legendary 
 
2^6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 founder of Athens, by his union with the Amazon 
 queen Hippolyta. He grew up to manhood in purity, 
 paying worship to the chaste goddess Artemis, the 
 huntress, and disdaining Aphrodite. Aphrodite is 
 resolved to punish him. She therefore puts into the 
 heart of Phsedra, the wife of Theseus, a love for her 
 step-son. Phaedra struggles against the sinful passion 
 until brought to death's door, when it is revealed unto 
 Hippolytus by her nurse. Hippolytus is filled with 
 horror by the disclosure. Phaedra hangs herself for 
 shame, accusing Hippolytus in a letter which Theseus 
 finds. The father invokes upon his son a curse, 
 which Poseidon fulfills before the innocence of Hip- 
 polytus is established by Artemis. I quote first a 
 choral ode on the power of love, personified as Eros, 
 son of Aphrodite : 
 
 Love, O Love, whose eyes with longing 
 
 Overflow, who sweet delight 
 
 Bringest to the soul thou stormest. 
 
 Come not, prithee, sorrow-laden, 
 
 Nor too mighty, unto me ! 
 
 Neither flaming fire is stronger, 
 
 Nor the splendor of the stars, 
 
 Than the shaft of Aphrodite, 
 
 Darting from the hand of Eros, 
 
 Who is child of Zeus supreme. 
 
 Vainly, vainly, by Alpheios, 
 
 Or in Phoibos* Pythian fane, 
 
 Hellas heaps the slaughtered oxen ! 
 
 Eros, of mankind the tyrant, 
 
 Holder of the key that locks 
 
 Aphrodite's dearest chambers, 
 
 Is not honored in our prayers. 
 
 Though he comes as the destroyer, 
 
 Bringing uttermost disaster. 
 
 Unto mortals, when he comes. 
 
 Lawton. 
 
Euripides 247 
 
 In the following passage Hippolytus protests his 
 innocence to his father in language that is at once 
 respectful and forceful : 
 
 Father, thy rage and strong-strained fury of soul 
 
 Are fearful : yet fair-seeming though the charge, 
 
 If one unfold it, all unfair it is. 
 
 I have no skill to speak before a throng: 
 
 My tongue is loosed with equals, and those few. 
 
 And reason: they that are among the wise 
 
 Of none account, to mobs are eloquent. 
 
 Yet needs I must, now this mischance hath lighted. 
 
 Unrein my tongue. And first will I begin 
 
 Where thou didst first assail, as thou wouldst crush me. 
 
 And I find no reply. See'st thou yon sun 
 
 And earth? — within their compass is no man — 
 
 Though thou deny it — chaster-souled than I. 
 
 For I have learned, first, to revere the gods, 
 
 Then, to have friends which seek to do no wrong, 
 
 Friends who think shame to proffer aught of base. 
 
 Yea, or to render others shameful service. 
 
 No mocker am I, father, at my friends, 
 
 But to the absent even as to the present: 
 
 In one thing flawless,— where thou think'st me trapped,— 
 
 For to this day my body is clean of lust. 
 
 God grant I perish nameless, fameless all, 
 Cityless, homeless, exile, vagabond 
 On earth, — may sea nor land receive my corpse 
 When I am dead, if I be this vile thing! . 
 
 Way. f 
 
 Fully one-half of the extant plays of Euripides are 
 based on legends of the Trojan war, and four of these 
 treat of tragic events in the history of Agamemnon's 
 family. The Iphigeneia atAulis^ which won the first prize 
 (with the Bacchanals) after the poet's death, tells of the 
 sacrifice of Agamemnon's daughter to bring favoring 
 winds for the Greek fleet. Clytemnestra is induced 
 
248 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 to bring Iphigeneia to the camp at Aulis on the pre- 
 text of her marriage with Achilles. When the true 
 reason is known, Iphigeneia at first pleads piteously 
 with her father to spare her life, but when she knows 
 that her death is required by the army and that her 
 father is helpless to save her, she faces her doom with 
 marvelous heroism. When the fatal blow is given, lo ! 
 a hind is found lying slain upon the altar in the place 
 of the maiden. I quote Iphigeneia's entreaty: 
 
 Had I the tongue of Orpheus, O my sire, 
 To charm with song the rocks to follow me. 
 And witch with eloquence whomsoe'er I would, 
 I had essayed it. Now — mine only cunning — 
 Tears will I bring, for this is all I can. 
 And suppliant will I twine about thy knees 
 My body, which this mother bare to thee. 
 Ah, slay me not untimely! Sweet is light: 
 Constrain me not to see the nether gloom! 
 'Twas I first called thee father, thou me child. 
 'Twas I first throned my body on thy knees. 
 And gave thee sweet caresses and received. 
 And this thy word was: "Ah, my little maid. 
 Blest shall I see thee in a husband's balls 
 Living and blooming worthily of me?" 
 And, as I twined my fingers in thy beard. 
 Whereto I now cling, thus I answered thee; 
 "And what of thee? Shall I greet thy gray hairs. 
 Father, with loving welcome in my halls, 
 Repaying all thy fostering toil for me?" 
 I keep remembrance of that converse yet: 
 Thou hast forgotten, thou wouldst murder me. 
 Ah no! — by Pelops, by thy father Atreus, 
 And by this mother, whose first travail-pangs 
 Now in this second anguish are renewed! 
 What part have I in Paris' rape of Helen? 
 Why, father, should he for my ruin have come? 
 Look on me — give me one glance — oh, one kiss, 
 
Euripides 249 
 
 That I may keep in death from thee but this 
 Memorial, if thou heed my pleading not. 
 
 [ To her infant brother^ Orestes* 
 Brother, small help canst thou be to thy friends; 
 Yet weep with me, yet supplicate thy sire 
 To slay thy sister not! — some sense of ill 
 Even in wordless infants is inborn. 
 Lo, by his silence he implores thee, father — 
 Have mercy, have compassion on my youth! 
 Yea, by thy beard we pray thee, loved ones twain, 
 A nestling one, and one a daughter grown. 
 In one cry summing all, I must prevail! 
 Sweet, passing sweet, is light for men to see. 
 The grave's life nothingness! Who prays to die 
 Is mad. Ill life o'erpasseth glorious death. 
 
 Way. 
 
 A few years before, Euripides had brought out the 
 sequel to this story, the Iphigenda among the TaurianSy 
 one of his finest plays. The scene is laid in the land 
 of the Taurians, north of the Black Sea, whither 
 Iphigeneia was borne by Artemis from the altar at 
 Aulis. There she serves in the temple as priestess of 
 the goddess, to whom she must sacrifice all strangers 
 who come to the land. Orestes and Pylades are 
 brought before her. Orestes gains his friend's life 
 through the desire of Iphigeneia to send a message to 
 her home in Argos. Through this message the recog- 
 nition of brother and sister is effected. They plan 
 a way of escape from the land, and succeed by the 
 intervention of Athene. The recognition scene is here 
 given : 
 
 Iph. All that is written in the letter's folds 
 
 My tongue shall say, that thou mayst tell my friends. 
 So all is safe: if thou lose not the script. 
 Itself shall voiceles'* tell its written tale: 
 
250 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 But if this writing in the sea be lost, 
 
 Then thy life saved shall save my words for me, 
 
 Pyl. Well hast thou said, both for thy need and me. 
 Now say to whom this letter I must bear 
 To Argos, and from thee that message speak. 
 
 Iph. Say to Orestes, Agamemnon's son — 
 
 " This Iphigeneia, slain in Aulis, sends, 
 Who liveth, yet for those at home lives not — " 
 
 Or. Where is she? Hath she risen from the dead? 
 
 Iph. She whom thou seest — confuse me not with speech— 
 " Bear me to Argos, brother, ere I die: 
 From this wild land, these sacrifices save. 
 Wherein mine office is to slay the stranger;'* — 
 
 Or. What shall I say? — Now dream we, Pylades? 
 
 Iph. "Else to thine house will I become a curse t 
 
 Orestes'' — so, twice heard, hold fast the name. 
 
 Or. Gods! 
 
 Iph. Why in mine affairs invoke the gods? 
 
 Or. 'Tis naught: say on: my thoughts had wandered far. 
 [Aside.] This marvel may I yet by question fathom. 
 
 Iph, Say — " A rtemis in my place laid a hind. 
 And saved me, — this my father sacrificed. 
 Deeming he plunged the keen blade into me, — 
 And made me dwell h^re." This the letter is, 
 And in the tablets this is what is writ. 
 
 Pyl. O thou who hast bound me by an easy oath — 
 Hast fairly sworn ! — I will not tarry long 
 To ratify the oath that I have sworn. 
 This tablet, lo, to thee I bear, and give, 
 Orestes, from thy sister, yonder maid. 
 
 Or. This I receive:— I let its folds abide — 
 
 First will I seize a rapture not in words: — 
 Dear sister mine, albeit wonder-struck, 
 With scarce-believing arm I fold thee round, 
 And taste delight, who hear things marvellous! 
 
 Way. 
 
 The Orestes (408 B. C. ) is rather a melodrama than 
 a tragedy, full of intrigue and flashy scenes, and 
 
E 
 
 Euripides 251 
 
 closing with an imposing tableau. It is said to have 
 been very popular on the stage, but has received no 
 commendation from critics. The Electra (about 413 
 IB. C.) is the best illustration of Euripides' manner in 
 revising the myths used by the older poets and in 
 reducing the characters to the level of everyday life, 
 ©ealing with precisely the same theme as the Libation- 
 Bearers of -^schylus and the Electra of Sophocles, it 
 sierves well to show the difference between Euripides 
 ^nd the other two poets in their conception of tragedy ; 
 Wlthough the comparison is not quite fair to Euripides, 
 siince the Electrjf, is by no means his best play. In 
 JEschylus our interest is less in the characters than 
 In the process by which divine justice is visited upon 
 Oytemnestra and -^gisthus. Orestes acts in accord- 
 lance with a divine command, but even so he becomes 
 guilty of a horrible crime which must be expiated. 
 I The plot is simple, and the action moves steadily 
 [ toward the goal. In Sophocles the plot is more com- 
 \ plicated, and the possibilities of dramatic situations 
 are more fully grasped. Electra becomes the leading 
 character instead of Orestes. Our interest for her is 
 aroused by her courage and confidence in the face of 
 indignity and insult, and our sympathies are drawn to 
 her still more by the pathetic contrast between her 
 calm hope at the beginning, when she believes that 
 Orestes is alive, and her despair when she hears the 
 false message of his death. Orestes now has two 
 motives for slaying the guilty pair — vengeance for his 
 father's murder and his moral obligation to rescue his 
 sister from her cruel position. The characters are as 
 noble as in ^schylus, but their human interest is 
 greater and the play of motives more subtle. 
 
2^2 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The Electra of Euripides is a totally different con- 
 ception from either of these plays. The scene is 
 a peasant's cottage. Electra lives there with a peas- 
 ant for her husband, to whom -^gisthus and Clytem- 
 nestra married her that they might have nothing to 
 fear from her children. But she is wife only in name, 
 for the peasant reverences her royal blood. Orestes, 
 returning to Argos, finds her, and is at length recog- 
 nized by a scar upon his forehead.* They entice 
 Clytemnestra to the hut by a message that Electra is 
 about to be delivered of a child. She comes in 
 a chariot, with a train of servants, her splendor con- 
 trasting with the squalor of Electra's home. Before 
 she enters and is slain, Electra rehearses all her sins 
 to her. Meanwhile ^gisthus has been slain by Orestes 
 and Pylades while performing a sacrifice. At the 
 close of the play the Dioscuri, Castor and Pollux, 
 appear from on high, arrange the marriage of Electra 
 and Pylades, with a reward for her present husband, 
 and foretell to Orestes his pursuit by the Furies and 
 his trial in Athens. During the action we are scarcely 
 conscious of the resistless power of the divine will 
 driving Orestes and Electra forward, so prominent in 
 .^sychlus, nor are the principal persons the strong, 
 unflinching characters that we find in Sophocles, 
 accomplishing their vengeance without scruple. They 
 
 *The recognition scene is characteristic. In iEschylus Electra knows 
 Orestes by a lock of hair, in color like her own, and by a footprint in the 
 sand into which her own foot fits. In Euripides this mode of recognition is 
 suggested to Electra, but is criticised by her. " Many men have hair like 
 in color, even when not kin. Besides, Orestes' hair would be as becomes 
 one trained in the wrestling-school, while mine is combed like a woman's. 
 As for the footprint, how should the prints of the foot of brother and sister 
 be alike, seeing that the man's is larger?" In Sophocles Orestes is known 
 b^ a piece of embroidery which Electra had made. But the Electra of 
 Euripides says: '* How could he now wear the robes he wore as a child, 
 unless the garment grew with his growth?" Such covert criticisms of hitt 
 predecessors are found elsewhere in Euripides. 
 
Euripides 253 
 
 are, indeed, less noble in Euripides, but certainly more 
 human from the modern point of view. 
 
 The Trojan Women (415 B. C.) and the Hecabe 
 (about 424 B. C.) both depict scenes ensuing upon 
 the fall of Troy. In fact the former play is rather 
 a series of loosely connected scenes from this story 
 than a connected plot. The Greek chieftains have 
 cast lots for the captive Trojan women. Cassandra, 
 the prophetess, falls to Agamemnon; Andromache, 
 Hector's wife, to Neoptolemus, son of Achilles; 
 Hecabe, Priam's aged queen, to Odysseus; and 
 Polyxena, the beautiful daughter of Hecabe and 
 Priam, is to be offered in sacrifice to the spirit of 
 Achilles. The Greeks decree that Astyanax, the child 
 of Hector and Andromache, shall be thrown from the 
 battlements of Troy. Hecabe parts with one after 
 another of her daughters, some to die, others to be 
 slaves. The mangled body of Astyanax is laid before 
 her, and she herself is led away a slave, overwhelmed 
 by her crushing sorrows. The Hecabe sets forth the 
 vengeance of the aged queen upon Polymnestor, the 
 murderer of her son Polydorus. Enticing him and his 
 children into her tent, she kills his children and puts 
 out his eyes. In this play the sacrifice of Polyxena on 
 Achilles' tomb is powerfully described. I quote first, 
 from the Trojan Women, the wedding-song of the fren- 
 zied Cassandra: 
 
 Up with the torch! — give it me — let me render 
 Worship to Phoebus! — lo, lo how I fling 
 
 Wide through his temple the flash of its splendour: — 
 Hymen! O Marriage-god, Hymen, my king! 
 
 Happy the bridegroom who waiteth to meet me; 
 
 Happy am I for the couch that shall greet me; 
 
254 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Royal espousals to Argos I bring: — 
 Bridal-king, Hymen, thy glory I sing. 
 
 Mother, thou lingerest long at thy weeping, 
 
 Aye makest moan for my sire who hath died, 
 Mourn'st our dear country with sorrow unsleeping; 
 
 Therefore myself for my own marriage-tide 
 Kindle the firebrands, a glory outstreaming. 
 Toss up the torches, a radiance far-gleaming: — 
 Hymen, to thee is their brightness upleaping; 
 
 Hekate, flash thou thy star-glitter wide, 
 
 After thy wont when a maid is a bride. 
 
 Float, flying feet of the dancers, forth-leading 
 Revel of bridalsi ring, bacchanal strain, 
 
 Ring in thanksgiving for fortune exceeding 
 Happy, that fell to my father to gain. 
 
 Holy the dance is, my duty, my glory: 
 
 Lead thou it, Phoebus; midst bay-trees before thee 
 Aye have I ministered, there in thy fane: — 
 Marriage-king, Hymen! sing loud the refrain. 
 
 Up, mother, join thou the revel : — with paces 
 
 Woven with mine through the sweet measure flee; 
 Hitherward, thitherward, thrid,the dance-mazes: 
 
 Sing ever " Marriage-king! — Hymen! " sing ye. 
 Bliss ever chime through the notes of your singing. 
 Hail ye the bride with glad voices outringing. 
 Daughters of Phrygia, arrayed like the Graces, 
 
 Hymn ye my bridal, the bridegroom for me 
 
 Destined by fate's everlasting decree. 
 
 Way. 
 
 The following description by the Herald of the 
 death of Polyxena is taken from the Hecabe: 
 
 The whole vast concourse of the Achaian host 
 Stood round the tomb to see your daughter die. 
 Achilleus' son, taking her by the hand. 
 Placed her upon the mound, and I stayed near; 
 And youths, the flower of Greece, a chosen few, 
 With hands to check thy heifer, should she bound, 
 
Euripides 255 
 
 Attended, From a cup of carven gold. 
 Raised full of wine, Achilleus' son poured forth 
 Libation to his sire, and bade me sound 
 Silence throughout the whole Achaian host. 
 I, standing there, cried in the midst these words: 
 
 "Silence, Achaians! let the host be still! 
 Hush, hold your voices!" Breathless stayed the crowd; 
 But he: "O son of Peleus, father mine. 
 Take these libations pleasant to thy soul, 
 Draughts that allure the dead: come, drink the black 
 Pure maiden's blood wherewith the host and I 
 Sue thee: be kindly to us; loose our prows, 
 And let our barks go free: give safe return 
 Homeward from Troy to all, and happy voyage." 
 Such words he spake, and the crowd prayed assent 
 Then from the scabbard, by its golden hilt. 
 He drew the sword, and to the chosen youths 
 Signalled that they should bring the maid; but she. 
 Knowing her hour was come, spake thus and said: 
 
 "O men of Argos, who have sacked my town, 
 Lo, of free will I die! let no man touch 
 My body: boldly will I stretch my throat. 
 Nay, but I pray you set me free, then slay; 
 That free I thus may perish: 'mong the dead, 
 Being a queen, I blush to be called slave." 
 The people shouted, and King Agamemnon 
 Bade the youths loose the maid and set her free: 
 She when she heard the order of the chiefs. 
 Seizing her mantle, from the shoulder down 
 To the soft centre of her snowy waist 
 Tore it, and showed her breasts and bosom fair 
 As in a statue. Bending then with knee 
 On earth, she spake a speech most piteous: 
 
 "See you this breast, O youth? if breast you will. 
 Strike it; take heart: or if beneath my neck, 
 Lol here my throat is ready for your sword!" 
 He willing not, yet willing, pity-stirred 
 In sorrow for the maiden, with his blade 
 Severed the channels of her breath: blood flowed; 
 
256 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 And she, though dying, still had thought to fall 
 In seemly wise, hiding what eyes should see not. 
 And when she breathed her life out from the blow, 
 Then was the Argive host in divers way 
 Of service parted ; for some, bringing leaves, 
 Strewed them upon the corpse ; some piled a pyre. 
 Dragging pine trunks and boughs ; and he who bore none 
 Heard from the bearers many a bitter word : 
 
 " Standest thou, villain ? Hast thou then no robe, 
 No funeral honours for the maid to bring ? 
 Wilt thou not go and get for her who died 
 Most nobly, bravest-souled, some gift ? " Thus they 
 Spake of thy child in death, O thou most blest 
 Of women in thy daughter, most undone ! 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 The later fortunes of Hector's wife are followed in 
 the Andromache^ written in the early years of the Pelo- 
 ponnesian war, but not exhibited at Athens. Though 
 carelessly constructed the play is interesting. The 
 fortunes of war have made Andromache, the once happy 
 wife of Hector, the slave and concubine of Achilles's 
 son, Neoptolemus, to whom she has borne a son. Ne- 
 optolemus has married Hermione, daughter of Menelaus 
 and Helen, who, childless herself, is jealous of Andro- 
 mache and seeks to slay her and the child. In this 
 plot Menelaus abets her, but the aged Peleus intervenes. 
 Hermione, chagrined and desperate, attempts suicide. 
 Orestes meanwhile has slain Neoptolemus and comes to 
 claim the hand of his cousin, Hermione, promised him 
 long before but afterwards basely given by Menelaus to 
 Neoptolemus instead. The play has a strong political 
 coloring, shown especially in the characters of Her- 
 mione and Menelaus, which furnish a pretext for bitter 
 satire against the Spartans. The following passages, 
 both addressed to Menelaus, will serve as illustrations : 
 
i^uripides 257 
 
 ANDR. O ye in all folks's eyes most loathed of men, 
 Dwellers in Sparta, senates of treachery, 
 Princes of lies, weavers of webs of guile, 
 Thoughts crooked, wholesome never, devious all, — 
 A crime is your supremacy in Greece ! 
 What vileness lives not with you ? — swarming 
 
 murders ? 
 Covetousness ? — O ye convict of saying 
 This with your tongue, while still your hearts mean 
 Now ruin seize ye I [that ! 
 
 Peleus. Thou, thou a man ? Coward, of cowards bred ! 
 What part or lot hast thou amongst true men ? 
 Thou, by a Phrygian from thy wife divorced, 
 Who leftest hearth and home unbarred, unwarded, 
 As who kept in his halls a virtuous wife, — 
 And she the vilest ! Though one should essay, 
 Virtuous could daughter of Sparta never be. 
 They gad abroad with young men from their homes, 
 And with bare thighs and loose disgirdled vesture 
 Race, wrestle with them, — things intolerable 
 To me ! And is it wonder-worthy then 
 That ye train not your women to be chaste ? 
 This well might Helen have asked thee, who forsook 
 Thy love, and from thine halls went revelling forth 
 With a young gallant to an alien land. 
 Thou shouldst have spued her forth, have stirred no 
 
 spear. 
 Who hadst found her vile, but let her there abide, 
 Yea, paid a price to take her never back. 
 But nowise thus the wind of thine heart blew. 
 Nay, many a gallant life hast thou destroyed. 
 And childless made grey mothers in their halls. 
 And white-haired sires hast robbed of noble sons ;— 
 My wretched self am one, who sees in thee. 
 Like some foul fiend, Achilles' murderer ; — 
 Thou who alone unwounded cam'st from Troy, 
 And daintiest arms in dainty sheaths unstained. 
 Borne thither, hither back didst bring again ! 
 I warned my bridegroom-grandson not to make 
 
258 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Affinity with thee, nor to receive 
 In his halls a wanton's child : such bear abroad 
 Their mother's shame. Give heed to this my rede, 
 Wooers, — a virtuous mother's daughter choose. 
 And, when Troy fell, — ay, thither too I trace thee, — 
 Thy wife thou slew'st not when thou hadst her 
 
 trapped. 
 Thou saw'st her bosom, didst let fall the sword, 
 Didst kiss her, that bold traitress, fondling her, 
 By Kypris overborne, O recreant wretch! 
 And to my son's house com'st thou, he afar, 
 And ravagest, wouldst slay a hapless woman 
 Unjustly, and her boy ? — this boy shall make 
 Thee, and that daughter in thine halls, yet rue. 
 Though he were thrice a bastard. Oft the yield 
 Of barren ground o'erpasseth deep rich soil ; 
 And better are bastards oft than sons true-born. 
 Take hence thy daughter ! Better 'tis to have 
 The poor and upright, or for marriage kin. 
 Or friend, than the vile rich : — thou, thou art naught ! 
 
 Way. 
 
 The Helen (41 2) takes up the legend that Paris did not 
 carry off the real Helen to Troy, but only a phantom 
 resembling her (see page 169).^ The real Helen was 
 taken by Hermes to Egypt, where she remained true 
 to her husband, in spite of the ardent wooing of the 
 king of the land. Menelaus, after many wanderings, 
 comes to Egypt with the phantom Helen, discovers his 
 true wife, and escapes with her by a stratagem, the 
 phantom having meanwhile flown away. 
 
 Two of the extant plays of Euripides are on sub- 
 jects connected with the house of Labdacus (see page 
 209) — the Phoenician Womafi (about 410 B. C.) and 
 the Suppliants (about 420 B. C). The former covers 
 
 » The reason assijs^ned by the poet for this deception was that Hera, angry 
 at the decision rendered by Paris, desired " to turn his joy in Helen into afi-/' 
 This version of the story was in the first instance invented, of course, to clear 
 the reputation of Helen. 
 
Euripides 259 
 
 in general the same ground as the Seven against Thebes 
 of iEschylus, but Euripides adds many details to the 
 story, filling the drama with many moving scenes and 
 complicating the plot. The chorus is formed of 
 Phoenician maidens on their way to Delphi. Instead 
 of the somewhat monotonous catalogue of the twice 
 seven champions given by -^schylus, Euripides 
 achieves the same result by having Antigone view the 
 opposing army from the roof of the palace and by 
 a description of the battle. An entirely new feature 
 is added : the voluntary sacrifice of Menoeceus, son of 
 Creon, that the forces of Thebes may be victorious. 
 In one important respect the poet deviates from the 
 myth as given by Sophocles : Jocasta is represented as 
 still alive. She tries to reconcile her two sons, but in 
 vain; and finally, rushing to the field of battle, kills 
 herself over the bodies of Eteocles and Polyneices, 
 locked in the fatal embrace. Creon banishes (Edipus 
 from Thebes. Antigone renounces her marriage with 
 Haemon, to whom she is betrothed, resolving to attend 
 her father in exile after burying Polyneices in viola- 
 tion of the edict of Creon. In spite of the complicated 
 plot the drama is well constructed, and is one of the 
 most attractive of the extant plays of the poet. In 
 the following passage Jocasta pleads with Eteocles to 
 share the kingdom with his brother: 
 
 My son Eteokles, evil unalloyed 
 
 Cleaves not to old age: nay, experience 
 
 Can plead more wisely than the lips of youth. 
 
 Why at Ambition, worst of deities. 
 
 Son, graspest thou? Do not: she is Queen of Wrong. 
 
 Homes many and happy cities enters she 
 
 And leaves for ruin of her votaries. 
 
 Thou art mad for her! — better to honour, son, 
 
26o Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Equality, which knitteth friends to friends, 
 
 Cities to cities, allies unto allies. 
 
 Man's law of nature is equality, 
 
 And the less, ever marshalled foe against 
 
 The greater, ushers in the dawn of hate. 
 
 Measures for men Equality ordained. 
 
 Meting of weights and number she assigned. 
 
 The sightless face of night and the sun's beam 
 
 Equally pace along their yearly round, 
 
 Nor either envieth that it must give place. 
 
 Sun, then, and night are servants unto men. 
 
 Shalt thou not brook to halve your heritage 
 
 And share with him? . . . Ah, where is justice then? 
 
 Wherefore dost thou prize lordship overmuch,— 
 
 A prosperous wrong, — and count it some great thing? 
 
 Is worship precious? Nay, 'tis vanity. 
 
 Wouldst have, with great wealth in thy halls, great travailF 
 
 What is thy profit? — profit but in name; 
 
 Seeing enough sufficeth for the wise. 
 
 Mortals hold their possessions not in fee: 
 
 We are but the stewards of the gifts of God: 
 
 Whene'er he will, he claims his own again. 
 
 And wealth abides not, 'tis but for a day. 
 
 Way. 
 
 The choral ode to Ares is spirited : 
 
 Ares the troublous, O whence is thy passion 
 For blood and for death, unattuned to the feasts 
 
 of the Revelry-king? 
 Not for the dances, the circlings of beauty, 
 
 in virginal fashion 
 Tossed are thy tresses abroad, nor to the breathings 
 of flutes dost thou sing 
 A strain to whose witchery dances are wreathing: 
 But with clangour of harness to fight through the Argive 
 array art thou breathing 
 War-lust for the blood of our Thebes athirst, 
 As thou leadest the dance of a revel accurst 
 Where no flutes ring. 
 
Euripides 261 
 
 Thou art found not where fawnskin and thyrsus 
 
 in mad reel mingle and sunder, 
 But with chariots and clashing of bits and with 
 war-horses' footfall of thunder 
 By Ismenus' brimming marge 
 With the rushing of steeds dost thou charge. 
 Into Argives breathing the battle-hate 
 Against the sons of the Dragon-state; 
 
 And with harness of brass and with targe, 
 Fronting our ramparts of stone, dost array 
 
 A host for the fray. 
 A fearful Goddess in sooth is Strife, 
 Of whose devising the troublous life 
 Of the Labdakid kings of the land is anguish-rife. 
 
 Way. 
 
 The Suppliants is an encomium of Athens, whose 
 king, Theseus, in response to the supplications of the 
 wives of the Argive heroes fallen at Thebes, compels 
 Creon by battle to give up the bodies for burial. When 
 the bodies of the dead are brought in, funeral pyres 
 are lighted, and Evadne throws herself from a height 
 upon the pyre of her husband, Capaneus — a stirring 
 spectacle, unparalleled in the Greek drama. 
 
 Of the two plays which deal with the legends of 
 Heracles, the older, the Children of Heracles (about 
 428 B. C.) resembles the Suppliants. Athens receives 
 and protects Heracles' children and his mother, 
 Alcmene, who have been driven out of Argos by Eurys- 
 theus. A battle ensues. The oracles demand as the 
 price of victory for Athens the sacrifice of a virgin, 
 and Macaria, eldest daughter of Heracles, heroically 
 offers herself as the victim — a dramatic motive 
 employed again by the poet in the Phoenician Women. 
 
 The Heracles (about 422 B. C.) is one of the most 
 tragic of the plays of Euripides. The last of the 
 
262 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 twelve labors which the hero was to perform for 
 Eurystheus, through the hatred of Hera, was to fetch 
 the three-headed dog, Cerberus, from the lower world. 
 Ere he departed he committed to Creon, king of 
 Thebes and father of his wife, his aged father, 
 Amphitryon, his wife, Megara, and his sons. Now 
 during his long absence Creon was deposed and slain 
 by Lycus, who assumed the throne. This Lycus, 
 fearing lest Creon *s murder should be avenged if any 
 of the family of Heracles survived, plots against them. 
 They take refuge at the altar, but Lycus respects not 
 the sanctuary. When they are on the point of being 
 slain, Heracles suddenly appears and kills Lycus. 
 But a madness sent by Hera comes upon him, and he 
 slays his own wife and children. His agony on awak- 
 ening is terrible. Theseus takes him to Athens to be 
 purified and to spend the rest of his days, closing his 
 glorious career ruined, heartbroken, and bereft of his 
 loved ones. 
 
 The chorus in Euripides often voices the thoughts 
 of the poet himself. The best illustration of this 
 tendency is found in the following ode from the 
 Heracles^ which is connected with the action of 
 the tragedy by the last verses alone : 
 
 Youth is a pleasant burthen to me; 
 
 But age on my head, more heavily 
 
 Than the crags of Aitna, weighs and weighs, 
 
 And darkening cloaks the lids and intercepts the rays. 
 
 Never be mine the preference 
 
 Of an Asian empire's wealth, nor yet 
 
 Of a house all gold, to youth, to youth 
 
 That's beauty, whatever the gods dispensel 
 
 Whether in wealth we joy, or fret 
 
 Paupers— of all god's gifts most beautiful in truth! 
 
Euripides 26.3 
 
 But miserable murderous age I hate! 
 Let it go to wreck the waves adown, 
 Nor ever by rights plague tower or town 
 Where mortals bide, but still elate 
 With wings, on ether, precipitate, 
 Wander them round — nor wait I 
 
 But if the gods to man's degree 
 
 Had wit and wisdom, they would bring 
 
 Mankind a twofold youth to be 
 
 Their virtue's sign-mark, all should see. 
 
 In those with whom life's winter thus grew spring. 
 
 For when they died, into the sun once more 
 
 Would they have traversed twice life's race-course o'er; 
 
 While ignobility had simply run 
 
 Existence through, nor second life begun. 
 
 And so might we discern both bad and good 
 
 As surely as the starry multitude 
 
 Is numbered by the sailors, one and one. 
 
 But now the gods by no apparent line 
 
 Limit the worthy and the base define; 
 
 Only a certain period rounds, and so 
 
 Brings man more wealth, — but youthful vigour, no! 
 
 Well! I am not to pause 
 
 Mingling together — wine and wine in cup — 
 
 The Graces with the Muses up — 
 
 Most dulcet marriage: loosed from music's laws, 
 
 No life for me! 
 
 But where the wreaths abound there ever may I be! 
 
 And still, an aged bard, I shout Mnemosune — 
 
 Still chant of Herakles the triumph-chant. 
 
 Companioned by the seven-stringed tortoise-shell 
 
 And Libuan flute, and Bromios' self as well, 
 
 God of the grape, with man participant! 
 
 Nor yet will we arrest their glad advance — 
 
 The Muses who so long have led me forth to dance! 
 
 A paian — hymn the Delian girls indeed, 
 
 Weaving a beauteous measure in and out 
 
 His temple-gates, Latona's goodly seed; 
 
264 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 And paians — I too, these thy domes about, 
 From these gray cheeks, my king, will swan-like shout 
 Old songster ! Ay, in songs it starts off brave — 
 ** Zeus's son is he ! " and yet, such grace of birth 
 Surpassing far, to man his labours gave 
 Existence, one calm flow without a wave, 
 Having destroyed the beasts, the terrors of the earth. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 Omitting at present the Rhesus^ wrongly attributed 
 to Euripides, two plays remain to be considered, both 
 of them tragedies of the romantic type: Ion (about 
 420 B. C.) and the Bacchanals (soon after 405). The 
 former is notable for the beautiful character of Ion, 
 son of Apollo ^nd the Athenian princess, Creusa. 
 Exposed by his mother by reason of her fear and 
 shame, he is borne to Delphi by the god, where he 
 grows up in the service of the sanctuary. Creusa 
 marries Xuthus, king of Athens, but no child is born 
 to them. After many years they journey to Delphi 
 to ask Apollo to bless their union with children, Creusa 
 secretly hoping that Apollo will reveal her son. By 
 the god's command Xuthus finds a son in the first per- 
 son he meets as he leaves the temple, Ion. The 
 queen, believing that Ion is the issue of her husband 
 by some lawless connection, thinks that Apollo has 
 forgotten her, and attempts to slay the boy. But the 
 plan is frustrated. Apollo saves the queen from the 
 anger of the people and reveals Ion to his mother. 
 I quote the song of Ion as he comes from the temple 
 of Apollo in the early morning : „ . . 
 
 Lo, yonder the Sun-god is turning to earthward his splendour- 
 Chariot of light; [chasing. 
 
 And the stars from the firmament flee from the fiery arrows 
 To the sacred night: 
 
Euripides 265 
 
 [as with yearning 
 And the crests of Parnassus untrodden are flaming and flushed, 
 
 [returning 
 
 Of welcome to far-flashing wheels with the glory of daylight 
 
 To mortal sight. [burning 
 
 To the roof-ridge of Phoebus the fume of the incense of Araby 
 
 As a bird taketh flight. 
 
 On the tripod most holy is seated the Delphian Maiden 
 Chanting to children of Hellas the wild cries, laden 
 
 With doom, from the lips of Apollo that ring. 
 Delphians, Phoebus's priesthood-train, 
 
 Unto Castaly's silvery-swirling spring 
 Pass ye, and cleanse with the pure spray-rain 
 Your bodies, or ever ye enter his fane. 
 Set a watch on the door of your lips; be there heard 
 Nothing but good in the secret word 
 That ye murmur to them whose hearts be stirrred 
 To seek to his shrine, that they seek not in vain. 
 And I in the toil that is mine — mine now. 
 And from childhood up, — with the bay's young bough, 
 And with wreathed garlands holy, will cleanse 
 
 The portals of Phoebus; with dews from the spring 
 Will I sprinkle his pavement and chase far thence 
 
 With the shaft from the string 
 The flocks of the birds: the defilers shall flee 
 
 From his offerings holy. Nor mother is mine 
 Neither father: his temple hath nurtured me, 
 And I serve his shrine. 
 
 Come, branch in thy freshness yet blowing, 
 God's minister, loveliest bay. 
 Over the altar-steps glide. 
 In the gardens immortal, beside 
 His temple, hath burgeoned thy pride. 
 Where the sacred waters are flowing 
 Through a veil of the myrtle spray, 
 A fountain that leapeth aye 
 O'er thy tresses divine to pour. 
 I wave thee o'er Phoebus' floor 
 As the sun's wing soars sudden-glowing. 
 
266 Homer to 1 fteocritus 
 
 Such service is mine each day. 
 O Healer, O Healer-king, 
 Let blessing on blessing upring 
 Unto Leto's son as I sing. 
 
 *Tis my glory, the service I render 
 In thy portals, O Phoebus, to thee ! 
 
 I honour thy prophet- shrine. 
 
 Proud labour is mine — it is thine ! 
 
 I am thrall to the Gods divine : 
 Not to men, but Immortals, I tender 
 My bondage ; 'tis glorious and free : 
 Never faintness shall fall upon me. 
 
 For my father thee, Phoebus, I praise^ 
 
 Who hast nurtured me all my days : 
 My begetter, my help, my defender 
 This temple's Phoebus shall be. 
 
 O Healer, O Healer-king, 
 
 Let blessing on blessing upring 
 
 Unto Leto's son as I sing. 
 
 But — for now from the toil I refrain 
 
 Of the bay-boughs softly trailing, — 
 From the pitchers of gold shall I rain 
 The drops from the breast unfailing 
 Of the earth that spring 
 Where the foambell-ring 
 Round Castaly's fount goeth sailing. 
 It rains, it rains from my fingers fast, 
 From the hands of the undefiled wide-cast. 
 
 that to Phoebus for ever so 
 
 1 might render service, nor respite know, 
 Except unto happier lot I go ! 
 
 [Flights of birds are seen approaching. 
 Ho there, ho there ! 
 Even now are they flocking, the fowl of the air, 
 On Parnassus forsaking each crag-hung lair. 
 Touch not, I warn ye, the temple's coping, 
 Nor the roofs with the glistering gold slant-sloping. 
 Ha, my bow shall o'ertake thee again from afar, 
 
Euripides 267 
 
 Zeus' herald, whose talons victorious war 
 On the birds that strongest are. 
 
 Way. 
 
 While the King seeks Apollo's answer in the temple 
 and the Queen prays at the altar for the gift of a child, 
 the chorus, composed of Creusa's Athenian maids, sing 
 thus of the blessings of children : 
 
 Victorious queen, armed with resistless might. 
 
 O'er Pythian fanes thy plumage spread, 
 Forsake awhile Olympus* golden bed, 
 O wing thy rapid flight 
 
 To this blest land where Phoebus reigns. 
 This centre of the world, his chosen seat. 
 Where from his tripod in harmonious strains 
 Doth he th' unerring prophecy repeat : 
 
 With Latona's daughter join, 
 For thou like her art spotless and divine ; 
 Sisters of Phoebus, with persuasive grace, 
 
 Ye virgins, sue, nor sue in vain, 
 That, from his oracles, Erectheus' race 
 To the Athenian throne a noble heir may gain. 
 
 Object of Heaven's peculiar care 
 
 Is he whose children, vigorous from their birth, 
 
 Nursed on the foodful lap of earth, 
 Adorn his mansion and his transports share : 
 No patrimonial treasures can exceed 
 
 Theirs who by each heroic deed 
 Augment the fame of an illustrious sire, 
 
 And to their children's children leave 
 The invaluable heritage entire. 
 In troubles we receive 
 
 From duteous sons a timely aid. 
 And social pleasure in our prosperous hours. 
 The daring youth, in brazen arms arrayed, 
 Guards with protended lance his native towers. 
 
 To lure these eyes though gold were spread. 
 Though Hymen wantoned on a regal bed. 
 
268 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Such virtuous offspring would my soul prefer. 
 
 The lonely childless life I hate, 
 And deem that they who choose it greatly err ; 
 Blest with a teeming couch, I ask no kingly state. 
 
 WodhuU. 
 
 The Bacchanals is the only extant play based upon 
 the legends of Dionysus, or Bacchus, in whose worship 
 the drama originated It was written while the poet 
 was sojourning in Macedonia, and was produced in 
 Athens after his death by his grandson, together with 
 the Taurian Iphigeneia and two lost plays. It seems 
 to have won the first prize. It is one of the strongest 
 of the tragedies which survive — an enthusiastic tribute 
 to the wine-god. Dionysus enters Thebes, his native 
 city, after a victorious march through all the earth, 
 accompanied by a band of Bacchanalian women who 
 form the chorus. Pentheus, the king of Thebes, denies 
 his godhead, seeing in him but the son of a mortal 
 woman* ; but the aged Cadmus, the prophet Teiresias, 
 and the women of Thebes accept his worship and join 
 the Bacchic revelers. Pentheus forbids the worship, 
 and decrees that the youth Dionysus shall die. Soon 
 the god himself, disguised as a Lydian, is led in a cap* 
 tive, and is cast into a cell, whence he suddenly 
 appears, freed by his own power. Pentheus is induced 
 to go forth in woman's garb to the mountains, where 
 the reveling women are celebrating in honor of 
 Dionysus the rites which no man may look upon and 
 live. They discover Pentheus and tear him asunder, 
 limb by limb, his own mother, Agave, and her sisters, 
 in their madness not knowing him, taking the lead. 
 Finally Dionysus appears before them in all his divine 
 
 ^Dionysus was the son of Zeus by the Princess Semele, daughter of 
 Cadmus, the founder of Thebes and grandsire of Pentheus. 
 
Euripides 269 
 
 glory and reveals their future. The following choral 
 ode is much admired: 
 
 O when, through the long night, 
 
 With fleet foot glancing white. 
 Shall I go dancing in my revelry. 
 
 My neck cast back, and bare 
 
 Unto the dewy air. 
 Like sportive fawn in the green meadow's glee? 
 
 Lo, in her fear she springs 
 
 Over th* encircling rings, 
 Over the well-worn nets far off and fast; 
 
 While swift along her track 
 
 The huntsman cheers his pack, 
 With panting toil, and fiery storm-wind haste. 
 Where down the river-bank spreads the wide meadow. 
 
 Rejoices she in the untrod solitude. 
 Couches at length beneath the silent shadow 
 
 Of the old hospitable wood. 
 
 What is wisest? what is fairest, 
 Ot God's boons to man the rarest? 
 With the conscious conquering hand 
 Above the foeman's head to stand. 
 What is fairest still is dearest. 
 
 Slow come, but come at length, 
 
 In their majestic strength, 
 Faithful and true, the avenging deities: 
 
 And chastening human folly. 
 
 And the mad pride unholy. 
 Of those who to the gods bow not their knees. 
 
 For hidden still and mute, 
 
 As glides their printless foot. 
 The impious on their winding path they hound. 
 
 For it is ill to know. 
 
 And it is ill to do, 
 Beyond the law's inexorable bound. 
 *Tis but light cost in his own power sublime 
 
 To array the godhead, whoso'er he be; 
 
o.'jo Homer to Theocritus 
 
 And law is old, even as the oldest time, 
 Nature's own unrepealed decree. 
 
 What is wisest ? what is fairest. 
 Of God's boons to man the rarest ? 
 With the conscious conquering hand 
 Above the foeman's head to stand. 
 What is fairest still is rarest. 
 
 Who hath 'scaped the turbulent sea, 
 And reached the haven, happy he I 
 Happy he whose toils are o'er, 
 In the race of wealth and power ! 
 This one here, and that one there, 
 Passes by, and everywhere 
 Still expectant thousands over 
 Thousand hopes are seen to hover. 
 Some to mortals end in bliss ; 
 
 Some have already fled away : 
 Happiness alone is his 
 
 That happy is to-day. 
 
 Milman. 
 
 The following description of the revels of the The- 
 ban women on the mountain side is addressed to Pen- 
 theus by a herdsman : 
 
 All sleeping lay, with bodies restful-strown ; 
 
 Some backward leaned on leafy sprays of pine, 
 
 Some, with oak-leaves for pillows, on the ground 
 
 Flung careless ; — modestly, not, as thou say'st. 
 
 Drunken with wine, amid the sighing of flutes 
 
 Hunting desire through woodland shades alone. 
 
 Then to her feet sprang in the Bacchanals' midst 
 
 Thy mother, crying aloud, " Shake from you sleep ! " — 
 
 When fell our horned kine's lowing on her ear. 
 
 They, dashing from their eyelids rosy sleep, 
 
 Sprang to their feet, a marvel of grace to see. 
 
 Young girls, old matrons, maidens yet unwed. 
 
 First down their shoulders let they stream their hair : 
 
 Then looped they up their fawnskins, — they whose bands 
 
 Had fallen loose, — and girt the dappled fells 
 
 Round them with snakes that licked their cheeks the while. 
 
Euripides 27 1 
 
 Some, cradling fawns or wolf-cubs in their arms, 
 Gave to the wild things of their breasts, white milk, — 
 Young mothers they, who had left their babes, that still 
 Their breasts were full. Then did they wreath their heads 
 With ivy, oak, and flower-starred briony. 
 One grasped her thyrsus-staff, and smote the rock, 
 And forth upleapt a fountain's showering spray : 
 One in earth's bosom planted her reed-wand. 
 And up therethrough the God a wine-fount sent : 
 And whoso fain would drink white-foaming draughts, 
 Scarred with their finger-tips the breast of earth, 
 And milk gushed forth unstinted : dripped the while 
 Sweet streams of honey from their ivy-staves. 
 Hadst thou been there, thou hadst, beholding this, 
 With prayer approached the God whom now thou spurnest. 
 
 Way. 
 Our account of Euripides may be concluded with a 
 scene from the Cyclops, the only extant specimen of 
 the satyr-drama — a rollicking travesty on the adventure 
 of Odysseus with Polyphemus. 
 
 Odysseus. Receive us shipwrecked suppliants, and provide 
 Food, clothes, and fire, and hospitable gifts ; 
 Nor, fixing upon oxen-piercing spits 
 Our limbs, so fill your belly and your jaws. 
 Priam's wide land has widowed Greece enough. 
 And weapon-winged murder heaped together 
 Enough of dead ; and wives are husbandless, 
 And ancient women and gray fathers wail 
 Their childless age. If you should roast the rest 
 (And 'tis a bitter feast that you prepare), 
 Where then would any turn ? Yet be persuaded; 
 Forego the lust of your jawbone ; prefer 
 Pious humanity to wicked will. 
 Many have bought too dear their evil joys. 
 Cyclops. Wealth, my good fellow, is the wise man's god ; 
 All other things are a pretence and boast. 
 The wise man's only Jupiter is this, — 
 To eat and drink during his little day. 
 And give himself no care. And as for those 
 
aya 
 
 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Who complicate with laws the life of man, 
 I freely give them tears for their reward. 
 I will not cheat my soul of its delight, 
 Or hesitate in dining upon you. 
 And, that I may be quit of all demands, 
 These are my hospitable gifts ; — fierce fire. 
 And yon ancestral caldron, which o'erbubbling 
 Shall finely cook your miserable flesh. 
 Creep in I 
 Odysseus. Ai, ai ! I have escaped the Trojan toils, 
 I have escaped the sea,— and now I fall 
 Under the cruel grasp of one impious man ! 
 O Pallas, mistress, Goddess, sprung from Jove, 
 Now, now, assist me ! Mightier toils than Troy 
 Are these ;— I totter on the chasms of peril !— 
 And thou who inhabitest the thrones 
 Of the bright stars, look, hospitable Jove, 
 Upon this outrage of thy deity, — 
 Otherwise be considered as no God I 
 
 {ejvii with the Cyclops), 
 Chorus. For your gaping gulf and your gullet wide 
 The raven is ready on every side. 
 The limbs of the strangers are cooked and done; 
 
 There is boiled meat, and roast meat, and meat 
 from the coal. 
 You may chop it, and tear it, and gnash it for fun; 
 
 An hairy goat's skin contains the whole. 
 Let me but escape, and ferry me o'er 
 The stream of your wrath to a safer shore. 
 The Cyclops iEtnaean is cruel and bold ;. 
 
 He murders the strangers 
 That sit on his hearth, 
 
 And dreads no avengers 
 To rise from the earth. 
 He roasts the men before they are cold ; 
 He snatches them broiling from the coal. 
 And from the caldron pulls them whole ; 
 And minces their flesh and gnaws their bone 
 With his cursed teeth till all be gone. 
 
 Shelley. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 COMIC POETRY. ARISTOPHANES 
 
 The Origin of Comedy — Susarion — Epicharmus — Recognition 
 of Comedy in Attica — The Subjects of Comedy — The 
 Poets of the Old Comedy: Cratinus, Eupolis, Aristophanes 
 — The Structure of Comedy, illustrated by the Birds of Aris- 
 tophanes — The Acharnians — The Peace — The Lysistrata 
 — The ThesmophoriazuscB — The Parliament of Women — 
 The P/ufus—ThQ Knights ^The Clouds — The Wasps — 
 The Frogs. 
 
 Comedy was born about the same time as tragedy, 
 toward the middle of the sixth century, but it was long 
 in taking its place beside tragedy as a recognized 
 branch of literature. Like tragedy, it was from its 
 origin connected with the worship of Dionysus, and 
 had its beginnings among the Dorian peoples of the 
 Peloponnesus. From early times the worship of the 
 wine-god was celebrated by mirthful revelers, who 
 sang at the festivals impromptu songs, accompanied 
 by lively dancing. Such a band of Bacchic revelers 
 was called a comus^ and their song or performance was 
 later given the name **comedy" (comus and odi^ **comus- 
 song "), formed after the pattern of tragedy. 
 
 This rude performance seems to have received 
 some sort of development at the hands of Susarion of 
 Megara. We cannot make out precisely the changes 
 which he introduced, but it is probable that he substi- 
 tuted verses of his own composition for the impromptu 
 songs and speeches of the earlier time. It seems, also, 
 
 «73 
 
274 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 that he enlarged the license in scurrility and indecency 
 which these sportive bands always enjoyed on festival 
 days, by adding the element of abusiveness toward 
 individuals, especially those prominent in public life. 
 Such freedom could, of course, have developed under 
 a popular government, such as Megara seems to have 
 enjoyed in the sixth century. Susarion introduced his 
 comus performances into Attica, tradition says, first 
 at Icaria, the birthplace of tragedy. Out of the 
 comus the comic chorus developed, the boisterous pro- 
 cession taking shape as a chorus gradually under the 
 influence of the tragic chorus. 
 
 The real founder of comedy was Epicharmus of 
 Sicily, a contemporary of Pindar and -^schylus. A 
 poet of great creative power, he took the decisive step 
 of introducing the plot. Before his time comic per- 
 formances had not advanced beyond the stage of 
 a series of episodes, each giving a fantastic or humor- 
 ous situation, but on subjects unconnected with each 
 other. There now was a more or less orderly progres- 
 sion from one episode to another, so that the comic 
 subject received varied illustration in successive 
 scenes. v/^This simple unity of subject was far from 
 constituting a plot in the strict sense of the term, for 
 there was not necessarily a complication and a solu- 
 tion; but the innovation of Epicharmus transformed 
 a rude and unliterary series of burlesques into a com- 
 position which had at least the elements of literary 
 and artistic form. The comedy of Epicharmus did not 
 grow out of the comus, as did that of Attica, but was 
 the product of the imitative genius which has always 
 characterized the people of southern Italy. There 
 never was a chorus in this branch of comedy. The 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 275 
 
 importance of Epicharmus for the history of Attic 
 comedy is that he gave the impulse to the leaders of 
 the Attic comus in the direction of literary unity — 
 though by what channels this influence was communi- 
 cated we do not know. 
 
 For a long time the comic performances in Attica 
 were given at the festivals of Dionysus in an entirely 
 unofficial manner. Soon after the Persian wars, how- 
 ever^ they had assumed such importance and had 
 reached such a stage of literary excellence that they 
 were admitted to the official programme of the great 
 festival in March, the City Dionysia. At this time the 
 principal comic poets, to whom this recognition was 
 largely due, were Chionides and Magnes. From now 
 on comedy steadily increased in importance and 
 improved in technique, conforming itself, so far as its 
 nature would allow, to the type of drama already 
 established by tragedy. The number of actors who 
 might be together on the scene was restricted to three 
 (in the earlier days, it is believed, the number was 
 larger, not smaller, as in tragedy), and the number of 
 the chorus was fixed at twenty-four — just double the 
 number employed in tragedy down to Sophocles* time. 
 In form and manner comedy underwent a gradual but 
 constant change from the time of the Persian wars. 
 We distinguish three great periods: Old Comedy, 
 down to about 390 B. C. ; Middle Comedy, from 390 
 to about 320 B. C, and the New Comedy, from 320 on. 
 
 Attic comedy was not restricted to subjects drawn 
 from mythology, as was tragedy. Any situation in 
 politics or society, any tendency in literature or reli- 
 gion or ethics, the foibles of the people or the idiosyn- 
 crasies of individuals — in short, any subject which the 
 
276 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 exuberant fantasy of the poet could summon up and 
 turn to account for purposes of burlesque, parody, or 
 satire, made an acceptable theme for the laughter- 
 loving Athenians. There was the mythological 
 travesty, in which the heroes of mythology, and even 
 the gods, were turned to ridicule. Epicharmus first 
 developed this field, which became the favorite of the 
 poets of the fourth century. A never-failing source of 
 amusement were the parodies of the tragic poets. The 
 extant plays are sprinkled with pathetic lines and 
 touching situations from tragedy, so distorted as to 
 be irresistibly funny. Imitations of animal life were 
 much in vogue in the Old Comedy. We hear of cho- 
 ruses of snakes, ants, nightingales, goats, birds, wasps, 
 and fishes, and in one extant play even the actors are 
 dressed up as birds. Again we are transported to 
 some Utopia, where everybody is rich and happy, or 
 down to Hades, to witness the society of the illus- 
 trious dead; In the last quarter of the fifth century 
 political subjects were most frequently chosen, and the 
 utmost license was tolerated in lampooning leading 
 statesmen and officials and in exposing faults in pub- 
 lic policy and administration. The comedy of man- 
 ners, characterized by good-natured satire upon the 
 institutions of society and the weaknesses of mankind 
 in general, came in with the New Comedy. 
 
