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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Greeks & Barbarians - -Author: James Alexander Kerr Thomson - -Release Date: October 22, 2017 [EBook #55792] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREEKS & BARBARIANS *** - - - - -Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class="transnote">Anchors for Notes at the end of the book have been added to the html, -epub and mobi files for easy reference.</div> - -<p class="center">GREEKS AND BARBARIANS</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center f08"><i>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</i></p> - -<p class="center f15">THE GREEK TRADITION</p> - -<blockquote> - -<table width="100%" summary="price"><tr> -<td class="tdl">La. Cr. 8vo.</td><td class="tdr">6/- net.</td></tr></table> - -<p class="center f15"><i>Extracts from the Reviews.</i></p> - -<p>“The book will be read with profit and with a hearty interest -by any one who wishes to understand the life of ancient Greece.”—<i>Scotsman.</i></p> - -<p>“Mr. Thomson is a classicist who can form his own theories -and support them.”—<i>Times.</i></p> - -<p>“He is such a guide as makes literature a live thing.”—<i>Sunday -Times.</i></p> - -<p>“These delightful essays.”—<i>Morning Post.</i></p> - -<p>“The essays themselves are fresh and stimulating ... it is -a fascinating experiment in reconstruction.... It is Mr. Thomson’s -literary method which attracts us ... essentially sound.”—<i>Inquirer.</i></p> - -<p>“Well worth reading.”—<i>New Age.</i></p> - -<p>“Noteworthy, not only for the author’s intimate knowledge -of Greek literature and art, but also for a range of vision and -breadth of knowledge. The book as a whole is scholarly delicate -work, illuminated by imaginative power as well as real insight -into Greek thought and ideals.”—<i>Land and Water.</i></p> - -<p>“Mr. Thomson is indisputably a valuable aid to classic studies, -and those who have read him cannot fail to re-peruse their Hesiod, -their Thucydides and the ‘Alcestis’ of Euripides in a new and -fuller light.”—<i>Journal of Education.</i></p> - -<p>“Here is scholarship with a bright and eager face. Mr. Thomson’s -essays have the flavour of good literature. They have caught -something of the light of the ancient world of masterpieces with -which they are concerned.”—<i>Daily News.</i></p> - -<p>“He has written with great charm.... Mr. Thomson brings -an active but controlled imagination, a ripe scholarship, a shrewd -judgment, a pleasing literary style and a sympathetic insight. -It is impossible to convey the charm of these papers, each is a -little work of art which must be read as a whole.”—<i>Outlook.</i></p> - -<p>“His work is most thought-provoking and valuable ... every -one interested in classical literature should read it.”—<i>Schoolmaster.</i></p> -</blockquote> -<hr /> - -<h1>GREEKS & BARBARIANS</h1> - -<p class="center"><small><small>BY</small></small><br /> - -J. A. K. THOMSON</p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<img src="images/pm.jpg" width="150" height="143" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="center"> -LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.<br /> -<small>RUSKIN HOUSE, 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C. 1</small><br /> -NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center"><small><small><i>First Published in 1921</i><br /><br /> -(<i>All rights reserved</i>)</small></small></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><cite lang="de" xml:lang="de">Stets wird geschieden sein der Menschheit Heer</cite></div> -<div class="line"><cite lang="de" xml:lang="de">In zwei Partein: Barbaren und Hellenen.</cite></div> -<div class="line i10"><cite lang="de" xml:lang="de"><span class="smcap">Heine</span></cite>, <cite lang="de" xml:lang="de">“Für die Mouche</cite>.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">To<br /> -<br /> -MY MOTHER -</p> - -<hr /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">9</a></span></p> - -<h2>PREFACE</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">There</span> have been many explanations of ancient -Greece and its peculiar spirit. If I may say so, -the only original thing about the explanation offered -in this book is its want of originality; for it is the -explanation of the Greeks themselves. They believed -that Hellenism was born of the conflict between the -Greeks and the Barbarians. As Thucydides puts it -(I. 3), “Greek” and “Barbarian” are correlative -terms; and Herodotus wrote his great book, “seeking,” -as he says, “digressions of set purpose,” to -illustrate just that. About such an explanation -there is obviously nothing startling at all. It is -indeed (at first sight) so colourless and negative, -that it must be dissatisfaction with it which has -provoked all the other explanations. Scholars must -have said to themselves, “What is the use of repeating -that Hellenism is the opposite of Barbarism? -We know that already.” But they knew it only in -a formal or abstract way. It is but the other day -that classical scholars have begun to study the -Barbarian and to <i>work out</i> the contrast which alone -can give us the material for a rich understanding -of the Greek himself. Without this study one’s -ideas of the Greek could not fail to be somewhat -empty and colourless. But any one who cares to read -even the meagre outline which these essays supply -will hardly complain that there is a lack of colour.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">10</a></span></p> - -<p>The subject indeed is so vast that one is compelled -to be selective and illustrative. Even to be this is -far from easy. For instance, it seems extraordinary -to write upon the meaning of Hellenism without a -chapter on Greek art. Such a chapter, however, is -excluded by the design of this book, which must -dispense with illustrations; whereas in dealing with -literature I could always drive home my point by -simple quotation. Then again it may appear a little -old-fashioned and arbitrary that I confine myself to -the centuries before Alexander. But after all it was, -in these centuries that Hellenism rose into its most -characteristic form—and in any case a man must -stop somewhere.</p> - -<p>We lovers of Greece are put very much on our -defence nowadays, and no doubt we sometimes -claim too much for her. She sinned deeply and -often, and sometimes against the light. Things of -incalculable value have come to us not from her. -There probably never was a time when she had not -something to learn from the Barbarians about her—from -Persia, from Palestine, from distant China. -But when all is said, we owe it to Greece that we -think as we do, and not as Semites or Mongols. -I believe that on the whole our modes of thought -are preferable. At any rate they have on the whole -prevailed. And what we students of Greece argue -is that she was fighting our battle; that in the -deepest and truest and most strictly historical sense -the future of the things we cherish most was involved -in her fortunes. How then could we fail to sympathise -with her? I have tried to be just; I could -not be dispassionate.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a></h2> - -<table class="table2" summary="contents" width="100%"><tr> -<td class="tdr" colspan="2">PAGE</td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">PREFACE</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">THE AWAKENING</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">KEEPING THE PASS</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">THE ADVENTURERS</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">ELEUTHERIA</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">SOPHROSYNE</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">GODS AND TITANS</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">CLASSICAL AND ROMANTIC</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">NOTES</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> -</tr><tr> -<td class="tdl">INDEX</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr></table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span></p> - -<p class="center f2">GREEKS AND BARBARIANS</p> - -<hr /> -<h2>I<br /><br /> - -THE AWAKENING</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> began in Ionia. It may in truth have been a -reawakening. But if this be so (and it is entirely -probable), it was after so long and deep a slumber -that scarcely even dreams were remembered. The -Ionians used to say that they remembered coming -from Greece, long ago, about a thousand years before -Christ—as we reckon it—driven from their ancient -home on the Peloponnesian coast of the Corinthian -Gulf by “Dorians” out of the North. They fled -to Athens, which carried them in her ships across -the Aegean to that middle portion of the eastern -shore which came to be known as Ionia. For this -reason they were in historical times accounted -(by the Athenians at least) “colonists of the Athenians.” -Nobody in antiquity appears seriously to -have disputed this account of the Ionians. There -may be considerable truth in it; and if not, the -Ionians were pretty good at disputing. The -Athenians belonged to that race. But if you questioned -the Ionians further and asked them about -their origins in prehistoric Greece, you had to be -content with the Topsy-like answer that the first<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span> -<a href="#p14" class="anchor">(Note 14)</a>Ionians -grew out of the ground. They were <i>Autochthones</i>, -Earth-Children. The critical Thucydides -puts it this way: he says the same stock has <i>always</i> -inhabited Attica. People in his time could remember -when old Athenian gentlemen used to wear their -hair done up in a top-knot fastened by a golden -pin in the form of a cicala—because the cicala also -is an Earth-Child.