C ElB R ARY P lilBMRY FttnD. THE BACCHANTS OF EURIPIDES AND OTHER ESSAYS CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS fLonDon: FETTER LANE, E.G. C. F. CLAY, Manager Cfiinburglj: loo, PRINCES STREET Bfrlin: A. ASHER AND CO. Ueip.MS: F. A. BROCKHAUS i^eto gork: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS «otnbas ant) ffialcufta: MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd. All tights reserved THE BACCHANTS OF EURIPIDES AND OTHER ESSAYS BY A. W. VERRALL, Litt.D. FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE Cambridge : at the University Press 1910 CambrtUge : PRINTED BY JOHN CLAY, M.A. AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS. TO MY FRIEND GILBERT MURRAY REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD < -^ o» ri. Q o r» ^j.' I ^ -J '^ji kj \J PREFACE OF the Essays contained in this volume, four have been published previously — "The First Homer" in The Quarterly Review, "The Lady of Cos" and "The Death of Cyrsilus" in The Classical Review, and "Christ before Herod" in The Joiirnal of Theological Studies. They are here reprinted with the consent of the editors and proprietors of the respective journals, which I acknowledge with thanks. The other Essays now appear for the first time. In preparing the book for publication, I have received valuable assistance from my colleague Mr C. E. Stuart, of Trinity College, Cambridge, and from Mr M. A. Bayfield, as well as from the staff of the University Press. A. W. V. August, 1 910. CONTENTS PAGE The Bacchants of Euripides i Notes on the Bacchants . . . . . . .161 The First Homer . . . . . . . .164 The Mutiny of Idomeneus, a lost bit of Homer . -197 Rhyme and Reason in the Dialogue of Attic Tragedy . 245 Remains of Phrynichus ik T//e Persians of Aeschylus 283 The Lady of Cos. A Study in the Sources of Herodotus 309 The Death of Cyrsilus, alias Lycides. A Problem in Authorities ........ 322 Christ before Herod. Luke xxiii i — 16 . . . 335 Index 391 THE BACCHANTS OF EURIPIDES. The Bacchae is a most glorious play.... It is often very obscure ; and I am not sure that I understand its general scope. But, as a piece of language, it is hardly equalled in the world. And, whether it was intended to encourage or to discourage fanaticism, the picture of fanatical excitement which it exhibits has never been rivalled. Macaulay. In a perplexed and difficult question, we should start, if possible, from some proposition which is universally accepted. And concerning the Baccha^its of Euripides, this, if anything, seems to be so ac- cepted, that the play, in some way and for some reason, is conspicuously different from the average work of the poet. Whether this difference marks a change in his opinions, and if so, what change, — that is a question variously answered ; but it would not be debated, if the difference itself were not con- spicuous and indisputable. We will begin then by asking, where the difference lies. In detail, more than one distinction might be taken ; but it is not upon details that such a general impression depends. The main distinction, the broad and general differ- ence, seems to be this : in the Bacchants, and no- where else among the tragedies of Euripides, we V. E. I 2 The Bacchants of Euripides have a drama consisting, from first to last, of inci- dents which, upon the face of them an'd according to the prevalent belief of the persons represented, are miraculous and supernatural. The story (which we may conveniently recapitu- late) is one of the legends of Delphi, presenting the events which led to the recognition at Delphi of the Man-God Dionysus (Bromius, Bacchus, lacchus) and particularly the celebration of his peculiar rites, in every alternate year, upon the sacred mountain of Parnassus. The names Dionysus and Bacchus were widely spread in Hellas, and were attached to many observances very slightly connected, if connected at all, with the religion which is the subject of our play. But this religion, in its true and proper character, differed profoundly both in theology and in practice from ordinary Greek types. In theology, it asserted the affinity and possible union of the divine and the human nature ; Dionysus was of both natures ; he proceeded from the supreme Deity (Zeus) not by a single but by a double generation ; he was born first as man from the body of a woman, and secondly as god from the body of the Deity himself The practice and ritual consisted, so far as it was essential and peculiar, totally in the cultivation and stimulation of the divine element in man by the voluntary production of ecstasy ; the prescribed means — according to this play, the only means prescribed or generally used — was "dancing," exercises performed in common by companies assembled for the purpose in remote The Bacchants of Euripides 3 places, and more often at night. The point, all- important to the religious conception, that by these performances the celebrants were raised, for the time at least, into participation of the divine nature, was indicated by the fact that they bore, as such and for the purpose of the performance, the name of the god, becoming bacchoi or bacchai according to sex. Doc- trine and practice are plainly and closely connected. Both (let us again remark) were alien from the Hellenic spirit, which was not disposed either to merge the distinction of god and man, or, speaking generally, to regard excitement as a thing desirable and deserving stimulation. It may be convenient or necessary to have a comprehensive name for religion of this type, and the name orgiastic, though it does not by etymology^ indicate the essential features, is in modern use appropriate, and may serve the pur- pose. According to the legend, which to this extent may safely be accepted as historical, this orgiastic religion was introduced into Greece and specially into Delphi, at a time comparatively recent, from the north (or, according to Euripides, from Asia, where it was native, by way of the north) through Thrace and Macedonia, and was not received without a sanguinary contest. Rites violently exciting, per- formed by preference in the dark, and specially attractive to women, were open, whatever their purity, to revolting interpretations, the more so if, as was ' The word orgw?i, if native Greek, which is not certain, may signify merely an act or performance. 4 The Bacchants of Euripides certainly the case in the historical celebrations at Delphi, there was no separation of the sexes\ The attempts to prohibit and suppress the perform- ances, and their ultimate triumph, were condensed into the story, quite possibly true in the main, of Pentheus, King of Thebes, who, in trying to capture or disperse by armed force a company of women- bacchants performing on Mount Cithaeron, was shamefully routed and was torn in pieces by the enraged fanatics. In the original story, so far as we can judge in the almost entire loss of all versions earlier than that of Euripides, the new religion was founded at Thebes by the Man-God (Dionysus) in his own avowed person, and it was under his direc- tion, as general of his Bacchants, that the unarmed women won their victory over Pentheus and his army. Such is not the account of Euripides, who eliminates the battle, and otherwise shapes the story accordingly in ways that will presently demand attention. But the battle, and the part of the god in it, are given by an allusion in the Eumenides of Aeschylus-, and were doubtless adopted in his Pen- theus'^, the loss of which is one of our chief embar- rassments in interpreting the play of Euripides. The Theban legend further alleged, that ac- cording to the Bacchic theology as then preached ^ Eur, Ion, 55° ff- '^ Aesch. Euni. 25, BaK;(ai9 iaTpaTijyrjcrev ^cds. ^ ij fjLvOowoua Kctrai Trap' Al(r\v\(^ iv Ilev6tl (^Arguni. Bacch^. This does not of course mean that the plots were identical. In a surviving fragment of the Pentheus, /xiyS' aiftaTos 7r€/A<^iya irpos irkhia ^dXySf someone seems to be warning the king against bloodshed. The Bacchants of Euripides 5 and accepted, the human mother of the Man-God was a woman of Thebes, Semele, who, pregnant by- Zeus, died thunder-struck in the moment of her delivery, while the babe was taken away to be deified. According to the Theban Pindar^ the mother too, though she died, rose again to eternal life. Through the influence of, Delphi, the mother- hood of Semele, and this localization of the doctrinal myth, was widely accredited in Greece, and has become, through the Greek and Latin poets, familiar to modern literature. To those who, like Euripides, had some notions of history, and realized that the worship of a man-god, before it entered Hellas, was diffused over vast Oriental regions, where the very names of Thebes and Semele, Cadmus and Pentheus, were unknown, it must have been obvious that the identity and personal story of the mother was no essential part of the doctrine. We may doubt whether, in the fifth century B.C., the Theban elements of the legend were established even in Macedonia, which is for Euripides above all other countries the proper seat of the religion. For the purpose of preaching, the birth of the Man-God could be, and was, located with infinite variety ; while to the believer the mystic fact, not the circumstances, was of sole importance. The " Mother" was properly anonymous, and Euripides, as we shall see, actually suggests this. But, for Theban recipients, the personality of Semele was part of the creed. The legend there made her a Theban princess, daughter ' 01. 2. 25. 6 The Bacchants of Euripides of Cadmus the founder of the city and the royal house, and thus nearly related to the opponent and persecutor of the new religion, King Pentheus, grandson of Cadmus through another daughter, Agave. According to Euripides — but here we pass from legend to rationalism — when the preachers of Dionysus come to Thebes, the royal family, and particularly Agave with the other surviving daughters of Cadmus, indignantly reject the affiliation of the man-god to their dead kinswoman, who, as they have hitherto maintained, was slain with her off- spring, as a punishment for imputing to Zeus (upon the suggestion of her father) the fruit of some illicit connexion ! Cadmus himself, who still lives though he has ceased to reign, is at heart an unbeliever ; but, under the influence of the prophet Teiresias, a representative of pre-established cults in general and especially of Delphic religion, he agrees to perform the new rites. His submission however, and his persuasions, only exasperate the resistance of his grandson, King Pentheus, who, returning from a temporary absence, learns with disgust that an "impostor" from Asia (the god in disguise), sup- ported by a train of itinerant women, has almost conquered the country. The women of Thebes especially have been seized by a frenzy of enthu- siasm, which has gained even the infidel Agave and her sisters. Led by these, the Theban women in a mass have fled to Mount Cithaeron, there to prac- tise the Bacchic dances in solitude ; and though the The Bacchants of Euripides 7 men as yet have not followed the example, a great excitement prevails. Against all this Pentheus declares implacable war. Such is the connexion of the invading religion with Semele and her family, as represented in the prologue of Euripides. How much of this repre- sentation has any base in fact, or in ancient tradition, we cannot say, nor perhaps is this question material to the intended effect of the drama. We cannot even determine precisely (though this is material) how much of it agrees with Aeschylus. The whole picture has a strong Euripidean colour. In par- ticular, the persistent disguise of the god, the fact that ostensibly he takes no part in the main action of the piece, but is represented there by a personage who, for all the other actors, is merely an adept and preacher of the new religion, — this, as we have seen, is not Aeschylean. It is probably an innovation of the author, for, as we shall see, he lays great stress on it. From Euripides also comes, we should suspect, the peculiar turn given to the incredulity of the family, and their rational, though scandalous, theory respecting the misfortune of their deceased relative. So however, for Euripides, matters stand at the opening of the action, and are shown in a prologue spoken by the god in person, who thenceforth is seen no more until all is over. The interim, the action, exhibits the contest between Pentheus and the preacher, and the tremendous and ghastly triumph of the disguised deity. This personage, if we are to believe what is 8 The Bacchants of Euripides said by himself and his more or less resolute sup- porters, proves his command of supernatural power by a series of miracles such as imagination could hardly surpass. The King, who denounces the adept as a charlatan, and the rites as a mere excuse for debauchery, arrests some of the fugitive women, and commits them to prison ; but all of them promptly escape, and this, according to the report, with such aid as "bolts which, untouched, fly open of them- selves." The King thereupon arrests the adept himself, and takes him for better custody into his own domicile ; but the captive cannot even be chained, since Pentheus, in attempting it, is deprived of his senses. The house is seen first to take fire, and then to be ruined by an earthquake, while from the midst of this devastation the missionary walks forth untouched. All this however produces upon the infidel prince not the least impression. Some of the miracles he denies ; others, and the most appalling, he ignores. Meanwhile things hardly less stupendous are being done by or on behalf of the Theban bacchants assembled on Mount Cithaeron. The King's herds- men, after witnessing a performance of the rites, accompanied by prodigious and sympathetic disturb- ances of nature, endeavour to seize the royal mother. Agave. They are instantly routed, the herds are torn in pieces, and the victorious women raid the neighbouring villages, where they domineer unchecked, display their power by many marvels, and withdraw, when they please, to their solitudes. The Bacchants of Euripides 9 All this is reported to the King, but serves only to increase his rage. He determines to extinguish the sect in the blood of its votaries, and orders his troops to assemble for the purpose. Here however a sudden turn is given to his plans, not by any fresh miracle, but by a proposal from the adept, that the King, under his guidance, should visit the bacchants, and satisfy himself as to the true character of their practices, of which the reporting herdsman has given a very favourable account. Pentheus, who through- out has rested his hostility upon the alleged infamy of the practices, at first leaps eagerly at this proposal, but is discouraged by hearing that, since the rites of the women may not be witnessed by man, it will be necessary to go disguised as a female worshipper. Between inclination and disinclination he hangs un- certain, and finally retires into the house for further deliberation with the adept. When they reappear, the preacher is master, and the prince, in mind and body, his broken and obedient slave. His eyes delude him, his carriage is that of a drunkard. He has not only donned the feminine vestments, but is childishly vain of his appearance in them. He cannot reason, or think, or see, but surrenders himself, in besotted and fatuous triumph, to the guidance of his enemy. The end may now be foreseen. The King is delivered helpless to the frantic enthusiasts, and is torn in pieces by their hands, his guide, the adept or god, having disappeared at the fatal moment. His mad mother, Agave, takes the lead in the massacre lo The Bacchants of Euripides supposing the victim to be a lion, and presents herself at the palace, bearing, in hideous exultation, the head of the quarry in her hands. The sight is too much even for the Asiatic votaries, whose rejoicing dies in horror and compassion. Mean- while the mangled remains have been collected and are brought home by the miserable Cadmus, who presently succeeds in calming his daughter, and discovers to her the truth. In the midst of her lamentations, Dionysus appears as a god (probably in the air, and with the usual apparatus of a theatrical epiphany^) to claim his victory and sentence his foes. His sketch of their future destinies is compiled, in the common fashion of the Euripidean deus ex machina, from the data of legend, but contains no consolation, even for Cadmus^ whose claim to favourable distinction may indeed appear very doubtful. Satisfied and self-approved, the god is alone in his glory. Agave, having grovelled before him in vain, turns from him with bitter denunciation of his character and rejection of his worship, to which no voice replies. " That which was expected came not to pass, but for the unexpected God found a way. And such is the end of this story." Such then as it is, wherein does the play differ (as by all judgements it does) from that critical treat- ment of vulgar belief which was habitual to Euri- ^ The text at this point is defective, but nothing material to the effect seems to be lost. ^ See vv. 1352-1361. The Bacchants of Euripides 1 1 pides ? Not of course in concluding with an epiphany, the appearance in power and splendour of an ac- cepted deity, a god of the popular mythology. That is the regular way. Certainly not in any special advantage which the god here takes by his appear- ance, or an exceptional display of sympathy with the divine triumph. On the contrary, nowhere perhaps is the absence of sympathy so marked, or the effect of the apparition so repulsive. As a rule, the worst that can be said of such personages in the Euripideanyf;^^/^ is that they are unconvincing, and their remarks, for a reflecting reader or spectator, irrelevant. As a rule, deities whose real or alleged influence upon the events of the drama is such as humanity would disapprove, and who, if they appeared, would be attacked, — such as the Aphrodite of the Hippolytus or the Apollo of the Ion — are not entrusted with the winding-up. But the cruelty of Dionysus is censured with fury, and, what is more, he has no defender. In view of this last point, it is needless to consider here the difference between modern feelings and those of Greeks in the fifth century before Christ, respecting divine punishment or divine compassion. If the author of the Bacchants had thought, or meant to allow, that Dionysus, as against Agave, could appear defensible, he would have given this sentiment some efficient voice on the stage. But there is none. Cadmus, the Cadmus of this play, however pitiable, commands no respect, and has indeed nothing to say but that, if his daughters had not offended the god, they would not 1 2 The Bacchants of Euripides have suffered. The Chorus of Bacchants are allowed to be silent. The god, in his glory, stands absolutely alone. We are not without the means of comparing this treatment with what was thought proper, in the same age, when a divine vengeance was to be justified. The Ajax of Sophocles is punished, for contumacy against Athena, so severely that he takes refuge in death. His tone, and the general tone of the play, does not respond exactly to what modern men would expect. We miss the note of contrition. But what should we think, or what could Athenians have thought, if the surviving friends of Ajax, his wife and his brother, were made to complain of his punishment as monstrous, and if Athena herself, by way of conclusion, were compelled to hear their unrefuted invectives } That is how Dionysus is handled by Euripides in his finale ; and if in this play he seems unusually indulgent to popular beliefs, that is certainly not because, in sum, he favours the character of the presiding deity. Nor can much be made, for this purpose, of sympathy extended to the worshippers and the worship. It is true that into the choral odes, espe- cially the noble hymn to Holiness^ Euripides has put more elevation and religious feeling than perhaps anywhere else he associates with a popular cult. It is also true, and very important to the scheme of the drama, that upon the bacchic discipline and the bacchic morality he here intimates a judgement much The Bacchants of Euripides 1 3 more favourable than in the Ion, the only extant play which offers material for a comparison. It is there implied that on Parnassus at all events, under the patronage of Delphi, the bacchic rites were grossly ill-conducted^; and nothing is said to show that the disorders of Parnassus were exceptional or alien from the character of the religion. Here on the contrary we have uncontradicted testimony that the performances are sober, virtuous, even severe ; and, whatever we may think of the Chorus, the Asiatic women who accompany the preacher, we cannot think that they are either corrupt themselves or knowingly engaged in spreading corruption. Whether the opinion of the Ion is thus retracted, or whether Euripides does not rather suggest a distinction, a distinction of place and time, we will consider elsewhere. For the present it will be ' enough to say, first, that against the virtues and sublimities of the bacchants must be set their fana- tical fury, and further that, while their crimes are clearly imputable to their religion and their patron, he has small apparent claim to their merits. It is most remarkable, that neither as god nor as man does he show any interest in those moral pieties which half redeem the violence of his devotees. The V sole concern of the deity is to dominate ; and the adept, in this at least, is his human double. And indeed, the better his adherents, the worse for him, since they can hardly bear to look upon the horrors which he does not scruple to inflict. ^ Ion, 550 ff. 14 The Bacchants of Euripides What then is it, we have still to ask, which sets the Bacchants among the tragedies of Euripides in a class by itself, broadly different from his usual manner, and opposed to it ? It is the treatment of the supernatural, the strange and startling depar- ture which, in the use of the supernatural as matter of dramatic story and theatrical exhibition, the author here seems to make, not only from his own practice, but from the general rules of the Attic stage. The novelty is this, that, though the scene is laid in human life, apparently not the least regard is paid to the ordinary limitations of human experience. Manifestly this is so, if we are to accept the facts or allegations of the story at their face-value. Thebes, the place of action, is, for the time, and by the presence there of a person infinite in power, exempted altogether from the known conditions of the world. Anything may happen. There is scarcely a scene, in which we do not see or hear of some- thing not normally possible ; and all is attributed to Dionysus. Now for us modern readers, the inference is, at first sight, inevitable, that Euripides, by composing such a play, was willing, and even desirous, to confirm belief in Dionysus. We reach this conclusion by a process brief, instinctive, and irresistible. First, we take it for granted that the marvels of the play, the alleged miracles of Dionysus, are to be accepted according to the allegations. They are facts, truths, for the purpose of the story, just as the foresight of witches is a truth for the purpose of Macbeth^ the The Bacchants of Euripides 1 5 magic of Prospero a fact for The Tempest, the omniscience of the Delphic Apollo true for A Winter s Tale. But at the same time, in the same instant, we perceive, if we have any acquaintance with the state of religion in the age of Euripides, that to treat Dionysus and his miracles as matters of mere artistic hypothesis, without bearing on belief, was then impossible. The bacchic festival of Par- / nassus, of which the establishment and vogue are predicted by the prophet Teiresias as a result of the events which the play exhibits\ was, when Euripides wrote, an actual holiday, famous and popular. Those who attended it were encouraged to expect sensations, raptures, mystic experiences, similar in kind, if less in degree, to those which are reported in the play as accompanying the rite of the bacchants on Cithaeron. The God, so believers believed, took part in it. How then should the allegations of the play be without bearing on belief, mere artistic assumptions of no religious import } Such a pretence, on the part of an author, would then have been idle and dishonest. The true Shakespearian parallel is not that of A Winter s Tale, where an oracle of the Delphic Apollo was commended, as a fictitious assumption, to an audience for whom Delphi and Apollo were mere names, but that of Macbeth, where the spells and predictions of witches were exhibited to spectators, for many of whom witchcraft was an article of faith, disputed indeed, but therefore the more warmly maintained. * vv. 306 ff. 1 6 The Bacchants of Euripides Or rather we must seek a stronger case, a still nearer relation to the religion of the day. In the age of Euripides, a playwright, exhibiting miracles of Dionysus and prophecies of Teiresias, was like the authors of King Henry the Eighth, exhibiting the baptism of Elizabeth by Cranmer, and his forecast of her felicitous influence in Church and State. As surely as those authors knew, that their scene would be taken as a recommendation of the Anglican settle- ment, so surely must Euripides have known, that the Bacchants, if it propounds the existence and power of Dionysus as assumptions of fact, would be taken as a recommendation to practise obediently the rites of Parnassus. And since such a recom- mendation is contradictory to what we know, from our own observation confirmed by contemporary testimony, to have been the general tendency and effect of Euripides' work, we class the Bacchants apart, and suppose it, rightly upon the premises, to bear, in some sort, the character of a retractation. But are we sure of the premises ? Is it certain that the marvels of the play, the miraculous allega- tions, were intended by the author to be accepted, everywhere and by everybody, at their face-value, as assumptions of fact ? This is a question which, at all events since the publication of Professor Norwood's book, The Riddle of the Bacchae, is not to be lightly dismissed. The purpose of this essay is to review the question, adopting, controlling, or supplementing, as the evidence seems to point, the conclusions of Professor Norwood and others. The Bacchants of Euripides 17 But before entering on this discussion, let us be clear on a point which, in my experience, I find specially liable to misapprehension. I do not contend, I should think it absurd to contend, that what I have called the " face-value " of the story is not, according to the intention of the author, a possible interpretation. He must have known that, for many or most of a holiday mob assembled in a theatre, the face-value of the spectacle is the sole value ; that the idea of criticising their impressions, and distinguishing between an obvious and a less obvious view of the story, could not enter their minds, and, even if it did, could not, in the conditions of the theatre, be applied or pursued. And there was more than one good reason of practical necessity (perhaps even of art) why a legend of Dionysus, exhibited in the theatre of Dionysus, should be so exhibited, that it might be taken for truth by those who were unable or unwilling to dispute it. It is legitimate therefore and necessary that, as an alterna- tive, as one side of the author's intention, we should view the play as it would have been taken by the pious, the indifferent, and the ignorant. Moreover it may be thought (though this is a question of individual taste and interest) that, in our days, when, since no one believes in Dionysus or his legend, criticism upon them has no practical purpose, the view of the pious and the face-value of the story are the preferable and the more important. And further still, if, by an interpretation of the play, we mean a transference of it into thoughts and terms of our V. E. 2 1 8 The Bacchants of Euripides own, a translation, — then some one view, one only, we must adopt and pursue. A work of irony and ambiguous suggestion, though such works are many and have been very important in the history of literature, is delicate and difficult enough in the freedom of a single mind and a native idiom. To transfer it, uncoloured, to an alien and distant medium, would be a chimerical attempt. And ) therefore I do not reject, but heartily admire and approve, such a presentation of the Bacchants as is given to English readers in the translation of Professor Murray, where the face-value and the pious view are altogether dominant. It is not an uncoloured representation, as we shall presently see, and as the translator is doubtless aware. But in a translation, if we are to preserve life, some colouring is inevitable, and the chosen hue is one of those which the chameleon w^as intended to bear. But the only hue it is not, and cannot be. The play was not designed only to satisfy the demands of popular belief and poetic piety. No extant w^ork of Euripides is so designed. In several of the most important, as I have endeavoured to show else- where\ double interpretations are imperative, and the critical or sceptical reading by far the more true and vital. And of all his extant works, the Bacchants is that which requires such an interpretation not the N/l least but the most, precisely because the face-value ^ See Eicripides the Rationalist, and Four Plays of Euripides, especially the essay, in the former volume, on the Alcestis, and in the latter, on the Heracles. The Bacchants of Euripides 19 is so extravagantly inconsistent with the dramatic principles and practice of the author. It is not too much to say that, if the facts of the piece were really as miraculous as at first they may look, if no other way of explaining them were open, then the play, produced as it was posthumously and without the direct guarantee of Euripides, could not have been accepted then, and should not be accepted now, as his genuine and unadulterated work. It is not quite easy for us moderns to place our- selves, in this regard, at the standpoint of Athens in the fifth century. Respecting the admission and treatment, in grave drama, of the abnormal, miracu- lous, supernatural, our approved standards, so far as we recognize any, disagree fundamentally not only with Euripides, but with all Attic tragedy so far as we know. The current notion, I suppose, now is, that the question is merely one of keeping. Anything, any incident, is admissible, if the general tone of the work is in harmony. Shakespeare certainly suggests no other limitation. In his most famous trasedies, supernatural experiences often make an essential part of the story, are exhibited without scruple upon the stage, and — a most important point — are so exhi- bited as to emphasize, not minimize, the strangeness of the sensation, the departure from normal experi- ence. The ghost-scenes in Hamlet and Macbeth will illustrate all these qualities. Goethe's Faust, the most celebrated tragedy of later times, is wildly fantastic in imagination. The classical tragedy of France, otherwise severe, becomes looser just when, 20 The Bacchants of Euripides as in the Iphighiie of Racine, it suggests an analogy to the Greek. If we descend to work of less autho- rity, or pass to book-drama, such as Byron's Manfred or Shelley's Prometheus, the balance is still on the side of freedom. Even opera, since Wagner at least, has some effect in the same direction. But Athenian tragedy, even in Aeschylus and in Sophocles, shows in these things an economy and caution astonishing when we consider its legen- dary material. Aristophanes makes Euripides claim realism, conformity to normal experience, as his speciality and distinction ; and truly, as compared with him, his predecessors are fantastic. But they might pass rather for realists, if compared with Shakespeare or with Goethe. Even Aeschylus, so soon as he comes within the range of humanity (the Prometheus lies altogether outside), shows a strong disposition to make the abnormal, if we may so say, as normal as possible. The ghost of Darius in the Persians is a ghost very different from those which appear to Hamlet and Macbeth. Except in the bare supposition, that a dead man may return from the dead, the scene is hardly abnormal. Similarly in the Eumenides, where gods mix with men, the effect is not so much to expand the human range of action, as to restrict the divine. Athena, Apollo, and the Erinyes, appearing in Athens, conduct a criminal trial in the forms of Athenian law. Sopho- cles, as we know him, is more severe, eliminating supernatural persons and incidents from the main action presented on the stage, or (as in the Athena The Bacchants of Euripides 2 1 of the Ajax, heard but remote) reducing the contact to a minimum. The principle or tendency, suggested by our extant collection of Athenian tragedy, is confirmed by the theoretical exposition, which, a century later, was formulated on the basis of such examples by Aristotle. Aristotle is indeed no mere realist ; he is an adversary of the notion that art lies simply in exact reproduction of nature. But he assumes everywhere in the Poetic, that, in tragedy, in a theatrical work which is to be taken seriously, the business of the artist is to keep as near to the normal and the probable as he can. Departures from it may be variously justified or excused. But they need excuse. The dramatist may, for example, accept things abnormal or improbable as data of a story already fixed, and, by judicious handling, may pass them upon the audience. But he will not seek them. There is no room, within the survey of Aris- totle, for such a production as The Tempest. We have every reason to suppose that even in the earlier tragedy of the classic century, even in Aeschylus or Phrynichus, and a fortiori in Sophocles, nothing similar could have been found. But the temperaments of Aeschylus, or the refinements of Sophocles, we need not further consider, because Euripides, as every one knows, rejected such methods in favour of a thorough-going pursuit of reality. As Aristophanes, after his death, makes him declare, in words which cannot be too often recalled and remembered, he made it his 2 2 The Bacchants of Euripides business to exhibit natural experiences, " the things which we handle and among which we live\" The supernatural world, the world of the gods and mythology, is in Euripides, for the most part, not even postulated as an extraneous condition of the story, at all events not as necessary. There is hardly one extant tragedy of his which hangs essen- tially upon supernatural or transcendent assumptions, as the plays of Aeschylus and Sophocles do. And in the field of drama proper, in the action, he admits, as a rule, nothing, either as matter of exhibition or of accepted report, which exceeds the common ex- perience of mankind. Our extant collection (apart from the Bacchants) confirms completely the prin- ciple stated by Aristophanes, the exceptions being so rare, and subject to such obvious reserves and remarks, that in summary they would properly be ignored. And in particular, the rule, which excludes things not normally possible from actual exhibition within the main body of the drama, is absolute'. Moreover the realism of Euripides was pro- gressive. It grows on him, or, as we may say more respectfully and more fairly, he perfects it. In the Orestes of 408 B.C., one of the last tragedies exhi- bited at Athens by himself, we may see the type to which his method tends, a play which, under legen- ^ Ar. Frogs 959 oixeta irpdyfjLaT eicraywv, ois XP^H-^^'f °^5 ivvecTfiev. " The Rhesus (see vv. 595 ff.) is of course excluded for this purpose. Whether composed by Euripides or not, it is not in his manner. As to the Heracles {vv. 822 if.), see Four Plays of Euripides, pp. 165 ff. The Bacchants of Euripides 2 3 dary names, exhibits a world not merely possible but familiar, clothed in the circumstances, political, reli- gious, and social, of contemporary life. And the Iphigenia at Aulis, which, like the Bacchants, was produced by his representatives after his death in Macedonia, shows, so far as we can judge from its imperfect and interpolated condition, no change of method, but rather, in the pitch of the characters and language, an advance beyond the Orestes towards the pure imitation of reality. But in the Bacchants, upon the view which for the moment we are assuming, Euripides discarded both his own realism and the temperate superna- turalism of his most approved predecessors, and suddenly produced a tragedy, the like of which, for audacity in miracle, Athens, so far as we know, had never seen. Such a vagary is conceivable. But presumption is strong against it. How should Aristophanes accept such a work as bequeathed by the realist of the Frogs ? A personage who, bearing the human form and passing for a man among men, commands at his pleasure the protection of an earthquake, — this is not exactly one of " the things among which we live." A change so whimsical, so abrupt a reversal of established habit, could not and cannot legitimately be supposed, unless the natural assumption, that Euripides thought and wrote like himself, be first exhaustively disproved. And this cogent presumption, that the play, in its true intent, is realist and rationalist, is confirmed by many conspicuous features, some of which we 24 The Bacchants of Euripides will note briefly before proceeding to a general interpretation. First, it is surely significant, that as usual, the main action of the play presents no supernatural person, none that is recognized as such. The god, as god, is relegated, like the gods of Euripides generally, to the prologue and epilogue, and himself insists, in the prologue, upon the point that he acts in disguised Why should this Euripidean form be maintained, if not to open to our choice, as it plainly does, the belief that the truth lies the other way, t^hat the man of the play is the reality, and his divine pretensions false ? Again, it is remarkable, if Euripides here meant to abandon his realism, and to present miracles as matter of fact, that he should present them, accord- ing to his former habit^ as ill-attested. Some witness, some one witness, should surely be provided, whose competence and good faith are beyond doubt. Either Cadmus or Teiresias, though perhaps not unimpeachable, would have been a witness com- paratively impressive. But neither of them attests anything. The miraculous allegations come all from persons who may reasonably be charged, as they are charged, with imposture or delusion, — the adept, his women, a string of superstitious and ignorant slaves. Herdsmen and guards report incredible things. Pentheus does not believe them. But why should he ? In the first report from Cithaeron, it is 1 vv. 4, 53 f. ^ Andr. 1147, Heradidae 847, Iph. Taur. 268 if. etc. The Bacchants of Euripides 25 expressly indicated that not every one, who saw the alleged marvels, shared the impression which they made upon rustics\ To this sort of thing the admi- rers of Euripides were accustomed, and they knew what it had meant. How should they interpret it otherwise in the Bacchants ? And again we observe that, though Euripides has changed (ex hypothesi) the habitual pitch of his facts, he has not changed, as ex hypothesi he should have done, the habitual pitch of his characters and style. The whispered incredulity of Cadmus", the misplaced rationalism of Teiresias^ the undignified aspect of both^ — these things, and others, are out of keeping with the purpose supposed. They would not have been tolerated by Aeschylus or Sophocles. They ought to signify, and would naturally be taken to signify, that the world of this play is no fantastic and ideal world, but the accustomed world of Euri- pidean realism. But above all it is strange — a thing which, in fairness to the author, we ought not to assume without reluctance and severe scrutiny — that, if the miracles are real miracles, real effects of super- natural power, designed to prove and expose the hardness and obstinacy of a recalcitrant mind, they should be so ill-planned and mismanaged as, for this purpose, they are. Admirers of the ideal, who like a liberal use of the imagination and dislike the habitual plainness of Euripides, are wont to make, '^ vv. i\i^. ^ vv. ZZZ^- 3 w. 286 ff. * vv. 170 ff., 248 ff. 26 The Bacchants of Euripides in his supposed interest, the best they can of the Bacchants, and therefore to praise, among other things, the vigorous picture of rebelHon against deity, which they find in the person of Pentheus. But the author deserves no such eulogy. Pentheus, ex hypothesi, is depicted not strongly, but absurdly. He is simply impossible. The type of a hardened mind is the Pharaoh of Exodus, and in the plagues of Egypt we see the elementary principles of such a story. The essence of the effect lies in the gradation of the prodigious punishments, and in the fact that the rebel, though his heart is hardened against them, nevertheless does feel their force like a man and in a natural proportion, so that he repeatedly wavers, and the crowning stroke, the destruction of the first-born, produces for the time a complete submission, from which he only so far recovers as to provoke his final fate. This is defiance, this is bravery, presumptuous indeed, criminal, even monstrous, but conceivably human, and therefore interesting to us as men. But the prodigies of Dionysus (supposing them real) are such that to defy them, to brave them, would be impossible to man ; nor can it properly be said that they are defied by Pentheus. The imprisoned god evokes first such a blaze of fire that the palace appears to be burning, and, on the top of this, a shock of earthquake, which " dashes the building on the grounds" These tremendous phenomena, be it observed, are no delusions, — that is to say, if ' V. 633. The Bacchants of Euripides 27 delusion there be, it is not in the mind of Pentheus. Both the fire and the ruin of the palace are seen, in their exterior effects, by the bacchants waiting with- out. Now if Pentheus defied these warnings, if, that is to say, he were represented as feeling their force, but resisting nevertheless, the scene would be intel- ligible, though it would still be chargeable with gross exaggeration. To brave an earthquake is too much for mortality; it should be kept, as in the Prometheus of Aeschylus \ for a god. Suppose that in Exodus the palace of Pharaoh were treated by Moses as Dionysus is supposed to treat that of Pentheus: the story of the plagues would surely be ruined. The King of Egypt must cease to resist, or cease to convince and to interest our imagination. And Pentheus does more than brave the earthquake ; he utterly ignores it. We see him instantly after- wards^, fresh from the shock; but in nothing that he says or does do we see any trace of such an experience. It has impressed him no more, so far as we are allowed to perceive, than if a fly had settled upon his hand. This is not the behaviour of a hardened man, or of a man at all ; it is the behaviour of a stone. Satan, in Paradise Lost, defies the horrors of the fall from Heaven to Hell and the nine days wallowing in the fiery lake. And his defiance moves us, because Nor did they not perceive the evil plight In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel. 1 F. V. 1080. ' vv. 642 ff. 28 The Bacchants of Euripides If he were indifferent, so should we be. Macbeth braves the prodigies of his last hour, the marching forest and the foe not born of woman, knowing and confessing their full significance. But if he ignored them, what would they matter to us ? And let it not be said, that the insensibility of Pentheus is itself miraculous, a part of his punish- ment. Even if this were so, it would not save the situation, since a blow not felt is no warning. But the case is not so. He is not dazed, but alert, in all his faculties unaltered and unimpaired. Only he does not notice the earthquake ; he is occupied with other things. Now that is absurd. This objection — which, in my judgement, would alone suffice to raise a presumption, that the miracu- lous allegations of the Bacchants are propounded not for our acceptance but for our criticism — must not be confused with another, to which we shall come in due course : — that the ignorance of Pen- theus and others would naturally make the audience incredulous of the earthquake as a given fact. We are here assuming the contrary, that, upon the statements of Dionysus and his devotees, aided or not aided by some scenic suggestion, the audience do accept the earthquake, without question, as a fact. And we say that, on this hypothesis, the behaviour of Pentheus, being inconceivable, is unimpressive, and the scene is frigid. Also it would be, on this hypothesis, a grave and strange error, that these stupendous effects are The Bacchants of Euripides 29 placed where they are, almost^ at the beginning of the series, so that this topic, the miraculous demon- strations and the obstinacy of the infidel, is prema- turely exhausted, and the sequel must be an anti- climax. The report of the herdsman from Cithaeron, which follows the scene of the earthquake, is in one respect^ well fitted to impress the king, even if, in the main, he disbelieves it. It does impress him. It leads to a pause and debate, which we are intended to watch with interest I But after the preceding exhibition such a scene is out of place, and such an interest can hardly arise. Doubt, irresolution, is not natural in a man so obdurate that he disregards an earthquake, and hardly worth attention, since we must suppose that his perversity will prevail. Such are some, a few only, of the traits in the play which confirm the presumption, arising from the known practice of Euripides, that the facts of the story, according to the intent of the author, are natural, not supernatural, and which compel us to consider, how it would have been interpreted by spectators or readers alive to this presumption, that is to say, by all contemporary Athenians who were interested in literature or speculation. To interpret it perfectly is more than we can expect. Our know- ledge, always defective, has here two special defects. The Bacchic religion of the play is expressly said, as we noted before, to be properly and peculiarly that of the north and of Macedonia ^ Doubtless ^ vv. 447 ff. =^ vv. 683-688. * vv. 778-846. * vv. 409-415. 