 The three great poets of the Old Comedy were Cra- 
 tinus, Eupolis, and Aristophanes. The services of 
 Cratinus in establishing the type of the comedy of this 
 period were of the first importance. He was consid- 
 ered the most fearless exponent of the tendency to 
 criticise and abuse individuals. He never wearied of 
 ridiculing the ** onion-headed" Pericles and his policy. 
 

Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 277 
 
 It became necessary, in fact, for the state to restrict 
 by law for a time the comic privilege of lampooning 
 officials by name. Eupolis, a full generation younger 
 than Cratinus, followed in the latter's footsteps but 
 was more graceful and finished in style. Alcibiades 
 was a favorite object of attack with him. By far the 
 greatest of this trio was Aristophanes, who was born 
 about 448 B. C. and died soon after 388 B. C. Little 
 is known about his personality, except as the informa- 
 tion is derived from his works. Eleven comedies of 
 the fifty-four which he wrote are preserved to us — the 
 only specimens of Greek comedy^ji^ich we possess. 
 Fortunately these plays are sufficiently representative 
 in character to furnish a good idea both of the Old 
 Comedy as a whole and of the fertility of the genius 
 and marvelous poetic power of the great burlesque 
 critic of Athenian life, whose dominating influence on 
 the comic stage was felt for more than forty years. 
 
 Before taking up the several plays of Aristophanes, 
 a few words are necessary on the structure of an Attic 
 comedy of this period. In a general way, as has been 
 said, comedy imitated tragedy in form. But the 
 similarity of structure is found upon examination to 
 be superficial, the more lusty and exuberant younger 
 sister tending always to break over the bounds of 
 literary art laid down for it. This tendency is 
 observed in two general directions. In the first place, 
 the chorus often drops its role and speaks directly to 
 the audience as the mouthpiece of the poet. Such 
 interludes are found in almost every extant comedy, 
 sometimes twice in one play, occurring at some suitable 
 pause in the action. This portion of a comedy is 
 called the parabasiSy or *' coming forward"; for the 
 
278 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 members of the chorus stripped off a part of their cos* 
 tume, *'came forward" toward the audience, and sang 
 and recited to lively dance movements their rollicking 
 verses. It is in this portion of a play that the poet 
 gives freest expression to his own opinions on topics 
 of the day, explains his own ideals, and attacks his 
 rivals or appeals to the judges for a favorable verdict. 
 In the second place, after the plot has been fully 
 developed and the solution reached, we often find 
 a succession of short episodes, not at all necessary to 
 the plot, which illustrate in fantastic, burlesque scenes 
 the policy or condition which the main argument has 
 developed. Such episodes are to be considered sur- 
 vivals of the early form of comedy of which we have 
 already spoken. A third feature of comic structure 
 may also be mentioned. The plot is unfolded gener- 
 ally by two conflicting elements, which oppose" each 
 other by vehement debate and often by physical 
 encounter. One side or the other wins — the solution 
 of the plot — and then the illustrative burlesque episodes 
 follow — the application of the victorious policy. This 
 element of antagonism is carried out in the manage- 
 ment of the chorus also. It is generally conceived of 
 as two choruses of twelve persons each, the speech or 
 song of one chorus calling forth a response of the 
 same length and in the same manner from the other. 
 Taking a concrete case for illustration, let us analyze 
 the Birds^ the most brilliant creation of the poet. It 
 was produced at the City Dionysia of 414 B. C, and 
 won only the second prize. The scene is laid in 
 a wild, uninhabited country, with a bunch of shrub- 
 bery in the background. Enter two Athenians, 
 Peithetaerus (Plausible) and Euelpides (Hopeful). 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 279 
 
 They carry birds on their hands to guide them to 
 a region where they will be free from the troubles of 
 Athenian life. "For we," they say, 
 
 Have deemed it fitting to betake ourselves 
 To these our legs, and make our person scarce. 
 Not through disgust or hatred or disdain 
 Of our illustrious birthplace, which we deem 
 Glorious and free; with equal laws ordained 
 For fine and forfeiture and confiscation, 
 With taxes universally diffused; 
 And suits and pleas abounding in the Courts. 
 For grasshoppers sit only for a month 
 Chirping upon the tvvigs; but our Athenians 
 Sit chirping and discussing all the year, 
 Perched upon points of evidence and law. 
 Therefore we trudge upon our present travels. 
 With these our sacrificial implements, 
 To seek some easier unlitigious place, 
 Meaning to settle there and colonize.' 
 
 They reach the home of Hoopoe (represented in 
 the scenery), who answers their summons. The 
 make-up of the actor who represents the Hoopoe was, 
 of course, as grotesque as possible, and was frankly 
 ridiculed by the visitors: *' Heracles, what plumage! 
 Are you a bird or c. peacock?" The scarcity of feath- 
 ers upon his body is explained by Hoopoe as due 
 to the moulting season. The life of the birds, as 
 depicted by Hoopoe — no need of money, field sports, 
 nothing to do but banquet in the gardens — seems so 
 attractive to Peithetaerus, the inventive genius, that 
 he proposes a scheme for the aggrandizement of the 
 birds: *' Build a city in the air, between earth and 
 heaven; intercept the savor of the sacrifices which 
 
 'The selections from Aristophanes are all taken from the translation 
 of John Hookbam Frere when not credited to others. 
 
28o Homer to Theocritus 
 
 men make to the gods, and thus starve out the latter 
 until they turn over the sovereignty to the birds." 
 "Odds nets and bird-lime," says Hoopoe, "that's 
 a clever notion! I'm with you if the other birds 
 agree." So he calls to his wife, Nightingale ; 
 
 Awake ! awake ! 
 Sleep no more, my gentle mate ! 
 With your tiny tawny bill, 
 Wake the tuneful echo shrill, 
 
 On vale or hill ; 
 Or in her airy, rocky seat, 
 Let her listen and repeat 
 The tender ditty that you tell, 
 The sad lament, 
 The dire event, 
 To luckless Itys that befell. 
 Thence the strain 
 Shall rise again, 
 And soar amain, 
 Up to the lofty palace gate; 
 Where mighty Apollo sits in state; 
 In Jove's abode, with his ivory lyre, 
 Hymning aloud to the heavenly choir, 
 While all the gods shall join with thee 
 In a celestial symphony. 
 
 While the nightingale trills, Hoopoe calls the birds 
 together: 
 
 Hoop! hoop! 
 
 Come in a troop, 
 
 Come at a call, 
 One and all, 
 
 Birds of a feather, 
 
 All together. 
 Birds of a humble, gentle bill. 
 Smooth and shrill. 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 128 1 
 
 Dieted on seeds and grain. 
 Rioting on the furrowed plain, 
 Pecking, hopping. 
 Picking, popping. 
 Among the barley newly sown. 
 
 Birds of a bolder, louder tone, 
 Lodging in the shrubs and bushes. 
 Mavises and thrushes, 
 On the summer berries brousing, 
 On the garden fruits carousing, 
 All the grubs and vermin smousing. 
 
 Four stately birds first make their appearance, fol- 
 lowed by a troop of twenty-four — the chorus. When 
 they learn that the two envoys are men, they are wild 
 with rage and propose to tear them to pieces at once: 
 
 Form in rank, form in rank; 
 Then move forward and outflank: 
 Let me see them overpowered, 
 Hacked, demolished, and devoured; 
 Neither earth, nor sea, nor sky. 
 Nor woody fastnesses on high. 
 Shall protect them if they fly. 
 
 Peithetserus and Euelpides hastily erect a barricade 
 of pots and pans, and propose to defend themselves; 
 but Hoopoe arranges a truce. The chorus retire to 
 listen to the envoys: 
 
 Back to the rear! resume your station. 
 Ground your wrath and indignation! 
 Sheathe your fury! stand at ease. 
 While I proceed to question these: 
 What design has brought them here? 
 
 Peithetserus first proves by comic instances that 
 the birds, and not the gods, were originally sovereign 
 over all. He then develops his plan: 
 
282 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Then I move, that the birds shall in common repair 
 
 To a centrical point, and encamp in the air; 
 
 And intrench and enclose it, and fortify there: 
 
 And build up a rampart, impregnably strong, 
 
 Enormous in thickness, enormously long. 
 
 Bigger than Babylon; solid and tall. 
 
 With bricks and bitumen, a wonderful wall. 
 
 As soon as the fabric is brought to an end, 
 
 A herald or envoy to Jove we shall send. 
 
 To require his immediate prompt abdication; 
 
 And if he refuses, or shows hesitation. 
 
 Or evades the demand; we shall further proceed. 
 
 With legitimate wartare avowed and decreed; 
 
 With a warning and notices, formally given. 
 
 To Jove, and all others residing in heaven. 
 
 Forbidding them ever to venture again 
 
 To trespass on our atmospheric domain. 
 
 With scandalous journeys, to visit a list 
 
 Of Alcmenas and Semeles; if they persist. 
 
 We warn them that means will be taken moreover 
 
 To stop their gallanting and acting the lover. 
 
 The birds enthusiastically adopt the scheme. The 
 Athenians enter Hoopoe's nest in order to provide 
 themselves with plumage. While the scene is vacant, 
 the chorus sings the parabasis, the first part of which 
 consists of a parody on the cosmogony current in the 
 philosophic speculations of the day, beginning: 
 
 Come on then, ye dwellers by nature in darkness, and like 
 
 to the leaves* generations, 
 That are little of might, that are moulded of mire, unendur- 
 
 ing and shadow-like nations, 
 Poor plumeless ephemerals, comfortless mortals, as visions 
 
 of shadows fast fleeing. 
 Lift up your mind unto us that are deathless, and dateless 
 
 the date of our being: 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 283 
 
 Us, children of heaven, ageless for aye, us, all of whose 
 
 thoughts are eternal; 
 That ye may from henceforth, having heard of us all things 
 
 aright as to matters supernal, 
 Of the being of birds, and beginning of gods, and of streams, 
 
 and the dark beyond reaching. 
 Truthfully knowing aright, in my name bid Prodicus pack 
 
 with his preaching. 
 It was Chaos and Night at the first, and the blackness 
 
 of darkness, and Hell's broad border, 
 Earth was not, nor air, neither heaven; when in the depths 
 
 of the womb of the dark without order 
 First thing first-bom of the black-plumed night was a wind- 
 egg hatched in her bosom, 
 Whence timely with seasons revolving again sweet Love 
 
 burst out as a blossom. 
 Gold wings gleaming forth of his back; like whirlwinds 
 
 gustily turning. 
 He, after his wedlock with Chaos, whose wings are of dark- 
 ness, in Hell broad-burning, 
 For his nestlings begat him the race of us first, and upraised 
 
 us to light new-lighted. 
 And before this was not the race of the gods, until all 
 
 things by Love were united: 
 And of kind united with kind by communion of nature 
 
 the sky and the sea are 
 Brought forth, and the earth and the race of the gods 
 
 everlasting and blest. So that we are 
 Far away the most ancient of all things blest. 
 
 Swinburne. 
 
 The second part of the parabasis recounts various 
 advantages in the possession of wings — for example : 
 
 Nothing can be more delightful than the having of wings to 
 
 wear! 
 A spectator sitting here, accommodated with a pair. 
 Might for instance (if he found a tragic chorus dull and heavy) 
 
284 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Take his flight, and dine at home; and if he did not choose 
 
 to leave ye. 
 Might return in better humour, when the weary drawl was ended. 
 
 Peithetserus and Euelpides come out in their new 
 feathers and decide to call the new town by the impos- 
 ing name of Cloudcuckootown. Then follows a series 
 of short episodes, unnecessary to the plot, but illus- 
 trating at least the annoyances of colonizing. A priest 
 comes to perform the religious rites of dedication. 
 A poet produces samples of his skill in dedication 
 odes. A soothsayer peddling oracles is followed by 
 a surveyor with a load of mathematical instruments, 
 the surveyor by a consul from Athens, the consul by 
 a hawker of laws for colonies. These are driven out 
 by Peithetserus, one after the other. A second para- 
 basis follows, in which the chorus gives its opinion 
 about certain people in Athens and promises the judges 
 endless wealth if they give the poet the prize. 
 
 The episodes that follow resume the plot. Short 
 odes by the chorus serve to break the monotony. 
 Word is brought that the new town is finished. 
 A messenger reports that some god has eluded the 
 sentinels. It proves to be Iris, a saucy, frightened 
 soubrette, on her way to tell men to pay up their sacri- 
 fices long due. But Peithetserus sends her back to 
 Zeus with an ultimatum, after poking fun at her dress 
 and her manners. Then come people from the earth, 
 eager to join the bird-colony — a parricide, Cinesias 
 (a well-known but despised poet of the day), and an 
 informer — all of whom Peithetserus unceremoniously 
 bustles out of his city. Prometheus sneaks down from 
 Olympus, all muffled up and carrying an umbrella, 
 looking about him with fear and trembling: 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 285 
 
 Pro. Oh dear! If Jupiter should chance to see me! 
 
 Where's Peithetaerus? Where? Peith. Why, what's 
 
 all this? 
 This fellow muffled up? Pro. Do look behind me; 
 Is anybody watching? any gods 
 Following and spying after me? Peith. No, none» 
 None that I can see, there's nobody. But you! 
 What are ye? Pro. Tell me, what's the time of day? 
 Peith. Why, noon, past noon; but tell me, who are ye? Speak. 
 Pro. Much past? How much? Peith. Confound the 
 
 fool, I say. 
 The insufferable blockhead! Pro. How*s the sky? 
 Open or overcast? Are there any clouds? 
 Peith. Be hanged! Pro. Then I'll disguise myself no 
 
 longer. 
 Peith. My dear Prometheus! Pro. Hold your tongue, I beg; 
 Don't mention my name! If Jupiter should see me, 
 Or overhear me, I 'm ruined and undone. 
 But now, to give you a full, complete account 
 Of everything that's passing there in heaven — 
 The present state of things But first I'll 
 
 trouble you 
 To take the umbrella, and hold it overhead. 
 Lest they should overlook us. Peith. What a thought! 
 Just like yourself! A true Promethean thought! 
 Stand under it, here! Speak boldly; never fear. 
 
 He then relates that the gods are about ready to 
 make terms, and advises him not to consent to any 
 agreement until Zeus shall formally acknowledge the 
 supremacy of the birds by giving him the hand of 
 Sovereignty, **a most delightful, charming girl, Jove's 
 housekeeper, that manages his matters, serves out his 
 thunderbolts, arranges everything." Soon three pom- 
 pous peace commissioners from Olympus arrive — Posei- 
 don, Heracles, and a barbarian god. Peithetaerus 
 bribes Heracles by cooking savory dainties under his 
 nose, promising a dinner for his vote. The barbarian 
 
286 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 god's language cannot be understood; so his vote is 
 counted with that of Heracles. Poseidon protests in 
 vain. The commissioners have agreed to give the 
 princess Sovereignty to Peithetaerus in marriage. The 
 play closes with a wedding-song by the chorus in cele- 
 bration of the nuptials, while Peithetserus leads out his 
 bride at the head of the procession, brandishing in his 
 hand the thunderbolt of the ex-king, Zeus, and singing: 
 
 Birds of ocean and of air, 
 Hither in a troop repair, 
 To the royal ceremony. 
 Our triumphant matrimony! 
 
 Come for us to feast and feed ye! 
 
 Come to revel, dance, and sing! — 
 Lovely creature! Let me lead ye 
 Hand in hand, and wing to wing. 
 
 The earliest extant play of Aristophanes is the 
 AcharnianSy which won the first prize at the Lenaean 
 festival in 425 B. C. Its subject is purely political — 
 peace with the Spartans, with whom the Athenians had 
 been at war for seven years. The leading character, 
 Dicaeopolis, ardently desires peace, that he may enjoy 
 again the delights of country life; for all this while the 
 people of Attica have been cooped up within the walls 
 of the city. Failing to persuade the assembly, he 
 makes peace with the Spartans on his own account. 
 But the chorus of men of Acharnae, whose vineyards 
 have been laid waste by the Spartans, are hot for the 
 continuance of the war. They seize Dicaeopolis to 
 put him to death, but he obtains a cast-off, ragged, 
 tragic costume from Euripides, and clothed in this 
 makes a speech in which he wins one-half of the 
 chorus to his views about the war. The blessings of 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 287 
 
 peace are then illustrated in a succession of humorous 
 scenes. 
 
 After Dicaeopolis has disguised himself in the 
 tattered garments of one of Euripides' most pitiful 
 characters, he comes before his judges and makes the 
 following speech in defence of his policy of " peace at 
 any price." The passage is at once a satire on Pericles' 
 statesmanship and a parody of the style of Euripides ; 
 
 Be not surprised, most excellent spectators. 
 
 If I that am a beggar have presumed 
 
 To claim an audience upon public matters, 
 
 Even in a comedy ; for comedy 
 
 Is conversant in all the rules of justice, 
 
 And can distinguish betwixt right and wrong. 
 
 First, I detest the Spartans most extremely ; 
 
 And wish that Neptune, the Taenarian deity. 
 
 Would bury them in their houses with his earthquakes. 
 
 For I've had losses — losses, let me tell ye. 
 
 Like other people ; vines cut down and injured. 
 
 But, among friends (for only friends are here), 
 
 Why should we blame the Spartans for all this ? 
 
 For people of ours, some people of our own, 
 
 For people from amongst us here, I mean ; 
 
 But not the people (pray remember that), 
 
 I never said the people,— but a pack 
 
 Of paltry people, mere pretended citizens, 
 
 Base counterfeits, went laying informations, 
 
 And making a confiscation of the jerkins 
 
 Imported here from Megara ; pigs moreover, 
 
 Pumpkins, and pecks of salt, and ropes of onions, 
 
 Were voted to be merchandize from Megara, 
 
 Denounced and sold upon the spot. 
 
 Well, these might pass, as petty local matters. 
 But now, behold, some doughty drunken youths 
 Kidnap, and carry away from Megara, 
 The courtezan Simastha. Those of Megara, 
 In hot retaliation, seize a brace 
 Of equal strumpets, hurried forth perforce 
 
288 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 From Dame Aspasia's house of recreation. 
 So this was the beginning of the war, 
 All over Greece, owing to these three strumpets. 
 For Pericles, like an Olympian Jove, 
 With all his thunder and his thunderbolts, 
 Began to storm and lighten dreadfully, 
 Alarming all the neighbourhood of Greece ; 
 And made decrees, drawn up like drinking songs, 
 In which it was enacted and concluded. 
 That the Megarians should remain excluded 
 From every place where commerce was transacted, 
 With all their ware— like " old care " in the ballad : 
 And this decree, by land and sea, was valid. 
 
 Then the Megarians, being all half starved, 
 Desired the Spartans to desire of us 
 Just to repeal those laws ; the laws I mention'd, 
 Occasion'd by the stealing of those strumpets. 
 And so they begg'd and pray'd us several times ; 
 And we refused ; and so they went to war. 
 You'll say, " They should not." Why, what should they 
 
 have done ? 
 Just make it your own case ; suppose the Spartans 
 Had mann'd a boat, and landed on your islands, 
 And stolen a pug puppy from Seriphos ; 
 Would you then have remain'd at home inglorious ? 
 Not so, by no means ; at the first report. 
 You would have launch'd at once three hundred galleys, 
 And fiU'd the city with the noise of troops ; 
 And crews of ships, crowding and clamouring 
 About the muster-masters and pay-masters ; 
 With measuring corn out at the magazine. 
 And all the porch choked with the multitude ; 
 With figures of Minerva, newly furbish'd. 
 Painted and gilt, parading in the streets ; 
 With wineskins, kegs, and firkins, leeks and onions ; 
 With garlic cramm'd in pouches, nets, and pokes ; 
 With garlands, singing girls, and bloody noses. 
 Our arsenal would have sounded and resounded 
 With bangs and thwacks of driving bolts and nails, 
 With shaping oars, and holes to put the oar in ; 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 189 
 
 With hacking, hammering, clattering and boring ; 
 Words of command, whistles and pipes and fifes. 
 
 The same theme received an entirely different 
 treatment in the Peace (42 1 B. C). Trygaeus, a coun- 
 tryman, distressed by the war, conceives the plan of 
 ascending to heaven to fetch down Peace. The happy 
 thought occurs to him of riding upon the back of a 
 huge dung-beetle, as Bellerophon rode on Pegasus in a 
 play of Euripides. Finding the gods not at home, he 
 succeeds in pulling the goddess Peace out of a pit in 
 which she has been imprisoned and in restoring her 
 again to men. The following charming picture of the 
 harvest-time is taken from one of the choral odes : 
 
 Oh 'tis sweet, when fields are ringing 
 With the merry cicade's singing, 
 Oft to mark with curious eye 
 If the vine-trees time be nigh : 
 Hers it not the fruit whose birth 
 Costs a throe to mother Earth. 
 Sweet it is, too, to be telling, 
 How the luscious figs are swelling : 
 Then to riot without measure 
 In the rich, nectareous treasure, 
 While our grateful voices chime, — 
 " Happy season ! blessed time ! " 
 
 Mitchell. 
 
 At a later period in the war the poet reverts to the 
 same theme in the Lysistrata (411 B. C), but this time 
 he aims his shafts mainly at the women of Athens. 
 Under the leadership of a strong-minded woman, 
 Lysistrata, the women of Greece seize the acropolis of 
 Athens, and make proclamation that they will have 
 nothing to do with their husbands until peace is 
 restored between Athens and Sparta. The men soon 
 
290 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 come to terms. The play contains two choruses, one 
 of men and the other of women, who oppose each other 
 until the reconciliation is effected. Another satire 
 against women, the Thesmophoriazusa^ was produced in 
 the same year, Euripides coming in for a large share 
 of the ridicule. The women of Athens are represented 
 as celebrating the Thesmophoria, a festival in honor 
 of Demeter, to which no men were admitted. Euripi- 
 des, hearing that they intend to take action against 
 him as an inveterate calumniator of the sex, contrives 
 to smuggle his father-in-law into the meeting in wom- 
 an's clothes. He defends Euripides by proving that 
 women are in reality much worse than Euripides 
 depicts them. The argument bids fair to carry the 
 day when the speaker's sex is discovered, and he is 
 rescued with difficulty by the help of Euripides. The 
 play is crowded with side-splitting parodies of verses 
 and scenes from the tragic poet. Here is a song by 
 the chorus of women : 
 
 They're always abusing the women, 
 
 As a terrible plague to men: 
 They say we're the root of all evil. 
 
 And repeat it again and again; 
 Of war, and quarrels, and bloodshed, 
 
 All mischief, be what it may: 
 And pray, then, why do you marry us, 
 
 If we're all the plagues you say? 
 And why do you take such care of us. 
 
 And keep us so safe at home, 
 And are never easy a moment, 
 
 If ever we chance to roam? 
 When you ought to be thanking heaven 
 
 That your Plague is out of the way — 
 You all keep fussing and fretting — 
 
 "Where is my Plague to-day?" 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 291 
 
 If a Plague peeps out of the window, 
 
 Up go the eyes of the men; 
 If she hides, then they all keep staring 
 
 Until she looks out again. 
 
 Collins. 
 
 While on the subject of Aristophanes* comedies on 
 women, we may mention the Parliament of Women 
 (392 B. C), one of his latest productions. The wom- 
 an 's-rights women dress up as men and pack the 
 assembly. They propose and carry a motion placing 
 the government entirely in the hands of the fair sex — 
 **the only change that has not yet been tried at 
 Athens." The principal reform which they enact is 
 that the ugly women shall have the first choice of hus- 
 bands. The last play of our poet was the Pluius 
 {Wealih)y which received the first prize in 388 B. C. 
 The blind god of wealth has his eyesight restored, 
 and proceeds to undo the wrong which he has formerly 
 committed, now making the good rich and the wicked 
 poor. 
 
 Returning now to the earlier plays of Aristophanes, 
 let us consider the Knights, with which he was victori- 
 ous in 424 B. C. — a violent and bitter attack upon the 
 popular demagogue Cleon, who succeeded Pericles as 
 the leader of the people's party. The Athenian popu- 
 lace is represented as a testy, selfish, and suspicious 
 old man, but easily cajoled if the proper means are 
 employed. Cleon is his servant, obsequious to him, 
 but insolent and overbearing to every one else. 
 A sausage-seller, a low, vulgar fellow, bred in the 
 slums, succeeds, with the help of the chorus of 
 Athenian knights, in winning Cleon*s place in the old 
 man's favor, outbidding his rival in the latter's own 
 
CLg2 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 shameless methods. The chorus of knights attack 
 Cleon as soon as they enter the orchestra, suiting their 
 actions to the following vigorous words : 
 
 Close around him, and confound him, the confounder 
 
 of us all. 
 Pelt him, pummel him, and maul him; rummage, ransack, 
 
 overhaul him. 
 Overbear him and out -bawl him; bear him down and 
 
 bring him under. 
 Bellow like a burst of thunder, robber! harpyl sink of 
 
 plunder! 
 Rogue and villain! rogue and cheat! rogue and villain, 
 
 I repeat! 
 Oftener than I can repeat it, has the rogue and villain 
 
 cheated. 
 Close around him left and right; spit upon him; spurn 
 
 and smite: 
 Spit upon him as you see; spurn and spit at him like me. 
 But beware, or he'll evade ye, for he knows the private 
 
 track, 
 Where Eucrates was seen escaping with the mill dust on 
 
 his back. 
 
 The Knights was the first play which Aristophanes 
 brought out in his own name ; the earlier plays he had 
 put into the hands of older and more experienced 
 managers. The chorus explains the matter in the 
 parabasis, which begins thus : 
 
 If a veteran author had wished to engage 
 
 Our assistance to-day, for a speech from the stage, 
 
 We scarce should have granted so bold a request ; 
 
 But this author of ours, as the bravest and best, 
 
 Deserves an indulgence denied to the rest, 
 
 For the courage and vigour, the scorn and the hate, 
 
 With which he encounters the pests of the State ; 
 
 A thorough-bred seaman, intrepid and warm, 
 
 Steering outright, in the face of the storm. 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 293 
 
 But now for the gentle reproaches he bore 
 On the part of his friends, for refraining before 
 To embrace the profession, embarking for life 
 In theatrical storms and poetical strife. 
 
 He begs us to state, that for reasons of weight. 
 He has lingered so long, and determined so late. 
 For he deemed the achievements of comedy hard, 
 The boldest attempt of a desperate bard! 
 The Muse he perceived was capricious and coy, 
 Though many were courting her, few could enjoy. 
 And he saw without reason, from season to season, 
 Your humour would shift and turn poets adrift. 
 Requiting old friends with unkindness and treason, 
 Discarded in scorn as exhausted and worn. 
 
 In the Clouds (423 B. C.) the poet attacks the new 
 school of sophists which had arisen in Athens — the 
 clever rhetorical teachers who undertook to show how 
 a man by using their method might prove anything 
 whatever. The play is a sharp protest against these 
 free-thinkers, who were undermining, as the poet 
 would have us believe, the old-fashioned morals of the 
 Athenians. Socrates, who was just coming into 
 prominence as an intellectual leader, is made the 
 representative of the class — with gross injustice, for 
 his aims and ideals, if not his methods, were totally 
 opposed to those of the sophists, who were a strictly 
 professional class. But it served the poet's purpose 
 to make Socrates the butt of his satire. An old man 
 who is heavily loaded with his son's debts applies to 
 the thinking-shop of Socrates for lessons in argument, 
 that he may clear off the debts without paying a cent. 
 Socrates is found suspended in a basket in midair, 
 engaged in speculation. He introduces the new 
 student to the new goddess of philosophers, the 
 Clouds, who come floating into the orchestra at his 
 
294 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 summons. But the old man is soon dismissed for his 
 stupidity, and sends his son to the school instead. 
 The young man proves an apt pupil. When he has 
 finished the course, he abuses his father to such an 
 extent that the latter, enraged at the outcome of his 
 experiment in the new education, sets fire to the 
 thinking-shop, while Socrates within is **walking in 
 air and contemplating the sun. " I quote the beautiful 
 entrance song of the chorus of Clouds, who come in 
 response to Socrates' invitation : 
 
 Immortal Clouds from the echoing shore 
 
 Of the father of streams from the sounding sea 
 Dewy and fleet let us rise and roar; 
 
 Dewy and gleaming and fleet are we! 
 Let us look on the tree-clad mountain-crest, 
 
 On the sacred earth where the fruits rejoice, 
 On the waters that murmur east and west, 
 
 On the tumbling sea with his moaning voice. 
 For unwearied glitters the Eye of the Air, 
 
 And the bright rays gleam; 
 Then cast we our shadows of mist, and fare 
 In our deathless shapes to glance everywhere 
 From the height of the heavens, on the land and air; 
 
 And the Ocean Stream. 
 Let us on, ye Maidens that bring the Rain, 
 
 Let us gaze on Pallas' citadel, 
 In the country of Cecrops fair and dear. 
 
 The mystic hand of the holy cell, 
 
 Where the Rites unspoken securely dwell. 
 And the gifts of the gods that know not stain, 
 
 And a people of mortals that know not fear. 
 For the temples tall and the statues fair, 
 And the feasts of the gods are holiest there; 
 The feasts of Immortals, the chaplet of flowers, 
 
 And the Bromian mirth at the coming of spring, 
 And the musical voices that fill the hours. 
 
 And the dancing feet of the maids that sing! 
 
 Lang, 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 295 
 
 The Wasps (422 B. C. ) is a satire directed against 
 the passion of the Athenians for the law-courts. Six 
 thousand citizens are said to have presented them- 
 selves daily at the courts for service upon the juries,* 
 for which they received a fee. The pay was the 
 object with the majority of them, but the love of 
 litigious scenes was probably the motive with many. 
 The chorus is composed of men costumed as wasps, 
 an allusion to the acrimonious temper induced by the 
 j ury-habit. 
 
 To those who are familiar with the works of the 
 Greek tragic poets, the Frogs^ which received the first 
 prize in 405, is one of the most delightful of the plays 
 of our poet. It is a witty but discriminating piece of 
 literary criticism directed against Euripides, who had 
 died in the preceding year, a few months before 
 Sophocles. Dionysus, the patron of the drama, is 
 represented as disgusted with the tragic poets of the 
 day. He conceives the plan of fetching one of the 
 old poets from Hades. He prefers Sophocles, but 
 Euripides, always fertile with schemes, is more likely 
 to be able to find a way of escape from the lower 
 world. So he fits himself out with the club and lion's 
 skin of Heracles, and starts out on his voyage to 
 the lower world, first receiving instructions from 
 Heracles, who has been there. On the way he meets 
 a dead man borne on a bier, with whom his slave tries 
 to strike a bargain for the conveyance of the luggage. 
 But the dead man "would sooner come to life again" 
 than to accept the pittance offered. While Charon 
 is rowing them across the Styx, the chorus of frogs 
 
 *Th!8 large number is partly explained by the size of the Athenian jury, 
 which ranged from aoi to 2,501 members. 
 
296 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 chant their song, with the famous refrain, br^kkekekdx, 
 kodx, koax. On the other side the singing of the 
 chorus of the Initiated' greets the travelers. After 
 a number of amusing adventures, Dionysus reaches 
 the house of Pluto, and learns of a tremendous con- 
 tention among the dead. Euripides has gathered 
 a party of rogues and vagabonds together, and is try- 
 ing to oust ^schylus from the seat of honor assigned 
 to the best tragic poet. Sophocles does not press his 
 claim; in fact, when he first came down, he had 
 kissed ^schylus, who gratefully offered him a part of 
 the seat. Pluto proposes to hold a public trial to 
 decide between ^schylus and Euripides. Dionysus 
 is installed as judge, Pluto agreeing to let him take 
 back to earth the poet whom he places first, -^schy- 
 lus at first demurs to the plan as unfair to him, 
 "because," he says, "my poems live on earth above, 
 while his died with him and are here as witnesses for 
 him." After a heated debate between the two poets, 
 and a test by weighing their verses, Dionysus decides 
 in favor of ^schylus. Dionysus then leads ^schylus 
 away, the latter giving his chair to Sophocles. 
 
 This song of the chorus of Initiated illustrates the 
 poet's facility in dropping from the sublime to the 
 ridiculous: 
 
 Raise the fiery torches highl 
 Bacchus is approaching nigh, 
 Like the planet of the morn 
 Breaking with the hoary dawn , 
 
 On the dark solemnity — 
 There they flash upon the sight; 
 All the plain is blazing bright, 
 
 'Those who bad been initiated into the mysteries at Eleusis, who 
 enjoyed special privileges in the world below. 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 297 
 
 Flushed and overflown with light; 
 
 Age has cast his years away, 
 
 And the cares of many a day, 
 
 Sporting to the lively lay — 
 
 Mighty Bacchus! march and lead 
 
 (Torch in hand toward the mead) 
 
 Thy devoted bumble chorus; 
 
 Mighty Bacchfus — move before us! 
 Keep silence, — keep peace — and let all the profane 
 From our holy solemnity duly refrain; 
 Whose souls, unenlightened by taste, are .obscure; 
 Whose poetical notions are dark and impure; 
 
 Whose theatrical conscience 
 
 Is sullied by nonsense; 
 Who never were trained by the mighty Cratinus 
 In mystical orgies, poetic and vinous; 
 Who delight in buffooning, and jests out of season; 
 Who promote the designs of oppression and treason; 
 Who foster sedition, and strife and debate; 
 All traitors, in short, to the Stage and the State: 
 Who surrender a fort, or in private export 
 To places and harbours of hostile resort 
 Clandestine consignments of cables and pitch, — 
 In the way Thorycion grew to be rich 
 From a scoundrelly dirty collector of tribute: 
 All such we reject and severely prohibit; 
 All statesmen retrenching the fees and the salaries 
 Of theatrical bards, in revenge for the railleries 
 And jests and lampoons of this holy solemnity. 
 Profanely pursuing their personal enmity. 
 For having been flouted and scoffed and scorned — 
 All such are admonished and heartily warned* 
 
 We warn them once. 
 
 We warn them twice, 
 We warn and admonish — we warn them thrice. 
 
 To conform to the law. 
 
 To retire and withdraw 
 While the chorus again, with the formal saw, 
 (Fixt and assigned to the festive day) 
 Move to the measure and march away. 
 
298 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The various tests which Dionysus has applied to as- 
 sist him in determining which of the two poets, ^schy- 
 lus or Euripides, is to return with him to the upper 
 world, have failed. Their angry discussion of the true 
 aims and ideals of the tragic poet, and their exposal of 
 one another's weaknesses in diction, plot-construction, 
 style, metres, and in lyrical composition, has left the 
 patron god of the drama more uncertain; than ever. 
 He is only too glad to fall in with yEschylus' sugges- 
 tion that they try their verses in the balances. As it 
 turns out, even this test is insufficient, and Dionysus 
 finally " chooses the one his soul desires " — ^schylus. 
 The weighing scene is here reproduced : 
 
 Dion. Come, no more songs ! 
 
 ^S. I've had enough of 'em ; 
 
 For my part, I shall bring him to the balance, 
 
 As a true test of our poetic merit. 
 
 To prove the weight of our respective verses. 
 Dion. Well then, so be it — if it must be so. 
 
 That I'm to stand here like a cheesemonger 
 
 Retailing poetry with a pair of scales. 
 
 Chorus — Curious eager wits pursue 
 
 Strange devices quaint and new, 
 Like the scene you witness here. 
 Unaccountable and queer ; 
 I myself, if merely told it. 
 If I did not here behold it, 
 Should have deem'd it utter foMy, 
 Craziness and nonsense wholly. 
 
 Dion. Move up ; stand close to the balance ! 
 
 Eur. Here are wc— 
 
 Dion. Take hold now, and each of you repeat a verse. 
 
 And don't leave go before I call to you ! 
 
 Eur. We're ready. 
 
 Dion. Now, then, each repeat a verse. 
 
 Eur. " I wish that Argo with her woven wings.'* 
 
Comic Poetry. Aristophanes 299 
 
 JEs. " O streams of Sperchius, and ye pastured plains." 
 Dion. Let go ! — See now — this scale outweighs that other 
 
 Very considerably. 
 Eur. How did it happen ? 
 
 Dion. He slip'd a river in, like the wool-jobbers, 
 
 To moisten his metre — but your line was light, 
 
 A thing with wings — ready to fly away. 
 Eur. Let him try once again then, and take hold. 
 Dion. Take hold once more. 
 Eur. We're ready. 
 
 Dion. Now repeat. 
 
 Eur. " Speech is the temple and altar of persuasion." 
 iEs. " Death is a god that loves no sacrifice. " 
 Dion. Let go ! — See there again ! This scale sinks down ; 
 
 No wonder that it should, with Death put into it, 
 
 The heaviest of all calamities. 
 EUR. But I put in persuasion finely expressed 
 
 In the best terms. 
 Dion. Perhaps so ; but persuasion 
 
 Is soft and light and silly — Think of something 
 
 That's heavy and huge, to outweigh him, something 
 solid. 
 Eur. Let's see — Where have I got it ? Something solid ? 
 Dion. ** Achilles has thrown twice — Twice a deuce ace ! " 
 
 Come now, one trial more ; this is the last. 
 Eur. " He grasp'd a mighty mace of massy weight." 
 JEs. " Cars upon cars, and corpses heap'd pell mell.'* 
 Dion. He has nick'd you again. 
 
 Eur. Why so ? What has he done ? 
 
 Dion. He has heap'd ye up cars and corpses, such a load 
 
 As twenty Egyptian labourers could not carry — 
 JEs, Come, no more single lines — let him bring all, 
 
 His wife, his children, his Cephisophon, 
 
 His books and everything, himself to boot — 
 
 I'll counterpoise them with a couple of lines. 
 Dion. Well, they're both friends of mine — I shan't decide 
 
 To get myself ill-will from either party ; 
 
 One of them seems extraordinary clever. 
 
 And the other suits my taste particularly. 
 
300 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Pluto. WonH you decide then, and conclude the business ? 
 
 Dion. Suppose then I decide ; what then ? 
 
 Plut. Then take him 
 
 Away with you, whichever you prefer, 
 
 As a present for your pains in coming down here. 
 Dion. Heaven bless ye — Well— let's see now — Can't ye ad- 
 vise me ? 
 
 This is the case — I'm come in search of a poet — 
 Plut. With what design ? 
 Dion. With this design ; to see 
 
 The City again restored to peace and wealth, 
 
 Exhibiting tragedies in proper style. 
 
 — Therefore whichever gives the best advice 
 
 On public matters I shall take with me. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE HISTORIANS. HERODOTUS. 
 
 The Late Development of Prose Writing—The Causes— The 
 Earliest Prose — Hecataeus — Herodotus — His Life — The 
 Perfection of his Style — The Character of his History — 
 Its Theme — Its National Feeling — Religious Interpreta- 
 tion of History — The Division into Books — Analysis — 
 Herodotus' Fondness for Digressions — Selections: The 
 Customs of Various Peoples — Psamemtichus' Experiment 
 — Polycrates' Ring — The Dancing Suitor — Athens. 
 
 It is a remarkable fact in the history of Greek liter- 
 ature that literary prose was not developed until after 
 the great branches of poetry which we have considered 
 had reached maturity. While the drama, the most 
 perfect and highly finished form of poetry, was being 
 perfected in Attica, the Greeks of Asia Minor were 
 but just turning their attention to narrative in prose. 
 The first work of real literature in prose, the history 
 of Herodotus, was not published until after Sophocles 
 had reached the zenith of his powers. The explana- 
 tion of this phenomenon lies not in the absence of 
 adequate materials for writing, nor in the fact that 
 there was no reading public, properly so called, until 
 about the age of Pericles. The earliest prose writings 
 were intended for oral publication no less than the 
 poetry, and long before the earliest prose writer of 
 whom we know, the art of writing was freely practiced 
 throughout the Greek world — a fact that implies the 
 existence of suitable materials for writing other than 
 
 301 
 
302 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 stone, metal, and wood. The late rise of prose was 
 due rather to the perfection which narrative verse had 
 early attained, and to the dominating influence which 
 composition in verse, such as the narratives of Homer 
 and the practical philosophy of Hesiod and the elegiac 
 poets, had acquired among cultivated Greeks. Before 
 the sixth century it did not occur to any one who 
 desired to address the public to use any other form 
 of expression than verse. 
 
 Naturally prose was employed for certain purposes 
 long before it was used in literature. Codes of law, 
 treaties, the annals of cities and sanctuaries, lists of 
 officials and victors at the games, were certainly 
 written down as early as the seventh century. The 
 maxims of the Seven Sages, such as '*Know thyself* 
 and *' Nothing in excess," may be regarded as the 
 beginnings of a prose literature. The animal fables 
 that passed under the name of -^sop seem to have 
 been about as early and in prose form. But the 
 impulse to extended composition in prose was first felt 
 by the lonians of Asia Minor about the middle of the 
 sixth century, first by writers on speculative theology 
 and natural philosophy, and a little later by writers on 
 travel and geography. The style of these writers was 
 crabbed and jerky, and often obscure. The first 
 important name with which we meet is that of Heca- 
 taeus of Miletus (flourished about 500 B. C), who 
 wrote a work entitled Genealogies and a Description of 
 the World. 
 
 Passing over the minor writers whose works are 
 lost, we come to the ** Father of History," Herodotus. 
 He was born about 490 B. C, at Halicarnassus in 
 Caria, a Dorian city with a large Ionian element in its 
 
The Historians. Herodotus 303 
 
 population. He came of a noble family of literary 
 traditions, and seems to have inherited a taste for the 
 antiquities of history. When a little more than thirty 
 years of age, he was obliged to leave his native city on 
 account of political dissensions there, and for more 
 than ten years lived the life of a wanderer. His travels 
 carried him north as far as Byzantium and the Black 
 Sea, as far east as Babylon, and into Egypt and the 
 northern portions of Africa to the south. He also 
 visited the principal cities of the continent of Greece, 
 and seems to have been often in Athens, where on 
 one occasion he received a gift of ten talents for 
 a recitation from his works. He read portions of his 
 history also at the great national festival at Olympia, 
 and also at Sparta, Argos, and Corinth. He made his 
 home at last in the Athenian colony at Thurii, in 
 southern Italy, where he died about 428 B. C. 
 
 We are fortunate in possessing in its entirety the 
 one great work which Herodotus produced, the His- 
 tory. It is written in the Ionic dialect, and in a style 
 so simple, and withal so graphic and entertaining, that 
 the reader is forced to marvel at the degree of literary 
 merit attained in the first artistic work in prose which 
 Greek literature produced. Certainly no subsequent 
 Greek historian ever attained to the perfection of style 
 which Herodotus, the first great writer of prose and 
 the first historian, seems so easily to have reached. 
 And yet the work is rather to be regarded as a piece of 
 pure literature than as a history. "Rich as it is in the 
 materials of history," to use the words of Professor 
 Wheeler, '*it cannot be history for the people of to-day. 
 It is better than that, for it is a picture of what history 
 was to people- then " The Greeks had not yet reached 
 
304 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 the conception of what a history should be. Herodo- 
 tus was not a trained observer, nor did he make the 
 use of such documents as existed which our modern 
 historical critics would demand. He had traveled far 
 and wide, keen to observe the customs of the different 
 peoples whom he visited, and ever ready to listen to 
 the anecdotes of his guides and acquaintances. Know- 
 ing no language but Greek, he was at the mercy of the 
 dragomans, who were not more scrupulous then than 
 they are to-day. But he at least is careful to distin- 
 guish between what he had seen with his own eyes and 
 what he had heard from others. As a story-teller 
 Herodotus stands without a peer, but his earnest pur- 
 pose was to be more than a story-teller. 
 
 The subject which Herodotus chose for his history 
 was the conflict of the Greeks and the Barbarians 
 which culminated in the great struggle known as the 
 Persian wars. Thus the first European history was 
 a presentation of the earliest phase of the eternal East- 
 ern Question. Herodotus introduces his subject in 
 these words: 
 
 These are the researches of Herodotus of Halicarnassus, 
 which he publishes, in the hope of thereby preserving from 
 decay the remembrance of what men have done, and of pre- 
 venting the great and wonderful actions of the Greeks and the 
 Barbarians from losing their due meed of glory; and withal to 
 put on record what were their grounds of feud. 
 
 His own native city was one of the early victims of 
 this feud, and his youthful imagination must have 
 been deeply stirred by the glorious conflict for free- 
 dom through which his people had passed. While his 
 extensive travels gave him a cosmopolitan view, they 
 did not diminish the strong national feeling which the 
 
The Historians. Herodotus 305 
 
 events of his youth had enkindled in him, as in all 
 other Greeks. He approached his subject, also, with 
 something of the religious feeling with which ^Eschy- 
 lus interpreted the 'heroic legends of Greece: the 
 hand of divine providence alone will explain the 
 miraculous overthrow of the enormous power of Persia 
 by a handful of Greeks; the successful become inso- 
 lent and overweening, are infatuated, and God brings 
 them low. This thought recurs again and again, and 
 is applied to Persia in a speech put into the mouth of 
 a Persian nobleman, Artabanus, who thus addresses 
 Xerxes: 
 
 Seest thou how God with his lightning smites alway the 
 bigger animals, and will not sufifer them to wax insolent, while 
 those of lesser bulk chafe him not? How likewise his bolts fall 
 ever on the highest houses and the tallest trees ? So plainly 
 does he love to bring down everything that exalts itself. Thus 
 ofttimes a mighty host is discomfited by a few men, when God 
 in his jealousy sends fear or storm from heaven, and they 
 perish in a way unworthy of them. For God allows no one to 
 have high thoughts but himself. 
 
 This old doctrine, which constitutes Herodotus* phil- 
 osophy of history, gives a dramatic unity to his story, 
 which thus becomes the Tragedy of Xerxes. 
 
 The History of Herodotus was divided into books 
 by the scholars of Alexandria, who assigned to them 
 the names of the nine Muses. In spite of the count- 
 less digressions which occupy the larger portion of the 
 first six books, the thread of the main narrative is 
 never lost from view. In the first book, after present- 
 ing the mythical conflicts of the Greeks and the Bar- 
 barians which culminated in the Trojan war, he finds 
 the first historical cause of offense in the subjugation 
 
3o6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 of the Ionian cities by Croesus, king of Lydia. This 
 leads to an account of the kings of Lydia, the country, 
 and its wonderful sights. Croesus is overthrown by 
 Cyrus the Great, king of Persia. An account of the 
 foundation of the empire of the Medes and the Per- 
 sians follows, and the charming story of Cyrus himself.. 
 The growth of the Persian Empire until it came into 
 conflict with Greece may be considered the main sub- 
 ject of the first six books. The overthrow of the 
 Babylonian kingdom and the death of Cyrus fall within 
 the first book. Cambyses succeeded Cyrus on the 
 throne and invaded Egypt. This leads to the won- 
 derful description of Egypt which occupies the second 
 book. The third book tells of the conquest of Egypt, 
 the death of Cambyses, and the upbuilding of the 
 empire of Darius, his successor. The fourth book is 
 taken up by the campaigns of Darius, with long 
 accounts of the Scythians and Libyans. In the fifth 
 book, after a description of the Thracians, we come 
 to the beginning of the conflict between the Persians 
 and Greeks, which occupies the sixth book. The 
 revolt of the Ionian cities from Persia, their successful 
 appeal to Athens for aid, the two campaigns of Darius 
 against Athens, the second of which resulted in the 
 glorious victory of Marathon, prepare us for the life- 
 and-death struggle depicted in the last three books. 
 In these Herodotus rises fully to the grandeur of his 
 imposing theme. After describing the stupendous 
 preparations of Xerxes and the march of his army of 
 five millions across the Hellespont and down into 
 Greece, he depicts the dismay of the Greeks, the 
 resistance of the few brave Spartans at Thermopylae, 
 then the crushing defeat of the Persian fleet at Salamis 
 
The Historians. Herodotus 307 
 
 and the flight of Xerxes, and finally the battle of 
 Plataea and the rout of the Persian army in the west, 
 and on the same day the defeat of the Persian army 
 in the east, at Mycale. 
 
 Herodotus distinctly states that he makes a specialty 
 of digressions from his main theme. For example, 
 whenever his narrative brings him to a new people, he 
 invariably turns aside to describe the monuments of 
 their country, their dress, customs, institutions, his- 
 tory, or whatever he has seen or heard about them 
 that may be of interest. And he never fails to be 
 interesting. These descriptions are delightful reading 
 to us because of their charming naivete ; by the 
 Greeks of his time, almost entirely unacquainted with 
 the world beyond the coasts of the Mediterranean, 
 they must have been listened to with open-mouthed 
 wonder. In selecting specimen passages from the 
 History, I have passed over the strictly historical por- 
 tions in favor of these digressions, which show Herodo- 
 tus in his best role, that of story-teller. First a few 
 passages on the strange customs of various peoples. 
 I use Rawlinson's translation: 
 
 The Lydians have very nearly the same customs as the 
 Greeks, with the exception that these last do not bring up their 
 girls in the same way. So far as we have any knowledge, they 
 were the first nation to introduce the use of gold and silver 
 coin, and the first who sold goods by retail. They claim also 
 the invention ot all the games which are common to them with 
 all the Greeks. These they declare that they invented about 
 the time when they colonized Tyrrhenia, an event of which 
 they give the following account: In the days of Atys, the son 
 of Manes, there was great scarcity throughout the whole land 
 of Lydia. For some time the Lydians bore the affliction 
 patiently, but finding that it did not pass away, they set to work 
 
3o8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 to devise remedies for the evil. Various expedients were dis- 
 covered by various persons; dice and huckle-bones and ball, 
 and all such games were invented, except tables, the invention 
 of which they do not claim as theirs. The plan adopted against 
 the famine was to engage in games one day so entirely as not 
 to feel any craving for food, and the next day to eat and abstain 
 from games. In this way they passed eighteen years. — I, g4. 
 
 It is also their (i. e., the Persians') general practice to delib- 
 erate upon affairs of weight when they are drunk; and then, on 
 the morrow, when they are sober, the decision to which they 
 came the night before is put before them by the master of the 
 house in which it was made, and if it is then approved of they 
 act on it; if not, they set it aside. Sometimes, however, they 
 are sober at their first deliberation, but in this case they always 
 reconsider the matter under the influence of wine 
 
 Next to prowess in arms, it is regarded as the greatest proof 
 of manly excellence to be the father of many sons. Every 
 year the king sends rich gifts to the man who can show the 
 largest number; for they hold that number is strength. Their 
 sons are carefully instructed, from their fifth to their twentieth 
 year, in three things alone, to ride, to draw the bow, and to 
 speak the truth. Until their fifth year they are not allowed to 
 coine into the sight of their father, but pass their lives with the 
 women. This is done that, if the child die young, the father 
 may not be afflicted by its loss. To my mind it is a wise rule. 
 —I, 133. 136. 
 
 Of their (i. e., the Babylonians') customs, whereof I shall now 
 proceed to give an account, the following (which I understand 
 belongs to them in common with the Illyrian tribe of the Eneti) 
 is the wisest in my judgment. Once a year in each village the 
 maidens of age to marry were collected all together into one 
 place; while the men stood round them in a circle. Then the 
 herald called up the damsels one by one, and offered them 
 for sale. He began with the most beautiful. When she was 
 sold for no small sum of money, he offered for sale the one who 
 came next to her in beauty. All of them were sold to be wives. 
 The richest of the Babylonians who wished to wed bid against 
 each other for the loveliest maidens, while the humbler wife- 
 
The Historians. Herodotus 309 
 
 seekers, who were indifferent about beauty, took the more 
 homely damsels with marriage-portions. For the custom was 
 that when the herald had gone through the whole number of 
 the beautiful damsels, he should then call up the ugliest — 
 a cripple, if there chanced to be one— and offer her to the men, 
 asking who would agree to take her with the smallest marriage- 
 portion. And the man who offered to take the smallest sum 
 had her assigned to him. The marriage-portions were fur- 
 nished by the money paid for the beautiful damsels, and thus 
 the fairer maidens portioned out the uglier. No one was 
 allowed to give his daughter in marriage to the man of his 
 choice, nor might any one carry away the damsel whom he had 
 purchased without finding bail really and truly to make her his 
 wife; if, however, it turned out that they did not agree, the 
 money might be paid back. All who liked might come, even 
 from distant villages, and bid for the women. This was the 
 best of all their customs, but it has now fallen into disuse. — 
 1,196. 
 
 Concerning Egypt itself I shall extend my remarks to 
 a great length, because there is no country that possesses so 
 many wonders, nor any that has such a number of works which 
 defy description. Not only is the climate different from that of 
 the rest of the world, and the rivers unlike any other rivers, 
 but the people also, in most of their manners and customs, 
 exactly reverse the common practice of mankind. The women 
 attend the markets and trade, while the men sit at home at the 
 loom; and here, while the rest of the world works the woof up 
 the warp, the Egyptians work it down; the women likewise 
 carry burthens upon their shoulders, while the men carry them 
 upon their heads. They eat their food out of doors in the 
 streets, but retire for private purposes to their houses, giving 
 as a reason that what is unseemly, but necessary, ought to be 
 done in secret, but what has nothing unseemly about it, should 
 be done openly. A woman cannot serve the priestly office, 
 either for god or goddess, but men are priests to both; sons 
 need not support their parents unless they choose, but daughters 
 • must, whether they choose or no. 
 