</p> - -<p>Of course in historical times the Ionians were -Greeks. But they may not always have been -Greeks. Herodotus apparently thinks they were -not. He says they learned to speak Greek from -their Dorian conquerors. The natural inference -from this would be that they were of a different -racial stock. Herodotus, however, is nearly as -fond of a hypothesis as Mr. Shandy, and it is quite -possible that he is here labouring an argument (which -in turn may have been mere Dorian propaganda), -that the only pure-blooded Hellenes were the Dorian -tribes, who admittedly came on the scene much -later than the Ionians. In fact the Ionians may -have been simply an earlier wave of a great invasion -of Greek-speakers which came to an end with the -Dorians. We do not know, and Herodotus did not -know. The Ionians themselves did not know. -There are two possibilities. Either they were an -indigenous people who became Hellenized (as -Herodotus supposes), or they were a folk of Hellenic -affinities who were long settled in Greece in the -midst of a still earlier population. What of that? -Only this, that we have suddenly discovered a great -deal about this prehistoric Aegean population, -above all that it had developed a civilization which -seems almost too brilliant to be true. Now if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> -<a href="#p15" class="anchor">(Note 15)</a>the fugitives who escaped to Ionia were a fragment -of this race, or even were aliens who had only imbibed -a portion of its culture, the awakening which came -so long after may have been in fact a reawakening.</p> - -<p>Archæologists, digging in the sites of old Ionian -cities, have discovered evidence that the early -settlers possessed something of the Aegean culture. -The crown and centre of that culture was the island -of Crete, and there existed some dim traditions of -Cretans landing in Ionia; only then it was probably -not called Ionia. This, and some other considerations, -have prompted the suggestion that the Ionians -really came from Crete. But it seems more in -accordance with the evidence to suppose that the -main body of them came from Greece proper, where -they had learned the “Mycenaean” culture, which -was the gift of Crete. The calamitous Dorians -wrecked that wonderful heritage, but for some time -at least the settlers in their new “Ionian” home -would remember how to fashion a pot fairly and -chant their traditional lays. Then, it would seem, -they all but forgot; little wonder, when you consider -how dire was their plight. Yet even in that uneasy -sleep into which they fell of a recrudescent barbarism -the Ionians remembered something as in a dream; -and it became the most beautiful dream in the world, -for it is Homer.</p> - -<p>Now let us appeal to history. The history of -Ionia is a drama in little of what afterwards happened -on a wider stage in Greece.</p> - -<p>The settlers found a beautiful land with (so Herodotus, -not alone, exclaims) “the best climate in -the world.” Considerable rivers, given to “meandering,” -carve long valleys into the hilly interior<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span> -<a href="#p16" class="anchor">(Note 16)</a>of Asia Minor and offered in their mouths safe -anchorages for the toy-like ships of the ancients. -It is typical Aegean country and would have no -unfamiliar look to the settlers. Naturally they did -not find the new land empty. It contained a native -population who were called, or came to be called, -by the general appellation of “Carians”—barbaric -warriors with enormous helmets crowned by immense -horse-hair crests, and armed with daggers and -ugly-looking falchions like reaping-hooks. The newcomers -fought with them, slew largely among them, -made some uncertain kind of truce with them, married -their women, got their interested help against the -Persian when he grew powerful. But that was -all. They never succeeded in making them truly -Greek or completely civilized. They only mast-headed -them on their hills and, if they caught one, -made a slave of him. Throughout Greek history -the Carians maintained a virtual independence in -the highlands of Ionia, keeping their ancient speech -and customs, cherishing the memory of their old-world -glory when they rowed in the ships of King -Minos of Crete and fought his battles, and professing -no interest in the wonderful cities growing up almost -or quite in view of their secluded eyries. Very -strange it seems. Yet it is typical. If we think -of Greek civilization as a miracle wrought in a narrow -valley with sullen Carians hating it from the surrounding -hills, we shall get no bad picture—for -I will not call it an allegory—of the actual situation -all through antiquity till Alexander came. So -near was the Barbarian all the time.</p> - -<p>The Ionians had always to struggle against being -crowded into the sea by the more or less savage<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span> -<a href="#p17" class="anchor">(Note 17)</a>races of Anatolia. That vast region has always -been full of strange and obscure races and fragments -of races. It is so formed that the migrating peoples -flooding through it were sure to lose side-eddies -down its deep, misleading valleys, to stagnate there. -It must, when Ionia was founded, have had a peculiarly -sombre and menacing aspect. The mighty -empire of the Hittites had fallen and left, so far as -we can see, a turmoil of disorganized populations -between the sea and the dreadful Assyrians. Here -and there no doubt traces of the Hittite civilization -were discernible, sculptures of a god in peasant dress—a -sort of moujik-god—or of that eternal trinity -of Divine Father, Son, and Mother. The wondering -Greeks saw a great cliff at Sipylos fashioned like a -weeping woman, and called her Niobe. They seem -to have admired Carian armour and borrowed that. -There was probably nothing else they could borrow -from the Carians except their lands. There was -a numerous people dwelling farther inland called -the Lydians, who even then must have had some -rudimentary civilization and who afterwards, absorbing -what they could of Ionian culture, threatened -the cities with slavery. Further down the coast, -in the south-western corner of the peninsula, where -somewhat later the Dorians settled, lived the Lycians, -who had the kind of civilization which counts descent -on the mother’s side and buries its dead in holes -of a cliff, as sea birds lay their eggs. The northern -part of the Aegean coast was occupied by Mysians, -Phrygians and kindred races, who never could get -themselves cultivated. They worshipped gods like -Papaios, which is Papa, and Bagaios, which must -be the same as Bog, which is the Russian for God.</p> - -<p><a href="#p18" class="anchor">(Note 18)</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span></p> - -<p>This was the kind of world into which the fugitives -were thrown. It mattered the less perhaps because -their real home was the sea. Yet even the sea gave -them only a temporary escape from the Barbarian. -Wherever they landed they met him again on the -beach. Imagine, if you will, a ship trading from -the chief Ionian harbour, Miletus. Imagine her -bound for the south-east coast of the Black Sea -for a cargo of silver. She would pick her way by -coast and island till she reached the Dardanelles. -From that point onwards she was in unfriendly -waters. On one side were the hills of Gallipoli -(Achi Baba and the rest—we do not know their -ancient names), inhabited by “Thracians” of the -sort called Dolonkoi; on the other side was the -country of the kindred “Phrygians.” It was -likely to go hard with a Greek ship cast away on -either shore. Thence through the Sea of Marmara -and the Bosphorus into the Euxine. Then came -days and days of following the long Asiatic coast, -dodging the tide-races about the headlands, finding -the springs of fresh water known to the older hands, -pushing at night into some rock-sheltered cove, -sleeping on the beach upon beds of gathered leaves. -And so at last to some harbour of “Colchians,” -men whose complexion and hair would make you -swear they were Egyptians, circumcised men, -violently contrasting with their neighbours the -Phasianoi, who live in the misty valley of the -romantic Phasis—large, fat, sleepy-looking men, -flabby men with pasty faces, who grow flax in the -marshy meadows of their languid stream. From -these partially civilized peoples the Greeks would -glean news of the mountain-tribes of the interior,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> -uncanny “Chalybes,” who know where to find iron -and silver in the ribs of their guarded hills, and the -utter savages of the Caucasus, whose single art is -printing the shapes of beasts in colours upon their -clothes, and who, like the beasts, are without shame -in love.