30 The Bacchants of Euripides therefore Euripides made use of his recent observa- tions in that region ; and, though the country and its practices were then Httle known at Athens, he must have counted on something different from our almost total ignorance. And again, in the Bacchants as in the Heracles, we feel our loss of the once important rationalistic literature of the fifth century. We do not know, and we need to know^ how the legends of Bacchus had been handled by such a writer as Herodorus. These legends, like those of Heracles, were specially inviting to rationalistic ex- planation, because even the fabulists allowed that Heracles and Bacchus had been men. In the Heracles the effect of such speculation is obvious \ and it is not likely to be absent from the Bacchants. But we cannot verify it by reference, and our con- jectural observation is a poor substitute for the direct knowledge of the original readers. However we must do as we can. Of the Prologue there is little to say which we have not already anticipated. A principal point in it, emphasized by repetition'^ is to inform the audi- ence that, though Dionysus prologizes, no such personage will appear in the action, but only a human preacher of the rites. Moreover those fami- liar with Euripidean ways will not fail to remark, that, although the prologist declares his identity ^ E.g. Heracles, i53f- See further my essay on the play in Four Plays of Euripides. * vv. 4, 53, 54. The tautology of 53, 54 has given offence (see commentaries), but the insistence is intentional. The Bacchants of Euripides 3 1 with the preacher, he is on this point hardly con- sistent with himself. For the preacher is acting, and is to act, in Thebes, supported by a company of women (the Chorus), whom he has brought with him from Asia ; and as a fact, when the time comes for him to play his part, it is in Thebes, as we should expect, that he is founds But the last words of the prologist^ are that he is now going " to the glens of Cithaeron," to join the performances of the Theban women there assembled. We may no doubt make suppositions which will fill the gap ; but the discre- pancy would not have been created, if the prologue had been conceived by the author as continuous with the play, — a part of the action. The contrary is apparent. The theatrical deity, having done his service, discharges himself, after the manner of Euripides^ from further appearance, and, from this point till Xki^ finale, we have nothing to do with him. Not that it would make any difference to the interpretation, if we took the prologue as drama, a part of the action presented. In that case, the prologist is certainly the preacher, a man ; but whether he is anything more, whether, as he says, he is truly a god and his human form is a disguise, or whether, on the contrary, his divinity is a mas- querade, a pretension which he assumes when it suits his purpose, — these are questions not to be ^ ^- 352 io-vo. TvoKiv CTTet'xovTes) with V. 4348". ^ 62 ff. ^ See the prologue of the Ion, vv. 76 f., Hecuba, 52 ff., Troades, 92 ff., Hipp. 5 iff. The only supernatural prologist, who might seem to promise an appearance in the action, is Death in the Alcestis {v. 74) ; and the promise is not kept. 32 The Bacchants of Euripides answered upon his mere authority. We shall see in the sequel. But one thing is clear. The history, which he gives, of himself and his religion is on the face of it improbable, and — which is odd — the improbability is pressed upon our notice. He is young. His human grrandfather is still livino-. Since he was born, some twenty years may have elapsed ; and in this interval, before ever visiting Thebes, his birth- place, or any part of Hellas, he has diffused and established his religion, beginning from Lydia, all over the Oriental world : — From the rich golden vale of Lydia I went forth, and from Phrygia, and visited the sun-beaten regions of Persia, the fortresses of Bactria, wintry Media, Arabia the fertile, and all Asia^, which lies along the salt sea, her fair walled towns thickly-peopled with Greek and foreigner mixed together, and came not to this town of Greeks until first eve ft in those parts I had done my dances and established my rites, that my deity might be world-approved^. ^ Asia Minor, especially the western coast. * w. 13-22 XiTTcoi/ Se AvSwv Toi)s TToXr^^pvtrous yvas 4>pVyC0V TC, IIc/30"Cl5v 0" ')]\Loft\l]TOV^ TrXttKaS BaKTpta T€ T€L^r] TTJV T€ hva")(LfJiOV )(66va M>;8o)v l^^(X6i^v 'Apa/Stav t evSaifiova Aacav re Tratrav, rj irap aXfxvpav aka Ketrai, yxtyacrtv EXAr^crt f^ap^dpoLs 0' ofiov TrXt]ptL<; e)(ov(ra KaXXiirvpywrov^ ttoAcis, 20 €S TijvSe TrpuJTOv rjXdov 'EiXXrjvoiV ttoXlv, KaKCi ^opevoras kol KaTao"T7^0"us €/xas TcAera's, lv ctrjv e/x] KaS/Aou Kopr] ^ijXiXr] Xo)(€v6€Lcr' d<7TpaTTr]vcnv. ^ VV. 23-25. The Bacchants of Euripides 2)7 treat these properties as symbolic, to connect them with doctrine, or otherwise to account for them. The costume seems to be, for Euripides, nothing but a ritual prescription, though in this sense peremp- tory. The peculiar dress, like the retirement into a lonely place, seems merely to mark that the wor- shipper is for the time withdrawn from ordinary life and given up to the worship. If Euripides had any theory respecting the garb imposed upon bacchants, it would seem to be possibly this, that its very strangeness might be a test of obedience\ And we may bear in mind, in this connexion and generally, that the Bacchic religion, as described in this play, had in the fifth century B.C. but a slight hold upon Hellas, and that in most places and ordinary times bacchic performances, of the kind here represented, were not to be seen. With the departure of the god, and the entrance of the Lydian women who travel with him in his character of adept and preacher, the action opens, and we pass into a different atmosphere. Neither poetry, nor depth, nor height, nor mystery is defi- cient in the astonishing dance-hymn with which they .come on. The rhythm of it, a three-time move- ment, slow apparently at first, but passing at the end into a precipitate race which whirls us away, cannot be precisely reproduced in English or without the aid of music. But for spirit and feeling one ^ See the language of Teiresias (175 ff.) and Cadmus (180) and the scene there following. 38 The Bacchants of Euripides would desire nothing better than such passages as these : Oh, blessed he in all wise Who hath drunk the Living Fountain, Whose life no folly staineth, And his soul is near to God : Whose sins are lifted, pall-wise. As he worships on the Mountain, And where Cybele ordaineth, Our Mother, he has trod Hither, O fragrant of Tmolus the Golden, Come with the voice of timbrel and drum; Let the cry of your joyance uplift and embolden The God of the joy-cry; O Bacchanals, come! With pealing of pipes and with Phrygian clamour, On, where the vision of holiness thrills. And the music climbs and the maddening glamour, With the wild White Maids, to the hills, to the hills! Oh, then, like a colt as he runs by a river, A colt by his dam, when the heart of him sings. With the keen limbs drawn and the fleet foot a-quiver. Away the Bacchanal springs^ ! There is no reason to doubt that, with due allowance for the colouring of poetry, Euripides here describes realities, things and practices which he had seen ; though, likely enough, he had not seen them in any high degree of purity until he went out of Hellas. Indeed they are, in their inward meaning, less foreign to us than they were to him. The idea of a religion universal in application and claims capable of transference from place to place, prosely- ^ vv. 72 ff., 152 ff. (Murray). The Bacchants of Euripides 39 tizing, was strange to the primitive paganism of Hellas, whose native cults stood rather upon privi- lege and exclusion, particularities of race, family, person, and sex ; but it is familiar to us, and even fundamental in our conception of religion as such. Again, the happiness of the congregation, the stimulus of religious acts performed in company, is the very root of many living cults. So it is of the Bacchic worship as here painted. The rapture of the initiated lies essentially in this, that "his soul is congregationalized" (^tao-everat i/zv^av^), — if we may venture an ugly phrase for the sake of its truth to sense. The retreat, the camp of "revivals" in solitary places, is foreign to countries like our own, but chiefly because we lack room for it. It is per- fectly congenial to the spirit of modern Congrega- tionalism, and reappears promptly where circum- stances admit. The violent music and the violent motions we have disciplined and policed away, but even in our orderly streets we may see how gladly they would return. And indeed Euripides himself makes clear, when he comes to describe the actual behaviour of the worshippers, that, however ecstatic in feeling, they were in act not disorderly but disciplined", and that the language of the Chorus, at their entrance and elsewhere, so far as it implies the contrary, should be taken, as the language of religion often must be, as metaphorical. The freedom sought and ^ V. 75. The thiasos is the company joined together for religious purposes. ^ Z*. 693 Bavix iSetv evxocr/xtas. 40 The Bacchants of Euripides extolled is that of the spirit, not of the body. And the same applies to the other expressions, by which they set forth the inward exaltation of the wor- shipper. When one of them exclaims : O glad, glad on the mountains To swoon in the race outworn, When the holy fawn-skin clings, And all else sweeps away, To the joy of the red quick fountains, The blood of the hill-goat torn, The glory of wild-beast ravenings. Where the hill-tops catch the day.... and when another adds : Then streams the earth with milk, yea, streams With wine and nectar of the bee, And through the air dim perfume steams Of Syrian frankincense^ we are surely not bound, nor at liberty, to assume that literal draughts of blood were part of the prac- tices, or real springs of honey familiar to the sight or belief of the devotees. With such interpretation, what would a historian make of our own prayer- books and hymn-books ? The spiritualists of the fifth century B.C. were much nearer than we to the savage base, and more easily reverted to it. But we must not for that reason impute to them in practice every suggestion of their metaphorical language. It is nevertheless true of course that, in an age when the very rudiments of scientific observation and reasoning were hardly anywhere popularly ' vv. 135 ff. (Murray). The Bacchants of Eiwipides 41 diffused, the barrier between the imagination and the experience of miracles would be weak, and such visionaries as the bacchants of this hymn would be an easy prey to imposture. This also Euripides had observed as a fact, and will presently show us at large. In theology, the Chorus have but one dogma, the double birth of the Man-God, upon which they insist^ with a fervour specially noticeable after the neglect of this doctrine in the prologue. Nor do they agree with the prologist as to the connexion of their theology with the place of their preaching, the town of Thebes. The deity of the prologue begins with the assertion that he is the son of Zeus and of Cadmus' daughter. But the Chorus are so far from taking the Theban birth for a fundamental dogma, that, in this opening hymn, they hardly notice it. They expound their doctrine without mention either of Semele or of Thebes"; to the "Mother"^ they give no name, and if any be supplied by reference^ it is that of Cybele, which for Asiatics would be suitable. [Rhea is mentioned both in the prologue^ and in this hymn'' as indirectly connected with the bacchic ritual by the timbrel-music, derived from her cult ; but the identity of Rhea and Cybele is not asserted, and must not be assumed.) In inviting Thebes to embrace the new religion, they address the city as " nurse of Semele," and that is here their sole reference to the local legend'. All this is ^ vv. 88 ff., see 521 ff. ^ Stroph. and Ant. 2. ^ v. 91. * vv. 78 f. ' V. 59. " V. 128 ff. ^ V. 105. See also vv. 519 ff- 42 The Bacchants of Eu^Hpides natural and intelligible. A mystic event, such as the double birth, may be localized with infinite variety, and even repeated, since it was virtually repeated in the case of every initiate who became a bacchos^. Locality is nothing. Every place may have its own adaptation, and the Theban story may be accepted for Thebes. But it is not essential. Negatively the hymn is remarkable in ignoring the conception of Bacchus as god and giver of wine^ The vine is not even mentioned. What exactly the genuine bacchants are represented as holding in this regard, we shall have to consider later^ But it appears in this opening hymn (and the whole play confirms it) that the rapture of Bacchus, as they conceive it, is not to be confounded or even con- nected with vinous excitement. This point, and the misconception of Pentheus and others with regard to it, are extremely important to the plot. The mystic assimilation of the worshipper to the god, of the bacchos to the Bacchos, is asserted ex- pressly only of the leader of the company^ but is doubtless to be understood of all in due degree. ^ See hereafter on v. 243. ^ The p« 8' oivo) of V. 143, taken with the context, rather excludes than suggests any particular attribution. ^ See vv. 375 ff., 416 ff. * V. 141 6 S' e|ap;(os Bpo/Aios, and perhaps in v. 115, where the false reading of the two mss. (Bpo/x,tosos ayrj Oida-ov;) is corrected in one of them to Bpo/xtos oa-ri'i ayet Oidcrovi " Whosoever leads the companies is a Bromios." This, or rather oorts dyrj, as Prof Murray suggests in his edition of the text, may well be right. See also V. 243 CKcTvos Iv [JirjpQ TTor ippdcjiT] Ato's. The Bacchants of Euripides 43 That the knowledge of certain mysteries is one of the rewards of the worshipper, and a part of his happiness, we are told both here and elsewhere\ But the play lays comparatively little stress on this side of the religion, and conveys (I think) no hint of what the revelations might be. It is conjecturable that they pointed to a future life. But here it is the present rapture of the religious performances, rather than any promises, upon which the preachers dwell ; and in truth many firm believers in a Heaven above love more, if not better, the " little Heaven below." Such, in outline, is the religion which has already carried away to the wilderness, in a frenzy of enthu- siasm, the women of Thebes. Among the men no conversions, so far, have been made^ ; but two con- verts of importance now present themselves in the persons of Teiresias, the blind prophet of Apollo, and Cadmus, the ex-king. These aged men have agreed to practise the prescribed rites and to repair to Cithaeron for that purpose ; and they now appear, dressed in the bacchic garb. That their appearance, in a costume certainly more becoming to the agile, may provoke some contempt, Teiresias, the leader in the action, admits^ ; but we cannot infer from this that they are not meant to command our perfect sympathy. To brave ridicule in a good cause may be more than respectable, and we may suppose the author partly to mean this. Only, to make such a ^ Z/. 72 TeAeras ^ecuv eiSw's. See also W. 471 ff. ^ vv. 195 f- ^ VV. 214 f. 44 The Bacchants of Euripides situation satisfactory, from a religious point of view, it should be clear that the devotees are in fact up- held and exalted above themselves by a mightier Power. We expect to read something like this : Cadmus. Where then shall I stand, where tread The dance and toss this bowed and hoary head? friend, in thee is wisdom ; guide my grey And eld-worn steps, eld-worn Teiresias. — Nay; 1 am not weak. \At the first movement of worship his manner begins to change ; a mysterious strength and exaltation enter into himJ] Surely this arm could smite The wild earth with its thyrsus, day and night, And faint not ! Sweetly and forgetfully The dim years fall from off me!^ Now it may be that, in the Athenian theatre, a convinced initiate (probably not the priest of Dionysus), or any pious and simple person, may have interpreted Euripides to himself in this sense. And, for reasons already given, I think it defensible as an alternative to put such colour, firmly and defi- nitely, upon an English version. But on the other hand no reader of Greek, and certainly not the translator, will deny that colour is put on, and that the pious and simple person gets help from our native tragedian for which he will look vainly in ^ vv. 184-189 (Murray) TTOt 8et ^Op€V€lV, TTOt Ktt^iaTavat TTo'Sa Kol Kpara crctcrat ttoXlov ; i^rjyov av /xot, yepiov yepovTt, Teipea-ia- av yap o"o<^os. cJs ov KafxOLfx av ovre vvkt ov$ rj/xepav 6vpcr(^ KpoTwv y^v iTn\€Xi](TjX€6' j^'Scojs y6/30VT£S OVT€S. The Bacchants of Euripides 45 Euripides. To pass minor touches — such as "smite the wild earth," where the Hfting epithet is an addition — the vital sentences Nay; I am not weak.... Sweetly and forgetfully The dim years fall from off me ! are free composition, where everything which sup- ports the stage-direction by suggesting mystery comes from the translation — the dreamy melodious rhythm, the bold figure, everything. The Cadmus of Euripides says just this: "We have pleasantly forgotten that we are old." Justice Shallow might have said as much to Falstaff. And moreover, instead of English notably musical, we get, by acci- dent or design, Greek most uncommonly and rather comically ugly\ The excitement of Cadmus, so far as appears, may be that which is natural to an old man making an unwonted exertion, and pleased to find that it is not beyond him, — ^just that, and no more. Nor does Teiresias, in Euripides, prove more. In the translation he may seem to do so. Teir. As with thee, With me 'tis likewise. Light am I and young, And will essay the dancing and the song. Cadmus. Quick, then, our chariots to the mountain road. Teir. Nay; to take steeds were to mistrust the God. This means, with the context, that in the strength of the God, in the strength of which Cadmus has felt the mysterious access, they may walk. If the prophet ' ycpovTcs ovre?. Note the uncouth assonance. 46 The Bacchants of Euripides did indeed say this, he would assent to the mystic sensation, which, in the translation, is attributed to the king ; and such a note might redeem the oddity, otherwise apparent, of the king's proposal to ride. But the note is not in Euripides, whose sense is given more exactly by Mr Way: Nay, so were the God's honour minished^ Even this, in the poetical form and pronunciation of the word minish^d, exceeds the original line, which may fairly be described as prose in metre. But it gives the sense, which is simply that pilgrims must not make themselves too comfortable, and does not suggest any miraculous exaltation. Nor, so far as I see, does any part of the scene. The case is this. If this scene were the prelude to a series of gigantic miracles, performed by the Power to whom these old men are offering them- selves as a sort of aged martyrs, — and that is what Professor Murray has in prospect, — then, by every rule of keeping and sense, the Power should be perceptible here. The action must rise, rise high, and the language with it. The translator accord- ingly raises the level of the whole, and, just at the right place, goes deftly and dexterously up to the proper pitch. But why did Euripides stay below .f* He can soar when he pleases ; he has soared in the hymn. Here he is firmly pedestrian. Is it un- reasonable to suggest that he meant to be taken at his word ? ^ v. 192 aAA' ov\ ofiOLitiS av 6 6cos Ti.fx.-qv f-XPL. The Bacchants of Euripides 47 The figures and characters of Cadmus and Teiresias, since neither, without forcing the language of Euripides, can be made into a witness of the supernatural, do not concern the special subject of our investigation ; and we may deal with them sum- marily. Cadmus is transparent enough. He is decrepit, weak, and, as he flatters himself, cunning. He is attached to his family and zealous for its honour\ It was he who, at the time of Semele's misfortune, ingeniously attributed it to Zeus — but did not convince his other daughters^ What he sees in the bacchic mission — if we may so term it — is an excellent opportunity for establishing this view, and immensely improving it by the addition that the offspring of Semele has been raised to immor- tality. He puts this to his grandson Pentheus with a frankness which rejects all gloss. Dionysus, he says, may be a god or he may not ; but surely it is not for the family of Semele to dispute itl With such a disposition, the concurrence of Teiresias, an authority in matters of religion^ is decisive, and he puts himself cheerfully in the prophet's hands. His part so far, before the catastrophe, is ridiculous; after the catastrophe, his very weakness, his extreme misery, and the irony of his suicidal success, add a poignant touch to the bacchic triumph. He helps materially to launch the movement, but finds, as with ' vv. 181 ff., 333 ff., Sind passim. ^ W. 26-31. Note KdSfJiov (TO(f)L(TfjiaTa. ' VV. 333 ff. * VV. 185 f., where i$r]yov suggests the professional i^rjyrjrrjs or di'redor. 48 The Bacchants of Euripides more wisdom he might have foreseen, that his con- version is reckoned at its true value. To the lesson of the play, as the picture of a religious revolution, he contributes this much : that great movements, good or bad, may, at a critical turn, depend much on the action of little men in high places. That is true ; and it covers perhaps all that need be said about the Cadmus of the Bacchants. Teiresias is far nobler and more important, and deserves a fuller study than we here can spare to him. He fills a place which the author was bound to fill. He represents the authority of Delphi — a function in which he was a figure familiar to the tragic stage\ — and his views serve to show what the poet thought of the Bacchic religion as accepted by Delphi, and of its actual position in Hellas at his own day. No one, Euripides least of all, could exhibit the conversion of Thebes without saying his word about this. And what Euripides says, as I understand, by his portrait of Teiresias, is that the Bacchic religion, the religion of the Man-God, as truly represented by the Chorus, had been so trans- formed by Hellas and Delphi in the process of acceptance, had been so accommodated, clipped, and adapted to the prepossessions, the habits of thought and practice, rooted in an alien soil, that its effect, as a change, was more nominal than real; and further, that what was most real in the effect was not the most laudable part of it. The motives of Teiresias, in supporting the invaders, are stated as frankly as ' See the Oedipus Tyranfius, Antigone, Phoenissae. The Bacchants of Euripides 49 those of Cadmus. He sees that the new religion is a great power, and well may see, when it has swept all the women into the wilderness. He foresees that it must and will be admitted upon some terms. He holds, as I apprehend, honestly and plausibly, that, because strong, it is divine. But he is confident, and shows in this the sort of insight which the heads of established religions have shown again and again, that it will not destroy native growths, "the traditions of our fathers." These, he says, "no doctrine, how- ever subtle, can destroy \" Here he goes beyond the truth, as Delphi was one day to learn. But it is true that such destruction is most difficult, and that what more often happens is what had happened, up to the time of Euripides, in the relations of pagan Hellas to the religion of the Man-God: the new is absorbed, and digested. The current, judiciously led, runs into the old channels of religiosity, quick- ening the flow but not disrupting the conduits. How this was to be, Teiresias sets forth in his reply to the denunciation of Pentheus". It comes to this, that Dionysus, suitably treated, might take his place, without disturbance, beside Zeus, Hera, Ares, Phoebus, and, in short, the Olympians at large. To him, as well as to Ares, will belong the battle- panic^ He, as well as Phoebus, may inspire divina- ^ w. 201-203 Trarpious TrapaSo^^as, as B ofxrjXtKas ;^ovu) K€KTr]iJ.cd , ouSets avTo. KarafiaXil Xoyos, ouS' €1 81 aKpwv TO cror) Aids, — OS iKTrvpovraL XapLrracriv Kfpavn'ats (Tvv fjLTjTpi, Atovs OTt ya/Aors ei/'cucaro. TttVT ovxi Stilus ayxdvT^s iar a^ta, v(3p€i<; v(Spit,i(.v, oo-Tis IfTTiv 6 ^ej'os ; In V. 243 modern texts adopt lppd<^Oai (Reiske) for lppa<^-q. But is this necessary? " He forsooth affirms the divinity of Dionysus! — he forsooth has been 'sown into the thigh of Zeus'! — Dio- nysus, who was consumed by the thunder-fire...." This is not nonsense; it implies that the worshippers of Bacchus, as they identified themselves with their God, were accustomed to attribute to themselves, mystically of course and by a religious figure, the process by which He was taken into the divine nature. Modern and familiar parallels to such religious language will occur to every reader: — "except j)'^ be born again...," ^^ crucify your affec- tions...," etc. The composition, the way in which the relative os reverts to Dionysus, thus becomes very abrupt, but this is not unsuitable to extreme rage. Apart from this, the only serious objection is to 8611075 in v. 246. This epithet seems absurd, if we assume, with some, that "worthy of the halter" means "worthy of executioti by hanging." But surely they are right who take the halter to be here, as usually in Athenian language, a symbol of suicide. " Worthy of the halter " means " enough to make one hang oneself" — a colloquial form of indignation. In such a form, which of course is not to be understood seriously and literally, the insertion of the epithet, " worthy of a monstrous halter," though loose, seems to me by no means unnatural or inconceivable. There is no valid objection to the metre eor' a^ia. — In the second passage vv. 293-294 are certainly very obscure, perhaps not intelligible. The latest suggestion (Murray) that a verse is lost between them, making up the sense " he delivered the cloud-baby The Bacchants of Euripides 55 Teiresias, as a type and a man, is admirably drawn. Whether such a person is to be Hked and praised, is a point of moral taste, upon which people may and do differ indefinitely. The world is full of such persons still, and they play a vast part in history. The creator of this Teiresias did not love him much, — or he would not be made to say what he does about religion and vice\ But he is honest, grave, and in his way wise. To the play as a historical \ picture or symbol, he contributes perhaps the most ( important truth which it contains, namely that, as in other things so specially and above all in religion, revolutions, noisy and even tempestuous on the surface, may, after all, leave the foundations almost unmoved. And in the drama, tragedy, story, his importance is great. Through him chiefly — we may I,, almost say solely — is exhibited the case against Pentheus. The futile Cadmus is a mere irritant to his stronger-minded grandson ; and only prejudice will find anything conciliatory in the behaviour of the bacchants or the adept. They are sectaries of as a pledge, [and, by giving the real Dionysus to the nymphs to nurse, saved] him from the jealousy of Hera " may well represent the intention. But the text may nevertheless be as complete as it ever was. I would distinguish, in these passages, between the two questions, whether they are insertions, and whether they are genuine, answering both in the afifirmative. In a work like the Bacchants, on which the author was probably engaged to the last, the occurrence of such additions, perhaps imperfectly recorded and not yet worked in, is to be expected. This would account also for some roughness of composition. ■^ w. 314 ff. 56 The Bacchants of Euripides the most exasperating kind. The servants and peasants have no weight. But for all that, Pentheus is in the wrong, and, as tragedy demands, he pro- vokes, without deserving, his fate. And he has his chance, his fair chance, of suspecting that he is not in the right, when it appears that his attitude, his notion of the way to deal with a spiritual agitation, excites mere pity and dismay in a personage like Teiresias\ To Pentheus we now turn. His character, mind, language, acts are, with those of his adversary the bacchic adept, the chief material for our present question : — whether the alleged miracles of the play are to be taken as facts. That the miracles are ill-proved, the witnesses slight or suspect, is obvious; the silence of some who might be witnesses, and especially the silence of Teiresias, is significant; but Pentheus, and Pentheus only, expresses and main- tains disbelief. Now, as the reader will have just observed, I hold no brief for Pentheus. He is pre- judiced, rash, violent, deaf to advice. All this is patent, and not at all affected by the equally patent ' vv. 358 ff. As will be seen, I find no need to explain the acts of Teiresias, with Prof. Norwood, by a supposed private league with the adept, of which there is no account in the play. Prof. Norwood appeals to my own view of the Andromache, a play which I do hold to be inexplicable without the assumption of facts which it does not intelligibly state. But he omits to notice, that what I there deduce is the connexion of the Andro- mache with some other document, presumably a play, which we do not possess. Prof. Norwood's view of Teiresias would require a like hypothesis for the Bacchae ; but I can see no need for it. The Bacchants of Euripides 57 perfidy and cruelty of his opponent. His main and fatal error is that which is exhibited to us, for this reason, immediately upon his entrance : Scarce had I crossed our borders, when mine ear Was caught by this strange rumour, that our own Wives, our own sisters, from their hearths are flown To wild and secret rites ; and cluster there High on the shadowy hills, with dance and prayer To adore this new-made God, this Dionyse, Whate'er he be ! And in their companies Deep wine-jars stand, and ever and anon Away into the loneliness now one Steals forth, and now a second, maid or dame, Where love lies waiting, not of God ! The flame, They say, of Bacchios 7vraps them. Bacchios ! Nay, 'Tis more to Aphrodite that they pray^. ^' Upon this ground, that the rites are vicious, he is resolved, and has already taken steps, to extirpate them. And the ground is hearsay — " I have heard'"; he cannot have made, and does not pretend to have made, any investigation whatever. Yet upon this hearsay he threatens deaths and actually proceeds to every violence short of it. Upon this and no more, when his nearest friends and coun- sellors declare against him, he drives them away with insult and invective". Upon this he arrests, imprisons, exerts, or is ready to exert, the whole terror of the state. All this for rumour, circulating amid conditions of excitement which impose the utmost caution ! In a young man prematurely called ' vv. 215 ff. (Murray). ^ kXvo), v. 216. » w. 239 fif., 355 fif. * w. 255 ff., 343 ff. 58 The Bacchants of Euripides to power\ and vain of his position^ such conduct is possible ; but it is monstrous, and it may well prove suicidal. This error and crime of Pentheus, we should ) note, lies not at all in the fact that his opinion, in the particular case, is false. Not until late in the play^ does either Pentheus or the reader learn that it is false ; and then, as we shall see, Pentheus is by no means deaf to the testimony. Such religious performances are mostly dangerous to virtue, and suspicion is only natural. Some anger too, at the violence of the enthusiasts, is, on any supposition, pardonable, not to say just. His whole sin, and it , is enough, lies in punishing upon a presumption — the most intolerable abuse of authority. But all this has no bearing on the question, whether, according to the dramatist, the bacchic preaching and rites are in this play accompanied by miracles. We cannot argue that, because improbable allegations are rejected by a man who in another way believes and acts unreasonably, therefore they are true. Certainly the disbelief of Pentheus does not disprove them. Considering his prejudice, it may be discounted and go for nothing, just as, for like reasons, the word of the adept on the other side is, in itself, worthless. The question is simply this. Are miracles so exhibited or so reported in the play, that the audience should naturally take them, for the purpose of the story, as true ? ' vv. 43 f. "^ vv. 2i'^f) f. ' vv. 686 ff. The Bacchants of Euripides 59 It will hardly be thought that the effects of the preaching, as assumed in the prologue and at the opening of the action — the flight of the women, their "madness," and the general disturbance — are mira- culous in the sense which concerns us here. They do not exceed the known range of experience. It is certain, only too certain, that religious enthusiasm, suitably stimulated, is equal to such effects. Nor is our question raised at all in the course of the first scene, which displays the relations of Pen- theus, Cadmus, and Teiresias, or in the entrance- song which precedes this scene, or in the hymn (To Holiness) which follows it. A single allusion occurs in the entrance-speech of Pentheus, where, in declaring his intention to put to death the Lydian adept (on the charge of corrupting women), he describes him as a "juggler and charmer \" which suggests both supernatural pretensions and, in the beHef of the speaker, fraud. But the point is barely touched and drops unnoticed. Teiresias in his solemn exhortations and warning to the young prince, and Cadmus in his affectionate but futile pleading, say nothing of danger to be apprehended, or conviction to be found, in the personal powers of the foreign preacher, or in signs by which his preaching has been accompanied. They do not so much as mention him. Nor do the bacchants in their hymns. These negations, though of course nothing absolute can be inferred from them, are worth notice and remembrance to this extent : it is ^ yo'ijs €Tra)8o's V. 234. 