 They are the only people in the world — they at least, and 
 such as have learnt the practice from them—who use ciraim- 
 
3IO Homer to Theocritus 
 
 cision. Their Inen wear two garments apiece, their women but 
 one. They put on the rings and fasten the ropes to sails inside, 
 others put them outside. When they write or calculate, instead 
 of going, like the Greeks, from left to right, they move their 
 hand from right to left; and they insist, notwithstanding, that 
 it is they who go to the right, and the Greeks who go to the 
 left. They have two quite different kinds of writing, one of 
 which is called sacred, the other common. 
 
 Medicine is practiced among them on a plan of separation; 
 each physician treats a single disorder, and no more: thus the 
 country swarms with medical practitioners, some undertaking 
 to cure diseases of the eye, others of the head, others again of 
 the teeth, others of the intestines, and some those which are 
 not local. — II, 35, 36, 84. 
 
 Before entering upon his famous account of the 
 Egyptians and their country, Herodotus gives a descrip- 
 tion of a curious experiment of King Psammetichus, 
 which reads almost like a report from a modern 
 laboratory : 
 
 Now the Egyptians, before the reign of their king Psam- 
 metichus, believed themselves to be the most ancient of 
 mankind. Since Psammetichus, however, made an attempt 
 to discover who were actually the primitive race, they have 
 been of opinion that while they surpass all other nations, the 
 Phrygians surpass them, in antiquity. This king, finding it 
 impossible to make out by dint of inquiry what men were the 
 most ancient, contrived the following method of discovery: 
 He took two children of the common sort, and gave them over 
 to a herdsman to bring up at his folds, strictly charging him to 
 let no one utter a word in their presence, but to keep them in 
 a sequestered cottage, and from time to time introduce goats to 
 their apartment, see that they got their fill of milk, and in all 
 other respects look after them. His object herein was to 
 know, after the indistinct babblings of infancy were over, what 
 word they would first articulate. It happened as he had antici- 
 pated. The herdsman obeyed his orders for two years, and at 
 the end of that time, on his one day opening the door of their 
 
The Historians. Herodotus 311 
 
 room and going in, the children both ran up to him with out- 
 stretched arms, and distictly said " becos." When this first 
 happened the herdsman took no notice ; but afterwards when 
 he observed, on coming often to see after them, that the word 
 was constantly in their mouths, he informed his lord, and by 
 his command brought the children into his presence. Psam- 
 metichifs then himself heard them say the word, upon which 
 he proceeded to make inquiry what people there was who 
 called anything * • becos," and hereupon he learnt that '* becos" 
 was the Phrygian 'name for bread. In consideration of this 
 circumstance the Egyptians yielded their claims, and admitted 
 the greater antiquity of the Phrygians. That these were the 
 real facts I learnt at Memphis from the priests of Vulcan. - 
 The Greeks, among other foolish tales, relate that Psammeti- 
 chus had the children brought up by women whose tongues he 
 had previously cut out ; but the priests said their bringing up 
 was such as I have stated above. — II, 2-3. 
 
 The following story of the Ring of Polycrates is one 
 'of the most famous, and illustrates well the current 
 superstition, in which Herodotus evidently shared, 
 concerning the jealousy of the gods : 
 
 The exceeding good fortune of Polycrates did not escape 
 the notice of Amasis, who was much disturbed thereat. When 
 therefore his successes continued increasing, Amasis wrote 
 him the following letter, and sent it to Samos : " Amasis to 
 Polycrates thus sayeth : It is a pleasure to hear of a friend 
 and ally prospering, but thy exceeding prosperity does not 
 cause me joy, forasmuch as 1 know that the gods are envious. 
 My wish for myself, and for those whom I love, is, to be now 
 successful, and now to meet with a check ; thus passing through 
 life amid alternate good and ill, rather than with perpetual 
 good fortune. For never yet did I hear tell of any one suc- 
 ceeding in all his undertakings, who did not meet with calamity 
 at last, and come to utter ruin. Now, therefore, give ear to my 
 words, and meet thy good luck in this way. Bethink thee 
 which of all thy treasures thou valuest most and canst least 
 bear to part with ; take it, whatsoever it be, and throw it away. 
 
3 1 2 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 so that it may be sure never to come any more into the 
 sight of man. Then, if thy good fortune be not thenceforth 
 chequered with ill, save thyself from harm by again doing as I 
 have counselled." 
 
 When Polycrates read this letter, and perceived that the 
 advice of Amasis was good, he considered carefully with him- 
 self which of the treasures he had in store it would grieve him 
 most to lose. After much thought he made up his mind that it 
 was a signet-ring which he was wont to wear, an emerald set 
 in gold, the workmanship of Theodore, son of Telecles, a 
 Samian. So he determined to throw this away ; and, manning 
 a penteconter, he went on board, and bade the sailors put out 
 into the open sea. When he was now a long way from the 
 island, he took the ring from his finger, and, in sight of all 
 those who were on board, flung it into the deep. This done, 
 he returned home and gave vent to his sorrow. 
 
 Now it happened five or six days afterwards that a fisher- 
 man caught a fish so large and beautiful that he thought it well 
 deserved to be made a present to the king. So he took it with 
 him to the gate of the palace, and said he wanted to see Poly- 
 crates. Then Polycrates allowed him to come in, and the 
 fisherman gave him the fish with these words following : * * Sir 
 king, when I took this prize, I thought 1 would not carry it to 
 market, though I am a poor man who live by my trade. I said 
 to myself, it is worthy of Polycrates and his greatness ; and so 
 I brought it here to give it to you." The speech pleased the 
 king, who thus spoke in reply : " Thou didst right well, friend, 
 and I am doubly indebted, both for the gift and for the speech. 
 Come, now, and sup with me." So the fisherman went home, 
 esteeming it a high honour that he had been asked to sup with 
 the king. Meanwhile the servants, on cutting open the fish, 
 found the signet of their master in its belly. No sooner did 
 they see it than they seized upon it, and, hastening to Polycrates 
 with great joy, restored it to him, and told him in what way it 
 had been found. The king, who saw something providential 
 in the matter, forthwith wrote a letter to Amasis, teUing him 
 all that had happened, what he had himself done, and what, 
 had been the upshot— and despatched the letter to Egypt. 
 
 When Amasis read the letter of Polycrates, he perceived 
 
The Historians. Herodotus 313 
 
 that it does not belong to man to save his fellow-man from the 
 fate which is in store for him ; likewise he felt certain that 
 Polycrates would end ill, as he prospered in everything, even 
 finding what he had thrown away. So he sent a herald to 
 Samos, and dissolved the contract of friendship. This he did, 
 that when the great and heavy misfortune came, he might 
 escape the grief which he would have felt if the sufferer had 
 been his bond-friend. — III, 40-43. 
 
 Herodotus gives this explanation of the popular 
 Greek proverb, " It doesn't matter to Hippocleides " : 
 
 Afterwards, in the generation which followed, Cleisthenes, 
 king of Sicyon, raised the family to still greater eminence 
 among the Greeks than even that to which it had attained be- 
 fore. For this Cleisthenes, who was the son of Aristonymus, 
 the grandson of Myron, and the great-grandson of Andreas, 
 had a daughter, called Agarista, whom he wished to marry to 
 the best husband that he could find in the whole of Greece. 
 At the Olympic games, therefore, having gained the prize in 
 the chariot-race, he caused public proclamation to be made to 
 the following effect : — " Whoever among the Greeks deems 
 himself worthy to become the son-in-law of Cleisthenes, let 
 him come, sixty days hence, or, if he will, sooner, to Sicyon ; 
 for within a year's time, counting from the end of the sixty 
 days, Cleisthenes will decide on the man to whom he shall 
 contract his daughter." So all the Greeks who were proud of 
 their own merit or of their country flocked to Sicyon as suit- 
 ors ; and Cleisthenes had a foot-course and a wrestling-ground 
 made ready, to try their powers. . . . 
 
 Now when they were all come, and the day appointed had 
 arrived, Cleisthenes first of all inquired of each concerning his 
 country and his family ; after which he kept them with him a 
 year, and made trial of their manly bearing, their temper, 
 their accomplishments, and their disposition, sometimes 
 drawing them apart for converse, sometimes bringing them 
 all together. Such as were still youths he took with him from 
 time to time to the gymnasia ; but the greatest trial of all was 
 at the banquet-table. During the whole period of their stay 
 
314 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 he lived with them, as I have said, and, further, from first to 
 last he entertained them sumptuously. Somehow or other the 
 suitors who came from Athens pleased him the best of all ; 
 and of these, Hippocleides, Tisander's son, was especially in 
 favour, partly on account of his manly bearing, and partly 
 also because his ancestors were of kin to the Corinthian Cyp- 
 selids. 
 
 When at length the day arrived which had been fixed for 
 the espousals, and Cleisthenes had to speak out and declare 
 his choice, he first of all made a sacrifice of a hundred oxen, 
 and held a banquet whereat he entertained all the suitors and 
 the whole people of Sicyon. After the feast was ended, the 
 suitors vied with each other in music and in speaking on a 
 given subject. Presently, as the drinking advanced, Hippo- 
 cleides, who quite dumb-founded the rest, called aloud to the 
 flute -player and bade him strike up a dance ; which the man 
 did, and Hippocleides danced to it. And he fancied that he 
 was dancing excellently well ; but Cleisthenes, who was ob- 
 serving him, began to misdoubt the whole business. Then 
 Hippocleides, after a pause, told an attendant to bring in a 
 table ; and when it was brought he mounted upon it and 
 danced first of all some Laconian figures, then some Attic 
 ones ; after which he stood on his head on the table, and be- 
 gan to toss his legs about. Cleisthenes, notwithstanding that 
 he now loathed Hippocleides for a son-in-law, by reason of 
 his dancing and his shamelessness, still, as he wished to avoid 
 an outbreak, had restrained himself during the first and like- 
 wise during the second dance ; when, however, he saw him 
 tossing his legs in the air, he could no longer contain himself, 
 but cried out, "Son of Tisander, thou hast danced thy wife 
 away!" "What does Hippocleides care? "was the other's 
 answer. And hence the proverb arose.— VI, 126; 128-9. 
 
 Herodotus does not view the events of the Persian 
 wars with eye of a partisan of either Athens or Sparta. 
 He has praise for both alike when praise is deserved. 
 It is gratifying, therefore, to hear from an impartial 
 witness the following frank, and, as it seems, unpopular 
 
The Historians. Herodotus 315 
 
 judgment as to the claims of Athens, confirming as it 
 does the proud boasts unceasingly reiterated in the 
 Athenian orators : 
 
 To return, however, to my main subject, — the expedition 
 of the Persian king, though it was in name directed against 
 Athens, threatened really the whole of Greece. And of this 
 the Greeks were aware some time before, but they did not all 
 view the matter in the same light. Some of them had given 
 the Persian earth and water, and were bold on this account, 
 deeming themselves thereby secured against suffering hurt 
 from the barbarian army ; while others, who had refused com- 
 pliance, were thrown into extreme alarm. For whereas they 
 considered all the ships in Greece too few to engage the 
 enemy, it was plain that the greater number of states would 
 take no part in the war, but warmly favoured the Medes. 
 
 And here 1 feel constrained to deliver an opinion, which 
 most men, I know, will mislike, but which, as it seems to me 
 to be true, I am determined not to withhold. Had the Athe- 
 nians, from fear of the approaching danger, quitted their 
 country, or had they without quitting it submitted to the power 
 of Xerxes, there would certainly have been no attempt to re- 
 sist the Persians by sea ; in which case, the course of events 
 by land would have been the following. Though the Pelo- 
 ponnesians might have carried ever so many breastworks 
 across the Isthmus, yet their allies would have fallen off from 
 the Lacedaemonians, not by voluntary desertion, but because 
 town after town must have been taken by the fleet of the bar- 
 barians ; and so the Lacedaemonians would at last have stood 
 alone, and, standing alone, would have displayed prodigies of 
 valour, and died nobly. Either they would have done thus, 
 or else, before it came to that extremity, seeing one Greek 
 state after another embrace the cause of the Medes, they 
 would have come to terms with King Xerxes ; — and thus, 
 either way Greece would have been brought under Persia. 
 For I cannot understand of what possible use the walls across 
 the Isthmus could have been, if the King had had the mastery 
 of the sea. 
 
 If, then, a man should now say that the Athenians were 
 
3i6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 the saviours of Greece, he would not exceed the truth. For 
 they truly held the scales, and whichever side they espoused 
 must have carried the day. They too it was who, when they 
 had determined to maintain the freedom of Greece, roused up 
 that portion of the Greek nation which had not gone over to 
 the Medes, and so, next to the gods, they repulsed the invader. 
 Even the terrible oracles which reached them from Delphi, 
 and struck fear into their hearts, failed to persuade them to 
 fly from Greece. They had the courage to remain faithful to 
 their land, and await the coming of the foe. — VII, 138-9. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THUCYDIDES AND XENOPHON 
 
 The Earliest Attic Prose— Thucydides— His Life— The His^ 
 tory of the Peloponnesian War — The Plan and Purpose 
 of the Historian— Contrast with Herodotus— Style — The 
 Reported Speeches — The Divisions of the History — Selec" 
 tions : Contrast of the Athenian and Spartan Characters — 
 Pericles' Funeral Oration — The Plague at Athens — Alcib- 
 iades — The Naval Battle at Syracuse — Xenophon — His 
 Life— His Historical Writings, the Anabasis and the HeU 
 lenica — The Essays and Minor Writings — Xenophon*s 
 Position in Greek Literature — Selections: The First 
 Glimpse of the Sea — Xenophon's Tact— Epaminondas at 
 Sparta. 
 
 The lonians produced no great writer of prose 
 literature after Herodotus. After his death, the mas- 
 ters in prose were Athenians, either by birth or by 
 adoption, so long as Greece was free, or rather until 
 the literary centre of the Greek-speaking world was 
 transferred from Athens to Alexandria. The earliest 
 extant specimen of Attic literary prose is a small 
 treatise on the Constitution of Athens^ written about 420 
 B. C, and formerly attributed to Xenophon. Next 
 come the early orators, and then the great historian, 
 Thucydides. 
 
 The little that we know about Thucydides is fur- 
 nished by himself. At the outbreak of the Pelopon- 
 nesian war, in 431 B. C, he was a man of maturity; we 
 may therefore place the date of his birth about 470 
 B. C. An Athenian by birth, his father's family were 
 originally Thracians, closely related to the wife of 
 Miltiades, the hero of Marathon. We can only con- 
 
 317 
 
ji8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 jecture what were the influences which surrounded his 
 youth and early manhood ; but since his family was 
 wealthy and influential, and he himself exceptionally 
 endowed by nature, we may believe that he partici- 
 pated fully in the marvelous and many-sided culture 
 for which the age of Pericles was distinguished. For 
 a time after the outbreak of the war he was one of the 
 Athenian generals. In 424 B. C. an event occurred, 
 however, which doubtless seemed a heavy misfortune 
 to him, though in reality it was the turning-point of 
 his life and opened to him the career for which his 
 talents best fitted him. While he was in command of 
 an Athenian fleet off the Thracian coast, the Spartan 
 general Brasidas surprised and captured Amphipolis, 
 the principal Athenian possession in northern Greece. 
 Thucydides was near enough to have prevented the 
 capture of the stronghold, but he lingered in the 
 neighborhood of some gold mines which belonged to 
 him and arrived too late. Whatever the reason was 
 for his delay, the Athenians promptly deprived him of 
 his command, and he lived in exile for twenty years, 
 until the end of the war in 404 B. C. During this 
 time he followed the war closely, gathered facts from 
 the Spartan as well as from the Athenian side, visited 
 many important sites, probably including Sicily, and 
 thus laboriously and conscientiously got together the 
 materials for his history. He died about 398 B. C. 
 
 The History of the Peloponnesian War was the life- 
 work of Thucydides. He himself, in the opening 
 paragraph, tells us how he came to write it: 
 
 Thucydides, an Athenian, wrote the history of the war tn 
 which the Peloponnesians and the Athenians fought against one 
 another. He began to write when they first took up arms, 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 319 
 
 believing that it would be great and memorable above any pre- 
 vious war. For he argued that both states were then at the 
 full height of their military power, and he saw the rest of 
 the Hellenes either siding or intending to side with one or 
 other of them. No movement ever stirred Hellas more deeply 
 than this; it was shared by many of the Barbarians, and might 
 be said even to affect the world at large. 
 
 Thucydides did not underestimate the magnitude 
 of the task to which he applied himself, nor did he 
 approach it in the uncritical spirit of Herodotus. 
 These are his own memorable words, which sound the 
 keynote both to the form and style in which he com- 
 posed his history, and to his high ideal of the scope 
 and method of historical inquiry : 
 
 Of the events of the war I have not ventured to speak from 
 any chance information, nor according to any notion of my 
 own; I have described nothing but what I either saw myself or 
 learned from others of whom I made the most careful and 
 particular inquiry. The task was a laborious one, because 
 eye-witnesses of the same occurrences gave different accounts 
 of them, as they remembered or were interested in the actions 
 of one side or the other. And very likely the strictly historical 
 character of my narrative may be disappointing to the ear. 
 But if he who desires to have before his eyes a true picture of 
 the events which have happened, and of the like events which 
 may be expected to happen hereafter in the order of human 
 things, shall pronounce what I have written to be useful, then 
 I shall be satisfied. My history is an everlasting possession, 
 not a prize composition which is heard and forgotten. 
 
 In these last words we may detect a covert criticism 
 of Herodotus, who delighted in anecdotes and nar- 
 rations "pleasing to the ear.*' Thucydides sedulously 
 avoids digressions from his theme, though he goes 
 aside two or three times to set right a false popular 
 tradition, We should gladly have learned from him 
 
320 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 something about the great literary, artistic, and social 
 movements in Athens, or about the personality of the 
 great men of the day ; but he confines himself strictly 
 to the facts ofj^lidcaLhistory. In interpreting these 
 facts he has no theory of his own to expound. Destiny 
 and the gods play no part with him. He deals with the 
 actions of men and the motives which actuate them. 
 Nor is he deceived by the false motives which partisans 
 assign to their own side. The Spartans professed to 
 desire to free Greece from the tyranny of the Athenian 
 Empire. **The real, though unavowed, cause,'* says 
 Thucydides, **I believe to have been the growth of the 
 Athenian power, which terrified the Lacedaemonians 
 and forced them into war." Again, with reference to 
 the Sicilian expedition, he says that the Athenians 
 ** virtuously professed that they were going to assist 
 their own kinsmen and their newly acquired allies, but 
 the simple truth was that they aspired to the empire 
 of Sicily. ** Unincumbered, therefore, by preconceived 
 theories of his own, and remarkably free from partisan 
 bias, with the sole purpose of setting forth the facts 
 concerning a war of momentous importance to the 
 Greeks, not as an entertainment, but as a '* possession 
 forever," Thucydides tells the tragic story of the 
 downfall of Athens with a calm but vigorous eloquence, 
 a sincerity of purpose, and a moral elevation of tone 
 that place him at once upon the level of the world's 
 greatest minds. He is justly entitled to be called the 
 first critical historian, the first philosopher of history, 
 whom Greece and Europe have produced. 
 
 The history of Thucydides was the first serious 
 attempt in Attic prose. We cannot expect, and we 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 321 
 
 do not find, the perfection of style reached by Isocrates 
 or Plato in the next generation. Rhetoric was just 
 beginning to be cultivated ; neither the diction nor the 
 style suitable to prose discourse had as yet been devel- 
 oped. We can see that Thucydides struggled with the 
 language to make it the appropriate and adequate 
 vehicle of his thought. He succeeds best in the simple 
 narration of events, but when he begins to generalize 
 and to indulge in philosophical reflections he often 
 becomes obscure. Such reflections and generalizations 
 he usually embodies in the speeches which he attributes 
 to the actors in his story. This is a peculiar feature 
 of his history, in which the later historians of Greece 
 and Rome imitated him. It would seem that he felt 
 obliged, in giving a faithful recital of events, to relate 
 what generals and statesmen said, as well as what 
 they did. Public speaking was so important a part of 
 the political life of the day that it could not be over- 
 looked in an historical narrative. Thucydides explains 
 his position in this matter: **As to the speeches which 
 were made either before or during the war, it was hard 
 for me, and for others who reported them to me, to 
 recollect the exact words. I have therefore put into 
 the mouth of each speaker the sentiments proper to 
 the occasion, expressed as I thought he would be 
 likely to express them, while at the same time 
 I endeavored, as nearly as I could, to give the general 
 purport of what was actually said." The result of 
 this practice was to make the speeches a sort of rhe- 
 torical exercise, in which the writer tried to represent 
 the character and motives, if not the exact language, 
 of each speaker. In the speeches, accordingly, we are 
 
322 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 apt to find the writer's own judgments of men and 
 events, his diagnosis of situations, and his critical 
 estimate of causes and effects. 
 
 The History of the Peloponnesian War was left 
 incomplete at the author's death. It was his intention 
 to give a complete account of the war from its begin- 
 ning, in 431 B. C, to the fall of Athens, in 404 B. C ; 
 but the story breaks off abruptly at the end of the 
 twenty-first year. The work has come down to us 
 divided into eight books, but the divisions were not 
 made by Thucydides. After the introductory chapters, 
 in which he compares the magnitude of this war with 
 the other great wars which have stirred Hellas, 
 ** magnified by the exaggerated fancies of the poets," 
 he takes up the causes which led to the terrific strug- 
 gle between Athens and Sparta, and then proceeds to 
 give the events of the war in chronological order by 
 campaigns. The work falls into three main divisions. 
 The first four books and a part of the fifth bring the 
 story down to the peace of Nicias, in 421 B. C. The 
 next three books cover the eight years of the doubtful 
 truce, in which Athens and Sparta were not engaged in 
 open hostilities, but war raged in the Peloponnesus 
 between Argos and Sparta, while Athens was active 
 in fostering the quarrel and in strengthening her 
 empire on the sea. Finally, from 415 to 413, Athens 
 engaged in the disastrous expedition against Sicily. 
 The account of this expedition which Thucydides gives 
 is a marvelous piece of writing. The eighth book 
 begins the third part of the war, the renewal of fight- 
 ing between Athens and Sparta. 
 
 From the following selections from the history, in 
 the admirable translation of Jowett, some idea of the 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 323 
 
 qualities of Thucydides' style in narrative, description, 
 analysis of character, and in speech-writing, may be 
 gained. The first selection, on the contrast of the 
 Athenian and Spartan characters, is taken from 
 a speech put in the mouth of the Corinthian envoys to 
 Sparta, who urge an alliance against Athens. 
 
 And you have never considered what manner of men are 
 these Athenians with whom you will have to fight, and how 
 utterly unlike yourselves. They are revolutionary, equally 
 quick in the conception and in the execution of every new 
 plan; while you are conservative — careful only to keep what 
 you have, originating nothing, and not acting even when action 
 is most urgent. They are bold beyond their strength; they run 
 risks which prudence would condemn; and in the midst of 
 misfortune they are full of hope. Whereas it is your nature, 
 though strong, to act feebly ; when your plans are most prudent, 
 to distrust them^^ and when calamities come upon you, to think 
 that you will never be delivered from them. They are impetu- 
 ous, and you are dilatory; they are always abroad, and you are 
 always at home. For they hope to gain something by leaving 
 their homes; but you are afraid that any new enterprise may 
 imperil what you have already. When conquerors they pursue 
 their victories to the utmost; when defeated, they fall back 
 the least. Their bodies they devote to their country as though 
 they belonged to other men; their true self is their mind, which 
 is most truly their own when employed in her service. When 
 they do not carry out an intention which they have formed, 
 they seem to themselves to have sustained a personal bereave- 
 ment; when an enterprise succeeds, they have gained a mere 
 instalment of what is to comej but if they fail, they at once 
 conceive new hopes, and so fill up the void. With them alone 
 to hope is to have, for they lose not a moment in the execution 
 of an idea. This is the life-long task, full of danger and toil, 
 which they are always imposing upon themselves. None enjoy 
 their good things less, because they are always seeking for 
 more. To do their duty is their only holiday, and they deem 
 the quiet of inaction to be as disagreeable as the most tiresome 
 
3^4 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 business. If a man should say of them, in a word, that 'they 
 were born neither to have peace themselves nor to allow peace 
 to other men, he would simply speak the truth.~I, 70. 
 
 I quote next two extracts from the magnificent 
 funeral oration of Pericles, delivered over the bodies 
 of the Athenian soldiers who fell in the first campaign 
 of the war: 
 
 To sum up: I say that Athens is the school of Hellas, and 
 that the individual Athenian in his own person seems to have 
 the power of adapting himself to the most varied forms of action 
 with the utmost versatility and grace. This is no passing and 
 idle word, but truth and fact; and the assertion is verified by 
 the position to which these qualities have raised the state. For 
 in the hour of trial Athens alone among her contemporaries is 
 superior to the report of her. No enemy who comes against 
 her is indignant at the reverses which he sustains at the 
 hands of such a city; no subject complains that his masters 
 are unworthy of him. And we shall assuredly not be without 
 witnesses; there are mighty monuments of our power which 
 will make us the wonder of this and of succeeding ages; we 
 shall not need the praises of Homer or of any other panegyrist 
 whose poetry may please for the moment, although his repre- 
 sentation of the facts will not bear the light of day. For we 
 have compelled every land and every sea to open a path for 
 our valour, and have everywhere planted eternal memorials of 
 our friendship and of our enmity. Such is the city for whose 
 sake these men nobly fought and died; they could not bear the 
 thought that she might be taken from them ; and every one of 
 us who survive should gladly toil on her behalf 
 
 I would have you day by day fix your eyes upon the great- 
 ness of Athens, until you become filled with the love of her; 
 and when you are impressed by the spectacle of her glory, 
 reflect that this empire has been acquired by men who knew 
 their duty and had the courage to do it, who in the hour of 
 conflict had the fear of dishonour always present to them, and 
 who, if ever they failed in an enterprise, would not allow theii 
 virtues to be lost to their country, but freely gave their lives to 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 325 
 
 her as the fairest offering which they could present at her feast. 
 The sacrifice which they collectively made was individually 
 repaid to them ; for they received again, each one for himself, 
 a praise which grows not old, and the noblest of all sepul- 
 chres— I speak not of that in which their remains are laid, 
 but of that in which their glory survives, and is proclaimed 
 always and on every fitting occasion both in word and deed. 
 For the whole earth is the sepulchre of famous men ; not only 
 are they commemorated by columns and inscriptions in their 
 own country, but in foreign lands there dwells also an unwritten 
 memorial of them, graven not on stone but in the hearts of 
 men. — II, 41-43. 
 
 Thucydides thus describes the terrible plague which 
 devastated Athens in the second year of the war : 
 
 Many who were in perfect health, all in a moment, and 
 without any apparent reason, were seized with violent heats in 
 the head and with redness and inflammation of the eyes. In- 
 ternally, the throat and the tongue were quickly suffused with 
 blood, and the breath became unnatural and fetid. There 
 followed sneezing and hoarseness ; in a short time the disor- 
 der, accompanied by a violent cough, reached the chest ; then 
 fastening lower down, it would move the stomach and bring 
 on all the vomits of bile to which physicians have ever given 
 names ; and they were very distressing. An ineffectual 
 retching, producing violent convulsions, attacked most of the 
 sufferers ; some as soon as the previous symptoms had abated, 
 others not until long afterwards. The body externally was 
 not so very hot to the touch, nor yet pale ; it was of a livid 
 colour inclining to red, and breaking out in pustules and 
 ulcers. But the internal fever was intense ; the sufferers could 
 not bear to have on them even the finest linen garment ; they 
 insisted on being naked, and there was nothing which they 
 longed for more eagerly than to throw themselves into cold 
 water. And many of those who had no one to look after them 
 actually plunged into the cisterns, for they were tormented 
 by unceasing thirst, which was not in the least assuaged 
 whether they drank little or much. They could not sleep ; a 
 restlessness which was intolerable never left them. While 
 
226 
 
 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 the disease was at its height the body, instead of wasting 
 away, held out amidst these sufferings in a marvellous man- 
 ner, and either they died on the seventh or ninth day, not of 
 weakness, for their strength was not exhausted, but of internal 
 fever, which was the end of most ; or, if they survived, then 
 the disease descended into the bowels and there produced 
 violent ulceration ; severe diarrhoea at the same time set in, 
 and at a later stage caused exhaustion, which finally with few 
 exceptions carried them off. For the disorder which had orig- 
 inally settled in the head passed gradually through the whole 
 body, and if a person got over the worst, would often seize the 
 extremities and leave its mark, attacking the privy parts and 
 the fingers and the toes ; and some escaped with the loss of 
 these, some with the loss of their eyes. Some again had no 
 sooner recovered than they were seized with a forgetfulness of 
 all things and knew neither themselves nor their friends. The 
 general character of the malady no words can describe and the 
 fury with which it fastened upon each sufferer was too much 
 for human nature to endure. . ..... 
 
 Appalling too was the rapidity with which men caught the 
 infection ; dying like sheep if they attended on one another ; 
 and this was the principal cause of mortality. When they 
 were afraid to visit one another, the sufferers died in their sol- 
 itude, so that many houses were empty because there had been 
 no one left to take care of the sick ; or if they ventured they 
 perished, especially those who aspired to heroism. For they 
 went to see their friends without thought of themselves and 
 were ashamed to leave them, at a time when the very relations 
 of the dying were at last growing weary and ceased even to 
 make lamentations, overwhelmed by the vastness of the 
 calamity. But whatever instances there may have been of 
 such devotion, more often the sick and the dying were tended 
 by the pitying care of those who had recovered, because they 
 knew the course of the disease and were themselves free from 
 apprehension. For no one was ever attacked a second time, 
 or not with a fatal result. All men congratulated them, and 
 they themselves, in the excess of their joy at the moment, had 
 an innocent fancy that they could not die of any other sickness. 
 
 The crowding of the people out of the country into the city 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 327 
 
 aggravated the misery ; and the newly-arrived suffered most. 
 For, having no houses of their own, but inhabiting in the 
 height of summer stifling huts, the mortality among them was 
 dreadful, and they perished in wild disorder. The dead lay 
 as they had died, one upon another, while others hardly 
 alive wallowed in the streets and crawled about every fountain 
 craving for water. The temples in which they lodged were 
 full of the corpses of those who died in them ; for the violence 
 of the calamity was such that men, not knowing where to turn, 
 grew reckless of all law, human and divine. The customs 
 which had hitherto been observed at funerals were universally 
 violated, and they buried their dead each one as best he could. 
 Many, having no proper appliances, because the deaths in 
 their household had been so numerous already, lost all shame 
 in the burial of the dead. When one man had raised a fun- 
 eral pile, others would come, and throwing on their dead first, 
 set fire to it ; or when some other corpse was already burning, 
 before they could be stopped, would throw their own dead up- 
 on it and depart. — II, 49-53. 
 
 The following narrative illustrates both the clever- 
 ness and the unscrupulousness of Alcibiades, the lead- 
 ing figure in the latter part of the Peloponnesian war : 
 
 When the difference between the Lacedaemonians and 
 Athenians had gone thus far, the war party at Athens in their 
 turn lost no time in pressing their views. Foremost among 
 them was Alcibiades, the son of Cleinias, a man who would 
 have been thought young in any other city, but was influential 
 by reason of his high descent : he sincerely preferred the Ar- 
 give alliance, but at the same time he took part against the 
 Lacedaemonians from temper, and because his pride was 
 touched. For they had not consulted with him, but had ne- 
 gotiated the peace through Nicias and Laches, despising his 
 youth, and disregarding an ancient connexion with his family, 
 who had been their proxeni ; a connexion which his grand- 
 father had renounced, and he, by the attention which he had 
 paid to the captives from Sphacteria, had hoped to have re- 
 newed. Piqued at the small respect which was shown to all 
 his claims, he had originally opposed the negotiations ; declar- 
 
328 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ing that the Lacedaemonians were not to be trusted, and 
 that their only object in making terms was that they might 
 by Athenian help crush the Argives, and afterwards attack the 
 Athenians themselves when they had no friends. As soon as 
 the rupture occurred he promptly despatched a private mes- 
 sage to the Argives, bidding them send an embassy as quickly 
 as they could, together with representatives of Mantinea and 
 Elis, and invite the Athenians to enter the alliance ; now was 
 the time, and he would do his utmost to assist them. 
 
 The Argives received his message, and thus became aware 
 that the alliance with the Boeotians had been made without 
 the consent of the Athenians, and that a violent quarrel had 
 broken out between Athens and Lacedaemon. So they 
 thought no more about their ambassadors, who were at that 
 very moment negotiating the peace with Lacedaemon, but 
 turned their thoughts toward Athens. They reflected that 
 Athens was a city which had been their friend of old ; like 
 their own it was governed by a democracy, and would be a 
 powerful ally to them at sea, if they were involved in war. 
 They at once sent envoys to negotiate an alliance with the 
 Athenians; the Eleansand Mantineans joined in the embassy. 
 Thither also came in haste three envoys from Lacedaemon, 
 who were thought likely to be acceptable at Athens — Philo- 
 charidas, Leon, and Endius. They were sent because the 
 Lacedaemonians were afraid that the Athenians in their anger 
 would join the Argive alliance. The envoys, while they de- 
 manded the restoration of Pylos in return for Panactum, were 
 to apologise for the alliance with the Boeotians, and to explain 
 that it was not made with any view to the injury of Athens. 
 
 They delivered their message to the council, adding that 
 they came with full power to treat about all differences. Al- 
 cibiades took alarm ; he feared that if the envoys made a 
 similar statement to the people they would win them over to 
 their side, and that the Argive alliance would be rejected. 
 Whereupon he devised the following trick : he solemnly as- 
 sured the Lacedaemonians that if they would not communicate 
 to the people the extent of their powers, he would restore Pylos 
 to them, for he would use his influence in their favour instead 
 of against them, and would arrange their other differences. 
 But his real aim was to alienate them from Nicias, and to 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 329 
 
 bring about an alliance with Argos, Elis, and Mantinea, which 
 he hoped to effect, if he could only discredit them in the as- 
 sembly, and create the impression that their intentions were 
 not honest, and that they never told the same tale twice. And 
 he succeeded ; for when the envoys appeared before the as- 
 sembly, and in answer to the question whether they had full 
 powers replied, " No," in direct contradiction to what they had 
 said in the council, the patience of the Athenians was ex- 
 hausted, and Alcibiades declaimed against the Lacedaemoni- 
 ans more violently than ever. The people were carried away 
 and were ready to have the Argives come in and make an al- 
 liance with them and their confederates on the spot. But an 
 earthquake occurred before the final vote was taken, and the 
 assembly was adjourned.— V, 43-46. 
 
 In the year 413 B. C. the Athenian fleet, in the har- 
 bor of Syracuse, engaged in a final battle with the 
 Syracusan fleet and was defeated. The men on shore 
 watched the conflict with fearful anxiety : 
 
 While the naval engagement hung in the balance the two 
 armies on shore had great trial and conflict of souls. The 
 Sicilian soldier was animated by the hope of increasing the 
 glory which he had already won, while the invader was tor- 
 mented by the fear that his fortunes might sink lower still. 
 The last chance of the Athenians lay in their ships, and their 
 anxiety was dreadful. The fortune of the battle varied ; and 
 it was not possible that the spectators on the shore should all 
 receive the same impression of it. Being quite close and 
 having different points of view, they would some of them see 
 their own ships victorious ; their courage would then revive, 
 and they would earnestly call upon the gods not to take from 
 them their hope of deliverance. But others, who saw their 
 ships worsted, cried and shrieked aloud, and were by the sight 
 alone more utterly unnerved than the defeated combatants 
 themselves. Others again, who had fixed their gaze on some 
 part of the struggle which was undecided, were in a state of 
 excitement still more terrible ; they kept swaying their bodies 
 to and fro in an agony of hope and fear as the stubborn conflict 
 went on and on ; for at every instant they were all but saved or 
 mil but lost. And while the strife hung in the balance you might 
 
3 JO Homer to Theocritus 
 
 hear in the Athenian army at once lamentation, shouting, cries 
 of victory or defeat, and all the various sounds which are wrung 
 from a great host in extremity of danger. Not less agonizing 
 were the feelings of those on board. At length the Syracusans 
 and their allies, after a protracted struggle, put the Athenians 
 to flight, and triumphantly bearing down upon them, and 
 encouraging one another with loud cries and exhortations, 
 drove them to land. Then that part of the navy which had 
 not been taken in the deep water fell back in confusion to the 
 shore, and the crews rushed out of the ships into the camp. 
 And the land forces, no longer now divided in feeling, but 
 uttering one universal groan of intolerable anguish, ran, some 
 of them to save the ships, others to defend what remained of 
 the wall ; but the greater number began to look to themselves 
 and to their own safety. — VII, 71. 
 
 Xenophon, the only other historian of the classical 
 period whose works are extant, was born near Athens 
 about 431 B. C. In his youth he came under the influ- 
 ence of Socrates, who inspired in him feelings of pro- 
 found admiration and affection. A few years after the 
 fall of Athens, Xenophon received an invitation from 
 a friend to take service under Cyrus, a Persian prince, 
 who was gathering a force of Greek mercenaries to aid 
 him in an attempt to wrest the throne from his brother 
 Artaxerxes. After consulting with Socrates and the 
 oracle at Delphi, Xenophon joined the expedition, an 
 account of which he afterward gave in the Anabasis, 
 This adventure occupied him from 401 to 399, the 
 year in which Socrates was put to death. On his return 
 to Asia Minor he served under the Spartan king, 
 Agesilaus, for whose character and military ability he 
 conceived a great admiration. He not only wrote an 
 encomium upon him, the Agesilaus^ but even fought 
 under him with the Spartan forces against his own 
 country at the battle of Coronea in 394 B. C. For 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 33 1 
 
 this act of treason he was formally banished from 
 Athens. He had long been unfriendly to the extreme 
 democracy of Athens and an enthusiastic admirer of 
 the Spartan character and government, on which he 
 wrote the laudatory essay entitled the Polity of the 
 LacedcRtnonians. The unjust condemnation and death 
 of Socrates still further alienated him from his native 
 city. Retiring to an estate near Olympia, granted him 
 by the Spartans for his services to their cause, he 
 devoted himself to the pleasures of country life and to 
 literary work. After some years the turn of political 
 events deprived him of his estate, and he took up his 
 residence in Corinth, where he died soon after 357 
 B. C. Although the decree of banishment from 
 Athens was revoked, he seems not to have cared to 
 make it his home again. 
 
 The chief historical works of Xenophon are the Hel' 
 lenica and the Anabasis. In the former he takes up 
 the narrative of Thucydides, and brings the account 
 of the Peloponnesian war to a close at the end of the 
 second book. In the other five books he gives the 
 history of Greece down to the battle of Mantinea, in 
 362 B. C. The work is valuable as our principal source 
 of information on the history of this period, but in 
 many respects falls short of what a history should be, 
 the prejudice of its author in favor of Sparta constantly 
 cropping out. Many important facts are omitted, and 
 the story is not told in an attractive manner. Xeno- 
 phon was far from being a worthy successor to Thucy- 
 dides as an historian. The Anabasis^ on the other 
 hand, though dealing with an episode of minor inter- 
 est in itself, gives us a much better idea of Xenophon's 
 ability a^ a writer. The author's own participation in 
 
33^ 
 
 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 the expedition of Cyrus lends the narrative the charm 
 of a personal experience. The title, which means 
 ''*' The March Inland^'' strictly applies only to the first 
 part of the work. After Cyrus had been slain in battle 
 near Babylon, the Greek troops, numbering ten thou- 
 sand, began their retreat. The story of the retreat 
 occupies the larger part of the book, and is by far the 
 more interesting. When most of the Greek leaders 
 had been slain by treachery, Xenophon, who had not 
 been attached to the expedition in an official capacity 
 hitherto, rallied the surviving officers and virtually 
 assumed command. It was mainly due to his ability 
 as a general, his resourcefulness in critical situations, 
 his imperturbable coolness and cheerfulness, and his 
 Athenian readiness in persuasive oratory, that the ten 
 thousand made their way through Kurdistan, Armenia, 
 and Georgia to the Black Sea. After further adven- 
 tures in Byzantium and Thrace, the remnant of the 
 army, now reduced to six thousand, was incorporated 
 in a Spartan army operating in the Troad, while Xeno- 
 phon attached himself to the staff of thq[ Spartan king 
 Agesilaus. 
 
 Besides these two historical works, Xenophon wrote 
 a number of essays, two of which, the Agesilaus and 
 the Polity of the LacedcemonianSy have already been 
 mentioned. In the Memorabilia or Recollections of 
 Socrates, he vindicates the character and teachings of 
 his master. Defending him first against the charges 
 brought against Socrates at the trial, he exhibits what 
 kind of a man he was by reporting his conversations 
 with Various men on many subjects. This work is 
 valuable for the information which it gives about the 
 daily life of Socrates and the character of his teach- 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 33s 
 
 ings, but is not a great piece of literature. Socrates 
 figures in two other essays, the Symposium and the 
 treatise on Domestic Economy. In the former Socrates 
 is represented as the principal guest at a typical 
 Athenian banquet, which is enlivened by his conversa- 
 tion and the performances of jugglers and dancers — 
 a charming picture. In the latter Socrates discourses 
 on domestic affairs, and relates an interesting conver- 
 sation with a newly married Athenian, who explains 
 -the method by which he brok e in and trained in house-' 
 wifely virtues his girl-wife of fifteen. The Education 
 of Cyrus (Cyrus the Great, not the young prince for 
 whom Xenophon had fought) is an idealized picture, 
 not a biography, of a perfect prince and ruler, with 
 enough of local color to lend verisimilitude to the 
 account. It is the earliest attempt at an historical 
 romance, and contains the first love-story in European 
 prose literature. We have, besides the above, a few 
 minor essays, the more interesting of which are the 
 treatises On Horsemanship and On Hunting. 
 
 Xenophon does not hold an exalted position in the 
 history of Greek literature, although there is much to 
 admire in his character and in his writings. He had 
 neither the critical ability nor the intellectual and 
 moral force to be a great historian, although he was 
 a careful observer and a fair judge of character. An 
 Athenian by birth and education, he became alienated 
 from his own country and people and adopted Spartan 
 views. The events of contemporary history and the 
 character of the leading men of the time were judged 
 by him with a frankly avowed Spartan bias. His writ- 
 ings seem to havt been generally admired in antiquity, 
 not for purity of Attic style, but for their straightfor- 
 
334 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ward simplicity and grace — the words of a man of 
 letters who was also a man of action. The story told 
 in the Anabasis awakened the Greeks to the essential 
 weakness of the great Persian Empire, and taught them 
 that the terrible power with which they had once 
 fought, and to which the several states had since 
 become accustomed to look for protection, might 
 crumble before the attack of a well-organized, though 
 numerically inferior, foe. A later Greek writer coined 
 the saying: ^'Alexander the Great would not have been 
 great had not Xenophon been. " Xenophon's greatest 
 merit is that he was an entertaining writer on a variety 
 of subjects, furnishing useful information and stand- 
 ing for all that was esteemed noble and manly in char- 
 acter and conduct. He was the earliest essayist of 
 Greece, and the first writer who employed the dialogue 
 form in literature. 
 
 No passage in the Anabasis is more famous than the 
 description of the excitement and joy of the Greek 
 troops when, after their long and perilous march 
 through an unknown and hostile country, after the 
 severe privations and sufferings to which many of 
 their number had succumbed, they at last caught 
 a glimpse of the sea. Dakyns' translation is used : 
 
 On the fifth day they reached the mountain, the name of 
 which was Theches. No sooner had the men in front ascended 
 it and caught sight of the sea than a great cry arose, and 
 Xenophon, with the rearguard, catching the sound of it, con- 
 jectured that another set of enemies must surely be attacking 
 in front; for they were followed by the inhabitants of the 
 country, which was all aflame; indeed the rearguard killed some 
 and captured others alive by laying an ambuscade; they had 
 taken also about twenty wicker shields, covered with the raw 
 hides of shaggy oxen. But as the shout became louder and 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 2;^^ 
 
 nearer, and those who from time to time came up began racing 
 at the top of their speed towards the shouters, and the shouting 
 continually recommenced with yet greater volume as the num- 
 bers increased, Xenophon settled in his mind that something 
 extraordinary must have happened, so he mounted his horse, 
 and taking with him Lycius and the cavalry, he galloped to 
 the rescue. Presently they could hear the soldiers shouting 
 and passing on the joyful word, "The sea, the sea!" There- 
 upon they began running, rearguard and all, and the baggage 
 animals and horses came galloping up. But when they had 
 reached the summit, then indeed they fell to embracing one 
 another — generals and officers and all— and the tears trickled 
 down their cheeks. 
 
 Anabasis, IV, 7. 
 
 Xenophon*s tact in dealing with men is illustrated 
 in the following selection. The Greek army, after it 
 had been safely brought out of Asia, was filled with 
 mutinous murmurings against its leaders. A trial was 
 instituted against them, and some of them were fined. 
 It will be observed that Xenophon always refers to 
 himself in the third person, and that quite without 
 affectation. 
 
 Against Xenophon a charge was brought by certain people, 
 who asserted that they had been beaten by him, and framed the 
 indictment as one of personal outrage with violence. Xeno- 
 phon got up and demanded that the first speaker should state 
 ** where and when it was he had received these blows." The 
 other, so challenged, answered, " When we were perishing of 
 cold and there was a great depth of snow." Xenophon said: 
 *• Upon my word, with weather such as you describe, when our 
 provisions had run out, when the wine could not even be smelt, 
 when numbers were dropping down dead beat, so acute was 
 the suffering, with the enemy close on our heels; certainly, if 
 at such a season as that I was guilty of outrage, I plead 
 guilty to being a more outrageous brute than the ass, which is 
 too wanton, they say, to feel fatigue. Still, I wish you would 
 tell us," said he, "what led to my striking you? Did I ask 
 
33^ 
 
 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 you for something, and, on your refusing it to me, did I 
 proceed to beat you? Was it a debt, for which I demanded 
 payment? or a quarrel about some boy or other? Was I the 
 worse for liquor, and behaving like a drunkard?'* When the 
 man met each of these questions with a negative, he questioned 
 him further; " Are you a heavy infantry soldier? " " No,'* said 
 he. " A peltast, then? " " No, nor yet a peltast; " but he had 
 been ordered by his messmates to drive a mule, although he 
 was a free man. Then at last he recognized him, and inquired: 
 " Are you the fellow who carried home the sick man? ** " Yes, 
 1 am," said he, "thanks to your driving; and you made havoc 
 of my messmates' kit." " Havoc! " said Xenophon. " Nay," 
 I distributed it: some to one man, some to another to carry, and 
 bade them bring the things safely to me; and when I got them 
 back I delivered them all safely to you, when you, on your side, 
 had rendered an account to me of the man. Let me tell you," 
 he continued, turning to the court, "what the circumstances 
 were; it is worth hearing: — A man was left behind from 
 inability to proceed farther; I recognized the poor fellow suffi- 
 ciently to see that he was one of ours, and I forced you, sir, to 
 carry him to save his life. For, if I am not much mistaken, 
 the enemy were close at our heels?" The fellow assented to 
 this. " Well, then," said Xenophon, " after I had sent you for- 
 ward, I overtook you again, as I came up with the rearguard; 
 you were digging a trench with intent to bury the man; I pulled 
 up and said something in commendation; as we stood by the 
 poor fellow twitched his leg, and the bystanders all cried out: 
 •Why, the man's alive!* Your remark was: * Alive or not as 
 he likes, I am not going to carry him.' Then I struck you. 
 Yes! you are right, for it looked very much as if you knew him 
 to be alive." " Well," said he, "was he any the less dead when 
 I reported him to you?" " Nay," retorted Xenophon, "by the 
 same token we shall all one day be dead, but that is no reason 
 why meantime we should all be buried alive!" Then there 
 was a general shout: "If Xenophon had given the fellow a few 
 more blows, it might have been better." 
 
 Anabasis, V, 8. 
 
Thucydides and Xenophon 337 
 
 It is disappointing that Xenophon has so little to 
 say about the splendid military genius and the noble 
 character of the Theban general, Epameinondas. In 
 the following passage he does justice to his strategy on 
 one occasion, when he almost succeeded in capturing 
 Sparta. It is characteristic of our author that he re- 
 sorts to the theory of providential intervention to ex- 
 plain what seems to him otherwise unaccountable. 
 
 That the strategy of the Theban general was fortunate I 
 will not pretend to assert, but in the particular combination 
 of prudence and daring which stamps these exploits, I look 
 upon him as consummate. In the first place, I cannot but 
 admire the sagacity which led him to form his camp within the 
 walls of Tegea, where he was in greater security than he would 
 have been if entrenched outside, and where his future move- 
 ments were more completely concealed from the enemy. 
 Again, the means to collect materials and furnish himself 
 with other necessaries were readier to his hand inside the city ; 
 while, thirdly, he was able to keep an eye on the movements 
 of his opponents marching outside, and to watch their success- 
 ful dispositions as well as their mistakes. More than this : in 
 spite of his sense of superiority to his antagonists, over and 
 over again, when he saw them gaining some advantage in po- 
 sition, he refused to be drawn out to attack them. It was only 
 when he saw plainly that no city was going to give him its ad- 
 hesion, and that time was slipping by, that he made up his 
 mind that a blow must be struck, failing which, he had nothing 
 to expect save a vast ingloriousness, in place of his former 
 fame. He had ascertained that his antagonists held a strong 
 position round Mantinea, and that they had sent to fetch 
 Agesilaus and the whole Lacedaemonian army. He was fur- 
 ther aware that Agesilaus had commenced his advance and 
 was already at Pellene. Accordingly he passed the word of 
 command to his troops to take their evening meal, put himself 
 at their head and advanced straight upon Sparta. Had it not 
 been for the arrival (by some providential chance) of a Cretan, 
 who brought the news to Agesilaus of the enemy's advance, he 
 
23^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 would have captured the city of Sparta like a nest of young 
 birds absolutely bereft of its natural defenders. As it was, 
 Agesilaus, being forewarned, had time to return to the city be- 
 fore the Thebans came, and here the Spartans made distribu- 
 tion of their scanty force and maintained watch and ward, 
 albeit few in numbers, since the whole of their cavalry were 
 away in Arcadia, and so was their foreign brigade, and so were 
 three out of their twelve regiments. 
 
 Arrived within the city of Sparta, Epameinondas abstained 
 from gaining an entry at a point where his troops would have 
 to fight on level ground and under attack from the houses 
 above ; where also their large numbers would give them no 
 superiority over the small numbers of the foemen. But, sin- 
 gling out a position which he conceived would give him the ad- 
 vantage, he occupied it and began his advance against the 
 city upon a downward instead of an upward incline. 
 
 With regard to what subsequently took place, two possible 
 explanations suggest themselves : either it was miraculous, or 
 it may be maintained that there is no resisting the fury of des- 
 peration. Archidamus, advancing at the head of but a hun- 
 dred men, and crossing the one thing which might have 
 been expected to form an obstacle to the enemy, began march- 
 ing uphill against his antagonists. At this crisis these fire- 
 breathing warriors, these victorious heroes of Leuctra, with 
 their superiority at every point, aided, moreover, by the 
 advantage of their position, did not withstand the attack of 
 Archidamus and those with him, but swerved in flight. The 
 vanguard of Epameinondas' troops was cut down ; when, 
 however, flushed with the glory of their victory, the citizens 
 followed up their pursuit beyond the right point, they in turn 
 were cut down, — so plainly was the demarking line of victory 
 drawn by the finger of God. — HelUnica^ VII, 8-14. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE ORATORS. DEMOSTHENES 
 
 Eloquence among the Early Greeks — The Conditions under 
 which Oratory became an Art — The Sophists and the 
 Rhetoricians — The Influence of Sicily — The Professional 
 Speech -writers — The Ten Attic Orators: Antiphon — 
 Andocides — Lysias — Isocrates — Isaeus — yCschines — 
 Hyperides — Lycurgus — Deinarchus — Demosthenes — His 
 early Training — The Prosecution of his Guardians — The 
 Private Orations — The Public Prosecutions — The First 
 Orations before the People — The Orations against Philip 
 — After the Battle of Chaeronea — The Oration On the 
 Crown— The Harpalus Afifair — His Death— Demosthenes 
 the Consummation of Greek Oratory — Selections from the 
 TAtrd Olynthiac, the Third Philippic, the Oration On the 
 Crown^ and from yEschines' Against Ctesiphon. 
 