</p> - -<p>Or suppose our ship bound for the corn-bearing -region behind the modern port of Odessa in South -Russia. Once through the Bosphorus, she would -make her course along the shore of a wide and -wintry territory inhabited by red-haired, blue-eyed -Thracians, a race akin to certain elements -in the population of Greece itself, warlike, musical, -emotional, mystical, cruel. Here and there the -merchant would land for water or fresh meat—at -Salmydessos, at Apollonia, at Mesembria, at -Odessos, at Tomi (but we do not know when these -places got their names)—till he reached the mouths -of the Danube. Wherever he touched he might -have the chance to hear of wild races further inland, -such as the Getai, very noble savages, who believed -in the immortality of men, or at least of the Getai. -They were of the opinion that when one of them -left this life he “went to Salmoxis.” Salmoxis, -he lived in an underground house and was their god. -Every four years they sent a messenger to him to -tell what they wanted. Their method was this. -First they told the messenger what he must ask, -and then they tossed him in the air, catching him -as he fell on the points of their spears. If he died, -this meant a favourable answer from Salmoxis. -But if the messenger did not die, then they blamed -the messenger and “dispatched” another. Also -they used to shoot arrows at the sun and moon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> -<a href="#p20" class="anchor">(Note 20)</a>defying those luminaries and denying their godhead. -These were “the most righteous of the Thracians,” -according to Herodotus, who expresses and perhaps -shared the sentiment, at least as old as Homer, -which attributed exceptional virtue to remote -and simple peoples like the Hyperboreans and the -Ethiopians and the “Koumiss-Eaters,” the Hippemolgoi -or Glaktophagoi. If the Getai were the -most righteous of the Thracians, one rather wonders -what the rest were like. These were certainly capable -of nearly anything in their moments of religious -frenzy. They would tear raw flesh with their teeth, -sometimes (it was whispered) the living flesh of -children. At certain times of the year the Thracian -women went mad upon the midnight hills, worshipping -Dionysus. (The wild splendour of that scene -shines and shudders like one of their own torches -through the <i>Bacchae</i> of Euripides.) The Thracians -of the coast had an evil reputation as wreckers....</p> - -<p>Beyond the Danube was “Scythia.” All that -district between the river and the Crimea was from -the earliest times of which we have record what it -is to-day, a grain-growing country. Its capital -was the “Market of the Borysthenites,” which -preferred to call itself Olbia, “the City of Eldorado.” -Here the merchant would find a curious population, -very fair in type, great horsemen, wearing peaked -caps of felt and carrying half-moon shields. In the -Russian army which fought Napoleon in 1814 -were Siberian archers whom the French nicknamed -Les Amours. I do not venture to say that these -were Scythians, but it is clear that an ancient Scythian -(half naked, with his little recurved bow) -must have looked rather like an overgrown barbaric<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> -<a href="#p21" class="anchor">(Note 21)</a>Cupid. At Athens it was thought comic to stage -a Scythian. Only, as to that, it should be remembered -that the Athenians recruited their police -from Scythia, and that the human mind seems to -find something inherently comic in a policeman.</p> - -<p>The Scythians were not all savages. Some of -them were skilled farmers. With these the Greek -settlers intermarried, and as early as Herodotus -there was a considerable half-breed population. -A motley town like Olbia was the place for stories—stories -of the “Nomads” who neither plough nor -sow, but wander slowly over the interminable steppes -with their gipsy vans in which the women and -children huddle under the stretched roof of skins; -stories of the Tauri, who live in the Crimea, and -sacrifice the shipwrecked to their bloody idol, clubbing -them on the head like seals. <i>And their enemies -when they subdue them they treat as follows. Every -man cuts off a head and carries it away to his house, -and then fixing it on a long pole sets it up high above -the house, generally above the chimney; for they will -have it that the whole house is protected by the heads -up there. They live by plunder and fighting.</i> The -Neuroi, another of these Scythian tribes, were driven -from their original home by “serpents,” and <i>look -as if they might be sorcerers. For the Scyths and the -Greeks who live in Scythia say that once a year every -man of the Neuroi turns into a wolf, but is restored -to human shape after a day or two. Now when they -say this they do not convince me</i>—Herodotus—<i>still -they say it and even take an oath in saying it. But -the Man-Eaters are the worst savages of all, for they -follow neither rule nor law of any kind. They are -nomads, and are dressed like Scyths, and have a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">22</a></span> -language of their own, and are the only cannibals among -<a href="#p22" class="anchor">(Note 22)</a>those peoples. The Black-Cloaks all wear black -cloaks. Hence their name. Their customs are Scythian. -The great tribe of the Boudinoi have all bright blue eyes -and excessively red hair. They live in a wooden town. -They are aboriginal nomads and eat lice.</i></p> - -<p>Beyond the Boudinoi lived a folk that were bald -from birth—men <i>and</i> women—besides having snub -noses and large chins. The bald ones lived upon -wild cherries, straining the juice off thick and dark, -and then licking it up or drinking it mixed with milk. -They dwelt under trees, every man under his tree, -on which in winter he stretched a piece of white -felt to make a kind of tent. On the mountains -leaped goat-footed men; and beyond the goat-footed -lived men who slept away six months of the -year. The Issêdones ate their dead fathers, whose -skulls they afterwards gilded and honoured with -sacrifices. “In other respects” they were accounted -just, and the women had as much authority among -them as the men. Then came the one-eyed Arimaspeans -and the gold-guarding griffins....</p> - -<p>Suppose we change the scene, and send the Milesian -ship on a voyage to the African coast. What would -the merchant find there? Herodotus will tell us. -By the shores of the Greater Syrtis live the Nasamônes. -They in summer (he tells us) leave their flocks by -the seashore and go up-country to gather dates at -an oasis. They catch locusts, dry them, pound -them, sprinkle the dust on milk, and swallow the -draught. Beyond their territory are the Garamantes -“in the Wild Beast Country.” They run away -when they see anybody, and do not know how to -fight. West of the Nasamônes on the coast are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">23</a></span> -the Makai, who dress their hair in the fashion of a -cock’s comb and fight with shields of ostrich skin. -Beyond the Makai live the Gindânes, whose women -wear leathern anklets, putting on a new anklet for -every new lover. “And each woman has many -anklets.” On a promontory of this region dwell the -Lotos Eaters....</p> - -<p>The Nomads roam from oasis to oasis over a -land of salt and sand. Here is found the race of -Troglodytes or Cave Men, swiftest of human beings; -whom the Garamantes hunt in four-horse chariots. -The Troglodytes feed upon snakes and lizards and -other reptiles. Their language does not sound -human at all but like the squeaking of bats. At -some distance from the Garamantes dwell the Atarantes, -among whom nobody has a name. These, -when the sun is excessively hot, curse him and cry -him shame for scorching them and their land. The -Atlantes, whose dwelling is under Mount Atlas and -its shrouded peaks, are said to be vegetarians and -to have no dreams. Beyond these stretches the -unknown desert, where men live in houses built -of salt, for it never rains there. Hereabouts wander -a number of tribes concerning whom Herodotus -remarks generally, “All these peoples paint themselves -vermilion and eat monkeys.”</p> - -<p>Well, that was the kind of world in which Greek -civilization was born. Do not say I have been -describing a remote barbarism. Remoteness is -relative to more than space, and to the Ionians the -sea was no barrier, but the contrary. They knew -the whole south coast of the Black Sea, for instance, -better than their own Asiatic hinterland. But -even if we exclude the Black Sea and Libya as remote,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">24</a></span> -where did they not at first find barbarism? In -Hellas? But they had just escaped from Hellas, -driven out by the wild first “Dorians,” who were -steadily engaged in ruining what the Ionians in -their new home were trying to save. In Mesopotamia? -But between it and them lay all mountainous -Anatolia crowded with diverse races, most -of them savage, all of them hostile. Egypt at -first and for long was closed to them by an exclusive -foreign policy. The unoriginal and materialistic -culture of Phoenicia was withheld (for what it -was worth) by commercial rivalry. The West as -yet had nothing to give. Weak in numbers, in want -of everything, shut in with such neighbours, Ionia -discovered in herself the force to rescue her feet -from this mire, and to found our modern civilization -of reason and freedom and imaginative energy.