6o The Bacchants of Euripides no datum of the play, we are nowhere authorized or asked to suppose, that, before the action begins, there have been undoubted miracles. The prologue does not say so, nor the expository scene. We come therefore, without any direction or prepossession, to the marvels propounded within the action of the play. The first report of such an occurrence comes from the leader of the servants or guards, who execute the King's order for the arrest of the adept, and, at the opening of the second scene, bring him bound before their master : Pentheus, we come, who have run down this prey For which thou sentest us, nor sped in vain. This wild-beast found we tame : he darted not In flight away, but yielded, nothing loth, His hands, nor paled, nor changed his cheeks' rose-hue, But smiling bade us bind and lead him thence, And tarried, making easy this my task. Then shamed I said, " Not, stranger, of my will, But by commands of Pentheus, lead I thee." The captured Bacchanals thou didst put in ward, And in the common prison bind with chains, Fled to the ?neadows are they, loosed from bonds, And dance and call on Brojnius the God. The fetters from their feet self-sundered fell ; Doors, without fnortal hand, unbarred themselves. Yea, fraught with many marvels this man came To Thebes! To thee the rest doth appertain. Pentheus. Ye are mad ! Once in the toils of these mine hands, He is not so fleet as to escape from me'. For the last couplet, the comment of the King, ^ vv. 434 ff". (Way). The Bacchants of Euripides 6i Mr Way gives an alternative, representing an un- certainty in the text : Let loose his hafids. Once taken in the toils, He is not so fleet as to escape from me. Professor Murray translates both readings : Ye are fiiad ! — Unhand him. How so swift he be, My toils are round him and he shall not fly. 1 think, for reasons given below\ that this must be nearer to the original, though not complete, and that ^ jxaLViO-de • xeipQv tovS" iv apKVdLV yap wr ovK ta-TLV 0UTCU9 (jjKVS tocTTC fx iK(f>vyuv MSS. fx.e6e X^i-pwv TovS • iv dpKvvyeiv. Here x^'P'^'' rovpyov, "it is the work of hands," completes the comment upon the alleged miracle, and replies to the avev OvrjTrj'i Xcpo9, " without mortal hand," of v. 448, while at the same time it gives a lead for the antithetical x«'pw*' rovSe, " the hands 0/ the prisoner^'' and the order for release. And the repetition of syllables (to-^c \(iiph)v Tov) might easily deceive a copyist. 62 The Bacchants of Euripides the King's words were something Hke this : "You are mad ! The thing was done by hands. But neverthe- less you may now release the hands of the prisoner, for, once in the toils, he is not swift enough to escape from me!' However the doubt is not important. Any way the King, expressly or tacitly, treats as absurd, not worth discussion, the suggestion of the reporter that the escape of the women was miracu- lous. And the question is : — with which of the two, the servant or the master, does the dramatist expect his audience to agree ? Now let it be assumed — I do assume — that, as an alternative, we may agree with the soldier. But is it, can it be, the intention of the author, that we may not agree with the King.'* If so, why does Euripides invest the miraculous account with every circumstance which, according to the habits of rational mankind, would naturally invite disbelief.'* Is it first-hand ? The reporter neither says so, nor makes any reference to his authority. Is he a person likely, from his standing and his state of mind, to be critical or careful 'i We are shown the contrary. The man's own words, his account of his feelings in arresting the adept\ show that he is awed and alarmed. In the state of the country, after the conversion and flight of the women, such agitation must naturally prevail. And this man and his com- panions, slaves and as such superstitious, have heard the declaration of Teiresias in favour of the new ^ vv. 434-442. The Bacchants of Euripides 63 god\ Of course they are ready to believe anything, the stranger the more likely. The imprisoned bacchanals have escaped — miraculously, says rumour. But why? By whom were they guarded? By whom but by other servants of the King, in the same state of mind as those whom we see, the reporter and his party? They, it is plain, would not, could not, have arrested the preacher, if he had not so chosen, would gladly have permitted his escape, and would certainly have reported it as a miracle. Yet, because his converts have escaped, chains must have parted and doors must have opened " without mortal hand"! In the circumstances shown, any one may have done the thing, the prisoners them- selves, their guards, the adept, — any one, or every one together. " You are mad," says Pentheus ; and surely, so far as relates to the alleged miracle, that is the sum of the situation. The effect of this incident, taken according to its natural sense, is to show us that, however Pentheus may storm and threaten, his position is weak. Served as he is, mistrustfully and reluctantly, by men who believe, or half believe, that he is fighting against superhuman power, he can be sure of nothing which he does not do with his own hands. And in particular we are reminded, that he cannot secure the safe custody of a prisoner. At the end of his interview with the adept — over which we may pass for the moment, since it throws no light on our question — he remits the captive to the same ^ vv. 266 fif. For the presence of the servants see vv. 352 fif. 64 The Bacchants of Euripides servants or soldiers, by whom he has been arrested, and orders them to shut him up in the stables of the palace. At this moment our attention is again called to the fact that, as against a professor of the new religion, these men are not trustworthy. When the King commands them to replace the prisoner's bonds, he himself loftily bids them abstain. And it is evident that they hesitate, for Pentheus has to repeat his order before it is obeyed\ When therefore, within no long time after being led off, the man emerges again at liberty, this result, in itself, is not of a nature to impress a spectator, any more than it impresses the King, with the conviction of a super- natural agency. But at this point, during the confinement and escape of the adept, occur, or are alleged to occur, the terrific demonstrations which culminate in the ruin of the palace by an earthquake. If these are genuine, if the audience have reason to accept them for fact, there is an end of our question : the adept and his adventures are supernatural. And to the contrary effect likewise : if these demonstrations are visibly not genuine, but a combination of falsehood, imposture, and delusion, . then also our question is determined, so far at least as this, that the miraculous allegations of the play are propounded not for acceptance but for criticism. Respecting the earthquake, and the blaze which, breaking out on the tomb of Semele, seems to set ^ viK 503 ff. See the correct stage-directions in Murray's translation. The Bacchants of Euripides 65 the palace on fire, I have little or nothing to add to what is said by Professor Norwood in his chapter on "The Palace Miracle^" A voice (purporting to be that of Dionysus) is heard within the palace commanding these phenomena, and, upon this sug- gestion, the troop of women without, or some of them, see corresponding effectsl But that no such effects are shown, or are to be supposed, is proved by the universal ignorance of them, and in particular by the ignorance and silence of Pentheus — to which the dramatist expressly directs our atten- tion. Immediately after the supposed shock, and while the women still grovel on the ground, the adept comes forth, and, in a rapid narrative^ describes first certain delusions which (he says) his God imposed upon Pentheus, to prevent the King from putting him in chains, and then the production of the earthquake and fire with their alleged con- sequences. As he is finishing, footsteps, which he truly conjectures to be those of Pentheus, are heard approaching the door from within : He will be here directly. What, what will he say after all this? However high his tone, 1 shall endure him easily; for a wise man should practise a prudent calm of temper*. ^ The Riddle of the Bacchae, pp. 37 ff. ^ vv. 576 ff. ^ vv. 604 ff. * vv. 638-641 tiJs Se fioi SoKti — \j/oov yap dvSpos acKciv (Twpov eiopyrjfTiav. V. E. 5 66 The Bacchants of Euripides "What will he say after this?" We hardly need this dramatic reminder to perceive that, when a man has seen his house strewn in ruins by an earthquake — to say nothing of minor experiences — and he comes before us fresh from the event, he will probably remark upon it. Thereupon Pentheus enters, and the scene proceeds thus : Pentheus. It is too much ! This Eastern knave hath slipped His prison, whom I held but now, hard gripped In bondage. — Ha ! 'Tis he ! — What, sirrah, how Show'st thou before my portals? {The Adept.] Softly thou! And set a quiet carriage to thy rage. Pentheus. How comest thou here? How didst thou break thy cage? Speak! ^ And not a word more do we hear, from the King or from any one, about what has passed. The prisoner has escaped. Except this bare fact, the whole appal- ling train of events narrated by the preacher, and seen, in part, by his devotees, remains here and ever after absolutely unnoticed. Thus the scene, the words and action of it, is so arranged as to produce, and to put in the strongest ^ vv. 642-648 (Murray) lie. irkirovOa Seiva* Sta7r€7racras So/awv Io-w. The i'lf^o'i KiKawovoi the mss. is a strange variation for ^t'^os fiekav. If the house were on fire, as Pentheus is said to imagine, the interior, to his eyes, might well appear d/ack (with smoke) ; and this leads naturally to the phantom " light," which the god is said to raise in the court. See v. 630, where ^ws (mss.) may thus be kept, as against the conjecture a.a€tvov . Cf. Shakespeare's "airy nothing." This supplement is perhaps preferable to aWipa (Canter and modern texts generally) because we can thus explain the omission, the sense of ovScv having been missed. ^ a-vvTeOpdvoiTai 8' aTrai/. But see hereafter, pp. 70, 79. ^ vv. 632 f TT/aos 8e TOtcrS' avTw rdS' dWa BaK;(ios Auyu,aiV«Taf Sw/xar' epprj^ev ;)(a/xa^c. JO The Bacchants of Euripides And Professor Murray makes a new thing of it : Then ''mid his dreams God s?note him yet again ! He overthrew All that high house. And there in wreck for evermore it lies, That the day of this my bondage may be sore in Pentheus' eyes ! Here is solemnity, not enough perhaps for such a thing as a penal earthquake, but some solemnity, enough, as people say, to swear by. Euripides has none. No competent modern composer, if told to put these translations into Greek, would offer as equivalent what is supposed to have satisfied Euripides. And more : in order to get these versions, or my own prose, or anything compatible with the suppo- sition that the earthquake is real, we must force a word. " It lies a ruin," "it lies a wreck," "it is all broken in pieces," — such we assume to be the sense of crvvTeOpdvcoTaL 8' airav. But there is no evidence for this, and it seems to be a mere figment, invented to meet the supposed necessity of this passage. An old Greek lexicographer^ interprets avureOpducoTaL, evidently for this place, by crvfiireTTTCDKe, it has collapsed. We moderns follow, but, having more science, with misgiving". For the noun thvdnos, the only known form from which we can derive thranoo, the only recorded sense here applicable is the beam-end in buildingl But this does not help to show how synthranosis could mean the destruction of a building, ^ Hesychius. ^ See Liddell and Scott s.v. awOpavoui and Tyrrell's note here. ^ Pollux, cited by Liddell and Scott s.v. Qpa.vo%. The Bacchants of Euripides J i the breaking of it to pieces ; neither noun nor pre- position points this way, but the opposite \ A member or Hmb in a body is arihron, and the synarthrosis of a body is not the dismemberment of it, but a joint. So also synthranosis should be the putting together of beam-ends or beams. We have no right to assume any other meaning, till this is proved inapplicable ; and, as we shall see presently, we have no need. The earthquake is a pretence, a delusion, which the bacchic adept, by suggestion, passes off upon the excited imagination of his confederates, the atten- dant women or some of them. He is, as Pentheus calls him, a conjurer and master of spells, a fanatic, but also upon occasion an impostor. And some of his tricks are what would now be called, or lately would have been called, "mesmeric." His escape from prison, though it needs no explanation, gives him an excellent opportunity for providing a mira- culous one, thus confirming the zeal of his aids. He predicts a divine interposition in his favour" ; and the women expect and invoke it accordingly with rapturous faithl In this mood they are hailed from within by the voice of Dionysus, and see " of course" (as the adept very candidly puts it)^ what- ^ A verb like Opavut or pyjywfxi, meaning break, can of course take the preposition aw- as an intensive (o-w^/oavw, o-vpprjywfMi) with much the same sense. But for a verb Opavow meaning break there seems to be no evidence at all. It is not proved by ^paviWo), even if we take such a writer as Lycophron for evidence that this word existed, and was classical, 2 7'V. 497-518. 2 VV. 550-575. ^ V. 605 ycrdrjaO', ws ioLKi, Ba/c^tou | Stariva^avTOS k.t.A. ']2 The Bacchants of EujHpides ever that voice suggests. Half a century ago this might have seemed surprising ; now there are few- er none who have not witnessed such performances. The scene of Euripides proves merely that they were known, and were sometimes used for ill purposes, in the fifth century before Christ. From modern experience we should indeed hardly suppose that actual hallucination could be produced simultane- ously in so many " subjects " as the tragic Chorus of fifteen. But neither does the scene so suggest. On the contrary, from the form of the exclamations, we should gather that one woman only, or at most two, are directly so impressed : Did you see the architraves flying asunder ?... The fire I Dost thou not see it, dost thou not ? On Semeles holy grave ! . .?- It is as if she, or they, who do promptly see done what the voice within has bidden, are surprised to find others less quick. But all believe, and all lie trembling, face to the ground, when the master, in his own person, comes forth to interpret his effects^ In a halluci- ' "v. 591 f. ciSere Xaii'a kloclv €fji(3oXa StaSpo/xa TttSc ; w. 596-8 a a, irvp ov \ev(Ta-ei<;, ovS' avydty, 2cyu.eA.as lepov afjLl 7aov ; ^ For the distribution of the parts in this scene, see Murray's text. In V. 585 TreSoi' x^oi'os 'Evvocrt TroTvia, where "Dio- nysus " commands the earthquake, it is perhaps not necessary to complete the sense (with Wilamowitz). The intended verb (a-eU or the Hke) may be drowned in the shriek (a a) of the terrified Chorus. The Bacchants of Euripides 73 nant working by suggestion, and having at his disposal a company of female devotees, prepared for impression by frantic enthusiasm and the habit of acting under his command, such effects are per- fecdy natural ; and the scene shows us, in part at least, by what means, in a place where such things were new, excitement and faith might be stimulated. In the story of the adept, the fire and the earth- quake, which have been "seen," are supplemented by other incidents not visible outside, — a narrative of certain delusions which he, or Dionysus for him, put upon the King : My derision there I made him, that he deemed he fettered me. Yet nor touched me, neither grasped me, fed on empty phantasy. Nay, a bull beside the stalls he found where he would pen me fast: Round the knees and round the hoofs of this he 'gan his cords to cast,... ...and I beside him watching him Calmly at mine ease was sitting^ — with more, which I have already cited, of the same kind. These parts of the story Professor Norwood, whose conception of the fire and the earthquake I follow, takes to be true ; he would suppose that the adept really did so hallucinate Pentheus'. But I do not find it natural, or even possible, to make this distinction in favour of the reporter's veracity. What he tells of his operations upon the mind of Pentheus stands prima facie on a par with the rest, is equally wild, impossible, destitute of confirmation, ^ t/27. 616 if. (Way). ^ The Riddle of the Bacchae^ p. 105. 74 The Bacchants of Euripides inconsistent with visible facts. The adept is able by suitable suggestion to excite, in those who passionately believe and habitually obey him, imagi- native beliefs and even imaginary sensations, for which they themselves are prepared by confident expectancy. This agrees with nature, as we know it now and may presume it to have been knovv^n in the days of Euripides. But it does not follow that, by his mere will and pleasure, he could mislead and hallucinate a mind incredulous and hostile. Because the bacchants, at his suggestion, attribute his voice to Dionysus, and because one of them even sees a fire, it does not follow that Pentheus, without aiiy preparation, would take a bull for a man ; and the dramatist, by showing us the natural per- formance, gives us no reason to accept a report of the unnatural. And the facts, the words and behaviour of Pentheus, refute this as well as the rest. The hallucinations indeed, as such, Pentheus might be supposed to have forgotten ; but his labours, his frantic efforts to extinguish the fire, his pursuit and assault of the phantom-prisoner\ — these, whether remembered or not, are ex hypo- thesi real, and their effect should be visible. The story leaves Pentheus "lying," as well he may, "ex-. haustedl" The words are scarcely said, when Pentheus himself comes out, vigorous as ever, so far as appears from the dialogue, both in body and mind! Even for the starting-point of the' story, the ^ vv. 624-631. ^ v. 634 K0T70V 8 V7ro...7rap€iTaL. The Bacchants of Euripides 75 assumption that the King himself takes charge of the captive and personally conducts him to prison\ we get no warrant either before or after. In the previous scene the captive is remitted for confinement to the slaves^; in this scene nothing is said by Pentheus, or by any one (except the story-teller), to suggest that this procedure was changed. On the other hand, it is but natural that the impostor should improve the occasion, and should supplement the marvels, which his associates have seen, by a few more which they will faithfully accept. The deluding of Pentheus then is a lie, like the rest ; and we have so far no reason to think that the powers of a con- jurer in the way of hallucination extended, according to Euripides, beyond such limits as may now be observed. The point, though of small moment here, becomes important, highly important, in the sequel. In the man's whole story of his escape there is not one allegation, which is either confirmed by or consistent with the rest of the action, except that he has escaped. And this, his escape, we had every reason to expect, from the known disposition and desires of those upon whom his safe-keeping depends. He is let out, or never efficiently confined^, and that is the whole affair. ^ V. 616. ^ V. 509. ^ The circumstances, the behaviour of the guards, would sufficiently suggest this without other hint. But there is another, or at least there was. "How were you set free?" asks a bacchant, and adds, according to the punctuation of the mss., " ...having met with an irreligious man": oXka. ttoIs T^'Xcw^epw^T/s av8/jos ai'ocrtou tvxw; {v. 613). The latter words, so far as I see, 76 The Bacchants of Euripides Reading the story as a pretence, we shall find natural what otherwise ought to surprise us — the literary form in which it is cast, and the strange, extravagant, unseemly performance by which it is introduced. By an exception unique, so far as I have observed, in extant tragedy, we have here a narrative in the trochaic metre, which, originally normal for tragic dialogue, was replaced for ordinary purposes by the iambic, but retained, as an occa- sional variety, for moments of heightened agitation or rapid movement : ^apfiapoL yvvatK€s, ovrto? iKimrX-qy^fvai. <^o/3a)... That the scene should so commence, and that the escaped prisoner should enter as in haste, is natural enough. But elsewhere, when such an entrance is followed by a narrative, the metre, for this purpose, passes into the normaP ; and here, where the subject are pointless and hardly intelligible. I believe that they make a separate clause and question : dAAo. ttws riX(.v6ipu>6y]^ ; dvSpos av ocrt'ov Tvx*ov ; In the second clause the verb {7J\ev0epu>0r]<;) is sup- plied from the first, with the sense, " Did you find a religious man to do it ? " The use of av T^kevOepwOrj^ (as distinct from rjXevde- p€(TL KaT€^o}(ravTO \i)^fjt.wcnv ytvvv. The words a-vvSca-fi iXiXvro point to an ornament, a snake-clasp ; XtX/Awo-tv yivvv suggests real snakes. The Bacchants of Eztripides 93 allegation, that serpents clean with their tongues the faces of the faithful, appears only after the raid and the return of the bacchants to their camp ' ; and what happened then, the reporter, as his story shows, cannot possibly know. The trait is purely fanciful. The news of this outbreak, and of the bacchic victory, which, however interpreted, are sufficiently grave, put the King and his adversary, the adept, in a situation delicate for both, and precipitate the crisis of their contest. Pentheus, who though rash and obstinate is neither a fool nor a villain, is struck, as we shall presently see, by the testimony of the herdsman to the good character of the sectaries, and is not sure of his ground. On the other hand, he is furious at their " insolence," — not the less so because, in his very presence, and apparently among his attendants", a voice is raised, respectfully but firmly, in recognition of the new God. His country, as he conceives, is disgracing the Greek name^ and his first duty is to restore order. For this point of view there is much to be said, though Pentheus, by his own fault, has not a good case, and ^ V. 765 ff. It looks like a misinterpretation of the phrase \v)Qi.tapov(jiv fji.€v ev ov fXTj 6ikr](Tri OrjXvv ivSvvai aToX-rjv. =^ V. 810. ^ VV. 849 ff. (Murray) AiovDCTf, vvu (Tov tpjov OV jap £t 7rpo(rw T£io"aj//,e^' avTov, Trpwra 8' iKtrrrjcrov (f>p€vpav Avtrcrav. I04 The Bacchants of Euripides The stress thus laid by the operator upon this move, as making his opportunity, would be remark- able, and hard to reconcile with a mesmeric interpre- tation of the performance, even if, in the colloquy which precedes, some approach to the end had been actually achieved. Even then, the interruption of the process, the change of conditions, and the plain intimation that this change is momentous, would be contrary to the supposed nature of the business. But it is not the fact that Pentheus, before he leaves the stage, and by the effect of the colloquy, is seen to be approaching the condition in which he comes back. He comes back mad, mentally and physically insane, talking nonsense and seeing what is not there. He goes out uncertain of his intentions, unable, as yet, to decide between certain courses, each of which he has reason both to favour and to dislike, and pro- posing to consider them further. This is not mad- ness, nor any approach to it. It is a condition common, in circumstances of difficulty, to the sanest. It may even be (and it is in Pentheus) a mark of improvement in wisdom and sobriety. It gives us no ground for supposing that if, as we will for the moment assume, Dionysus has achieved this much by the exercise of his will, a further exercise of the same power, when the scene is transferred to the interior of the palace, will deprive the King of his senses. But again, it does not appear as a fact, that the hesitations and uncertainty of Pentheus prove, as far as they go, a mysterious ascendancy of will in the The Bacchants of Euripides 105 other party to the conversation. They are produced, or rather fomented, by the simple and common means of throwing out rapidly a string of suggestions, and objecting to every choice. " Will the King, before slaughtering the bacchants, at least see them ? He is eager for it. But his life will be in danger. That is true. Then he must go as a woman. Revolting ! Impossible! But to fight is to shed blood. Again too true." By such curves we return to the starting- point, and Pentheus, to talk it all out, naturally... takes his adviser into the house. From the triumph of the stranger upon this move (which he first suggests^), we learn that he has manoeuvred for it, — and therefore that his project, needing the move, is something quite different from mesmeric influence. His manoeuvres are dexterous, but not at all mysterious, and to put this colour upon them we must aid the poet by alteration. This is how Euripides should have written : — Pentheus {turning from Mm). Ho, armourers ! Bring forth my shield and sword ! — And thou, be silent ! Dionysus {after regarding him fixedly, speaks with resignation). Ah ! — Have then thy will ! [He fixes his eyes upon Pentheus again ... ; then speaks in a tone of command^ Man, thou wouldst fain behold them on the hill Praying ! ^ V. 827. io6 The Bacchants of Euripides Pentheus {who during the rest of this scene, with a few exceptions, simply speaks the thoughts that Dionysus puts into him, losing power over his own mind). That would I, though it cost me all The gold of Thebes M And so on. Prompted so, we may find mystery everywhere. But put beside this English the original Greek, or the English of Mr Way: Pentheus {to attefidant). Bring forth mine arms ! — thou, make an end of speech. Dionysus. Ho thou ! Wouldst thou behold them camped upon the hills? Pentheus. Ay — though with sumless gold I bought the sight. To this version, as to the Greek, the stage-directions of the other cannot be applied. How should " Ho thou!" be spoken "with resignation" ? The Greek interjection (a) signifies an excited protest, some- thing like our "No, no!" or "Stop!" It is surely no equivalent for the English Ah! as a sign of acquiescence, nor is it interpreted, in Euripides, by any such addition as "Have then thy will!" Nor ^ vv. 809-812 (Murray) He. CK^epcTe fxoi hevp OTrXa, (Tv Se Travcrat Xiymv. Ai. a. (3ovXr) (r(f> €v opeai (TvyKadr]iJi,ivadpfjiaKa to produce sterility ; Medea poisons the wreath of Creusa, etc. The adept of the Bacchants may be classed for such purposes among women. no The Bacchants of Euripides After the unseen interview, the first to re-enter is the Lydian, who calls forth Pentheus in words which the translators give thus — Thou who dost burn to see forefended things, Pentheus, O zealous with an evil zeal, Come forth before thine halls ^ — and thus — O eye that cravest sights thou must not see, O heart athirst for that which slakes not ! Thee, Pentheus, I calP. — representing the text as it has been printed from the Aldine edition (1503) down to this day: u\ Tov TrpoOvfxov ovO' a fJirj yjpnav opav (TirevBovTa t acnrov^acrTa, YLivOia Ae'yw, i^iOi TTapoiOe. 8a)/xaT0)v . But the MS., the only one which preserves this part of the play, gives not o-nevhovTa but crirevhovTa. The Aldine editor substituted cnrevhovTa, catching at the verbal affinity of cTTrevS- ctttovS- and the obvious simplicity of "zealous with an evil zeal*," and assuming that o-Trevhovra, "pledging libation," was unintelligible. Changes of this kind, made in the dawn of scholarship, are like the step over the edge of a steep. We slide to the bottom, and there stay. For nearly four centuries Musurus was followed apparently without enquiry. ^ Way. - Murray. ^ z/z/. 912 ff. * This affinity and simplicity are arguments rather against than for the conjecture. They would have protected the reading cnreuhovTa, had it been original, from alteration to o-TreVSovTa in this place. Nor indeed is the confusion of v and v, so far as I have observed, a common error of the MS. The Bacchants of Euripides 1 1 1 Nevertheless he was wrong. His correction is scarcely even plausible, as was at last observed by a scholar of the present day, Professor Tyrrell. " Eager to see what is forbidden arid desiring what is not to be desired " is a tautology ; and Euripides has not deserved, few writers less, to be accused of tautology by a corrector^ Professor Tyrrell there- fore, to escape Musurus, would accept from him the reading o-7revSovra, but nevertheless eject, as spurious, the verse so corrected, (TTreuSoi'Ta t' dcr7row8ao"Ta, Iltv^ea Aeyo), noting truly that, without it, the sentence is not really defective'^ and yet might easily be thought so. But a readier and more legitimate way of escaping Musurus is to refuse his gratuitous conjecture. For not only may o-nevSovTa be the right word, but it demonstrably is. It is confirmed by the next speech of the Lydian. The intoxicated Pentheus sees horns upon the head of his guide — whether in imagination or because really he has put on those Bacchic emblems — and demands explanation of them. The God, he is told, is his companion, who "before unfriendly, Aas now pledged his peace to us " : — o Qi.os ofiapni, irpoaQiv wv ovk €Vix€vr]opa<: e)((av. The Bacchants of Euripides 1 1 9 (vdpOrjKd re, ttlcttov "AtSai/, eXafieu evdvpcrov). It is impossible, most interpreters think, to find in this expression any meaning consistent with the facts as they have hitherto been conceived, or indeed any meaning at all. The wand of Pentheus was his "death," but not "faithful," or "trustworthy," or even — if we might so press the word — "trusted." A string of conjectures, of which none has found acceptance, shows that, from this side, the phrase defies explanation. But it becomes transparent, when we know that the King was poisoned by a drug in his w^ine. It was remarked by Professor TyrrelP, that the word pistos, merely as Greek and apart from a context, is ambiguous, meaning either faithful (TTet^o/xat) or potable [ttlvoj), and that pistos Hades, merely as Greek, might mean " potable death, death by a potion^" Not only might the words have this meaning, but, in themselves and apart from a context, they could bear no other. "Faithful death," or even "trusted death," is an expression barely conceivable ; "death in a drink" is an expression perfectly simple ; and native ears, to which both senses of pistos were equally natural, must take the epithet, at least primarily, in the obvious way. Pistos Hades signifies poison taken in a draught, and could hardly signify anything else. And still more obvious, more inevitable, is this interpretation, when the phrase is appended, as an explanation, to the word narthex. This word, ^ Critical note ad loc. ^ See Aesch. P. V. 480, where -muTov is a drinkable medicine. 1 20 The Bacchants of Euripides meaning properly the hollow stalk of a certain plant, was extended, by metaphor, to various objects, such as the bacchic wand, made from or comparable to such a stalk. None of its meanings are common in literature ; but one of them must, in daily life, have been only too well known. In the lack of glass, a short piece of hollow stalk, stopped at the ends, offered the readiest way to make a capsule or case for things small, precious, and requiring careful protection, such as scrolls, unguents, etc. Hence the word 7iarthex came to signify such a capsule^; and in this sense, but no other, it admits naturally the explanation pistos Hades or death in a drink. Strictly, of course, it is to the contents of the nartkex, the drug itself, that the explanation applies ; but, in the language of poetry, such compressions of phrase, by way of metaphor or transference, are habitual and almost regular. Thus, when the triumphant Chorus put into the phrase vdpdrjKa evSvpcrov, thyrsus-wand, the explanation Tnarov "AtSttf, death in the drink, they are making a fierce and horrible jest, which doubtless on the stage they would deliver with the proper laugh. They play upon two senses of narthex, which they signify by giving first one interpretation {ttkttov "AtSai/) and then the other (evdvpcrov). The circumstances, the facts to which they refer, are such that they could hardly name the "wand" without thinking of that other narthex, — the little deadly thing which did "the work of Dionysus," and which, when the adept ^ For references see Liddell and Scott s.v. The Bacchants of Euripides 1 2 1 promised such work\ they must have divined, even if he did not show it to them, to be within reach of the promiser's hand. But although the equivocation is thus prepared and obvious, to use it as a jest, and by way of comment upon the bloody narrative of the murder, would perhaps be impossible to any human beings not hardened by the singular astringence of religious hatred and religious devotion. It proves, as nothing so well could, the temper of their steeled fanaticism. Thus, here and in the scene of the subjugation, the traditional text defends and justifies itself by mutual support. When we bring the points together, and perceive their relation, it is surely impossible to believe, that in one place the equivocation narthex [pistos), and in the other place the allusion to the spondai or libations which have passed between Pentheus and his guest^ are the casual, unconnected, and unconscious product of a blundering pen. Un- less we will say this, we shall allow, upon the assurance of the poet, that, according to his intention, the conquest of Pentheus is achieved by means of a drug. Whether the word pistos, as well as the word narthex, is equivocal, — whether, that is to say, the phrase /z'^/^i' Hades can have a meaning, \i pistos be taken in the sense trustworthy or trusted, — is a question which I must for the present leave open. No such inference can be drawn from the passage of Euripides, because the s^ns^ potable, in this connexion ^ vv. 848 ff. ^ z/. 913, supra p. no. 1 2 2 The Bacchants of Euripides obvious, is sufficient. But if there was such a secon- dary meaning, if " trusty Death " was a known ex- pression, religious and bacchic, the more easily would the jest have occurred to the poet's mind, and the sharper would be its point. And as a mere conjec- ture, it seems possible that the phrase was known to religion. Although in this play, as we have before remarked, nothing, or at least nothing explicit, is said of prospects beyond the grave, we can scarcely doubt that, according to the type of religions cognate to the Bacchic — the Orphic mysteries for example and (probably) those of lacchus at Eleusis, — we are to suppose such prospects and assurances as part of the more intimate revelations which are occasionally mentioned^ The initiate was not only strengthened for this world but also armed for the next. The bacchic emblems and costume were thus not only a sign of fraternity, but also, in the religious sense, a viaticum, a preparation for the great journey. Indeed we may, I think, fairly see a suggestion of this in the language which the adept is made to use, when he goes to dress the King in the attire " wherein he shall depart to the house of Death (Hades)'." If bacchants, like some orders, invested their dead with the religious costume, as an emblem of protec- tion and promise, putting the fawn-skin upon the "" vv. 857-859 aAX eiytxt KOCfiov ovTrep cis "AtSou XaySwv ttTreio-i, fxrjrpos Ik )(epoiv Karacr^ayeis, UevOd irpoadif/tiiv. The Bacchants of Euripides 123 body and the wand in the stiff hand, then we should have here a ferocious sneer quite appropriate to the behaviour of the preacher at this crisis. It is not necessary so to suppose, but I find the supposition plausible\ Now in connexion with such a habit, the phrase /w/^^ Hades, " Death that is trusted" or "that may be trusted," strange as it is, would have a meaning. To the initiate, the King of the Dead is an object not of terror but of confidence. To the question Wilt thou trust Death or not? the initiate, like the scholar in Browning, can answer "Yes." And thus when the women describe the narthex {wa^id^ of Pentheus as a pistos Hades, a sign of trust in death, they would not only be making their own bitter jest upon the poison, but also echoing the sneer of the adept at the significance, in this case, of the protective investiture. That this is so, I do not say. To prove it, the phrase pistos Hades, in the religious use supposed, must be not conjectured but actually found ; and I repeat, that the passage of Euripides, being complete in sense without any reference to this meaning of pistos (Tret^o/xat), cannot be cited as, by itself, supporting that reference. I would merely signalize the possi- bility to the investigators of mystic phraseology". ^ Possibly too this may throw some light on the strange phrase Iv riXci in v. 860. It may have meant, in this connexion, "at the hour of death." ^ The translation " sure to kill," which has sometimes been forced upon ttio-tov "AiSav in our passage, is not to be thought of. As Tyrrell and others have pointed out, it is not derivable from 124 ^-^^ Baccharits of Euripides There is another passage in the play, which has been found difficult, and with reason, so long as we have not remarked that the madness of Pentheus is effected by poison, but becomes simple when that is perceived. The sermon of warning, which Teireslas addresses to the King, concludes with a dark sugges- tion : "No argument of yours shall persuade me to fight against deity. For you are mad, most miserably mad. Medicine will not cure your ill, and 7nedicine has helped to 77iake zV\" The last words are muttered perhaps rather than spoken, and no further notice is taken of them. But to the speaker him- self, and to the reader, they must have a meaning ; and their only natural meaning is that Teiresias already suspects some one of having practised, by charms or spells or other such means comprised in the term pharmaka, against the sanity of the prince^; this appears to the prophet the most charitable explanation of his behaviour. But more than one critic has found this suspicion irrelevant, and has proposed to alter the text ; and it is not easy to see, the meaning of ttio-tos. The words vdpOrjKa, ttio-tov 'AtSav, e\a^c might conceivably mean ''he took the wand which /le could trust to kill him " ; but that is nonsense. They could not mean *' he took the wand which was (in itself) destined to kill him." How- ever, as I have said, there is no proof that ttio-tos {TruOofxai) has any bearing on the passage at all. ^ vv. 326-327 fi-aivrj yap dpfiaKov. But see Tyrrell's note. The Bacchants of Euripides 125 from a dramatic point of view, why the point should be brought in, unless it bears in some way upon the story. But when we know that, in the end, it is by a pharmakon, in the strictest sense, that Pentheus is made literally insane, we see why Teiresias should be made to express a suspicion, which, from the nature of the case, can be aimed only at the King's enemies, the bacchants. It is a point calcu- lated for the second hearing or second reading. That Teiresias should attribute dark powers to the new religious sect, is not unnatural, nor that he should charge them, in his own mind, with having used some such power upon their persecutor. But the reason why he is made, somewhat abruptly and obscurely, to throw out the hint, is that we, readers informed of the story, may remark how much nearer than he knows his apprehension strikes at the character of the King's adversary. By "medicine" indeed it is, that the adept of Dionysus will quench the light of reason in a resisting mind, but not by any such remote and mysterious medicine as the prophet seems to imagine. The pharmakon, with which Dionysus operates, is of that kind which can be carried in the purse and dropped into the cup. In the pitiable and repulsive scene^ which ex- hibits the degradation of Pentheus — the masterful man, headstrong but not ill-meaning, suddenly con- verted into a vain and vicious child — there is one trait which, as I have always thought, is intolerable, if we suppose his vanquisher to be a deity inflicting ^ vv. 912 ff. 126 The Bacchants of Euripides punishment for the refusal of worship. The mind of the victim is not only enfeebled, but fouled. He becomes beastly. This at all events, until the poison unmans him, he is not. It may be, that, by charging the women-converts with misconduct of which no proof appears, he suggests, to a strict judgement, no very favourable estimate of his own purity. But in his anger at their supposed be- haviour, and in his desire to resolve his doubts by seeing what they do\ there is no mixture, none apparent in his language, either of malice or of prurience. Considering who these women are, and that among them are his nearest kinswomen and his own mother, it would, no doubt, be monstrous that he should find pleasure either in the suspicion itself or in the prospect of proving it. But he finds pain'. In the background of his thoughts there may con- ceivably lurk some baser element of curiosity, as in every human thought and feeling base elements do. But that he cherishes, or consciously follows, any such impulse, he has hitherto nowhere betrayed. Now, morally as well as mentally, he is dissolved into a brute. The suggestion of his leader, that the virtue of the bacchants will be to him a delightful surprise, awakes no response : the miserable wretch is more interested in learning just how he should hold his thyrsusl He pictures the worst discoveries with chuckling anticipation\ He can cite the names of his mother and her sisters, for the silly purpose of ^ Z/f. 812 ff. ^ V. 814. ^ vv. 939-942. ■* ifv. 957 f. The Bacchants of Euripides 127 getting a compliment upon the finish of his female disguise, without hint of shame or apprehension\ He is vile. And the author of fhis " chanofe of mind" notes it with pleasure and gratulation!^ Even in a man, provoked by violence and blinded by a fanatical devotion, such callous wickedness touches the limit of what is credible or acceptable. How would it be, if, according to the poet, this murderer were the true object of such worship as that of the Hymn to Holiness .