 The gift of persuasive speech was always highly 
 prized among the Greeks. In the Homeric poems it 
 was a rarer possession than valor, and was esteemed 
 no less highly. Peleus sent Phoenix to the wars with 
 his son Achilles to teach him to be "both a speaker of 
 words and a doer of deeds.'* Odysseus was preemi- 
 nent among the heroes as an orator. "When he 
 uttered his great voice from his chest, and words 
 like unto the snowflakes of winter, then no mortal man 
 could contend with Odysseus." Into the mouth of 
 Odysseus Homer puts this estimate of the value of elo- 
 quence: "The gods do not give every gracious gift to 
 all, neither shapeliness, nor wisdom, nor skilled speech. 
 For one man is feebler than another in presence, yet 
 the gods crown his words with beauty, and men behold 
 
 33f 
 
34^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 him and rejoice, and his speech runs surely on his way 
 with sweet modesty, and he shines forth among the 
 gathering of the people, and as he passes through the 
 town men gaze on him as a god." In later times it 
 was the impassioned appeal of Solon that stirred the 
 Athenians to renew the struggle for the possession of 
 Salamis. The influence of Themistocles is expressly 
 attributed to his ready oratory ; and without his remark- 
 able gift of persuasion, to which his contemporaries 
 bear ample witness, Pericles could not have swayed to 
 his will for over thirty years the fickle Athenian 
 democracy. 
 
 But during all this time eloquence was considered 
 an unusual gift, and its triumphs were due to the 
 imposing personality of the speaker, an impressive 
 manner of delivery, and the force of the facts pre- 
 sented, rather than to the arts of rhetoric. Oratory 
 had not yet come to be regarded as an art, nor were 
 the effects of speech upon an audience studied with 
 the conscious purpose of enhancing them by improving 
 the style and composition. But with the growth of 
 democratic institutions and the spread of education % 
 among the masses, the importance of a skilful arrange- 
 ment of the thoughts to be presented before the popular 
 assemblies and the courts of law and of a perspicuous 
 and vigorous style was more clearly recognized. The \ 
 cultivation of oratory as an art and the rise of rhet- 
 oric was the result. In communities where absolute " 
 freedom of speech was allowed and where the populace 
 had been accustomed for generations to hear and 
 criticise the works of the greatest poets, as at Athens, 
 the demands made upon the public speaker grew 
 apace. The quick-witted audience reacted promptly 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 341 
 
 and powerfully upon the speaker. A neatly-phrased 
 maxim, a novel turn of expression, a clever parry of an 
 objection, striking collocations of words, figures of 
 thought and of speech — such things delighted the ear 
 and won applause and success. In the last quarter of 
 the fifth century the tendency toward a highly devel- 
 oped rhetoric set in strongly. It exercised a marked 
 influence upon tragedy, as is seen especially in the 
 dialogue portions of the plays of Euripides, and is 
 clearly observed in the speeches in Thucydides. 
 
 Oratory as a branch of literature was developed 
 under the influence of two classes of teachers, the 
 sophists and the rhetoricians, although the former term 
 was often applied to the latter class also. The sophists 
 ("wise men," "teachers of wisdom") were professional 
 teachers of all the branches which tended to fit the 
 youth for a successful public life. Public speaking 
 was 'naturally included. The principal sophists who 
 taught in Athens were all aliens — i. e., non-Attic 
 Greeks: Protagoras of Abdera, Prodicus of Ceos, 
 Thrasymachus of Calcedon, and Hippias of Elis. They 
 were clever rather than profound, and the "art of 
 speech" which they taught rested upon a superficial 
 and often disingenuous method of argumentation by 
 which they professed to be able "to make the worse 
 argument appear the better." By their ostentatious 
 dress and manner, the high fees which they charged, 
 their subtlety and shallowness, and also because they 
 were innovators from abroad, great prejudice was 
 aroused against them on the part of the old-fashioned 
 and the more thoughtful Athenians. Men like Socrates, 
 who employed similar methods to some extent, but who 
 was in no sense a professional teacher, shared in the 
 
342 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 reproach which came to attach to the name of ** soph- 
 ist," although the name itself was honorable enough. 
 
 It was in Sicily, however, and not in Athens, that the 
 theory of rhetoric was first developed. The social and 
 political conditions there were in many points similar 
 to those in Athens in the latter half of the fifth century. 
 For the practical purpose of meeting the needs of 
 people who had to plead cases before the law courts, 
 Corax wrote a manual, developed later by a pupil, 
 Tisias, through whom it came to Athens. Besides 
 some hints on arguments, this manual gave little but 
 elementary instruction as to the parts into which 
 a speech should be divided. But the greatest impulse 
 which Athenian oratory received from Sicily came from 
 an accomplished speaker, Gorgias of Leontini, who 
 came on a mission to Athens in 427 B. C. His brilliant 
 style made a deep impression on the Athenians, who, 
 largely through his persuasion, ventured upon the dis- 
 astrous Sicilian expedition. 
 
 The teachings of the sophists and the influence of 
 the Sicilian school of rhetoric brought oratory to the 
 level of a department of literature through the profes- 
 sional speech-writers of Athens. The Athenian who 
 was obliged to prosecute or defend a case before the 
 court could not employ a lawyer to speak for him, but 
 had to speak for himself. If he had no skill in oratory, 
 he employed a professional speech-writer to prepare 
 a speech for him. This he committed to memory and 
 delivered as his own, but the real author, to further 
 his own interests, published the composition under his 
 own name. A large proportion of the extant orations 
 owe their origin and their preservation to this custom. 
 The skill of the speech-writer was shown not only in 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 343 
 
 the disposition and arrangement of the subjects which 
 his client was to bring before the court, and the style 
 and diction of the speech, but also in his adaptation 
 both of subject-matter and of style to the individuality 
 of the client. Most of the speech-writers were accom- 
 plished orators themselves; but qualities of another 
 kind were needed to make the orator a successful 
 pleader by proxy. 
 
 The later Greek critics drew up a canon of ten 
 Attic orators, the greatest of whom was Demosthenes. 
 Before considering him, we must pass briefly in review 
 the lesser names, some of which are of great signifi- 
 cance in the development of Attic oratory. The earli- 
 est was Antiphon, whom Thucydides considered the 
 greatest orator of the day. He was deeply interested 
 in the political movements of Athens, and was tried 
 and executed in 411 B. C. for his participation in the 
 revolution of the Four Hundred. Of the fifteen extant 
 speeches twelve are rhetorical exercises, sketches of 
 speeches which might be delivered in imaginary cases 
 of homicide, two on each side. The other three were 
 written for real causes, the best being On the Murder 
 of Her odes ^ a defense of a young man from Mytilene 
 charged with the murder of Herodes, an Athenian. 
 In Antiphon the art of the speech-writer is not very 
 highly developed. Little is said about the evidence, 
 but a great deal about the improbability of the 
 charge. His style was vigorous and elaborate, but not 
 easy and graceful. No attempt was made to adapt 
 the speeches to the personality of the client who deliv- 
 ered them. 
 
 Unlike Antiphon, Andocides was not a professional 
 writer of speeches nor especially trained in the 
 
344 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 schools of rhetoric. Our interest in him is largely 
 personal, for he was involved in the scandal of the 
 mutilation of the Hermse/ which so shocked and terri- 
 fied Athens in 415 B. C. He went into exile, and was 
 restored to citizenship only by the general amnesty of 
 402 B. C. In 411 he unsuccessfully applied for a par- 
 don, delivering a speech, On the Return^ which is still 
 extant. The old charges were revived against him in 
 399 B. C, but he defended himself successfully in the 
 speech On the Mysteries^ in which his best qualities as 
 an orator are exhibited. A third speech is preserved. 
 On the Peace with Sparta^ being a report of the results 
 of an embassy on which he was sent in 390 B. C. 
 
 Lysias, one of the most perfect of all writers of 
 Attic prose, was born at Athens about 440 B. C. His 
 father was a citizen of Syracuse, so that the son could 
 not become an Athenian citizen except by a special 
 enactment. Political reasons prevented such action 
 in his case. After spending some years in southern 
 Italy, he removed to Athens in 412 B. C, where he con- 
 tinued to live, excepting a brief period of exile in 404 
 B. C, until his death at the age of eighty. During 
 the reign of terror under the Thirty Tyrants his prop- 
 erty and that of his brother was confiscated, and his 
 brother put to death, Lysias barely escaping with his 
 life. On his return, after the restoration of the 
 democracy, he delivered his most famous speech, 
 Against Eratosthenes^ one of the Thirty who was directly 
 
 ^Statues of Hermes, which stood before the private houses and public 
 buildings. One night, just before the fleet was to sail for Sicily, all these 
 statues were mutilated. It was the sacrilege of this act, and the suspicion 
 that it was the work of conspirators, which caused the consternation of the 
 populace. Stories were then circulated that some of the young men had 
 committed another act of sacrilege — the revealing of the sacred rites con- 
 nected with the mysteries of Eleusis. Alcibiades, one of the Athenian gen- 
 erals in charge of the Sicilian Expedition, was implicated in these scandals 
 and obliged to go into exile. 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 345 
 
 responsible for his brother's execution — the only ora- 
 tion which we know to have been delivered at Athens 
 by Lysias himself. One other oration, of which only 
 a fragment is preserved, he delivered at the festival 
 at Olympia in 388 B. C, urging all the Greeks to 
 unite against their common enemies. The rest of the 
 orations still preserved, thirty-two in number, were 
 written for others to deliver. As a speech-writer 
 Lysias won unprecedented success. He probably took 
 up this profession on account of the loss of his prop- 
 erty, and must have been constantly employed, for 
 over two hundred speeches by him were known in 
 antiquity. The qualities in which he excelled were 
 his simplicity and lucidity of style, his purity of 
 diction, and especially his skillful adaptation of both 
 style and matter to the character and condition of 
 the speaker. He was a good student of human nature, 
 knowing how to put his client into sympathy with his 
 hearers at the outset, employing all the resources of 
 his art to conciliate and to persuade, yet at the same 
 time concealing his art by indulging in no rhetoric 
 which would betray the speech-writer behind the 
 speaker. 
 
 With Isocrates we come to an orator of an alto- 
 gether dififerent type. While Lysias was eminently 
 practical, Isocrates aimed not at practical results but 
 at a literary reputation. He was also a fashionable 
 teacher, receiving large fees for his services, so that 
 the term * 'sophist" was correctly applied to him, 
 although he felt that he was far above the common 
 level of the class, for he was a creative artist as well as 
 a teacher. Born at Athens in 436 B. C, he studied 
 under the greatest sophists of the day, and had some 
 
34^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 connection with the circle of Socrates. He lacked the 
 courage and physical vigor to enter upon a public 
 career, and devoted himself at first to writing speeches 
 for others. Six orations of this class are preserved. 
 He then became a teacher of rhetoric, numbering 
 among his pupils many of the eminent statesmen, his- 
 torians, orators, and tragic poets of the next genera- 
 tion. His reputation as a teacher, however, was more 
 than equaled by his fame as a writer of artistic prosCc 
 He brought the florid, periodic style to perfection. 
 He was not content with purity of diction, well- 
 rounded, sonorous periods, and the use of the various 
 figures of speech; he gave to his prose the further 
 advantage of rhythms, especially at the close of his 
 periods, and carefully avoided the concurrence of 
 vowels between words, which gave an effect displeasing 
 to the ear. The style perfected by him became the 
 model fqr later Greek prose, formed the basis of 
 Cicero's style, and, through Cicero, has influenced 
 modern Uterary prose. But the orations of Isocrates 
 are monuments of style rather than of thought. They 
 were written for display, and suffer from the defects 
 in substance incident to merely epideictic composition. 
 We feel that the political doctrines on which he expends 
 so much skill were but a literary pretense. The most 
 brilliant of his writings is the Panegyricus^ intended 
 for delivery at the gathering {panegyris) of the Greeks 
 at Olympia, on the elaboration of which he is said to 
 have spent ten years. In it he develops the idea 
 which he cherished through life — the necessity of the 
 united action of all the Greeks against the Persian 
 Empire. Of the twenty-one orations extant the 
 majority belong to the same class as the Fanegyricus^ 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 347 
 
 of which the Areopagiticus^ a plea for the restoration 
 of its ancient functions to the Court of the Areopagus, 
 may be especially mentioned. Isocrates died, at an 
 advanced age, in 338 B. C, just after the battle of 
 Chaeronea.* 
 
 Isaeus was a contemporary of Isocrates, but his ora- 
 tions place him rather in the same class with Lysias. 
 He was a speech-writer by profession, and devoted 
 himself particularly to cases involving the laws of 
 inheritance. Eleven of his orations are preserved. 
 They all deal with abstruse and complex legal ques- 
 tions, and are of the highest importance for our knowl- 
 edge both of Athenian family life and of the laws of 
 intestate succession. Isaeus combined a clear and 
 forceful style with complete technical mastery of his 
 subject, and, as the first great artist of forensic con- 
 troversy, may be regarded as a forerunner of Demos- 
 thenes. 
 
 -^schines was born of respectable Attic parents in 
 389 B, C, being a few years older than his great rival, 
 Demosthenes. His father was obliged by poverty to 
 fit his son for a useful rather than a public career. 
 After the usual military service, in which he acquitted 
 himself honorably, iEschines became a clerk in some 
 government office. The possession of an excellent 
 voice and a good presence, however, directed him to 
 the stage, where he spent a number of years as a tragic 
 actor, taking roles of minor importance. Returning 
 again to his clerical office, he gradually made his way, 
 by means of influence and of his native ability, to 
 
 »The story that he committed suicide is probably a fable. Milton refers 
 to it in the lines : 
 
 "That dishbnest victory 
 At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty, 
 Killed with report that old man eloquent." 
 
34^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 a position of some importance in political life. He 
 was sent on several embassies, twice as a colleague 
 of Demosthenes. He was bitterly attacked for his 
 part in the mission to Philip of Macedon, which 
 resulted in the peace of Philocrates (346), and defended 
 himself first in the oration Against Timarchus (345), 
 and again against Demosthenes in the speech On the 
 Embassy (343), both of which are still extant. On the 
 latter occasion he narrowly escaped conviction. 
 A bitter feud with Demosthenes was the result. When, 
 in 336 B. C, Ctesiphon proposed that Demosthenes\ 
 should receive a golden crown from the state in recog- \ 
 nition of his public services, -^schines opposed the 
 motion in the oration Against Ctesiphon^ an elaborate 
 and eloquent attack upon the whole life and public 
 conduct of his rival. The attack failed, and -^schines, 
 who received less than one-fifth of the votes cast, 
 chose to leave Athens rather than submit to the heavy 
 fine which was imposed in such cases. As a represen- 
 tative of the Macedonian party in Athens and an 
 opponent of the patriotic policy of Demosthenes, 
 ./Eschines fails to win our sympathy and respect; but 
 it cannot be denied that he was an orator of first-rate 
 ability and of brilliant natural gifts, probably the 
 greatest orator of his time after Demosthenes, The 
 three extant orations were published as a vindication 
 of his conduct. He had not received the elaborate 
 training of Demosthenes, nor did he look upon oratory 
 as a profession. He seems generally to have spoken 
 extempore. He excels in brilliant narrative rather 
 than in close argumentation ; but there is a lack of the 
 conviction, moral earnestness, and high patriotic 
 motives that distinguish Demosthenes. 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 349 
 
 The patriotic party at Athens received the sup- 
 port of two other of the ten great orators of the canon, 
 Hypereides and Lycurgus. The former was a man of 
 wealth and influence and an orator of the highest 
 order. His speeches reveal the simplicity and grace 
 of Lysias, but lack the passion and fire of Demosthenes. 
 He cultivated the easy, conversational style in address- 
 ing the jury (for the custom had arisen of allowing 
 friends of the parties directly interested in a case to 
 make supplementary speeches), thus adopting the 
 tactics of the modern lawyer. There is a refinement 
 in the tone of his speeches which is often wanting in 
 Demosthenes, especially in referring to his opponents. 
 He became an opponent of Demosthenes after the 
 latter had adopted a conciliatory policy toward Alex- 
 ander. A considerable portion of the speech Against 
 Demosthenes is preserved, in which a serious charge of 
 bribing is brought against the latter. This and five 
 other orations have been discovered on papyrus frag- 
 ments found in Egypt at various times since 1847, the 
 latest in 1892. Among these is a large portion of the 
 Funeral Oration on the soldiers who fell in the Lamian 
 war (322 B. C), regarded in antiquity as the most 
 perfect oration of its kind. Only one oration of 
 Lycurgus, the remarkable statesman who had charge 
 of the Athenian finances from 338 to 326, is extant. 
 By the force of his character and intellectual attain- 
 ments he gained a place among the Ten Orators, 
 although he did not cultivate oratory for its own sake. 
 The last of the Ten Orators in the canon was 
 Deinarchus, a* Corinthian by birth, a supporter of the 
 party which opposed Demosthenes and favored Philip 
 of Macedon. Three of his speeches are prcsr?rved. 
 
350 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 We come now to the greatest orator of antiquity. 
 Demosthenes was born in 384 B. C. His father, 
 a wealthy manufacturer of weapons, died when he was 
 seven years old. Discovering at an early age that his 
 inheritance had greatly diminished through either 
 the dishonesty or the mismanagement of his guardians, 
 he determined to become an orator, that he might 
 himself gain redress through the courts of law. He 
 seemed little fitted either by nature or by his education 
 to become a public speaker. His voice was weak and 
 he lisped, and his manner was awkward. He had been 
 allowed to neglect outdoor sports and the training of 
 the gymnasium, which constituted an important part 
 of the education of the Athenian youth. With indom- 
 itable determination he applied himself to overcome 
 these defects. We are told that he declaimed with 
 pebbles in his mouth to correct the lisping, spoke 
 against the roar of the breakers to gain voice and pres- 
 ence of mind in the face of a tumult, confined himself 
 for long periods to an underground chamber in study, 
 took lessons in delivery from a famous actor and in 
 legal argumentation from llsaeus. At the age of 
 twenty he prosecuted his guardians and obtained a 
 verdict. The four speeches which grew out of these 
 cases. Against Aphobus and Onetor^ are still preserved. 
 
 But his patrimony was so impaired that he became 
 a professional speech-writer. His activity in this 
 direction was confined to the next fifteen years. 
 Thirty-two private orations are preserved, of which 
 only about one-third, including the four above men- 
 tioned, are considered genuine. The speech For 
 Phormio is considered the best of this class. Mean- 
 while he began to take part in public affairs. Before 
 
DEMOSTHENES. 
 Portrait Statne, Vatican Museum, Rome. 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 351 
 
 appearing before the public assembly, however, he 
 came before the courts and the Senate in cases involv- 
 ing public interests. The speeches On the Naval Crown 
 (359), Against Androtion (355) and Timocrates were 
 written for others to deliver. His first appearance in 
 person in a public prosecution was in 354, with the 
 speech Against Leptines^ a brilliant effort, in which he 
 defends the policy of rewarding by exempting from 
 special taxation citizens who have deserved well of 
 their country. The speech Against Aristocrates (352) 
 introduces him to matters of foreign policy. The 
 speech Against Meidias (349), who had assaulted 
 Demosthenes in the theatre while the latter was dis- 
 charging his duties as choregus, was never delivered, 
 but shows at least how the young reformer had already 
 got himself hated. 
 
 Meanwhile Demosthenes had steadily pushed for- 
 ward into active participation in the affairs of the 
 state. In the speeches before the Assembly On the 
 Navy Boards (354), For Megalopolis (352), and For the 
 Rhodians (351) he advocated administrative reforms 
 and a more vigorous foreign policy. But his real 
 strength was not shown until, in a succession of nine 
 speeches, he warned Athens of the great danger that 
 threatened her and all Hellas from the north in the 
 person of Philip, king of Macedon, who had gradually 
 been enlarging his dominions and was now threatening 
 some of the Athenian possessions. The First Philippic 
 (351) was followed by the three Olynthiac orations 
 (349-8). Olynthus, the most powerful Greek city in 
 the north, the head of a strong confederacy of cities, 
 was threatened by Philip. Demosthenes, realizing 
 that the interests of free Greece were vitally concerned 
 
352 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 in its safety, urged the Athenians to send a strong 
 force of troops to its assistance. He failed, however, 
 to convince Athens of the gravity of the situation and 
 to arouse her to put forth all her strength at the critical 
 moment. 
 
 Olynthus fell in the year 348. Philip now directed 
 his attention southward. By his admission to the 
 Amphictyonic Council in 346 he became a Greek 
 power, and by his diplomacy and intrigue won a strong 
 party of supporters in Athens itself. Demosthenes at 
 first, in the oration On the Peace (346), supported the 
 treaty of peace that was concluded with Philip, he 
 himself, with -^schines, having taken part in the 
 embassy which had arranged the terms. But he soon 
 saw through the designs of Philip, and renewed his 
 attacks upon him in the Second Philippic (344), On the 
 Chersonese^ and the Third Philippic (341). The oration 
 On the Embassy (343) was directed against .^schines, 
 who was charged with having betrayed the interests of 
 Athens in the mission which resulted in the peace of 
 346. So step by step Demosthenes, who was now the 
 acknowledged leader of the anti-Macedonian party, 
 opposed the designs of Philip with all the fervor of his 
 oratory. The conflict broke out into open warfare in 
 340. Demosthenes succeeded in prevailing upon 
 Thebes to join Athens in the field against Philip. The 
 decisive battle was fought at Chaeronea in 338. Philip 
 inflicted a crushing defeat upon the allies. Demos- 
 thenes took part in the battle and fled with the rest. 
 
 After the defeat at Chaeronea Demosthenes was 
 chosen to deliver the funeral oration over the fallen. 
 The blow which overthrew the liberties of Athens did 
 not break his spirit. He courageously faced the situ- 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 353 
 
 ation, and contributed both time and money to improv- 
 ing the affairs of the state. For his services Ctesi- 
 phon proposed that the city should crown him with a 
 golden crown at the City Dionysia. -^schines opposed 
 the motion by bringing action against Ctesiphon for 
 making an illegal proposal. For some reason the case 
 was not tried before the people until the year 330. 
 Demosthenes defended Ctesiphon in his masterpiece, 
 the oration On the Crown^ in which he reviewed his 
 own line of conduct, -^schines was defeated and 
 obliged to leave Athens. In the last period of his life 
 the leadership gradually passed out of the hands of 
 Demosthenes. He was charged with having received 
 money from Harpalus, the treasurer of Alexander, who 
 had absconded to Athens. He claimed that he had 
 used the money for the city, but the Areopagus inflicted 
 a heavy fine upon him, which he could not pay. He 
 accordingly went into exile. In 322 he took poison to 
 escape falling into the hands of the Macedonians, and 
 died on the island of Calauria, off the coast of Argolis. 
 To one who studies the growth of Athenian elo- 
 quence in the century that preceded the maturity of 
 Demosthenes, it seems that Greece had been preparing 
 the way all this time for her greatest and most perfect 
 orator, the champion of her liberty. The natural and 
 unimpeded growth which we have marked in other 
 branches of Greek literature is illustrated perhaps 
 nowhere so clearly as in oratory. The ancients found 
 in Antiphon the best representative of the grand style, 
 in Lysias of the simple style, and in Isocrates of the 
 middle style, best suited to rhetorical display. Each 
 had achieved success according to his ideals of art. 
 Furthermore, Isaeus had attained the mastery of the 
 
354 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 art of legal argumentation. These stages in the 
 growth of oratory were each built upon the founda- 
 tions laid by the earlier theoretical and practical 
 exponents of forensic rhetoric, and corresponded to 
 the external conditions of legal and public speaking 
 in each period. And finally Demosthenes, having at 
 his command all of the resources which his predeces- 
 sors had severally learned to employ, united in himself 
 all of the excellences of them all. But there was some- 
 thing more in his oratory than rhetorical excellence, 
 though he surpassed in wealth of vocabulary, variety 
 of expression, and melody of rhythm. He was intel- 
 lectually and morally the superior of any of his 
 contemporaries. These are the qualities which made 
 Demosthenes the far-sighted and loyal statesman. 
 His public speeches are penetrated with a lofty moral- 
 ity and a fervent patriotism, which, in spite of the 
 bitter and sometimes coarse invective which he too 
 often discharges against his adversaries, lift them to 
 a higher plane than that reached by any other orator in 
 antiquity. In tardy recognition of his self-sacrificing 
 patriotism, his fellow-citizens a generation after his 
 death set up a statue of him, bearing this inscription : 
 *'If thou hadst had strength equal to thy wisdom, 
 Demosthenes, never would the Ares of Macedon have 
 ruled over Hellenes." 
 
 It is impossible to gain an adequate idea of Demos- 
 thenes' style through the medium of any existing 
 English translation. A few selections will serve at 
 least to show his earnestness and some of the broader 
 features of his manner in the public orations. For 
 the other orations Kennedy's translation is used; for 
 the oration On the Crown that of Sir Robert Collier. 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 3S5 
 
 THE DANGER OF TRUSTING PHILIP 
 
 They who advise for the best cannot always gratify their 
 audience, though they would; for the safety of the state must 
 be attended to; their opponents, by the very counsel which is 
 agreeable, advance Philip's interest. One party required con- 
 tribution; the other said there was no necessity; one was for 
 war and mistrust; the other for peace, until they were ensnared. 
 And so on for everything else; not to dwell on particulars, the 
 one made speeches to please for the moment, and gave no 
 annoyance; the other offered salutary counsel that was offensive. 
 Many rights did the people surrender at last, not from any 
 such motive of indulgence or ignorance, but submitting in the 
 belief that all was lost. Which, by Zeus and Apollo, I fear 
 will be your case, when on calculation you see that nothing can 
 be done. I pray, men of Athens, it may never come to this! 
 Better die a thousand deaths than render homage to Philip, or 
 sacrifice any of your faithful counsellors. A fine recompense 
 have the people of Oreus got for trusting themselves to Philip's 
 friends and spuming Euphraeus! Finely are the Eretrian com- 
 mons rewarded for having driven away your ambassadors and 
 yielded to Clitarchus! Yes; they are slaves, exposed to the 
 lash and the torture. Finely he spared the Olynthians, who 
 appointed Lasthenes to command their horse and expelled 
 Apollonides! It is folly and cowardice to cherish such hopes, 
 and, while you take evil counsel and shirk every duty, and 
 even listen to those who plead tor your enemies, to think 
 you inhabit a city of such magnitude that you cannot suffer 
 any serious misfortune. Yea, and it is digraceful to exclaim 
 on any occurrence, when it is too late: "Who would have 
 expected it? However, this or that should have been done, 
 the other left undone." Many things could the Olynthians 
 mention now, which, if foreseen at the time, would have pre- 
 vented their destruction. Many could the Orites mention, 
 many the Phocians, and each of the ruined states. But what 
 would it avail them? As long as the vessel is safe, whether it 
 be great or small, the mariner, the pilot, every man in turn 
 should exert himself, and prevent its being overturned either 
 by accident or design; but when the sea hath rolled over it. 
 
35^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 their efforts are vain. And we likewise, O Athenians, whilst we 
 are safe, with a magnificent city, plentiful resources, lofty 
 reputation — what must we do? many of you, I dare say, have 
 been longing to ask. Well, then, I will tell you: I will move 
 a resolution; pass it if you please. 
 
 Third Philippic, 63-71. 
 
 THE ORATIONS ON THE CROWN 
 Demosthenes begins the oration On the Crown by 
 an appeal to the gods for a fair and impartial hearing. 
 Then, after briefly indicating the issues of the trial, of 
 vast importance to himself but involving no serious 
 consequences for -^schines, he introduces his answer 
 to the charges brought against his conduct by the 
 following impressive adjuration: 
 
 As I am, it appears, to render an account to-day both of 
 the whole of my private life and of my public conduct, I desire 
 once more to invoke the gods; and in your presence I here 
 implore them, in the first place, that whatever measure of good 
 will I have entertained to the stale and to you all, the same 
 may be meted to me upon this trial; and next, that you may be 
 guided to such a determination of this cause as may consist with 
 our country's honour and with the sacred duty of every juror. 
 
 The concluding words of the oration are no less- 
 impressive. I use Lord Brougham's rendering: 
 
 Let not, O gracious God, let not such conduct receive any 
 measure of sanction from thee! Rather plant even in these 
 men a better spirit and better feelings! But if they are wholly 
 incurable, then pursue them, yea, themselves by themselves, to 
 utter and untimely perdition, by land and by sea; and to us 
 who are spared vouchsafe to grant the speediest rescue from 
 our impending alarms, and an unshaken security. 
 
 For the sake of comparison, one of the most effect- 
 ive passages in the oration of ^schines, in which he 
 holds Demosthenes up to scorn, is introduced here 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 357 
 
 side by side with a passage from the speech of 
 Demosthenes, in which the latter pays his respects to 
 ^schines: 
 
 O thou, who on every occasion of great and important 
 action hast proved of all mankind the most worthless, in the 
 insolence of language the most astonishing, canst thou attempt, 
 in the face of these thy fellow-citizens, to claim the honor of a 
 crown for the misfortunes into which thou hast plunged thy 
 city? Or, should he claim it, can you restrain your indignation, 
 and has the memory of your slaughtered countrymen perished 
 with them? Indulge me for a moment, and imagine that you 
 are now not in this tribunal, but in the theatre, imagine that you 
 see the herald approaching and the proclamation prescribed 
 in this decree on the point of being delivered, and then con- 
 sider whether the friends of the deceased will shed more tears 
 at the tragedies, at the pathetic stories of the great characters 
 to be presented on the stage, or at the insensibility of their 
 country? What inhabitant of Greece, what human creature, 
 who has imbibed the least share of liberal sentiments, must 
 not feel the deepest sorrow when he reflects on one transaction 
 which he must have seen in the theatre, when he remembers, 
 if he remembers nothing else, that on festivals like these, when 
 the tragedies were to be presented (in those times when the 
 state was well governed and directed by faithful ministers), a 
 herald appeared, and introducing those orphans whose fathers 
 had died in battle, now arrived at maturity, and dressed in com- 
 plete armor, made a proclamation the most noble and the most 
 effectual to excite the mind to glorious actions; that these 
 youths, whose fathers lost their lives in fighting bravely for their 
 country, the people had maintained to this their age of maturity; 
 that now, having furnished them with complete suits of armor, 
 they dismiss them, with prayers for their prosperity, to attend 
 to their respective afifairs, and invite them to aspire to the 
 highest offices of the state. Such were the proclamations in old 
 times, but such are not now heard. And were the herald to intro- 
 duce the person who had made these children orphans, what 
 could he say or what could he proclaim? Should he speak in 
 the form prescribed in this decree, yet the odious truth would 
 still force itself upon you; it would seem to strike your ears 
 
358 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 with a language dififerent from that of the herald. It would 
 tell you that the Athenian people crowned this man, who 
 scarcely deserves the name of a man, on account of his virtue, 
 though a wretch the most abandoned, and on account of his 
 magnanimity, though a coward and a deserter of his post. Do 
 not, Athenians, I conjure you by all the powers of heaven, 
 do not erect a trophy in your theatre to perpetuate your own 
 disgrace. Do not expose the weak conduct of your country in 
 the presence of the Greeks, do not recall all their grievous and 
 desperate misfortunes to the minds of the wretched Thebans, 
 who, when driven from their habitations by this man, were 
 received within these walls, whose temples, whose children, 
 whose sepulchral monuments were destroyed by the corrup- 
 tion of Demosthenes and the Macedonian gold. 
 
 iEschines, Against Ctesiphon^ 152-157, 
 
 Compare this passage from Demosthenes: 
 
 Contrast then, iCschines, calmly and dispassionately, the 
 principal incidents of our respective lives, and put it to the 
 audience, whose fortune would each of them take for a choice. 
 You were a schoolmaster, I a scholar; you performed initia- 
 tions, I was initiated; you danced in the chorus, I paid the 
 dancers; you sat as clerk, I spoke in the assemblies; you acted 
 third parts, I was a spectator; you broke down, I hissed. All 
 your public conduct has been in the interest of our enemies; 
 mine of my country. Omitting other subjects of comparison, 
 let us come to this very day; my merits are being considered, 
 and it is admitted by general consent that I have done no 
 wrong. You have come to be regarded as a calumniator; nay, 
 more, you run a serious risk of failing to obtain one-fifth of 
 the votes, and being incapacitated from calumniating again. 
 Such is the brilliant fortune, observe you, which has attended 
 your life, and which inspires you with such contempt of mine! 
 Come, now, let me read to you all the public testimonials 
 relating to the office which I have filled; and by way of coun- 
 terblast do you recite to us the quotations which you murdered: 
 
 " I come from darkness and the gates of Hell." 
 And- 
 
 " Unwillingly I bring the news of ill." 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 359 
 
 111 betide you, say I — may you be confounded for a vile 
 
 citizen and bad actor by gods above and men below! [To the 
 
 clerk.] Read the testimonies. 
 
 On the Crown, 265-268. 
 
 In the following noble appeal Demosthenes main- 
 tains that the course of wisdom is always the course 
 of honor, whatever the outcome may be : 
 
 What is past and gone is, by general consent, thrown aside; 
 there is little use in even discussing it; the future it is or the 
 present which calls for the action of the statesman. At that time 
 some calamity seemed impending; others had already befallen 
 us. By the existing circumstances judge my policy, instead 
 of reproaching me with the event. The issue of all things is 
 in the hands of Providence; the choice of measures it is which 
 indicates the sagacity of the statesman. Impute it not as a 
 crime to me if it was Philip's fortune to conquer in battle; the 
 event of the battle was not in my hands, but in the hands of 
 God. That I did not conceive all the expedients which human 
 foresight could suggest, that I did not put them into practice 
 honestly, diligently, and with exertions beyond my strength, or 
 that I did not adopt an honorable policy, worthy of the State 
 and necessary to its preservation — show me this, and accuse 
 me if you will. But if the tempest that has swept over us has 
 been too strong, not only for ourselves but for all the other 
 states of Greece — what then? You might as well hold the ship- 
 owner, who has taken all precautions and furnished every 
 necessary equipment, answerable for the wreck of his vessel 
 if her tackle were broken or torn in pieces by a storm! "But 
 I did not pilot the vessel," he might say; no more did I lead 
 your troops to battle. I was not the disposer of Fortune. For- 
 tune is the disposer of all things 
 
 Why, if right were done, the man who has made the 
 calamities of Greece the capital on which to found his reputa- 
 tion ought to perish, instead of being an accuser; that man can 
 be no friend to his country who has profited by the same con- 
 junctures as his enemies. That this is so you make manifest 
 by your life, by your actions, by the part which you take in 
 public affairs, and, what is more, by the part which you do not 
 
360 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 take. Is anyt'ning on foot which promises public advantage? 
 iCschines is mute. Has anything gone wrong and taken a turn 
 adverse to your interests? iEschines is ready for action; as 
 old fractures and sprains become painful afresh when the body 
 is attacked by disease. 
 
 But as he bases his invective so much on the event, I will 
 venture on an assertion which may appear somewhat para- 
 doxical. By all the Heavenly Powers be not amazed at my 
 audacity, but give me your favorable attention. I affirm, then, 
 that if the future had been apparent to us all; if all men had 
 foreseen it; if you, ^schines, had foretold it and proclaimed 
 it at the top of your voice instead of preserving total silence, 
 nevertheless the State ought not to have deviated from her 
 course, if she had regard to her own honor, the traditions of 
 the past, or the judgment of posterity. As it is, she is looked 
 upon as having been unsuccessful in her policy — the lot of all 
 mankind when such is the will of Heaven; but if, claiming to 
 be the foremost state in Greece, she had deserted her post, she 
 would have incurred the reproach of betraying all Greece to 
 
 Philip But counsels such as these were intolerable 
 
 to the Athenians of those former days — opposed to their tradi- 
 tions, alien to their nature — nor in all time has any man ever 
 succeeded in persuading this country to side with powerful 
 wrong-doers and to embrace secure slavery; but our whole 
 national existence has been one continual struggle for the 
 foremost place in the career of glory and renown. How sacred 
 you deem these sentiments, how consonant with the genius 
 of your country, you yourselves testify by the veneration in 
 which you hold the memories of your ancestors who have 
 acted upon them. And you are in the right; for who can 
 withhold admiration from the heroism of those men who had 
 the resolution to leave this city and their fatherland, and to 
 embark on shipboard, rather than submit to the dictation of 
 a foreign power, choosing Themistocles, the adviser of the 
 measure, for their commander, and stoning to death Cyrsilus, 
 who counselled submission to the imperial mandates? Stoning 
 him, do I say? why, your very wives stoned his wife! The 
 Athenians of those days went not in quest of an orator or 
 general who could help them to prosperous Slavery; but they 
 
The Orators. Demosthenes 361 
 
 scorned life itself, if it were not the life of freedom. Each of 
 them regarded himself as the child, not only of his father and 
 of his mother, but of his country. And what is the difference? 
 He who regards himself as the child of his parents only awaits 
 the approach of death m the ordinary course of nature, but he 
 who regards himself as the child also of his country will be 
 ready to lay down his life rather than see her enslaved, and 
 will deem the insults and indignities to which the citizens of a 
 subjected state must needs submit more terrible than death. 
 
 On the Crown, 192-206. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 PHILOSOPHICAL PROSE. PLATO 
 
 The Separation of Natural Philosophy from Mythology — The 
 Protest of Xenophanes — The Pre-Socratic Speculations 
 and the Sophists — Socrates, his Life and Teachings — 
 Plato — The Foundation of the Academy — The Dialogue 
 ■ as a Branch of Prose Literature — The Personality of Soc- 
 rates in the Platonic Writings — Sketch of the Principal 
 Dialogues — Plato's Style — Selections: Socrates* Views 
 about Death — The Death of Socrates — A Summer After- 
 noon on the Ilissus— Stories about Socrates. 
 
 The mythological system of the early Greeks, first 
 worked out and reduced to a system by the poets, 
 especially by Hesiod, included not only a theology but 
 also a cosmogony. The origin of the universe was 
 explained in accordance with the prevalent conception 
 of the nature and attributes of the gods. In other 
 words, the agencies of -nature were personified and the 
 phenomena of the physical world were but the outward 
 manifestations of the activities of the gods, each work- 
 ing in his appropriate sphere. But this system did not 
 long satisfy the more thoughtful minds of Greece. In 
 the sixth century men began to look for a more rational 
 explanation of nature, for some fundamental principles 
 which would account for the origin of the visible world 
 without recourse to the gods. Thus natural philosophy, 
 out of which grew the natural sciences on the one hand 
 and philosophy and ethics on the other, became sepa- 
 rated from theology. The first clear protest against 
 the traditional and current anthropomorphic religion, 
 
 36a 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 3^3 
 
 with its low standards of conduct, is found in the 
 verses of the poet Xenophanes, who flourished toward 
 the middle of the sixth century. Lawton has thus 
 translated his memorable hexameters: 
 
 Everything is ascribed to the gods by Hesiod and Homer, 
 Whatsoever among mankind is shameful and wicked. 
 Numberless lawless deeds of the gods by them are recorded, 
 Thievishness, unchastity, ay, and deceit of each other! 
 Still men hold the belief that the gods were born and 
 
 begotten, 
 Wear such garb as themselves, and have like bodies and 
 
 vices 
 
 Yet it is certain, if hands were bestowed upon oxen or lions, 
 If with their bands they could draw, and the works of men 
 
 should accomplish, — 
 Horses like unto horses, and oxen in likeness of oxen, 
 So would they draw their figures of gods, and fashion the 
 
 bodies, 
 Like in every way to their own! 
 
 Greek philosophy had its origin not in Greece 
 proper, but in the colonies of Ionia and southern 
 Italy. We cannot attempt here to mention the found- 
 ers of the various schools, or to outline their theories 
 as to the origin of the universe — matters which belong 
 properly to the history of Greek philosophy rather than 
 to the history of literature. They wrote some in verse 
 and others in prose, but only scanty fragments of 
 their writings have come down to us. The first of the 
 pre-Socratic philosophers who exercised an important 
 influence upon Attic literature was Anaxagoras of 
 Clazomenae, in Asia Minor, who resided in Athens for 
 many years during the age of Pericles and contributed 
 largely to the intellectual awakening which character- 
 ized the end of the fifth century. He was banished 
 
364 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 from Athens in 431 for impiety, one of the charges 
 against him being that he declared the sun to be a clod 
 and not a god. Then followed the sophists, of whose 
 influence on the development of artistic prose dis- 
 course we have already spoken. They were not inter- 
 ested in the speculations about the origin of things so 
 much as in the practical questions of ethics, politics, 
 and knowledge in general. Their influence on the 
 spirit of the time in breaking up the old faith and in 
 transforming education was enormous. 
 
 So the way was paved for Socrates, the greatest 
 figure in the history of Greek thought. Though he 
 contributed nothing to Greek literature directly, yet 
 his influence as a teacher upon the philosophical liter- 
 ature of the ancient world was so profound that we 
 may well pause a moment to review his life and teach- 
 ings. Born in 469 B. C. , he followed at first his father's 
 trade as a sculptor. Soon, however, he devoted him- 
 self to ethical speculation. He did not, like the soph- 
 ists, teach for pay, but mingled freely with all men in 
 the streets, in the market-place, or in the gymnasia — 
 in short, wherever he could find an audience. He 
 conceived that he had a divine call to question men 
 as to their beliefs, and thus to awaken in them first 
 a consciousness of their own ignorance and then 
 a desire for real knowledge. His method was that of 
 question and answer, or dialectic. By this process he 
 sought to obtain clearer notions of virtue and knowl- 
 edge, framing tentative definitions by comparing 
 a number of specific cases involving the same general 
 term — that is, by the method of inductive reasoning. 
 In this way he proved that no one wittingly does 
 wrong, for right-doing is the only way to happiness, 
 
50>. 
 
 SOCRATES. 
 Portrait Bust, Naples Mnsentn. 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 365 
 
 and every man desires happiness. Therefore virtue 
 is the knowledge of what really conduces to happi- 
 ness — that is, wisdom. And the various qualities 
 which constitute virtue — for example, courage, piety, 
 and temperance — are determined by reference to what 
 is wise in the particular class of circumstances involved. 
 Thus, bravery depends upon the knowledge of what is 
 really dangerous and what is not, and so on. 
 
 Socrates' teachings covered the whole range of 
 practical ethics. He believed that every man should 
 contribute to the welfare of the state, and himself set 
 an example by taking part in several campaigns. His 
 course of life kept him in great poverty, but he had 
 trained himself " to want so little that he was never in 
 want." As to matters of religion he did not expressly 
 discard the old polytheism, but he held that there was 
 one supreme God, who ordered all things for good 
 and to whom men should look for guidance in matters 
 beyond their own range of knowledge. He believed 
 in the immortality of the soul, though he could not 
 prove the doctrine by reasoning. Socrates further 
 thought that he possessed a sort of inward monitor, 
 which he termed a deity, which never, indeed, told him 
 what course of action to follow, but checked him when 
 about to take a wrong step. The views which he 
 held were so original, his method of propagating them 
 so calculated to provoke the personal hostility of the 
 men whom he questioned and refuted, and his own 
 indifference both to the conventionalities of society 
 and to the accepted beliefs so frankly avowed, that he 
 early became an object of dislike to many. As early 
 as 423 "he was the object of attack of the Clouds oi 
 Aristophanes. The fact that some of his followers, as 
 
^66 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Alcibiades and Critias, became prominent as disturb- 
 ing factors in Athenian politics, increased the prejudice 
 against him. After the democratic reaction that fol- 
 lowed the revolution of 404, charges were brought 
 against him to the effect that he undermined religion 
 and corrupted the youth. He was tried, condemned, 
 and put to death in 399 B. C. 
 
 Our knowledge of Socrates is derived mainly from 
 the writings of his pupils, especially Xenophon and 
 Plato, through whom he comes to have a place in the 
 history of Greek literature. Plato, whose real name 
 was Aristocles, but who was called Plato from the 
 breadth of his shoulders, was probably born in 429, 
 the year of the death of Pericles. He received a lib- 
 eral education in the three branches, letters, music, 
 and athletics. He made the acquaintance of Socrates 
 and joined his followers when about twenty years of 
 age. After the death of his master he left Athens for 
 a time, spending several years in extensive travel and 
 in study. He visited the court of Dionysius I, tyrant 
 of Syracuse, but offended the monarch, and was sold 
 into slavery by a Spartan to whom Dionysius delivered 
 him. Ransomed by a friend, he returned, about 387 
 B. C, to Athens, where he purchased an estate north- 
 west of the city, near the precinct of the hero Acade- 
 mus, called the Academeia, or Academy — a grove 
 which contained promenades and a gymnasium. Here 
 he set up his school of philosophy. Men came from 
 all quarters of Greece to hear him. He limited his 
 hearers to a small number, and though he charged no 
 fee, he accepted presents. After ten years he 
 revisited Syracuse, hoping to make a model king out 
 of Dionysius II, who had succeeded to the tyranny 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 367 
 
 In this hope he was grievously disappointed and was 
 glad to escape to Athens again. Again he visited 
 Syracuse in order to reconcile the king with his friend 
 Dion, at whose invitation he had previously gone to 
 Syracuse but whom the tyrant had exiled. In thi^ 
 plan, too, he failed. He died at Athens about 347 B. C. 
 Plato is almost the only writer of antiquity whose 
 writings have come down to us complete. We have 
 forty-two dialogues under his name, of which some 
 twenty-five are probably genuine. This is not the 
 place to consider Plato's philosophical system; we can 
 at most give some idea of the subject-matter of his 
 principal works and define his place in the history of 
 literature. In the first place he adopted the dialogue 
 form of composition, and was the first to bring it to 
 perfection. He chose the dialogue, doubtless, in the 
 first instance, because it truthfully reproduced the 
 manner of Socrates* intercourse with his followers, 
 and retained it because the dialectic method suited 
 best his plan of philosophical inquiry and exposition. 
 We are told that in his youth he essayed not only other 
 branches of poetry but also tragedy. The dramatic 
 form of the dialogue undoubtedly appealed to his 
 artistic literary instincts. He graphically indicates 
 the scenery, draws his characters with realism and 
 fidelity, and develops the plot with all of the skill of 
 a dramatic artist. In fact the dialogue, in his hands, 
 takes a place in prose literature beside history and 
 oratory that corresponds closely to the position of 
 tragedy in poetry after the epic and lyric forms. But 
 some exceptions must be made as regards the dra- 
 matic form of the Platonic dialogues. Plato pays little 
 attention to chronological consistency in choosing his 
 
368 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 characters and fixing the time of action. In on^ 
 instance he makes Socrates, who died in 399, refer to 
 an event of the year 387. Again, in the later di<.^ 
 logues the dramatic elements are neglected an*l 
 become a mere frame for the discussion, which tends 
 to become a monologue. Two of Plato's works, the 
 Apology and the Menexenus^ are not dialogues, but 
 speeches. 
 
 It is to be observed, in the second place, that the 
 personality and the teachings of Socrates pervade all 
 of Plato's writings. Socrates is always one of the 
 characters in the dialogues, and it is he who is repre- 
 sented as delivering the two speeches. The doctrines 
 that are developed are always put in the mouth of 
 Socrates, and Plato never claims them as his own. 
 He mentions himself but twice. It is therefore 
 a question how far we are to suppose that the Socra- 
 tes of Plato is the real Socrates. We may believe that 
 he depicts the character and personality of his master 
 with essential fidelity, and truthfully exhibits his 
 methods of inquiry after truth. But the great philo- 
 sophical ideas* which are developed are those of Plato; 
 nor can we determine how largely he was indebted to 
 Socrates for the suggestions which led up to them. 
 Naturally the earlier dialogues contain more of Socra- 
 tes and less of Plato. 
 
 No chronological arrangement of Plato's dialogues 
 that has yet been proposed is entirely satisfactory. 
 Several attempts at a logical classification were made 
 in antiquity, the most valuable of which recognizes 
 
 *We may mention especially the Theory of Ideas, the Doctrine of Recol- 
 lection, and the Theory of Love, for the explanation of which we must refer 
 to the manuals of Greek philosophy, or to Professor Shorey's article on Plato 
 in Warner's Library of tne World's Best Literature. 
 
 1 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 369 
 
 two classes — the Dialogues of Search, in which Plato 
 attacks a problem from all sides, with only tentative, 
 or even negative, results; and the Dialogues of 
 Exposition, in which positive results are reached. 
 For literary study, however, a simpler grouping will be 
 convenient. Let us consider first the four pieces 
 which relate to the trial and death of Socrates, the 
 Euthyphro^ Apology^ Crito^ and Phado. In the first- 
 named Socrates, on his way to the trial, is represented 
 as meeting Euthyphro and engaging him in a discus- 
 sion on piety. The Apology is Plato's version of 
 Socrates' noble speech before the jurors. The first 
 part is the defense proper, followed by the proposal by 
 Socrates of the counter-penalty, and ending with an 
 address to the jurors after the rendering of the verdict. 
 In the Crito we find Socrates in prison. Crito, one of 
 his followers, visits him and tries to win his consent to 
 a plan of escape, but Socrates proves that he cannot, 
 as a good citizen, violate the laws of his country. 
 The PhcRdo contains an account of the last conversa- 
 tion and of the death of Socrates. The theme of the 
 conversation is the immortality of the soul. This 
 dialogue is the most famous of Plato's writings, not 
 only on account of the sublime picture of Socrates' 
 death, of a pathos unapproached in literature, but also 
 on account of the infinite importance for mankind of 
 the main subject. Five of the shorter dialogues in 
 the more intimate Socratic spirit may be grouped 
 together: the Lysis^ on friendship; the Charmides, on 
 chastity; the Laches^ on courage; the Hippias minor ^ 
 a comparison of Achilles and Odysseus; and the Ion, 
 an interesting discussion with a Homeric rhap&odist. 
 In four dialogues the attitude of Socrates toward 
 
370 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 the sophists is illustrated. These are the Protagoras^ 
 Gorgias^ Euthydemus, and Cratylus, each named after 
 the sophist with whom Socrates holds a discussion. 
 The Protagoras is one of Plato's masterpieces as a 
 dramatic dialogue. With fine irony the arrogance and 
 empty pretensions of the sophists as a class, illustrated 
 by their principal representative, are exposed. The 
 subject of the debate is the possibility of teaching 
 virtue. No decision is reached, but the subject is 
 taken up again in the Meno, in which the proposition 
 is defended that virtue is knowledge, and that knowl- 
 edge is but a recollection of what the soul knew in 
 a previous existence — a doctrine familiar to us from 
 Wordsworth's Ode on Intimations of Immortality from 
 Recollections of Early Childhood^ and used again by 
 Plato in the Phcedo. The Gorgias is directed against 
 the pretensions of the rhetoricians, represented by the 
 great Sicilian, but discusses some of the higher ques- 
 tions of ethics. For example, the Christian doctrine 
 is maintained that it is a greater evil to do than to 
 suffer injustice. Socrates also protests against the 
 theory that good is pleasure and evil is pain, and 
 insists on an absolute standard of morality without 
 regard to consequences. In a similar manner, in the 
 Phcedrus^ Socrates, beginning and ending with a criti- 
 cism of rhetoric, devotes his attention mainly to 
 another theme. Here the subject is love — philosophic 
 love, *'the divine impulse which leads us to long for 
 immortality and to seek after perfection. '* The open- 
 ing scene is one of the most beautiful in Greek litera- 
 ture — the meeting of Socrates and his young friend 
 Phaedrus on the banks of the Ilissus. The Symposium 
 is closely connected with the Phoedrus in subject, for 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 371 
 
 a large part of it is devoted to a consideration of love. 
 It is perhaps the most perfect as a work of literature, 
 as it is certainly one of the most charming of the dia- 
 logues of Plato. It is an account of a banquet given 
 at the house of Agathon, the tragic poet. Among 
 the guests were Alcibiades, the poet Aristophanes, and 
 Socrates. Toward the close Alcibiades gives a won- 
 derful description of Socrates, extolling his virtues, 
 but not sparing his ugliness. 
 
 Passing over the dialogues of more strictly philo- 
 sophical interest, as the ThecBteius^ Sophistes, Politicus^ 
 Timaus, Critias, Parmenides^ and Philebus^ and the 
 spurious or suspected writings, of which but one is of 
 literary interest — the Menexenus, a funeral oration 
 which Socrates pretends to have learned from Aspasia 
 — we come to the greatest constructive work of Plato, 
 the Republic. It has come down to us in ten books, 
 but was originally conceived as a smaller work, grad- 
 ually growing in the author's hands to its present com- 
 pass. It is thrown into the form of a dialogue held 
 in Peirseus at the house of Cephalus, the father of 
 the orator Lysias. Socrates, Cephalus, and his son 
 Polemarchus, Glaucus and Adeimantus, brothers of 
 Plato, and several others were present. The thread 
 of the dialogue is, however, very slender, since Soc- 
 rates talks most of the time, with few interruptions. 
 The conversation turns first upon the question as to 
 what justice is, then upon the founding and organiza- 
 tion of an ideal city or state based upon justice. This 
 leads to the consideration of the education both of 
 mind and of body which the citizens of such a state 
 should receive, and the virtues — viz., wisdom, courage, 
 self-control, and righteousness — which in such a well- 
 
37^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ordered state must result from such an education. 
 Socrates then develops his theory of the community of 
 wives and children, and of the training of those who 
 are to be the "guardians," or qualified rulers of the 
 state. Returning in the last book to the subject of 
 poetry as a part of education, he lays down the rule 
 that the only poetry allowed in the ideal state will be 
 hymns in honor of the gods and of righteous men. 
 He had already decided against Homer and Hesiod 
 because they attribute wicked actions to the gods and 
 dwell upon the unworthy passions of men. After 
 a few words on the immortality of the soul, the hope 
 of which is to inspire the righteous citizen, he closes 
 with the famous myth of Er the son of Armenius. 
 