</p> - -<p>Naturally the process took time. The first century -or so must have been largely lost in the mere struggle -for survival. There may even have been in some -ways a retrogression—a fading out of the Mycenaean -culture, the admission of “Carian” elements needing -gradual assimilation. That period is historically -so much of a blank to us, that when we do begin to -note the signs of expansion they give us the surprise -of suddenness. Miletus is all at once the leading -city of the Greek world. It plants colony after -colony on the Dardanelles, in the Sea of Marmara, -along the shores of the Euxine. Ionia is awake -while Hellas is still asleep. Ionian traders, Ionian -soldiers, Ionian ships are everywhere. The men -of Phokaia opened to trade the Adriatic, Etruria, -Spain. In the reign of Psammetichos—the First -or Second—some Ionian and Carian pirates were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span> -<a href="#p25" class="anchor">(Note 25)</a>forced to land in Egypt. They were clad according -to their fashion in panoply of bronze. An Egyptian -came to the Marshes and told the king that “bronze -men from the sea are wasting the plain,” having -never before seen men in such armour. Now the -words of the messenger were the very words of an -oracle that had bidden Psammetichos seek the help -of “bronze men from the sea,” so the king hired -the strangers to serve in his army, and by their aid -overcame his enemies. The story (which is in Herodotus) -is told in a way to provoke the sceptical. -But wait a moment. At Abusimbel in Upper Egypt -there is a great temple, and before the temple stand -colossal statues. On the legs of one of these are -scratched Greek words: <i>When King Psamatichos -came to Elephantine, those who sailed with Psamatichos -the son of Theokles wrote this; and they went above -Kertis, as far up as the river let them, and Potasimpto -led the men of alien speech, and Amasis the Egyptians. -Archon the son of Hamoibichos and Pelekos the son -of Houdamos wrote me</i>—this is, the inscription. -Beneath are the signatures of Greek-speaking soldiers. -The writers must have been Ionian mercenaries -under a leader who for some reason adopted the -king’s name. It is to such fellows we owe our -names for Egyptian things. “Crocodile” is just -the Ionian word for a lizard, and “pyramid” -really means a wheaten cake. Ostriches they called -“sparrows.” The British private soldier in Egypt -is probably making similar jokes to-day. To return -to the inscription, the “men of alien speech” commanded -by Potasimpto—an Egyptian name—were -probably Carians. The date of the writing cannot -be later than 589 <span class="smcap">B.C.</span> when Psammetichos II<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span> -<a href="#p26" class="anchor">(Note 26)</a>ceased to reign. The date is not so striking as the -fact that these fighters (who, to put it gently, are -not likely to have had the best Ionian education) -could legibly write. Their spelling, I admit, is not -affectedly purist; but then, spelling is a modern -art.</p> - -<p>The first great Ionian (discounting the view of -some that Homer was an Ionian poet) was the -greatest of all. This was Archilochus, who was -born in the little island of Paros somewhere about -the end of the eighth century before Christ. His -poetry is all but lost, his life little more than a -startling rumour. The ancients, who had him all -to read, spoke of him in the same breath with Homer. -He was not only so great a poet, but he was a new -kind of poet. Before him men used the traditional -style of the heroic epic. This Archilochus sings -about himself. We hear in him a voice as personal, -as poignant, as in Villon or Heine or Burns; it is -a revolutionary voice. Modern literature has nothing -to teach Archilochus. One can see that in the -miserable scanty fragments of his astonishing poetry -that have come down to us.</p> - -<p>As for the man himself, the case against him looks -pretty black. He himself is quite unabashed. But he -also complains of hard luck, and there may be something -in this plea. If he was a bastard, much could -be forgiven him; but that theory seems to rest -on a misapprehension of his meaning. His father -was evidently an important man among the Parians. -There does not appear to be any good reason why -Archilochus should have had so bad a time of it -except the reason of temperament. <i>One great -thing I do know</i>, quoth he, <i>how to pay back in bitter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> -kind the man who wrongs me.</i> He certainly did know -that, but the knowledge was not going to make him -popular. He never could get on with people. He -hated Paros, where, one would have thought, his -father’s son had a fair chance of happiness. <i>Damn -Paros—and those figs—and a life at sea.</i> Later he -accompanied a colony, led by his father, to the -island of Thasos off the Thracian coast; and he did -not like Thasos any more than Paros. <i>It sticks up</i>, -he says in his vivid way, <i>like a donkey’s backbone, -wreathed in wild woods.</i> He also grumbles that -<i>the plagues of all Hellas have run in a body to Thasos</i>. -He did not like the sea, and yet he was a good deal -on it. Pulling at an oar and munching onions no -doubt seemed to him a poor conception of life, but -a thrilling line <i>Let us hide the bitter gifts of the Lord -Poseidon</i> rather breathes an imaginative horror. -The man is a master of this kind of sinister beauty. -<i>There were thirty that died—we overtook them with -our feet—a thousand were we who slew.</i> There you -have it again. Oh yes, he had an overpowering -sense of beauty, and a wonderful imagination—but -also he had something else. That was just the -tragedy. His genius had a twist in it which hurt -himself as well as other people. He had loved a -girl whom he saw <i>playing with a branch of myrtle -and a rose, in the shadow of her falling hair</i>. He -believed that she had been promised in marriage -to him; but something happened, and they did not -marry. It may be said for Neoboule and her father -that Archilochus was not the sort they made good -husbands of; and if any one is still disposed to -condemn them, he may relent when he hears that -the poet assailed them with a fabulous bitterness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> -of tongue—assailed them till, according to the story, -they hanged themselves. He meantime followed -the call of his temperament, or of the poverty into -which his temperament had brought him, and -became a professional soldier. <i>I shall be called a -mercenary like a Carian</i>, he says with a touch of what -looks like bravado. What a life for a poet! <i>I -am the servant of the Lord of War, and I know the -lovely guerdon of the Muses</i>, he says superbly. His -way of living is reflected in his speech. There is -lust and drunkenness in it, and a kind of soldierly -joviality. <i>Wild-fig-tree of the rock feeding many -crows, good-natured Pasiphile who makes strangers -welcome</i>. Pasiphile hardly needs a commentator. -Nor does the half-line preserved by a grammarian -(who quoted it to illustrate the dative case)—<i>plagued -with lice</i>.</p> - -<p>Archilochus was sent to fight the Saioi, a wild -tribe of the Thracian mainland opposite Thasos. -It would seem that the Greeks were defeated. At -any rate, he for one ran away, abandoning his shield—to -Greek sentiment an unforgivable offence. -Who tells us this? Archilochus himself, adding -impudently that he doesn’t care; he can easily get -another shield, and meantime his skin is whole. The -ancient world never quite got over the scandal of -this avowal. Archilochus aggravated it by a poem -to a friend in which he remarks that a man who -pays much attention to charges of cowardice won’t -have very many pleasures. But cowards don’t -become soldiers, and don’t write humorous accounts -of their misbehaviour. He was a fighter to the -last. A man of Naxos killed him.</p> - -<p>There are in the fragments of Archilochus notes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> -of tenderness and even delicacy, notes of a singularly -impressive pathos. There are indeed all notes in -him, from the bawdy to the divine. It would be -absurd to call him a bad man—quite as absurd -as to call him a good one. He is a man. And -what makes him so fascinating is just this, that for -the first time in literature a man expresses himself. -His extraordinary greatness is almost a secondary -matter by the side of that portentous phenomenon. -It was the Ionians who produced him.</p> - -<p>Archilochus was absorbed in his own adventures, -but even he must have noted the tremendous events -which were changing the nations before his eyes. -A fierce and numerous folk, known to the Greeks -as the Cimmerians (<i>Kimmerioi</i>—their name survives -in Crimea and Crim Tartary), broke loose or were -thrust from their homes in the steppes and poured -into Asia Minor, apparently through what is called -the “Sangarios Gap” in Phrygia. You may see -them fighting Ionians on a sarcophagus from Clazomenae -which is in the British Museum. They rode -bareback on half-tamed horses and slew with tremendous -leaf-shaped swords. They destroyed the -power of Phrygia, then the greatest in the peninsula, -and King Midas, last of his race, killed himself (by -drinking bull’s blood, men said). Lydia succeeded to -the place and the peril of the Phrygians. She was -under the rule of a new king (called “Gugu”), who -made a strong fight of it, but was ultimately, about -650 <span class="smcap">b.c</span>., defeated and slain by the half-naked riders -under their king Tugdammi, who sacked the Ionian -towns. The Ionians, however, made common cause -with Ardys the son of Gugu or Gyges, as the Greeks -called him, and along with the Lydians they beat this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> -Tugdammi and drove away his people. Then the kings -of Lydia, secure and strong and wealthy, turned their -arms against Ionia, which thenceforward has to -fight one long and losing battle with overmastering -enemies. Gyges, Ardys, Sadyattes, Alyattes, Croesus—they -all attacked her. Meantime, in the reign of -Alyattes, the greatest of these monarchs, a new and -far more imposing power had got itself consolidated -to the east of the Lydian empire. This was the -kingdom of the Medes. The rivals fought a great -battle, which ended in the twilight and alarm of a -total eclipse of the sun on May 28, 585 <span class="smcap">B.C.</span> They -made peace for the time, and Alyattes could proceed -with the gradual reduction of the ports. But in -the next generation—for all the East had been set -in motion—the Medes in their turn had fallen under -the authority of the kindred Persians and the great -conqueror Cyrus, who in due time rushed west with -his invincible footmen and his unfamiliar camels, -destroyed Lydia in a moment, and contemptuously -left a general to complete the conquest of Ionia.