-* The Dionysus of this episode, and of almost all the play, is, like the Aphrodite of the prologue to the Hippolytus, and like all the gods of the Euripi- dean theatre, not a possible object of adoration. In most cases, as in that of Aphrodite, the obvious answer to the question so raised, is that the deity, the personal embodiment of a passion or a force, being in no way required by the mechanism of the story, will naturally be dismissed (by those who, like the poet, so incline) as a revolting and needless imagination. Here, in the Bacchants, the person of the adept is the very hinge of the story. But that he is superhuman, he never gives us any reason to think; and now he has disproved it. Poison is a human weapon, not superhuman, and the adept, how- ever fiendish, is no fiend in respect of his power. Before quitting this scene, we must notice a small but not insignificant question, respecting the number and parts of the performers. It is not probable that the entrance of the adept and his ^ z^z;. 925 f. ^ V. 944. 1 2 8 The Bacchants of Euripides victim from the palace, and their departure for the mountain, are witnessed by no one except the women of the Chorus. The poisoner, in forecasting his triumph, declares his intention to make the captive a spectacle to his own subjects^ ; and we should expect a corresponding performance. The conver- sion of the King's servants — the fact that they are, as a body, now convinced by the report from Cithaeron that the stranger is supported by miraculous arms — is necessary to the development of the situation, since, without this, they would attempt some inter- ference. And it is but natural that, when the King, after his private interview with his new counsellor, sets forth, so terribly transformed, upon his fatal journey, fascination should lead some of his awe- struck household to follow him beyond the door. We should presume therefore that they do so, and express by their behaviour the terror which the adept has inspired, and which is essential, as a con- dition, to his success. The sequel makes this certain ; for by one man at least Pentheus and his guide are followed all the way to Cithaeron, and by this one at least they are doubtless followed when we see them depart from the stage. It is from him that the Chorus, and the audience, receive the story of the King's horrible end. His narrative — When we had got beyond the villages of Thebes and had passed the river Asopus, we entered upon the bare slope of Cithaeron, Pentheus, that is, and /, 7vho kept with the master, and the stranger who was to bring us to the spectacle...- — The Bacchants of Etiripides 129 suggests, what we may well believe, that he was the only companion in whom fascination prevailed over terror so far. But at the beginning the attendance would be more numerous. Among those who follow from the palace, one (the future reporter) should be supposed to distinguish himself as leader by his action, thus preparing the audience for his presence at the catastrophe. But this preparation, a thing important to the coherence of the drama, has been already begun, and more effectively, in the previous scene. There, as we saw\ upon the conclusion of the herdsman's narrative, a bystander, whose language marks him as a servant of Pentheus, gives voice to his belief in the divinity and power of Dionysus. And to the same speaker we should assign an unappropriated verse which, at the close of the scene, occurs between the exit of Pentheus and the following speech of the Lydian : Pentheus. We will go within, and I will decide as seems best. The Lydian. As you will. In any event I am at your service. Pentheus {leading the way)-. By your leave. Perhaps I shall take arms and march, and perhaps I shall adopt your advice. \Exit. ^ See vv. 775 ff. and supra p. 93. 2 vv. 845-9 He. cTTCi^ot/A av t] yap ottX e^wv Tropeva-Ofxai 7) Totcri (TolaL ireicrofiai jSovXcvfiaaiv. <@€pair(x}i'.> Tj^eL 8e (SaK^as, ov Oavuiv Swtrei StKrjv. At. yriatKes, avTjp es /3oAov KaBiaTarai. Aiovu. - vv. 469 fif. (Murray). The Bacchants of Euripides 147 It is natural to think, and readers do generally think, that this angelic behaviour, this patience, faith and courage, is conceived by the dramatist as genuinely virtuous and admirable. But surely, to view it so, we must suppose that the prisoner is in danger. If he is merely playing the martyr, if his talk of trust in God is a mockery, if he himself, as God, commands and is ready to use such weapons as fire and earthquake, — what is there to admire } I conceive that he really is in danger, that the King's denunciations of torture and death^ are no idle threats, and that, were it not for the ascendancy which the man has acquired over the servants of Pentheus, and strengthens by his demeanour in the King's presence^ he might at least have lain long in the lightless dungeon to which he is sentl And I find this reading of the scene not only more interesting, but more obvious, than that which makes the captive omnipotent and his submission a merci- less trick. In the women of the Chorus, their character and opinions, and the estimate of them which the play should be taken to recommend, we have a branch of enquiry where we feel especially our lack of external information. Even for contemporaries, nay, even for the poet himself, their case may have been ambiguous. But we increase our difficulties gratui- tously, if we assume that everywhere, or anywhere, they speak, directly and precisely, for Euripides. ^ vv. 241, 356. 2 vv. 434 fif., 504 ff. ^ V. 510. 10 — 2 148 The Bacchants of Euripides No dramatist has suffered more than he from the practice, never legitimate and always perilous, of construing dramatic language in this inartistic and arbitrary way. It is true that the Greek Chorus, being in some respects an adjunct to the drama rather than part of it, could be used as a mouth-piece more easily and less improperly than ordinary personages of the action. But it is not true of Euripides, that he was in the habit of identifying himself with the Chorus in particular ; and I think it perfectly clear, that he does not mean to be represented, generally or at all, by the Chorus of the Bacchants. Their part throughout, including the choric odes, is strictly relevant to the drama, and there is nowhere any sign that they speak otherwise than properly for themselves. A large portion of their sentiments, — for example, their exultation, both before^ and after- wards^ over the horrible fate of Pentheus — is plainly not shared by the dramatist. This being so, we have no reason anywhere to hear his voice in what they are made to say. If they are consistent with themselves, if their feelings, doctrines, acts are natural or conceivable as a whole, the dramatist, as such, is quit of any further responsibility. Nor again are we bound, or entitled, to seek any precise harmony between the Chorus and other per- sonages in the play, not even those who may be counted, more or less, as upon their side. Their quality is different even from that of the master whom they serve. Moral elevation is more marked in ^ vv. 977-996. ^ w. 1153-1164. The Bacchants of Eu7'ipides 149 them than in him\ — perhaps a distinction of sex ; and he, perhaps as a man, is of a more ruthless temper. We cannot say whether they, unprompted, would have devised or executed his crimes against Pentheus, or whether he would share their pity for the mother. Much less, and almost nothing, have they in common with Cadmus or Teiresias. Of the chasm — it is more than a rift — which divides them from the prophet, we have already spokenl Between what they preach as the religion of Dionysus, and what Teiresias receives, there is hardly any resemblance beyond the name. It is this last point especially which should be remembered, in considering the connexion and bearing of the Hymn to Holiness^. This ode imme- diately follows the scene between Pentheus and Teiresias, upon which, in the natural course, the Chorus must be supposed to comment. If we realize the dubious and embarrassing position in which the missionaries are placed by the declaration of the prophet, we shall not be surprised that their com- ment is in part obscure. It is equally impossible that they should reject his support of their cause and that they should pass without question his astonishing glosses upon their doctrine. They pru- dently do not name him, and direct open censure only against Pentheus. But Teiresias is not less in their thoughts, and much of what they say is designed for him, either by way of agreement or of dissent. ^ vv. 370 ff. * Supra pp. 48 ff. * vv. 370 ff. 150 The Bacchants of Euripides It is to meet the views of Apollo's prophet that they here dwell twice upon a topic which elsewhere they hardly touch, and plainly do not regard as vital to their religion, — the connexion of their God with the vine, the grape, and the gift of wine\ Teiresias makes this fundamental, and uses it, after his fashion, to couple Dionysus with Demeter, Goddess of the Earth and giver of food^ The Chorus, who other- wise ignore his harmonistic combinations, support him on this point to the extent — it is little enough — of praising " Him who amid wreaths and good cheer rules the happy hour, to whom belongs the dance inspired, the sound of laughter and pipe, and rest from care, when the grape-juice comes at the feast of gods, and merry men ivy-wreathed win sleep from the mantling bowl," and again, " the Son of Zeus, who, though glad to make merry, yet loveth Peace, Peace that giveth store and children fair. Equally to rich and to less he grants delight of wine that bringeth no pain^^ Between these passages, and immediately before the latter, stands the emphatic reference to Macedonia, as the best seat for the true religion, which we have noted •^ vv. 378 ff., 417 ff. See supra p. 42. ^ vv. 274 ff. ^ W. 4 1 7 ff. 6 8at/Atov 6 Atos irais yaipn fxkv dakiaKJiv, (f>tXeL 8 okjBoSoTeLpav Ei- pyjvav, KovpoTp6(f>ov 6edv. tcra 8 €s T€ Tov oXyStov Tov re \€Lpova 8(3/c' e^eiv OIVOV TepXJ/LV aXvTTOV. The Bacchants of Euripides 1 5 1 before/. We remark that the women, if they praise the cup, are firm for temperance, — no quarrelling, no waste, no luxury. In this doubtless they speak as women, and also perhaps as admirers of Macedonia. That name does not indeed suggest temperance ; but the drunken Macedonian of history is generally a man of high rank. The force which, when the Bac- chants was written, Macedonia was soon to put forth, was never drawn from a people of sots ; and whatever the sobriety of the men, the women, we may pre- sume, did their best to maintain and strengthen it. It is to "men" (di/S/ootcrt^) that, in the first passage, they assign the bowl ; nor is it clear that by " men " they mean both sexes. In the repeated sarcasms of Pentheus' the worshippers of Dionysus have good reason to avoid the least appearance of a lax rule in such matters for the woman. To Teiresias again, and to his uncongenial theology, the Chorus allude, when they deprecate " that wisdom {to croi^ov) which is no wisdom, nor fit for the thoughts of a man^" In a short life, they say, "he that pursues the great may miss the near," which is madness and mischievous. And to the same vein they return in the conclusion, when they com- mend "the wisdom of keeping the heart and mind from men superjiuotts " {nepLo-a-cov c^wrwf ), men who exceed the mark. "What is held and used by the many, the humbler sort," that, say they, is enough for ' P- 29. ' z>- 385- ^ 7'V. 22 1 ff, 260 ff. V7>. 395 ff. TO cro^ov 8' ov a-o€pov rjpiratpv fx\v ck 8o/x.(ov reKva, OTTOcra 8' €ir to/xots Wcaav ov Secrfiuiv vtto 7rpo(rei)(€T ovS" limmv es fxikav Tre'Sov, ov p^aAK09, ov (TtBr]po<;. Notes 163 See Sandys' note : oTrocra, as he suggests, includes the TCKva, and we need not suppose the text de- fective. The full form would be rjpTra^ov fxev e/c Sojxcov TEKva, rjp7ra[,op Se koI oiXka, kol in aifxoLS eOecrav' oirocra 8' edecrav, ov hecrjxcov viro The compression of this, by leap from point to point, is surely not surprising, but proper to a wildly excited narrator. By " not bronze, not iron " is meant that even heavy things of metal, utensils, weapons, etc., were so snatched up and carried. This also, with deference to those who feel difficulty, I find natural and simple. THE FIRST HOMERS The discussion of Homer flows on, a noble stream, broadening and deepening with the accession of tributaries from prehistoric archaeology and other sources. We admire the spectacle, but are not without apprehension that the volume may obliterate the channel, and that, like Father Thames in The Critic, the river may need a reminder to keep "between his banks." In general, the very last thing that we get from disputants on either side is an exact construction and estimation of what, truly or falsely, is recorded about the history of Homer. The tradition, such as it is, is hardly ever even correctly represented. The most punctilious of scholars (Grote, for example) are in this matter not to be trusted. It is the internal evidence which, on both sides, furnishes the main artillery ; the tradition, when it gets a turn, is treated with little respect, and, what is less justifiable, is construed with little attention. It is not surprising if, in these conditions, we make little progress towards agreement. Internal ^ Reprinted (by permission), with modifications, from The Quarterly Review of July, 1908. The First Homer 165 evidence about the history of a book, if not controlled by record, is liable to infinitely elastic interpretation. From a given phenomenon, such as a discrepancy in the narrative or an inconsistency of manners, different conclusions will be drawn with equal legitimacy, according to the circumstances of the time at which we know, or may suppose, the composition to have been executed. If these circumstances may be placed anywhere in the course of some three or four centuries at least, about which we know almost nothing except that they were a time of profound changes — and this is, in effect, the licence which we are apt to assume in discussing the problem of Homer, — how can we expect that we shall produce any mutual impression? But, before we accept these conditions of debate, we should exhaust, by the most scrupulous construction, the possibilities of such external testimony as may exist. We cannot but think that the ancient tradition about the origin of Homer suffers unfairly from certain prepossessions, which all would disclaim, but which are more easily disclaimed than abandoned. For us modern readers it is scarcely possible, whatever we may say and however we may try, not to take the name " Homer" as m^dimng, p7'-ima facie and presumptively, a book consisting of the Iliad and the Odyssey as we possess them, or the author of such a book. Nothing else of importance bearing that name has been extant since the revival of learning; and of the far larger mass which originally bore it, and which, if we believe what we are told, 1 66 The First Homer was extant long after the Christian era, nothing of importance, except the Iliad and Odyssey, was accepted as "Homer" in the learned ages of antiquity — that is to say, from about 300 B.C. — or, after that date, was commonly read or even studied. It is natural therefore, plausible, and inevitable, that we should not only use " Homer" as a compendious expression for these two poems, but, if we raise the question of authorship and origin, should put it to ourselves in the form " What was the origin of the Iliad, or of the Odyssey V\ assuming these as the starting-point for discussion. Nevertheless we must not so begin if we would study the tradition fairly. If we do, we practically forestall some of the most important conclusions which we have to verify. As a matter of record, and apart from inference or hypothesis, this " Homer" of ours, comprising the two poems in their extant form, appears as an artificial product of scholarship, the result of a critical process ; and the validity of this process is precisely one of the principal things which we have to consider. Nor must we presume, before proof, that the Iliad or the Odyssey, meaning the poems as we have them, had either of them an independent beginning at all. Upon the record, they first appear neither as constituting Homer nor as independent, but as parts of Homer. Whether, and in what shape, they existed before, is matter for inference and investigation, but cannot be investi- gated to much purpose if we begin by assuming an answer. The First Homer 167 The history of "Homer" as a definite book, with a fixed extent and content, begins, upon tradition, in the middle or latter part of the sixth century B.C., and at Athens. Then and there, but not before, nor at that time elsewhere, we have testimony to the existence of a definite book or collection commonly entitled "the Poetry of Homer." Possibly it bore also, as we shall see, another and a better title, but this one it certainly bore. That it had a definite extent and content is proved by the fact that it was the subject, like our Bible, of official sanction and enactment. There were precise orders about the recitation and study of it, a thing impossible unless the book or corpus was itself determined. Of any earlier " Homer" existing in these con- ditions, or any conditions of fixity, we know nothing from testimony ; and what we do know about political and literary conditions generally is alto- gether against the presumption of such a fixture. It depends, not upon the use of writing — a matter which in some stages of this discussion has played too large a part — but upon the practice of reading. It is by readers, and the recognition of readers, that fixed and definite books are protected. We shall not here prove, but it will hardly be disputed, that a body of readers existed nowhere in Greece before the sixth century. At that time, and in one par- ticular State, the nucleus or foundation of such a body was formed, by a revolution in the method of education not less momentous than any movement in history. The formation or collection of "Homer" 1 68 The First Ho7ner is said — and we believe it — to have been a part or instrument of this movement. The book, or perhaps we should rather say, the library, was adopted, and (we are told) was arranged, as the material of improved education at Athens. The movement itself, the novel development of education, and its immeasurable importance, would be known by inference, even if it were not recorded. The whole history of Athens and of Hellas is but the sequel and effect of it. The amazing and unprecedented success of the democratic experiment, in itself no novelty, which was made at Athens in the last years of the sixth century, is explicable by nothing else than a sudden and incomparable increase in the diffusion of intelligence and intel- lectual culture. Literature tells the same story, upon which it is needless to insist. It would be absurd, of course, to suppose a high standard of acquirement, or to think that in the sixth century, or in the fifth, Athens was, in the later and modern sense, a place of learning. But all things are measured by com- parison. The population which embraced and realized the democratic conception of Cleisthenes, and achieved, as a people, in every department of life, the triumphs which Athens achieved between the birth of yEschylus and the death of Euripides, however far from erudition, had plainly an immense superiority of mind in comparison with their pre- decessors and contemporaries. This lead, with all its consequences, the Athenians themselves, looking back upon their The First Homer 169 great age from the less advantageous position of the fourth century B.C., ascribed wholly to the better education which, by the efforts and encouragement of their successive governments, they adopted and established in the sixth. Such is the language of the statesman Lycurgus, in an eloquent passage of his extant speech (§§ 102-107). He treats it not as matter of theory, but of notoriety, that the whole Athenian triumph, the repulse of the Persians, Marathon and Salamis, the Athenian hegemony and the Athenian empire, had a principal cause in the studies which, in the previous generation, they as a people had adopted and espoused. It all came, he says in the plainest terms, from their familiarity with certain literature, to wit, "the Poetry of Homer." Nor is there reason to doubt that, under proper interpretation, this view was as completely true as any such simplification of history can be. The success of Athens had many contributory causes or occasions ; but the main cause clearly was that, in an age when not even the elements of literary education were yet diffused among any of the peoples with whom Athens had to contend, those elements at least, by energetic public efforts, were diffused in Attica. Before the close of the sixth century the Athenians were, what as yet no other people was, generally familiarized with at least one great book, and had the advantage of this mental stimulus. We should remark, indeed, that it is not upon the mental stimulus that the Athenian statesman himself insists, but rather upon the moral instruction 170 The First Homer which the Athenians derived from their studies. It was by famiharity, he says, with the patriotic senti- ments to be found in the Poetry of Homer that the Athenians became eminent in patriotism ; and similarly, we are doubtless to assume, in other virtues there exemplified or inculcated. But, though we need not deny this moral effect, and may well suppose that, upon the whole. Homer was in this way a means of elevation to a people starting from the general level of Greece in the time of Pisistratus, it is nevertheless, we think, plain, that, in insisting exclusively upon this side of the matter, Lycurgus, and the Athenian public opinion to which he appeals, overlooked much, perhaps most, of the truth. The mental advantage, immense when it was a singular privilege, of being generally trained in the compre- hension and exposition of some good literature, had surely more to do with making the Athenians into the leaders of Hellas, than the fact that more men there than in the other cities could repeat the lines in which Hector commends the sacrifice of self to country. A not dissimilar question arises upon the effects of the Protestant movement and the conse- quent difiusion of training in the Bible. Apart from the moral lessons, this education enlarged the class of readers, who discussed their reading, and who thus became better thinkers and more competent generally in all the business of life. The example of Scotland is notorious. And similar, we may suppose, mutatis m,utandis, was the effect of the Athenian book, simply as a book, widely taught in Athens at The First Homer 171 a time when as yet no such teaching was common elsewhere. By Lycurgus this whole educational movement, and the adoption of Homer as the basis of it, is attributed to the Athenians as a people, without distinction of persons or of any particular authority. By others (the testimonies are familiar and we need not cite them) the movement, and the operations on the book "Homer" connected with it, are at- tributed, now to one, now to another of the persons powerful at Athens in the age when the thing was done — to the sons of Pisistratus, especially Hip- parchus, to Pisistratus himself, and even to Solon. There is no need to reject or suspect any of these ascriptions, which have presumably the same measure of truth as the connecting of the Reformation now with one and now with another of the princes or statesmen of the sixteenth century. Hipparchus in particular is described (by no late or contemptible author, but by an Athenian whose work could be attributed to Plato) as extraordinarily and almost fanatically active in the diffusion of intellectual culture {^Hipparchus, p. 228 b). That the movement was zealously supported by authority may safely be assumed from its rapid success ; and that we know little or nothing of the methods, probably very simple, is no reason for doubting the fact of official activity. And as to the making or collection of the educational book, " the Poetry of Homer," it cannot possibly have been completed, as we shall see, in any very short time, and may well have extended 172 The First Homer over the forty or fifty years (say 570-520 b.c), which would include all the names traditionally associated with it. By both the above-mentioned witnesses, and elsewhere, stress is laid upon one particular ordinance respecting the national book or literature, namely, that it should be regularly and publicly recited at the great festival of the Panathenaea, celebrated in every fourth year. The emphasis laid upon this, as a proof of respect, is very proper ; but we should observe, as having an important bearing upon the question, what was the nature and content of the collection, that neither in those places nor (we believe) anywhere is it suggested that this occasional recitation was the principal use or design to which the books were applied. The practical effect of such performances could hardly be anything ; and we should attribute nonsense to Lycurgus, if we sup- posed him to ascribe the greatness of Athens to the fact that an Athenian might hear Homer for a few hours, upon perhaps some ten or a dozen occasions in the course of his life. But this is not said or suggested. In Lycurgus, the whole context, and in particular the comparison which he makes between the Athenian use of Homer and the instruction of the Spartans, shows that by the " hearing " of Homer he means the habitual hearing, by all in the course of education, and by many subsequently in recitation and reading aloud. He speaks of " hearers " where we should say " readers," because instruction and literary communication generally, in The First Homer 173 the times of which he speaks, was mainly oral. In the Platonic treatise, and what is there said about Hipparchus, the reference to education, and to Homer as an instrument for that purpose, is explicit. From this Athenian Homer of the sixth century our extant Homer is unquestionably derived, and probably with little or no other change than common accidents of transcription. Directly or indirectly, the Athenian texts, diffused from Athens as the source and ruler of learning — until, as was said, all Greece, as Athens first, had been "educated by Homer" — were the principal, and, it would seem, the only important factors in forming the texts which we read to-day. What then was the determinate book or collec- tion, which at Athens, in the sixth century, was called "the Poetry of Homer" } That it consisted of the Iliad and Odyssey, or that these poems had in it any distinctive mark, there is, so far as we know, no evidence whatever. There is some direct evidence, and much indirect, for the opinion (no new one, though not established) that the Athenian " Poetry of Homer" was substantially identical with what is otherwise known as the " Cyclus," the "Circle" or "Round" — either with the whole of it or with some part. This was a sort of history, in epic verse, beginning with the beginning of the world, and carried down through the heroic age of the Theban and the Trojan wars until the end of the latter and the return of the Greeks. It is known 174 T"^^^ First Homer to us mainly by a partial abstract, dating probably from the fifth century a.d., when it is said to have been still extant. It was at all events extant and notorious, though little read, in the flourishing ages of ancient learning. It is described as a narrative continuous from beginning to end. The Iliad and the Odyssey, such apparently as we possess them, were parts of the story, standing in their proper places. The exact dimensions of the whole are uncertain, but were certainly vast, much larger than the two extant poems put together. We are positively told^ that the whole, the " Circle " as such, was regarded as the work of Homer by " the ancients," a statement which can mean nothing but that it was so regarded in the sixth century ; for before that time there was no history of literature or established opinion about such matters, and for all later times we have proof that part, and most, of the "Circle" was not generally accepted as "Homer." Moreover, in the sixth century, when the legends were still regarded as matter of fact, the compilation of such a poetical history, if there were material for it, would command interest, whereas in later times it would have been futile and out of date. In short, unless the Athenian Homer of the sixth century was the " Cycle," we cannot conceive how the Cycle came into existence, or was preserved, or got, as it did, the name of " Homer." ^ Suidas. The statement, like every part of the tradition about Homer, has been explained away, but, as we think, without reason. The First Horner 175 Further, this supposition at once explains and accords with the tradition, that the Athenians of that age not merely adopted or compiled, but "arranged' their collection. This detail does not appear in the authorities chronologically nearest. Neither Lycurgus, for instance, nor the Platonic " Hip- parchus " says so ; they speak merely of adoption and collection. But their language in no way ex- cludes an arrangement or redaction, as alleged by others, principally by Cicero in the first century B.C., and by Pausanias in the second century a.d. These statements, that Pisistratus arranged the poetry of Homer, have been treated by some, in the modern controversy, with a kind and degree of scepticism which, if applied impartially, would make astonishing holes in ancient history, chiefly because they have been supposed (quite unnecessarily and erroneously, as we hold) to apply directly and specially to the Iliad and Odyssey, and, if accepted, to prejudice the question how those two poems were composed. But the statements relate to "the poems" or "poetry of Homer," by which, if they are well-founded and descend from the sixth century, must be meant what was then so accounted and called. We see no reason to doubt (though the wildest expedients have been adopted in order to avoid the con- clusion) that they do descend from the natural source, the Athenian antiquaries of the fourth and third centuries, who were in touch, by a solid train of literary tradition, with the time of the alleged arrangement. 176 The First Homer In some sense, indeed, in order to be made, the Cycle must have existed earlier, since it is never said that the Athenians actually composed their Homer. But the situation and the operation are not hard to conceive in a natural way. We can readily understand and explain them up to, or rather down from, a certain point. The material was poetry, in the conventional epic style, which had been composed, and hitherto diffused, by professional reciters or story-tellers, principally, it would seem, in Ionic Asia. The subjects were taken from a common stock of popular and more or less har- monious legend. If we assume the creation of some specially successful and authoritative poem — an Iliad or a Thebaid — embodying a part of the story, the production of other poems closely related to it, prefaces, continuations, and supplementary incidents, would be the natural course of things in the circum- stances, the natural effect of a double desire in the story-tellers to give their audiences something novel yet easily intelligible. Such a process, given the assumed nucleus or nuclei, would produce a mass of poems tending to constitute, though not actually constituting, such a history as the Cycle was. If they were collected, it would not be difficult, by selection, some correction, adaptation, and a little composing of connexions and completions, to make up a total having as much consistency (far from perfect) as the Cycle seems to have had. But, for the actual production of the history, the arrangement or redaction would be an indispensable factor. It The First Homer 177 could not actually come into existence as a complete thing, and much less could it be preserved, under conditions conceivable (to say nothing of evidence) in the seventh century or earlier. The Athenian educational movement supplied, it appears, what was requisite for the production, and the public sanction of Athens what was requisite for the preservation. All this process, however, assumes, as a starting- point, the authoritative and stimulating nucleus or nuclei ; it assumes, for the Trojan part of the Cycle, the existence first of something like an Iliad and something like an Odyssey. Assuredly neither of these poems, such as they now are, could be pro- duced, by such operations as are attributed or attributable to Pisistratus, out of pieces having originally no other connexion than a general agree- ment in the story and a similar conventional style. In both, the artistic unity, the ruling conception, is far too strong for this. But, let us once more observe, the Greek authorities do not say, though they are frequently discussed and criticized as if they did, that Pisistratus "arranged the Iliad''' or "the Odyssey." The thing arranged, and in a sense con- structed, by the Athenians was " the Poetry of Homer," by which we at all events understand the " Cycle," and, with this understanding, have no difficulty in accepting the tradition. It is perfectly consistent with the tradition to suppose that the Iliad was adopted, as a part or a chapter in the Cycle, exactly as it previously existed and was originally created by a single author. Whether this V. E. 12 178 The First Homer was so, or was not, must be determined not by the tradition, but by the internal evidence of the poem. But, before we turn to this, let us say a word or two more, first of the Cycle and its title or titles, and then of the critical process which evolved from it the later and modern conception of "Homer" as con- sisting of the Iliad and the Odyssey. The poetry out of which the Cycle was made seems to have been generally recited and circulated, all of it, as anonymous. In the absence of libraries, histories, biographies, and scholarship, it is likely that the audiences of the reciters were little interested in the question of authorship. If any name was given, Homer, author probably of some determinant nucleus, an Iliad or Tkebaid, had the credit of all. The collection, therefore, as a whole, bore his name, at all events in popular parlance, as " the Poetry of Homer." But we must not presume that the col- lectors either believed in the single authorship of the collection, or even warranted the name. For anything that appears to the contrary, the appellation "cycle" or "circle" may be as old as the thing ; and, though this is not generally supposed, we think it probable, for this reason. The attempts to explain the name "circle" from the content or form of the work appear to us altogether unsatis- factory. A thing is not "circular" because it is large, or full, or compact, compendious, complete. Such applications of the name are cited, but can be explained only by false analogy, from resemblance, in the points noted, to something which was called The First Homer 179 "circle" for some better and proper reason. Such a reason, for the Athenian collection, exists, not in the book itself, but in the purposes for which it was used and intended. It was to be taught and to be studied as a course of reading ; and the course, we presume, when finished, was to be begun again. It was " the circle " in which study was to revolve. And similarly perhaps with the recitation at the Panathenaea. More than one of our authorities, in mentioning this, specifies that the recitation was "by way of resumption," one recitation beginning where the last ended. This detail, otherwise unimportant, is essential if the ordinance originally referred to the Cycle, of which only a small part could possibly be given upon a single occasion. Here also the pro- ceeding was to be " circular" ; successive parts were to be taken, until all had been taken, and then da capo. Such, we suppose, may have been the original design. But neither these uses of the Cycle, nor the ascription to Homer, could long survive the effects, infinitely greater than can have been foreseen, of the educational movement. The literature, which, under the new stimulus, was produced at Athens in a single century, was alone sufficient to exclude from general notice, by competition, so vast a body of antique story. And criticism, even the most rudimentary, as soon as it existed, must demur to the attribution of all to a single authorship. In Herodotus, about a century after Hipparchus, we find that the cutting down has already gone far. The allusions of Hero- dotus to the subject are just what we might expect i8o The First Homer them to be, \{, prima facie and apart from criticism, " Homer" was the Cycle. He gives, just incident- ally, a reason why the " Cypria " (part of the Trojan story in the Cycle) should not be reckoned as Homer's — namely, a disagreement with the Iliad. Why it might be, he does not think necessary to specify. He speaks as if it was in " Homer," as " Titus Andronicus " or " Henry VI." is in " Shake- speare." Already, for Herodotus, the Tkebaid its^M (or part of it) is doubtful " Homer" ; and, in short, we are well on the way to the point at which common opinion stopped — that the Iliad and Odyssey only, or almost only, are " Homer." It is noticeable that Herodotus pretends to no external information about authorship ; and it is, to say the least, doubtful whether any trustworthy discoveries of that kind were made later. No such supposition is needed to explain the result. The Iliad and the Odyssey were left to Homer because they were the best parts of his putative work. No more was left to him, because this was quite enough to assign to one man. Rejec- tion went no further (though some wished to go further and divide the two poems) because the two together did not seem clearly too much. The next step, as might be expected, was to distribute the rejected mass among supposed authors. This we need not and cannot here follow out. The attributions are extremely suspicious, for reasons which have often been stated. The very names of the alleged poets are not mentioned, none of them, we believe, in any extant work of the fifth century. The First Horner i8i when the poetry afterwards assigned to them was still popular. This may be explicable, but it is odd. The assignations vary, and were never generally established. We are probably best advised if we follow the more cautious critics of antiquity, and treat as anonymous all parts of the Cycle which we do not choose to call " Homer." Such, in very brief and summary statement, is the tradition as we understand it. And now to the main question. When the Cycle was collected, arranged, and made up, what, if anything, was done to the Iliad, or to the Odyssey} Possibly nothing, or nothing of importance. So say the " defenders of unity " ; and the tradition proves nothing to the contrary. If we hold otherwise, as most at present do, it is because the poems, both of them, or at all events the Iliad, exhibit a profusion of peculiarities for which, as we think, nothing will fairly account except an artificial and rather violent process de- signed to accommodate them, as parts, to such a quasi-historical compilation as the Cycle was. We take an instance from the Iliad, a familiar instance, though we shall state it partly in our own way. The Greeks, for want of Achilles, are defeated and driven to their ships, to which the Trojans are actually beginning to set fire. At this crisis Patroclus persuades Achilles to let him lead the Myrmidons to the rescue. The scene is a turning-point in the story, and the narration of it vivid and unforgettable. We proceed. Patroclus, after some triumphs, is slain, and the armour of Achilles, which he wore, is 1 82 The First Homer lost. To replace it, Thetis obtains new armour from Hephaestus, to whom, in making her request, she naturally recounts the loss and the cause of it, the sending forth of Patroclus by Achilles {Iliad, xviii. 446). But to our surprise she relates this, not as we were shown it before, but with utterly different circumstances. According to her, the Greeks were beleaguered, and so hard pressed that they could not go out or sally from their camp. Thereupon certain elders approached Achilles with entreaties and gifts. He refused to give aid himself, but armed Patroclus and sent him with a strong force to the war. The two accounts are manifestly not discrepant merely, but absolutely different in conception. Both are clear; both give effective situations; on the one side the extreme crisis of firing the ships, the entreaty of Patroclus, and the sudden rush to the rescue ; on the other side the beleaguerment and the solemn embassy. In either way the thing might well happen, but by no possibility in both at once. Now, if the "Making of the Armour" was designed as a sequel to the " Sending of Patroclus " — as of course it was if our Iliad was shaped as we have it by one author — why do they not agree ? It is surely idle to plead negligence or a lapse of memory. Lapses are common, but not of this magnitude or kind. Why should the narrator forget completely a scene which no reader can forget, a principal moment in his story .