 We cannot dwell longer upon this book, which has 
 charmed and stimulated the world of letters and philos- 
 ophy, and has inspired such works as St. Augustine's 
 City of God and More's Utopia^ nor upon Plato's last 
 work, the Laws^ in which he modifies some of his views 
 about the ideal state, and works out some of the details 
 of its government. After a word about Plato's style 
 we may pass to the selections from his writings. Plato 
 was essentially a poet, though he chose to work in 
 prose. His style "is on the borderland between 
 poetry and prose ; it has exquisite conversational ease 
 and grace; it has also bursts of soaring eloquence, 
 when we seem to be listening to the words of one who 
 is actually looking on some glorious vision" (Jebb). 
 A characteristic of his dialogues is his occasional 
 employment of "myths," or parables drawn from the 
 realm of fancy, by which he enlivens the dialogue and 
 illustrates his doctrines. Plato occupies a place in 
 English literature as well as in Greek, thanks to Jow- 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 373 
 
 ett's incomparable translation, from which the follow- 
 ing selections are taken : 
 
 SOCRATES' VIEWS ABOUT DEATH 
 
 Let us reflect in another way, and we shall see that there 
 is great reason to hope that death is a good; for one of two 
 things — either death is a state of nothingness and utter uncon- 
 sciousness, or, as men say, there is a change and migration 
 of the soul from this world to another. Now if you suppose 
 that there is no consciousness, but a sleep like the sleep 
 of him who is undisturbed even by dreams, death will be 
 an unspeakable gain. For if a person were to select the 
 night in which his sleep was undisturbed even by dreams, 
 and were to compare with this the other days and nights 
 of his life, and then were to tell us how many days and 
 nights he had passed in the course of his life better and 
 more pleasantly than this one, I think that any man, I will 
 not say a private man, but even the great king, will not find 
 many such days or nights, when compared with the others. 
 Now if death be of such a nature, I say that to die is gain; 
 for eternity is then only a single night. But if death is the 
 journey to another place, and there, as men say, all the 
 dead abide, what good, O my friends and judges, can be 
 greater than this? If indeed when the pilgrim arrives in 
 the world below, he is delivered from the professors of justice 
 in this world, and finds the true judges, who are said to give 
 judgment there, Minos and Rhadamanthus and iEacus and 
 Triptolemus, and other sons of God who were righteous in 
 their own life, that pilgrimage will be worth making. What 
 would not a man give if he might converse with Orpheus 
 and Musseus and Hesiod and Homer? Nay, if this be true, 
 let me die again and again. , . . 
 
 Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer about death, and 
 know of a certainty, that no evil can happen to a good man, 
 either in life or after death. He and his are not neglected by 
 the gods; nor has my own approaching end happened by 
 mere chance. But I see clearly that the time had arrived 
 when it was better for me to die and be released from trouble; 
 
374 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 wherefore the oracle gave no sign. For which reason, also, I 
 am not angry with my condemners, or with my accusers; 
 they have done me no harm, although they did not mean to 
 do me any good; and for this I may gently blame them. 
 
 Still I have a favour to ask of them. When my sons are 
 grown up, I would ask you, O my friends, to punish them; and 
 I would have you trouble them, as I have troubled you, if they 
 seem to care about riches, or anything, more than about virtue; 
 or if they pretend to be something when they are really noth- 
 ing, — then reprove them, as I have reproved you, for not caring 
 about that for which they ought to care, and thinking that they 
 are something when they are really nothing. And if you do 
 this, both I and my sons will have received justice at your 
 hands. 
 
 The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways — I 
 to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows. 
 
 Apology, 32-33, 
 
 THE DEATH OF SOCRATES 
 
 " Wherefore, Simmias, seeing all these things, what ought 
 not we to do that we may obtain virtue and wisdom in this 
 life? Fair is the prize, and the hope great! A man of sense 
 ought not to say, nor will I be very confident, that the descrip- 
 tion which I have given of the soul and her mansions is exactly 
 true. But I do say that, inasmuch as the soul is shown to 
 be immortal, he may venture to think, not improperly or 
 unworthily, that something of the kind is true. The venture 
 is a glorious one, and he ought to comfort himself with words 
 like these, which is the reason why I lengthen out the tale. 
 Wherefore, I say, let a man be of good cheer about his soul, 
 who having cast away the pleasures and ornaments of the 
 body as alien to him and working harm rather than good, 
 has sought after the pleasures of knowledge; and has arrayed 
 the soul, not in some foreign attire, but in her own proper 
 jewels, temperance, and justice, and courage, and nobility, 
 and truth — in these adorned she is ready to go on her journey 
 to the world below, when her hour comes." .... 
 
 Now the hour of sunset was near, for a good deal of time 
 had passed while he was within. When he came out, he sat 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 375 
 
 down with us again after his bath, but not much was said. 
 Soon the jailer, who was the servant of the Eleven, entered 
 and stood by him, saying: — "To you, Socrates, whom I know 
 to be the noblest and gentlest and best of all who ever came 
 to this place, I will not impute the angry feelings of other 
 men, who rage and swear at me, when, in obedience to the 
 authorities, I bid them drink the poison — indeed, I am sure 
 that you will not be angry with me; for others, as you are 
 aware, and not I, are to blame. And so fare you well, and 
 try to bear lightly what must needs be— you know my errand." 
 
 Then bursting into tears he turned away and went out. 
 Socrates looked at him and said: "I return your good wishes, 
 and will do as you bid." Then turning to us, he said: *' How 
 charming the man is: since I have been in prison he has 
 always been coming to see me, and at times he would talk 
 to me, and was as good to me as could be, and now see 
 how generously he sorrows on my account. We must do as 
 he says, Crito; and therefore let the cup be brought, if the 
 poison is prepared: if not, let the attendant prepare some." 
 
 " Yet," said Crito, '• the sun is still upon the hill-tops, and 
 I know that many a one has taken the draught late, and 
 after the announcement has been made to him, he has eaten 
 and drunk, and enjoyed the society of his beloved; do not 
 hurry — there is time enough. Socrates said: "Yes, Crito, 
 and they of whom you speak are right in so acting, for they 
 think that they will be gainers by the delay; but I am right 
 in not following their example, for I do not think that I 
 should gain anything by drinking the poison a little later; 
 I should only be ridiculous in my own eyes for sparing and 
 saving a life which is already forfeit. Please then to do as 
 I say, and not to refuse me." 
 
 Crito made a' sign to the servant, who was standing by; 
 and he went out, and having been absent for some time, 
 returned with the jailer carrying the cup of poison. Socrates 
 said: "You, my good friend, who are experienced in these 
 matters, shall give me directions how I am to proceed." 
 The man answered: "You have only to walk about until 
 your legs are heavy, and then to lie down, and the poison 
 will act." At the same time he handed the cup to Socrates, 
 
376 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 who in the easiest and gentlest manner, without the least 
 fear or change of colour or feature, looking at the man with 
 all his eyes, Echecrates, as his manner was, took the cup 
 and said: "What do you say about making a libation out 
 of this cup to any god? May I, or not? " The man answered: 
 *• We only prepare, Socrates, just so much as we deem enough." 
 "I understand," he said: "but I may and must ask the gods 
 to prosper my journey from this to the other world — even 
 so — and so be it according to my prayer." Then raising 
 the cup to his lips, quite readily and cheerfully he drank 
 ofiE the poison. And hitherto most of us had been able to 
 control our sorrow; but now when we saw him drinking, and 
 saw too that he had finished the draught, we could no longer 
 forbear, and in spite of myself my own tears were flowing 
 fast; so that I covered my face and wept, not for him, but 
 at the thought of my own calamity in having to part from 
 such a friend. Nor was I the first; for Crito, when he found 
 himself unable to restrain his tears, had got up, and I followed; 
 and at that moment, Apollodorus, who had been weeping all 
 the time, broke out in a loud and passionate cry which made 
 cowards of us all. Socrates alone retained his calmness: 
 "What is this strange outcry?" he said. "I sent away the 
 women mainly in order that they might not misbehave in 
 this way, for I have been told that a man should die in 
 peace. Be quiet then, and have patience." When we heard 
 his words we were ashamed, and refrained our tears; and 
 he walked about until, as he said, his legs began to fail, 
 and then he lay on his back, according to the directions, 
 and the man who gave him the poison now and then looked 
 at his feet and legs; and after a while he pressed his foot 
 hard, and asked him if he could feel; and he said, "No"; 
 and then his leg, and so upwards and upwnrds, and showed 
 us that he was cold and stiff. And he felt them himself, 
 and said, "When the poison reaches the heart, that will be 
 the end." He was beginning to grow cold about the groin, 
 when he uncovered his face, for he had covered himself up, 
 and said — they were his last words — he said: "Crito, I owe 
 a cock to Asclepius; will you remember to pay the debt?" 
 "The debt shall be paid," said Crito; "is there anything 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 377 
 
 else ? " There was no answer to this question ; but in a minute 
 or two a movement was heard, and the attendants uncovered 
 him ; his eyes were set, and Crito closed his eyes and mouth. 
 Such was the end, Echecrates, of our friend ; concerning 
 whom I may truly say, that of all men of his time whom 
 I have known, he was the wisest and justest and best. 
 
 Phado, 63-67. 
 
 A SUMMER AFTERNOON ON THE ILISSUS 
 
 Phaedrus. But if I am to read, where would you please 
 to sit ? 
 
 Socrates. Let us turn aside and go by the Ilissus ; we 
 will sit down at some quiet spot. 
 
 Ph. I am fortunate in not having my sandals, and since 
 you never have any, I think that we may go along the brook 
 and cool our feet in the water ; this will be the easiest way, 
 and at midday and in the summer is far from being unpleasant. 
 
 S. Lead on, and look out for a place in which we can sit 
 down. 
 
 Ph. Do you see that tallest plane-tree in the distance ? 
 
 S. Yes. 
 
 Ph. There are shade and gentle breezes, and grass on 
 which we may either sit or lie down. 
 
 S. Move forward. 
 
 Ph. I should like to know, Socrates, whether the place is 
 not somewhere here at which Boreas is said to have carried off 
 Orithyia from the banks of the Ilissus ? 
 
 S. Such is the tradition. 
 
 Ph. And is this the exact spot ? The little stream is de- 
 lightfully clear and bright ; I can fancy that there might be 
 maidens playing near. 
 
 S. I believe that the spot is not exactly here, but about a 
 quarter of a mile lower down, where you cross to the temple 
 of Artemis, and there is, I think, some sort of an altar of 
 Boreas at the place. 
 
 Ph. I have never noticed it ; but I beseech you to tell 
 me, Socrates, do you believe this tale ? 
 
 S. The wise are doubtful, and I should not be singular if, 
 like them, I too doubted. I might have a rational explanation 
 
37^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 that Orithyia was playing with Pharmacia, when a northern 
 gust carried her over the neighbouring rocks ; and this being 
 the manner of her death, she was said to have been carried 
 away by Boreas. There is a discrepancy, however, about the 
 locality ; according to another version of the story she was 
 taken from the Areopagus, and not from this place. Now I 
 quite acknowledge that these allegories are very nice, but he 
 is not to be envied who has to invent them ; much labour and 
 ingenuity will be required of him ; and when he has once be- 
 gun, he must go on and rehabilitate Hippocentaurs and chi- 
 meras dire. Gorgons and winged steeds flow in apace, and 
 numberless other inconceivable and portentous natures. And 
 if he is sceptical about them, and would fain reduce them one 
 after another to the rules of probability, this sort of crude 
 philosophy will take up a great deal of time. Now I have no 
 leisure for such enquiries ; shall I tell you why ? I must first 
 know myself, as the Delphian inscription says ; to be curious 
 about that which is not my concern, while I am still in igno- 
 rance of my own self, would be ridiculous. And therefore I 
 bid farewell to all this ; the common opinion is enough for me. 
 For, as I was saying, I want to know not about this, but about 
 myself; am I a monster more complicated and swollen with 
 passion than the serpent Typho, or a creature of a gentler and 
 simpler sort, to whom Nature has given a diviner and lowlier 
 destiny ? But let me ask you, friend, have we not reached the 
 plane-tree to which you were conducting us ? 
 
 Ph. Yes, this is the tree. 
 
 S. By Here, a fair resting-place, full of summer sounds 
 and scents. Here is this lofty and spreading plane-tree, and 
 the agnus castus high and clustering, in the fullest blossom 
 and the greatest fragrance ; and the stream which flows be- 
 neath the plane-tree is deliciously cold to the feet. Judging 
 from the ornaments and images, this must be a spot sacred to 
 Achelous and the nymphs. How delightful is the breeze : — 
 so very sweet ; and there is a sound in the air shrill and sum- 
 merlike which makes answer to the chorus of the cicadee. 
 But the greatest charm of all is the grass, like a pillow gently 
 sloping to the head. My dear Phaedrus, you have been an 
 admirable guide. 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 379 
 
 Ph. What an incomprehensible being you are, Socrates : 
 When you are in the country, as you say, you are really like 
 some stranger who is led about by a guide. Do you ever cross 
 the border ? I rather think that you never venture even out- 
 side the gates. 
 
 S. Very true, my good friend ; and I hope that you will 
 excuse me when you hear the reason, which is, that I am a 
 lover of knowledge, and the men who dwell in the city are my 
 teachers, and not the trees or the country. Though I do in- 
 deed believe that you have found a spell with which to draw 
 me out of the city into the country, like a hungry cow before 
 whom a bough or bunch of fruit is waved. For only hold up 
 before me in like manner a book, and you may lead me all 
 round Attica, and over the wide world. And now having ar- 
 rived, I intend to lie down, and do you choose any posture in 
 which you can read best. Begin. 
 
 Ph. And now as the heat is abated let us depart. 
 
 S. Should we not offer up a prayer first of all to the local 
 deities ? 
 
 Ph. By all means. 
 
 S. Beloved Pan, and all ye other gods who haunt this place, 
 give me beauty in the inward soul ; and may the outward and 
 inward man be at one. May I reckon the wise to be the 
 wealthy, and may I have such a quantity of gold as a temper- 
 ate man and he only can bear and carry. — Anything more ? 
 The prayer, I think, is enough for me. 
 
 Ph. Ask the same for me, for friends should have all 
 things in common. 
 
 S. Let us go. 
 
 PhaedruSf 229-231 ; 279. 
 
 STORIES ABOUT SOCRATES 
 
 Alcibiades. I have told you one tale, and now I must 
 tell you another, which is worth hearing, 
 
 " Of the doings and sufferings of the enduring man " 
 
 while he was on the expedition to Potidaea. One morning he 
 was thinking about something which he could not resolve ; he 
 
jSo Homer to Theocritus 
 
 would not give it up, but continued thinking from early dawn 
 until noon— there he stood fixed in thought ; and at noon at- 
 tention was drawn to him, and the rumour ran through the 
 wondering crowd that Socrates had been standing and think- 
 ing about something ever since the break of day. At last, in 
 the evening after supper, some lonians, out of curiosity (I 
 should explain that this occurred not in winter but in sum- 
 mer), brought out their mats and slept in the open air that they 
 might watch him and see whether he would stand all night. 
 There he stood until the following morning ; and with the return 
 of light he offered up a prayer to the sun, and went his way. 
 
 I will also tell, if you please, — and indeed I am bound to 
 tell — of his courage in battle ; for who but he saved my life ? 
 Now this was the engagement in which I received the prize of 
 valour ; for I was wounded and he would not leave me, but he 
 rescued me and my arms ; and he ought to have received the 
 prize of valour which the generals wanted to confer on me 
 partly on account of my rank, and I told them so (this, again, 
 Socrates will not impeach or deny), but he was more eager 
 than the generals that I and not he should have the prize. 
 There was another occasion on which his behavior was very 
 remarkable — in the flight of the army after the battle of De- 
 lium, where he served among the heavy-armed,— I had a bet- 
 ter opportunity of observing him than at Potidaea, for I was 
 myself on horseback, and therefore comparatively out of dan- 
 ger. He and Laches were retreating, for the troops were in 
 flight, and I met them and told them not to be discouraged, 
 and promised to remain with them ; and there you might have 
 seen him, Aristophanes, as you describe, just as he is in the 
 streets of Athens, stalking like a pelican, and rolling his eyes, 
 calmly contemplating enemies as well as friends, and making 
 very intelligible to everybody, even from a distance, that who- 
 ever attacked him would be likely to meet with a stout resist- 
 ance ; and in this way he and his companion escaped — for this 
 is the sort of man who is never touched in war ; those only are 
 pursued who are running away headlong. I particularly ob- 
 served how superior he was to Laches in presence of mind. ^ 
 
 Many are the marvels which I might narrate in praise of 
 Socrates ; most of his ways might perhaps be paralleled in 
 
Philosophical Prose. Plato 381 
 
 another man, but his absolute unlikeness to any other human 
 being that is or ever has been is perfectly astonishing. You 
 may imagine Brasidas and others to have been like Achilles ; 
 or you may imagine Nestor and Antenor to have been like Peri- 
 cles ; and the same may be said of other famous men, but of 
 this strange being you will never be able to find any likeness, 
 however remote, either among men who now are or who ever 
 have been — other than that which I have already suggested of 
 Silenus and the satyrs ; and they represent in a figure not 
 only himself, but his words. For, although I forgot to men- 
 tion this to you before, his words are like the images of 
 Silenus which open ; they are ridiculous when you first hear 
 them ; he clothes himself in language that is like the skin of 
 the wanton satyr — for his talk is of pack-asses and smiths and 
 cobblers and curriers, and he is always repeating the same 
 things in the same words, so that any ignorant or inexperi- 
 enced person might feel disposed to laugh at him ; but he who 
 opens the bust and sees what is within will find that they are 
 the only words which have a meaning in them, and also the 
 most divine, abounding in fair images of virtue, and of the 
 wisest comprehension, or rather extending to the whole duty 
 of a good and honourable man. — This, friends, is my praise 
 of Socrates. 
 
 Symposium^ 220-222. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ARISTOTLE 
 
 Aristotle's Place in Greek Literature — His Life — Aristotle and 
 Plato — Aristotle and Alexander — The Lyceum — The Sur- 
 vival of Aristotle's MSS.— His Style— The Plan of his 
 Writings — The Constitution of Athens — Selection: An 
 Estimate of Pericles — The Ethics — Selection : The Virtue 
 of Liberality — The Politics — Selection : Man's Instinct for 
 the Political Life — The Rhetoric — Selection : On Equity 
 — The Poetics — Selection: Definition of Tragedy — Aris- 
 totle in Relation to his Age. 
 
 The claims of Aristotle to a place in a survey of 
 Greek literature rest upon an entirely different basis 
 from those of his teacher, Plato. Plato clothed even 
 the most abstruse philosophical speculations in a liter- 
 ary dress, and his writings rank among the greatest 
 things in pure literature through their very perfection 
 of form and charm of style. With Aristotle, however, 
 the substance is everything, the outward dress appar- 
 ently a matter of indifference. It is safe to say that no 
 one of his extant works deserves a place in a history of 
 literature on the basis of literary merit. But, for all 
 that, Aristotle is the most commanding figure in the 
 history of Greek thought. Dante truly calls him " the 
 master of those who know." He was a creator as truly 
 as was Aeschylus or Plato, though in a different way. 
 It is fitting, therefore, that a brief account should be 
 given of his life and writings. 
 
 Aristotle was born in the year 384 in Stageira, a 
 town in southwestern Thrace near the borders of 
 Macedonia. His father was Nicomachus, physician to 
 
 382 
 
Aristotle 383 
 
 Amyntas II of Macedon. This fact is of significance 
 as indicating the atmosphere of culture in which Aris- 
 totle was bred, the scientific trend of his early educa- 
 tion, and the relations of his family with the royal house 
 of Macedon. On the death of his father Aristotle in- 
 herited an independent fortune, and soon after, at the 
 age of seventeen, betook himself to Athens to complete 
 his education. Athens was at this time " the school of 
 Hellas " in a far greater degree than when it was so 
 characterized by Pericles. Isocrates was at the zenith 
 of his fame as a teacher of rhetoric, and the Academy 
 was firmly established. As to Aristotle's relations with 
 Isocrates, we are not informed precisely ; it is altogether 
 probable, however, that the eager student made the 
 most of this opportunity of hearing the brilliant rhet- 
 orician. At least we may infer, from Aristotle's frequent 
 quotations from the works of Isocrates, that the latter's 
 methods had been the object of his careful study. 
 
 On the return of Plato from Syracuse (about 365), 
 Aristotle at once enrolled himself among his disciples 
 and remained a member of the Academy until Plato's 
 death in 347. During these years, in which Plato was 
 entering upon the last phase of his philosophical think- 
 ing, the sharp contrast in the intellectual natures of the 
 two men must have become more and more apparent. 
 Aristotle was practical, hard-headed, unimaginative, and 
 scientific in his manner of thinking ; Plato, on the 
 other hand, always an enthusiastic idealist, showed a 
 strong tendency in his later years toward mystical 
 speculations, in which Aristotle could have had little 
 interest or sympathy. Writers of a later age speak of 
 conflicts arising between teacher and pupil ; but in 
 their extant writings, at any rate, there is no trace of 
 
384 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 an estrangement. On the contrary, though Aristotle 
 often departs from the doctrines which Plato incul- 
 cated, he always refers to him with respect and even 
 affection, avoiding the tone of polemical controversy. 
 On one occasion he says, when attacking a view of 
 Plato : " Plato and Truth are both beloved, but it is a 
 sacred duty to prefer Truth." 
 
 After the death of Plato, Aristotle spent several 
 years abroad, most of the time at the court of his friend 
 and fellow-student, Hermeias, king of Atarneus, in 
 Asia Minor, whose adoptive daughter he married. 
 Returning to Athens for a time, he shortly afterward, 
 in 342, accepted the invitation of Philip of Macedon to 
 take charge of the education of his son, Alexander. He 
 accordingly took up his residence near the Macedonian 
 capital. There he remained until 335, when Alexander, 
 succeeding to the throne, entered upon the campaign 
 against Persia which was the beginning of his career of 
 conquest. It would be interesting to know something 
 more about this remarkable relationship — the youth 
 who was to conquer the world by arms sitting at the 
 feet of the philosopher whose studies had embraced the 
 whole world of thought. We can trace to the influence 
 of Aristotle Alexander's enthusiastic love of Homer, 
 his known admiration for some of the poets of his own 
 day, and his interest in scientific things, and we are 
 told that he afterwards assisted Aristotle in his scien- 
 tific pursuits by sending him rare specimens of animals 
 collected in his travels and by gifts of money. We 
 should probably be right in believing, further, that Ar- 
 istotle's influence was a potent factor in developing the 
 splendid genius and in inspiring some of the grand con- 
 ceptions of the young prince. Alexander's dream of a 
 
Aristotle 3»5 
 
 world empire under Greek sway seems to have been 
 foreshadowed in a passage in the Politics : " The Hel- 
 lenic race possesses a combination of the best qualities 
 which fall to the lot of the human species, being both 
 high-spirited and intellectual ; and if they could all to- 
 gether form a political state, the Greeks might govern 
 the world." 
 
 Returning to Athens in 335, Aristotle established his 
 school of learning at the Lyceum, a gymnasium lying 
 near the city to the southwest. From their custom of 
 hearing the lectures in the shaded walks (peripatoi) of 
 this precinct, the members of the school received the 
 name of Peripatetics. We are told that there were two 
 courses of lectures : in the morning on the more diffi- 
 cult subjects (esoteric), intended for a small circle of 
 hearers, those who had already been initiated into the 
 methods of the school, and in the afternoon those of a 
 more popular nature (exoteric). The school achieved 
 an immediate success and became the rival of the Acad- 
 emy. There Aristotle worked and taught uninterrupt- 
 edly for twelve years. When Alexander died in 323, a 
 violent political reaction against the Macedonian party 
 in Athens set in, and Aristotle found himself involved 
 in a legal action for impiety. Unwilling, as he said, 
 that Athens, already guilty of the blood of Socrates, 
 should "commit a second crime against philosophy," 
 he retired to Chalcis in Euboea, where he died the fol- 
 lowing year. It is an interesting fact that the lives of the 
 two men whom we should select as the most prominent 
 men in Athens during the eventful period from 350 on, 
 Demosthenes and Aristotle, ran parallel throughout ; 
 the dates of their birth and death are the same. And 
 yet no trace is to be found of any contact between them 
 
386 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 and they seem to have been entirely without influence 
 upon one another. 
 
 The productive activity of Aristotle, no less than 
 the many-sidedness of his learning, excite our wonder 
 and admiration. We have an ancient catalogue of his 
 works, prepared toward the end of the third century 
 before Christ, in which we find no less than 146 titles 
 and about 400 books. This catalogue probably repre- 
 sented the works of Aristotle contained in the great 
 library at Alexandria. There are extant to-day, apart 
 from the fragments of about 100 lost works, 47 trea- 
 tises, most of them not mentioned in the Alexandrian 
 catalogue. Another catalogue from antiquity, prepared 
 about two centuries after the other, gives about 1,000 
 books, among them those which have come down to us. 
 This striking discrepancy is explained by a remarkable 
 story, believed to rest on good authority, which is of 
 interest as showing by what narrow chances some of 
 the most precious works of antiquity have been pre- 
 served. Aristotle, we are told, left his manuscripts to 
 his pupil, Theophrastus, who succeeded him in the 
 direction of the Lyceum. Theophrastus bequeathed 
 them to one Neleus, of Scepsis in the Troad. To 
 secure them from the book-collectors who were scour- 
 ing the country in the interests of the library at Pcr- 
 gamum, Neleus hid them in a vault. There they lay 
 for a century and a half, exposed to the ravages of 
 time, until the descendants of Neleus sold them to an 
 Athenian bibliophile who carried them to Athens. 
 Thence they were carried to Rome by Sulla, who capt- 
 ured Athens in the year 86. In Rome they were 
 finally arranged, edited, and published. Now in the 
 latter half of the first century the Alexandrian library 
 
Aristotle 387 
 
 was destroyed by fire. The bulk of the extant works 
 of Aristotle, therefore, goes back to the subterranean 
 vault in the Troad. They are th© works which the 
 author left unpublished and, as a rule, unfinished. 
 
 We have spoken disparagingly of the literary form 
 and style of Aristotle's writings. We now see the ex- 
 planation. The criticism is just when applied to the 
 extant works as a whole, but allowance should be made 
 for the fact that they had not been prepared for publi- 
 cation by the author. The more learned works, in their 
 present form, suggest rather the lecturer's note-books. 
 The ancients had a favorable opinion of Aristotle's 
 style. Cicero and other competent judges praise * the 
 golden flood of his eloquence," the lucidity, sweetness, 
 and dignity of his language. They evidently had in 
 mind the earlier works, now lost, published during the 
 author's lifetime, notably the dialogues. It would, in- 
 deed, have been strange if the pupil of Isocrates and 
 Plato should have been entirely indifferent to the artistic 
 side of his writings. The one work intended for the 
 general public which we possess reveals a care in com- 
 position and a lucidity of style for which one looks in 
 vain in the other treatises. 
 
 All of the extant works of Aristotle form parts of 
 an organic whole. Together they constitute a cyclo- 
 pedia of . human knowledge as it then was, and yet 
 something vastly greater than a mere collection and 
 classification of concrete facts, although in collecting 
 such material Aristotle showed extraordinary zeal. It 
 was rather his purpose to discover the principles which 
 correlate and explain phenomena, to formulate, that is, 
 a philosophy of the system of the universe. He seems 
 jO have gone at this prodigious undertaking systemat- 
 
388 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 ically. We do not know precisely the order in which 
 the several works were written, but we may follow his 
 purpose according to the manner in which his writings 
 group themselves into one organic whole. After the 
 realm of knowledge had been divided into the several 
 branches which we call sciences, the materials were 
 collected for the study of each science. The results of 
 these preliminary observations were published in popu- 
 lar form. In another series of treatises, together con- 
 stituting the Organon^ or " Instrument " of reasoning, 
 Aristotle established his scientific method, which was 
 mainly deductive, />., reasoning from a general truth 
 down to a specific case. By his analysis of the proc- 
 esses of logic he was able to formulate for the first 
 time the syllogism. In the field of logic perhaps his 
 most important and permanent contributions to human 
 thought were made. Aristotle next undertook the 
 comprehensive and systematic treatises on the several 
 sciences, taking up first the physical and practical 
 sciences, and then metaphysics, which he was wont to 
 term the " first philosophy." 
 
 This is not the place for a detailed account of the 
 logical works of Aristotle, in which he laid down for all 
 time the laws of formal reasoning, nor of his writings 
 on natural history, which cover most of the subjects 
 now embraced in the physical and biological sciences. 
 For the same reason we must pass over the Metaphysics, 
 We turn, then, to a brief consideration of the five trea- 
 tises which are of more general interest. 
 
 The Constitution of Athens is one of a series of 158 
 essays, undertaken as preliminary studies for the Poli- 
 
 * Lord Bacon entitled his great work the Novum Organum with reference 
 to Aristotle's work. 
 
Aristotle 389 
 
 ticSy on the constitutions of various states. This essay, 
 however, was not put into its present form until about 
 330 B.C. Although the most important of the series, 
 both on account of the interest attaching to Athens and 
 because of the accuracy of Aristotle's information, this 
 valuable treatise was totally lost to the world for fifteen 
 centuries or more. It was discovered in 1890 on some 
 rolls of papyrus found in Egypt and acquired by the 
 British Museum. From the fact that it is written on 
 the wrong side of the papyrus, the right side being 
 filled with business accounts, we conclude that it is a 
 copy which some private individual had had made for 
 his own use. The work falls into two parts. The first 
 part is historical, describing the successive changes in 
 the government of Athens from the earliest times, inter- 
 spersed with interesting character-sketches and brief 
 but illuminating critical estimates and judgments on 
 the part of the author. The second part is an analysis 
 of the political, administrative, and judicial organiza- 
 tion of Athens as it was at the time of writing. The 
 style of the first part shows Aristotle as an easy writer, 
 who aims only at a lucid narrative suited to the subject. 
 Aristotle's account of men and events seems, on the 
 whole, remarkably free from partisan bias. We find it 
 difficult, however, to accept the following estimate of 
 Pericles, of whom it is clear that Aristotle does not 
 altogether approve, clashing as it does with the tradi* 
 tion which we have hitherto followed. But it is fortu- 
 nate that we at last have the other side presented to us. 
 
 After this Pericles assumed the position of popular leader, 
 having first distinguished himself while still a young man by 
 prosecuting Cimon on the audit of his official accounts as gen- 
 eral. Under his auspices the constitution became still more 
 
390 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 democratic. He took away some of the privileges of the 
 Areopagus, and, above all, he turned the policy of the state 
 in the direction of naval dominion, which caused the masses 
 to acquire confidence in themselves and consequently to take 
 the conduct of affairs more and more into their own hands. 
 Moreover, forty-eight years after the battle of Salamis, in the 
 archonship of Pythodorus, the Peloponnesian war broke out, 
 during which the populace was shut up in the city and became 
 accustomed to gain its livelihood by military service, and so, 
 partly voluntarily and partly involuntarily, determined to as- 
 sume the administration of the state itself. Pericles was also 
 the first to institute pay for service in the law courts, as a bid 
 for popular favour to counterbalance the wealth of Cimon. 
 The latter, having private possessions of royal splendour, not 
 only performed the regular public services magnificently, but 
 also maintained a large number of his fellow-demesmen. Any 
 member of the deme of Laciadae could go every day to 
 Cimon's house and there receive a reasonable provision ; and 
 his estate was guarded by no fences, so that anyone who liked 
 might help himself to the fruit from it. Pericles' private 
 property was quite unequal to this magnificence, and accord- 
 ingly he took the advice of Damonides of Oia (who was com- 
 monly supposed to be the person who prompted Pericles in 
 most of his measures, and was therefore subsequently ostra- 
 cised), which was that, as he was beaten in the matter of 
 private possessions, he should make presents to the people 
 from their own property ; and accordingly he instituted pay 
 for the members of the juries. Some persons accuse him of 
 thereby causing a deterioration in the character of the juries, 
 since it was always the inferior people who were anxious to 
 submit themselves for selection as jurors, rather than the men 
 of better position. Moreover, bribery came into existence 
 after this, the first person to introduce it being Anytus, after 
 his command at Pylus. He was prosecuted by certain indi- 
 viduals on account of his loss of Pylus, but escaped by bribing 
 the jury. 
 
 So long, however, as Pericles was leader of the people, 
 things went tolerably well with the state ; but when he was 
 
 J 
 
Aristotle 391 
 
 dead there was a great change for the worse. Then for the 
 first time did the people choose a leader who was of no repu- 
 tation among men of good standing, whereas up to this time 
 such men had always been found as leaders of the democ- 
 racy. . . . The best statesmen at Athens, after those of 
 early times, seem to have been Nicias, Thucydides (the gen- 
 eral), and Theramenes. 
 
 Constitution of Athens ^ 27-28. Kenyon. 
 
 Over against the natural sciences, whicfi concern 
 themselves with the phenomena of the physical world, 
 Aristotle set the practical sciences, which have to do 
 with human action. He further distinguishes between 
 those actions which involve the notion of right and 
 wrong and those whose end is artistic creation. The 
 Ethics and Politics fall under the former category, the 
 Poetics, with which we shall consider the Rhetoric, 
 under the latter. 
 
 The Nicoinachean Ethics receives its epithet from 
 Aristotle's son, Nicomachus, who may have had some- 
 thing to do with editing it. It is distinguished from 
 the Eudemian Ethics, written by a disciple, Eudemus, but 
 now incorporated in the larger work. In this treatise 
 Aristotle develops his theory of human life. In his 
 conception ethics is only a branch of politics, for the 
 highest good of the individual must be identical with 
 the highest good of the state, in which the individual 
 finds his most perfect development. But Aristotle does, 
 nevertheless, confine himself in the Ethics to the good 
 of the individual, living and acting for himself, and re- 
 serves for the Politics the inquiry into man's relation 
 to the state. Thus it is that he establishes ethics as a 
 separate science — a marked advance over the position 
 of Socrates and Plato, 
 
39^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The chief end of man's existence is conceded to be 
 happiness. But this happiness does not consist in 
 pleasure, wealth, honor, nor in any of the external 
 blessings, but in the activity of the soul in accordance 
 with reason, which is the same thing as saying in ac- 
 cordance with virtue. Virtue is a habit of the soul, 
 being gained by the practice of good actions. Its char- 
 acteristic is always to seek out the mean between two 
 extremes, a doctrine peculiarly Greek, crystallized in 
 the ancient proverb, " Nothing in excess." The larger 
 part of the Ethics is devoted to a discussion of the vari- 
 ous virtues, which fall into two categories, moral and 
 intellectual virtues. The conclusion is reached that 
 the highest happiness consists in the harmonious exer- 
 cise of man's highest powers, and, since the chief of 
 these are intellectual, the truest happiness is to be 
 found in the life of contemplation, or philosophic 
 thought. 
 
 As an illustration of Aristotle's analytic method and 
 of his sound common sense I quote from his discussion 
 of the virtue of liberality : 
 
 Things which admit of use may be used either well or 
 badly. But riches are a useful thing. Again, the person who 
 makes the best use of anything is the person who possesses 
 the virtue appropriate to that thing. Accordingly he will make 
 the best use of riches who possesses the virtue which is appro- 
 priate to property, i.e.^ the liberal man. Further it seems 
 that the use of property consists in spending and giving ; the 
 taking and keeping of property should rather be described as 
 acquisition. Hence it is more truly distinctive of the liberal 
 man to give to the right people than to take from the right 
 quarter and not to take from the right quarter. For it is 
 more truly distinctive of virtue to be the author than to be the 
 recipient of benefactions, and to do what is noble than to ab- 
 
 I 
 
Aristotle 393 
 
 stain from doing what is shameful. But it is clear that, while 
 giving implies doing well and acting nobly, taking implies 
 only being well treated or not behaving in a shameful manner. 
 Gratitude too is the due of one who gives, not of one who 
 does not take, and praise is his due in a higher degree. Also, 
 it is easier to abstain from taking than to give, for people are 
 less ready to throw away what is their own than to abstain 
 from taking what belongs to somebody else. Again, people 
 who give are called liberal, people who abstain from taking 
 arc not praised so much for liberality as for justice, but 
 people who take are not praised at all. Of all virtuous people 
 none are so much beloved as the liberal ; for they are bene- 
 factors, and their benefaction consists in their giving. 
 
 Virtuous actions are noble and have a noble motive. The 
 liberal man then, being virtuous, will give from a noble mo- 
 tive and in a right spirit ; for he will give the right amount, 
 and will give it to the right persons and at the right time, and 
 will satisfy all the other conditions of right giving. He will 
 do all this too with pleasure or without pain ; for a virtuous 
 action is pleasant or painless, and it is certainly anything but 
 painful. But he who gives to the wrong people, or who gives 
 not from a noble motive but for some other cause, will not be 
 called liberal, but by some other name ; nor will he be so 
 called if giving is painful to him, as in that case he would pre- 
 fer the wealth to the noble action, and this preference is illib- 
 eral. Nor will the liberal man take from wrong sources ; for 
 such taking, again, is unlike the character of one who is no 
 admirer of property. Nor, again, will he be inclined to ask 
 favours ; for one who is in the habit of conferring benefits will 
 not be ready at any moment to receive them. When he does 
 take, it will be from the right sources, e.g.. from his own pos- 
 sessions, and he will take not as if taking were noble, but be- 
 cause it is necessary, if he is to have the means of giving. He 
 will not neglect his own property, since he wishes to employ 
 it in relieving other people. He will refrain from giving 
 indiscriminately that he may have the means of giving to the 
 right people, and at the times and in the places where giving 
 is noble. 
 
394 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 If a man is excessively liberal, he will actually go too far 
 in his giving, the result being that he will reserve too little for 
 himself ; for disregard of self is a characteristic of liberality. 
 But in estimating liberality we must take account of a person's 
 fortune ; for liberality consists, not in the amount of the 
 money given, but in the moral state of the giver, and the 
 moral state proportions the gift to the fortune of the giver. It 
 is quite possible then that one who gives less than another 
 may be more liberal, if his means are smaller. It seems that 
 people who have not made their own fortune, but have inher- 
 ited it, are more liberal, as they have never known what 
 want is, and people are always fondest of their own pro- 
 ductions, e.g., parents of their children, and poets of their 
 poems. 
 
 It is difficult for a liberal man to be rich, as he is not fond 
 of getting or of saving money, but rather of spending it, and 
 values wealth not for its own sake, but as affording an oppor- 
 tunity of giving. Hence it is a reproach often levelled against 
 fortune that the people who deserve riches most often have 
 the least. But the fact is easily explained ; for it is impossi- 
 ble to have wealth or anything else without taking the trouble 
 to have it. At the same time the liberal man will not give to 
 the wrong people nor on any wrong occasion, and so on ; for 
 to do so would be to cease to act in a liberal spirit, and if he 
 were to spend money upon these objects, he would not have 
 the means of spending it upon the right objects. For the 
 liberal man, as has been said, is one who spends in proportion 
 to his substance, and who spends upon the right objects. But 
 one who expends in excess of his fortune is a prodigal. . . , 
 Again, the liberal man is easy to deal with in money matters. 
 He is one who can easily be cheated, as he does not care for 
 money, and is more distressed at not having spent what is right 
 than pained at having spent what is not right. 
 
 Ethics, IV, 1-3. Welldon. 
 
 The Politics is one of the most important works pre- 
 served to us from antiquity. It contains a wealth of 
 explicit information invaluable to the historian and 
 
Aristotle 39J 
 
 student of Greek society, and its generalizations arc 
 based upon information so accurate and covering so 
 wide a range that the treatise constitutes a summary 
 and compendium of Greek political experience. In 
 contrast to Plato, Aristotle recognizes the family as the 
 fundamental basis of the state. In considering the 
 management of the household he touches upon slavery, 
 an institution which he takes for granted and justifies 
 in a curious passage. The citizen must have leisure 
 for the pursuit of the good and the beautiful. His 
 work must be performed by instruments. The slave is 
 an animate instrument. Nature has set certain races 
 apart for servitude — the " barbarian " races as opposed 
 to the Greeks, in Aristotle's rough classification. After 
 a criticism of the ideal states proposed by Plato and 
 other theorists, and of several typical political systems 
 then in operation, Aristotle proceeds to lay down the 
 outlines of an ideal state of his own. The total number 
 of citizens should be about 20,000, each a landholder of 
 moderate wealth and personally known to the rulers. 
 The state is to have entire charge of education, and 
 the citizens are to participate in the government. 
 Mechanics and tradesmen cannot be citizens, and lend- 
 ing money at interest is to be forbidden. Aristotle 
 considers that any form of government is legitimate 
 which secures the end and aim of the state, namely, the 
 public good. He specifies three legitimate forms, mon- 
 archy, aristocracy, and the constitutional government. 
 Each tends to degenerate into perverted forms, which 
 are tyranny, oligarchy, and the pure democracy respect- 
 ively. In practice the mixed constitutional form is the 
 best, though the ideally best would be the monarchy 
 under an eminently wise and just ruler. 
 
396 
 
 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The following passage gives the key to Aristotle's 
 conception of man in his relation to the state : 
 
 Thus we see that the state is a natural institution, that 
 man is naturally a political animal, and that one who is not a 
 citizen of any state, if the cause of his isolation be natural and 
 not accidental, is either a superhuman being or low in the 
 scale of civilization, as he stands alone like a " blot " on the 
 backgammon board. The " clanless, lawless, hearthless '* 
 man so bitterly described by Homer is a case in point ; for 
 he is naturally a citizen of no state and a lover of war. Also 
 that man is a political animal in a higher sense than a bee or 
 any other gregarious creature is evident from the fact that 
 nature, as we are fond of asserting, creates nothing without a 
 purpose and man is the only animal endowed with speech. 
 Now mere sounds serve to indicate sensations of pain and 
 pleasure and are therefore assigned to other animals as well 
 as to man ; for their nature does not advance beyond the 
 point of perceiving pain and pleasure and signifying these 
 perceptions to one another. The object of speech on the 
 other hand is to indicate advantage and disadvantage and 
 therefore also justice and injustice. For it is a special charac- 
 teristic which distinguishes man from all other animals that he 
 alone enjoys perception of good and evil, justice and injustice 
 and the like. But these are the principles of that association 
 which constitutes a household or state. . . . 
 
 Now the impulse to political association is innate in all men. 
 Yet the author of the first combination, whoever he was, 
 was a great benefactor of human kind. For as man, in his 
 condition of complete development, i.^., in the state, is the 
 noblest of all animals, so apart from law and justice he is the 
 vilest of all. For injustice is always most formidable when it 
 is armed ; and nature has endowed man with arms which are 
 intended to subserve the purposes of prudence and virtue but 
 are capable of being wholly turned to contrary ends. Hence 
 if man be devoid of virtue, no animal is so unscrupulous or 
 savage, none so sensual, none so gluttonous. Just action on 
 the other hand is bound up with the existence of a state ; for 
 
Aristotle 397 
 
 the administration of justice is an ordinance of the political 
 association and the administration of justice is nothing else 
 than the decision of what is just. 
 
 Politics^ I, 2. Welldon. 
 
 Aristotle looks upon rhetoric not as an art which 
 deals with the principles of perfection in form in prose 
 discourse, as contrasted with the art of poetry, but 
 rather as a branch of logic. It is not a fine art, there- 
 fore, but a practical art ; or, as he expresses it, " the 
 art of discovering all the possible means of persuasion 
 in any subject." Accordingly we find that the larger 
 part of the Rhetoric is devoted to a careful study of the 
 kinds of proofs used by the orator. It is interesting to 
 note that, among the " sources of persuasion " at the 
 command of the speaker, Aristotle places first the per- 
 sonal character of the orator, the second being the 
 mood which he is able to induce in his hearers, the 
 third, the arguments which he can advance. Speaking 
 of the equipment which the forensic orator, or lawyer, 
 should possess, Aristotle has occasion to make the fol- 
 lowing remarks on equity, or " the justice which sup- 
 plements the written law " : 
 
 Equity consists too in making allowance for human infirm- 
 ities, in regarding the legislator rather than the law, the inten- 
 tion of the legislator rather than his language, the purpose of 
 an act rather than the act itself, and the whole rather than the 
 part, in considering not so much what is a person's character 
 at a particular moment as what it has invariably or usually 
 been, in remembering benefits more than injuries and bene- 
 fits received more than benefits conferred, in suffering injus- 
 tice patiently, in consenting to settle disputes by agreement 
 rather than by a trial of strength, in wishing to resort to arbi- 
 tration rather than to law ; for an arbitrator always takes the 
 equitable, whereas a juror takes the legal view of a case, and 
 
39^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 indeed the object with which arbitration was devised was to 
 ensure the triumph of equity. 
 
 Rhetoric f I, 13. Welldon. 
 
 Perhaps the most famous book in the history of lit- 
 erary criticism is the Poetics, Aristotle did not work 
 out a complete theory of aesthetics, but this treatise 
 shows that he had the subject well in hand. The germ 
 of all poetry he finds in man's instinct of imitation. 
 To this he traces the other fine arts, among which he 
 includes music, dancing, painting, and presumably 
 sculpture, but not architecture. After a brief analysis 
 of the differences between the various arts he proceeds 
 to poetry, and describes the various kinds. The basis 
 of the distinction between tragedy and comedy, for 
 example, is that tragedy aims to represent men who are 
 above the average, comedy, those who are below the 
 average. The origin and development of tragedy are 
 then considered. After giving his famous definition of 
 tragedy the author enters upon an exhaustive discus- 
 sion of plots, following which are some practical rules 
 for the guidance of the tragic poet. The last part of 
 the book, in its present form, is devoted to epic poetry, 
 with constant references to tragedy. The second book, 
 in which comedy received a similar treatment, is now 
 lost. I quote the definition of tragedy with a portion 
 of the discussion which follows : 
 
 Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, 
 complete, and of a certain magnitude ; in language embell- 
 ished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds 
 being found in separate parts of the play ; in the form of 
 action, not of narrative ; through pity and fear effecting the 
 proper purgation of these emotions. By * language embell- 
 ished ' I mean language into which rhythm, ' harmony ' and 
 
Aristotle 399 
 
 song enter. By ' the several kinds in separate parts ' I mean 
 that some parts are rendered through the medium of verse 
 alone, others again with the aid of song. 
 
 Now as tragic imitation implies persons acting, it neces- 
 sarily follows, in the first place, that scenic equipment will be 
 a part of tragedy. Next, song and diction, for these are the 
 medium of imitation. By ' diction ' I mean the mere metrical 
 arrangement of the words : as for ' song,' it is a term whose 
 sense every one understands . 
 
 Again, tragedy is the imitation of an action ; and an action 
 implies personal agents, who necessarily possess certain dis- 
 tinctive qualities both of character and thought. It is these 
 that determine the qualities of actions themselves ; these — 
 thought and character — are the two natural causes from which 
 actions spring ; on these causes, again, all success or failure 
 depends. Hence, the plot is the imitation of the action : — 
 for by plot I here mean the arrangement of the incidents. 
 By character I mean that in virtue of which we ascribe certain 
 qualities to the agents. Thought is required wherever a 
 statement is proved, or, it maybe, a general truth enunciated. 
 Every tragedy, therefore, must have six parts, which parts de- 
 termine its quality — namely, plot, character, diction, thought, 
 scenery, song. Two of the parts constitute the medium of 
 imitation, one the manner, and three the objects of imitation. 
 And these complete the list. These elements have been em- 
 ployed, we may say, by the poets to a man ; in fact, every 
 play contains scenic accessories as well as character, plot, 
 diction, song, and thought. 
 
 But most important of all is the structure of the incidents. 
 For tragedy is an imitation, not of men, but of an action and 
 of life, and life consists of action, and its end is a mode of 
 action, not a quality. Now character determines men's qual- 
 ities, but it is by their actions that they are happy or the 
 reverse. Dramatic action, therefore, is not with a view to the 
 representation of character ; character comes in as a subsidi- 
 ary to the action. Hence the incidents and the plot are the 
 end of a tragedy ; and the end is the chief thing of all. 
 Again, without action there cannot be a tragedy; without 
 
400 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 character there may be. The tragedies of most of our mod- 
 cm poets fail in the rendering of character ; and of poets in 
 general this is often true. It is the same in painting ; and 
 here lies the difference between Zeuxis and Polygnotus. 
 Polygnotus delineates character well ; the style of Zeuxis is 
 devoid of ethical quality. Again, if you string together a set 
 of speeches expressive of character, and well finished in point 
 of diction and thought, you will not produce the essential 
 tragic effect nearly so well as with a play which, however 
 deficient in these respects, yet has a plot and artistically con- 
 structed incidents. Besides which, the most powerful ele- 
 ments of emotional interest in tragedy, — reversal or recoil of 
 the action, and recognition scenes — are parts of the plot. A 
 further proof is that novices in the art attain to finish of dic- 
 tion and precision of portraiture before they can construct 
 the plot. It is the same with almost all the early poets. 
 
 The plot, then, is the first principle, and, as it were, the 
 soul of a tragedy; character holds the second place. A similar 
 fact is seen in painting. The most beautiful colours, laid on 
 confusedly, will not give as much pleasure as the chalk out- 
 line of a portrait. Thus tragedy is the imitation of an 
 action, and of the agents mainly with a view to the action. 
 
 Poetics, VI, 1-16. Butcher. 
 
 This is not the place to trace the influence of Aris- 
 totle upon the after world. The mere statement must 
 suffice that, in antiquity, almost all the branches of 
 erudition proceeded from him and the Peripatetic 
 School which he founded ; that, further, in the Middle 
 Ages, from the thirteenth century on, he dominated 
 marvellously the world of scholasticism, though too 
 often misunderstood and credited with doctrines not 
 his own ; and, lastly, that modern philosophy, science, 
 and criticism are built upon the foundations which he 
 laid. 
 
 Aristotle's life fell at the end of the old Hellenic 
 
Aristotle 401 
 
 world of freedom and artistic creativeness and entered 
 into the new, cosmopolitan, Hellenistic world which 
 was ushered in by the conquests of Alexander. He 
 belonged to the one but was no small factor in shaping 
 the other. It was a fortunate circumstance for Greece 
 and for humanity that an Aristotle was at hand pre- 
 cisely when the transformation of Greece was taking 
 place, to bring together and to summarize the results 
 of the creative period and to hand down the essence of 
 its experiences and achievements to the new and com- 
 plex civilization that was to follow. All the circum- 
 stances of his life and training conspired to fit him for 
 this mission. He was born just beyond the borders of 
 Greece proper, but of Greek parentage and in a city 
 colonized by Ionian Greeks. The two civilizations, 
 Greek and barbarian, which lay side by side there, he 
 could observe and judge for himself. He became 
 enough of an Athenian to enable him to comprehend 
 fully and sympathetically the political and literary 
 democracy of Athens, yet without the partisanship and 
 narrow-mindedness, which, for example, insisted upon 
 reckoning the Macedonians as barbarians. The early 
 scientific training which he had received under the di- 
 rection of his father, a physician, was supplemented, 
 before the impressionable age had passed, by intimate 
 contact with the most spiritual and cultured mind 
 which Athens had produced. While not a man of 
 affairs, he was thrown into close relations with that 
 consummate politician and strategist, Philip of Mace- 
 don, and watched over the expanding genius of Alex- 
 ander. Plato called Aristotle the "reader." This side 
 of the man is remarkable. He knew at first hand all 
 the works of literature that Greece had produced, and 
 
402 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 had read even innumerable documents inscribed on 
 stone and bronze which threw light upon institutions, 
 literary history, chronology, and biography. His meth- 
 od was eminently scientific. He wrote upon no subject 
 without first having gathered all available materials 
 and digested the writings of his predecessors in the 
 field. Aristotle would have been a wonderful man in 
 any age ; but it would be difficult to find in all literary 
 history a parallel to this remarkable coincidence of the 
 time and the man. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THE LOST WRITERS OF THE FOURTH CENTURY 
 
 The Importance of the Lost Literature of the Fourth Cen- 
 tury — Books and their Publication in Antiquity — At- 
 tic Tragedy the First Book — Papyrus and Parchment — 
 Causes of the Loss and Preservation of Books — Sources 
 of our Fragments — The Philosophers, Zeno and Epi- 
 curus—The Historians, Philistus, Ephorus, and Theo- 
 pompus — Tragedy after the Fifth Century — The Minor 
 Contemporaries of Euripides — The Tragic Poets of the 
 Fourth Century, Carcinus, Astydamas, Theodectas, and 
 Chaeremon — The Rhesus as a Type of the Fourth Cen- 
 tury Tragedy — Comedy after the Fifth Century — The 
 Middle Comedy and the New Comedy— The Poets of 
 the Middle Comedy, Anaxandrides, Antiphanes, and 
 Alexis— The Poets of the New Comedy, Philemon and 
 Menander. 
 