</p> - -<p>All this time, and even under the Persian, the -Ionians continued to develop and enrich the mind -of the world. If science means the effort to find -a rational instead of a mythological explanation of -things, then the Ionians invented science. Thales -of Miletus predicted that eclipse. Anaximander -of Miletus held a theory about the origin of life -which anticipates modern speculation. He wrote -a book about it, which was probably the first example -of literary prose in Greek. He also made the first -map. His fellow-citizen Hecataeus invented history.... -These are just some of the things the Ionians -did. The rest of the Hellenes—first the colonies<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span> -in Italy and Sicily, then the Athenians—caught -the flame from them and kept it alive through later -storms. But there was no more than time for -this when the eastern cloud descended on Ionia. -Athens could take up the torch. But Ionia was -down.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span></p> - -<h2>II<br /><br /> - -KEEPING THE PASS</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> innumerable East was pouring out of Thessaly -into the Malian Plain, flooding in by two main -channels, the hill-road through the pass of Thaumaki -and the coast-road along the shore of the westward-bending -Gulf of Malis. First came the pioneers, -then the fighters, then the multitude of camp-followers -and trains of supply which had fed all -those numbers over so many leagues of hostile and -unharvested regions. On attaining the brow of the -steep climb to Thaumaki, had one looked back -upon the view which gave this point its name of -<i>The Place of Wondering</i>, he must have seen the -wide Thessalian plain alive with an unwonted stir -of men and baggage-wains and animals, and touched -with shifting points of barbaric colour. As the -continuous stream flowed past him he could note -everything in greater detail—“Persians and Medes -and Elamites,” the different contingents with their -varying armature; footmen and horsemen; sumpter-mules -and a number of high-necked, slow-striding -camels, some of them showing on their flanks the -proof that there were lions in Macedonia. Through -the noise of the march would come the babel of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span> -strange oriental tongues. Enclosing all this, very -far away could be descried a shadowy girdle of great -mountains, from the highest and most distant of -which the gods of Olympus looked down upon the -invasion of Greece.</p> - -<p>But Xerxes, driving along the coast-road to where -it meets the Thaumaki route at Lamia, beheld a -different sight. Mount Oeta stretched its wild -massif there before him. At its western extremity -(which he was approaching) the range piles itself -into a shapeless bulk, crowding together its summits, -which here in a surprising manner suddenly leap up -some six or seven thousand feet from the plain. As -the system trends eastward it sags down to a much -lower level, but is there formidably guarded by the -black precipices of the Trachinian Cliffs. Eastward -yet it continues declining, until it is perhaps -not three thousand feet high, then rises again -another two thousand. This is the part that was -called Kallidromos. Between the marshy shore -of the Gulf and the broken cliff-wall of the mountain -runs the Pass. Towering over all, at a vast distance -rises the strange, enormous peak called Giona; -while far to the south may be descried the most -famous mountain in the world.</p> - -<p>In the fierce sunlight of that sweltering day the -King could not have failed to mark on his side of -the Pass, under the very highest peaks of the range, -a great black gash in the rocky barrier. As he -approached it revealed itself to be the gorge through -which the tormented Asôpos bores its narrow way -between sheer walls of an altitude that disturbs -the mind. A little space beyond the gorge, on the -farther side of the Asôpos where it enters the Gulf,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> -<a href="#p34" class="anchor">(Note 34)</a>begins -the Pass. The army was halted. Xerxes -sent forward a scout.</p> - -<p>The scout entered the Pass at a point where the -sea barely left room for the road between it and -the mountain, which here, gradually accentuating -the gentle slope near the summit, comes down -precipitously in the last few hundred feet. He -rode a mile and met no one. Then the Pass, -opening out a little towards the right, showed -him the old temples where the Amphiktyones, the -“Dwellers Round,” used to meet upon their sacred -business. The road kept skirting the sea-marsh -for a little, then rose in a long slope. He made his -way cautiously to the summit. Arrived there, he -all at once saw, thrust as it were into his face (so -near they seem) the monstrous precipices of Kallidromos, -three thousand feet high, all glistening at -its eastern end with the whitish deposit of those -clear bluish-green sulphur springs which gave its -name to this famous place—the “Hot Gates,” -<i>Thermopylae</i>. But the scout had no eyes for this -great vision, for he saw, where the road again approaches -the rocky wall, the red tunics of Spartan -hoplites.</p> - -<p>What were they doing? Some of them were -practising the use of their weapons. Some were -sitting on the ground and—yes—combing their -long hair! One of them must have made a jest, for -the others broke out laughing. The scout could -not understand it at all. He counted them: a -ridiculous handful. There were in fact rather more -of them than he could see; an ancient wall across -the Pass hid the rest. The scout rode quietly back -with his information. Now one reason why the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">35</a></span> -Spartans were combing their hair was this. It was -customary among them to comb the hair of the dead.</p> - -<p>They knew what was before them. Two of their -spies had been captured by Xerxes, who let them -go after fully showing them his whole array. The -report of the spies was not likely to fall short of the -facts as a result of this policy. All the East was on -the march! Besides the Persians, Medes and Kissians, -who formed the flower of the invading army, were -coming the Assyrians, one of the great conquering -races of history, distinguishable by their helmets -of bronze and leathern straps curiously interwoven, -by their clubs studded with iron nails, and by their -linen breastplates. There were coming, the Bactrians -with their bows of cane; the Sakai wearing their -pointed sheepskin caps and armed with their native -battleaxes; dark Indians in their cotton garments, -carrying their bows of bamboo and iron-tipped -arrows. There were hide-wrapped Caspians bearing -sword and bow; Sarangians in dyed raiment and -booted to the knee; Paktyes, Outioi, Mykoi, Parikanioi.... -There were Arabians in flowing burnous -who shot with the long bow; Ethiopians in the -pelts of leopards and lions bearing spears of antelope’s -horn and bossy maces and huge bows of split palm-wood -with little arrows tipped with agate, who when -they went to battle coloured half their black bodies -with chalk and half with vermilion. (The “Eastern -Ethiopians” wore on their heads the scalps of horses -with the mane and ears attached; their shields -were the backs of cranes.) There were Libyans -from North Africa in goatskin garments; and buskined -Paphlagonians in plaited headpieces. There were -Phrygians, Armenians, Lydians, Mysians. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">36</a></span> -<a href="#p36" class="anchor">(Note 36)</a>were -Thracians with their foxskin caps, their deer-skin -buskins, their long, many-coloured mantles. -There were tribes armed with little shields of cow-hide -and hunting-spears, two for each warrior; -on their heads were bronze helmets and on the helmets -the ears and horns of an ox in bronze, their legs -were bound in crimson puttees. The Milyai were -there, their cloaks fastened by brooches and with -leathern skull-caps on their heads; the Moschoi, -whose helmets were made of wood; the Tibarenes, -the Makrônes, the Mossynoikoi; the Mares; the -Colchians with wooden helms and raw-hide shields; -the Alarodians and the Saspeires; the tribes from -the islands of the Red Sea....</p> - -<p>These (and more) were the infantry of the King. -In addition there were the cavalry and the fleet.</p> - -<p>There was the fine Persian cavalry. There were -the Sagartians, who fought with the lasso; Medes -and Kissians; Indians, some riding on steeds, some -in chariots drawn by horses or by wild asses; -Bactrians and Sakai; the Libyan charioteers; -Perikanians; Arabians on camels.</p> - -<p>To form the vast fleet came the famous mariners -of Phoenicia and Syrians of Palestine—helmeted -men with linen breastplates and rimless shields, -throwers of the javelin. The Egyptians sent their -navy, whose men had defences of plaited work on -their heads, and carried hollow shields with enormous -rims, and were armed with boarding-pikes -and poleaxes and great triangular daggers. The -Cyprian contingent could be recognized by the -turbans of their “kings” and the felt hats of the -common sort. The Cilician seamen were there in -woollen jerseys. Pamphylians were there. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span> -Lycian crews wore greaves and cuirasses, and were -armed with bows of cornel wood and reed arrows -without feathers, and with casting-spears; you -knew them by the goatskins floating from their -shoulders, their plumed hats, their daggers and -crescent-shaped falchions. The Dorians of Asia -were there, men of Greek race; the subject Ionians, -alas; some from the Greek isles; the Aeolians; -the “Hellespontians.” On board of every ship -was a band of fighting men.