^ Why should he reconstruct it .^ What put into his head the new scene and the impossible embassy ? Nor can it be The First Homer 183 a case of interpolation. The second account is no loose or inaccurate or garbled version of the first, but a complete and self-consistent reconstruction, with new circumstances and a different purpose. Nor does it help at all merely to make a distinction of authors, and assign the " Making of the Armour" to a new hand. If the new hand meant his work for a continuation of the other's, he would have told the previous incident as he found it. He would be even less likely to reconstruct the scene than the original narrator, because more conscious of his obligations as a continuator. Twist the matter as we may, the obvious and natural supposition is, that the " Making of the Armour " was composed by some one who had before him, or rather behind him, the " Sending of Patroclus " described as he describes it. The "Making of the Armour" should be part of an Iliad in which the '^ Sending of Patroclus " was told according to the "embassy-version" (so to name it), and not, as in the extant book, according to the "fire-version." And the question is, here and repeatedly elsewhere, when, by whom, and above all why, was a compound made, which takes the " Sending " from one version and the " Making of the Armour " from another, and combines them without reconciling. Another example, recurring throughout the work, is the ever-changing aspect of the Greek camp, now not fortified, or fortified at most with a ditch, now with a rampart hastily run up in consequence of the 184 The First Homer defection of Achilles, and now again with a wall so solid as to rival that of Troy — the three pictures not successive and connected by explanation, but assumed and dropped and reassumed with tacit indifference. Neither for one composer nor for a plurality of composers is such treatment natural or (to us) explicable, if the composer or composers were free to design, and actuated only by the motives of an artist. The more conscious we are of the unity of the work and the dominance of one general conception, and the more we are convinced that all parts of the actual story (with perhaps some trifling exceptions) must have been designed as parts of a story closely similar, the more puzzling is their imperfect adapta- tion. Who was the composer, and what can have been his motives, who took these freedoms with his materials, and took no more ? Now the alleged Athenian collection and arrange- ment of Homer afford an answer, so suitable to the internal evidence that, if we had not such a tradition, we must have invented it. That is to say, we can, quite probably, suppose the Athenian redactors to find this part of the Cycle — the Iliad — in such a condition or conditions that, in their situa- tion and with their purposes, they would make of it what we have. Take the case of the double " Sending of Patroclus." Be it supposed that (never mind when, in the tenth century b.c, or the thirteenth, if any one pleases) Homer composed the Iliad with what The First Homer 185 we called the " fire-version " of this incident, the version of it which is first narrated in our book. Let us call this Iliad A. Might it not presently occur to a reciter-poet, stimulated by the example, that the "embassy-version" would also be a good one, giving a different opportunity ? But the " embassy-version " requires a fortified camp, in which the Greeks are beleaguered and unable to sally, but otherwise act at leisure. Accordingly our second composer (B) fortifies the camp, which (we will suppose) A did not, and remodels accordingly those scenes of the story where the camp is actually assailed. Also (suppose for simplicity), this same B invents the "Making of the Armour," and, of course, there narrates the "Sending of Patroclus" according to his own version, with the embassy. Subject to these changes, he adopts A bodily, as why should he not ? Now suppose (we simplify the case, intending merely to show the general nature of the process assumed) that these Iliads A and B, verbally iden- tical for the most part, but totally different in the " embassy-version " and certain connected episodes, come both, from different quarters, into the hands of the Athenian collectors. What should they have done with them, and (a different question) what were they likely to do ? " Keep both as they are," we should now say, and so would have said Cicero, or Aristarchus, or Aristotle — any one in the ages of erudition. " Both are mere fictions, and each good in its way." But in the sixth century the stories could not possibly be so estimated. This view was 1 86 The First Homer to be afterwards evolved, by Thucydides and others, products of the movement which the collectors were initiating. To the sixth century, the Trojan war, heroes, gods and all, was a reality, which the Homeric poems more or less exactly represented. Probably, before the collection, no one was clearly conscious of the divergences. And what the collec- tors made and wanted was a book to be learnt, to be the basis of national instruction, a history com- piled from the epics, with the Iliad as a part of it. What then more natural and proper than to combine the versions in a harmony, supposed to represent the truth, or the nearest approximation to it obtain- able in the circumstances ? Upon these principles, between two totally in- compatible versions of the same incident, you must choose. For the " Sending of Patroclus " we take the version of A, the "fire-version," discarding that of B, the " embassy." But this would be no reason for discarding the " Making of the Armour," an episode of many hundred lines, which, as a whole, is equally compatible with either version of the "Sending." It goes in therefore as we find it; and by an oversight, such as is sure to occur in con- structions of this kind, and does occur in harmonies far more skilful and elaborate than could be com- manded by Pisistratus, it is allowed to carry with it the half-dozen lines (xviii. 446-452) in which the "embassy-version" of the "Sending" is summarily related by Thetis. Further, if we turn to the "Sending" itself The First Homer 187 (xvi. 112 foil.), we see that, though based mainly on the conception (A) that the resistance of Achilles is overcome by the firing of the ships, it contains passages which are not easily attributed to a poet possessed by that conception. Let the reader peruse what passes, or is related, in our Iliad between the moment, when Achilles descries the fire, and the outrush of Patroclus and his men (xvi. 130-256), especially the incident of the cup, libation, and prayer {ib. 220 foil.), and consider whether this is the way in which the thing would naturally be imagined, upon the supposition that the ships are now burning. All is fine poetry, but is it all proper to the situation ? Does it not ignore the urgent and desperate crisis, and assume, on the contrary, that there is no need for haste } But according to Thetis and her " embassy-version," there was no need for haste. We suspect therefore strongly, that here also, along with the version of A, we have elements, as much as seemed possible, incorporated by a harmonist from the version of B. From B, or a closely related version, comes also, we may naturally suppose. Book ix., the embassy to Achilles, the difficulties of which, within itself, and in relation to the rest of the work, are well known and generally admitted. It lacks connexion, it seems to be forgotten, and there are other doubts. More- over, though this is not so generally admitted, we ourselves agree with those (for instance, Dr Leaf^) ' See, in his edition of the Iliad, the Introduction to Book ix., and the notes to ix. 168 foil, and elsewhere. 1 88 The First Homer who say that the book itself exhibits imperfect har- mony. We have sometimes two ambassadors, but also an ill-connected third (Phoenix) who, it would certainly seem, did not originally figure here. All this is the more perplexing because both the general conception and the parts (if they would but fit) are magnificent. But whence and why did Phoenix come in .f* To this question we have not seen any satisfactory answer. We would suggest that he is one of the elders who, according to Thetis, went as ambassadors to Achilles and procured the send- ing of Patroclus. The version B, or some version closely related, contained two embassies, one (that which forms the bulk of Book ix.) to which Achilles conceded nothing, and a second, comprising Phoenix, to which, as related by Thetis, he granted the send- ing of Patroclus. The first could be adopted in the harmony without offence, and accordingly was ; the second was plainly inadmissible ; but, upon the common principles of harmonists, some of it, as much as seemed possible — the presence and speeches of Phoenix — was amalgamated with the first, "though not without leaving clear traces of the joints." We cannot here work this out, nor do we pretend that it could be worked out to any precise distribution of A and B and other letters. But upon some such hypothesis we can account to ourselves for the actual relations between Books ix., xvi., xviii. of the Iliad ; and we cannot account for them upon any hypothesis which does not somewhere import a harmonist — no poet, but the compiler of a history. The First Homer 189 To this operation we should attribute, not exclu- sively but mainly, those peculiarities in which, as it seems to us and to many, the two epics, or at all events the Iliad, are unique. We cannot here illus- trate the matter any further. But this, we think, is the cause, for instance, of the strange fluctuation between different conceptions of the scene (the Greek camp). Manifestly this discrepancy, if pre- sent in the contributory sources, could not be eli- minated without thorough and bold recomposition, which was not (as we apprehend) within the design, or perhaps the powers, of the harmonists. And above all, to this cause we assign that characteristic of the Iliad which, though some can ignore it, we cannot ignore. The main design is masterly, the parts are almost all admirable — yet they do not fit. Repeatedly the thread seems to break, the track to be lost ; and we arrive, after some wandering, at a stage of progress already reached before. Such is the natural, the inevitable effect of a harmony. And (to repeat this essential point) if it is asked why the harmony should have been attempted, and why it was possible, we reply, " Because the contri- butory versions were, each with each, to a large extent, not only concordant in matter, but verbally identical." Therefore they could be united ; and the historic impulse, natural though mistaken, gave the motive for such a combination. It cannot be proved that the harmonizing was the work of the Athenians, or connected with the redaction of the Cycle. It may conceivably have 190 The First Horner taken place elsewhere and earlier. Only this seems a gratuitous supposition. We have no tradition suggesting it. The required conditions of purpose and mental attitude are not, we think, so likely to have existed anywhere or at any time as in the city and age of Pisistratus. Whoever made the harmony, he or they had doubtless not the least intention to suppress or replace the versions, or any expectation of this effect. They made such an Iliad as they wanted for a new purpose, presuming, if they considered the matter, that others would circulate as before. How could it be foreseen that in no long time the new education would make an altered world, would create a polity and society never before imagined ? That Athens would for ages rule the teaching and supply the books of all civilized peoples, as in some degree she does to this day? That in a few generations the "rhapsode," the reciter of Homer, would be an extinct profession, and epic poetry, all but a small reserve, a drug in the market ? In the events which happened, the Athenian Homer of course obliterated and extinguished whatever competitors existed. Nor indeed do we suppose that it had much to compete with. Respecting the diffusion and influence of Homer before the Athenian movement, much more is sometimes asserted or assumed than the evidence warrants. But of this we cannot here speak. We suppose, and we think it natural, that when, some centuries later, text- criticism arose, all sources for Homer, except those The First Homer 191 directly or derivatively Athenian, had long dis- appeared. The silence of the ancient text-critics respecting the Athenian operation, or rather the fact that appa- rently they did not use the tradition as a ground for analysis, and anticipate the modern treatment of the Homeric question, has been taken by some as dis- proving the operation, or indicating that it cannot have been important. We do not see this. It is quite likely that the Alexandrian scholars, knowing what we do about that operation, knew little or nothing more. They seem to have assumed that the Athenian Iliad, their Iliad, was substantially the work of one author, descending, in the manner of transmission familiar to themselves, from a remote prehistoric antiquity. If they so assumed without warrant, they only did what has been done by many moderns far more experienced than they in research and criticism. With respect to the Odyssey, we admit of course that the traces in it of a harmonist, if any, are far fewer and less convincing than those in the Iliad. Were it not for the Iliad, they would hardly have been suspected. Nevertheless, the analysts of the Odyssey do seem to have proved that, at least in some places, the treatment of materials is harmonistic. There are some mere patches, notably in the "Slaying o{ the Suitors" and the exchange there of the bow for the spear. As to a common authorship for Iliad and Odyssey, or rather for an Iliad and an Odyssey, that is a matter beyond the scope of this article. 192 The First Ho7ner Now it will be seen, and we would specially insist, that the question we have been considering, whether the actual state of the epics, or either of them, is partly the result of a harmony, has no necessary bearing whatever on many of the issues which students of Homer debate. It is on this point especially, we think, that controversy tends to confusion and prejudice. A harmonistic theory of the Iliad implies nothing whatever, per se, as to the date and origin of the supposed components, or the value of any part, or of the whole, as evidence upon customs, culture, and other such topics. If it were ever so completely proved that our book was made in the sixth century B.C. by a mechanical, or partly mechanical, amalgamation of versions, all the versions, and every substantial part, might none the less be as ancient and as nearly contemporaneous as we please to suppose. We ourselves think it pro- bable (so far as, in conditions almost wholly unknown, one thing can be more probable than another) that the components of the Iliad do mainly belong to a time more narrowly limited than some analysts would suggest, and that what we called the variant "versions," those that lasted and determined the eventual product, all followed at no great distance upon that of Homer, the original designer. At all events this may be so ; and the question between unitarian and harmonist ought not to be affected, as it frequently is, by arguments or theories about date. For example, the different views about the Homeric armour, and whether it represents a reality or a The First Homer 193 conventional confusion, are all of them consistent with a harmonistic theory respecting the genesis of the existing text. Indeed there is no inconsistency, in strict theory, between the view that our text is a harmony and the view that all parts of it, all the materials, are by one author. And in the circumstances, such as we should imagine them, of poetic composition in the age of Homer, it is quite possible that some variant versions, or variant episodes, of the story were actually composed by the original designer. To attribute to one hand so much variation of treatment, as the existing combination seems to require, would be a rather violent conjecture ; nor do we see the need of it, or the difficulty of supposing a few successors to the designer, perhaps nearly contemporaneous, who, stimulated by his example and using the same conventional style, could achieve as near a resem- blance to his manner as, for our part, we find between different portions of the Iliad. Nor again is our view inconsistent with what is called, or should properly be called, "expansion" of the original story, that is to say, the insertion of episodes, freely composed by poets, which really were intended to fit without discrepancy into the original frame. We do not, for the present purpose, either assert or deny such expansion ; still less do we assume that expansion, if such there was, ex- tended over a long period. What we say is that, expansion or no expansion, the extant Iliad, at all events, exhibits the phenomena of a harmony, the V. E. 13 194 ^^^^ First Homer quasi-historical combination of versions partly in- compatible and not designed for union. Whether the versions were narrowly or widely separated in time of origin is a distinct enquiry. And the nearer they were, and the more concordant therefore in natural and conventional colour, the easier and the more tempting would be the operation of the harmonist. For this reason, and for others, we doubt, as we said before, whether the development of versions, or of those versions which lasted and contributed to the final result, can have been distributed over so long a time as some would assume. The proof of the harmonistic operation depends of course on the number of " sutures " — plain breaks in the context, and discrepancies such as no free composer could be tempted to make or to pass. However plain these may be, we cannot expect, as a rule, to determine precisely what the harmonist has done, and what was the scope of the material which he has not preserved. Of this we can have a glimpse, only if in any case the rebelliousness of the materials, or the maladroitness or timidity of the operator, has led him to include matter absolutely irrelevant to his composition and explicable only by what he has omitted. Considering the literary inexperience, which we may or must attribute to harmonists of the sixth century B.C. or earlier, instances even of so gross a handling may be ex- pected to occur, as in fact they do. One such instance we propose to investigate in the following The First Homer 195 essay, to which this will serve as an introduction, explaining our point of view. As we have spoken with more respect than is common of what some would call " the Pisistratean legend," we will repeat that there is no necessary connexion between the demonstrable dislocations of our Iliad and the hypothesis that the Athenians were wholly or mainly responsible for them. Con- tempt for the Athenian tradition is fortified, un- fortunately, by the authority of many excellent scholars ; but the texts, as we have said, are not treated fairly. It would be much if the defenders of unity, and controversialists generally, would perceive that there is room within the record for them all. If it could be shown that the internal evidence of the Iliad favours the hypothesis of single authorship, there is nothing against it in Cicero and Pausanias. For anything they say, or the rest say, Pisistratus may have done nothing to the Iliad, separately and as such, except to purchase and have copied a ms. dating from the days of the original poet. Only, we say, somebody must have done to the Iliad what no one is so likely to have done as the Athenians of the sixth century. We think, indeed, that some operations have been assigned to that epoch, which go beyond the likelihood. We do not suppose that any considerable modification of the text was made in the interest of Athens or her princes. The "sycophant of Pisistratus," as the Athenian operator has been derisively called, is, we rather think, a fictitious personage. But the tradition is not 13—2 196 The First Homer responsible for him. Indeed the tradition, fairly- read, has no essential concern with the personal action of Pisistratus. If his name be displeasing (though we respect it), let us say, with Lycurgus, that the Athenians conceived and carried out the profoundly important educational movement, in con- nexion with which — as others say, who may well have known — they arranged, as well as collected, their " Poetry of Homer." That they did things with it altogether novel and, in the circumstances, stupendously effective, is proved by all history to this day. Having new purposes, they may naturally have made a new book. We believe them to have made in good faith a quasi-historical harmony of certain ancient poems, which were in such condition, and so related, as to invite the operation. If, new to the business, and taking the first stumbling steps towards the foundation of European learning, they did some mischief which we could have taught them to avoid, it is due mainly to them and their Homer that we have any learning at all. It is possible to feel a mild resentment when one reads of " the Pisis- tratean legend." We should ourselves as soon speak of the "legend" that the authorized version of the Bible was a product of the Protestant Reformation. However we have no quarrel with any one, and we expect no immediate agreement. It has been said by some that there is a reaction coming against expansionists, harmonists, and all such. It may be so. But the sutures of the Iliad are there, and will be seen whenever men look. THE MUTINY OF IDOMENEUS. A LOST BIT OF HOMER. The origin and composition of the Iliad passes with some for a problem too indeterminate to yield any results. Granting (they say) that the existing book has features not commonly found, more dis- crepancies in the story and a less straightforward progress, there is no evidence, properly so called, to show how these features were produced. A single authorship (unitarian view), development by successive hands (expansionist view), the artificial combination of divergent versions (harmonist view) — all these hypotheses, with various modifications, are equally possible ; and the choice, resting in the last resort upon purely subjective impressions, is no profitable matter for debate. To those who are of this mind — now perhaps a minority among students — the following pages are not addressed. In my opinion, the harmonist view, not excluding but not demanding "expansion," has been proved over and over again ^; and I cannot suppose that I shall move in this direction those ^ For a summary statement of it, see the preceding essay. 1 98 The Mutiny of Idomeneus who remain immoveable after studying (for example) the commentary of Dr Leaf. But to those who are satisfied that the harmonist view contains at all events some part of the truth, I would submit an illustration of the process supposed, which may be found interesting and perhaps suggestive. No portion of the //z'^rt^ exhibits the natural effects of the harmonistic process more strongly, perhaps none so much, as that portion which lies between the retreat of the Greeks to their camp and the consent of Achilles to lend them the aid of his men under the delegated command of Patroclus (Books XII — xv). The reason for this, upon the principles here assumed, is obvious. Among the divergences of incident, introduced by the fancy of poets, or a poet', rehandling the common theme, one of the most important was the fortification of the camp by a wall, a condition profoundly modifying the course of the narrative. Which version, with the wall or without it, was the older, may not be now ascertainable, and may at all events be left indeterminate without prejudice to the assertion, that the extant story sometimes assumes and sometimes ignores such a fortification, and therefore (since no narrator, com- posing with natural freedom, could plan a story ambiguous in such a particular) must have been produced by combining artificially a version or versions, in which the wall existed, with another or others, in which it did not. The motive for such a combination was the only possible motive for a ^ On this point see preceding essay, p. 193. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 1 99 harmony, the motive which has produced other harmonies, such as those, once popular, of the Four Gospels. The harmonists, accepting all the stories as representing, each partially and imperfectly, an underlying truth and common basis of historical fact, endeavoured to reproduce this truth by the method — still common in popular criticism, and expelled but recently, if it has been completely expelled, from the procedure of the learned — of putting together so much of all versions as could be united without sheer contradiction. In the case of Homer, we know of one occasion upon which such a process may naturally have been used, — the collection and arrangement of Homer by the Athenians of the sixth century B.C. Now at the end of the existing Book xi, the story of the Iliad has reached a point at which, between wall and no wall, the embarrassments of the harmonist must culminate. The Greeks have been beaten to their camp ; and presently, at the end of Book XV and beginning of xvi, their ships upon the shore are to be fired by the pursuing Trojans. Between, if anywhere, must come a taking (or takings) of the wall, and a fight in the walled en- closure. Yet if these were to find a place within a frame not meant to embrace them, distension and confusion were inevitable. And in fact both disten- sion and confusion are visible and enormous. The huge and erratic combat here inserted must be sup- posed, according to the existing narrative, to be covered in time by an incident (the errand of 200 The Mutiny of Idomeneus Patroclus^) grossly incommensurate even in its actual and extended form. So much for the disten- sion. And the confusion is also plain. Even an inobservant reader, a reader for pleasure, in passing through this part of the poem, will become aware of its impediments in a general way. He will some- times, not seldom, be unsure of the line on which he is supposed to be moving, unable to say where he is, what precisely is happening and what may be expected next. The experiment is not very often tried ; for in truth, to read the Iliad continuously is less common, especially after the first reading, than might conventionally be assumed. To fix upon definite points or grounds of objection requires of course not mere reading but examination. The results, the decisive results, of such examination have been often stated. The narrative abounds with dislocations, signs of patching and forced con- nexion, not the less certain because for the most part the breaches are not violent, the points of juncture not always conspicuous and sometimes not precisely determinable. That is to be expected. In tacking together two or more narratives actually parallel, that is to say, treating with variations the same stage of a common story, there could be no necessity or temptation, generally speaking, to make very violent connexions. What could not come in, except on such terms, would naturally be omitted. But it is to be expected, unless the harmonist were more ^ XI 6ii ff., XV 390 ff., XVI I ff. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 201 expert than the harmonists of the Iliad can possi- bly have been, that sometimes the breaks, sutures, mechanical connexions, will deserve the name of violent. Sooner or later the harmonist will grasp at more than, upon his principles, he can properly hold, and will bring in an episode, or a portion of it, which admits of no attachment even plausible to the ear, with the result that, after the juncture, the narrative will be, for some space, unintelligible. Our present concern is with a juncture of this kind, a violent juncture, and its consequence, a piece of narrative unexplained and unintelligible. What I propose to show is the cause of the phenomenon, and why the harmonist has here made a connexion manifestly not justifiable or plausible. It was because he was compelled, by the nature and rela- tion of his materials, to begin a new extract, a large extract which he was unwilling to discard, so as to include in it the termination of a certain episode, for which, as a whole, the harmony afforded no place. From certain passages of the extract, irrelevant and meaningless in the existing connexion, we can divine the general course of the episode suppressed ; and we may confirm our conjecture by reference to other parts of the Iliad, which are obscured by corresponding suppressions, and by corresponding restorations can be made clear. The case shall be stated as briefly as possible, and without elaborate argument. The merits of such a case, if it has any, must lie in its appearing, upon statement, fairly obvious. The facts alleged 202 The Mutiny of Idomeneus in support should be seen to meet together, so to speak, of their own accord. Moreover, as to the facts themselves, the separate items of the construc- tion, proof is already accessible. The observations upon discrepancies and difficulties in the existing story, which are here used, have, in general, all been made and often repeated by students, from the authors of the Greek commentaries downwards, who did not suspect any connexion between them\ This at least is in our favour. We take, as they are given, points fixed and recognized, and have only to add that they lie, if we may use such a metaphor, upon a certain symmetrical curve. The dislocation, from which we start, is found in Book XIII, at the place {v. 206) where the story recurs to the person of Idomeneus, King of the Cretans. It marks the entrance of that hero upon the well-defined battle-scene in which he, with his squire Meriones, plays the chief part, — the Aristeia of Idomeneus, as it is called. The scene extends back from this point to v. 136, and forward through the greater part of the book. It is free in the main from interior difficulties, but exhibits traits, such as the participation of chariots, which are sur- prising, to say the least, when the action is supposed, ^ To Dr Leaf's commentary, in particular, I should be under- stood to refer for all observations upon the text, which do not involve explicitly the supposition of a suppressed episode. In general, I follow him closely, though I do not repeat this on each occasion, nor notice shades of difference which are of no importance to our present subject. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 203 as its place in our Iliad requires, to be passing in such space as could be included within the limit of a wall and of a populous camp or rather military city. To this peculiar situation the scene makes no allu- sion, so that, but for its place in the Iliad, all might and naturally would be supposed to pass in open ground. That will be worth notice hereafter, though it is not the point on which we are first to fix our attention. Within itself, the narrative is simple, except a passage or series of passages extending from the first appearance of Idomeneus until he and Meriones go forth together to the battle (vv. 206- 294). All this, in its present connexion, is irrelevant and unintelligible. Before we consider it, let us recall the character and relation of the personages. Idomeneus, King of the Cretans, is one of the first figures in Homer, and his special distinction is Meriones. No other prince has a personal attendant so high in rank and in prowess — a man of equal birth, his own nephew, and a warrior equal to the best, attached to him as servant and follower. Homeric princes have some- times special and familiar companions, such as Patroclus is to Achilles; they have household officers with certain functions, heralds, cupbearers and so forth, of various degree down to mere slaves ; and they have attendants. But they have not, as a rule, attendants comparable in quality to Meriones. Agamemnon himself has none such. Meriones, as a person, is a match for any; he can himself, on occasion, sit in council with the greatest ; he is no 204 The Mutiny of Idomeneus dependant of the King, but neither is he simply his' friend ; he attends him though his equal. To us, who have kept with regard to royalty the spirit of the feudal ages, such a relation is not surprising. But it is remarkable in the Iliad\ and it not only marks the Cretan prince, whose personal merits are great, with a high note of dignity, but also sets in a strong light the connexion between the pair. And now, returning to the Aristeia, let us fix the situation in our minds, both as it affects the combatants generally and with reference to Idome- neus in particular. The Greeks have been defeated, first in the plain (Book xi), and then at the wall, which has been carried by the Trojans (Book xii). Idomeneus is prominent, as he usually is, in both combats (xi 501, xii 117). Amid wild confusion, the beaten defenders of the wall have been rallied for a stand within the camp by the aid of the god Poseidon^ The fight has recommenced, but of Idomeneus we have not vet heard. And here^ the narrative proceeds thus : So he (Poseidon) set forth to go by the huts and the ships of the Achaians, to spur on the Danaans, and sorrows was he con- triving for the Trojans. Then Idomeneus, spearman renowned, met him on his way from his comrade that had but newly returned to him out of the battle, wounded on the knee with the sharp bronze. Him his comrades carried forth, and Idomeneus gave charge to the leeches, and so went on to his hut, for he still was eager to face the war. ^ XIII 1-135. ^ ib. 208. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 205 Then the mighty Shaker of the earth addressed him, in the voice of Thoas, son of Andraimon;...^: "Idomeneus, thou counsellor of the Cretans, say, whither have thy threats fared, wherewith the sons of the Achaians threatened the Trojans?" Then Idomeneus, leader of the Cretans, answered him again : " O Thoas, now is there no man to blame, that I wot of, for we are all skilled in war. Neither is there any man that spiritless fear holds aloof, nor any that gives place to cowardice, and shuns the cruel war, nay, but even thus, methinks, must it have seemed good to almighty Kronion, even that the Achaians should perish name- less here, far away from Argos. But, Thoas, seeing that of old thou wert staunch, and dost spur on another man, wheresoever thou mayst see any give ground, therefore slacken not now, but call aloud on every warrior." Then Poseidon, the Shaker of the earth, answered him again: "Idomeneus, never may that man go forth out of Troy-land, but here may he be the sport of dogs, who this day is wilfully slack in battle. Nay, come, take thy weapons and away: herein we must play the man together, if any avail there may be, though we are no more than two. Ay, and very cowards get courage from company, but we twain know well how to battle even with the brave." Therewith the god went back again into the strife of men, but Idomeneus, so soon as he came to his well-builded hut, /«/;/ on his fair armour about his body, and grasped two spears, and set forth like the lightning.... And Meriones, his good squire, met him, while he was still near his hut — he (Meriones) was going to fetch him a spear of bronze^ — and mighty Idomeneus spoke to him: "Meriones, son of Molos, fleet of foot, dearest of my company, wherefore hast thou come hither and left the war and the strife? Art thou wounded at all, and vexed by a dart's point, or dost thou come with a message for me concerning aught ? Verily I myself have no desire to sit in the huts but to fight." ^ A description of Thoas. ^ From his own quarters. See xiii 168 oioro/x€fos Sopv fiaKphv o ol K\La-Lr)<{)i XeAeiTTTo, where we also learn that he had broken his spear in fighting. 2o6 The Mutiny of Idomeneus Then wise Meriones answered him again, saying: "Idome- neus, thou counsellor of the mail-clad Cretans, I am going to fetch me a spear, if perchance thou hast one left in the huts, for that which before I carried I have shivered in casting at the shield of proud Deiphobos." Then Idomeneus, leader of the Cretans, answered him again: "Spears, if thou wilt, thou shalt find one, ay and twenty, standing in the hut, against the shining side walls, spears of the Trojans whereof I have spoiled their slain. Yea, it is not my mood to stand aloof from the foe when I war; wherefore I have spears, and bossy shields, and helms, and corselets of splendid sheen." Then wise Meriones answered him again : "Yea, and in mine own hut and my black ship are many spoils of the Trojans, but not ready ^ to my hand. Nay, for methinks neither am I forget- ful of valour; but stand forth among the foremost to face glorious war, whensoever ariseth the strife of battle. Any other, me- thinks, of the mail-clad Achaians should sooner forget my prowess, but thou art he that knoweth it." Then Idomeneus, leader of the Cretans, answered him again : " I know what a man of valour thou art, wherefore shouldst thou tell me thereof? {Here follows a long and eloquent eulogy of Meriones^ courage : in no strait would Idomeneus desire a better comrade.) But come, no more let us talk thus, like children, loitering here, lest any man be vehemently wroth, but go thou to the hut, and take thee a mighty spear." Thus he spake, and Meriones, the peer of swift Ares, quickly took a spear of bronze from the hut, and went forth after Idomeneus, with high thoughts of battle^. Now, as far as I am aware, there is not any one, and perhaps there never has been since the begin- ning of Homeric studies, who maintains that this passage, as it stands, is satisfactory as a composition ' Better " near," o-^cSoV. The point is that the quarters of Meriones are distant, not close by, like those of Idomeneus. ^ XIII 208-294. Translation of A. Lang (slightly modified). The Mutiny of Idomeneus 207 intended for this place. Nor can it be made so by correction. From first to last, in every part as in the whole conception, it presumes some totally dif- ferent state of affairs. Each paragraph, and almost every clause, raises some new and unanswerable question. Why has Idomeneus disarmed, just when the wall has been carried, the triumphant Trojans are pouring through the camp, the Greeks rallying for a last resistance, and he (we are told) "is minded still to fight" } Why then has he dis- armed ? How is such a thing even conceivable } And if explicable, why is it not explained ? Why is it not even stated as a fact ? What rele- vance, in the given situation, has the language of Thoas (Poseidon)? Why does he reflect upon the behaviour of Idomeneus not as senseless and incom- prehensible (which it is), but as disloyal (which, so far as we are shown, it is not)? And what, above all, are we to make of the dialogue between Idome- neus and Meriones ? The two are inseparable companions, bound together not only as lord and liegeman, master and servant, but by the strongest affection. Meriones has urgent, instant need for a spear. The quarters of Idomeneus, which we should presume to be also those of Meriones, are close by. Why does the squire not take thence what he wants as a matter of course ? Why must he go to his own quarters {v. 168), which, without explanation, we are to suppose distant ? Why, upon meeting Idomeneus, does he change his mind ? Are we to suppose that he is thus reminded of his 2o8 The Mutiny of Idomeneus lord's existence ? If the loan of a spear must, or could at such a moment, be matter of request, why- should Meriones frame the request with ceremonious formality ? Why should Idomeneus pick offence out of an expression (" if you have a spear left") in which no malice is apparent ? Why is Meriones equally sensitive ? Boast and counter-boast, retort, reproach, and apology, — what is it all about ? Confronted with such a mass of riddles as this, we have no right to attempt either justification or mending. All is wrong, all out of place, not this line or that speech in particular, but the whole. Nor can we reach more tenable ground by attri- buting the passage, as an original composition, to a harmonist, the maker of a patchwork, desiring to make a link between materials not designed for combination. We do not see how such a purpose, any more than that of a free composer, could require or naturally lead to the creation of these difficulties. A harmonist may be, and should be supposed, not less rational than a poet, or any other man. Why, to fill a place, should he compose what does not fill it ? What reason had he to assume that Idomeneus could here be found without his armour ? Or that Meriones lived apart from him? Or that the friends, in such a situation, could talk as they are made to do? Why he, more than Homer, or than ourselves? If any real explanation and solution is to be found, it must start with this proposition : the passage, in its original connexion, was natural and intelligible. Nor is there any difficulty in so sup- The Mutiny of Idomeneus 209 posing. The passage, as we have seen, is part of an episode — the battle-piece known as the Aristeia of Idomeneus — which was not made for its present place in our Iliad. The whole episode is no fight within the wall, as our Iliad makes it. It is a fight in open ground, taken from a variant version of the story, and put here (in the extant Iliad) because, for some reason, no better place could be found for it. So far, in substance if not in words, all will agree who are likely to pay attention to this essay. If then, within this episode, we find included a passage which (i) is not intelligible, and (2) commences with a breach of continuity, what should we infer } First, that the story or version, from which the episode is taken, comprised facts, precedent to the episode, which made our passage intelligible ; and that, since these facts do not appear in our Iliad, they were excluded as not compatible with other versions which, in this respect, were preferred. And secondly, that part of these facts, or some reference to them, stood, in the original composition, immediately before the enigmatic passage, which owes the abruptness of its commencement, and its obscurity generally, to the necessary suppression of this reference. The questions which thus arise are these, (i) What are the precedent facts to which the enigmatic passage points, or, in other words, in what conditions would it be intelligible ? (2) Why were these facts rejected, when the episode was taken into the frame of our Iliad} And (3), since Y. E. 14 2IO The Mutiny of Idomeneus the explanatory facts were rejected, why was the enigmatic passage nevertheless retained ? Now it is only too likely that these questions may be un- answerable. A harmony of versions, when the versions are lost, will present many such questions (and the Iliad does) to which, however sure we may be that there was an answer, no definite answer can now be given. But on the other hand, in a par- ticular case, the true answer, or part of it, may be discoverable ; and our chance of discovery is mani- festly the greater, in proportion to the bulk of the incompatible matter which the harmonizer, by the straits of his task, has been compelled to admit. The more glaring the difficulty, the more we may hope to solve it. And the present case is in this respect uncommonly promising. What then (our first question) are the conditions, in which the unintelligible passage would be intellig- ible.'