 In our account of the literature of the Attic period 
 we have traversed two important branches of poetry, 
 tragedy and comedy, and three of prose, history, ora- 
 tory, and philosophy. All of these were brought to 
 perfection, in the order named, in the one hundred and 
 seventy - five years lying between the first play of 
 Aeschylus and the death of Aristotle. Considered as a 
 whole, this period was certainly one of well-rounded 
 and many-sided completeness ; but if we look back at 
 the writers of the fourth century apart from those of 
 the fifth, taking into account only those whose works 
 are extant, we are impressed by the fact that the em- 
 phasis in the fourth century has apparently been shifted 
 completely to prose. We have not had occasion to 
 mention a single poet after Aristophanes. Although, 
 
 403 
 
404 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 in comparison with the great poets of the age of Per- 
 icles, those of the next two generations were of inferior 
 merit, and though the highest literary achievements of 
 the latter period down to the death of Aristotle were 
 unquestionably in the line of prose, yet the impression 
 which we have gained is a distorted one. In the eyes 
 of Aristotle or of any student of the fourth-century 
 literature in antiquity, the poets contemporary with 
 Demosthenes were worthy of serious consideration, and 
 not simply for purposes of literary history. The case 
 is different as regards the fifth-century literature. It 
 chances that all the important branches are represented 
 in that period by their greatest writers. In the fourth, 
 on the other hand, we have only the greatest orators 
 and philosophers, and one historian, Xenophon, who 
 was really a product of the fifth century. It is there- 
 fore of the greatest importance, if we would gain a clear 
 idea of the literary activities of the fourth century, that 
 we should turn our attention to the vestiges of the 
 great mass of writings not included in the preceding 
 account. 
 
 When we face the almost total loss of the immense 
 body of poetry produced at Athens in the fourth cen- 
 tury and the preservation of only a fragment of the 
 prose, and estimate the ratio of the lost to the pre- 
 served not only of that period but of Greek literature 
 in general, we begin to realize our good fortune in 
 possessing even a few of the masterpieces. Dramatic 
 poetry furnishes a good illustration. During the Attic 
 period over four thousand different plays were brought 
 out at the two festivals at Athens. Of these only forty- 
 four survive. It is indeed a fortunate circumstance, 
 and not altogether the result of accident, that, with one 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 405 
 
 important exception, it is precisely the greatest tragic 
 and comic poets of whose works some specimens have 
 been transmitted to us through the ages. But the loss 
 of the works of their contemporaries and successors 
 makes it difficult properly to estimate the nature and 
 degree of their preeminence, the relative merit of their 
 rivals, and the course of dramatic poetry in the century 
 following. And so it is, in a less degree, with the other 
 branches of literature. 
 
 Before proceeding to the consideration of the lost 
 writers, an account of whom is necessary as a supple- 
 ment to our preceding discussion, let us briefly recall 
 the conditions under which books were made and pub- 
 lished in antiquity, and the different elements which 
 contributed to the destruction of some and the preser- 
 vation of others in the course of the centuries before 
 the invention of printing. 
 
 The existence of books presupposes the knowledge 
 and practice of writing, the ability to compose in lan- 
 guage a connected series of thoughts forming a logical 
 whole, and a material suitable for the reception of 
 written signs and light enough to be easily moved and 
 handled. As to the last point, it is clear that the 
 Egyptian hieroglyphic monuments and the Greek in- 
 scriptions on stone cannot properly be called books. 
 Further, in the ordinary acceptance of the word, there 
 must also be some sort of means of multiplication of 
 copies, or publication, before a manuscript which ful- 
 fils all the other conditions becomes a book. An ora- 
 tion of Lysias, for example, was not a book so long as 
 the only copy was that from which the author drilled 
 his client ; it became a book as soon as copies were 
 made and given out. 
 
4o6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 The art of extended composition was developed in 
 Greece as early as the ninth century, as the Homeric 
 poems prove. Writing began to be employed in the 
 eighth century, but only for brief public records, such 
 as lists of priests or state officials. In the seventh cen- 
 tury laws were written down and placed where the 
 public could read them. It is safe to assume that the 
 need of written laws was felt before the need of written 
 poems, especially since there was a satisfactory means 
 of oral publication of poetry. In the sixth century 
 writing was freely practised. The materials at first 
 employed were stone, bronze, lead, clay, wood, and 
 leather. The use of leather, which, of all these ma- 
 terials, was alone capable of being so prepared as to be 
 light, durable, and relatively inexpensive, seems not 
 to have been widespread in the early times. With the 
 introduction of papyrus from Egypt the problem of a 
 suitable material was solved. The Greek word for 
 book, "biblos," or " biblion," points to the use of the 
 papyrus plant (byblos) for the earliest real books in 
 Greece. Paper made by pasting together strips of the 
 pulp of the papyrus reed had been in use among the 
 Egyptians since at least, 3,000 B. C. The importation 
 of this material into Greece, however, did not begin 
 until the Nile region was opened up to Greek mer- 
 chants under Psammetichus in the seventh century, 
 and did not reach considerable proportions until long 
 afterward. 
 
 By the fifth century two of the principal conditions 
 which made possible the written book had been satis- 
 fied. But there was not yet a demand upon the part 
 of the public for books as a means of gaining an ac- 
 quaintance with the products of literature. The high 
 
>M^f4H'lr, 
 
 n 
 
 *j>4 fin <r >-Y H f >c7-«> I c-Tf HC^T^^f M 
 
 /-■r»r TTMXr r\Iii r> A OVWTTQ T« A MTTanRTPT' 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 407 
 
 price of a book written on papyrus probably was some- 
 what responsible for this condition, but mainly the 
 habit of receiving the words of an author directly from 
 his lips, or through his representative, the rhapsodist, 
 the public reciter, the lyric chorus, or the actor. At- 
 tention has repeatedly been called to the fact that the 
 Greek literature down to the time of Pericles was in- 
 tended almost exclusively for oral publication. This 
 is of course obviously true in the case of dramatic 
 poetry. But the very conditions under which tragedy 
 and comedy were brought before the public — a single 
 performance in Athens, the reproduction of old plays 
 an honor reserved for exceptionally popular pieces, 
 and the supreme interest felt by the cultivated public 
 in tragedy in particular — all these led inevitably to the 
 production of copies of the author's manuscript of at 
 least the more successful plays. Thus the first pub- 
 lished book in Greece, in the strict sense of the term, 
 was an Attic tragedy. In all probability the larger 
 number of the plays of the earlier period were never 
 published, and the authors* copies perished. Certainly 
 many even of the successful plays did not survive to 
 the Alexandrian age. But a reading public was rapidly 
 developed and the copying and selling of books became 
 a business. Euripides had a good library, Aristotle 
 an extensive one. Individuals often borrowed a copy 
 of a work and made their own books ; Demosthenes, 
 we are told, thus obtained Thucydides for his library. 
 
 In the third century great libraries, of which those 
 at Alexandria and Pergamum were the most important, 
 were established at the principal capitals. After the 
 foundation of the library at Pergamum, the Egyptian 
 kings, we are told, jealous of the new rival, placed an 
 
4o8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 embargo on the exportation of papyrus and forced the 
 Pergamene authorities to improve the process of pre- 
 paring skins so that both sides could be used for writ- 
 ing. Thus parchment (pergamen^, /.<?., leather from 
 Pergamum) was invented — a material far superior to 
 papyrus in point of durability and the legibility of the 
 writing. But papyrus continued to be generally used 
 until about the fourth century after Christ. From the 
 fourth to the sixth century the makers of books were 
 busied with transferring to parchment works of litera- 
 ture preserved till then on papyrus. Of course only 
 the books which still held the attention of the reading 
 public were thus transferred. This process of selec- 
 tion naturally left to perish by decay many papyrus 
 rolls containing things which we should regard as most 
 precious. When the first printed editions of the clas- 
 sics were made during the Renaissance, only parchment 
 books had survived. Since then a few works of litera- 
 ture, and a good deal of rubbish, have been recovered 
 on papyrus sheets found mainly at Herculaneum and in 
 Egypt. 
 
 The above sketch has suggested how a large part 
 of the works of classical literature perished : many be- 
 cause never published in book form during the life of 
 their authors, or not preserved by oral tradition, as 
 was Homer, down to the period of book-making; others 
 because of a lack of interest on the part of the con- 
 temporary public in preserving them ; still others, 
 often of the greatest value, because the degenerate 
 taste of a later age suffered them to perish by neglect. 
 The perishable nature of papyrus was responsible for 
 the result in the two last cases. Other factors may be 
 mentioned : the destruction of the great libraries, the 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 409 
 
 hostility of the Christian Church toward some of the 
 pagan literature (Sappho, for example), the burnings 
 of Byzantium, the pillage of Constantinople by the 
 Crusaders, the carrying of rare and often unique manu- 
 scripts back and forth from the east to the west, the 
 almost total neglect of the classical Greek literature in 
 Western Europe during the Middle Ages, and the 
 thousand and one chances to which the relics of classi- 
 cal antiquity were subjected. The wonder is that so 
 much survived. 
 
 The most effective cause of the preservation of any 
 given work has been of course its popularity in antiq- 
 uity, which led to the making of a large number of 
 copies. There was never any serious danger of the loss 
 of the Homeric poems, for example. But the changing 
 tastes and needs of each successive age brought in 
 some new favorite authors and discarded many of the 
 old. The first systematic selection of the ** classics" 
 was made by the Alexandrian scholars, who established 
 canons of the best writers in each branch. To their 
 good judgment, above all other causes, is due the pres- 
 ervation of the works of the greatest authors of the 
 classical period ; for the standard they set up domi- 
 nated all antiquity. The Romans in turn made their 
 selections from the canonical writers, the grammarian3 
 and school teachers from the favorites of the Romans, 
 often choosing the easiest things, rather than the best, 
 and so on through the Byzantine period and the Middle 
 Ages. 
 
 Our knowledge of the lost writers is derived from 
 allusions to them and quotations from them in ancient 
 literature, with the addition of a few papyrus fragments 
 and translations into Latin. Most of our quotations 
 
4IO Homer to Theocritus 
 
 from the lost poets come from Athenaeus and Stobaeus. 
 Athenaeus wrote in the third century after Christ a 
 voluminous work entitled " The Philosophers of the 
 Dinner -table*' a. copious epitome of which has come 
 down to us. His main interests, however, were not 
 literary ; he gossips about foods, sauces, dishes, drink- 
 ing, intrigues, and such trifles, citing appropriate pas- 
 sages, especially from the comic poets, to illustrate each 
 point. Naturally we do not gain from him precisely 
 the materials needed for estimating the literary quali- 
 ties of the poets. Stobaeus, the collector of an Anthology 
 of extracts from over 500 writers of prose and poetry, 
 lived in the sixth century of our era. To him we owe 
 a large proportion of the quotations from the tragic 
 poets. Still other quotations are found in the gram- 
 marians, who cite passages to illustrate points in gram- 
 mar, obsolete words, or matters of antiquarian interest. 
 A rather small proportion of the collections which 
 modern scholars have laboriously gathered together 
 from all these and other sources have a literary value, 
 and the best quotations are a poor substitute for the 
 original work. 
 
 The account of oratory which we have given takes 
 into consideration all of the orators of the canon and 
 needs no supplement. But something should be said 
 of the lost philosophers and historians and especially 
 of the representative tragic and comic poets. Lyric 
 poetry also flourished in the fourth century, but we 
 have very little direct information about it except that 
 there was no poet of especial prominence and that the 
 musical accompaniment tended to overshadow the 
 words. We may therefore leave it out of consideration 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 411 
 
 and turn our attention to the branches in which the 
 creative impulse was still effective or which are of im- 
 portance for the study of literary movements. 
 
 Plato and Aristotle during their lives overshadowed 
 all the other philosophers, but two new schools were 
 founded in the second half of the fourth century which 
 soon came into prominence and exercised an important 
 influence on literature and life. Zeno (345-265) was the 
 founder of the Stoic school, so called from the stoa or 
 porch, decorated with the paintings of the great artist 
 Polygnotus, in which the lectures were held. The Stoic 
 philosophy, which we might better call a religion, owed 
 its prominence in Greek and Roman life to its strict 
 system of morals. In the conception of Zeno god was 
 the supreme Reason which regulates the universe. The 
 laws of nature are the laws of god. To live in harmony 
 with nature was therefore the life for which all men 
 should strive, and they can attain this life by controlling 
 the passions in accordance with the dictates of reason. 
 Among the adherents of Stoicism we find, especially 
 among the Romans, upon whom this philosophy took 
 strong hold, some of the noblest characters produced 
 by paganism. 
 
 Epicurus (341-270), the founder of the Epicurean 
 philosophy, taught a doctrine in many respects quite 
 the opposite of that of Zeno. As the latter emphasized 
 virtue and the control of the passions, Epicurus taught 
 that pleasure was the chief aim of existence. Discard- 
 ing an explanation of the universe in which god was 
 the lawgiver and director, he attributed all things to 
 chance. The existence of gods was not denied, but it 
 was held that they did not trouble themselves about 
 human affairs. Although the doctrine of pleasure, if 
 
412 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 pleasure is properly defined, was not necessarily de- 
 structive of good morals, yet its tendency was vicious. 
 Epicureanism came to be regarded by the Christian 
 church as the very antithesis of Christianity and the 
 embodiment of paganism. The doctrine of Epicurus is 
 best known to us through the great Roman poet Lu- 
 cretius, who, in his poem on the Nature of the Universe, 
 closely adhered to the teachings of the founder of the 
 school. 
 
 Taking up the historians, we come first to a contem- 
 porary of Xenophon, also a man of affairs — Philistus of 
 Syracuse, a partisan and general of the two Sicilian 
 tyrants Dionysius. Like Thucydides he had leisure 
 during a period of banishment to devote himself to the 
 writing of a history, mainly of events which had fallen 
 under his own observation. His History of Sicily, in 
 thirteen books, began with the earliest times and was 
 brought down to the year 362. In style and composi- 
 tion he seems to have resembled Thucydides in many 
 respects, though as an historian he fell far short of his 
 great model. 
 
 Xenophon was the last of the Attic historians whose 
 training for historical composition was derived from the 
 field of action. Under the influence of Isocrates the 
 rhetoricians now occupied this province. Instead of 
 statesmen and generals, whose personal contact with af- 
 fairs had developed in them the power of accurate obser- 
 vation and critical judgment, and whose chief aim was 
 to present a faithful record of facts and impressions, 
 we now meet with a school of historians with whom 
 fine writing was of greater importance than the sub- 
 stance of history. And yet the two principal represen- 
 tatives of this tendency, Ephorus and Theopompus, 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 413 
 
 each made notable contributions to Greek literature, 
 and their works were long regarded as standard his- 
 tories. 
 
 Ephorus came to Athens from Cyme in Asia Minor 
 and studied under Isocrates, who suggested the theme 
 of his greatest work. His history in thirty books was 
 the first universal history of Greece. Discarding as un- 
 trustworthy the mythological accounts of early Greece 
 and taking the return of the Heracleidae to the Pelo- 
 ponnesus (dated by ancient chronologists eighty years 
 after the fall of Troy) as the first authentic event in 
 Greek history, he brought his narrative down to the 
 siege of Perinthus in 340. For the larger portion of 
 his history he depended upon the earlier historians 
 rather than upon his own research, taking large sec- 
 tions almost verbatim out of Herodotus, for example. 
 He was decidedly weak in descriptions of military 
 operations, and not especially critical in his method, 
 but his work was extensively read and favorably re- 
 garded. 
 
 Theopompus of Chios was also a pupil of Isocrates 
 and in his earlier years gained a considerable reputa- 
 tion as an accomplished orator for special occasions. 
 His greatest rhetorical triumph was his panegyric on 
 King Mausolus of Caria, whose splendid tomb, the 
 Mausoleum, was one of the wonders of ancient arch- 
 itecture. His two great historical works were the 
 Hellenica^ in twelve books, a continuation of Thucyd- 
 ides* history down to the battle of Cnidos in 394, and 
 the Philippica in fifty-eight books. The latter had for 
 its central theme the reign of Philip I. of Macedon, but 
 by indulging in frequent and extended digressions it 
 covered practically the whole history of the time, so 
 
414 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 far as the Greek world was concerned. The narrative 
 of Theopompus abounded in anecdotes, too often of a 
 scandalous nature, which made him a favorite source 
 of information for the trivial writers of a later age. 
 The ancients were of varying opinions as to his merits 
 as an historian, but, to judge by his influence on later 
 historians and men of letters for many centuries, he is 
 entitled to be regarded as one of the most important of 
 Greek historians. 
 
 From the time of the first tragic contest in the reign 
 of Peisistratus, down to the second or third century 
 after Christ, new tragedies continued to be written and 
 put upon the stage. But the period of growth and 
 development practically ended with the death of Soph- 
 ocles and Euripides. Old tragedies were regularly pro- 
 duced along with the new after the first part of the 
 fourth century, and thus Sophocles and especially Eu- 
 ripides held their place in popular favor. The influence 
 of the three great tragic poets had fixed, seemingly in- 
 alterably, the laws of the tragic composition. Attempts 
 at innovation were few and unsuccessful. By giving up 
 the chorus the Greeks might have taken the first step 
 toward the development of the modern conception of 
 tragedy ; but the tradition was too strong. Tragedy 
 had developed out of the chorus. The most serious 
 duty of the poet or manager had always been the train- 
 ing of the chorus. The whole organization of the dra- 
 matic performances at Athens centred around the 
 chorus, which the State had assumed the obligation of 
 furnishing to the poets who were admitted to the tragic 
 contests. And so the chorus was retained even after it 
 had come to be a convention rather than an integral 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 4 1 5 
 
 part of tragedy. It is characteristic of the period of 
 the decline that the lines by which the chorus was at- 
 tached to the plot were loosened, although it still fur- 
 nished an important part of the spectacle. As regards 
 the subject matter, the same stories taken from my- 
 thology continued to be worked over again and again, 
 with only such changes as the cleverness of the poet 
 could devise or the taste of the times demanded, 
 Medea could be made to conceal her children from her 
 husband, instead of killing them ; or, on the other hand, 
 the horrors of the original conception could be height- 
 ened by detailed descriptions of the bloody deed. The 
 most important development in tragedy was in the 
 manner of its presentation. The scenic arrangements 
 were perfected. More attention was given to preserv- 
 ing the illusion by the invention of better stage ma- 
 chinery and more skilful scene-painting, and, above all, 
 the amateurish performers of the earlier times were re- 
 placed by professional actors. The fourth century was 
 the age of great actors. Again, dramatic perform- 
 ances were no longer confined to Athens nor to Attica. 
 Almost every village, after the fourth century, had its 
 own permanent theatre and its annual festival. Troupes 
 of professional performers, including poets, were sent 
 out to the local festivals by the powerful guilds of 
 " Dionysiac Artists" which had their headquarters in 
 the principal cities. 
 
 Before taking up the tragic poets of the fourth cen- 
 tury we may mention three poets of the latter half of 
 the fifth century who are entitled to a place next to 
 Sophocles and Euripides. Two of them. Ion of Chios 
 and Achaeus of Eretria, were admitted into the Alex- 
 andrian canon beside the three masters. Achaeus was 
 
41 6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 especially esteemed for his satyr-dramas, in which he 
 was regarded as second only to Aeschylus. Ion was a 
 versatile man of letters, turning his attention with dis- 
 tinction to both prose and poetry. On one occasion he 
 won the first prize in both tragedy and in the dithy- 
 ramb. He and Achaeus began their careers as tragic 
 poets about the same time as Euripides. The third is 
 Agathon, who won his first victory in 416 B. C. The 
 scene of Plato's Symposium is the banquet given in 
 Agathon's house in celebration of this victory. Agathon 
 took up his residence at the Macedonian court some 
 time before 405, greatly to the loss of the Athenian 
 stage. In spite of the jeers of the comic poets at his 
 foppishness and effeminacy, he was a poet of unusual 
 ability, somewhat inclined to innovations. He ventured 
 once to abandon the subjects taken from mythology in 
 favor of a purely fictitious subject in the Flower^ which 
 Aristotle found worthy of commendation, though he 
 elsewhere criticises him for his loose handling of the 
 chorus and for faulty plot-construction. 
 
 In the Frogs Aristophanes puts into the mouth of 
 Dionysus some rather gloomy sentiments about the 
 outlook for tragedy after the death of Euripides and 
 Sophocles. Explaining to Heracles why he has deter- 
 mined to go down to Hades after Euripides, Dionysus 
 wys : " I want a clever poet, for the good are all dead 
 and gone — only the worthless are left behind." " What,*' 
 replies Heracles, "isn't lophon (the son of Sophocles) 
 still alive ? " " Well, that's the only good thing left 
 then, if you can call it good ; I'm not quite sure about 
 it myself. I must first find out what he can do without 
 Sophocles to help him." " Then there's Xenocles," 
 suggests Heracles. " Confound Xenocles." "And 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 417 
 
 Pythangelus." — We can fancy what Dionysus would 
 have said about Pythangelus if he had not been inter- y 
 rupted. There is a good deal of comic exaggeration in 
 this conversation, for the poet was obliged to provide a 
 sufficient motive for the extraordinary adventure of his 
 hero ; yet we can well believe that the opinions put into 
 the mouth of Dionysus found a response in the hearts 
 of many an Athenian in the audience. But, though the 
 golden age of tragedy had in truth passed away, yet the 
 next two generations produced several poets who found 
 favor with the Athenians, won the approbation of 
 Aristotle, and were read and quoted for many centuries 
 afterward. The most important were Carcinus, Asty- 
 damas, Theodectas, and Chaeremon. 
 
 Carcinus was the grandson of the tragic poet Car- 
 cinus, ridiculed unmercifully by Aristophanes, and son 
 of Xenocles, who, though so summarily dismissed by 
 the comic poet in the passage just quoted, yet succeeded 
 in defeating Euripides in 415. The younger Carcinus 
 was a pupil of Isocrates and a fair representative of the 
 rhetorical tendency which prevailed in tragic composi- 
 tion in the fourth century. Trammelled by the conven- 
 tionalities which tradition had established, these prod- 
 ucts of the school of Isocrates wasted in the cultivation 
 of a florid forensic style talents that would better have 
 been devoted to the truly dramatic side of tragedy. 
 The success of Carcinus in winning eleven victories at 
 the City Dionysia attests his popularity at Athens, 
 which also brought him an invitation to visit the court 
 of Dionysus at Syracuse, where he spent some years. 
 
 Astydamas, like Carcinus, was the scion of a family 
 famous in the annals of tragedy. His father was Asty- 
 damas, who won his first victory in 398, the son of 
 
41 8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Morsimus, of whom the comic poets have much, but 
 nothing good, to say, and Morsimus was in turn the 
 son of Philocles, who defeated Sophocles when the lat- 
 ter brought out the Oedipus Rex. This Philocles was 
 the son of Aeschylus' sister, who married the tragic 
 poet Philopeithes. Several other members of the family 
 of Aeschylus were tragic poets, including his two sons, 
 one of whom, Euphorion, had the distinction of defeat- 
 ing both Sophocles and Euripides when the latter pro- 
 duced his Medea. Tragic poetry was a profession, and 
 not merely a branch of literature. Father initiated son 
 in the difficult technical arts of musical composition, 
 the training of choruses in dancing and singing, stage- 
 management, and the like. The families of Sophocles 
 and Euripides also illustrate this tendency. Two sons 
 of the former, lophon and Ariston, and a grandson, 
 Sophocles, who brought out the Oedipus at Colonus, 
 gained a name in tragedy, and a son or nephew of 
 Euripides, the younger Euripides, who produced the 
 Bacchanals and the Iphigeneia among the Taurians, seems 
 to have won several victories. To return to Astydamas 
 the younger, his most notable success was with the 
 ParthenopaeuSy a subject which seems never to have re- 
 ceived tragic treatment before. When it was exhibited 
 in 340 the people were so enthusiastic in their approval 
 of it that they voted the author the honor of a statue 
 in the newly built theatre, an honor hitherto reserved 
 for Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Astydamas 
 won fifteen victories in all, eight at the City Dionysia, 
 
 Theodectas was one of the most accomplished men 
 of the age. A native of Phaselis in Lycia, he came 
 to Athens, studied under Isocrates and Plato, and be- 
 came the intimate friend of Aristotle, who was nearly 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 419 
 
 of the same age. His profession was at first oratory, 
 but he later turned his attention to tragedy, in which 
 he achieved a conspicuous success. The epitaph on his 
 tombstone records the fact that in thirteen contests he 
 won eight victories. Seven of these were at the greater 
 festival. The reputation which he gained as a poet 
 was scarcely greater than his fame as an orator. He 
 was one of the speakers at the panegyric competition 
 in honor of Mausolus at which the historian Theopom- 
 pus won the prize. He also wrote a much-quoted book 
 on rhetoric. 
 
 Chaeremon is the first known representative of a 
 class of tragic poets which soon became numerous — 
 those whose plays were not intended for the stage. He 
 may have exhibited also, but Aristotle expressly men- 
 tions him as one of those " who write to be read, whose 
 plays are in everybody's hands." From the very begin- 
 ning of tragic competitions, many plays were of course 
 written which were not exhibited in the theatre, but 
 they were not published, as were Chaeremon's, nor was 
 the public interested in them. The tendency of which 
 we have spoken, to make tragedy the vehicle of brilliant 
 rhetoric, necessarily led to the production of works 
 which were not adapted to scenic representation. 
 There was now a demand for such plays in cultivated 
 circles, and their authors escaped from the burden of 
 training the chorus and directing the performance. 
 Besides, it had now become the fashion for men who 
 aspired to a literary reputation to undertake the writ- 
 ing of tragedies as an elegant accomplishment. 
 
 Nothing remains of these four writers, nor of the 
 lesser tragic poets, which assists us materially in form- 
 ing an estimate of the style and manner of the tragedy 
 
420 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 of the period. But there is extant in the manuscripts of 
 Euripides a play by an unknown author, the Rhesus^ 
 which is now generally believed to have been written 
 in the first half of the fourth century. It may serve to 
 give us a clearer idea of one kind of tragedy produced 
 after the passing of the golden age. Euripides wrote 
 a RhesuSy but not this Rhesus^ which has only been pre- 
 served from destruction by the protection of the great 
 poet's name. 
 
 The Rhesus is a dramatization of the tenth book of 
 the Iliad, The scene is the Trojan camp on the plain of 
 Troy. In the background we see the tent of Hector. 
 The time, between midnight and dawn. Enter the 
 sentinels of the camp, who form the chorus, and sum- 
 mon Hector from his tent. They have come to tell 
 him of strange disturbances in the camp of the Greeks 
 — a multitude of lights, the gathering of the men about 
 Agamemnon's tent, and shouting — and warn him to be 
 on his guard against a hostile attempt. Hector, always 
 too confident, believes that the enemy is planning an 
 escape under cover of darkness. He is about to arouse 
 his army for an attack, but Aeneas, more cautious, 
 advises sending a spy. Dolon volunteers and soon sets 
 out upon his dangerous mission. A shepherd now ar- 
 rives with the welcome tidings that Rhesus, the long-ex- 
 pected Thracian ally of the Trojans, is approaching with 
 his army. Rhesus himself soon appears and is wel- 
 comed by Hector. They plan the coming battle, both 
 confident of an easy victory. Rhesus then retires to 
 rest with his men, at a place designated by Hector just 
 without the camp. The Thracians, as it turns out, 
 wearied by their long march and thinking the neigh- 
 borhood of Hector's army a sufficient guarantee against 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 4a 1 
 
 harm, fail to set a watch. After the departure of 
 Rhesus the camp is again hushed in silence except for 
 the chanting of the sentinels as they march back to 
 their posts at the outskirts of the army. For a mo- 
 ment the scene is vacant. At this juncture Odysseus 
 and Diomedes enter the camp. They have caught and 
 slain Dolon, after first getting from him the Trojan 
 watchword for the night. They look into Hector's 
 tent, for they have come to slay him in his sleep, but 
 find the tent empty. As they are about to go back to 
 their camp, Athene appears and urges them to slay 
 Rhesus and lead away his marvellous snow-white 
 horses. Paris, disturbed by noises in the camp, en- 
 ters just as the two Greeks are about to set out on this 
 new errand, but Athene, by pretending that she is 
 Aphrodite, gets him easily out of the way. Suddenly an 
 alarm is raised. Odysseus enters running, followed by 
 the sentinels, who have just been relieved and are re- 
 turning to their beds. Odysseus is caught and chal- 
 lenged, but gives the password and is set free. As he 
 slips away in the darkness, the charioteer of Rhesus, all 
 covered with blood, rushes in and announces the murder 
 of his master and the theft of the horses. He accuses 
 Hector of foul play. Hector, evidently moved by the 
 charge but having no defence, sends the charioteer 
 away. Then Terpsichore, mother of Rhesus, comes 
 down from on high to take away the body of his son, 
 reveals the authors of the deed, and curses Odysseus. 
 As the day dawns Hector bids all depart and prepare 
 for battle. 
 
 This brief outline will serve to show the main char- 
 acteristics of the play — realism and movement. There 
 is no pause in the action. The scene is constantly 
 
4212 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 filled with "alarums and excursions." We catch the 
 air of restlessness which pervades the Trojan camp. 
 The characters are lifelike, though not drawn with 
 delicacy. The most interesting feature is the chorus. 
 It is admirably managed throughout and by no means 
 on conventional lines. Its sympathy with the actorsNis 
 complete and its part in the action of the first impor- 
 tance for the development of the plot. The choral 
 odes are not long nor ambitious in the lyric sense, but 
 always appropriate. The poet has shown unusual 
 skill in motiving its presence on the scene and es- 
 pecially in removing it at the critical moment when 
 Odysseus and Diomedes are about to enter the camp. 
 The sentinels' station is at the outposts of the camp ; 
 their first entrance is for the purpose of informing the 
 chieftain of the doings of the enemy ; their reentry, 
 when they catch Odysseus, is after they have been re- 
 lieved and are returning to rest. The r6le of Athene 
 reminds us of the opening scene of Sophocles* Ajax, 
 and the deus ex machina is in the Euripidean manner. 
 The author was not a great poet, though he was a clever 
 playwright. Evidently a close student of the earlier 
 poets, he was neither a servile imitator nor under the 
 vicious influence of the rhetorical school. We should 
 be glad to believe that the qualities which distinguish 
 this piece — animation, realism, a fair degree of the 
 spectacular without sacrifice of the character-drawing, 
 and clever plot-construction — were not below the level 
 of the average fourth-century tragedy. 
 
 The resources of comedy were not exhausted in the 
 fifth century, brilliant as were the achievements of 
 Cratinus, Eupolis, Aristophanes, and the other repre- 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 423 
 
 sentatives of the Old Comedy. Under these poets it 
 had reached a stage of development comparable to that 
 of tragedy in the early part of the fifth century under 
 Phrynichus and Aeschylus. The age of artistic per- 
 fection, represented in tragedy by Sophocles, was still 
 to come. We have seen that the plays of Aristophanes 
 were characterized by extravagant fantasy, youthful 
 exuberance, buffoonery, obscenity, and merciless satire 
 on individuals and the state, all expressed in a form in 
 which plot and the harmonious welding of the parts 
 into an artistic whole counted for little. The chorus 
 had been accepted from tragedy as the necessary cen- 
 tral ingredient of the dramatic form, and was employed 
 to assist in the unfolding of an elementary plot. Ad- 
 vantage was taken of its presence to enchance the spec- 
 tacle through grotesque impersonations, and its num- 
 bers added materially to the animation of the action. 
 But, from the artistic point of view, it was constantly 
 used in violation of the dramatic proprieties, especially 
 in the parabasis, where illusion was thrown to the 
 winds and the chorus spoke out on irrelevant topics as 
 the mouthpiece of the poet. 
 
 A people penetrated by the artistic instinct of the 
 Athenians was certain to create a more perfect, harmoni- 
 ous, universal form of comedy than this. Within three 
 quarters of a century after the death of Aristophanes 
 the task was accomplished. The interval was a period 
 of transition, designated by general consent as the 
 Middle Comedy. Its limits may be set roughly as 388, 
 the year of Aristophanes' last play, and 321, the date 
 of the first play of Menander. The New Comedy may 
 be said to begin with the latter date and to extend to 
 about 250. All dates, however, which are set to mark 
 
424 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 periods in a branch of literature whose growth and 
 development were constant and gradual, must be ac- 
 cepted as in some degree arbitrary. 
 
 The changes which comedy underwent before it 
 reached a universal form were normal and inevitable, 
 but they were accelerated at two critical epochs by 
 changes in the political, social, and intellectual condi- 
 tions at Athens. The first, at the end of the fifth cen- 
 tury, were the results of the Peloponnesian War, which 
 shattered the imperialistic aspirations of Athens, broke 
 the spirit of the extreme democracy, directed the atten- 
 tion of the people more to internal affairs, tempered 
 the violence of party strife, and paved the way for an 
 improved social and intellectual life. The second epoch 
 was the overthrow of Greek freedom by Alexander, 
 which made possible the thoughtful and refined cosmo- 
 politan society of the third century. But it is impor- 
 tant to remember that these events did not interrupt 
 the normal growth of comedy, but only hastened a 
 process that had already made noticeable headway. 
 
 Aristotle, writing during his last residence in Athens 
 (335-323), remarks that the poet Crates, who was about 
 a decade earlier than Aristophanes, had initiated im- 
 portant changes in the spirit of the Old Comedy. Put- 
 ting aside the lampooning of individuals, he " general- 
 ized " his jplots. The kind of mirth which the other 
 poets excited, he explains elsewhere, was essentially 
 malicious, for it involved the discomfiture of another. 
 A higher form of humor is that which derives pleasure 
 from the frailties and foibles of human nature in gen- 
 eral, in such a way as not to inflict pain. He might 
 have gone further and included " the incongruities, ab- 
 surdities, and cross-purposes of life, its blunders and 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 425 
 
 its discords, its imperfect correspondences and adjust- 
 ments, and that in matters intellectual as well as moral " 
 (Butcher). In another passage Aristotle calls attention 
 to a difference between the Old Comedy and that of 
 his time in the matter of refinement and good taste ; 
 the coarse obscenity habitual to the former had given 
 way to the innuendo ; the language is now such as it is 
 honorable for a gentleman to enjoy. We learn from 
 these observations two important tendencies of the 
 Middle Comedy, which became characteristics of the 
 New. With Crates, who began those changes, we may 
 associate one of the best-known of the comic poets of 
 the time, Plato, not to be confounded with his name- 
 sake, the philosopher. Plato's life extended into the 
 period of the Middle Comedy, and he is often spoken 
 of as a representative of that period. Aristophanes 
 himself, in his later plays, modified both his abusive- 
 ness and his obscenity, and thus participated, though 
 not markedly, in the new movement. 
 
 The poets of the Middle and New Comedy were 
 more fortunate than the contemporary tragic poets in 
 that they were not fettered by conventionalities fixed 
 by the practice of their predecessors, either as to sub- 
 ject-matter or as to form. There was no recognized 
 normal pattern after which Aristophanes modelled his 
 plays, as we have seen. There was the general attempt 
 to approximate the structure of tragedy, but in a very 
 loose manner. The later plays of Aristophanes omit 
 the parabasis altogether, and in general make a more 
 limited use of the chorus. The parabasis, which was 
 probably a characteristic feature of the early unliterary 
 comus^ taken over into comedy in spite of its violations 
 of the principles of dramatic art, always was of the 
 
4^6 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 nature of an alien growth and very naturally disap- 
 peared altogether in the fourth century. The chorus, 
 which was by no means essential to the dramatic form 
 and was in fact imported into comedy from tragedy, 
 diminished gradually in importance and at some time 
 during the period of the New Comedy was omitted en- 
 tirely, or at least was employed in an entirely different 
 function — to fill in the pauses of the action. When this 
 point was reached, comedy had arrived at its full growth, 
 structurally, and had become, like a modern play, a suc- 
 cession of acts, each conducing to the development and 
 solution of a plot. 
 
 No less important was the freedom from limitations 
 as to subject-matter. The range of subjects was 
 limited only by the inventiveness of the poets, as in the 
 earlier period. But the early poets had left almost un- 
 touched the most fertile field of all — human nature and 
 society — while they had exhausted the field of politics. 
 At least we may believe that the public, after the fall 
 of Athens, the revolution, and the restoration of the 
 democracy, no longer cared to grant to the comic poets 
 the old license, and would no longer allow them to as- 
 sume the old r61e of censors of statesmen, public men, 
 and matters of state policy and administration. The 
 taste of the age, besides, was different. The tumult- 
 uous and extravagant fantasy of the preceding age 
 could not satisfy a people who had learned to find 
 pleasure in the elegant discussions of the schools of 
 rhetoric and philosophy, in fine observations and analy- 
 sis. There was need of a nearer approach to real life. 
 But the transition was not made without attempts 
 in other directions. During the Middle Comedy paro- 
 dies of mythological subjects were especially in vogue. 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 427 
 
 The stories of the births, marriages, banquets, and gal- 
 lant adventures of the gods were turned to ridicule. It 
 was an age of rationalism and the people doubtless 
 sympathized with such attacks upon the absurd features 
 of the old religion. There were also parodies of trage- 
 dies and the stories of the epic, and the current schools 
 of philosophy did not escape. But the most significant 
 tendency was the increasing attention given to subjects 
 from daily life, as such titles as these indicate : the 
 Fuller^ the Fisherwoman, the Master of Arms, Stock 
 characters appear oftener, such as the parasite, the 
 cook, and the blustering soldier. In the plays of this 
 class we see the beginnings of the New Comedy. 
 
 The number of comedies produced in the fourth cen- 
 tury was enormous. Athenaeus asserts that he had 
 read 800 comedies of this period. We know that the 
 number of comedies produced at each festival was in- 
 creased from three to five, so that the number of 
 comedies performed at Athens yearly was ten, to say 
 nothing of the outside exhibitions. Of the numerous 
 poets whose names we know three stand out from the 
 rest — Anaxandrides, Antiphanes, and Alexis. 
 
 Anaxandrides was a native of Rhodes, born near the 
 turn of the fourth century. He won ten victories in 
 all, of which seven were at the City Dionysia. He is 
 said to have given prominence in his plays to intrigue 
 and runaway marriages. These two fragments give an 
 idea of his manner : 
 
 HEALTH, BEAUTY, WEALTH 
 
 Whoe'er it was that made the drinking song, 
 Who put health first, as though it were the beSt, 
 So far was right ; — but second he set beauty, 
 
4^8 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 And riches third ! There he, you see, was daft ; 
 For after health is wealth the chiefest thing, — 
 A handsome starveling is a wretched beast I 
 
 Lawton. 
 
 MARRIAGE 
 
 A man who doubts if he should marry, 
 Or thinks he has good cause to tarry, 
 Is foolish if he takes a wife, 
 The source of half the plagues in life I 
 A poor man to a rich wife sold 
 Exchanges liberty for gold. 
 If she has nothing, then, 'tis true. 
 There is a different ill to rue ; 
 For now he has, with all his need, 
 Two mouths instead of one to feed. 
 Perhaps she's ugly ; married life 
 Thenceforth is never-ending strife ! 
 Perhaps she's pretty ; then your boast 
 Is made by all your friends their toast 
 Does ugly, handsome, poor, or rich, 
 Bring most ill luck ? — I know not which. 
 
 Paley. 
 
 Antiphanes was also a non-Athenian by birth, as 
 was an increasing number of the poets of Athens from 
 the fourth century on. Born about 385, he died about 
 310, after having exhibited almost fifty years. We are 
 told that he was the author of from 280 to 365 plays, but 
 these figures can hardly be trustworthy. He was, how- 
 ever, an exceptionally productive poet, which perhaps 
 accounts for the fact that he won so few victories, rel- 
 atively — thirteen in all, five only at the City Dionysia, 
 The following fragment is the best possible illustration 
 of the fact to which allusion has already been made — 
 
Lost Writers of' the Fourth Century 429 
 
 the restriction of tragedy to a narrow cycle of mytho- 
 logical subjects, worked over ad nauseam by earlier 
 poets, and the freedom of the comic poet in this respect 
 — an advantage of which Antiphanes here pretends to 
 complain ! 
 
 THE COMIC POETS GRIEVANCES 
 
 Happy in every way the lot 
 Of tragic poets 1 First, because the tale 
 Is perfectly to the spectators known, 
 Ere aught is said. The poet only need 
 Remind them : for if I say * * Oedipus!* 
 Why, all the rest they know. . . . 
 Besides, when they have nothing more to say, 
 Then like a finger their machine they raise, 
 And that suffices for their audience. 
 
 Nothing of this have we, but everything 
 We must invent : new names, new circumstance, 
 Present conditions, the catastrophe. 
 The episodes. If one be overlooked, 
 Chremes and Pheidon hiss us from the stage. 
 
 Lawton. 
 
 Undoubtedly the greatest poet of the Middle 
 Comedy was Alexis, a native of Thurii in Southern 
 Italy. In his remarkably long life of over loo years 
 (376 to 271) he witnessed the complete evolution of the 
 New Comedy from the Middle and actively participated 
 in both, for his literary activity extended from about 357 
 to his death. The fragments reveal a poet of unusual 
 gifts of humor and invention. The philosophical strain, 
 the half-serious, half-humorous reflections on the prob- 
 lems of life and death, illustrated in the first selec- 
 tion, is entirely in the manner of the New Comedy. 
 
430 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 VANITY FAIR 
 
 This is a mere excursion we enjoy, 
 We who are living, who are but released — 
 As for some festival — from death and gloom. 
 For our diversion we to light are sent, — 
 This light of life ; and whoso laughs and drinks 
 And loves the most, in the brief time we here 
 May tarry, and at the banquet wins him so 
 The prize, — he best contented hies him home ! 
 
 Lawton. 
 
 FISH 
 
 Living and dead the monsters of the deep 
 As foes to man their evil influence keep. 
 A boat's capsized : a shark is close, and swallows 
 The wretch who helpless in the breakers wallows. 
 He's caught by fish ; but when they're caught by us. 
 Dead though they be, they put us in a fuss ; 
 So dear are they to buy, we've lost our all 
 If once we stop to haggle at a stall. 
 Paley. 
 
 WINE AND MAN 
 
 In wine and man this difference appears : 
 The old man bores you, but the old wine cheers. 
 Men do not, like your wine, improve by age ; 
 The more their years, the less their ways engage. 
 
 Paley. 
 
 The New Comedy differed from the Middle Comedy 
 in form in two respects — the chorus was either omitted 
 or used only to fill the pauses between acts, and a new 
 kind of prologue was introduced. Instead of employ- 
 ing the opening scene to explain the subject and the 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 431 
 
 plot, one of the characters of the piece, or sometimes a 
 fanciful creation like " Air " or " Fear," came forward 
 and gave the necessary preliminary indications as to 
 the theme, scene of action, and the like. This device 
 enabled the poet to put himself en rapport with the 
 audience at the start, for he made the most of this op- 
 portunity for humorous turns or even for personal allu- 
 sions, and to begin the action immediately in the first 
 act. Tkie all-important distinction, however, was the 
 complete realization of the ideal toward which the 
 poets of the fourth century had been groping — to give 
 comedy as its exclusive subject the faithful representa- 
 tion of contemporary life, and therefore, to a large de- 
 gree, of all life. Philemon and Menander promptly 
 grasped this ideal and thereby created a new type of 
 literature — the comedy of manners. In making comedy 
 the mirror of human life and experience they were but 
 following the example set by Euripides in tragedy a 
 century before. From now on the names of Euripides 
 and Menander were joined together as the typical and 
 unexcelled representatives of tragedy and comedy in 
 the portrayal of the pathos and the humor of man's do- 
 ings and destiny. 
 
 We possess a large number of fragments of the 
 poets of the New Comedy, many of them of high liter- 
 ary merit and of more than usual general interest, for 
 these poets excelled in crystallizing into a few pithy 
 words the maxims of life and coined proverbs which 
 have passed in large numbers into the world's common 
 stock of aphoristic wisdom. But the best idea of the 
 nature of the New Comedy is to be gained from the 
 Roman comic poets, Plautus and Terence, who frankly 
 took their plays from the Greek with little alteration, 
 
432 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 though they often impaired the simplicity of the plots 
 of the originals by introducing complicating episodes. 
 We also learn from the Characters of Theophrastus, who 
 succeeded Aristotle in the direction of the Lyceum, 
 something of the fine analysis of character which under- 
 lay the truthful portrayals of the New Comedy ; for 
 these interesting sketches of common human types 
 were admittedly drawn, not from life as Theophrastus 
 observed it, but from representations of the comic stage. 
 Every phase of life, every human passion and failing, 
 were depicted with profound insight, with an unerring 
 instinct for the humorous side, but at the same time 
 with a universal sympathy which contrasts strongly 
 with the merciless satire of the Old Comedy. Great 
 characters of marked individuality, such as Shakspeare's 
 Falstaff, were not created, but rather types of common 
 characters, such as the indulgent father, the intriguing 
 slave, the parasite, the blustering soldier, the prostitute, 
 the spoiled and extravagant son, the too-trustful girl, 
 and the like. The passion of love is of course prom- 
 inent in this literature, in fact is the essential element 
 in almost every play, as it is in the modern novel. In- 
 deed the romantic novel has many points of similarity 
 with the New Comedy. 
 
 The greatest poets of the New Comedy were, in 
 chronological order, Philemon, Menander, Diphilus, 
 Poseidippus, and ApoUodorus. The literary activity 
 of all five falls between 330 and 250. We shall present 
 in greater detail only the two who were regarded by 
 antiquity as distinctly superior to all the rest, Phile- 
 mon and Menander. 
 
 Philemon was by birth a Syracusan, but was admitted 
 into Athenian citizenship. His first victory in a comic 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 433 
 
 contest was won in 327. He died about 262. In his 
 long life of ninety-nine years he produced nearly ninety 
 plays. By all accounts he was more popular at Athens 
 during his lifetime than his contemporary and rival, 
 Menander, but the verdict of posterity has unanimously 
 given the palm to the latter. The following selections 
 illustrate particularly the serious side of the poet : 
 
 HONESTY 
 
 Not honest he who weakly does no wrong, 
 But he who will not do it when he's strong ; 
 Nor he who timidly resists small gains, 
 But who from great, though safely held, abstains ; 
 Nor who from rules of casuists derives 
 Pedantic virtue, but who ever strives. 
 With disposition guileless and sincere. 
 Honest to be, not merely to appear. 
 
 Paley. 
 
 MANY MEN MANY MINDS 
 
 Why, pray, did he who made us, as 'tis told, 
 And all the beasts besides, — Prometheus, — give 
 To other animals one nature each ? 
 For full of courage are the lions all, 
 And every hare, again, is timorous. 
 One fox is not of crafty spirit, one 
 Straightforward ; but if you shall bring together 
 Three times ten thousand foxes, you will find 
 One character is common to them all. 
 But we, — so many as our bodies are. 
 No less diverse our natures you will find, 
 
 Lawton. 
 
434 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 PEACE IS HAPPINESS 
 
 It is a question of philosophers, 
 So have I heard, whereon much time is spent,— 
 What is the real Good . None find it. One 
 Says Virtue; and another Prudence. I, 
 Who in the country dwell, and dig the earth, 
 Have found it : it is Peace ! O dearest Zeus, 
 How loving is the goddess, and how kind I 
 Marriages, festivals, kin, children, friends, 
 Food, wine, health, riches, happiness, she gives. 
 And if of all these things we are deprived, 
 Dead is the life of men while yet they live ! 
 
 Lawton. 
 
 THE SNAIL 
 
 A happy creature is your snail indeed ! 
 Just where he pleases he can live and feed. 
 And if a neighbor gives him any bother. 
 With house on back he moves off to another I 
 
 Paley. 
 
 THE FEAR OF GOD 
 
 Have faith in God and fear ; seek not to know him ; 
 For thou wilt gain naught else beyond thy search : 
 Whether he is or is not, shun to ask : 
 As one who is, and sees thee, always fear him. 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 Menander, the " star of the New Comedy," as the 
 ancients called him, was born in 342 and died about 
 292. In his birth, temperament, education, and envi- 
 ronment he was unusually blessed by fortune. His 
 parents were Athenians of the beautiful village of Ce- 
 phisia, near Athens. Alexis, the great poet of the 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 43 5 
 
 Middle Comedy, was his uncle. In his early manhood 
 he came under the influence of Theophrastus and Epi- 
 curus, one the thoughtful student of philosophy, natural 
 history, and rhetoric, the other the genial preacher of 
 the doctrine of pleasure. Endowed with an ample fort- 
 une, he was happy in the love of Glycera, with whom he 
 spent what the ancients considered an ideal life at 
 his villa in Peiraeus. The mutual affection of Me- 
 nander and Glycera became in later times the theme of 
 romantic writers. His amiable personal qualities and 
 his beauty endeared him to all ; even his one defect 
 was turned to his credit in this description : " With a 
 squint of the eyes but clear-visioned of mind." His 
 favorite author was Euripides, the poet of human life, 
 whose influence upon him was marked. But in the ex- 
 quisite delicacy of his art and in his instinct for har- 
 mony of form and grace of expression he is rather to 
 be compared with Sophocles. With reference to the 
 fidelity with which he mirrored life an ancient admirer 
 exclaimed : " Menander and Life, which of you is the 
 imitator of the other ? " In the thirty years from the 
 time of his first appearance as a poet (321) to his 
 death, he composed over one hundred plays. His pop- 
 ularity with the Athenian audiences seems to have been 
 less than that of Philemon ; he won only eight victories. 
 His conscientiousness as an artist may account for this 
 in part. But after his death he was the favorite comic 
 poet with both the Greek and Roman world, and hun- 
 dreds of proverbs which he first coined were current 
 in all conditions of society long after the Christian era. 
 It was mainly Menander's influence that determined 
 Roman comedy, and, through this medium, established 
 the type of comedy for modern Europe. 
 
436 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Only fragments of Menander are preserved, except 
 in the Latin translations. There is ground for hope, 
 however, that a complete play will yet be recovered. 
 His popularity in antiquity must have caused a great 
 many copies of his works to be made. How it hap- 
 pened that no manuscript survived till the age of print- 
 ing is a mystery. There is, indeed, a notice of the 
 eighteenth century concerning a manuscript of his 
 plays still existing in Constantinople, and there have 
 been reports of another in the Vatican ; but persistent 
 search in the libraries of Europe has brought none to 
 light. Within the last quarter century, however, and 
 especially in the past five years, several of the longest 
 fragments which we possess have been discovered on 
 papyri from Egypt, so that it is possible that one day a 
 complete roll will be found. If we except Sappho, the 
 loss of no Greek author has been so keenly felt by the 
 modern world. A few selections from the fragments 
 follow : 
 
 MAN'S TROUBLES 
 
 All brutes created — count them if you can — 
 More happy are and have more sense than man. 
 See I here's a donkey first ; all say, " Poor thing !" 
 And yet no troubles from himself do spring. 
 He only bears the hard lot nature gave ; 
 But we besides self-centred evils have. 
 Should some one sneeze, we're vexed ; if words are said 
 That sting, we're angry ; a bad dream we dread ; 
 A hooting owl will fill us with affright ! 
 Such follies make not nature's burdens light, 
 For thus we are weighted with imported ill ; 
 Laws, strifes, and party views our cup of misery fill 
 
 Paley. 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Centuro 437 
 
 WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG 
 
 Whom the gods love die young ; that man is blest 
 Who having viewed at ease this solemn show 
 Of sun, stars, ocean, fire, doth quickly go 
 Back to his home with calm uninjured breast. 
 
 Be life or short or long, 'tis manifest 
 
 Thou ne'er wilt see things goodlier, Parmeno, 
 Than these ; then take thy sojourn here as though 
 Thou wert some playgoer or wedding-guest. 
 
 The sooner sped, the saflier to thy rest, 
 
 Well-furnished, foe to none, with strength at need 
 Shalt thou return ; while he who tarries late, 
 
 Faints on the road out-worn, with age oppressed, 
 Harassed by foes whom life's dull tumults breed ; 
 Thus ill dies he for whom death long doth wait. 
 A paraphrase by Symonds. 
 
 THE CLAIMS OF LONG DESCENT 
 
 Our family ! *Twill be the death of me ! 
 Pray, if you love me, mother, harp no more 
 Upon our family ! 'Tis they to whom 
 Nature accords no other excellence 
 Who trust to monuments, or high descent, 
 And count how many ancestors were theirs ! 
 Nor have they more than all men : 
 
 Who doth live 
 That had not grandsires ? Else how came he here ? 
 And if he cannot name them, 'tis some change 
 Of home, or lack of friends, accounts for this ; 
 And wherein is he worse than those who boast ? 
 He who is fitted for heroic deeds, 
 Mother, although he be an African, 
 Or savage Scythian, — he is noble bom. 
 Was Anacharsis not a Scythian ? 
 
 Lawton. 
 
438 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 KNOW THYSELF 
 
 When thou wouldst know thyself, what man thou art, 
 Look at the tombstones as thou passest by : 
 Within those monuments lie bones and dust 
 Of monarchs, tyrants, sages, men whose pride 
 Rose high because of wealth, or noble blood, 
 Or haughty soul, or loveliness of limb ; 
 Yet none of these things strove for them 'gainst time 
 One common death hath ta'en all mortal men. 
 See thou to this, and know thee who thou art. 
 