</p> - -<p>To defend the Pass there were three hundred -Spartans; to be exact, 297, all picked men and, -that their race might not perish out of Sparta, all -fathers of sons. They were accompanied by their -less heavily armed attendants. There were 2,196 -men from Arcadia, 400 from Corinth, 200 from -Phlius, 30 from Homeric Mycenae, now a ruinous -little town, 700 Thespians, 400 Thebans of doubtful -loyalty, 1,000 Phocians, the whole levy of the Opuntian -Locrians; in all not eight thousand men. -The whole force was under the command of one of -the two Spartan kings. You know his name.</p> - -<p>The right flank of the Greeks rested upon the -narrow seas between the Malian coast and Euboea. -The Athenian fleet was at Artemision guarding -the narrows against the vastly superior navy of -the enemy. From the heights above the road -Leonidas could signal to the Athenian admiral.</p> - -<p>The King prepared to attack simultaneously by -land and sea. While the great army was making -its way into Malis, his fleet was sailing along the -iron coast of Magnesia, where the sea breaks under -the imminent range of wooded Pelion. A squadron -was detached to circumnavigate Euboea and cut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> -off the retreat of the Greek ships in the Straits. -Next morning everything would be ready for the -concerted assault. The main portion of the fleet -would enter the Malian Gulf, while the other ships -were entering the “Hollows of Euboea.” Then -Xerxes would rush at the Pass.</p> - -<p>Only—in the sultry night following the long, hot -day thunder began to mutter along the heights of -Pelion. It increased to a violent storm, and the -watchers on the Euboean mountains saw every now -and then the whole range lit up by vivid lightning. -Then the wind—the “Hellesponter” from the -north-east—rose to so great a fury that the sea was -quickly all in a turmoil. For three days the tempest -raged, for three nights the bale-fires of the Greeks -tossed their red beards in the wind. Great numbers -of Persian ships were cast away upon the rocks -about Cape Sepias. The squadron sent to round -Kaphareus was wrecked in the Hollows. So rich -a treasure was lost that a farmer near Sepias became -the wealthiest Greek of his time by merely picking -up what was washed upon the beach. And for -these three days Xerxes must mark time before the -Pass.</p> - -<p>On the fourth day the Persian fleet succeeded in -entering the Pagasaean Gulf. Then Xerxes ordered -the attack. His Persian bodyguard, the ten thousand -“Immortals” who were his best troops, were held -in reserve. Meanwhile the Medes and Kissians, -admirable infantry to whom victory had long become -a habit, were sent forward to wear down the -Spartan resistance. They were dressed in close-fitting -leathern garments, in trousers (which surprised the -Greeks) and curious fez-like caps, of soft felt or cotton,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span> -<a href="#p39" class="anchor">(Note 39)</a>projecting -in a kind of drooping horn at the front. -(But the Kissians wore turbans.) They had sleeved -tunics of many colours and cuirasses of bronzen -scales like the skin of some great fish. They had -wicker shields from behind which they cast their -long spears (but the Greek spears were longer) -and shot the reed arrows from their little bows -(but the Greek bows were smaller). At their right -sides swung from their girdles their foot-long stabbing -swords. Their emperor, throned on a golden chair -with silver feet, watched them advance to the -assault. On his head was a stiff upright fez, on his -feet saffron-tinted slippers. His mantle was purple, -purple his trousers and flowing robe embroidered -in white with the sacred hawks of his god Ahuramazda. -He was girt with a golden zone, from which was -hung his Persian sword thickly set with precious -stones.</p> - -<p>The Medes and Kissians attacked with fury. -Against these lighter-armed troops the Spartans -with their metal panoply and great heavy spears -would have been at a terrible disadvantage. It -was vital for them to keep the enemy engaged at -close quarters. The tactics of Leonidas therefore -were designed to effect this. His men made short -rushes into the thick of the foe; feigned flights; -reformed again and renewed the charge. They did -this again and again. What discipline! In that -narrow space, fifty feet wide, the ponderous Lacedaemonian -spears of the Greek vanguard went -through the wicker shields and the scale armour of -the Barbarians like papyrus, while the points of -the Median lances bent or broke against the solid -buckler and breastplate of the Spartan hoplite.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> -Leonidas hardly lost a man. Still the enemy came -on, yelling; their dead choked the mouth of the -Pass. Hour after hour in that late-summer weather -the fight raged on. Loaded with their armour, -trusting much to mere superiority of physical strength -as they thrust back the assailants with their shields, -all that time the Spartans kept up these violent -rushing tactics. And then Xerxes sent the “Immortals” -at them.</p> - -<p>These men were perfectly fresh. They greatly -outnumbered, not merely the Spartans, but all -the defenders of the Pass together. They were -the flower of one of the great conquering armies of -history. The Spartans lifted their shields again -and renewed the furious fighting. They made a -dreadful slaughter of the Immortals, till at the -long day’s end the Persians fell back, beaten and -baffled. The Spartans dropped on the ground and -slept like dead men.</p> - -<p>Next day was a repetition of the day before.</p> - -<p>Xerxes, or his generals, grew anxious. The -closest co-operation with the fleet was necessary -for the victualling of so numerous a host; and the -fleet had failed to penetrate into the Malian Gulf. -And the Pass was not yet forced.</p> - -<p>At this critical hour a man craved audience of -the King. He was a Malian Greek, a native of -the region, and he knew all Oeta like one of its foxes. -(Long years after, when a price was on his head, -something drew him back to the scene of his immortal -crime, to be slain there by no public avenger.) -This fellow offered, for gold, to lead the Persians -by a path he knew, which would take them by a -long, steep, circuitous climb and descent to a posi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span>tion -in the rear of the men in the Pass. The offer -was accepted eagerly.</p> - -<p>Hydarnes, commanding the Immortals, set out -under the guidance of the traitor. As they left -the Persian encampment darkness was falling and -lamps began here and there to glimmer. The guide -led the way into the wild ravine of the Asôpos. -If outside the light was failing, here it was already -night. Far above their heads the men could see a -star or two shining between the narrow slit where -the sheer walls of the gorge seemed almost to meet, -so high they were. The path, by which a laden -mule could with difficulty pass, followed the course -of the rushing stream over gravel and between great -boulders. It was part of the old hill-road to Delphi -and well known to pilgrims and bandits. It had -an evil reputation. “It hath ever been put to an -ill use by the Malians.” (We can imagine to what -sort of use our Malian had been wont to put it.) -Moreover the Asôpos would sometimes rise suddenly -and come roaring in spate down the gulley, flooding -over the road. A sinister path.</p> - -<p>For about three miles the Persians in Indian file -threaded the ravine, which then opened out into a -valley, up the slope of which they toiled, aided by -their spears, along a track getting ever rougher and -steeper. Sometimes the way would conduct them -through a pitchy wood of firs. Now and again -a man would stumble in the thick scrub or over a -projecting edge of rock. Superstitious terror, begotten -of the darkness upon such hills in the minds -of those worshippers of Ahriman, troubled and silenced -them. They emerged at last on a kind of rocky -pavement. Then they descended a ravine and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span> -climbed the opposing slope. As they climbed the -darkness lifted a little; a faint glimmer came from -their golden bangles and the pomegranates of gold -and silver on the butt of their spears. When they -reached the summit of the path called Anopaia -which they had so long been following, the -dawn was clear behind the acute peak of Mount -Saromata.</p> - -<p>Anopaia was not unknown to the defenders of -the Pass, and Leonidas had detached his Phocian -contingent to guard it. In the silence of that windless -night, in the hour before the break of day, -the Phocian outposts heard a mysterious sound—a -sort of light, dry, continuous roar, gradually growing -nearer and louder. It was the Persians passing -through an oak wood and dispersing with their feet -the fallen leaves of many autumns. Suddenly the -men appeared in the open. The Phocians were -taken by surprise. Under a shower of arrows they -retreated upon a little fort crowning a height about -half a mile away. There they awaited the attack -of Hydarnes. But he, neglecting these Phocians, -pressed on along the path, which now began to descend, -very steep and narrow. In no long time he -would be on the road behind Leonidas. The Pass -was turned.