* This is no matter for argument. No answer can have any value, which is not obvious. But when the passage is studied from this point of view, some things do seem obvious. First and chiefly, before this scene could occur, there must have been a quarrel, and a complete breach, between Idomeneus and Meriones. Meri- ones for some reason has actually renounced the service and company of his lord, has left their common quarters, and moved to another and a dis- tant part of the encampment. Hence, when he wants a spear, however urgently, he must go for it to that distant place. He will not go, he does not The Muimy of Idomeneus 2 1 1 think of going, to the lodge of Idomeneus, though that actually lies in his way. But again, he there meets Idomeneus, who asks his errand. Thereupon he instantly changes his mind, and proposes to furnish himself, if permitted, from the quarters of the King. Why this change ? What has he discovered ? What has happened ? This only, that Idomeneus (whom we first find at his quarters and without his armour, though a battle is actually raging) has put on his arms, is visibly on his way to the battle, and declares his purpose "not to sit in his tent, but to fight." This intention then on the part of Idomeneus is a new thing, a surprise to Meriones ; and it elicits from Meriones an instant move towards the resumption of their habitual relations. Therefore the breach of those relations was due to what is now changed, — the wilful absence of Ido?neneus from his service as one of the Greek army. What we see, in the dialogue here passing between the two, is a hasty repair of the breach. Pointless and meaningless, unless the quarrel and the ground of it be presupposed, the scene, upon these conditions, becomes simple, vivid, and drama- tic. The two men, loving each other heartily, have parted and broken off intercourse, because Meriones would not follow his leader in a mutinous abstention from the field. The King, having come to a better mind, desires and expects to get his liegeman back ; and naturally, being the offender and the superior, would fain achieve this by simply ignoring what has 14 — 2 2 1 2 The Mutiny of Idomeneus passed. "What brings you from the fight, friend ?" he asks,as if nothing were amiss. "King of the Cretans," answers Meriones, surprised but eager to be satisfied, "1 am going... to fetch me a spear from your lodge, if there is still one there (for me)." It is an accept- ance and offer of peace. But the King's uneasy conscience suspects an insinuation: "Spears! There are scores at my hut, my spoils from the enemy! / a7n not such a shirker, but that spears may be found there, and all other weapons in plenty!" Wounded by the unmerited rebuff, the squire begins in the same tone : " Nor am I without spoils of my own, and lying at my quarters, — which indeed are not 7iear. I too am no coward, but one that, when called to battle, am ever found in the front of it ! " It is bitterly spoken, and with cause ; but here, in spite of the provocation, the old affection prevails : "And if," continues Meriones, "there is one man in all the army, who should not have forgotten what I am, who knows what I am, — it is you ! " Even the pride of Idomeneus is not proof against this, and he breaks into warm protestation : "Indeed and indeed I do know it. The bravest of men you are, and the best of comrades you are ; none so much to be trusted, let the peril be what it will. In ambush none so steady,...," and so on and so on, with rising enthusiasm, till he is sure that all is well ; then : "But let us be children no more ; fetch you a spear, and follow me to the fight ! " Such is the substance of the scene ; which surely is unmistakable as a scene of reconciliation, produced The Mutiny of Idomeneus 2 1 3 by the return of Idomeneus to the field after a time of wilful abstention. He has been following for a while the pernicious example of Achilles, and punishing the fault of Agamemnon at the expense of the common cause. Like Achilles too, he has held out personally even after permitting his men to serve ; for they are fighting, and he not armed, at the point where our mutilated passage begins. But he has already resolved to join them, moved perhaps partly by the wounding of a dear friend, the "com- rade" who is mentioned in our text^ and must have been named in the context originally preceding but now suppressed. With this purpose he is about to arm, when he is accosted by Thoas (Poseidon). Here we note, as fitting the situation so conceived, and as confirming what we have already deduced, the insulting tone of Thoas, and the meek and evasive answer which Idomeneus makes to his rebuke : " So far as / am aware, no one is now at fault"," — in effect a confession of past delinquency, though like most men, he prefers to accuse Heaven rather than himselP. His chief and very intelligible desire is that Thoas will carry his exhortations some- where else\ But Thoas does not depart, for all that, without a denunciation of "the man that wil- fully neglects to fight'," which surely no prince or man could hear with patience and without reply, unless he were both conscious and repentant. ^ xni. 211. ^ ib. 222. * ib. 225 ff. ^ //;. 228 ff. " ib. 232 ff. 2 1 4 The Mutmy of Idomeneus But further, — and this is a point of great signifi- cance, — it is implied by the passage, if we consider it carefully, that the inaction of Idomeneus, his refusal of duty, has been something more than the affair of a moment. It is not enough to suppose that, in a fit of petulance or weariness, he has quitted the fight now in progress. We might perhaps, — supposing the battle-field not very near — account in this way for his disarming, and for his behaviour to Thoas, but not for the estrangement of Meriones. The attendant prince has changed his quarters, and removed from the encampment of the master to a distant place. This he cannot have done in the midst of a battle ; he could scarcely even know, in such circumstances, that the retirement of his master was deliberate. The King's revolt from duty has been followed by a quarrel between the friends, and this by a formal separation, for all which we must suppose occasion and time. Nor (we may be sure) was it here, in the midst of the battle-scene, that all these facts were related by the composer of it. They must have been related somewhere, but not here, in that version of the whole story or of this episode to which the battle-scene properly belonged. Now it is obviously possible, and even probable, that this version has been used by the harmonists, the framers of the existing Iliad, elsewhere, and that this battle-scene, the Aristeia of Idomeneus, is not the only matter, peculiar to the version, which, more or less successfully, they have incorporated in their collection. And in any such matter there may The Mutiny of Idomeneus 2 1 5 remain traces of the same incident, the mutiny of Idomeneus, which has left traces so deep in the Aristeia. Of course, since the incident was not admitted into our Iliad (why not, we shall see here- after), references to it will have been suppressed, so far as possible. But traces not only may remain, but almost certainly will, if in fact such references were originally comprised within any piece which has been taken from the version into the harmony. From a composition designed for continuity it is, generally speaking, impossible to make any con- siderable excisions without leaving signs of the process, or so that the resultant residue shall seem altogether complete and satisfactory. What we now propose to show is that the version or story in question, the same which contributed the Aristeia of Idomeneus, contained also Book x of our Iliad (the Doloneid) ; that in the earlier part of that Book the narrative is notoriously faulty, unsatis- factory, and imperfect; and that this imperfection is due to the excision there of what was originally and properly the principal theme of the narrative, — the beginning of our suppressed episode, the beginning of the mutiny of Idomeneus. Here again we shall build upon observations established and even ancient. It will surprise no student of Homer, that ele- ments, foreign to the main scheme of our Iliad, should be sought and found in Book x. The Book is visibly extraneous ; that is a commonplace of criticism. But within itself it is, for the most part, singularlycompact, continuous, and free from suspicion 2 1 6 The Mutiny of Idonieneus of flaw. That is indeed a chief part of its peculiarity. All of it belongs plainly to one and the same design ; and there is scarcely another Book or equal portion of the poem, concerning which we can confidently say the same. But though all belongs to one design, that does not prove that the text, in its present form, contains all which the designer gave. The absence of insertions does not disprove omission. It is true that on this side also the Doloneia, in one sense, may defy attack. The Doloneia proper, the portion of Book x which narrates the expedition of Diomede and Odysseus, the capture of the spy Dolon, and its consequence, the disaster of Rhesus, is in completeness, as in continuity, unexceptionable. These qualities, merely for themselves, would not in most compositions be noticeable. To pursue clearly and steadily a definite purpose is not in itself a distinction among story-tellers. They achieve it generally, the worse as well as the better. But in the stream of our Iliad, so smooth a reach is rare. All are aware of it, and it is a principal factor in theories about this particular Book. But, as students and readers are also aware, the description is not applicable, without reserve, to the Book as a whole. From the moment when the nocturnal enterprise becomes the subject of debate, as soon as Agamemnon and his counsellors are brought to their meeting-place beyond the dyke, all is well. But the preliminaries, the steps taken to get the council thither, are not so well. They are spun out, that is to say, they raise expectations The Mutiny of Idomeneus 2 1 7 which the sequel does not satisfy. The council in the plain, regarded merely as a preface to the story of Dolon, impresses us as a device (to apply the formula of Aristotle) "possible indeed, but not necessary or probable"; and the impression is strengthened by the elaborated business of the summoning. Consequently the descriptive details, though appropriate, stand out in disproportionate relief. Critics of all shades are agreed in taxing the author of the Doloneia with these defects. Let us however say at once, with the utmost clearness and emphasis, — for mistake would expose our method of criticism to just reprehension, — that there is nothing here, in the conduct of the story, which would by itself justify us in suspecting the solidity of the composition, A bit of spinning out is no astonishing phenomenon ; and to argue that, because the assembling of the council in the plain is somewhat unnatural, superfluous, and over-elaborate, the narrative is therefore likely to have been garbled, would be absurd. Only, in such a field as the Iliad, any irregularity becomes a point for enquiry. In ground which is known to contain ruins, the least mound is a place to be probed. And first, before we probe, let us look at the shape of the mound, or, in plain words, let us summarize this episode, the council in the plain, as it stands. We are here of course at a stage in the story of Achilles preceding that of Book xiii. The Greek camp is still intact ; but the Greeks, in consequence of the defection of Achilles, have already sustained 2i8 The Mutiny of Idomeneus such reverses that Agamemnon, the cause of that calamity, is discredited and almost desperate. Wild to try something, he is yet so conscious of impaired authority, that he dares not give an order upon his own responsibility. It is night, but he cannot sleep. The Trojans, eager for the morrow, have en- camped outside their city, and he can see their fires from his tent ; — for the Doloneia, like the Aristeia of Idomeneus, is one of those episodes of the Iliad which takes no account of a Greek wall. At last he decides to consult Nestor, in the hope of some helpful suggestion. But while he is dressing, arrives Menelaus, equally anxious and already up, who suggests the sending out of a spy, though he adds a significant doubt whether' his brother will get any one to undertake such a service. Agamemnon replies that, in their appalling situation, assuredly they both want all the advice they can get. "Go now," he continues^ Run swiftly by the ships, and summon Aias^ and Idomeneus. I will betake me to noble Nestor, and bid him arise, if perchance he will be fain to go to the chosen band of sentinels and lay on them his command. For to him above others would they listen, since his own son' is chief among the sentinels, he and the squire of Idomeneus, even Meriones, for to them above all we entrusted this charge. Then Menelaus of the loud war-cry answered him: "How meanest thou this word wherewith thou dost command and exhort me? Am I to abide there with them, waiting till thou comest, or run back again to thee, when I have well delivered to them thy commandment?" ^ X 53. "^ i.e. the greater Aias. ^ Thrasymedes. The Mutiny of Idonieneus 2 1 9 Then the King of men, Agamemnon, answered him again : " There do thou abide, lest we miss each other as we go, for many are the paths through the camp." Having further impressed on Menelaus that, in deHvering his message and "bidding the men awake," he must be punctiHously courteous and even deferential, he dismisses him, ev l-nn^iKa^. Refer- ring to this order later, in conversation with Nestor\ Agamemnon says that he expects to find Menelaus, and those to whom he was sent, at the place without the camp, where the sentinels are posted, " for there I bade them assemble." We will assume therefore (for the moment) that the order is so meant and understood. Agamemnon then proceeds to the quarters of Nestor, rouses him, and proposes that they together should visit and inspect the guards, who (he says) may probably be negligent, Nestor consents, but desires to be accompanied by others, in fact by all the chief leaders, Diomede and Odysseus, Aias the less and Meges, Aias the greater and Idomeneus. Aga- memnon informs him that the last two are summoned already and will be found with Menelaus at the guard- post. Nestor, accompanied by Agamemnon, rouses in succession Odysseus and Diomede. The latter, protesting with friendly vehemence against the old man's activity, is sent to summon the remaining pair, Aias the less and Meges, whom he brings to Nestor^ ' vv. 126-127. ^ To Nestor, as we must understand, not to the post of the guards, for nothing is said to Diomede about the guards or the intention to visit them {vv. 159-179). 2 20 The Mutmy of Ido77teneus At this point^ the scene is transferred to the guard-post, where we are to suppose both parties, that of Menelaus and that of Agamemnon (or rather of Nestor), to have arrived. The council then add to their number the two captains of the guard, Thrasymedes and Meriones, and, so augmented, go beyond the dyke to deHberate. Nestor, still taking the lead, proposes that some one should make a nocturnal expedition, to ascertain the intentions of the enemy. After a pause, Diomede offers, and asks for a companion, whom, readiness being now general, he is permitted to choose. He chooses Odysseus ; and the pair are equipped and set forth". Now it needs no microscope to discover, why this scene of complicated preparation is viewed by critics and readers, as the fact is, with no favourable eye ; why holes are picked in it, with and also without much reason, and there is a general disposition to convict the composer of little faults. We feel that we do not want the thing, because, in plain truth, it comes to nothing. The purport of the scene, con- sidered in itself, is clear, and vividly clear. It exhibits the conscious and perilous weakness of authority, in an army brought to the verge of ruin not merely by the error, but by the gross offence and misbehaviour, of the commander. The best mili- tary machine might in such a case get out of gear ; and the Greek host, a confederacy of clans and chiefs, is no such machine. It is not indeed yet broken. The sentinels, though distrusted, are found ^ V. 1 80. * V. 272. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 221 to be doing their utmost^ The chiefs, as persons, are prompt, tireless, and courageous. But — no man ventures to give an order ; that is the sum of the situation. The commander-in-chief is demorahzed and self-effaced. To get advice and direction, from Nestor, from Idomeneus or Aias, from somebody, — that is his one hope. It has come to this, he says bitterly, that he and his brother, if they have a request to make, must carry it themselves, and be content, even then, to recommend it by address and humilityl A dangerous service is likely to be refused*. Even exhortation is a delicate matter, demanding the choice of an acceptable agent*. Having got Nestor, Agamemnon gets behind him and acts no more^ except — a poor exception — when, by a transparent hint, he excludes Menelaus and himself from the list of possible comrades, which is left to the choice of Diomede^ Even Nestor will not command, nor advise, nor even inspect, without the concurrence of supporters^ ; and the chiefs, when as- sembled, demand nothing of anybody but themselves. It is all natural enough, well imagined, and well drawn. But, as a factor in the story, it does not satisfy, for this reason, that nothing comes of it all. On the expedition which follows, all these fears and precautions have no effect. If Menelaus, the origi- ^ vv. 98 ff., 181 ff. ' vv. 67 ff. ' m. 38 ff. * vv. 57 ff. * See the proceedings at the guard-post and in council, vv. 190 ff. * vv. 234 ff. ^ vv. 108 ff. 222 The Mutiny of Idomerieus nator of the plan\ had simply proposed it to Diomede or Ulysses, or any fit agent, the result, so far as appears, would have been the same. Now to the possibility of the proceedings, as matter of fact, that is no objection. Useless machinery is in real action common enough, and nothing commoner than ex- pectations and apprehensions, which in the sequel are neither fulfilled nor contradicted, but just drop. But not so in a story, where the whole bargain, as between narrator and auditor, is to show and per- ceive connexion. Here, if it is laboriously impressed upon us, that a certain person or persons have lost authority, something, we are bound to suppose, will be seen to come of that loss. If the royal brothers fear to be disobeyed, some one, we suppose, will prove disobedient. Our cue is to suppose so. And if nothing comes, if all are obedient, we are thrown out, and seem, as it were, to be cheated. For this reason the council in the plain is unsatisfactory, a clear mistake in machinery. But before we dismiss it as such, we should make sure that we read it right, and that the mean- ing of the designer was unquestionably what we have assumed. Now in this direction we cannot look far without finding reason for doubt, and more than doubt. Agamemnon (we have said) conducts a party to the guard-post, where Menelaus brings others to meet him by his command. This command is an indispensable link in the chain. But that link is not to be found. No such command is in fact 1 v. 37. The Mtttiny of Ido77teneus 223 given by Agamemnon or received by Menelaus. Here is what Agamemnon says^ : Need of counsel have I and thou, royal Menelaus.... But go now, run swiftly by the ships, and summon Aias and Idomeneus. I will betake me to noble Nestor, and bid him arise, if perchance he will be fain to go to the post of chosen sentinels, and direct them. Him they are likeliest to obey, since his own son is chief among them, he and the squire of Idomeneus, Meriones ; for to them specially we gave the charge. Now here is a simple question. Would my reader write this, or could any one write it, to signify a command from Agamemnon, that Menelaus shall bring Aias and Idomeneus to meet Agamemnon at the guard-post ? There is not a word of any such matter. Nestor, if he will, is to visit the guard-post. But that any one else is going there, or is to go, Agamemnon or Menelaus, Idomeneus or Aias, there is surely not a syllable to say or show. The words are perfectly clear, so far as they go, and signify that, when Agamemnon has done with Nestor (whom he proposes to send to the guards), he wishes to have an interview (for counsel) with Aias and Idomeneus, whom Menelaus is to summon for that purpose. ' WA 43-59 XP^*^ fiovXrj^ ifjik Koi ere, Siorpe^cs w McveAae, ... ctAX' lOl vvv Aiuvra Kal iSofxevrja Ka\ev\aK€a(rL xai Ibofjuvrjos OTrawv M.r)pLovi]S' TOLcrtv yap eTrerpaTro/xeV ye fxaXitrra. 2 24 "^^^^ Mutiny of Idomeneus And so Menelaus understands, as appears by his question, "Am I to stay there with them, waiting till thou comest ? ", to which Agamemnon replies "Wait there, lest we miss each other\" hy there is of course meant the place to which Menelaus is sent, the quarters (which lie together-) of Aias and Idomeneus^ Shall they await Agamemnon there, or shall Menelaus return to Agamemnon, wherever he then may be, and leave the others to follow and find him ? Agamemnon has left this alternative open, so that the question is necessary; and his decision, that they shall wait for him there, is best in the circumstances for the reason given. All is clear and natural. But if Agamemnon has appointed the guard-post as a rendez-vous, and Menelaus so under- stands, what is the sense of his question } When therefore presently we find Agamemnon furnished with a couplet, which says, or at least is meant to say^ that he has ordered Menelaus (with Aias and Idomeneus) to assemble at the guard -post, what does that prove } He has not given any such order; he has said nothing from which such an order is or possibly could be extracted. On referring to what he has said, we may indeed perceive, that, by scrutiny and inference — by putting together (i) the mention ^ w. 60-66. ' V. 113. ^ See Leaf's note. He remarks truly that this is what we should naturally understand, though the sequel {vv. 126-127) assumes otherwise. * On the strange syntax oiw. 126-127, see the commentaries there, and remarks hereafter. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 225 of Idomeneus as one of those whom Agamemnon wishes to meet, and (2) the remark that Nestor, as father of Thrasymedes, one of the captains of the guards, will have influence over them, and (3) the mention of "Meriones, squire of Idomeneus," as cap- tain of the guards together with Thrasymedes — one may reach this conclusion : that Idomeneus, through Meriones, might have influence with the guards, and that some such thought might be (though there is nothing to show that it is) in the mind of Agamemnon. But that this obscure and remote suggestion of a con- ceivable motive for sending Idomeneus to the guard- post is Agamemnon's way of telling Menelaus to bring there Idomeneus and also Aias, and that this command is what the composer of the passage really meant to signify, — that is impossible to believe. No one ever wrote so, and no one could. The com- poser meant something quite different, and has made his meaning perfectly clear : Menelaus is to go to the quarters of Idomeneus and Aias, summon them, and wait there with them for Agamemnon. What then, once more, does the subsequent couplet prove ^ ? What can it prove, but that the story has been garbled and distorted by the author of the couplet ? The author of the couplet, by implication, has put a false and impossible meaning upon the speech to which it refers. The misinterpretation suits, and is plainly devised to suit, the conception that the whole story tends merely and directly to the ^ vv. 126-127. V. E. 15 2 26 The Mutiny of Idomeneus assembling of a council at the guard-post. The misinterpretation is a device, presumably the least violent that could be found, for forcing the story, or portions of it, into this frame, when the true purport of the speech, and the course of things, evidently quite different, which the speech really contemplates, had become, for some reason, inad- missible. And it is but fair to suppose that, in its original form, as designed, the story responded better than it now does to the expectation which it raises, and showed some effect as resulting from the dis- integration of authority in the Greek army, and in particular from the discredit and impotence of Agamemnon. The natural effect, the effect which we should expect, is a mutiny. Some one will do what the royal brothers fear ; some one will refuse obedience. And so in the original version it was, as we are going to prove. The relation has been excised, but must have been given in connexion with the unfinished errands of Menelaus and Diomede. Nestor, Odysseus, Dio- mede, are all compliant, as we are told in ample details But here there is an abrupt change of style. The success of Diomede, who is sent for Aias the less and Meges, is recorded in a single verse* ; " he went his way and he brought them." And of Menelaus, when Agamemnon has sent him to the quarters of Aias (the Telamonian) and Idomeneus^ we hear nothing more till he is found among the council in the plain^ ^ vv. 73-178. ^ V. 179. ^ V. 12. * V. 230. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 227 — an elliptic method of narration (let us note in passing) which, even if the connecting movements were really foreshown and accounted for, is not in the epic manner, nor suitable to the apprehension of auditors. Among these four then, whose answers we do not hear, Aias the greater, Aias the less, Idomeneus, and Meges, we must look for those who refused ; and the sequel shows us which they were. It is no easy thing, as we have remarked before, to trim a story with complete success into a shape for which it was not composed. Suberunt vestigia. We actually have, not in form but in effect, a list of those present at the council, — a passage which makes it unlikely that Meges was there, and certain that Idomeneus was not. Nestor has asked for a scout, and, after a pause, Diomede, breaking the ice, has volunteered to go, if he may have a companion. So spoke he, and they were fain, right many, to go with Diomede. Fain were the two Aiantes, comrades of Ares' com- pany, and fain was Meriones, and right fain the son of Nestor, and the son of Atreus, Menelaus, spearman renowned, yea and the hardy Odysseus was willing to steal into the throng of Trojans, for always daring was his heart within him^ In short every one, the lead once given, is eager to redeem his hesitation ; from gallant men we could expect nothing less. And in fact every one present is named. Even Agamemnon, though scarcely to be thought of for such a service, here puts in a remark^ which, though the practical effect is to ^ vv. 227-232. '' vv. 234 ff. 15—2 2 28 The Mutiny of Idomeneus withdraw Menelaus, seems to include among the available not only his brother but himself. But of Meges and Idomeneus — nothing. Now as to Meges, we might suppose inadver- tence. Though a king with voice in council, he is not a very conspicuous personage. But Idomeneus has hardly a superior, either in rank or in personal qualities. How should he be forgotten, when Meriones, his satellite, is remembered and named ? And in truth the presence of Meriones itself goes far to prove, in the circumstances, the absence of Idomeneus. Meriones is no ordinary associate of the councillor-kings, nor naturally could be : he is young, and he is subordinate, not an independent voice. In this very Book, when counsel is at a premium, neither Agamemnon nor Nestor proposes to consult Meriones. And if his chief were present, he is the last person whose advice could be wanted. But when the kings arrive at the guard-post, they take with them two supernumeraries, Meriones and his brother-captain Thrasymedes\ In our text, no reason is given for this irregular proceeding ; but there was one, as we now can see. The kings, as a council, are short of two, because Idomeneus and Meges have refused. The captains of the guard are the readiest substitutes, and Meriones, if willing, specially appropriate as, in some sort, a representative of the absent Cretan. All fits and converges to the conclusion, that on this occasion Meges and Idomeneus (severally and ■■ V. 196. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 229 independently so far as we see) refuse their service. The occasion is probable. Waked in the dead of night, for no definite purpose, and at the call of a commander justly detested, men better disciplined than the Greek princes might rebel. Of Meges' insubordination there seems to be, in our Iliad, no further trace, and we may suppose that it was tran- sient, ending perhaps as well as beginning with the refusal to disturb himself, which he must have conveyed through Diomede. If this were so, if he returned to duty in the morning, there could not be (as we shall presently see) any further note of his conduct in the existing narrative. His part was presumably thrown in, after the manner of skilful story-tellers, to lend colour, by likeness and unlike- ness, to the principal matter, the revolt of Idomeneus. This, as we know, was a grave affair. From the termination of it (still extant^) we have seen that his anger survived the night, and more than the night, and kept him for some time out of the field. The suppressed matter, the bulk of the story, we cannot reconstitute with precision. But one thing we may note with interest and satisfaction, that there was an encounter between Idomeneus and Agamemnon, in which the King of men must have heard truths ; for in figuring the movements of the night, we must of course follow the real sense of the order given to Menelaus, and not that preposte- rously put upon it by the extant version". Menelaus ' xni 210-294. See above. ^ x 53-66, 126-127. See above. 230 The Mutiny of Idomeneus goes to the quarters of Aias and Idomeneus, wakes them, and waits there, as arranged, for Agamemnon, who presently follows\ All is thus laid in train for the explosion. The temper of Agamemnon we see. His savage mortification, his accusations of heaven and earth {v. 15), have no affinity to repentance; even in preaching politeness to his brother, he shows how much he loathes and resents the necessity for such behaviour (vv. 67-71). That Idomeneus, his equal and scarcely less proud, would be, in the cir- ^ What were the intermediate movements of Agamemnon in the original story, we cannot say, nor does it matter. The present text makes him change his first plan, and speak as if he meant to accompany Nestor to the guard-post {v. 97, 126-127); and it implies, without definitely asserting, that he does so. The plurals (Tineas (140), dXaaOe (141) and avrous (149) must include Agamemnon, who must therefore accompany Nestor at least so far as the quarters of Odysseus. Here we lose sight of him till he is found (7'. 233) at the council. It is not impossible that, in the original also, Agamemnon followed Nestor to the guard-post, before proceeding to the quarters of Idomeneus as arranged with Menelaus (vv. 53-66). But this is not what, from that arrange- ment, we should expect ; and even the present text is hardly consistent with the supposition. The singular ^rj (Nestor) in V. 136 is surprising, if such a companion as Agamemnon is to be included ; and it is strange that, in the interviews with Odysseus and Diomede {vv. 137-176), such a person as Agamemnon should be present yet never noticed. It is perhaps more probable that Agamemnon really parted from Nestor either at Nestor's quarters or (at the furthest) at those of Odysseus, and that the present suggestion is due (as certainly are vv. 126-127) to the trimming of the reviser. However this question is of no importance. At some point, in the original story, Agamemnon left Nestor, and went to the quarters of Idomeneus and Aias, where they, and Menelaus, awaited him. The Mutiny of Idomeneus 231 cumstances, neither gracious nor patient, we can well imagine ; and the rest would follow of itself. We have seen already, from the termination of the episode, that Meriones preferred the common cause to the quarrel of his chieP. The beginning agrees ; for Meriones attends the council, although, upon the arrival of Agamemnon and his party at the guard-post, the breach with Idomeneus must have been patent and declared. And seeing how far the chief carried his quarrel, we cannot wonder that it led, as we saw, to a complete rupture between him and his servant. The scene of this rupture has of course disappeared ; but one interesting incident of it is recoverable from a surviving allusion. Since, in the examination of this, we shall insist upon a linguistic detail of that sort which some, who claim to defend Homer, are apt to depreciate as microscopic, we will take occasion to remark that, in the present enquiry as a whole, it is not to our case, but to that of the defence, that the term " microscopic," if a reproach, will apply. We rely upon observations large, obvious, and prepared for us from the beginning of criticism. It is to support the coherence of the existing narrative that the microscope must be used, and abused, in order to discover, in part of the composition, a meaning which is not there^ But it is a good instrument nevertheless, and a necessary. The harmonistic pro- cess, as it leaves big traces, leaves also some less ^ xni 240 ff. See above. ^ See above on x 53-66. 232 The Mutiny of Idonieneus big. Upon one of them we are now to turn the glass. Let us go back to the end of our episode, to the reconcihation between Idomeneus and Meriones in Book XIII. Meriones, we remember, has broken his spear in the fight ; he is going for another to his own distant quarters, when, at those of Idomeneus, the king, armed for battle, meets him and asks his errand. Upon this the squire, changing his mind, replies : Idomeneus, bearer of counsel for the mailed Cretans, I am going to fetch me a spear from your lodge, if there is still a spear left there ; for we broke the spear which I carried before, casting at the shield of proud Deiphobus\ " We broke," — why we ? The plural jars the ear in English, and in the Greek is worse, because of the singular participle {Kared^a}xev...^ak(x)v) which must be taken with it in spite of the intervening singular. We know of course that in some languages the first person plural may be used when the speaker is not referring to any individual except himself, as for dignity, or as a mark of function {we of authorship), or for other like purposes of which the shades do not here concern us. And in some styles, as in Latin for example and occasionally in Attic tragedy, this is carried far, so that such a plural may be ' xHi 255 'loo/ACvcu, Kpi^Twv ^ovXrj(f>6p€ )(a.\KO)(iT(avLv iirevKaK€avi<; ol npo^rja-fTai, Kaar ov StSaxTov ov8 aXL,...Te)(yr]. TttVT* ovv aKoucos Kal fxaOwv ifx.ov irdpa, €vpaiv€ cravToVy ttivc^. ^ A/c. 780 ff. Why dXto-Kcrai is marked, will appear when we return to this passage in conclusion. 246 Rhyme and Reason Listen to 7ne, says the drunken Heracles, and Having listened to me, says he. But it is of no use. Clatter as he may, we do not hear him with our ears. The habit of silent reading has made us slow to catch the sound of what is written. And moreover, used to language and poetry constructed on principles not merely different from the Greek but diametrically opposed, our attention, even if given to the sound, brings us no natural and instinc- tive report. To logic, rhetoric, pathos, we are alive ; and upon these heads the tragic poets are criticized minutely; but as to noise, we will not notice it, not even if we are bidden and bidden again. Commen- taries on the Alcestis, scrupulous about other matters, pass in silence this jabber of Heracles, though it is a phenomenon more startling, in Euripides, than any vagary of syntax, and strongly illuminates the charac- ter of the personage and the tone of the scene. The five verses, to which Euripides invites the attention of our ears, are elaborately rhymed, that is to say, they are ugly, offensive, and comic. Of rhyme as we conceive it, and as our language admits it, rhyme as a harmonious decoration and pleasing method of emphasis, Greek is by its structure hardly capable. Assonance, if used in Greek, must fall chiefly upon mere formative elements, inflexions, suffixes, etc. ; and nothing could be more futile than to throw a metrical stress upon the fact that an ad- jective agrees with its noun, or that two adjacent clauses are both in the same tense. But indifference to rhyme, in verse built on the Greek principle of Rhyme and Reason 247 strict musical measure, is a thing impossible. The repetition of the same sound at regular intervals, if the sound have any considerable volume or the repetition any considerable extent, must be percep- tible ; and it must either please or displease. In Greek the effect was necessarily uncouth, and rhyme therefore, generally speaking, was of service only to the artist in grotesque. To him it was invaluable. Aristophanes revels in it, and gets from it many of his broadest effects. Such for example is the description, in the Acharnians^, of the clamour and bustle over the despatch of a naval expedition. This is how the grumbler vents his spleen : y\v 8' av r/ ttoAis TrXea dopV^OV CTTpaTlWTWV 7r€pL Tptrjpdpxov (3o7]<;, fiurOov 8i8op.evov, IlaAXaSiajv ;)(pvcrov|i€vcov, (TToas aTevaxovcrr]';, ctltiwv fxerpov^iivuv, daKWV, TpOTTMTljpOiV, KCtSoUS WVOV|X€VWV, o"Kopo8wv, eXacov, Kpo/xp-vaov iv Siktvois, (TTecjidvoiv, Tpi)(LS7/AtV, OUTf 6vfJia.T(liV Trapyjv eKT]XoL<; TrpocrOiyiLV, a AX' dyplais Kareix act ttSv a-TparoTreSov Suo-^r//x£ais, One can well believe, and the practice of Sophocles tends to show, that the sound of -tat? was not such as a delicate versifier would care to press upon his auditor's attention. That here it is done with purpose, becomes certain, when we find an approach to the same effect, an assonance of one syllable, in the Trachiniae^ : when the cliffs echo to the screams of the tortured Heracles, the verses echo too : ia-iraTO yap -rreSovSe kol /iera'po-ios, fiouiv, Iv^wv dfxi v^crov TTjv ireXcLodpi/xfjLova viKio/xivoL KvpLcraov lcr)(ypav ^^dva'. Instances of this kind, where a harsh sound is directly associated with the rhyming verse, are necessarily few ; but they show the principle, and account for almost all other applications of it. The great majority fall into two classes. First, hard- ness or harshness, as a moral quality, is associated naturally with hard and unpleasant sound, and there- fore in Greek tragedy is repeatedly illustrated by rhyme. Stubbornness, insult, arrogance, defiance, so speak and are so described. Secondly, mere violence of feeling, the extremity of distress or other emotion, is permitted to produce this disorder of speech, but only under certain remarkable restrictions : the application of rhyme, in this looser way, is mainly confined to the speech of women, and the exceptions serve only to bring out the principle of the rule. Of the first class, a simple and compendious specimen is found in that scene of the Prometheus, in which the stubborn will of the hero meets and defies that of his persecutor represented by Hermes. Prometheus strikes the note : i^6pov<; tSoLfif Koi ere 8' iv toutois X«y». ^ There is evidence, as we shall see, that a difference of tonic accent did not save an assonance from objection. 