 Symonds. 
 
 KNOW THY NEIGHBOR 
 
 For many reasons 'tis unwisely said 
 To know thyself ; more profitable it is 
 To know thy neighbors ! 
 
 Lawton. 
 
 THE HUNGRY GUEST 
 
 The gods confound the man who first invented 
 
 This measuring time by hours ! Confound him, too, 
 
 Who first set up a sun-dial — chopping up 
 
 My day into these miserable slices ! 
 
 When I was young I had no dial but appetite. 
 
 The very best and truest of all timepieces ; 
 
 When that said * Eat,' I ate— if I could get it. 
 
 But now, even when I've the chance to eat, I must not, 
 
 Unless the sun be willing ! for the town 
 
 Is grown so full of those same cursed dials, 
 
 That more than half the population starve ! 
 
 Collins, from a translation by Plautus. 
 
Lost Writers of the Fourth Century 439 
 
 APHORISMS 
 
 The heavy stone that from the hand is hurled 
 We cannot check, nor word that leaves the tongue. 
 
 Grievous indeed has been our error, when 
 We are ashamed to tell the deed we do. 
 
 Thrice wretched, who by his economies 
 Hath hoarded hatred doubling all his wealth. 
 
 "Tis not the quantity we drink that marks 
 The drunkard, but our own capacity ! 
 
 Who would command, and is not soldier-bred, 
 Leads forth but sacrifices to the foe. 
 
 Lawton. 
 
 A joke without a point, inane and bald, 
 Itself a joke on joking may be called. 
 
 A handsome person, with perverted will, 
 Is a fine craft that's handled without skill. 
 
 Let not your friend your cherished secrets hear i 
 Then, if you quarrel, you've no cause for fear. 
 
 More love a mother than a father shows : 
 He thinks this is his son ; she only knows. 
 
 Marriage, if truth be told (of this be sure), 
 An evil is — ^but one we must endure. 
 
 Paley. 
 
440 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 A good wife is the rudder of a house. 
 
 A virtuous woman is man's salvation. 
 
 He is well-cleansed that hath his conscience cleaik 
 
 The workman still is greater than his work. 
 
 Common are the things of friends. 
 
 Poor soil makes brave men. 
 
 Evil communications corrupt good manners. 
 (Quoted by St. Paul.) 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 THEOCRITUS AND HIS AGE 
 
 Literary Athens in the Fourth Century— The Effect of the Loss 
 of Political Freedom upon Greek Literature — The Spread 
 of Greek Civilization with Alexander's Conquests — Char- 
 acteristics of the Alexandrine Literature — Bucolic Poetry 
 — Theocritus — Bion and Moschus — Selections. 
 
 During the fourth century before Christ Athens 
 maintained unchallenged her position as the fountain- 
 head and home of Greek letters. After the Pelopon- 
 nesian war the political leadership had passed first to 
 Lacedaemon and then to Thebes; and Athens had not 
 fully regained her old prestige when the power of 
 Macedon began to dominate Greek politics. But none 
 the less the greatest poets, historians, and philoso- 
 phers continued as before to make their home in 
 the Attic capital. To have a recognized standing there 
 in the schools of rhetoric and philosophy, before the 
 courts and popular assembly, in the theatre, or in the 
 more purely literary circles, was the natural ambition 
 of every aspiring writer of the Greek world. Syracuse 
 had not ceased to produce writers of merit, but even 
 the efforts and example of the elder Dionysius could 
 not make her a rival of Athens. The literary aspira- 
 tions of Dionysius himself were not satisfied until his 
 tragedies had been crowned by a victory in the Athenian 
 theatre; and Plato, in spite of his dissatisfaction with 
 the Athenian democracy, found the atmosphere of the 
 
 441 
 
44^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Sicilian capital uncongenial. The attitude of Athens 
 toward the stranger of Greek birth was hospitable and 
 generous. Merit was frankly recognized, and even 
 Athenian citizenship was freely conferred upon those 
 who brought honor to their adopted city. The society 
 of literary people there consequently became more and 
 more cosmopolitan. 
 
 The political supremacy of Macedon after the bat- 
 tle of Chaeronea (338) was responsible for momentous 
 changes both in the character of Greek literature and 
 in the relation of Athens to it. With the death of 
 political liberty in Greece, the creative! spirit, and the 
 genius which goes with it, slowly but surely passed 
 away. There were still writers innumerable. The art 
 of elegant composition in prose and verse 'survived, 
 but the spirit was fettered. The conditions which had 
 produced Homer, Sappho, Sophocles, "Aristophanes, 
 Thucydides, Plato, [and Demosthenes had departed 
 forever. Greece was yet to produce great writers, but 
 the distinctively Hellenic flavor which had made the 
 earlier literature preeminent for all time was gradually 
 weakened, and then lost altogether. The quick and 
 wholesome reaction of an intelligent populace upon 
 the poets, orators, and historians, who addressed the 
 public directly and depended upon the popular ver- 
 dict — a relationship which was possible only in a free 
 citizen-state — now gave place to the unsafe and often 
 capricious judgment of a literary oligarchy. The result 
 was affectation in place of simplicity. One exception, 
 however, must be noted. For at least two genera- 
 tions after Alexander's death the conditions of dra- 
 matic performances at Athens favored the cultivation 
 of the comedy of manners. The New Comedy of 
 
Theocritus and His Age 443 
 
 Philemon, Menander, and their successors was essen- 
 tially a new type of literature, a fresh and natural 
 adaptation of an old form to new conditions. It was 
 the last flower of literature that sprang spontaneously 
 from the soil of Attica. 
 
 The loss of the old creative spirit, however, was in 
 part compensated by the wider diffusion of Greek 
 culture which followed the conquests of Alexander. 
 Greek civilization was spread throughout Asia and 
 Egypt, and over portions of Europe which had once 
 been counted barbarian. The cultivated world came 
 to speak and to write Greek. In the kingdoms which 
 arose from Alexander's empire new centres of culture 
 sprang up and became centres of learning and litera- 
 ture. Alexandria in Egypt, and later, Pergamum in 
 the Troad, now shared with Athens, Syracuse, and 
 the lesser capitals the distinction which had once 
 belonged almost exclusively to Athens. Athens con- 
 tinued to be the greatest university town, on account 
 of her ancient prestige and her flourishing schools of 
 philosophy; but Alexandria soon attracted the writers 
 of best ability. (^The period extending from about 
 the beginning of the third century down to the Roman 
 conquest is known as the Alexandrine period of Greek 
 literature. YPhe literature of the post-classical period — 
 in fact, the whole civilization — is often called *' Hellen- 
 istic,** from the fact that, while Hellenic in its general 
 character, the people who participated in it were not 
 exclusively pure Hellenes. But the term is somewhat 
 vague and often misused. 
 
 The literature of the Alexandrine age, with the 
 exception of the New Comedy^ was essentially a book- 
 literature — that is, the authors addressed a reading 
 
444 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 public and no longer the people at large through oral 
 recitation or performance. This was true even of 
 tragedy to a considerable extent, Chaeremon, a poet of 
 the fourth century, having first set the example 
 of writing tragedies not intended for the stage. In the 
 second place, it was mainly an imitative or derivative, 
 and not an original, literature. The canons of the 
 great classical writers in each branch were established, 
 their unapproachable excellence acknowledged, and 
 the new poets, instead of drawing their inspiration 
 directly from life, labored, by careful study of the old 
 models, to reproduce their literary qualities. The 
 most extensive as well as the best work of this kind 
 was the Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes (194 
 B. C), an epic narrative of Jason's quest of the golden 
 fleece — a good example of the ** literary" as opposed 
 to the ** natural" epic. Mention should also be made 
 of the Hymns to the Gods by Callimachus (260 B. C), 
 and the famous Hymn to Zeus by Cleanthes. 
 
 As a direct result of the conditions above outlined, 
 Alexandrine poetry tended to be highly artificial and 
 affected. Lyric poetry flourished mainly in the form 
 of the elegy and the epigram. As the artistic taste of 
 the time showed a predilection for cut gems, so the 
 elegant epigram of from four to eight verses found 
 especial favor. A very large number of the poems of 
 the Anthology go back to this period. The epigram 
 was diverted from its original use for commemorative 
 or dedicatory inscriptions, and was largely employed 
 as a vehicle for conceits on any topic of interest to 
 the literary circles. The elegy was closely related 
 to the epigram, but permitted of the more extended, 
 ballad-like narrative of love-adventures, tales from 
 
Theocritus and His Age 445 
 
 m)rthology, and complimentary descriptions of court 
 favorites. Tlie Lock of Berenice^ by Callimachus, pre- 
 served in the translation of Catullus, illustrates the 
 character of much of the poetry of the period. The 
 poet relates how some tresses of hair which Berenice, 
 queen of Ptolemy III, had laid upon an altar, had 
 been taken by the gods and placed among the constel- 
 lations of the heavens. The Alexandrine elegiac 
 poets exercised a strong influence upon the Roman 
 poets of the Augustan age. 
 
 It was an age also of science and erudition. The 
 first Ptolemy had founded at Alexandria the Museum, 
 where men of learning came together for study and 
 instruction and were maintained at the expense of 
 the king. A great library was founded in connection 
 with this * Temple of the Muses,' and another elsewhere 
 in the city, the two containing over five hundred 
 thousand rolls. The great library at Pergamum con- 
 tained over two hundred thousand rolls when its treas- 
 ures were presented to Cleopatra by Antony and incor- 
 porated with the libraries at Alexandria. Famous 
 scholars were placed at the head of these libraries. 
 They took up the lines of work which Aristotle had 
 inaugurated at Athens, and gathered about themselves 
 men of encyclopaedic learning. Great attention was 
 given to literary history and criticism, biography, 
 mythology, chronology, philology, astronomy, mathe- 
 matics, and the other sciences. From these hothouses 
 of learning sprang up a multitude of books on every 
 conceivable subject, works which laid the foundations 
 of modern knowledge in many branches — as, for exam- 
 ple, the famous Elements of Euclid. It was at Alex- 
 andria, under the patronage of the Ptolemies, that the 
 
44^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Septuagint translation of the Old Testament was 
 made. 
 
 It was during the first half -century of the Alex- 
 andrine period, a time so unfavorable to original crea- 
 tions in pure literature, that the last flower of true 
 Greek poesy came to bloom. The bucolic or pastoral 
 poetry of Theocritus represented a natural reaction 
 from the conventionalities of the over-refined life of the 
 Egyptian court, with its luxuries, flatteries, and arti- 
 ficial standards of taste. It was a revolt from art to 
 nature. Sicily was the birthplace of this branch of 
 poetry, which was, in the main, the natural outgrowth 
 of the conditions of peasant life in Sicily. We have 
 already had occasion to note, in connection with the 
 comedies of Epicharmus, the innate gift of mimicry 
 and dramatic impersonation possessed by the Sicilians, 
 in common with the southern Italiajps. Sophron 
 (about 440 B. C.) developed one species of mimic 
 poetry, the mime or farce, in which detached situa- 
 tions were represented, but without a real plot.-^'Again, 
 there was current among the Sicilian peasantry 
 a romantic legend of the shepherd Daphnis, who pined 
 away and died for love. Stesichorus seems to have 
 been the first to introduce Daphnis into literature. 
 And finally the shepherds had the custom of contend- 
 ing in song for a prize, singing alternate strains to the 
 accompaniment of the shepherd's pipe. These three 
 elements all entered into the type of bucolic poetry 
 brought to perfection by Theocritus. 
 
 The bucolic poets employed the hexameter verse. 
 But the shepherd's song approaches lyric poetry some- 
 what in form, in that, as a rule, several verses are 
 bound together into groups or stanzas, either by the 
 
Theocritus and His Age 447 
 
 thought or by recurring verses, which constitute 
 a refrain. The term " bucolic," which strictly implies 
 only the neatherd, is freely used to include the 
 shepherd, goatherd, swineherd, or representatives of 
 other rural occupations. The single poem is called an 
 ** idyll,** or ** little picture," which is really a broader 
 term than bucolic, for it includes also the poems of 
 a dramatic or descriptive nature which are not pastoral. 
 
 Theocritus (about 270 B. C), the greatest of the 
 pastoral poets, was born either in Syracuse or on the 
 island of Cos. He probably spent a large part of his jtji 
 life at Syracuse, where he enjoyed the patronage of / <^^^ 
 Hiero II. He also was connected with the court of 
 Ptolemy Philadelphus at Alexandria. His poems 
 addressed to these monarchs show that he was not 
 unskilled in the servile flattery with which the satellites 
 of the court addressed their royal patrons. He was 
 a member of the literary group which centred in Cos, 
 to which the poet Aratus, whom St. Paul quotes (Acts 
 xvii, 28), also belonged. He wrote mainly in the 
 Dorian dialect of Sicily. Thirty-one poems and some 
 epigrams are handed down under his name, some of 
 which, however, are later imitations. About half of 
 these poems, most of which may properly be called 
 idylls, are bucolic in their character. Others are 
 mimes, scenes from mythology, and occasional poems. 
 
 Theocritus does not escape entirely from the arti- 
 ficiality of his age. Under the mask of shepherds* 
 names he often introduces himself and his literary 
 friends. Nor do his shepherds always employ language 
 perfectly in keeping with their character. The erotic 
 strain that is present in most of the idylls is also 
 a mark 0/ the Alexandrine age. But in spite of these 
 
44^ Homer to Theocritus 
 
 limitations, which are equally true of all pastoral 
 poetry, from Vergil's Eclogues to Milton's Lycidas and 
 Shelley's Adonais, Theocritus reveals everywhere 
 a true feeling for nature and a genuine sympathy for 
 the experiences of rural life. 
 
 Of the two other pastoral poets of Greece, Bion and 
 Moschus, we know little more than that the former 
 was a younger contemporary of Theocritus and that 
 Moschus was a pupil of Bion. Bion's Lament for 
 Adonis^ a rather extravagant and turgid poem, has 
 been imitated by Shelley. The Lament for Bion, by 
 Moschus, has been much admired, and contains some 
 exquisite passages. The works of these poets, and of 
 Theocritus, as well as some imitations of unknown 
 authorship, are preserved in a collection made in the 
 time of Augustus. At the head of the collection was 
 placed the following bucolic idyll of Theocritus, evi- 
 dently because it was considered by antiquity, as it 
 still is to-day, the most perfect and charming poem of 
 its kind. I quote it entire: 
 
 THE DEATH OF DAPHNIS 
 THYRSIS AND A GOATHERD 
 
 Th. Sweet are the whispers of yon pine that makes 
 Low music o 'er the spring, and, Goatherd, sweet 
 Thy piping ; second thou to Pan alone. 
 Is his the horned ram ? then thine the goat. 
 Is his the goat ? to thee shall fall the kid ; 
 And toothsome is the flesh of unmilked kids. 
 
 Go. Shepherd, thy lay is as the noise of streams 
 Falling and falling aye from yon tall crag. 
 If for their meed the Muses claim the ewe, 
 Be thine the stall-fed lamb ; or if they choose 
 The lamb, take thou the scarce less-valued ewe. 
 
Theocritus and His Age 449 
 
 Th. Pray, by the nymphs, pray, Goatherd, seat thee here 
 Against this hill-slope in the tamarisk shade, 
 And pipe me somewhat, while I guard thy goats. 
 
 Go. I durst not, Shepherd, O I durst not pipe 
 At noontide ; fearing Pan, who at that hour 
 Rests from the toil of hunting. Harsh is he ; 
 Wrath at his nostrils aye sits sentinel. 
 But, Thrysis, thou canst sing of Daphnis' woes ; 
 High is thy name for woodland minstrelsy : 
 Then rest we in the shadow of the elm 
 Fronting Priapus and the Fountain-nymphs. 
 There, where the oaks are and the Shepherd's seat, 
 Sing as thou sang'st erewhile, when matched with him 
 Of Libya, Chromis ; and I '11 give thee, first. 
 To milk, ay thrice, a goat — she suckles twins, 
 Yet ne'ertheless can fill two milk-pails full ; — 
 Next, a deep drinking-cup, with sweet wax scoured. 
 Two-handled, newly carven, smacking yet 
 O' the chisel. Ivy reaches up and climbs 
 About its lip, gilt here and there with sprays 
 Of woodbine, that enwreathed about it flaunts 
 Her saffron fruitage. Framed therein appears 
 A damsel ('tis a miracle of art) 
 In robe and snood : and suitors at her side. 
 With locks fair-flowing, on her right and left. 
 Battle with words, that fail to reach her heart. 
 She, laughing, glances now on this, flings now 
 Her chance regards on that : they, all for love 
 Wearied and eye-swoln, find their labour lost. 
 Carven elsewhere an ancient fisher stands 
 On the rough rocks ; thereto the old man with paint 
 Drags his great casting-net, as one that toils 
 Full stoutly : every fibre of his frame 
 Seems fishing ; so about the gray-beard's neck 
 (In might a youngster yet) the sinews swell. 
 Hard by that wave-beat sire a vineyard bends 
 Beneath its graceful load of burnished grapes C 
 A boy sits on the rude fence watching them. 
 Near him two foxes : down the rows of grapes 
 
450 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 One ranging steals the ripest ; one assails 
 With wiles the poor lad's scrip, to leave him soon 
 Stranded and supperless. He plaits meanwhile 
 With ears of corn a right fine cricket-trap, 
 And fits it on a rush : for vines, for scrip, 
 Little he cares, enamoured of his toy. 
 
 The cup is hung all round with lissom briar, 
 Triumph of ^olian art, a wondrous sight 
 It was a ferryman's of Calydon : 
 A goat it cost me, and a great white cheese. 
 Ne'er yet my lips came near it, virgin still 
 It stands. And welcome to such boon art thou, 
 If for my sake thou'lt sing that lay of lays. 
 I jest not : up, lad, sing : no songs thou'lt own 
 In the dim land where all things are forgot. 
 
 THE SONG OF THYRSIS 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song. 
 The voice of Thrysis. iCtna's Thrysis I. 
 Where were ye. Nymphs, oh where, while Daphnis pined ? 
 In fair Peneiis, or in Pindus' glens ? 
 For great Anapus' stream was not your haunt, 
 Nor -^Etna's cliff, nor Acis' sacred rill. 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song. 
 O'er him the wolves, the jackals howled o'er him ; 
 The lion in the oak-copse mourned his death. 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song. 
 The kine and oxen stood around his feet. 
 The heifers and the calves wailed all for him. 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song. 
 First from the mountain Hermes came, and said, 
 " Daphnis, who frets thee ? Lad, whom lov'st thou so ? " 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song. 
 Came herdsmen, shepherds came, and goatherds came ; 
 All asked what ailed the lad. Priapus came 
 And said, " Why pine, poor Daphnis, while the maid 
 Foots it round every pool and every grove." 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song, 
 '* O lack-love and perverse, in quest of thee ; 
 
Theocritus and His Age 451 
 
 Herdsman in name, but goatherd rightlier called. 
 With eyes that yearn the goatherd marks his kids 
 Run riot, for he fain would frisk as they : " 
 
 Begiftt sweet maids^ begin the woodland song, 
 " With eyes that yearn dost thou too mark the laugh 
 Of maidens, for thou may*st not share their glee." 
 Still naught the herdsman said : he drained alone 
 His bitter portion, till the fatal end. 
 
 Begin^ sweet maids^ begin the woodland song. 
 Came Aphrodite, smiles on her sweet face, 
 False smiles, for heavy was her heart, and spake : 
 " So, Daphnis, thou must try a fall with Love 1 
 But stalwart Love hath won the fall of thee." 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song. 
 Then " Ruthless Aphrodite," Daphnis said, 
 ** Accursed Aphrodite, foe to man ! 
 Say'st thou mine hour has come, my sun hath set ? 
 Dead or alive, shall Daphnis work Love woe." 
 
 Begint sweet maids, begin the woodland song, 
 " Fly to Mount Ida, where the swain (men say) 
 And Aphrodite — to Anchises fly; 
 There are oak forests, here but galingale. 
 And bees that make a music round the hives." 
 
 Begin, sweet maids^ begin the woodland song, 
 '* Adonis owed his bloom to tending flocks 
 And smiting hares, and bringing wild beasts down.* 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song, 
 *' Face once more Diomed : tell him, * I have slain 
 The herdsman Daphnis ; now I challenge thee.' " 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song, 
 "Farewell, wolf, jackal, mountain-prisoned bear! 
 Ye '11 see no more by grove or glad j or glen 
 Your herdsman Daphnis ! Arethuse, farewell. 
 And the bright streams that flow down Thymbris' side/ 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song, 
 •' I am that Daphnis who lead here my kine, 
 Bring here to drink my oxen and my calves." 
 
 Begin, sweet maids, begin the woodland song, 
 ** Pan, Pan, oh, whether great Lyceum's crags 
 
452t Homer to Theocritus 
 
 Thou haunt^st to-day, or mightier Maenalus, 
 Come to the Sicel isle ! Abandon now 
 Rhium and Helice, and the mountain-cairn 
 (That e'en gods cherish) of Lycaon's son! " 
 
 Forget^ sweet maidSt forget your woodland song, 
 ** Come, king of song, o'er this my pipe, compact 
 With wax and honey-breathing, arch thy lip : 
 For surely I am torn from life by Love." 
 
 Forget, sweet maids, forget your woodland song, 
 " From thicket now and thorn let violets spring, 
 Now let white lilies drape the juniper, 
 And pines grow figs, and nature all go wrong ; 
 For Daphnis dies. Let deer pursue the hounds, 
 And mountain-owls out-sing the nightingale." 
 
 Forget, sweet maids, forget your woodland song. 
 So spake he, and he never spake again. 
 Fain Aphrodite would have raised his head ; 
 But all his thread was spun. So down the stream 
 Went Daphnis; closed the waters o'er a head 
 Dear to the Nine, of Nymphs not unbeloved. 
 
 Forget, sweet maids, forget your woodland song* 
 
 Now give me goat and cup ; that I may milk 
 The one and pour the other to the Muse. 
 Fare ye well, Muses, o'er and o'er farewell ! 
 I '11 sing strains lovelier yet in days to be. 
 Go. Thyrsis, let honey and the honey-comb 
 Fill thy sweet mouth, and figs of iEgilus : 
 For ne'er cicala trilled so sweet a song. 
 Here is the cup : mark, friend, how sweet it smells; 
 The Hours, thou'lt say, have washed it in their well. 
 Hither, Cissaetha ! Thou, go milk her ! Kids, 
 Be steady, or your pranks will rouse the ram. 
 
 Calverley. 
 
 The poem of Theocritus which best represents the 
 purely dramatic idyll, or mime, is the famous dialogue 
 between two women, Gorgo and Praxinoe, Syracusans 
 of the middle class residing in Alexandria. It is the 
 
Theocritus and His Age 453 
 
 day of the festival of Adonis, the fair youth whom 
 Aphrodite loved. The goddess so grieved for him, 
 slain in early manhood by a wild boar during a chase, 
 that the gods of the lower world permitted him to 
 spend one half of every year with her upon the earth. 
 The festival of his resurrection was widely celebrated 
 by the women with oriental extravagance and passion. 
 But in Theocritus our interest is not in the festival, but 
 in the natural and unaffected talk of the two women. 
 The poem has been called " a leaf torn from the book 
 of life," and Andrew Lang says of it : " Nothing could 
 be more gay and natural than the chatter of the women, 
 which has changed no more in two thousand years than 
 the song of birds." The whole of the dialogue portion 
 follows in Lang*s translation : 
 
 GORGO. Is Praxinoe at home ? 
 
 Praxinoe. Dear Gorgo, how long it is since you have been 
 here ! She is at home. The wonder is that you have got here 
 at last ! Eunoe, see that she has a chair. Throw a cushion 
 on it too. 
 
 G. It does most charmingly as it is. 
 
 P. Do sit down. 
 
 G. Oh, what a thing spirit is ! I have scarcely got to you 
 alive, Praxinoe ! What a huge crowd, what hosts of four-in- 
 hands ! Everywhere cavalry boots, everywhere men in uni- 
 form ! And the road is endless : yes, you really live ioo far 
 away ! 
 
 P. It is all the fault of that madman of mine. Here he 
 came to the end of the earth and took — a hole, not a house, 
 and all that we might not be neighbours. The jealous wretch, 
 always the same, ever for spite ! 
 
 G. Don't talk of your husband, Dinon, like that, my dear 
 girl, before the little boy, — look how he is staring at you ! 
 Never mind, Zopyrion, sweet child, she is not speaking about 
 papa. 
 
 P. Our Lady ! the child takes notice. 
 
454 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 G. Nice papa ! 
 
 P. That papa of his the other day — we call every day ' the 
 other day * — went to get soap and rouge at the shop, and back 
 he came to me with salt — the great big endless fellow I 
 
 G. Mine has the same trick too, a perfect spendthrift — 
 Diocleides ! Yesterday he got what he meant for five fleeces, 
 and paid seven shillings apiece for — what do you suppose ? — 
 dogskins, shreds of old leather wallets, mere trash — trouble 
 on trouble. But come, take your cloak and shawl. Let us be 
 off to the palace of rich Ptolemy, the King, to see the Adonis ; 
 I hear the Queen has provided something splendid. 
 
 P. Fine folks do everything finely. 
 
 G. What a tale you will have to tell about the things you 
 have seen, to any one who has not seen them! It seems 
 nearly time to go. 
 
 P. Idlers always have holidays. Eunoe, bring the water 
 and put it down in the middle of the room, lazy creature that 
 you are. Cats like always to sleep soft ! Come, bustle, bring 
 the water ; quicker. I want water first, and how she carries 
 it ! give it me all the same ; don't pour out so much, you ex- 
 travagant thing. Stupid girl ! Why are you wetting my 
 dress? There, stop, I have washed my hands, as heaven 
 would have it. Where is the key of the big chest ? Bring it 
 here. 
 
 G. Praxinoe, that full body becomes you wonderfully. 
 Tell me how much did the stuff cost you just off the loom ? 
 
 P. Don't speak of it, Gorgo ! More than eight pounds in 
 good silver money, — and the work on it ! I nearly slaved my 
 soul out over it ! 
 
 G. Well, it is mos/ successful ; all you could wish. 
 
 P. Thanks for the pretty speech ! Bring my shawl, and 
 set my hat on my head, the fashionable way. No, child, I 
 don't mean to take you. Boo ! Bogies ! There's a horse 
 that bites ! Cry as much as you please, but I cannot have 
 you lamed. Let us be moving. Phrygia, take the child, and 
 keep him amused, call in the dog, and shut the street door. 
 
 [TAeyg^o into the street. 
 
 Ye gods, what a crowd ! How on earth arc we ever to get 
 through this coil ? They are like ants that no one can meas- 
 
Theocritus and His Age 455 
 
 ure or number. Many a good deed have you done, Ptolemy ; 
 since your father joined the immortals, there's never a male- 
 factor to spoil the passer-by, creeping on him in Egyptian 
 fashion— oh ! the tricks those perfect rascals used to play. 
 Birds of a feather, ill jesters, scoundrels all ! Dear Gorgo, 
 what will become of us ! Here come the King's war-horses ! 
 My dear man, don't trample on me. Look, the bay's rearing, 
 see, what temper! Eunoe, you foolhardy girl, will you never 
 keep out of the way ? The beast will kill the man that's lead- 
 ing him. What a good thing for me that my brat stays safe 
 at home. 
 
 G. Courage, Praxinoe. We are safe behind them, now, 
 and they have gone to their station. 
 
 P. There ! I begin to be myself again. Ever since I was 
 a child I have feared nothing so much as horses and the chilly 
 snake. Come along, the huge mob is overflowing us. 
 
 G. {To an old woman.) Are you from the Court, mother ? 
 
 Old Woman. I am, my child. 
 
 P. Is it easy to get there ? 
 
 O. W. The Achaeans got into Troy by trying, my pretti- 
 est of ladies. Trying will do everything in the long run. 
 
 G. The old wife has spoken her oracles and off she goes. 
 
 P. Women know everything, yes, and how Zeus married 
 Hera! 
 
 G. See, Praxinoe, what a crowd there is about the doors. 
 
 P. Monstrous, Gorgo ! Give me your hand, and you, 
 Eunoe, catch hold of Eutychis ; never lose hold of her, for 
 fear lest you get lost. Let us all go in together ; Eunoe, 
 clutch tight to me. Oh, how tiresome, Gorgo, my muslin veil 
 is torn in two already ! For heaven's sake, sir, if you ever 
 wish to be fortunate, take care of my shawl ! 
 
 A Stranger. I can hardly help myself, but for all that I 
 will be as careful as I can. 
 
 P. How close -packed the mob is, they hustle like a herd 
 of swine. 
 
 S. Courage, lady, all is well with us now, 
 
 P. Both this year and for ever may all be well with you, 
 my dear sir, for your care of us. A good kind man I We're 
 letting Eunoe get squeezed — come, wretched girl, push your 
 
456 Homer to Theocritus 
 
 way through. That is the way. We are all on the right side 
 of the door, quoth the bridegroom, when he had shut himself 
 in with his bride. 
 
 G. Do come here, Praxinoe. Look first at these cm- 
 broideries. How light and how lovely ! You will call them 
 the garments of the gods. 
 
 P. Lady Athene, what spinning women wrought them, 
 what painters designed these drawings, so true they are ? 
 How naturally they stand and move, like living creatures, not 
 patterns woven. What a clever thing is man ! Ah, and 
 himself— Adonis — how beautiful to behold he lies on his silver 
 couch, with the first down on his cheeks, the thrice-be- 
 loved Adonis, — Adonis, beloved even among the dead. 
 
 A Stranger. You weariful women, do cease your endless 
 cooing talk ! They bore one to death with their eternal broad 
 vowels ! 
 
 G. Indeed ! And where may this person come from ? 
 What is it to you if we are chatterboxes ? Give orders to 
 your own servants, sir. Do you pretend to command ladies 
 of Syracuse ? If you must know, we are Corinthians by de- 
 scent, like Bellerophon himself, and we speak Peloponnesian. 
 Dorian women may lawfully speak Doric, I presume ? 
 
 P. Lady Persephone, never may we have more than one 
 master. I am not afraid oiyour putting me on short com- 
 mons. 
 
 G. Hush, hush, PraxinoS — the Argive woman's daughter, 
 the great singer, is beginning the Adonis j she that won the 
 prize last year for dirge-singing. I am sure she will give us 
 something lovely ; see, she is preluding with her airs and 
 graces. 
 
 [ The Psalm of Adonis.] 
 
 G. Praxinoe, the woman is cleverer than we fancied ! 
 Happy woman to know so much, thrice happy to have so 
 sweet a voice. Well, all the same, it is time to be making 
 for home. Diocleides has not had his dinner, and the man is 
 all vinegar, — don't venture near him when he is kept waiting 
 for dinner. Farewell, beloved Adonis, may you find us glad 
 at your next coming ! 
 
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL APPENDIX. 
 
 In compiling this brief Bibliography, the aim has been to include 
 only such essays and books on each author and period and such trans- 
 lations as, besides being worthy of recommendation, are easily acces- 
 sible. A few exceptions have been made in favor of old translations 
 which are still standard works ; they are generally to be found in the 
 larger libraries. 
 
 References to the histories of Greek literature have not been repeated 
 under each chapter. These should be consulted first of all. The 
 special essays cited will be found useful for quick reference and for 
 supplementary reading. 
 
 CHAPTER I.— Introductory. 
 
 Histories of Greek Literature: — Jevons (i vol., Scribner). Mahaffy 
 (3 vols., Macmillan). Jebb, Primer (Am. Book Co.). For the poets 
 alone: Symonds, The Greek Poets {2 \o\%., Harper). Jebb, Growth 
 and Influence of Classical Greek Poetry (Houghton). Under each 
 author will be cited the articles in Warner' s Library of the World* s 
 Best Literature and the monographs in the Ancient Classics for 
 English Readers (Lippincott). For those who read French and 
 German : Alfred and Maurice Croiset, Histoire de la Litt^rature 
 Grecque (5 vols., Paris. Fontemoing; the best work on the subject 
 in any language). Bergk, Griechische Literaturgeschichte (4 vols., 
 Berlin. Weidmann), and Christ, Griechische Literaturgeschichte (i 
 vol., Munich. Beck). 
 
 Greek History : — Holm (4 vols., Macmillan). Grote (10 vols., 
 Murray). Abbott (3 vols., as yet. Putnam). Curtius (5 vols., Scrib- 
 ner). One volume histories : — Bury (Macmillan). Botsford (Macmil- 
 lan). Oman (Longmans). For the Alexandrian period : — Mahaffy, 
 Alexander* s Empire (Putnam), and Empire of the Ptolemies (Mac- 
 millan). 
 
 Greek Life : — Blumner, Home Life of the Ancient 6^r^<?^j (Cassell). 
 Mahaffy, Social Life in Greece (Macmillan), Survey of Greek Civ- 
 ilization (Macmillan), and Primer (Am. Book Co.). 
 
 Greek Art: — Tarbell, History of Greek Art (Macmillan). 
 Gardner, Handbook of Greek Sculpture (Macmillan). 
 
 457 
 
45^ Bibliographical Appendix 
 
 Greek Mythology : — Murray, Manual of Mythology (2d ed., Scrib- 
 ner). The same, revised by Klapp (Altemus). Gayley, Classical 
 Myths in English Literature (Ginn). Steuding, Temple Primers 
 (Macmillan). Grotc's History y Vol. I., contains a valuable treatise 
 on mythology. 
 
 CHAPTERS II. AND III.— Epic Poetry. The Iliad. 
 
 Seymour, Warner's Library, "Homer." Symonds, Greek Poets, 
 Chapters III. and IV. Jebb, Greek Poetry, Chapters I. and II., and 
 Introduction to the Study 0/ Homer (Ginn). Matthew Arnold, " On 
 Translating Homer," with "On the Study of Celtic Literature" 
 (Macmillan). Andrew Lang, Homer and the Epic (Longmans). 
 Walter Leaf, Companion to the Iliad (Macmillan). W, C. Lawton, 
 Art and Humanity in Homer (Macmillan). Church, Story of the 
 //?W (Macmillan). W. L. Collins, Iliad (Ancient Classics). 
 
 Translations : — Lang, Leaf and Myers (Macmillan ; the best prose 
 version). Bryant (Blank verse. Houghton; the best metrical ver- 
 sion). Edward, Earl of Derby (Blank verse. 2 vols. Coates; often 
 better than Bryant in the more spirited passages). Way (Verse — 
 rhyming anapaestic hexameters. Sampson Low). 
 
 The most famous verse translations, now regarded as English 
 classics, are those of Pope (1715-1720) and Chapman (1598-1611), 
 the former in heroic (ten-syllable, rhymed) couplets, the latter in the 
 fourteen-syllable ballad verse. Chapman's translation is memorable 
 as having inspired Keats's famous Sonnet. Both renderings, though 
 finished and spirited, depart freely from the original and often offend 
 against modern taste as regards style. Pope's is still widely read and 
 admired. On the subject of translations of Homer in general see 
 Matthew Arnold's Essay cited above. Convenient reprints are : of 
 Chapman, Iliad, Morley's Universal Library (Routledge). Temple 
 Classics (2 vols., Macmillan). Iliad and Odyssey in one volume, 
 Scribner. Of Pope's Iliad, Routledge. 
 
 CHAPTER IV.— The Odyssey. 
 
 The works cited under preceding chapter, and Church, Story of the 
 Iliad (Macmillan). W. L. Collins, Odyssey {Ancient Classics). 
 
 Translations : — Butcher and Lang (Prose. Macmillan). Palmer 
 (Rhythmic prose. Houghton.) Bryant (Blank verse. Houghton). 
 Worsley (Verse — Spenserian stanza. Black woods). Way (Verse — 
 rhyming anapaestic hexameters. Sampson Low). Chapman (Four* 
 
Bibliographical Appendix 459 
 
 teen-syllable ballad verse. Temple Classics. 2 vols., Macmillan; in 
 one vol. with Iliad, Scribner). Pope (Heroic couplets. BohrCs Li- 
 brary. Macmillan). 
 
 Batcher and Lang's and Palmer's prose versions are both admira- 
 ble for literary finish and for fidelity to the original. Bryant is rather 
 better in the Odyssey than in the Iliad. Worsley's is of exquisite 
 workmanship, though the Spenserian stanza introduces several un- 
 Homeric elements. Way's Odyssey, like his Iliad ^ has found some 
 enthusiastic admirers. 
 
 Homer and Troy : — Schuchhardt, Schliemann' s Excavations, 
 translated by Eugenie Sellers (Macmillan). Tsountas and Manatt, 
 Mycencean Age (Houghton) ; a consideration of the civilization re- 
 vealed by the excavations at Mycenae, Tiryns, Troy, and other sites, 
 with reference to the data furnished by the Homeric poems. 
 
 TAe Homeric Question : — Jebb's Introduction contains the best 
 statement. See also Leaf's Companion, Lang's Homer and the Epic, 
 and, for the arguments of a generation ago against the Homeric 
 authorship, Bonitz, Origin of the Homeric Poems^ translated by 
 Packard (Harper). 
 
 CHAPTER v.— The Homeric Hymns and Hesiod. 
 
 Lawton, Warner's Library, "Homeric Hymns " and "Hesiod." 
 Symonds, Greek Poets, Chap. V. Jebb, Greek Poetry, pp. 79 fF. 
 (Hesiod ; does not treat the Hymns). Lawton, Successors of Homer 
 (Macmillan). Davies, Hesiod and Theognis {Ancient Classics). 
 Pater, Greek Studies (Macmillan), essay on "The Myth of Demeter 
 and Persephone." 
 
 Translations : — Homeric Hymns : Lang (Prose. Longmans). 
 Chapman (Verse. Scribner). Shelley (Verse; often a paraphrase 
 rather than a translation. Hymn to Hermes and six shorter hymns). 
 Hesiod: Banks (Prose. Bohn's Library, with Callimachus and 
 Theognis (Macmillan), Elton (Verse. Bohn, volume just men- 
 tioned). Lawton's Successors contains some good hexameter trans- 
 lations of both the Hymns and Hesiod. In Pater's Studies is an 
 exquisite paraphrase of the Hymn to Demeter. 
 
 CHAPTER VI.— The Elegiac, Iambic, and Melic Poets. 
 
 Symonds, Greek Poets, Chapters VII., X., XL and XXII. Jebb, 
 Greek Poetry, Chapter IV. Lawton, Warner's Library, "Solon." 
 "Williams, ibid., "Anthology." Davidson, ibid., "Sappho." Da- 
 vies, Hesiod and Theognis {Ancient Classics). Lord Neaves, 
 Anthology (^Ancient Classics). Wharton, Sappho (McClurg). 
 
460 Bibliographical Appendix 
 
 Translations : — Tyrtaeus : {Bokn^s Library, with Theocritus, etc., 
 Macmillan). Theognis : Frere (Verse. Bohn's Library, with 
 Hesiod, etc.; see above). Sappho: Wharton (Prose version by 
 author, the best poetical versions by various hands, and a memoir. 
 See above). Anacreon : Thomas Moore (Verse. Seventy-nine 
 poems, mostly from the Anacreontics). Anthology : Mackail, Select 
 Epigrams from the Anthology (Prose. Longmans ; a very large col- 
 lection). There are a number of collections of renderings of poems 
 from the Anthology. The latest are those by Lilla Cabot Perry, 
 From the Garden of Hellas (United States Book Company ; the 
 author's poetical versions), and G. R. Tomson (Verse, by various 
 hands). Most of the essays cited above contain verse translations of 
 the poets treated. All of the poets treated in this chapter are well 
 represented in Appleton, Greek Poets in English Verse (Houghton). 
 
 CHAPTER VII.— Choral Lyric. Pindar. 
 
 Symonds, Greek Poets, Chapters X. and XI. Miller, Warner*s 
 Library, "Simonides." Gildersleeve, f3/V/. " Pindar." Jebb, C7r///^ 
 Poetry, Chapter V. Morice, Pindar (^Ancient Classics). 
 
 Translations : — Bacchylides : Poste (Prose. Macmillan). Pindar: 
 Morice (Verse. Kegan Paul). Myers (Prose. Macmillan). Gilbert 
 "West (Verse. London, 1769). Newcomer's splendid rendering of 
 the First Pythian, from which we have quoted, is found in full in 
 Warner's Library. See, also, in general, Appleton, Greek Poets. 
 (See above. ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII— Tragic Poetry. Aeschylus. 
 
 Symonds, Greek Poets, Chapters XII., XVII., XV. Jebb, Greek 
 Poetry, Chapter VI. White, Warner's Library, "i^schylus." 
 Copleston, jEschylus (^Ancient Classics). Haigh, Tragic Drama 
 of the Greeks (Oxford University Press). Moulton, Ancient Classi- 
 cal Drama (Oxford University Press). Monk and Verrall, Stu- 
 dent^ s Manual of Greek Tragedy (Macmillan). Barnett, Greek 
 Drama ( Temple Primers. Macmillan ; the only work in English 
 that presents the latest views on the origin and early history of the 
 drama and on the theatre of the fifth century). Haigh, Attic 
 Theatre (Oxford University Press). Church, Stories from the Greek 
 Tragedians (Dodd, Mead & Co.). 
 
 Translations : — iEschylus entire : Swan wick (Verse. Bohn*s 
 Library. Macmillan). Plumptre (Verse. Heath). Campbell 
 (Verse. Kegan Paul). Suppliants: Morshead (Verse. Kegan Paul). 
 Prometheus: Elizabeth Barrett Browning. Augusta Webster (Verse. 
 London, 1866). More (Prose, Houghton). Oresteian Trilogy: 
 Morshead, House of Atreus (Verse. Simpkin & Marshall). AgO" 
 memnon: Dean Milman (Verse. In volume with Bacchanals of 
 
Bibliographical Appendix 461 
 
 Euripides. Murray). Robert Browning. Selections : Pollard, Odes 
 from the Greek Dramatists (Stott. London, 1890. Out of print). 
 Goldwin Smith, Specimens of Greek Tragedy (2 vols., Macmillan. 
 Vol. I., iEschylus and Sophocles). Appleton, Greek Poets, 
 
 CHAPTER IX.— Sophocles. 
 
 Symonds, Greek Poets, Chapters XIII. and XV. ; Jebb, Greek 
 Poetry y Chapter VI. Mahaffy, Warner's Library, "Sophocles." 
 C. W. Collins, Sophocles {^Ancient Classics') ; Campbell, Sophocles 
 {Classical Writers. Macmillan), 
 
 Translations: — Sophocles entire: Whitelaw (Rivington ; best 
 verse translation). Jebb (with text edition ; soon to appear in sepa- 
 rate volume ; best prose translation. Macmillan). Plumptre 
 (Verse. Heath). Campbell (Verse. Murray). Antigone: Palmer 
 (Prose. Houghton). Oedipus the King: Morshead (Verse. Mac- 
 millan). Selections: Pollard, Smith (Vol. I.), and Appleton. 
 
 CHAPTER X.— Euripides. 
 
 Jebb, Greek Poetry, Chapter VI., and article •• Euripides" in 
 Encyclopedia Britannica. Symonds, Greek Poets, Chapters XIV. and 
 XV. Lawton, Warner's Library, "Euripides." Donne, Euripides 
 {Ancient Classics) ; Mahaffy, Euripides {Classical Writers). 
 
 Translations: — Euripides entire: Way, Tragedies 0/ Euripides in 
 English Verse (3 vols., Macmillan). WodhuU, Potter, and Milman 
 (Verse. 3 vols. Morley's Universal Library ; Bacchanals only by 
 Milman, Alcestis, Electra, Orestes, the two Iphigeneias, and Troades 
 by Potter, the rest by Wodhull). Lawton, Three Dramas of Eu- 
 ripides {Alcestis, Medea, Hippolytus. Verse, with running com- 
 mentary, Houghton). Robert Browning, Balaustion^s Adventure 
 (Transcription of the Alcestis), and Aristophanes' Apology {Heracles). 
 Medea: Augusta Webster (Verse. Macmillan, London, 1868). 
 Hippolytus : Fitzgerald, The Crowned Hippolytus (Verse. London, 
 1867). Hecabe: Symonds (Verse. Harpers). Beesley, The Tro- 
 jan Queen's Revenge (Verse. Longmans). Bacchanals: Milman 
 (see above). Rogers (Verse. Oxford, 1872). Cyclops: P. B. 
 Shelley. Selections: Pollard, Smith (Vol. II.), and Appleton. 
 
 CHAPTER XL— Comic Poetry. Aristophanes. 
 
 Symonds, Greek Poets, Chapters XVIII. and XIX, Shorey, JTa;'- 
 w^rr'j Zj^ar/, "Aristophanes." W. L, Collins, Aristophanes {An- 
 cient Classics). Church, Stories from the Greek Comedians (Mac- 
 millan). Bamett, Greek Drama. 
 
462 Bibliographical Appendix 
 
 Translations : — ^J. H. Frere {Acharnians, Knights, Birds, Frogs^ 
 and a portion of the Peace. Verse. In Vol. III. of the Works of 
 John Hookham Frere, London, 1874, 2d edition. The first three 
 plays are to be had in MorUys Universal Library. Routledge). T. 
 Mitchell {Acharnians, Knights^ Clouds, Wasps. Verse. London, 
 1820). J. B. Rogers (Verse. London. Peace, 1867 ; Wasps, 1875 ; 
 Lysistrata, 1878. Rare). C. H. Rudd (eight comedies. Verse. 
 London, 1867). Birds : Kennedy (Verse. Macmillan). 
 
 CHAPTER XII.— The Historians. Herodotus. 
 
 Wheeler, Warner^ s Library, •' Herodotus." James Bryce, Herod- 
 otus {^Classical Writers). Swayne, Herodotus {^Ancient Classics). 
 Church, Stories from Herodotus (Dodd, Mead & Co.). 
 
 Translation : — George Rawlinson (4 vols. , with extensive notes. 
 Appleton ; or in 2 vols., with abridged notes, Scribner). 
 
 CHAPTER XIII.— Thucydides and Xenophon. 
 
 Smyth, Warner's Library, "Thucydides." Lawton, ibid. "Xeno- 
 phon." W. L. Collins, Thucydides {Ancient Classics). Sir Mextcn- 
 ^^v GtAVii, Xenophon {Ancient Classics). Dakyns "Xenophon" (In 
 Hellenica, edited by Abbott. Longmans), and Introduction to his 
 translation. 
 
 Translations : — Thucydides : Jowett (2 vols, , Oxford University 
 Press, 2d ed.). Xenophon: Dakyns (4 vols. , Macmillan; Vol. IV. 
 not yet published). On Horsemanship: Morgan (Little, Brown 
 & Co.). 
 
 CHAPTER XI V. —The Orators. Demosthenes. 
 
 Brodribb, Demosthenes {Ancient Classics). Article " .(Eschines, " 
 Warner's Library. Sharp, ibid., "Demosthenes." Jebb, Attic 
 Orators from Antiphon to Isaeus (2 vols., Macmillan). Bredif, 
 Political Eloquence in Greece. Demosthenes (translated by Mac- 
 Mahon. Scott, Foresman & Co.). Butcher, Demosthenes {Classical 
 Writers). 
 
 Translations'. — Isocrates : Freese (Vol, I., Bohn's Library. 
 Macmillan). Demosthenes: Kennedy (5 vols., Bohn's Library. 
 Macmillan). Sir Robert Collier, Oration of Demosthenes on the 
 Crown (Longmans). 
 
Bibliographical Appendix 463 
 
 CHAPTER XV.— Philosophical Prose. Plato. 
 
 Lawton, Successors^ Chap. VII. (Xenophanes, Parmenides, Em- 
 pedocles). Symonds, Greek Poets, Chapters VI. and VII, (Parmeni- 
 des and Empedocles). Smyth, Warner's Library, "Socrates." 
 Shorey, ibid., "Plato." C. W. Collins, Plato {Ancient Classics). 
 Grote, History, Chap. LXVII., "The Sophists." Mayor, SketcA of 
 Greek Philosophy (Macmillan). Marshall, Short History of Greek 
 Philosophy (Macmillan). Grote, Plato and the Other Companions of 
 Socrates (4 vols., Murray). 
 
 Translations : — Hexameter Philosophers : Lawton, Successors, and 
 Symonds, Greek Poets. Plato: Jowett (5 vols., Oxford University 
 Press, 3d ed. An earlier edition, in 4 vols. , Scribner). Republic : 
 Davies and Vaughan {Golden Treasury. Macmillan). Selections 
 from Jowett's translation are grouped in several volumes published 
 by Scribner: Plato's Best Thoughts. Talks with Athenian Youths. 
 A Day in Athens with Socrates. Talks with Socrates About Life. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI.— Aristotle. 
 
 Sir Alexander Grant, Aristotle {Ancient Classics). Davidson, 
 Warner's Library, " Aristotle," and Aristotle and the Ancient Edu- 
 cational Ideals (Scribner). Grote, Aristotle (2 vols., Murray). 
 Lang, Introductory Essays on Aristotle (Longmans). Butcher, 
 Aristotle's Theory of Poetry and Fine Art (text, translation, and 
 essays. Macmillan, 2d ed.). 
 
 Translations: — Constitution of Athens : Kenyon (2d ed., Bell). 
 Ethics: Welldon (2d ed., Macmillan). Politics: Jowett (Oxford 
 University Press, Vol. I.) and Welldon (2d ed. , Macmillan). Rhetoric : 
 Welldon (Macmillan). Poetics: Butcher {Aristotle's Theory, etc.; 
 see above). Prickard (Macmillan). Translations of some of the other 
 works are to be found in Bohh*s Library {Metaphysics, History of 
 Animals, Organon). 
 
 CHAPTER XVII.— The Lost Writers of the Fourth 
 Century. 
 
 Symonds, Gretk Poets, Chapters XVI. and XIX. Lawton, War- 
 ner's Library, ' ' Philemon, Menander, and the Lost Attic Comedy. " 
 W. L. Collins, Plautus and Terence, Chap. II. {Ancient Classics). 
 On books and their publication in antiquity, Johnston, Latin Manu- 
 scripts (Scott, Foresman & Co.). 
 
 Translations: — ^The essayists mentioned above all give transla- 
 tions in verse. For the comedy, Paley, Fragments of the Greek 
 Comic Poets (text with verse translations, ad ed., Macmillan). 
 
464 Bibliographical Appendix 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII.— Theocritus and his Age. 
 
 Symonds, Greek Poets, Chap. XXI. Mackail, Warner's Library, 
 "Theocritus." Lang, '^ Theocritus and his Age ^^ \ vaXxo^yxoXxoxiXo 
 translation. 
 
 Translations: — Bucolic Poets : Lsing {Go/den Treasury. Macmi!- 
 lan ; best prose version). Theocritus : Calverley (Verse. Macmillan ; 
 best verse rendering). Selections: Fitzgerald, in Crowned HippoJytus. 
 (See under Chap. X.). Mifflin, Echoes of Greek Idyls (from Bion and 
 Moschus, in sonnet form. Houghton). Sedgwick, Sicilian Idyls. 
 (Verse renderings from Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus. Copeland 
 & Day. Matthew Arnold translates the famous Fifteenth Idyll of 
 Theocritus in "Pagan and Mediaeval Religious Sentiment," Essays 
 in Criticism. Mention should be made of Leigh Hunt's version 
 of Moschus' Lament for Bion, and of Mrs. Browning's Bion's 
 Lament for Adonis. 
 
INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND NAMES 
 
 Besides the naunes which are of especial significance in the history of Greek 
 literature, the Index aims to include all proper names, mentioned in the text and in 
 the quotations, wherever the context leaves the identity of a person or place ob- 
 scure or where there might be doubt as to the place of the accent in pronunciation. 
 After the names of Greek authors are given in parentheses the dates of their birth 
 and death, when known ; otherwise their flourishing period {Jior.\ approximately. 
 B.C. is to be understood with all dates not designated a.d. 
 
 Abde'ra, town in Thrace, 341. 
 
 Acade'mus, 366, 
 
 Academy of Plato, 366, 383, 385. 
 
 Achaeans, 6. 
 
 ACHAB'US iflor. 444), 415. 
 
 Acharnians of Aristophanes, 286_^. 
 
 Achelo'us, a river god, 223, 378. 
 
 Ach'eron, a river of the lower world, 
 201. 
 
 Achilles, 24/, 51/, 60/, 63^, 
 joff. , 96/ / shield of, i6, Slff- 
 
 Acis, a river at the foot of Mount 
 Aetna, 450. 
 
 Actors, number of, in tragedy, 185, 
 in comedy, 275 ; r61es, 188 ; only 
 male, 189, note ; poet as actor, 
 185, 215 ; period of great actors, 
 
 415. 
 
 Adme'tus, 240. 
 
 Ado'nis, festival of, ASSff' 
 
 Ae'a (or Aeae'a), Circe's isle, 94. 
 
 Aeac'ides, 26, note 2. 
 
 Ae'acus 26, note 2, 373, 
 
 Aeg'ilus (for Aegi'Ha), a deme in 
 Attica, 452. 
 