</p> - -<p>While it was yet night, deserters had come to the -Greeks with news of the march across the mountain. -Soon after scouts came running down from the -heights confirming the tale. Tradition says that -Leonidas in so desperate a case bade his allies depart -and save themselves; as for himself and his men, -their orders were to defend the Pass to the utmost. -It has, however, been recently suggested that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span> -contingents which withdrew went to meet Hydarnes. -If such was their purpose, either they came too late, -or missed the enemy, or like the Phocians shrank -from the conflict with the odds so heavy against -them. At any rate they now pass out of the story. -They were all the Greek forces save the Lacedaemonians, -the thousand who must have composed -nearly the whole fighting power of Thespiai, and -four hundred Thebans. Of these the Thebans, -it is said, were retained by Leonidas as hostages, -their city being tainted already with suspicion of -disloyalty. Yet they may have been true men. -But the Thespians stayed willingly. Even when -it was known that Hydarnes could not be stopped, -they chose to stay. They had no traditional code -of military honour like the Spartans; their proportionate -stake was twenty times greater. “Their -leader was Demophilos the son of Diadromês, their -bravest man was Dithyrambos the son of Harmatidas.”</p> - -<p>It was full daylight when Xerxes according to -arrangement attacked. The Greeks, who hitherto -had lined up behind the old wall which the Persian -scout had seen drawn along the ridge of a mound -within the narrowest part of the Pass, now, knowing -the end was come, issued forth into the broader -space beyond. Then followed a fight which men -who only read of it never forget. The Barbarians -came on in wave upon wave; the Greeks slew and -slew. They could see the Persian officers lashing -on their men with whips to the assault. Now and -again one of themselves would fall with a rattle of -bronze. But the enemy fell in heaps. Many were -thrust into the sea and drowned; still more were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> -trampled to death beneath the feet of their fellows. -Two brothers of Xerxes were slain.</p> - -<p>Then Leonidas fell.</p> - -<p>The Spartans gathered about their king and -fought to rescue the body. By this time their spears -were broken, and they were fighting with their -swords. One of the two men who had been left -behind at the base in the last stages of ophthalmia -appeared, led by his servant. The helot turned -the face of his master towards the enemy and fled. -The blind man stumbled forward, striking wildly, -until he was killed. Four times the Barbarians -were driven back, and the body of Leonidas was -saved.</p> - -<p>Word came that the Immortals were on the -road behind them. Therefore the Greeks changed -their plan of battle and retreated to the narrower -portion of the Pass; all but the Thebans, who -surrendered to the foe. The men of Sparta and -Thespiai fought their way back to the mound and -behind the stone wall across the mound, and there -made their final stand. With cries the Barbarians -swarmed about them on front and flank and rear. -In a moment the wall was down. Such of the Greeks -as still had swords kept using them. When their -swords were gone, they fought with their bare hands; -and died at last rending their enemies’ flesh like -wolves with their teeth.</p> - -<p>Thus, and not more easily, did Xerxes win through -the Pass.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span> -<a href="#p45" class="anchor">(Note 45)</a></p> - -<h2>III<br /><br /> - -THE ADVENTURERS</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">The</span> Greek world, like the English, was largely -the creation of adventurous men. To follow in -their track would be in itself a literary adventure -of the most fascinating and entirely relevant to our -subject, the conflict of the Greek and the Barbarian. -Unfortunately for our delight the adventurers did -not often write down their experiences; or if they -did, their accounts have for the most part disappeared. -There was a certain Pytheas of Massalia, -that is Marseille, who about the time of Alexander -the Great sailed up the eastern coast of England and -discovered Scotland, and wrote a book about it -afterwards. We should like to read that book; -if only to see what he said about Scotland. But -his account is lost, and we should hardly know -about him at all, if it were not for a brief reference -in the geographer Strabo. Pytheas seems to have -got as far as the Orkney or even the Shetland Islands—one -German sends him on a Polar expedition—and -had something to say about a mysterious -“Thule.” He remarked on the extraordinary length -of the summer days in these northern latitudes, -thereby provoking his fellow-countrymen to regard -him as “extremely mendacious” (Ψευδίστατος).</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span> -<a href="#p46" class="anchor">(Note 46)</a></p> - -<p>Long before the time of Pytheas one Skylax -of Karyanda in Asia Minor—a Greek or half-Greek—was -sent by King Darius to explore the mouths -of the Indus, that “second of all the rivers which -produced crocodiles.” He sailed down a river -“towards the dawn and the risings of the sun into -the sea and through the sea westward,” circumnavigating -India. What river was that? Whatever -river it was, he accomplished a wonderful thing. -Skylax also wrote a book, apparently, on this voyage. -There exist fragments of his <i>Voyage Round the -Parts Without the Pillars of Heracles</i>. His Indian -narrative might be the worst written volume in the -world, but it could not fail to excite the imagination -in every sentence. Sailing along a river of crocodiles -in a Greek galley in the reign of Darius the King!</p> - -<p>Skylax was an Ionian or an Ionized Carian; and -this reminds us that Ionia produced the first adventurers. -There went to the making of that colony -a great commingling of races. The first settlers may -actually have come from Crete bringing with them -what they could of the dazzling Cretan civilization. -Many certainly came from Greece, which had enjoyed -a civilization derived from Crete. No doubt -the colonists had to accept help from any quarter -and adopt dubious fugitives from Dorianized Hellas -and “natives”—Carians, Lydians, Leleges and the -like, who had learned to speak a kind of Greek—and -marry native wives, who had not even learned -to do that, and who would not eat with their husbands, -and persisted in a number of other irrational -and unsympathetic customs. But it is possible -to believe that some memory of the ancient lore -was long preserved, and in particular a knowledge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span> -<a href="#p47" class="anchor">(Note 47)</a>of -the sea-routes the Cretan ships had followed. -I have argued elsewhere in this sense, venturing the -suggestion that the Greek colonial empire (which -started from Ionia) began in an effort to re-establish -the great trading system which had its centre in -early Crete. Excavators keep on discovering signs -of Cretan—“Minoan” or “Mycenaean”—influences -in the very places to which the Greek colonists -came; and it looks as if they came because they -knew the way.</p> - -<p>The Ionian cities were nearly all maritime, and -this in the fullest sense that the word suggests. -The relation of Miletus, for example, to the Aegean -did not less effectually mould the character of that -state than the Adriatic moulded Venice. Therefore -to understand Ionia we must approach her from the -sea. She early discovered that this was her element. -From Miletus harbour, from the shell-reddened beach -of Erythrae, from Samos, from Chios, from Phokaia -her ships ventured yearly farther, seeking (if we are -right) to recover the old trade-connexions so long -severed by the Invasions; to recover the old and, -if possible, to pick up new. Ionian seamen became -famous for their skill and hardihood. Not merely -in the Aegean, but also in remoter waters, it soon -became a common thing to see a little wooden many-oared -vessel, a great eye painted on either bow -(to let her see her way, of course), a touch of rouge -on her cheeks; her sail set or her rowers rowing to -the music of one that played on a flute. Her burden -would be (for a guess) wine and olive oil and black-figured -pottery, with a quantity of the glittering rubbish -with which traders have always cheated natives—for -the chief an embroidered belt or a woollen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> -<a href="#p48" class="anchor">(Note 48)</a>garment -dyed as red as possible, for his wife a bronze -mirror or a necklace of glorious beads. Having -reached her destination and done good business, -the ship would leave behind one or two of the crew -with instructions to collect and store the products -of the country against her return next spring. If -all went well and the natives did not suddenly attack -and exterminate the foreign devils in their midst, -the storehouses would increase and the settlers with -them, until at last the factory seemed important -enough to undergo the solemn ceremony of “foundation” -(<i>Oikismos</i>) and to be called a “colony” -(<i>Apoikia</i>). Normally the “foundation” meant a -great influx of new settlers, and from it the colony -dated its official existence. But it might have had -a struggling unofficial existence quite a long time -before. More likely than not it had. These -settlements at the sea-ends of trade-routes are -immemorially old.</p> - -<p>Let me quote an anecdote from Herodotus. He -is engaged in relating the saga of the founding of -Cyrene by certain men of the Aegean island Thera, -and at a point in his narrative he says of these -Theraeans:</p> - -<p><i>In their wanderings they came to Crete and namely -to the city of Itanos. There they meet a man that was -a seller of purple, whose name was Korôbios; who -said that he had been caught in a tempest and carried -to Libya, even to the island of Platea, which is part -of Libya. This man they persuaded to go with them -to Thera, giving him money; and from Thera men -sailed to view the land, being few in number as for -the first time. But when Korôbios had guided them -to this Isle Platea, they leave him there with provision<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span> -for certain months, and themselves set sail with all -speed to report concerning the island to the Theraeans. -Now when they did not return in the time agreed upon, -Korôbios was left with nothing. But then a ship -of Samos that was voyaging to Egypt put in at this -Platea; and when the master of the ship, whose name -was Kolaios, and the other Samians had heard the -whole tale from Korôbios, they left him a year’s food, -and themselves put off from the isle, being eager to make -Egypt. However, they were driven from their course -by a wind out of the east. And passing out through -the Pillars of Heracles they arrived at Tartessos, the -wind never ceasing to blow. Thus were they marvellously -led to this market, which at that time was -untouched, so that these men won the greatest profit -in merchandise of all Greeks of whom we surely know.