254 Rhyme and Reason Hermes enforces his warning in the same way: Trpos ravra j3ovXev • tos 68' ov imrXaa^ivo^ 6 KO/i-TTOs, aXAa Koi Xiav €lpr]\t.(vos- And finally the Chorus, who would fain save Prome- theus from himself, repeat the counsel of Hermes with the same minatory emphasis : ■)]fj.iv )Lt£v Ep/iA^s ovK aKatpa ^atyerai Ac'yctv avcoyc yap ere tt/v avdaSlav fjieOiVT ipcvvav rqv crocf>r]v cv^ovXlav^. Sophocles gives the like tone to each of the arrogant and tyrannical brother-kings of the Aias, both to Menelaus, KoX fxrj SoKWfiev SpcovTCS av r/ScopieOo OVK avTiTiVctv av6i,<; av Au7r«|ji€9o, and to Agamemnon, £1 Tovs BtKr) VLKtovTa<; ii(i)6i](Tb\t.iv Koi TOVS OTTKrOiV €S TO TTpocrdiV tt^ttJAtV. And Teucer, thus provoked, barbs his insulting defiance of them with the same sharp note : auTO? 8c p.r]Tpbs €$€ y \aj3wv iiraKTOv avSp' 6 6opd.v. TOIOVTOS wv ToiwS' ovetSi^cis (TTTOpdv^; Euripides gives it twice to Theseus transported by rage beyond the control of reason and overbearing the remonstrance of his innocent son^, and twice to the Pentheus of the Bacchae'^ in his reckless and ' P. V. 972, 1030, 1037 (see 1034-5). ^ Aias 1085, 1248, 1295. 3 Hipp. 917, 937. ^ vv. 459, 642. Rhyme and Reason 255 obstinate wrath against the preacher of the new rehgion. Peleus comes very near to an assonance, when he scolds Menelaus in the Andromache^, and Menelaus, goading him to fury, drives home his retort with a final couplet^ : r;v 8' 6ivOvixrj<;, croi filv 7] y\w(rcra\yla jLict^wi/, ifjiOL 8k KepSos 17 irpofx-qOia. King Agamemnon in Aeschylus opens with a couplet the haughty and unfeeling speech which so fitly precedes his fall^ TrptUrov ixkv Apyos koX diOvv€i T a8r]Xa koL ^avcVra KpvirTfrai,- KovK Ictt' acXiTTOv ovSev, ciAA' dAicTKCTai )((o 8«vos opKO<; ^al TrepicrKcXet? pev€<;^. But the harsh sounds warn us that the " hard mind " is there. And so in the Oedipus at Colonus, when ^ V. 610. ^ V. 689. * Agam. 810. \ "v- 55- ' v> 567. « vv. 928, 945 ^ At. 646. 256 Rhyme and Reason Polynices would propitiate his father by the appear- ance of humility, his speech bewrays him : ys. ovK dvTafjieLJSiL fx ovSev; dX\' drtyaao-as 7r£/xi^€is avavSos, ov8' d /tT^victs <^pdo-as^ ; Close to the surface here is the temper which belongs to the man by name and nature, and which presently breaks out again when he speaks of his brother's usurpation". We are prepared to see such a speaker repel the pleading of his sister, and rush, self-condemned, to his fate. Harshness, intentional or involuntary, the harshness and hardness of pride, defiance, or anger, is the common note of these speakers and of others^ Similar, and indeed scarcely distinguishable, are those cases (we have cited one already^), in which extravagance of this kind, though not itself expressed by assonance, is noted and condemned by assonant, and therefore offensive, comment on the part of the observer, — an unpleasant echo. We have a simple case in the Phoenissae^, where Eteocles, the brother and counterpart of Polynices, is vainly admonished not to despise a formidable invader. The headstrong youth replies with contempt, and promises soon to carry the war into the enemies' country. "So I hope," says the monitor, "but I see ^ O.C. 1271. ^ ib. 1294. ^ Aesch. Suppl. 946, Eur. Ale. 631, 771, Iph. A. 954, Andr. 435, Hec. 326. * Aesch. P, V. 1037. ' V. 718. Rhyme and Reason 257 many difficulties"; and he clinches the reproof by a rhyme : ET. 6dp(T€L' Ttt^' auTwv TreSiov e/tTrXryaw i/ would not be lost. So also the horror of the gentle Danaid, divided between duty to father and husband, is reflected in the assonance of p.i'ai/ Se TTtttScov lyuepos 6(X^f.L to jxyj yviojxrjv, Svoiv Se Odrepov l^ovXija-iTai kXvelv avaX/cis (jlolWov rj /xiat^ovos . So also speak in extreme distress the women of Sophocles : cyi'WKtt -yap 81) c^wros rj7raTTj|A€VT] Kat T^s TTttXatas xdpiTOepovaa ctol j'eous ^^ko) Aoyous, (ftojSw /xei', €t Tts Secrn-OTwi' aicrOija-fTai, otKTw 8e TO) (7(1) • Seti'a. yap /3ovXeu«Tai MevcAaos es ere Trats re'. ^ /'dfrj-. 472. * dTr77pK€(re(v), Cod. Med., is right. The later mss. change it to aTrr/pKco-av, to suit the plural ows. But the slaughter of Marathon, regarded as a quantity, is not a plural idea. ' P. V. 865. ^ Ai. 807. ' Andr. 60. 17 — 2 26o Rhyme and Reaso7i The agony of Eurydice\ VTTTia Se KXiVo|jiai Scicraaa vrpos SfxwaiaL Ka7r07r\r)(Tao\i.ai, and of Deianira^ the furious agony of Phaedra^ the frantic entreaties^ and loathing insinuations^ of Hecuba, all raise the same sharp note, Megara so cries in despair" to her lost Heracles, dol rdS', 'Hpa/- and again at the sight of her husband, in a revulsion of such joy as is not distinguishable from pain, oS' iarlv ov yrj6fmvv cnrapayixaa-iv cTSt? S' ai^ ^ TrXevp' -q 8L)(r)\ov €ju/3ao-iv pi1TT6fJii.V aVO) T€ KoX KOTO) reflect perhaps the fierceness of the bacchants rather than the horror of the narrator. But it is the passions of Medea, fierce, hard, and intensely feminine, which find in this form most conspicuous expression. Not only has she four couplets to her name', a list hardly to be matched, but three of these are so placed, at the close of a speech or scene, that they cannot but catch the ear. The purpose manifestly is, little as our habits of language would suggest it, to stamp the temper of Medea as something almost exceeding, in violence and discord, the limits of harmonious representation. Precisely why the tragic poets of Athens thus habitually assigned this little note of sharpness and disharmony to feminine emotion, is a question which, at this wide interval of time, space, and manners, we can hardly with prudence pretend to answer. But neither do I find the fact surprising. It seems to me consistent with Attic views both of women and of art. To masculine speakers, assonant verses, as a sign merely of violent emotion, are very rarely permitted, and the exceptions are significant. Assonant verses were, on Attic principles, something harsh, inhar- monious, improper. Male speakers rhyme when ' V. 739. ^ Med. 256, 314, 408, 757. 262 Rhyme and Reason they wilfully transgress harmony, women in all kinds of painful or violent emotion, apparently because (in the Attic view) they were, in such circumstances, always liable to transgress harmony. And the few males who imitate them are those from whom, in their state or position, control could not be expected. It is not surprising that a man should so speak, when he has but just recovered from a fit of homicidal mania, and his half-sane mind is tottering on the verge of another collapse^ ; ^e'p'j oX)C €S aXkiqv %r] Tiv' opjjLi^ao) 7ro\iv Kairud VTrojSXeTriofxeO' w<; iyvoi(r\i.(voi, yXtixro'r/s Tri/cpois KCvrpoKxi kXj^Sov^ov|ji€Voi* ' OV^ OTJTOS O At05, OS T€Kv' CKTClVeV TTOTf SafJiaprd re;' — Nor is it surprising, though instructive, to observe that this same Heracles utters the like note in an earlier scene^ aXX €t ofxapreiT, m tckv , cs So/aous Trarpt' KaXXiovts Tap eitroSoi tSv i^oSwv TrapcLaLV v/jlIv aXXa Odp(TO<; i(r;^€Te Ktti vdfxaT oo-crwv firjKer l^avUn. — a scene in which his violent behaviour foreshows and almost anticipates the approaching outbreak of his disorder^ Two decrepit men, in both of whom the effort to surpass the strength and capacity of nature is carried up to, if not over, the verge of the ridiculousS betray by assonance that, in pain, their feelings are ' Heracles 1286, and ib. 1362. ^ Heracles 622. ^ See Four Plays of Euripides, pp. 156 ff. * See Heraclidae 680 — 747, Bacch. 170 — 369. Rhyme and Reason 263 not under masculine control. In the Cadmus of the Bacchae this is made especially conspicuous ; for he enters with a couplet, when he brings from the mountain the mangled remains of his grandson^: CTrecrOe fioi (povT€^ aOXiov /^dpos TLevOetJx;, erreaOe, TrpocrTroAot, So/xtav Trdpos. The effect is much the same as when later, in a scene of lamentation, an assonant couplet is divided between the old man and a woman". For the like reason doubtless the aged lolaus of the Heraclidae twice rhymes at a critical and agitating moment, once in his first appeal to the protection of Athens, and again when the self-devoted Macaria offers to die for the family^ : ou8' atc;^!) vo(iai TOts (TOis Xoyotcri, ttj Tvyri 8' aXyvvop-ai. A couplet is divided between Orestes and Pylades, when, arriving at the Tauric temple, they first discover, from its bloody decorations, the hideous peril of their plan to plunder it^ : OP. ...aAAct TTpiv 6av€iv, vcws evrt cfievyojixiv, TJTrep 8ivp' ei'av(rToXT^o-a|i.€V. IIY. evy€L Sk TaytxcXovufvov. That this assonance is conscious, one cannot doubt ; but it seems to be quite abnormal. Rudeness is not to be suspected. The speaker, a man, is not even excited, and such emotion as he has is rather pleasurable. The sentence, " What is sought, may be caught, but what is neglected, escapes," has the air of a saw, and possibly in this quarter lies the explanation of the form. Rhyme, whether liked or disliked, aids the memory. It may be observed that Apollo in the Eumenides, when he addresses the ^ Phil. 1350. * V. no. 268 Rhyme and Reason Areopagus in his oracular capacity, more than once dehvers his principles in the form of single-rhymed couplets, for instance : Trkho.% fjikv av Xvcrcicv €(ttl tovS' aKoo<;, KWTrr]^ T avaKTtts ivv (TTpaTrjXdrT) Tivl crT€L)(OVTal 8' avxecTL rev^ri (f)epovai Keva, fiopd<; Ke^^prjfjiivoi, Kpu). 658. 2 Cyd. 85. Rhyme and Reason ' 269 TtVcs Ttor claLv; ovk IcracrL ^ecriroT^v Jl.o\v(f)r]fji.ov otos icTTiv, a^evov crT€yT|v rrjv dv8po^p&Ta 8vo'tv;(c3s a^ty/Atvoi. And at the end of the play Odysseus defies the Cyclops with a strong rhyme : KaKcos yap av Tpotav ye 8teTrvp(aa-a,\i.i]v, el fxrj (T eraLpwv .ivoi EXXr^ves ai/Spes MevcAcw ivvefirropoi TrpocT'^Xdov dxTais, vav06poL<; 7](T0r]\t.ivo\. iriirXoLULV, cveiScis p-f-v av^^^rjpol 8' opav... ^ Hekfia 1530 ff. ^ KaOia-TaTo Barnes, perhaps rightly. * €1? ev rjv MS., €tfji€v rjv Boeckh, a/ti alia. 278 Rhyme and Reason The prevalent assonance is remarkable, but has here a purpose sufficiently plain. The verse, like the topic, is noisy, and imitates in a mild way the rattle of Aristophanes, when he describes the fitting out of a fleet\ Whether Euripides would have admitted such an effect into poetry meant to be dignified, we may question ; but it is proper enough to the Helen and to this story. And observing this, we have a larger range for interpreting the words presented to us in the unintelligible form of Xev/ca & Io-tC eU ev Tjv. The vocabulary of tragedy does not offer any probable reading, but comedy offers one obvious and exactly suitable. To supply the galley with sails is, as we noted above, an absurd act on the part of the Egyptians. The situation, and the pretended purpose of Menelaus, are such that he could not even ask for sails without betraying his fraud. Yet sails are put in, apparently without the asking, and even " white " sails, that is to say, fresh, new, and fit for the long voyage which the Greeks have really in view. It is the acme of that wilful blindness, that voluntary subservience to deception, which is displayed by the barbarians throughout this business of the escape, and which converts the description into a mere parody of romance, a piece of comic humour. And to make the point clear, the narrator is allowed to drop for a moment into plain jest. He is made actually to say (with a wink, as we might suppose) that the gratuitous sails are " for ^ Acharn. 545 ff., cited above p. 247. Rhyme and Reason 279 a future day " — for the time when they would be wanted, and are presently used ; and he says it in the vulgar tongue, the language not of tragedy, but of comedy. Such, and so defined, is the use of final assonance in the iambic verse of the three tragic poets. The examples above discussed, including all which I have observed, except that of Heracles in the AlcesHs, support what we advanced, that one repetition of a disy liable {or, much more rarely, of a trisyllable^ is the limit which the poets will not exceed. Even the recurrence of the assonance in a neighbouring line\ so that the same disyllable, or nearly the same, appears as a termination thrice in four lines, is of extreme rarity ; and three such, actually contiguous, are, I believe, nowhere to be found. And now let us listen again, as Euripides bids us, to the Heracles of the Alcestis (780) : TO. Bvtyra. TrpdyixaT oiSas r/v l^j^ci vo'iv ; OL/xaL jxev ov TroOev yap; aW aKov' ifjiov. /JpoTois airacn, KarOaveLv o^eiAerat, KOVK ccTTi OvrjTwv ocrTt9 i^eiTLcrT OLTai, T-qv avpLov pieWovcrav el ^loxreTai" TO T17S Tu;(7j9 yap agaves oi TTpofSyja-iTai, Ka.vcnv ; shows by its language (oT8a?, for the normal olcrOa), that either (as is more probable) it is actually cited from an Ionic poet, or (which is practically the same thing) it is meant by Euripides to sound as if it were. We may suspect then that the common- places which follow — jSpoTOLs diracri Kardavelv 6(;^€tX€Tat, ovK e.]$a.ap arpaTevp-aTL, 470 tT^cr' (XKOfr/xw ^vv ^vy^. rotavSe croi Trpos rrj Tra.poi.de avp.(^opa.v irdpa crreveLV. 480 vawv 8e Tayoi Twi/ XiXeifxp-evdiv avSrjv Kar ovpov ovk evKoa/xov alpovTai /Aev Is Tc a)K€a)v ;!^^di/a Kttl AojpiS' aiav, M>;Xia tc koXttov, ou ^irep^^cios apSet TreSioi' eu/Acvei ttoto)* Kavrev^ev >;/x.as y^s 'A^auSos ireSoi/ Koi ©ecraaXcov TroXeis VTreo-Travtcr/Aevous 490 /3opas cSe^avr'' cv^a S'^ TrXcio-TOt Oavov SCipr] T€ Xi/X(3 t' • a/x^oT£pa yap lyv raoe. M.ayvr}TLKr]i' 8e yaiav Is re MaKcSovwv ^ojpav d(f)i,K6[X€(T6', i-rr 'A^iov Tropov, BoXyS^js ^' IXeiov Sovaxa, Ilayyatov t opos, 455 'H8o>vt8' aiav vvkti 8' er ravry ^eos X€i)u,(]5v' atopov wpcre, Trr^yvuo'ii' 8c ttSv peiOpov dyvov Sxpu/Aot'os. ^£Ous Se Tis TO Trptv vofXL^wv ovSa/xov tot r]V^€TO XiTOicn, yalav ovpavov tc irpodKvvtav. 500 CTTel 8e TToXXoi ^cokXvtcov €7rav(raTO (TTpaTos, TTcpa KpvcTTaXXoTn^ya 8ia iropov ^waTts p.€i/ r][jLi2v, TTplv (TKeSaa-Orjvat $€Ov a/cTii/as, />. 398. The reading p.rj rolov is doubtful, but possibly correct, " something other (than was calculated)." ^ See also Aesch. JSum. 26, and Eur. Suppl. 303, the first a professed reminiscence (see the context), the second likely to be a popular locution. Phrynichus and The Persians 291 of such Hnes the missing word-division is actually- marked in some way, however slightly, as it is in that just cited by the separation of the preposition in ctTr-wXecra?. All this, though the statistics are slightly different for the three poets respectively, is true for Aeschylus as well as his successors, including as Aeschylean (for the moment) all instances in the Persians not comprised in the story of the flight. But this story, in both the component passages, obeys an opposite rule, proper enough in itself, but incompatible with that established by Aeschylus, — that divisionless lines (as we will call them) are a normal and desirable variation of the rhythm. In forty-two verses there are six without division^ ; and if in some a particular design may be supposed, in others^ it cannot. In four of the six* the regular divisions have not the slightest mark, and in three of them* (a thing equally remarkable in Aeschylus) not any foot is divided between two words. There is also a line of that rare type in which normal division is represented only by an elision. In short, the neglect, or rather avoidance, of division is treated by this writer as a thing habitual and commonplace, a regular variation. This point is justly pressed by Paley, who assigns to "another hand " the first of our two passages and a portion ^ vv. 465, 469, 489, 501, 503, 509. 2 w. 489, 501. ^ vv. 465, 469, 503, 509. * vv. 465, 469, 509. * V. 493. 19 — 2 292 Phrynichus and The Persians {vv. 488 ff.) of the second, but calls them "inter- polations," and leaves us to suppose that they were substituted for some different passage or passages, which {ex hypothesi) must have originally occupied the same place and function. The difficulty, or rather impossibility, of saying by whom and with what motive the work, as left by Aeschylus, can have been so handled, is, I suppose, the reason why the criticism of Paley has not been much regarded. All his remarks here deserve careful attention. Equally unlike Aeschylus is the method of punctuation. In Aeschylus the stops, especially the stronger stops, are found (i) regularly at the verse-end or at one of the normal word-divisions, (2) not unfrequently, as a variation, after the first foot or in the middle of the second^, (3) rarely any- where else. But these forty-two lines have two strong stops after the fourth foot^ a liberal in- fusion of minor varieties, and above all, one stop which Aeschylus, so far as I can discover, never exhibits, and which is indeed inconsistent with the regular movement of his verse : Ktti Awpt'S aiav, Mt^XiS t£ koXttov, | ov 27r€/o;^€tos apSet TreSt'ov ev/xevct ttoto). Irregular also is the resolution of long syllables {^^ for -), types of which, rare in Aeschylus, are here not rarel The effect of all this is to give the ^ Persae 391, 409. ^ vv. 470, 497. In all the rest of the play I find but two other such, vv. 180, 454. =» w. 491, 492, 501. Phrynichus and The Persians 293 verse a movement widely different from any other part of the play, or any passage of Aeschylus else- where. Now if this peculiarity of rhythm stood alone, we might perhaps suppose it an artifice, designed to represent by the disorder of the sound the confusion of the disorderly flight. Whether this, as an artistic motive, would be adequate, and whether a composer could if he would, or would if he could, thus change in a moment his principles of metre, are questions which we may set aside. For the peculiarity of rhythm does not stand alone. We have to ask why the composer, at the same moment, should adopt a different notion of poetry, an imagination different in species and order. And why another language .■* And why, above all, should he assume for these few minutes a conception of the story discrepant from the rest of his work, and likely, as he else- where admits, to give a false impression of his meaning ? First then, the style, the quality of imagination, is not that of Aeschylus. I do not say that it is inferior ; it is in its own way powerful and impressive ; but Aeschylean it is not. The style of Aeschylus, especially in descriptive passages, is signally bold and picturesque in imagery, full of decoration, richly adorned with phrases and points not copied from the object or the fact, but superadded to it for the sake of dignity. Let us take specimens only from the narrative of the battle, the narrative which immediately precedes this story 294 Phrynichus and The Persians^ of the flight. The straits of Salamis are "sea- sounding," IkttXovs ^vXacTcretv koX iropovs dXippo'^ovs, not for the sake of fact, but because to call them so heightens the tone. The sunlight " dies " ((^eyyos T^Xiov KaTe(f)$LTo) ; the Persian officers are " masters of arms" {onXcjv eTna-Tdnqs) ; day comes "with white steeds" (XcvkoVwXos rjjxepa), and "fair-bright to the eye" (evcfyeyyrjq IBelv); the trumpet "blazes over" the Greek quarters {ttolvt eKelv iTTeopoi avTLcrrj- Kovcra, j)pd^avre<; ottXol^ Se/xcts"; of adjectives purely ornamental, €vrjp€TiJio<;, ev(f)€yyr)<; {rjfjLepa), €vy\fvxov (dpacros), )(aX/co or drink as kindly"^. The freezing of the Strymon, as a natural or miraculous phenomenon, may be incredible ; but for the writer evidently it is a fact, and he describes it simply as fact, giving in plain terms exactly what he supposes to have happened, without any excursion of thought or fancy whatsoever. His conceptions and colouring are those of a historian, and with Aeschylus he has 1 V. 502. =" Persae 365, 412, 433, 436, 456. ' ib. 376, 387, 394, 415, 457. " ib. 426. * vv. 465, 487. 296 Phrynichus and The Persians nothing in common except the vocabulary common to verse. In the mere vocabulary and grammar there is little or nothing which might not come from Aeschylus. But this we should expect if the piece were by a contemporary. Average pieces of Euri- pides and Sophocles will show no decisive discrepancy of this kind. A little divergence there is, not in itself noticeable, but significant in the whole estimate. On the one hand, the diction of our writer is all drawn from the common fund of poetry. There are no words of original stamp, such as one might suppose never to have been so used before or again, words like StttTrXoos (in the sense sailing to and fro) or to(tovt- dpL6[xo<; {so many in numbery, a species of which Aeschylus is prolific. But on the other hand, the common stock of poetry is employed in our passage with less discrimination of quality than we generally find in Aeschylus. The eighty lines describing the first part of the battle^ while they do present the highly characteristic compounds just cited, do not present any word which we might not naturally expect in the dia- logue of tragedy, any word which one would naturally rank as lyricaP. But a(f)ap, qtiicklyy is such a word; "■yX'-' o-^St^v, and /toyt9^ though warranted or warrant- able, are on the border-line ; so is piedpov, instead of peWpov. Not one of them, nor all together, would deserve remark in a passage otherwise normal ; but ^ vv. 382, 432. 2 ^^^ 353—432. ^ Kve(f>a<; is perhaps an exception, but it has authority. * V. 509, if we can trust the ms. Phrynichus and The Persians 297 if it is thought that the proportion is not more than might be expected, let an experiment be made on any equal piece of Aeschylean dialogue taken at random. My own conclusion, after experiments, is that our writer, in respect of vocabulary, is less in- ventive than Aeschylus, and a little less punctilious in choice. He seeks variety by the use of rare material, Aeschylus rather by original combination of common material. But about all such points, and about the range of variation which may be expected in the same author, individual judgements will differ. Metrical and linguistic evidence alone, though it may favour an opinion upon authorship, can seldom constitute a proof. What clinches the argument here, and does, in my judgement, complete a proof against the author- ship of Aeschylus, is the discrepancy of substance and statement between this passage and the play as a whole. This story of the flight is in some things reticent and ambiguous, notably so as to the personal move- ments of Xerxes, but in one thing it is perfectly clear. It purports, beyond possibility of question, to account for the whole Persian armament, both naval and military. The narrator professes indeed to be summary, and to have " omitted many disasters^ " ; but this remark only strengthens the impression that his relation covers the whole of what is foreshown ^ See further Paley, who notes several peculiarities not remark- able singly, but collectively significant. ' -v- 513- 298 Phrynichus and The Persians in the first announcement — " The host of Asia is utterly destroyed," arpaTos Tras oXoXe ^ap/Bdpoiv^ — the final loss and annihilation, as a belligerent force, of the entire expedition. The disastrous retreat which he describes is expressly attributed to the whole armament with the exception only of the ships^ ; nor is there anywhere the least suggestion that the generality of this term is subject to any further abridgement. No one could suppose, and the com- poser certainly does not conceive, that the stronger, if not larger, portion of the Persian army may still be left in Greece, to expect a second campaign in the following year. Yet this was the situation at the time supposed, both in fact and according to the play of Aeschylus. Nor has this inconsistency escaped the notice of Aeschylus himself. The subsequent dialogue between the ghost of Darius and the Persian coun- cillors has been curiously framed so as to diminish the objection as far as possible^ The councillors look forward to revenge. "We shall send," they say, "a picked force, light and easily moved." " Nay," says the prophetic spirit, " not even that army, which now remains in Greece, shall find safe return." " What mean you ? " exclaims the respondent in natural surprise. "Does not the whole arniafnent of Asia pass from Europe over the Strait of Helle ? " " Few out of the many, if we may trust ' V. 255. ^ VIK 480 ff. vawv Tayoi,...crTpaTOS 6 Xoittos. ^ "vv. 795 ff. Phrynichus and The Persians 299 prophecy," answers Darius, and proceeds to reveal the future disaster of Plataea : XO. TTW? eiTTtts; ov yap ttolv orpaTCv/xa f3apfia.pwv TTcpa Tov E\Xr;s TTOpOfWV ISivpiiyTT-q^ airo; AA. navpoi y€ ttoWojv, ei tl TTLarevaai ^cwj/ )(pr] d€(Taroi(TL. The question, it will be observed, is ambiguous, and more distinctly so in Greek than in English. The tense — Do they not pass ? ov nepa ; — may refer either to present time or future — Are they not passing? or Are they not destined to pass? — and according as it is construed will imply or not imply that the speaker now hears for the first time of an army left in Greece. Prima facie, it would bear the present sense, but Darius takes and answers the question as referring to the future. Clearly this ambiguity is deliberate : the composer is steer- ing with some care round a difficulty created by the original narrative of the flight. But why was the difficulty created, or permitted to exist? Doubtless it is dramatically proper and necessary that the episode of Plataea should be reserved entire for the revelation of the ghost ; and for mere omission this would sufficiently account. We should not expect, according to the plan of the Persians, that the narrative of Salamis would lay any stress upon possible developments of the enterprise, or perhaps even point to them at all. But neither could we expect that the author, having in mind the event of the year 479, and intending to make use of it, should, of his own motion and without 300 Phrynichus and The Persians prompting, compose a narrative which, upon the face of it, excludes the possibility of such an event, — and this although his audience knew the facts. For what conceivable purpose should he thus mislead them as to the scope of his work and its relation to history ? That the story is not reconcilable with history is indeed in itself a thing of little or no significance. A poet, even in matter of history, may suppose almost anything that he pleases. What is significant is the inconsistency with the Persians, that is to say, with Aeschylus. Paley has perhaps impaired the force of his striking observations by combining or confounding these different objections. If the narrative agreed with the Persians, we might dismiss with small concern difficulties based upon the actual practice of the Empire in the transmission of despatches. These things Athenian poets and audiences could ignore. But it is another thing to find Aeschylus cutting away the foundation of his own scenes. In my opinion, this discrepancy of substance, taken with the suspicious details of workmanship, compels the inference that the narrative of the flight is imported into the play of Aeschylus from some other source ; and the adoption of it must be due to Aeschylus himself, since for subsequent interpolation of this kind there could be no motive or opportunity. The source, and the motive for adoption, we could not guess, were it not for the evidence of the preface, that the play was a confessed imitation of the Phoenissae. This being so, it was natural that Phrynichus and The Persians 301 some of the original work, if any adaptable piece could be found, should be actually embodied and retained, as an acknowledgment and compliment to the originator. Of plagiarism, we should remark, there could be no question. The fact that Aeschylus followed the lead of Phrynichus was palpable, and, considering the close proximity of time, one might even suppose that he did so with consent. At all events he did it without disguise ; and therefore, the nearer he could keep to the track, and the more he could adopt of the model, the better and the less invidious would be his relation to the predecessor. The Pkoenissae, we must remember, was not a failure, but a success. Fifty years later, the lyrics in it were still remembered and repeated with affection'. The design of Aeschylus, as appears by the conspicuous borrowing noted in the preface, was not to obliterate the preceding work, but to put beside it a parallel though dependent work, in his own different and probably much more dramatic manner. To avoid the appearance of hostility was the part of prudence, to say nothing of taste ; and for this purpose nothing could be more effective than to include some considerable adaptations. Now there is no difficulty in conceiving a play, to which the narrative of the flight, as given in the Persians, would be strictly appropriate, a play in which the naval victory at Salamis, the Athenian victory, was treated as practically final, and the sequel, Plataea and all, was dismissed summarily in a vague ^ Aristoph. Wasps 219 f. 302 Pkrynichus and The Persians outline of rout. Such a plan might well be adopted by an Athenian composer — provided that he kept to it — even when the sequel and whole event were actually known. And moreover it is possible that Phrynichus, when he planned the Pkoenissae, was without this knowledge. It may have been written, or shaped, as early as the autumn of 480 B.C., before it was known or could be known that the Persians had resolved to try their fortunes again, and when the Greeks doubtless hoped, and perhaps believed, that the whole land-force would forthwith retreat, as it does in our story of the flight. At all events there are indications that the Pkoenissae, whenever written, presented the story in this light. First the title, proving that the Chorus were "Women of Phoenicia," shows that the destruction of the navy, in which their country- men served, was the principal subject of the piece. The Phoenicians had nothing to do with Plataea. And secondly, as we noted above, the preface to the Persians describes such a play, a play showing how Xerxes, defeated by land and sea, fled by way of Thessaly and the Hellespont into Asia. The compiler of the preface appears to think that the play so described is the Persians. I should be the last to insist on the virtues of these prefaces, in which valuable information is mixed with all sorts of error. But so prodigious and gratuitous a false- hood seems to demand explanation, and will obtain it, if we attribute the description to the play of Phrynichus, and suppose it to be derived, but with Phrynichus and The Persians 303 misapplication, from the book On the Plots of Aeschylus, in which the two plays were compared. Why Aeschylus, if desirous to adopt some con- spicuous passage from his predecessor, chose this one, is easily guessed. It is precisely at this point that the rough style of the insertion (for the style is rough) is most effective in contrast with his own stateliness. The juncture, though it is not perfectly artistic, and though it involves some disturbance of the Aeschylean plan, is telling at the moment, and would readily be accepted under the circumstances of the composition. The seam, in the MS. text, is a little more distinctly visible than in some modern editions. The narrator of the flight pauses after mentioning the order of Xerxes for the retreat of the land-force, and resumes his story in answer to a question from Atossa as to the fate of the fleet. But he begins his reply irregularly with an And: This Se was of course long ago^ changed to ye, but the correction cannot be allowed as certain, in view of the fact that another Se, not normal and not thus corrigible, appears in another place, where the very words of Aeschylus suggest that he is arranging material not quite obedient to his purpose. " Now go back,^' says Atossa to the narrator, when he has given the roll of the captains slain at Salamis, " Go ^ Robortello, but see on the contrary Hermann, Paley and others. A yc, though intelUgible, is not pleasing. 304 Phrynichus and The Persians back, and tell me this. And what was the number of the Greek ships, that they dared to contend with the Persian armament ? " arap ^paaov fxoL tovt avacrpei/'as ttoXiv TToVov 8c irXrj6opoveovTos TOcrovTO) kolklov icTTL, ocrco TToAc/tos dp-l]V7]?, the change of style and vocabulary in the final sentence does not escape the ear, and the conjecture is obvious that this change is due to the imitation of a proverb in verse. But the truth is, that the very words of the gnomic poet are before us : .... opOa voevvra- iipr]vrj<; yap ocrta tto'Ac^os, [roo-craJSe] ko-kiov €/A(^vAoS TToXefXOV CrTCLCriS idTLV 6lXO(f>pOV€OVTO<;. Two entire hexameters has the historian consciously or unconsciously reproduced without the change of a syllable, except the necessary translation of Toa-o-wSe into the corresponding prose-form to(tovt(o. The Lady of Cos 3 1 1 Nor is it only gnomic poetry proper which furnishes material for such treatment. The maxims of Attic tragedy are also susceptible of it. Thus in that banquet at Thebes (9. 16), which is perhaps the most tragic in feeling of all incidents in the history, the Persian guest is made to express his useless foreknowledge of disaster in these terms : ^ctve, o Ti Set yevccr^ai Ik tov O^ov, a.fJiri\avov aTroTpeiJ/aL avOpw-m^ • ouSe yap TricrTo, Xeyovai iOeXa ireiOeo-Oai oiuSct's. ravra 8e Ilepcrewv (rv)(yoL iTTLCTTafxevoL kirofxiOa avajKaiy cvSeSc/xfj/oi. e^^Oiarr] 8e oSijvr} ccTTt Twv iv dv9pMTroi(TL avTT], TToWa ; some less common term {-qpco^; ?) is replaced by the normal haijxoiv ; the article {rrjv V. I, rov v. 5) is inserted where prose requires it and verse rejects ; and a few additional conjunc- tions (Kttt, re, re, /acV, 8e), natural to common speech, complete the disguise sufficiently. We notice how- ever that the disguise is not quite perfect ; for, as in the tragic proverb the poetical phrase ^povoiv TroXkd, so here the poetical combination at;)(/xaXwro9 Bov- XocrvvT) remains to a careful ear perceptible, though the narrator doubtless felt, and with reason, that in a scene of so much passion and pathos it would not offend. We may notice also, as a justification, if any were needed, for the historian's fidelity, that even this change of a word, necessary though it is, slightly obscures the connexion of the whole as framed by the original composer ; for Zopi-XrjTrrov points forward to \a^(ov in the final verse, which the substituted alxy^akoiTov does not. Now upon observing this, we might at first suspect that the whole story is taken from an original in verse, a thing in itself by no means inconceivable or even improbable. But such is not the fact ; for this speech is the only portion sus- ceptible of such re-translation, a thing not otherwise to be naturally explained but by supposing that this, and this only, is a translation. We may try the experiment upon the preceding sentence — opuxra 0€ Trai^a cKCtva StCTrovra naucravtT/v, Trporepov re to ovvofia l^tTnarafxivr) kcCl ttjv Trd.Tpr]v, wcrre TroXAa/cis aKOVfyaaa, lyvw re tov IIau(raviTjv KUt Xa/Sofjicvr] twv yovvdriov eXeye raSe — The Lady of Cos 317 where a very brief inspection will prove that restora- tion of metre is impracticable. Even the reply of Pausanias, which might well be expected to follow the model, if model there were, exhibits such hope- less material as this — os iiJiol ^eti/og iiaXiara Tvy^dvet ioju T(ou irepi Keivov<; tov<; ^atpov; olKiqixevoiv. The speech of the lady therefore, and nothing more, Herodotus had before him in hexameter verse ; but this he derived from a source so authentic that he thought fit to preserve it textually. Now the problem so presented, at first sight puzzling, becomes, I think, not difficult of solution, when we note that the narrative, full as it is, contains nothing which would not be given by a picture of the principal situation, a picture in the Greek style : the lady upon her knees before the " king," Persian corpses upon the ground (one of them named, a/3av8aTT7s Tecto-TTto^), two maids on the one side balancing two ephors on the other (these also identified by their costume or by lettering), and the chariot for a background. Such a representation, drawn or in bas-relief, with an inscription explain- ing its purport, the heroine of the story seems to have dedicated, in gratitude for her escape, at some temple in Aegina. Hence the historian is able to say that to Aegina she was sent ; and we see that this is just all that he can tell of her subsequent ad- ventures, — except indeed that Aegina was "whither she wanted to go," not an extravagant inference from the fact that thither she went. That the declarations of her speech, as inscribed, were the 3i8 The Lady of Cos cause of Pausanias' clemency is also a fair inference from the mention of them ; and Herodotus accord- ingly expresses this in his usual manner, by a speech assigned to the king, which acknowledges the name of Hegetorides as one which especially appeals to him. As to this name, however, the historian has followed a construction of the document which, were it not for his authority, would be disputable. He assumes that, in the verse, 'HyT^roptSao 'Avra- yopao is the genitive of 'HyT^ 70/318779 'Avrayopao " Hegetorides, son of Antagoras," as of course it might be ; and perhaps he knew of such a " Hege- torides" otherwise. But he gives no sign of such knowledge ; and, as an interpretation of the docu- ment, I should certainly have otherwise preferred "Antagoras, son of Hegetor," taking "Hegetorides" as a patronymic. Nor, as it is, should I absolutely discard this interpretation, although, or perhaps because, it would curiously illuminate the king's acquaintance with the name of his " best of friends." That he commended the lady to the ephors is more certain ; it would appear in the picture from his attitude. That Pharandates was the Persian captor Herodotus deduced, and properly, from the other- wise irrelevant assignment of that name to one of the corpses ; and the place, Plataea, was indicated sufficiently by the name of the king. The rich attire of the suppliants was visible upon them, the "gold" no doubt actually gilded; and we may go with Herodotus in supposing, all things considered, that it was their best. Nor need we object to his The Lady of Cos 319 prudent and highly characteristic intimation, through the mouth of Pausanias, that the lady's account of herself may have been more pathetic than true ; Pausanias preferred the charitable assumption, — et Sr) TT/oog TovTi:^ Tvy)(^dv€L'; dkrjdea Xeyovcra. At this same Aeginetan sanctuary, we may observe, Herodotus probably also learnt, from some pious cicerone commenting on a monument, the edifying story of the noble Aeginetan Lampon, which almost immediately follows (9. 78). It savours strongly of the preacher, and recalls the manner of Delphi. The other example, which I would allege as exhibiting the use of a verse-inscription, is closely similar. The description of the events which im- mediately followed the battle of Salamis, otherwise natural and probable, is interrupted (8. 114) by an astounding statement. The Spartans (we are told), receiving at this moment a command from Delphi " to demand of Xerxes satisfaction for the slaying of Leonidas, and to accept whatever the king should offer," actually despatched a herald with the commis- sion, who, taking "the quickest way," overtook the retreating monarch "in Thessaly" before he had parted from Mardonius, and delivered his message in the presence of both ; whereupon Xerxes, point- ing to Mardonius, said that " here was the man who should give such satisfaction on the part of the Persians as the Lacedaemonians ought to receive " — which in due course and to the glory of Apollo Mardonius did at Plataea. 