 Aegis'thus, 193, 204, 205, 220, 252. 
 
 Aene'as, 36, 420. 
 
 Aeolians, 7 ; melic poetry per- 
 fected by, 159, 183 ; position of 
 women among, 162. 
 
 Ae'olus, god of the winds, 94. 
 
 Aepei'a, town in Messenia, 50. 
 
 Aes'chinbs (389-314), 347/ ; con- 
 flict with Demosthenes, 348, 
 352/. 357/. 
 
 Aes'chylus (525-456), 152. 185, 
 19a, 216, 238, 239, 382, 416 ; 
 tragedy in family of, 418 ; and 
 Sophocles, 220, 251 ; and Euri- 
 
 pides, 251/,, 259 ; in Aristoph- 
 anes' Frogs, 296 jf ; Agamem- 
 non, 192^ ; Libation Bearers, 
 204^. ; Furies, 20Sjf. ; Suppli- 
 ants, 'axyj \ Persians^ "iiorjff. ; 
 Seven against Thebes, vy^ff, ; 
 Prometheus, nwff. 
 
 Ab'sop (Gk. Aeso'pus; ca, 550), 
 302. 
 
 Aethi'opis, 76. 
 
 Agamem'non, 24, 37, 49; tragedy 
 of Aeschylus, 193/'. ; sacrifice 
 of Iphigeneia by, 195, 203, 248. 
 
 Agaris'ta, 313. 
 
 Ag'athon {flor. end V. cent.), 371, 
 416. 
 
 Aga'v^, 268. 
 
 Agesila'us, king of Sparta, 330. 
 
 A'gias, reputed author of the 
 Nostoi, 76. 
 
 A'jax (Gk. Ai'as), son of OTleus, 51, 
 82. 
 
 A'jax (Gk. Ai'as, 218), son of Tela- 
 mon, 24, 46; tragedy of Soph- 
 ocles, 217^ , 422. 
 
 Alcab'us Cflor. 600), 159/:, 161. 
 
 Alcei'des, 26, note 2. 
 
 Alces'tis of Euripides, 240. 
 
 Alcibi'ades, 277, 327, 366, 371, 
 
 379/"- 
 Alcin'ous, 88^. 
 Alc'man {flor. 660), 169. 
 Alcme'nd (Lat. Alcmena), mother 
 
 of Heracles by an amour with 
 
 Zeus, 224, 261, 282. 
 Alexander, see under Paris. 
 Alexander the Great, 130, 334, 384, 
 
 401. 443. 
 Alexandria, 317, 407, 443, 445, 447- 
 
 465 
 
466 Index of Subjects and Names 
 
 Alexandrine period of Greek litera- 
 ture, 13. 443/: 
 Albx'is (J76-271), 439, 434. 
 Alphe'us, river of Elis, flowing by 
 
 Olympia, 177. 
 Amalthei'a (or -e'a), 166. "A.'s 
 
 horn" = " horn of plenty." 
 Ama Sis, king of Egypt, 311. 
 Amor'gos, island of the Aegean, 
 
 157. 
 Amphip'olis, town in Macedonia, 
 
 318. 
 Amphitri'te, a sea-goddess, 173. 
 Amphit'ryon, mortal father of 
 
 Heracles, 262. 
 Amyn'tas, 383. 
 Anab'asis of Xenophon, 330. 
 Anac'reon (latter half VI. cent.) 
 
 166/., 170. 
 Anacrtcntics, 166. 
 Ana'pns, river in Sicily, 450. 
 Anaxag'oras {flor. 450), 363. 
 Anaxan'drides {flor. 360), 427 
 
 Anchj'ses, father of Aeneas by 
 
 Aphrodite, 451. 
 Andoc'ides (Jlor. end V. cent.), 
 
 343- 
 Androm'ache, 37, 43, 253 ; tragedy 
 
 of Euripides, 256. 
 Andro'tion, Athenian politician, 
 
 3SI. 
 
 Anthei'a, town in Messenia, 50, 
 
 Anthology^ I5ijf., 444 ; of Stobaeus, 
 410. 
 
 Antig'on^, 209 ; in Aeschylus, 210 ; 
 in Sophocles, 230, 233^ ; in Eu- 
 ripides, 259; tragedy of Soph- 
 ocles, 233^ 
 
 Antil'ochus, son of Nestor, 109. 
 
 Antip'ater of Sidon {flor. 100), 
 154. 
 
 Antiph'anes (385-310), 428/ 
 
 An'tiphon (died 411), 343, 353. 
 
 Antron, town in Thessaly, 129. 
 
 An'ytus, one of the accusers of 
 Socrates, 390, 
 
 Aph'obus, guardian of Demos- 
 thenes, 350. 
 
 Aphrodi'te (Lat. Venus), 19, 23, 
 246, 451 ; Homeric Hymn to, 
 121. 
 
 Apollo, Phoebus, X13, 264. 
 
 ApoUodo'rus, a companion of 
 Socrates, 376. 
 
 Apollodo'rus {flor. 290), 433. 
 ApoUon'ides, Olynthian general, 
 
 355. 
 Apollon'ius of Rhodes (/<;r. 194), 
 
 444. 
 Apology of Plato, 369, 373/ 
 Ara'tus {flor. 275), 447. 
 Archela'us, king of Macedon, 338. 
 Archida'mus, king of Sparta, 338. 
 Archil'ochus of Paros {flor. 660), 
 
 156. 
 Arcti'nus, reputed author of the 
 
 Aethiopis and Ilioupersis^ 76. 
 Areop'agus, court of the, 206, 347, 
 
 353. 
 A'res (Lat. Mars), 19, 360. 
 Are'te, 89. 
 Arethu'sa (Eng. sometimes Are- 
 
 thuse', 451), fountain near Syra- 
 cuse, 451. 
 Arganthon'ius, 167 and note. 
 Ar'golis, 7. 
 Ar^'gonauts, 243. 
 Ariad'ne, 58. 
 
 Ari'on {flor. 600), 170, 184. 
 Aris'tocles (Plato), 366. 
 Aristoc'rates, Athenian politician, 
 
 351. 
 Aris'ton {flor. end V. cent.), 418. 
 Aristoph'anes (448 -fa. 385), 339, 
 
 arr/;, 292, 371, 416, 417, 422/, 
 
 425 ; Birds^ ^l^ff- \ Acharnians, 
 
 286 j^; Peace., 289; Lysistrata, 
 
 289 ; Thesmophoriaxusae , 390 ; 
 
 Parliament of Women, 391 ; Plu- 
 
 tus, 391 ; Knights.^ 291 j^ ; Clouds, 
 
 393/. 366; Wasps^ 395; Frogs, 
 
 ^9Sff- . 416. 
 Ar'istotle (Gk. Aristo'teles ; 384- 
 
 333), 151, 38a^., 407, 411, 417, 
 
 418, 419, 434, 433. 
 Artaba'nus, 305. 
 Artaxer'xes, 330. 
 Ar'temis (Lat. Diana), 24, 346. 
 Asclep'ius (Lat. Aescula'pius),god 
 
 of healing, 242, 376. 
 Aspa'sia, companion of Pericles, 
 
 288, 371. 
 Asty'anax. 37, 43, 353. 
 Astyd'amas, the elder {flor. 385). 
 
 417. 
 Astyd'amas, the younger {flor. 
 
 360), 417/ 
 Athenae'us (III. cent. A.D.), 410, 
 
 437. 
 
Index of Subjects and Names 467 
 
 Athc'ne, Pallas (Lat. Minerva), 23, 
 113, 217, 421. 
 
 Athenians, 9 ; relation to the 
 drama, 183, 291, 295 ; in prose 
 literature, 317 ; in time of Eurip- 
 ides, 238 ; fondness for litiga- 
 tion, 279, 295; contrasted with 
 the Spartans, 323 ; after the 
 Peloponnesian war, 424, 426 ; 
 after loss of liberty, 424, 442. 
 
 Athens, literary centre of Greece, 
 X71, 183, 317, 441 ; overthrow olf 
 tyrants of, 170 ; in Persian wars, 
 174. 306, 315 ; plague at, 325. 
 
 Atos'sa, 207. 
 
 Atrei'des (or-i'des), 26, note 2. 
 
 Attica, 8 ; home of tragedy, 184, of 
 comedy, 275. 
 
 Aulis, harbor on the northern coast 
 of Boeotia, 195, 247. 
 
 Babylonians, customs of, accord- 
 ing to Herodotus, 308. 
 
 Bacchanals of Euripides, 268, 418. 
 
 BaCCHYL'IDES (/or. 480), I72/ 
 
 Bards before Homer, 15. 
 
 Battle of the Frogs and Mice^ at- 
 tributed to Homer, 115. 
 
 Beller'ophon, prince of Corinth, 
 possessor of Pegasus, 289. 
 
 Bereni'ce, 445. 
 
 BiON {Jlor. 250), 448. 
 
 Birds of Aristophanes, 278. 
 
 Boeotians, characteristics of, 7, 
 130. 
 
 Books in antiquity, ix, 405^, 
 408/ 
 
 Bo'reas, the north wind, 377. 
 
 Bras'idas, 318. 
 
 Brise'is, 25, 49, 
 
 Bro'mius, epithet of Dionysus, 263, 
 294. 
 
 Bucolic poetry, 446^ 
 
 Byzantine period of Greek liter- 
 ature, 12. 
 
 Cadmus, mythical founder of 
 
 Thebes, 268. 
 Calchas, the seer, 28, 195. 
 Callim'achus {flcr. 260), 153, 
 
 444> 445' 
 Calli'nus {flor. 690), 144, 
 Cal'ydon, a town in Aetolia, 450. 
 Calyp'so, 77, 83. 
 Camby'ses, 306. 
 
 Canon of classical writers, estab- 
 lished by Alexandrian scholars, 
 
 343, 409. 41S. 444. 
 
 Cap'an-eus, one of the seven chief- 
 tains against Thebes, 261. 
 
 Car'cinus (first half IV. cent.), 
 417- 
 
 Cardam'yl^, town in Messenia, 50. 
 
 Cassan'dra, 199, 253. 
 
 Casta'lia, fountain at Delphi, 265. 
 Catullus, imitator of Callimachus, 
 
 445- 
 
 Ce'crops, mythical first king of 
 Athens, 294. 
 
 Ce'leus, prince of Eleusis, one of 
 the founders of the Mysteries, 
 127. 
 
 Ceos, island of the Aegean, near 
 Athens, 170. 
 
 Ceph'alus, father of Lysias, 371. 
 
 Cephis'ia, 434. 
 
 Cephis'ophon, tragic actor for Eu- 
 ripides, suspected of helping in 
 the composition of his tragedies, 
 299. 
 
 Cephi'sus, river near Athens, 231. 
 
 Cer'berus, 262. 
 
 Chabre'mon {flor. 350), 419, 444. 
 
 Chaerone'a, battle of, 347, 352, 442. 
 
 Chalce'don, a Greek city on the 
 Propontis, 341. 
 
 Chaly'bean, of the Chal'ybes, work- 
 ers in iron on the Euxine, 242. 
 
 Charyb'dis, 97. 
 
 Chersonese, now the Peninsula of 
 the Dardanelles, 352. 
 
 Chion'ides {flor. 480), 275. 
 
 Chios, island in the Aegean, 413, 
 415. 
 
 Chiron, wisest of the Centaurs, 
 teacher of Achilles, 61. 
 
 Choral poetry, 144, 158, 168, 183. 
 
 Chorus, in the dithyramb, 170 ; in 
 the satyr-drama, 184, 186; in 
 tragedy, 191, 203, note, 414; in 
 comedy, 274, 275, 278, 281, 290, 
 423, 426, 430 ; animal choruses in 
 comedy, 276, 277, 295 ; in the 
 Rhesus, 422. 
 
 Chryse'is, 25. 
 
 Chrysoth'emis, 50, 220. 
 
 Cicero, 2, 346. 
 
 Cimmerians, mythical people in 
 Homer, 95. 
 
 Cine'sias, 284. 
 
468 Index of Subjects and Names 
 
 Cir'ce, 94. 
 
 Classics, selection of the, 409 ; see 
 under Canon. 
 
 Clazom'enae, 363. 
 
 Clean'thbs (Jl0r. 250), 444. 
 
 Cleis'thenes, tyrant of Sicyon, 313. 
 
 Climate, influence of, on the 
 Greeks, 10. 
 
 Clitar'chus, tyrant of Eretria, 355. 
 
 Clouds of Aristophanes, 293, 366. 
 
 Clytemnes'tra, 76 ; in the Agamem- 
 non^ 1^3 ff. ; in Sophocles' Elec- 
 tra^ 220; in Euripides' Electra, 
 
 Cocy'tus, river of the lower world, 
 201. 
 
 Colchis, country in Asia, south of 
 the Caucasus, 242. 
 
 Colonization, effects of, on Greek 
 life, 141. 
 
 Colo'nus, 231. 
 
 Comedy, 373 ff. ; influence of trag- 
 edy upon, 275, 277, 422^., 425; 
 subjects of, 27S/-t 426; periods 
 of, 27s, 423. Old, political ten- 
 dencies of, 27s, 426 ; license per- 
 mitted to, 274, 276/., 425. Mid- 
 dle, ^3ff. New, A3P'ff^^ 4431 
 influence of Euripides upon, 
 
 339, 431. 435. 
 Comus, the early, 273, 274, 275, 425. 
 Constitution of Athens^ attributed 
 
 to Xenophon, 317 j of Aristotle, 
 
 388ir. 
 CORAX (flor. 450), 342. 
 Corinth, 7, 8, 170, 350. 
 Cra'tes {flor. 438), 424. 
 Crati'nus i,flor. 440), 276, 297, 
 
 422. 
 Crafylus of Plato, 370. 
 Cre-u'sa, 264. 
 Crito of Plato, 369. 
 Croe'sus, 306. 
 Cron'ides (Zeus, son of Cronus), 
 
 125. 
 Cronus (Lat. Saturn), 33. 
 Ctes'iphon, Aeschines' oration 
 
 against, 348. 
 Cyclo'pes, 90 
 
 Cyclops of Euripides, 237, 271. 
 Cylle'ne, Mount, birthplace of 
 
 Hermes, 122. 
 Cy'md, town of Asia Minor, 129, 
 
 4x3- 
 Cypria^ 33. 76, 115. 
 
 Cyr'silus, 360. 
 
 Cythere'an, of Cythe'ra, island 
 south of the Peloponnesus, birth- 
 place of Aphrodite, 122. 
 
 Daed'alus, mythical artist and 
 
 builder, maker of the labyrinth 
 
 in Crete, 58. 
 Damon'ides, 390. 
 Dan'a-ans, descendants of Danaus, 
 
 King of the Argives, 29. 
 Dan'a-e, mother of Perseus, visited 
 
 by Zeus as a shower of gold, 171. 
 Daphnis in bucolic poetry, 446, 
 
 449/- 
 Dar'danus, mythical ancestor of 
 
 the Trojans, 69. 
 Dari'us, 207, 306. 
 Deianei'ra, 223. 
 Dbinar'chus {flor. 325), 349. 
 Deiph'obus, 65. 
 Delos, island of the Aegean, birth' 
 
 place of Apollo and Artemis, X2X. 
 Demege'tus, 177. 
 Deme'ter (Lat. Ceres), Homeric 
 
 Hymn to, 124^. 
 Demod'ocus, 18, 20, 89. 
 Demoph'oon, son of Celeus, 127. 
 Demos'thenes (384-322), 347, 
 
 348, 349, 350^., 385, 407. 
 Deo, epithet of Demeter, 126. 
 Destiny, the belief in, in the tragic 
 
 poets, 216, 251/. ; in the histo- 
 rians, 305, 320, 337. 
 Deus ex machina^ 422 ; cf. 223, 
 
 249, 252, 264, 268. 
 Diag'oras of Rhodes, Olympian 
 
 Ode in honor of, 177. 
 Dialects, use of the, in Attic po- 
 etry, 9 ; Doric, 8, 168 ; Ionic, 
 
 8, 303 ; Attic, 8. 
 Dialogue, first used by Xenophon, 
 
 334 ; in Plato, 367, 372. 
 Dicaeop'olis, 286. 
 Didactic poetry, 131. 
 Dioclei'des, 453. 
 Di'ocles, one of the founders of the 
 
 Mysteries, 128. 
 Diome'des, 24, 36, 41, 421. 
 Diony'sia, at Athens, 186, 275, 353 ; 
 
 Rural, 186, 19X. 
 Diony'sius, tyrant of Syracuse, 396, 
 
 412, 417, 441. 
 Diony'sus (Bacchus), 170, 368, 
 
 395, 416. 
 
Index of Subjects and Names 469 
 
 DipH'ILUS (Jlor. 310), 432. 
 
 Dirges, in early poetry, 17. 
 
 Dithyramb, 170, 184. 
 
 Dorians, characteristics of, 7/ ; 
 choral poetry perfected among. 
 159, 168 ; beginnings of the 
 drama among, 184/, 273. 
 
 Drama, the, relation of, to the 
 democratic age, 4 ; origin and 
 development of, 182 ; large num- 
 ber of plays produced, 404 ; after 
 the fifth century, ^Wff. 
 
 Dramatic exhibitions, at Athens, 
 186/ ; elsewhere, 186, 415. 
 
 Dulich'ium, island in the Ionian 
 Sea, 80. 
 
 Echec'rates, companion of Socra- 
 tes, 376. 
 
 Ee'tion, 43. 
 
 Egypt, 4, III ; recent discoveries 
 of papyri in, 169, 172, 349. 389, 
 408, 436 ; customs of the Egyp- 
 tians, described by Herodotus, 
 
 309- 
 Elec'tra, 193 ; in Libation Bearers 
 
 of Aeschylus, 204/. ; Sophocles' 
 
 EUcira, 220, 251 ; Euripides* 
 
 Electra, 251. 
 Elegiac poetry, 143 /, 444. 
 Elysian fields, 82, 96, iii, 181. 
 E'neti (Lat. Ve'neti), progenitors 
 
 of the modem Venetians, 308. 
 Eno'pe, town in the Peloponnesus, 
 
 50- 
 Epameinon'das, 337. 
 Eph'esus, 144. 
 
 Eph'orus (first half IV. cent), 413. 
 Eph'yre, ancient name of Corinth, 
 
 42. 
 Epic Cycle, 75, 115, 191 ; date of 
 
 earlier poets of, 119. 
 Epic poetry, definition and kinds, 
 
 21/ ; typical of the patriarchal 
 
 age, 183 ; in the Alexandrian 
 
 age, X20, 444. 
 Epichar'mus (Jlor, 490), 374, 
 
 276, 446. 
 Epicu'rus (341-370), 4", 435- 
 Epigram, 151, 444. 
 Epinician odes, 171, 175. 
 Episodes, unconnected, in the 
 
 early comedy, 274, 278, 284, 267. 
 Eratos'^henes, Lysias' oration 
 
 against, 344. 
 
 Er'ebus, land of darkness, often 
 identified with Hades, 95. 
 
 Ere'tria, city of Euboea, 415. 
 
 E'ros rLat. Cupid), 246. 
 
 Ete'ocles, 209, 233, 259. 
 
 Ethics of Aristotle, 391^ 
 
 Euboe'a, island north of Attica, 8. 
 
 Euclid (Gk. Euclei'des ; early 
 III, cent), 445. 
 
 Eu'crates, a demagogue at Athens, 
 292. 
 
 Euel'pides, 278^ 
 
 Eumae'us, 98,^. 
 
 Eumen'ides {Furies') of Aeschylus, 
 206. 
 
 Eumol'pus, a musician, one of 
 the founders of the Mysteries, 
 128. 
 
 Euphor'ion {Jlor. 430), 418. 
 
 Euphrae'us, patriot of Oreus, op- 
 ponent of Philip, 355. 
 
 Eu'POLis (446-411), 276, 277, 42a. 
 
 EuRip'iDKS (485-406), 153, 216, 
 a37_^, 416 ; realism of, 239 ; in- 
 fluence of the new rhetoric upon, 
 341 ; influence upon the New 
 Comedy, 239, 431, 435 ; deus ex 
 machina in, 223, 249, 252, 264, 268, 
 422 ; criticisms of Aristophanes 
 on, 286/!, 289, 290, 295^: his 
 library, 407 ; decline of tragedy 
 after, 414. 
 
 EuRiPiDBS, the younger (yfor. 
 400), 418. 
 
 Euryclei'a, loi. 
 
 Eurys'theus, 193, 223, 261, 368. 
 
 Euthydt?inus of Plato, 370. 
 
 Evad'nd, 261. 
 
 Festivals, athletic, 174 ; dramatic, 
 at Athens, 186/, 427 ; in Greece 
 at large, 415 ; of Adonis, in Alex- 
 andria, 453 if. 
 
 Flute, a Phrygian invention, 144. 
 
 Folk-songs, 142/1 
 
 Fragments of lost writers, how 
 preserved, 409/^ 
 
 Frogs of Aristophanes, 295^. 
 
 Funeral Oration of Pericles, 334 ; 
 of Hypereides, 349. 
 
 Furies of Aeschylus, 205/ 
 
 Future life, views concerning, in 
 Homer, 82. 96, izx ; as taught 
 in the Mysteries, 129 ; in Pindar, 
 179^. ; in Plato, 369, 373^. 
 
470 Index of Subjects and Names 
 
 Glyc'era, 435- 
 
 Gnossus, capital of King Minos, 
 
 in Crete, $8. 
 Golden fleece, quest of, 19, 343, 
 
 444. 
 Gor'gias iflor. 427), the sophist, 
 
 342 ; dialogue of Plato, 370. 
 Greece, physical characteristics of, 
 
 10. 
 Greeks, geographical distribution 
 
 of, 6 ; divisions of the race, 6 ; 
 
 political divisions among, p ; 
 
 their love of nature, 11 ; of the 
 
 Homeric period, no; in the 
 
 lyric age, 141 ; in the Alexan- 
 • drine age, 442 j^ 
 
 Ha'dcs (Lat. Pluto), god of the 
 lower world, 26, 113 ; the home 
 of Hades, or simply Hades, the 
 abode of the dead, X09. 
 
 Halicamas'sus, 302. 
 
 Harpa'lus, 353. 
 
 Hec'abe (Lat. Hecuba), 17, 72; 
 tragedy of Euripides, 253. 
 
 Hbcatae'us {Jlor. 500), 302. 
 
 Hector, 36, 46, 52, 54 ; and Andro- 
 mache, 43 ; death of, 64 ; lamen- 
 tation over, 71 ; in the Rhesus, 
 420. 
 
 Helen, rape of, 24, 193, 196, 248 ; 
 on the walls of Troy, 39 ; lament 
 over Hector, 72 ; in the Odyssey, 
 82; Stesichorus' Palinode to, 
 169 ; in Aeschylus, 196 ; in Eu- 
 ripides, 257, 258. 
 
 Hel'icd, a town in Arcadia, 452. 
 
 Hel'icon, Mount, regarded as the 
 seat of the Muses from Hesiod's 
 time, 129, 136. 
 
 Heliodo'ra, 155. 
 
 Helius, 97, 126, 177. 
 
 Hellen'ica of Xenophon, 331 ; of 
 Theopompus, 413. 
 
 Hellenistic period, 40X, 443. 
 
 Hephaes'tus (Lat. Vulcan), 16. 
 
 Hera (Lat. Juno), 23, 113, 262. 
 
 Heraclei'dae, descendants of Hera- 
 cles, founders of the line of Spar- 
 tan kings, 413. 
 
 Her'acles (Lat. Hercules], labors 
 of, 19, 223/. ; bow ana arrows 
 of, 222, 233 ; and Alcestis, 340, 
 261 ; tragedy of Euripides, 261 JT.; 
 in comedy, 385, 416. 
 
 Hermae, mutilation of, 344 and 
 
 note. 
 Her'mes (Lat. Mercury), 23; 
 
 Homeric Hymn to, X32. 
 Hermi'one, 256. 
 Hero'des, 343. 
 Hbrod'otus {ca. 490-428), 12, IIS, 
 
 130, 30Jd^, 317, 319, 413. 
 Hb'siod (Gk. Hesi'odus; fior. 
 
 800?), 129^. ; influence of his 
 
 mythology, 362/ ; Plato and 
 
 Hesiod, 372. 
 Hes'perus, evening star, 153. 
 Hexameter verse, 21, 363. 
 Hi'ero, tyrant of Syracuse, 171, 
 
 178, 182. 
 Hippar'chus, tyrant of Athens, 
 
 166, 170. 
 Hip'pias, tyrant of Athens, 170; 
 
 the sophist, 341. 
 Hippoclei'des, 313. 
 Hippocre'ne (in Eng. sometimes 
 
 Hip'pocrene), a fountain on 
 
 Mount Helicon, 132. 
 HippoVytus of Euripides, 245. 
 HiPPO'NAX {flor. 540), 157. 
 Hira, town in the Peloponnesus, 
 
 SO- 
 
 Hissarlik, site of ancient Troy, 113. 
 
 History, 301-308; in fourth cen- 
 tury, 412/: 
 
 HoMSR, literature before, 16, 3X ; 
 geography of, ixi ; domestic life 
 in, 112; gods in, 113, 363, 377; 
 age of, X13; personality of, XX4; 
 date of, 115; significance of the 
 term " Homer " in antiquity, xis, 
 120 ; as a school book, X48 " the 
 poet," 162 ; influence on tragedy, 
 19X/ ; Plato and Homer, 373 ; 
 Alexander's love of, 384 ; trans- 
 mission of, 1x5^, 408, 409; the 
 Iliad, 32/r. ; the Odyssey, 75 ff' 
 
 Homeric Hymns, X2o^. 
 
 Homeric Poems, earliest literature 
 of Europe, X4 ; simplicity of, 15 ; 
 civilization represented by, xio, 
 ixx ; geography of, xxx ; domes- 
 tic life in. 112 ; women in, iia ; 
 composition and transmission of, 
 Wolfs theory, X 16; influence on 
 later Uterature of, 1x9. 
 
 Homeric Question, X4, ai, 114^ 
 
 Horace, relation to Alcaeus, 160. 
 
 Hy'ades, 57. 
 
Index of Subjects and Names 471 
 
 Hyperei'an, of the spring Hy- 
 
 perei'a, in Thessaly, 45. 
 Hypersi'des (died 332), 349. 
 Hypoplacian, lying at the foot of 
 
 Placus. near Mount Ida, 43. 
 
 Iambic poetry, 143, i$6. 
 
 Ica'ria, 185. 
 
 Ida, Mount, 23. 
 
 Idom'eneus, 24, 4c. 
 
 Idyll. 447. 
 
 //tad, *A%ff. ; duration of the action 
 of, 32 ; theme of, 26 ; unity of, 
 26 ; division into books, 27, note ; 
 turning-point in the plot of, 53 ; 
 authorship of, "S^; in its pres- 
 ent form, 118 ; influence of, on 
 later literature, X19 ; Little Iliud, 
 76. 
 
 Il'ios (Lat. Ilium), 25 and note. 
 
 lliouper'sis, 76. 
 
 Ilis'sus, river flowing through 
 Athens, 370, 377. 
 
 Imbros, island in the northern 
 Aegean, 72. 
 
 Ion {flor. 440), 153, 415. 
 
 Ion of Euripides, 264. 
 
 lonians, characteristics of, 8 ; de- 
 velopment of prose among, 302, 
 317; early philosophers among, 
 
 363. 
 I'OPHON {flor. 400), 416, 418. 
 Iphianas'sa, 50. 
 Iphigenei'a (or -i'a), sacrifice of, 25, 
 
 195. 203 ; Euripides' tragedies 
 
 on, 247, 249, 418. 
 Iris, messenger of the gods, 127, 
 
 284. 
 Irony, tragic, 220, note. 
 ISAR'US Or. 360), 347, 353. 
 Isme'nS, 209, 233. 
 
 Isme'nus, stream near Thebes, 261. 
 ISOC'RATES (436-338), 321, 3452^.. 
 
 353 ; influence as a teacher, 346, 
 
 383. 412, 413, 417, 418. 
 Isthmian games, 174. 
 Italy, Southern, 6, 10, 274, 363, 429. 
 Ithaca, island in the Ionian Sea, 
 
 24. 
 
 Jason, 242. 
 
 ' ocas'ta, 209, 226^ 959. 
 ' udgment of Pans, 23. 
 Julian of Egypt (VI. cent. A.D.), 
 154. 
 
 Knights of Aristophanes, 291. 
 Krisaean, of Krissa (Crissa) in 
 
 Phocis, 221. 
 Kypris or Cypris, the goddess of 
 
 Cyprus, Apkrodite, 258. 
 
 Labdac'idae, descendants of Lab - 
 dacus (209), 261. 
 
 Lacedae'mon or Sparta, 4a 
 
 Laci'adae, a deme or county in 
 Attica, 390. 
 
 Laco'nia, the country of which 
 Sparta was the capital, 7. 
 
 Laer'tes, 78. 
 
 La'ius, 209. 
 
 Lao'coon, 76. 
 
 Laodamei'a (or-i'a), 42. 
 
 Lao'dic^, 50. 
 
 Las'thenes, an Olynthian who be- 
 trayed his country to Philip, 355. 
 
 Lemnos, island in the northern 
 Aegean, 72. 
 
 Lenae'a, at Athens, 186. 
 
 Leonti'ni, city in Sicily, 342. 
 
 Lep'tines, Athenian politician, 35X. 
 
 Lesbians, characteristic of, 7, 159, 
 161/ 
 
 Lesbos, island of the Aegean, op- 
 posite Smyrna, 158. 
 
 Le'th^, river of forgetfulness in the 
 lower world, 155. 
 
 Leto (Lat. Latona), 266. 
 
 Libation Bearers of Aeschylus, 
 204/, 220, 251. 
 
 Libraries, the first in Greece, 11, 
 407 ; at Alexandria and Perga- 
 mum. 385, 407/., 445. 
 
 Linus, 16 ; the Linus-song, 143. 
 
 Literature, Greek, originality of, 
 1 ; universality of, 2 ; normal 
 growth of, 3, 183, 353 ; influence 
 of, on European literatureSj 4, 
 239. 346, 372, 400 ; oral publica- 
 tion of, xi/., 131, 301, 406; pe- 
 riods of, 13 ; religious nature of, 
 in earliest times, 17-, the trans- 
 mission of, to modern times, 386, 
 404 _2^ 
 
 Love, as a motive in the drama, 
 223, 234, 24s ; in the New Com- 
 edy, 427, 432; first love-story, 
 333. 
 
 Lucretius, relation to EpicuruSi 
 412. 
 
 Lyce'um, 385, 386, 432. 
 
47^ Index of Subjects and Names 
 
 Lyce'um, mountain in Arcadia, 
 
 4SI. 
 Lycur'gus (/<?r. 338), 349. 
 Lydians, Herodotus' account of, 
 
 307. 
 Lyre, 158; Hermes* invention of, 
 
 123. 
 
 Lyric poetry, typical of the aristo- 
 cratic age, 4 ; conditions which 
 encouraged its rise, 141 ; defini- 
 tions, 142 ; kinds of, 143 ; in 
 fourth century, 410 ; in Alexan- 
 drine period, 444. 
 
 Lyrnes'sus, 25. 
 
 Lys'ias (440-360), 344/, 349, 353, 
 405. 
 
 Lysis'trata of Aristophanes, 289. 
 
 Maca'ria, 261. 
 
 Maenads, "frenzied women," fol- 
 lowers of Dionysus, 452. 
 
 Mag'nes Kflo*"- 480), 275. 
 
 Mai'a (in Eng. sometimes simply 
 May, 122), 123. 
 
 Malea, southernmost cape of the 
 Peloponnesus, 90. 
 
 Mantine'a, town of Arcadia, near 
 borders of Laconia, 328. 
 
 Mar'athon, 170, 173, 306. 
 
 Margi'tes, attributed to Homer, 
 
 "5. 
 Mauso'lus, Mausole'um, 413, 419. 
 Medina of Euripides, 242, 418. 
 Megalop'olis, capital of Arcadia, 
 
 351. 
 Meg'ara, wife of Heracles, 262. 
 Megara. country between Attica 
 
 and Corinth, 7, 147, 274, 287. 
 Mele'ager (jlor. 100), 155. 
 Melic poetry, 143, 158. 
 Memorabilia of Socrates, by Xen- 
 
 ophon, 332, ^. 
 Menan'der (342-292), 431, 433, 
 
 433. *34/: 
 Menela'us, 34, 357, 358. 
 Menoe'ceus, 259. 
 Messe'is, spring in Laconia, 45. 
 Messe'na, 7. 
 Metanei'ra, 127, 
 Miletus^ Capture of, tragedy by 
 
 Phrynichus, 193. 
 Milti'ades, 317. 
 Mime, 446, 447. 
 Mimner'mus (latter part of VII. 
 
 cent), 146. 
 
 Min'otaur, 172. 
 
 Minstrels, in Homer, 18/:, 30. 
 MoR'siMUS (end V. cent.). 418. 
 MoscHUS (end II. cent.), 448. 
 Muse'um at Alexandria, 445. 
 Musae'us, legendary bard, 15, 
 
 373- 
 Myc'ale, promontory on the coast 
 
 of Ionia, near Miletus, 307. 
 Myce'nae, 113, 114, 193. 
 Myr'midons, 25. 
 Mysteries at Eleusis, 124, 129, note, 
 
 296, note ; Andocides' speech on, 
 
 344. 
 Mythology, travesties on, in com- 
 edy, 276 ; fixed by Homer and 
 
 Hesiod, 362. 
 Mytile'ne, principal city in Lesbos, 
 
 i6i. 
 
 Nausic'aa, %sff" 215. 
 
 Ne'leus of Scepsis, 386. 
 
 Ne'mean games, 174. 
 
 Neobu'le, 156. 
 
 Neoptol'emus, 76, 222, 256. 
 
 Nestor, 24, 32, 4.9. 
 
 Nic'ias, Athenian general and( 
 
 statesman, 322, 327, 391. 
 Nicom'achus, 382, 391. 
 Ny'sian, of Nysa, the birthplace of! 
 
 Dionysus, 125. 
 
 Oce'anus, 95, m. 
 
 Odys'seus (Lat. Ulixes, whence 
 Eng. Ulysses), 24, jsf- > »*i Soph- 
 ocles* Philoctetes. 222 ; parody 
 on, in Euripides Cyclops, 371 ; 
 in the Rhesus, 421. 
 
 Od'yssey, 75 ff.', division into 
 books, 27; theme, 76; duration 
 of action, 77 ; structure, 77 ; later 
 than the Iliad, no; authorship, 
 116, X18: influence on later 
 literature, 119. 
 
 Oed'ipus, story of, 120, 209; the 
 two plays of Sophocles on, 226 j^., 
 330 J^ , 418 ; in Euripides, 259. 
 
 Oe'neus, grandfather of Diomedes, 
 42. 
 
 Oi'leus, 51. 
 
 Olmi'us, stream on Mount Helicoai 
 132. 
 
 Olympian, games, X74, 313; festi- 
 val, 303, 345, 346. . 
 
 Olympus, legendary bard, 15. 
 
Index of Subjects and Names 473 
 
 Olympus, Mount, in Thessaly, 33, 
 113. 
 
 Olyn'thus, 351. 
 
 One'tor, brother-in-law of Demos- 
 thenes' guardian, Aphobus, 35a 
 
 Oratory, 339/"., 353- 
 
 Ores'tes, 50, 193 ; in Aeschylus, 
 204/ , 205/ ; in Sophocles, 220 ; 
 in Euripides, 249, 250, 251 ; trag- 
 edy of Euripides, 251. 
 
 O're-us, a town in Euboea, 355. 
 
 Or^a'non of Aristotle, 388. 
 
 Ori'on, 57, 139. 
 
 Ori'tes, citizens of Oreus. 355. 
 
 Orithy'ia, daughter of Erechtheus, 
 king of Athens, 377. 
 
 Or'pheus, legendary bard, 15, 248, 
 373. 
 
 Pan, the god of flocks and shep- 
 herds, with a goat's body, 379, 
 449- 
 
 Panac'tum, town on the borders of 
 Attica and Boeotia, 328. 
 
 Pan'darus, 36. 
 
 Pando'ra, 133. 
 
 Panegyr'icus of Isocrates, 346, 
 
 Papyrus, 406^ ; recent discoveries 
 of manuscripts of^ see under 
 Egypt 
 
 Para'basis in comedy, 277, 282/1 
 423, 425- 
 
 Parchment, invention and use of, 
 406, 408. 
 
 Paris, judgment of, 23 ; rape of 
 Helen, 24,421. 
 
 Parliarmnt of Women (Gk. Eccle- 
 siazu'sae) of Aristophanes, 291. 
 
 Pamas'sus, Mount, 265. 
 
 Parody in comedy, on the tragic 
 poets, 276, 287, 289, 290 ; on the 
 gods, 284, 427. 
 
 Paros, island in the Aegean, birth- 
 place of Archilochus, 156. 
 
 Parthenon, 15. 
 
 Parthenopae'us, one of the seven 
 chieftains against Thebes, 418. 
 
 Patro'clus, 24, 52. 
 
 Peace of Aristophanes, 289. 
 
 Ped'asus, town in the Pelopon- 
 nesus, 50. 
 
 Peg'asus, 289, 
 
 Peirae'us, 186, 435. 
 
 Peisis'tratus, patron of letters, xi6, 
 182, 414. 
 
 Peithetae'rus, 277. 
 
 Pelei'des, 26, note 2. 
 
 Pe'leus, 16, 23. 
 
 Pelion, mountain in Thessaly, near 
 Mount Olympus, 61. 
 
 Pelle'ne, town in Arcadia, 337. 
 
 Peloponnesian war, Thucydides' 
 history of, 3172^; cause of, ac- 
 cording to Aristophanes, 287 ; 
 effect of, on comedy, 424, 426. 
 
 Penel'opd, 19, 80, 107 j^. 
 
 Pene'us, river of Thessaly, 4501 
 
 Pentel'icus, Mount, 185. 
 
 Penthesilei'a, 76. 
 
 Pen'theus, 268. 
 
 Per'gamum, library of, 407, 443, 
 
 445- 
 Per'icles, age of, 11, 216, 318, 363; 
 
 in comedy , 276, 287, 288 ; funeral 
 
 oration of, 324 ; oratory of, 340 ; 
 
 Aristotle's estimate of, 389, 
 Perin'thus, a town in Thrace over- 
 thrown by Philip, 413. 
 Peripatetic school, 385, 400. 
 Permes'sian, of Permes'sus, a river 
 
 of Mount Helicon. 132. 
 Perseph'one, rape of, 124^ 
 Per'seus, 171. 
 Persians, Empire of, 10, 306, 334, 
 
 346; Greek wars with, 304; 
 
 Aeschylus' play, 207; customs 
 
 of, according to Herodotus, 308. 
 Phaea'cians, 77. 
 Phaedo of Plato, 369, 374^ 
 Phaedrus of Plato, 370, 377^ 
 Phase'lis, 418. 
 Phei'dias, 15, 216. 
 Phe'mius, 19. 
 Philb'mon (361-262), 239, 431, 
 
 4354 ff., 435. 
 Philip of Macedon, 348, 349, 351^., 
 
 355. 384. 401. 413- 
 Philippics of Demosthenes, 351. 
 Philis'tus (first half IV. cent), 
 
 413. 
 Philochar'idas, 328. 
 Phil'oclbs (fior. 430), 418. 
 Philoc'rates, Athenian politician 
 
 who negotiated an unfavorable 
 
 peace with Philip, 348. 
 Philocte'tes, 25, 76 ; tragedy of 
 
 Sophocles, 222. 
 Philopei'thbs (middle V. cent), 
 
 418. 
 Philosophy, 362/:, 403/"., 411/ 
 
474 Index of Subjects and Names 
 
 Phoenissian Women {Photnissae) of 
 Euripides, 358. 
 
 Phryn'ichus {^r. 490), 192. 
 
 Pie'ria, sanctuary of the Muses, 
 near Mount Olympus, 83. 
 
 Pindar (532-452), 173/: 
 
 Pindus, mountain-range in North- 
 ern Greece. 
 
 Pittacus, tyrant of Lesbos, 159. 
 
 Placos, Mount, near Mount Ida, 43. 
 
 Platae'a, battle of, 152, 170, 173. 
 
 Plato, the comic poet (^or. 400) , 
 425. 
 
 Plato (Aris'tocles ; 429-347), 151, 
 ^S3> 321. 366^, 382, 383, 391. 
 411, 418, 441. 
 
 Plautus, relation to the New Com- 
 edy, 431. 
 
 Plutus of Aristophanes, 291. 
 
 Poetics of Aristotle, 398^. 
 
 Poetry, natural means of expres- 
 sion in early Greece, 131, 302 ; 
 in the fourth century, 404. 
 
 Politics of Aristotle, 394 JT* 
 
 Pol'ybus, 209. 
 
 Polyc'rates, 166; ring of, from 
 Herodotus, 311. 
 
 Polydeu'ces (Lat. Pollux), brother 
 of Castor and Helen, 40. 
 
 Polydo'rus, 253. 
 
 Polygno'tus, 411. 
 
 Polymnes'tor, 253. 
 
 Polynei'ces, 209, 230, 233, 359. 
 
 Pol'ypas, 148. 
 
 Polyphe'mus, 90, 271. 
 
 Polyx'ena, 253, 254. 
 
 PosEiDip'pus {Jlor. 280), 432. 
 
 Posei'don (Lat Neptune), 23, X13, 
 385. 
 
 Potidae'a, town in Macedonia, 
 
 T, 379- , , 
 
 Praxm'od, 453. 
 
 Pre-Homeric poetry, 16, 21. 
 
 Priam, 39, 70. 
 
 Pria'pus, god of fertility, 449. 
 
 Prod'icus, 283, 341. 
 
 Prologue, in tragedy, 194 ; in New 
 Comedy, 431. 
 
 Prome'theus, Titan and benefac- 
 tor of mankind, 133 ; of Aeschy- 
 lus, 211 ; parodied in Aristoph- 
 anes, 384. 
 
 Prose, late development of, 301 ; 
 rise of prose literature in Ionia, 
 303, 3x7; in Attica, 317, 331, 
 
 346; importance in fourth cen- 
 tury, 404. 
 
 Protag'oras, the sophist, 34X ; dia- 
 logue of Plato, 370. 
 
 Psammet'ichus, 310, 406. 
 
 Ptolemy Philadelphus, 447, 453. 
 
 Ptolemy, astronomer and poet 
 (II. cent.), 155. 
 
 Publication, oral, of classical Greek 
 literature, 11, 131, 301, 406, 407; 
 in book form, 407^, 443/ 
 
 Pyl'ades, friend of Orestes, 320, 
 249. 
 
 Pylos, Spartan town on the western 
 coast of the Peloponnesus, capt- 
 ured by Athenians, 328, 390. 
 
 Pythan'gelus {^r. end V. cent), 
 
 417. 
 Pythian games, 174. 
 Pythodo'rus, 390. 
 
 Recognition scenes in tragedy, 249, 
 252, note. 
 
 Religion, of Homeric poems, XI3 ; 
 of Socrates, 365. 
 
 Republic of Plato, 371/ 
 
 Rhadaman'thus, a judge in the 
 lower world, 82, 373. 
 
 Rhapsodists, 116, 121. 
 
 Rhesus, 48 ; the tragedy, 237, 364, 
 420/-. 
 
 Rhetoric, influence on tragedy, 
 338, 4177^ ; on oratory, 293, 
 340/: ; on history, 321, 412 jf. ; 
 preeminence of Isocrates in, 
 346 ; Rhetoric of Aristotle, 397. 
 
 Rhi'um, promontory on the Corin- 
 thian Gulf, 452. 
 
 Rhodes, 142, 437 ; birth from the 
 sea, 177/". 
 
 Roman period of Greek literature, 
 13. 
 
 Sal'amis, ode to, in the AJax, 218 ; 
 
 battle of, 147, 170, 173, 307 ; 
 
 Aeschylus' description of, 207. 
 Sa'me, island in the Ionian Sea, 80. 
 Sappho (^or. 600), 159, 161^., 409, 
 
 436 ; epigram on, 154. 
 Sarpe'don, 36, 53. 
 Satire, in iambic poetry, 156; in 
 
 comedy, 276, 423, 424. 
 Satyrs, 184 ; satyr-chorus, 185 ; 
 
 satyr-drama, x86, 190, 240 (Al" 
 
 ctstis), 416. 
 
Index of Subjects and Names 475 
 
 Scaman'der. principal river in the 
 plain of Troy, 59, 63. 
 
 Schliemann, discovenes of, 113. 
 
 Sem'ele, mother of Dionysus by an 
 amour with Zeus, 382. 
 
 Semon'ides {flor. 650), 157. 
 
 Septuagint translation of the Old 
 Testament, 446. 
 
 Ser'iphos, island in the Aegean, 
 288. 
 
 Seven Sages, 302. 
 
 Seven against Thebes of Aeschylus, 
 209/: 
 
 Sicilian expedition, 342. 
 
 Sicily, 6, 10, 169, 171, 183, 323, 343, 
 446. 
 
 Sic'yon, city in the Peloponnesus, 
 near Cormth, 313. 
 
 Sile'nus, companion of Dionysus, 
 381. 
 
 Sim'mias of Thebes (more likely 
 of Rhodes ; flor. 300), 153. 
 
 Sim'ois, a stream near Troy, tribu- 
 tary to the Scamander, 62. 
 
 SmoN'iDES {flor. 500), iSi/"., 170. 
 X71. 
 
 Sis'yphus, founder of Corinth, se- 
 verely punished after death for 
 his wickedness, 42, 96. 
 
 Slavery, in the Homeric age, iii ; 
 Aristotle's views on, 395. 
 
 Smyrna, 146. 
 
 Socrates (469-399), 330. 346, 36* 
 ff. ; ridiculed in Aristophanes' 
 Frogs, 293; in Xenophon's 
 Memorabilia and dialogues, 332, 
 333; in Plato's dialogues, 368, 
 369, 373/". ; relation to the soph- 
 ists, 393, 341. 
 
 Solon {ca. 639-559), 147, 340. 
 
 Sophists at Athens, 293, 341, 345, 
 364, 370. 
 
 Sophocles (49S-405). i53» «15^, 
 339, 414, 418, 435; victories of, 
 338 ; tragedy in family of, 418 : 
 Ajax, 317^, , 422; Electra^ 220 ff. , 
 351 ; Philoctetes^ 322 ; Women of 
 Trachis, 223^. ; Oedipus Rex, 
 336^., 418 ; Oedipus at Colonus^ 
 ^3,0 ff. , 418 ; Antigone^ 233^- 
 
 Sophocles, the younger ijior. end 
 V. cent), 418. 
 
 Soph RON {flor. 440), 446. 
 
 Spartans, characteristics of, 8 ; in- 
 stitutions of, z68 ; in Euripides' 
 
 Andromache, 357 ; contrasted 
 with the Athenians by Thucydi- 
 des, 323. See under Dorians. 
 Speech-writers, professional, 343, 
 
 350- 
 Sperchi'us, river in Argolis, 399. 
 Sphacter'ia, island in the harbor ot 
 
 Pylos, 327. 
 St. Paul, quotation of, from Me- 
 
 nander, 440, from Aratus, 447. 
 Stage, in the theatre, 190 and note. 
 Stasi'nus, reputed author of the 
 
 Cypria, 23. 
 Stesi'chorus (Tisias ; /<»r. 630), 
 
 170,446. 
 Stobae'us (VI. cent A.D.), 410. 
 Stoic philosophy, 441. 
 Styx, river of the lower world, 
 
 395- 
 Suppliants of Aeschylus, 307; of 
 
 Euripides, 258. 
 Susa'rion (mid. VI. cent), 273. 
 Symposium of Xenophon, 333 ; of 
 
 Plato, 370, 379/-, 416. 
 Syracuse, 8, 183, 329, 344, 366, 433» 
 
 441, 447- 
 
 Taenarian, of Taen'arus, promon- 
 tory of the Peloponnesus, sacred 
 to Poseidon, 287. 
 
 Talthyb'ius, 47. 
 
 Tan'talus, father of Pelops, pun- 
 ished after death for an offence 
 against Zeus, 96. 
 
 Taren'tum, 8. 
 
 Tar'tarus, place of punishment be- 
 low Hades, 135. 
 
 Tecmes'sa, 217. 
 
 Te'gea, Arcadian town on the bor- 
 ders of Laconia, 337. 
 
 Teire'sias, the prophet, 95, 326, 
 233, 268. 
 
 Telam'achus, 20, 79^. 
 
 Tel'amon, 24. 
 
 Teleg'onus, 75. 
 
 Teos, island of the Aegean, i66. 
 
 Terence, relation to Attic comedy, 
 
 431- 
 Terpan'der {flor. 660), 158. 
 Terpsi'chore, one of the Muses* 
 
 421. 
 Theatre, at Athens, i88j^, 4x5. 
 The'bd, 25, 43- 
 Thebes, 173, 318. 
 Themis'tocles, 340, 360. 
 
476 Index of Subjects and Names 
 
 Thcoclym'enus, 103. 
 
 Theoc'ritus {flor. 270), 446/: 
 
 Theodec'tas {Jlor. 460), 418. 
 
 Theog'nis (^flor. 550), 148. 
 
 Tfuogony of Hesiod, 131. 
 
 Theophras'tus (end. IV. cent.), 
 386, 432. 435- 
 
 Theopom'pus \flor. 350), 413. 
 
 Theram'enes, 391. 
 
 Thermop'ylae, 152, 173, 306. 
 
 Theseus, 172, 230, 245, 262. 
 
 Thesmophoriazu' sae of Aristopha- 
 nes, 290. 
 
 Thespis {flor. 534), 185. 
 
 Thesprotians, ancient people of 
 Epirus, loi. 
 
 Thetis, 16, 23, 33, 55. 
 
 Thory'cion, Athenian tax-gath- 
 erer, 297. 
 
 Thrasym'achus, 341. 
 
 Thrina'cia, an island identified with 
 Sicily, 97. 
 
 Thucyd'ides (470-398), 120, 317 
 ff., 341, 412. 413- 
 
 Thyes'tes, 193. 
 
 Timoc'rates, Athenian politician, 
 
 Tiryns, excavations at, 114. 
 Tis'ias (Stesichorus), 342. 
 Tlepol'emus, 177. 
 Trachis, Women of ( Trachiniae\ 
 
 of Sophocles, 223. 
 Tragedy, name, 184 ; development 
 
 of, 185^ ; relation to the epic, 
 
 191 ; subjects of, 192, 415, 429 ; 
 
 Aristotle's definition of, 398,^ ; 
 
 after the fifth century, 414 ; as a 
 
 profession, in families, 418 ; for 
 
 reading, 419, 444. 
 Trilogy, tragic, 190. 
 Triptol'emus, one of the founders 
 
 of the Mysteries, 128, 373. 
 Trojan Cycle, 75, 222, 247. 
 
 Trojan war, cause of, 23/!; after 
 the Iliad, 75 ; date of, iii ; his- 
 torical basis of, 114, 
 
 Trojan Women ( Troades) of Eu- 
 ripides, 253. 
 
 Troy, siege of, 25 ; Schliemann^s 
 excavations of, 113. 
 
 Trygae'us, 289. 
 
 Tydei'des, 26, note 2. 
 
 Tynda're-us, 24. 
 
 Tyrtae'us {flor. 650), 145. 
 
 Vergil, Aeneid, 22, 77; Georgia^ 
 137 ; Eclogues, 448. 
 
 Wasfs of Aristophanes, 295. 
 
 V^omen, position of, in Homer's 
 age, 112, in lyric age, 157, among 
 the Aeoloians of Lesbos, 162, in 
 Athens, 242 ; Euripides' alleged 
 hatred of, 237, 290 ; Aristophanes' 
 satires on, 289 jfl 
 
 Women of Trachis ( Trachiniae) of 
 Sophocles, 223^. 
 
 Wooden horse, stratagem of, 76, 
 90. 
 
 Works and Days of Hesiod, X37ff. 
 
 Writing, the knowledge and liter- 
 ary use of, 116, 301, 406. 
 
 Xanthus, the name which the gods 
 gave to the river Scamander, 48. 
 
 Xen'ocles (fior. 415), 416/ 
 
 Xenoph'anes {for. 550), 363. 
 
 Xenophon (421-327), 317, 330/:, 
 366, 412. 
 
 Xer'xes, 207, 305/. 
 
 Zacyn'thus, island in the loniaa 
 
 Sea, now Zante, 80. 
 Zeno (345-265), 411. 
 Zeus (Lat. Jupiter), 23, 1x3. 
 Zopyr'ion, 453. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 BERKELEY 
 
 Return to desk from which borrowed. 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 4W i Z 1953 
 
 OCT t )a63 LU 
 
 -J 2 1954 lP 
 
 I0Way'62j8 
 
 REC'D LD 
 
 6 '65 -id PM 
 
 JUNO 7 '62 
 
 MAV IB 
 
 LI 3 
 
 mi 
 
 MAR 1*1966 7 8 
 
 f» u ^§W 
 
 LL> 21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 
 
YB 666 iU 
 
 .-^ 
 
 27C/('i> 
 
 -V4 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 RA!^1