320 The Lady of Cos The historical value of this anecdote is scarcely worth discussion. It has every mark of the apocry- phal, improbabilities moral and physical, amounting almost to the impossible, vagueness and uncertainty in all the circumstances. Assuredly if any Greek had at this time bearded the Great King, and re- turned to report the interview, it would not have been forgotten who was the hero and where was the scene of this transcendent experience. What may be worth enquiry is the nature of the evidence upon which Herodotus, who about oracles in particular expressly claims to be reasonably though not obstinately critical, accepted a statement, the ob- jections to which he did not overlook \ We have some light upon this question when we observe, that, while the rest of the anecdote was composed freely, so far as appears, by Herodotus, the speech of the herald, like that of the lady from Cos, was not so composed, but translated from verse: (3 fSaaiXev Mi^'Swv, AaKcSat/xovtot re (jiovoio atTOvaiv ae StKas ^TrdpTrj': airo 6' 'HpaKXetSat, 'EWdSa pvofjiivov crcfiLV on Kreiva^ ^aai.X'fja. The prose of Herodotus runs thus : — w ^acTiAei) MiySwj/, AaKeSai/tdviot T£ ctc koI Hpa/cXeiSat ol ciTro STTttpTT^s atreoucri (ftovov St/cas, on cr<^£cov tov /3ao-iXea aTreKTctva? pvojXivov rrjv 'EAXaSa. ^ Note the simple but significant suggestion that the herald took "the quickest way." One might wonder what way, at the moment, this was. It is uncertain whether Xerxes was then in Thessaly at all. The Lady of Cos 321 As in the former example, so also here, the document is followed word for word. The posses- sive-dative (cr^tv, in V. 3) might perhaps have been retained without offence ; but with the prosaic arrangement and emphasis, the genitive crcfiecjv, answering to MrjSojv, is more natural. The other changes are merely those inevitable for prose. Here again therefore we have to do, not with a narrative in verse, but with a fragment of a narra- tive, such a fragment as could hardly exist except as an inscription, as an explanatory appendage to a reciprocally illustrative work of art. From this work itself, the painted or sculptured group, comes the principal scene, Xerxes answering the herald by " pointing to Mardonius " ; and the story comes from the religious custodians of the monument, the Delphians or whoever they were. But we may now divine how and by what stages this story grew and came to be accepted. It is open and natural to be supposed, that the authors of the work neither asserted nor intended it to represent an actual event. It was a symbol, legitimate and appropriate, of the truth that Plataea was the Spartan's revenge for Thermopylae. But when the exhibitors, for obvious reasons, preferred to regard and explain it as his- torical, it seemed, to a mind perfectly honest but not sufficiently versed in the sifting of such testimony, to be an independent witness of the truth. It pro- duced upon Herodotus the sort of effect which, upon persons not accustomed to analysis, is now produced when something, which they are not unwilling to believe, is actually shown to them in print. V. E. 2 1 THE DEATH OF CYRSILUS, ALIAS LYCIDES. A PROBLEM IN AUTHORITIES. Few events so remote as the year 479 B.C., and perhaps none relating to the fate of an ordinary- person, are so well known to us and so fully attested, as the vengeance taken by the Athenians on the unfortunate councillor, who ventured to recommend for consideration the proposal of Mardonius, — that Athens, upon favourable terms for herself, should make peace with the King of Persia and abandon the common cause of the Greek nation. We possess three notices of the story, two summary and one more full, which have, all of them, high pretensions to authenticity. Of the two summaries, one at least is derived directly from an official document almost contemporary with the event itself. The fuller account is not indeed thus warranted, and may be supposed rather to depend on oral relation ; but our narrator must have had and used the opportunity of consulting eye-witnesses. All three accounts may be combined without difficulty, and, except in one unimportant detail, they exhibit no discrepancy. The Death of Cyrsilus 323 The outline of the story is this. The Persian proposal was laid before the Athenian Council by an envoy sent from Athens, which was then in the hands of the enemy, to the island of Salamis. Here the Athenians, or so many of them as had ventured to return to their homes upon the retreat of Xerxes in the year before, had again taken refuge, when Mardonius, after wintering in Boeotia, had re-occupied the desolate city. One councillor, apparently alone, moved that the terms offered should be referred to the Assembly. By the exasperated patriotism of his colleagues this advice was regarded as treacherous and corrupt ; and such was their indignation, that, upon the rising of the Council, they and others joined in stoning him to death. The Athenian women, upon hearing what had occurred, were seized with a like fury, rushed to the man's house, and killed in the same manner his wife and his children. These proceedings, became the subject of a decree i^psephismd). The text of this document is not preserved, nor its purpose specified ; but since it is cited as approving what was done, we can hardly be wrong in sup- posing that it was designed to put a legal face upon the matter, and to prevent the perilous consequences likely to arise out of acts which, however popular, were in law nothing better than murders. In all these facts our three authorities, Herodotus (9. 4), Lycurgus (contra Leoc7'-atem 122), and Demos- thenes {de corona 204), so far as they go, concur, — Demosthenes not less than the others, as shall 324 The Death of Cyrsilus, alias Lycides presently be shown. The decree is mentioned by Lycurgus only, who cites it, though the quotation, as usual, is omitted in our copies of his speech. He describes the decree as "concerning" or "relating to the man who came to his end in Salamis " (Trepl Tov iv SaXa/xtvt reXevrifcravTo?), — a phrase which could not naturally be used of a sentence to death, but only of an enactment " concerning " the death, that is to say, relating to it ex post facto. With this agree the allusion of Demosthenes, which implies\ and the story of Herodotus, which asserts, that the man and his family were not regularly executed, but lynched. Doubtless therefore this is the meaning of Lycurgus also, though in saying that "the Council " stoned the man, and that before doing so they "took off their wreaths," he colours the act with certain touches of solemnity. The participa- tion of persons from the Council, as individuals, is affirmed by Herodotus ; the colours of Lycurgus come probably from the decree, which, if designed, as we must suppose, to give a retrospective sanction, naturally put upon what had been done the most plausible construction which it would bear. The act of the women, the killing of the wife and the children, cannot possibly have been legalized a priori \ and it is plain, upon all three accounts, that the killing of the man, however the decree may have coloured it, was also a mere act of popular vengeance and equally without formal justification. ^ By including the action of the women, which cannot have been legal. A Problem in Authorities 325 We may doubt indeed, though we need not here discuss, whether at this date any Athenian court would have deHberately awarded, for a lawful ex- pression of opinion, a species of punishment which an Athenian poet, only twenty years later, classes with impalement and other tortures, as a barbarity fit only for fiends\ However that may be, our authorities agree in showing that upon this occasion there was no legal award. It is extremely important to note, for reasons which will presently appear, that Demosthenes, though he does not mention the decree and has no need to do so, cannot reasonably or fairly be sup- posed ignorant of it. The allusions of both orators are so introduced as to convey the impression that in their time the case, and the public pronouncement on it, as examples of the fervency of Athenian patriotism, were notorious and celebrated. And when we consider what were the character, vocation and pursuits of Demosthenes, it is beyond belief that he was not acquainted, and perfectly familiar, with a document so remarkable and in all respects so interesting to him as this. We may presume then, and must necessarily presume, that the account of the affair, which he gives in the most famous and finished of his compositions, is consistent, so far as it goes, with the authoritative record. In the case of Herodotus there is of course no such presumption. He was neither lawyer nor consulter of archives ; ^ Aesch. Eum. 189. It seems, however, to have been a poss- ible punishment ; see Macan on Herod. I.e. 326 The Death of Cyrstlus, alias Lycides and although the decree, being no part of the story as a story, would not perhaps have interested him much if he had heard of it, we may suppose more probably that he never did. Nevertheless, as to the main and material facts, his graphic narrative agrees with those of his more learned successors. His conception of the event is just that which we might have formed by combining the data of Lycurgus and Demosthenes, and discarding their flourishes. One addition he makes, though it cannot be called a discrepancy. He tells us, at the close of the terrible tale, what neither of the orators chooses to comprise in his encomiastic allusion, — that the crowd of enraged women pelted to death not only the wife of the delinquent, but also his children: Kara \jAv ekev- aav avTov rrjv yvvoLKa, Kara Be ra reKva. Lycurgus refers to the man only, Demosthenes only to the adults. Their motives for such limitation are ob- vious ; and their reticences afford no reason to doubt, that the recital of the decree, if we had it, would be found to confirm the completeness and candour of the historian. In one detail only, and that not affecting the substance of the narrative, Herodotus disagrees with those who had access to the oi^cial document ; and here he must have been misinformed. The name of the offender, according to Demosthenes, who had for it the testimony of the psephisma, was Cyrsilus (KupcrtXo?). Herodotus gives it as Lycides (Av/ciSt^s). Whether his variation may be accounted for, we will consider presently. But if it cannot, if it is a A Problem in Authorities 327 mere error, there is nothing in it to raise difficulty or suspicion. In things of no significance, the best oral tradition will be inaccurate ; and in this case the personality of the victim was apparently of no significance. It is not alleged that, apart from his fate, he had any importance, nor does the story imply it. In Lycurgus he is actually anonymous — 6 Iv taXafxlvL reXevrT/o-a?. That Herodotus should have picked up a wrong name is not surprising and hardly worth notice. Let us repeat then, and firmly remember, that this instructive incident, in its substance and essen- tial features, is absolutely certain. It must have happened when, where, and as these authorities assert. Evidence so authentic and concordant would outweigh much improbability. But there is no improbability. The Athenians of Salamis and Plataea were Incomparably the most civilised people of the time. But they were not more civilised, or more safe from excesses of passion, than the Hollanders of the seventeenth century, who, in a crisis not dissimilar, tore in pieces the innocent and illustrious De Witt. Where then, it will be asked, is the problem ? Why, in editions of Herodotus or the de corona, is the story treated as a puzzle ? Why are there histories in which it is canvassed as dubious, or even altogether omitted ? The cause is typical, and, as such, worthy of attention. In the de officiis of Cicero (3. 11, § 48) the anecdote is cited as follows : " The Athenians, 2)2S The Death of Cyrsilus, alias Lycides being unable to withstand the Persian invader, determined to abandon their city, putting their wives and children in Troezen, and themselves on board the fleets which was to defend at sea the libe7'ties of Greece ; and they stoned to death one Cyrsilus, who advised that they should remain in Athens and should adtnit Xerxes J" Now between this version and that of the Greek authors no con- ciliation is possible. Cicero has changed almost every circumstance, — the date, the place, the position of the Athenians at the time. Above all, he changes the essential matter, the proposal of Cyrsilus and the connexion of his conduct with his fate. According to Cicero, the proposal was, that in the year 480, and before the battle of Salamis, the Athenians should submit wholly and unconditionally to the King of Persia. Nothing is said of any offer to them from Xerxes, nor indeed would it be credible that, before Salamis, any offer was made. Athens and Attica, with their population, were to be sur- rendered to the King and the army then under his command, — a surrender which would have ex- tinguished the Athenian state as a factor in resist- ance, so that the naval force of Hellas would have been practically annihilated, and, as Cicero plainly and necessarily supposes, no sea-defence whatever could have been made. How such a submission could have been "advantageous [utile)'' for Athens, is not apparent ; but certainly it would have been, in the highest degree, "dishonourable." Moreover (a point more vital yet) we are told that by Cyrsilus A Problem in Authorities 329 this submission was positively approved and recom- mended. But in Herodotus the Athenian councillor is not so committed. Mardonius offers, in con- sideration of a separate peace, to respect the independence of Athens, and to give her what territory she chooses to ask (Herod. 8. 140, 9. 4). The offer is made to "the Council," and the proposal of the councillor is simply that it should be referred to the Assembly. To treat this as a proof of treason was a mere extravagance, a frenzy of popular en- thusiasm ; and Herodotus expressly allows that the conduct of the councillor may have been honest. But the Ciceronian proposal, that Athens should accept slavery without striking a blow, without reward, and with every reason to expect the severest treatment, would have gone near to prove treason (if not rather insanity), and the execution of the proposer might well have followed in course of law, as Cicero would let us think that it did. But the disagreement of Cicero with the Greek authorities would of course not suffice to impeach them, or to throw upon them any shadow of doubt. It would be enough to say that his statement, improbable upon the face of it, is proved by history to be altogether erroneous. We need not even ask how he came by his mistake. He is mistaken, and there we might leave him. Why then, we have still to ask, have the Greek authorities been treated as dubious ? Because it is said, and repeated in book after book, that, on the essential point of date, Cicero is 330 The Death of Cyrsilus, alias Lycides supported by Demosthenes : that Demosthenes also puts the affair of Cyrsilus before the battle of Salamis, and represents the offers, which Cyrsilus wished to accept or to consider, as having been made by Xerxes during his march upon Athens in the year 480. Now if this were so, we should have a problem indeed, and a problem hopeless of any satisfactory solution. Both Herodotus and Demosthenes, for different reasons, are in this matter authorities of the greatest weight. Yet to accept both, if in sub- stance they differ, and to suppose that an incident so remarkable was repeated, with no other variation than the name of the principal victim, in two suc- cessive years, is an escape not worth discussion. The logical and practical conclusion would be that, for the most interesting part of Greek histor}'-, we have no trustworthy witnesses at all. But we are in no such position. It is not true that the blunders of Cicero are supported by Demosthenes. It is true that they can be read into Demosthenes. But that is an injury to the orator, who says nothing which is not consistent with the truth as it appears in the other Greek testimonies. Demosthenes says {de corona 204) that the Athenians had the endurance (vTreiJLeLvav) to abandon their country and city, and take to their ships, rather than do what the Persians required of them ; and he adds, in proof of their resolution and stubbornness, that " they elected Themistocles, the adviser of this A Problem in Authorities 331 course, for their strategos, and stoned to death Cyrsilus, who suggested compHance." Now if this were our only account of the matter, and if we knew nothing about the history of the time, we might doubtless suppose that these two facts, the advice of Themistocles and the suggestion of Cyrsilus, were contemporaneous, and therefore that the act of Cyrsilus as well as that of Themistocles took place in the year 480, when Themistocles was elected strategos. But why should we so suppose, since it was not the truth, and since not only Demosthenes, but many or most of his audience and readers, must have known that it was not the truth ? Demos- thenes does not say so. The abandonment of Attica and Athens extended (in effect) from the summer of 480 to the autumn of 479, from before the battle of Salamis until after the battle of Plataea. Demosthenes here speaks of it, quite correctly, as one single course or action, disregarding, as in such a retrospect is natural, whatever precarious and temporary re-occupation may have occurred in the winter between. The facts which he subjoins are given as illustrations of the resolution with which this painful policy was adopted and pursued. The election of Themistocles marks the deliberate adop- tion of it ; the treatment of Cyrsilus displays the passionate adhesion to it in spite of bitter experience. To suppose the two facts contemporaneous is not only unnecessary to the purpose of the orator, but unsuitable ; since the two together would then only S3^ The Death of Cyrsilus, alias Lycides show the high spirit of the Athenians before the trial, and not their perseverance in enduring it. Nor is Demosthenes incorrect or inaccurate when, in a passage preceding (§ 202), he says that the offers, by which Athens was tempted to abandon the cause of Hellas, came "from the King of Persia" [rrapa tov Uepcrcov ^acrtXeco?). He does not thereby say or suggest that they were made by Xerxes during his personal campaign in the year 480. The offers of Mardonius in the following winter and spring, the offers recommended for consideration by Cyrsilus, were made on behalf of the King, by his express sanction and command (Herod. 8. 140, and by reference 9. 4), and indeed would not otherwise have been worth attention. The terms offered are described by Demosthenes as they are by Herodotus; he translates Herodotus, we may say, into language of his own\ There is no reason therefore to doubt, that it is to the offers made by Xerxes through Mardonius, the only offers ever made, that Demos- thenes refers ; and he speaks truly when he says that, rather than accept them, the Athenians (for the second time) abandoned their country. But though the statements of Demosthenes are true, they are ambiguous, and would easily be misunderstood by a reader having no external in- formation. Probably they misled Cicero, or the intermediary person, if there was one, by whom Herod. 8. 140 tovto jxlv rrjv yrjv (T(J>l diroSo?, tovto Se aXXrjv TTpos TavTYj fXeaOiav avroi, lyvrtva av iOeXwai. Demosth. de COr. 202 OTi /SovXiTai Xa/Sovatj (rrj tto'Xci) koi to. €avTTJ avjov trpo^ vfias, for he returned 384 Christ before Herod him to you, while it accounts for the double tradition and is favoured by the joint evidence, is not also more consistent than either with that true sense of the legal situation, which distinguishes the third Gospel in this part. Luke xiii 32. ''This fox^T " Go ye and tell this fox " — Tro/aev^eVres etTrare t^ dXcoireKL Tavrr) — runs the text ; but why that pronoun is used, if, as we should suppose at first sight, and as is generally assumed, the words are merely a description of Herod and a reflexion upon his character, is not clear. We should expect " that fox " (iKeivrj), as the Authorized Version gives it. Possibly *' this " may have suited the context of the anecdote in another document, and may be re- tained inadvertently ; but that is not to be supposed, if any explanation is to be found in the context of Luke. The question is perhaps connected with another, why he has chosen this place for inserting the in- vocation of the City: — "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets ..." The invocation agrees almost verbally with Matthew^, and is drawn evidently from the same source, where it must have been recorded, as a saying, without note of place and occasion. But whereas in the first Gospel it is spoken in the temple as the peroration of a discourse against the tyranny and crimes of the hierarchy, ^ See above, p. 349. ^ xxiii 37 — 39. Christ before Herod 385 here it is made part (if we press the connexion strictly) of a reply given in Galilee to a warning against the tetrarch. It is true that, allowing for the method and style of St Luke, and his manner of working his materials together, we need not so press the connexion, and even should not. But there is only the more reason for asking, how the composer was led to make a juncture which is barely possible, and not, as in Matthew, natural. In Luke the invocation at first sight seems to hang on to the context solely by the words " thou that killest the prophets " ; in all the rest the supporting anecdote seems to be forgotten. May it be suggested that, in the view of the composer, there was another and a more intimate link between the anecdote and the invocation — a correspondence of simile or metaphor between the comparison of Christ and His converts to a hen and her brood 2XvA the designation of the alleged persecutor as 2ifox^ The conception seems not unnatural. And if this were so, there would be no longer any difficulty in accounting for the phrase " this fox." By ''this fox" would be meant "the enemy here," in Galilee, as contrasted with other "foxes" or persecutors, the enemies in Jerusalem. Enemies here may be assured, that only there can designs against a prophet be accomplished. That this is the intention we cannot safely assert, but the supposition is preferable to that of error or oversight in a matter so simple as the use of a pronoun. V. E. 25 o 86 Christ before Herod It is perhaps an advantage in this interpreta- tion, that the term fox, when conceived as part of a simile, a symbol for " persecutor," has not the personal note, which it has, if taken for a designa- tion of the tetrarch, an equivalent for the name of Herod. With this latter sense, the words " Go ye and tell that fox " have a singular colour and are somewhat startling. But in " Go ye and tell tJiis fox," understood as now proposed, nothing is as- serted as from the speaker. The description signifies "the person here inimical to me and mine." It is relative to the warning of the Pharisees, and is no more applicable to the tetrarch than to any one in Galilee, who might be so conceived or so represented. August, 1910. I add here a few words on certain objections or difficulties, which have been suggested by critics of this essay. One objection relates to the passage in the Acts of the Apostles alluding to the Passion \ which I have discussed, but perhaps too summarily, at p. '}^']2i' And being let go, they (Peter and John) went to their own company, and reported all that the chief priests and elders had said unto them. And when they heard that, they lifted up their voice to God with one accord, and said. Lord, thou art God, which hast made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and all that in them is : who by the mouth of thy servant David hast said, " Why did the heathen rage, and the people imagine vain things ? The kings of the earth stood up, and the rulers were gathered together 1 Acts iv 23-8. Christ before Herod 387 against the Lord, and against his Christ." For of a truth against thy holy child Jesus, whom thou hast anointed, both Herod and Pontius Pilate, with the Gentiles, and the people of Israel, were gathered together, for to do whatsoever thy hand and thy counsel determined before to be done. . . . Since the author of the third Gospel here names Herod among the enemies of the Saviour and as one of those who contributed to his death, we are bound (it is suggested) to interpret the act of " cloth- ing him in fine apparel " as a hostile mockery, not as a friendly compliment. To this I would say, that, if the allusion in the Acts were to be construed as history, and if the language of it were to be pressed to the full sense, then, without regard to the particular question of Herod's investiture, the allusion could not possibly be reconciled with the story of the Passion as related in the Gospel. Both as to Herod and as to Pilate, the allusion, so construed, would be unjustifiable. The allusion, taken strictly, would mean or suggest, that the tetrarch and the procurator were active against the Saviour, and wilfully promoted his con- demnation. But, according to the Gospel, neither did so. Both on the contrary were favourable to the defendant, and publicly proclaimed him innocent of the charge upon which he was put to death. Such a discrepancy and contradiction, going to the root of the matter, would not be removed, or materially affected, by supposing that the tetrarch accompanied his favourable pronotmcement by an insult which, however inconsistent, indecent, and 3 88 Christ before Herod offensive, cannot have had any effect upon the trial and issue. Upon the question which we are con- sidering, the allusion in the Acts has therefore, as I conceive, no bearing. But — to go for a moment beyond the question — must we or should we hold that the allusion is actually irreconcilable with the narrative in the Gospel ? I think not. The allusion is not to be construed as history ; and considering the context in which it occurs, we cannot fairly extract from it any precise account of the parts played by the actors in the tragedy. The allusion is part of a prayer and thanksgiving, passionate and eloquent, poetical and rhetorical throughout, and nowhere more so than in the allusive sentence. If we apply a strict and historical interpretation to what is said of Pilate and of Herod, how are we to deal in like manner with the reference to their alleged associates, the " nations " and " peoples of Israel " ? Who precisely are these, and what part precisely does the allusion assign to them ? The composer of the passage — which does not purport to be, and perhaps is not, an original work by the author of the Acts — is seek- ing an analogy between the circumstances of the Passion and the language of the Psalm. He is frankly content with a general analogy, a loose and poetical resemblance. The actors or agents who, under Providence, were brought together to accom- plish the destined event, answer sufficiently (so the liturgist thinks) to the terms of the prophetic poem. As he satisfies the "heathen" and the "people" ot Christ before Herod 389 the Psalmist by the fact that the actors in the story included both Gentiles and Jews, so he sees "the kings of the earth " in the procurator of Judaea and the tetrarch of Galilee. For such a purpose as this, it scarcely matters what precisely was the line of action pursued by the several performers. It is enough that they contributed in any degree, posi- tively or negatively, to the issue. The concession of Pilate to the Sanhedrin is enough, upon this view, to include him among those "gathered to- gether against the Messiah," notwithstanding his reluctance and persistent efforts on the other side. And similarly, by a stretch of interpretation not bolder, Herod's light and negligent treatment of the case is thought to justify the importation of his name, as a "king of the earth," notwithstanding his testimony to the prisoner's innocence. The whole conception of the composer is loose and inexact, but not more so in the reference to Herod than in the reference to Pilate and in other points of the analogy. The value, and even the propriety, of the method may be open to question; but this question does not turn particularly upon the allusion to the tetrarch, which, upon the statements of the Gospel, is neither more nor less justifiable than the rest. It has been objected further, that, according to the interpretation of the Herodean episode suggested in this essay, the coincidences of fact and language, between this episode and the mockery by the soldiers as described in the other Gospels — an in- vestiture and a jest in both places, and in both 25—3 390 Ckrzsi before Herod places the terms to jest and to clothe — must be supposed fortuitous ; and that such an accident is not credible. Undoubtedly this objection has weight. The coincidences, if fortuitous, are improbable. But since improbable coincidences do occur, the ob- jection is not decisive. It is for the reader to judge whether it outweighs the considerations on the other side : whether — as I should put it — on the ground of these coincidences, we ought to put upon the Herodean episode, in order to fill up the resem- blance to the act of the soldiers, an interpretation which does not satisfy either the words or the sense, but attributes to the author an incoherent conception of the story and a language perversely inappropriate. If the mockery by the soldiers had not been related, no one, I believe, would have thought of the con- struction now put upon the interview with Herod as related by St Luke : it is not a natural or reasonable construction. If this be so, is the existence of the other episode, and the contact of the two in certain details of expression, sufficient reason for forcing the Herodean episode into a frame which it does not fit ? As at present advised, I do not think so. I take this opportunity to repair an omission, by remarking that, when I describe the author of the third Gospel and the Acts as "Luke" or "St Luke," I do not mean to express an opinion (to which I am not entitled) on the much-debated question of his identity. I follow tradition, as seems proper, upon a point which is not material to the present purpose. INDEX Achilleis^ the 236 Acts of the Apostles 373, 386 ff. Aeschylus, the style of 293 ; metaphors in 295 ; his in- fluence on tragedy 307 Ajax^ of Sophocles 12 Alcestis, Euripides' treatment of the story of 90 Ambiguity in drama 14 ff. Aphrodite and Bacchic religion 153 ff- Aristophanes' use of rhyme 247 ff. Assonance, see Rhyme Bacchants, the, of Euripides : only drama of Eur. consisting of miraculous and supernatural incidents 2, 14; the story of recapitulated 7 ff. ; comparison with the Ion 13 ; comparison with Macbeth 15 ; and with King Henry the Eighth 16 ; notes of realism in 24 ff. ; fire and earthquake in 26 ff., 64 ff.; prologue of 36 ff. ; supposed interpolations in 52 f. ; are miracles exhibited in the play as true? 58 ff. ; narrative in the trochaic metre in 76 ; Asiatic prostration 77 ff. ; scenery in 78 ; narrative of herdsman 82 ff. ; Eur. herein rejects the fiction but does not depreciate its beauty 90 f, 136; the turning- point of 96 ; (TirevSfiv and a-irov- Bt) in no ff. ; meaning oi pistos Hades in 1 19 ff. ; narthex in 120 ff. ; the number and parts of the performers in 127 ; nar- rative of servant 1 30 ff. ; finale of 140, 144; perfunctory recital of legends in 142; the choric "tag" in 143 f.; characteristics of the religious enthusiasts in 145 ; Horace applies a scene in this play as a Stoic parable 145 ; the character and opinions of the women in the Chorus 147-8, 153 ff. ; appropriateness of the choric odes in 157 f. ; unique view of religion in 1 59 f ; r/. 506 and vv. 661 ff. discussed 161 ; vv. 753-7 discussed 162 f ; assonant verses in 261, 263 Bacchoi and bacchai i Bacchus, use of the name in Hellas 2 ; general truth of Eur.'s picture of, in Hellas 51 ; see also Dionysus Bromios, Delphian, in Aeschylus 52 Burkitt, Prof., quoted 345 Cadmus in the Bacchants 6, 11, 43 ff., 47, 55 ; assonant couplet spoken by 263 Caesura, see Word-division Caligula 361 Chrisms, as practised by the disciples of Christ 378 392 Index Christ before Herod 335 ff., 359 ; silence on political topics 343 ; reference to Herod 343 ; free- dom from molestation during Galilean ministry 345 ; taught that the "Kingdom" was not to be realized by force 346 ; the final scenes at Jerusalem 350 ff. ; appearance before Herod no public or prepared audience 354 ff.; the story of the mockery in St Luke considered 356 ff. ; theory of sceptical criticism upon the narratives of trial and Passion 362 ff. ; the signification of the robing by Herod 368 ff., 387 ; partition of clothes at crucifixion 376 f. ; mockery at crucifixion 378 Cicero 327 ff. Clothes, partition of, at the cruci- fixion considered 376 f Cos, the Lady of 309 ff. Costume, bacchic, not symbolic in the Bacchants y] Cybele 41 Cycle, the Epic 173 f-> 178 ff. Cyrsilus alias Lycides, the story of 322 f. ; as told by Herodotus, Lycurgus, and Demosthenes 323 ff. ; different account of the death of in Cicero 327 ff. ; the name "Lycides" possibly a patronymic 332 De Witt 327 Dionysia of Athens not really bacchic 51 Dionysus, recognition of his cult at Delphi 2 ; widespread use of his name in Hellas 2 ; said to have founded his cult at Thebes 4 ; the Theban legend 4 ff. ; Eur.'s rationalistic treatment of the legend 6, 30 ff. ; inconsis- tency of the Greek legend of 32 ff. ; D. in the play not a possible object of adoration 127; connection of with the vine, grape and gift of wine 150 ; see also Bacchus Drug, use of a, as element in a bacchic story 115 Earthquake, see Bacchants Emotion, feminine, and assonance in Attic tragedy 261 ffXTj-ai^as (avra), and e^ovdevrjaas, meaning of, in St Luke's story of Christ's appearance before Herod 366 ff. ea-Orjs, meaning of 369 f. Euripides, realism of 20 ff., 38 ; his treatment of the miraculous, 89 ff. ; his religion, 152 Fire, see Bacchants " Fox," the term, how applied in Luke xiii 32 p. 384 ff. Gospel of Peter, Herod in 374 f. Helen of Euripides 273 ff. Henry III of France 361 Heracles as depicted by Euripides 90 ; the drunken H. of the Alcestis 244, 282 ; rhymes of 262, 279 ff. Herod Antipas : alleged resem- blance between the trial of Christ by Pilate and that by 338; attitude of towards the Christian movement 340 f., 345 ; popular conception of 340 ff. ; notice of in St Mark and St Matthew 341 f. ; mention by Christ of 343 ; alleged hostility to Messiah 345 ff. ; household Index 393 of 347; desires to see Christ 349 f-) 359 ; Pilate sends Christ to H. 351 f.; motive of this reference 352 ff. ; does not act as judge 354 fT. ; story of the mockery of Christ by H. con- sidered 356 ff., 362; disowns capital charge 357 f. ; H. and the Sanhedrin 358, 360, 371 ; strateumata of 365 f. ; " con- temns" Christ 366 ff. ; robing of Christ by 368 ff. ; interest in miracles 371 f., 379; reference to in Acts 373, 386 ff. ; H. in Gospel of Peter 374 f. ; de- scribed as "this fox" 384 ff. Herodians, the 344 f. Herodias 342, 348 Herodorus 30 Herodotus and Homer 179 f.; dependent for some of his materials on the evidence of public monuments 309ff., 3i9ff. ; influenced by popular poetry 310; quotations from poets in 310 f.; H.'s account of the battle of Plataea 312 f.; the Lady of Cos in 3i3ff. ; whence H. derived her story 314 ff.; story of Spartan herald in 3i9ff. ; the story of Cyrsilus in H. 323 ff.; H. gives the name of Cyrsilus as " Lycides " 326 f. ; does not use patronymics 334 Hesiod 52 Hesychius 79 Hipparchus 171, 174 Holiness (oo-(«), Hymn to in Bacchants 12, 59, 127, 149, 157 Homer 52 ; the first 164 ; tradi- tional beginning of "Homer" as definite book 167 ; adopted and arranged as the material of education at Athens 168 ff., 195 f., 199, 237 ; recited at the Panathenaea 172, 179; Athenian "poetry of Homer" identical with the Cyclus 173, 177; Iliad and Odyssey parts of Cyclus 174 ; material for Cyclus 176 ; Herodotus and 179 f.; incon- sistencies in the Iliad 181 ff. ; various versions of the Iliad 184 ff.; why a harmony was attempted 189; rise of text- criticism on i9of. ; Alexandrian theory of 191 ; harmonist in Odyssey 191 ; effect of harmo- nistic theory on questions of origin, date, etc. of 192 ff. ; illustration of harmonistic pro- cess 198 ff., 243; "wall" or "no wall," in Iliad 198 ff., 209 ; Iliad^ Bk X (the Doloneia) 215 ff. ; the reconciliation- scene (Idomeneus and Meriones) in Iliad^ Bk xiii 232 ff. p. 238; "we" and "our" plurals proper in 233 Horace refers to a scene in Euripides' Bacchants 145-6 lacchus at Eleusis 51 Idomeneus: the mutiny of 197 ff.; and Meriones 203 f., 210 f., 228; the Aristcia of 202 ff., 214 f., 241 ff. ; Aristeia of not made for its present place in the Iliad 209, 214 Lampon, Herodotus' story of 319 Loisy, M., quoted 336 ff., 352, 364 f., 368, 373 Lycides, see Cyrsilus Lycurgus and the "poetry of Homer" 169 ff. ; and the story of Cyrsilus 324 ff. 394 Index Macedonia 3, 29, 52, 1 50 f., 1 54 ff. Meriones 202 ff. Mesmeric suggestion as treated by Euripides 71 ff., loi ff. Miracles in Athenian and modern tragedy 14 ff. ; ancient and modern treatment of 19 ff. Mordecai, investiture of 371 Murray, Prof. : translation of the Bacchants, vv. i — 3 p. 35 quoted; also of 7>v. 53-4 p. 36; vv. 72 ff., 1 52 ff. p. 38 ; vv. 135 ff. p. 40; vv. 184-9 P- 44; ^'^'• 215 ff. p. 57; vv. 451-2 p. 61 ; vv. 642-8 p. 66 ; vv. 734 ff. p. 84; vv. 702 ff. and 723-7 p. 85; vv. 714 ff. p. 87; vv. 843-6 p. 99; vv. 849 p. 103; vv. 809-12 p. 106; vv. 840-1 p. 107; vv. 912 ff. p. 1 10; vv. 1070 ff. pp. 136-7; vv. 1330 ff. pp. 141-2 ; vv. 469 ff. p. 146 Musurus 1 10 f Narthex 120 ff. Norwood, Prof., on Teiresias 56 n. ; on the earthquake in the Bacchants 65 ; on the hallucina- tion of Pentheus 73 o^os 379, n. 2 " Orgiastic " religion 2 f. Pentheus persecutes Bacchants 4, 94 ff. ; torn to pieces 4 ignorant of the earthquake 27 f. disbelief of P. in miracles 56 ff. believes the bacchic rites to be vicious 57 ; madness of dis- cussed loi ff. ; poisoned by a drug 115 ff. ; drunkenness of 108 f. ; libation of 1 12 f. ; death of 131 ff. ; the design to poison 139 Persians, the, of Aeschylus : and Phoenissae of Phrynichus 283 ff. ; grounds for suspecting author- ship of mr. 465 — 471 and 480 — 514 p. 287 ff., 297 ff. ; non- Aeschylean metre in 290 ff. ; word-division {caesura^ in 290 f., 305 ; punctuation in 292 Pharaoh of Exodus 26 Phoenissae, see Persians and Phrynichus Phrynichus : remains of in the Persians of Aeschylus 283 ff. ; relation between the Phoenissae and the Persians of Aeschylus 284, 301, 307 ; treatment of the battle of Salamis and its sequel in the Phoenissae of 301 ff. ; as a writer of iambic verse 290 ff., 307 Pisistratus and the "poetry of Homer" 175, 177, 190, 195 Pistos Hades 119 ff. Poison, see Drug Posca 379, n. 2 Prostration, oriental 78 Rationalistic literature of Greece 30; speculation 115 Religion, idea of universal, strange to early Hellas 38 f. ; meta- phorical language in 39 f. ; difficulty of destroying estab- lished 49 Rhea 41 Rhyme : Greek hardly capable of as decoration 246 ; grotesque in Greek 247 ; disagreeable and unpleasant 248, 2 5of. ; generally shunned in tragic dialogue 249 f. ; one repetition of a disyl- lable, or trisyllable, the limit of in tragic poets 250, 279 ; Euripides' use of 250 ff., 261, Index 395 265, 268 f., 272 ft", 279 ft". ; Sophocles' use of 251, 254 ff., 264 ft". ; Aeschylus' use of 252, 265 f. ; harsh sound expressly associated with 253 ; the use of rhyme as offensive 253 fif. ; in the part of Medea 261 ; use of by slaves and servants 263 ; in the part of Ion 264 ; an aid to memory 267 f. ; sometimes negligent 269 f. ; in Aeschylus no clear negligence 269 f ; in- stances in Sophocles and Euri- pides probably due to negli- gence 270 f. ; in popular saws 281 Richard II 361 Sanhedrin : no co-operation be- tween Herod and the Sanhedrin in the trial of Christ 358, 360, 371 ; their position as accusers of Christ different from ordinary prosecutors 383 Semele, mother of Dionysus 5 ff"., 41 Sharp, Archbishop 158 Snakes a ritual ornament 92 Spear, breaking of a, symbol of renunciation of service 233, 235 Sirateuina in Luke and Arts 365 Teiresias in the BaccJiants 43, 48, 53, 55 Thrace 3 Trieterica of Delphi bacchic 52 Trochaic metre in tragedy 76 Tyrrell, Prof, iii, 119 Way, Mr : his translation of vv. 434 ft", of the Bacchants quoted p. 60 ; also of I'V. 632 f. p. 69 ; vv. 616 ff". p. 73; 7'V. 809 ff". pp. 98-9; VV. 918-19 p. 108; vv. 912 ff". p. no; VV. 1327-8 p. 138; vv. 1331 ff". p. 141 Women in Greek tragedy, see Emotion Word-division, rules of in the three Greek tragic poets 290 Xerxes, in Aeschylus and in Phry- nichus 283 ff. ; story of and Spartan herald 399 ff". 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