</i></p> - -<p>It would be easy to write a long commentary on -that story. I might invite the reader to share my -admiration of an art which makes you see so much -in so little. You see the lonely man on his desert -island of sand and scrub, with no companions but -the wild goats (if goats there were) and the sea-birds -fishing among the breakers. You picture his -despair as he watches his store of victuals coming -to an end, with no sign of his returning shipmates; -his extravagant joy when he descries a Greek vessel; -the astonishment of the strangers at the sight of -this Crusoe; his bursting eagerness to tell them -“the whole tale”; the departure of the Samians -and the belated reappearance of the Theraeans; -the face of Korôbios as he goes down to meet them, -thinking of the things he will say. But the point -I wish more particularly to make is the significance -for history of the story. Desiring to learn what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> -<a href="#p50" class="anchor">(Note 50)</a>they -can of the commercial possibilities of the -Cyrenaica, the Theraeans come to Crete, and not -only to Crete, but to that part of it where there still -dwelt in the eastern corner of the long island a remnant -of Eteocretans, that is “Cretans of Pure Blood,” -descendants of the “Minoan” Cretans, who had been -such famous traders and mariners. Itanos, where -Korôbios lived, was an Eteocretan town. It has -been excavated and has revealed material evidence -of “Minoan” culture. That the ships of Minos -visited Cyrenaica any one would conjecture who -looked at a map. Ethnographers and archæologists -adduce arguments of their own pointing to the same -conclusion. Where the Greek town of Cyrene later -grew up was the end of a caravan-route of unknown -age from the Oasis of Siwah to the Mediterranean. -Was not trade done there by the Minoans long before -it was reconstituted as a “colony” of the Theraeans? -Might not some knowledge of this African market -and the sea-road thither linger on among the ruined -and hunted Eteocretans?</p> - -<p>In Herodotus’ account Korôbios appears to know -only Platea, and it only by accident. That Eteocretan -then must have felt no end of a surprise when -the Samians came so opportunely to his help in the -island he had “discovered.” Platea is supposed -to be the little island of Bomba, which gives its -name to the Gulf of Bomba. The Theraeans stayed -in Platea a matter of two years. Then, urged by -want and the Delphian Oracle, they landed in a -body on the mainland opposite the island. It was -a beautiful spot called Aziris, shut in by wooded hills -and nourished by a river. Here they lived six years. -Then at last, guided by friendly Libyans—are not those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> -<a href="#p51" class="anchor">(Note 51)</a>“friendlies” -somewhat significant?—they pushed -on to the site of what came to be known as the city -of Cyrene. Korôbios has dropped out of the story, -and the whole business looks like a bit of “peaceful -penetration” into unknown country. That is the -impression Herodotus wishes to convey. But it -is a wrong impression, for somebody did know a -remarkable amount about the Cyrenaica. The god -of Delphi knew. It is he who is always urging the -reluctant Theraeans from stage to stage of their -advance. Herodotus, less perhaps from pious than -artistic motives, emphasizes the contrast of the divine -foreknowledge with the timid ignorance of men; it -makes everything more dramatic. But we need -not suffer ourselves to be imposed upon. For the -god we substitute his ministers. The priests at Delphi -had in their possession some previous information -about the Libyan coast. They made a point of -collecting such information. Where they got this -particular piece of knowledge we do not know; -but the old Homeric hymn tells how in ancient days -a ship sailed from Crete to establish the oracle at -Delphi.</p> - -<p>But we have not yet exhausted the interest of -that brief excerpt from Herodotus. Our thoughts -travel with those Samians who, making for Egypt, -were driven by contrary winds farther and farther -west, until at last they passed the Straits of Gibraltar -and found a superb new market at Tartessos just -outside. It has been generally believed by scholars -that Tartessos is the Tarshish with which, as we -read in the Old Testament, King Hiram of Tyre -exchanged merchandise; but of this there is now -some doubt. Tartessos stood on an island at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> -<a href="#p52" class="anchor">(Note 52)</a>mouth -of the Guadalquivir, and was doubtless known -to the Phoenicians before the Samians got there. -It is surely of it that Arnold is thinking at the end -of that long simile which concludes <i>The Scholar -Gipsy</i>, when he tells how the Phoenician trader -after passing the Atlantic straits reaches a place -where <i>through sheets of foam, shy traffickers, the -dark Iberians come</i>. The discovery of the Atlantic -made a profound impression on the Greek mind. -Pious and conservative spirits, like Pindar, thought -it wicked to venture beyond the Straits; and indeed, -it was long before any one did venture far, because, -for one thing, the sort of craft which was suited to -the tideless Mediterranean could not face so well -the different conditions of the ocean. For another -thing, the Phoenicians had got a monopoly of the -British trade.</p> - -<p>We do not know how the Samians lost the market -of Tartessos, but in later times we find their fellow-countrymen -the Phokaians in possession. This -privilege was the result of the friendliness of Arganthonios, -King of the Tartessians, who reigned eighty -years and lived to be “quite a hundred and twenty.” -The Phokaians perhaps deserved their luck, for they -were the most daring of all the Ionian navigators. -Some of their adventures would doubtless make -good reading. The Phokaians also attract us -because of all the Ionians they loved their freedom -most. When Harpagos, the general of Cyrus, -besieged them, rather than live even in a nominal -subjection to the Persian, they launched their -famous fifty-oared ships, and embarking their wives -and children and furniture sailed to Chios. However, -the Chians could not help them, so they decided to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span> -<a href="#p53" class="anchor">(Note 53)</a>go -and settle in distant Corsica. But first they -made a sudden descent on their city and slew the -Persian garrison which had occupied it. <i>Then, -when this had been done by them, they made strong -curses against any who should remain behind of their -company. And beside the curses they sank also a -lump of iron and sware an oath that they would not -return to Phokaia until this lump came up to light -again. But as they were setting out for Corsica, -more than half the people of the town were seized with -longing and pity for their city and the familiar places -of the land, and broke their oath and sailed back -to Phokaia</i>. The remnant reached Corsica, where -they dwelt five years. Then they fought a disastrous -drawn battle with a fleet of Etruscans and Carthaginians. -Once more they took on board their wives -and children and property and sailed away, this -time to Reggio, from which they set out again and -“founded that city in the Oenotrian land which is -now called Hyele,” better known as Elea, a little -south of Paestum.</p> - -<p>Half a century later, when the Ionians revolted -against the Persian rule, they chose for their admiral -a Phokaian called Dionysios. Later they regretted -their choice, considering Dionysios to be altogether -too much of a disciplinarian, and would no longer -take his orders. Disunion broke out among them, -and they were entirely defeated at the Battle of -Ladê. What did Dionysios do? He captured -three of the enemy’s vessels, and then, to elude -pursuit, sailed into the Levant, where he sank a -number of trading-barks and collected a great -treasure. Then he made for Sicily, where he “set -up as a buccaneer,” sparing Greek ships of course,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span> -<a href="#p54" class="anchor">(Note 54)</a>but -attacking Etruscans and Carthaginians. I suppose -it <i>was</i> piracy, but at least it was Drake’s sort, -not Captain Kidd’s. We may hope he came to a -good end.</p> - -<p>There was a contemporary of Dionysios who -is an even more significant figure for our understanding -of Hellenism. This is Demokêdês of Kroton. -The political background of the story of Demokêdês, -as it is told by Herodotus, does not quite harmonize -with the rest of his history, for it implies a policy -towards Greece which Persia did not adopt till later. -But otherwise there is no reason to doubt that things -happened much as Herodotus says. Demokêdês -was born at Kroton in the extreme south of Italy. -It is a town famous in the history of medicine. We -do not know how the medical school there originated. -The earliest seems to have been in the Aegean -island of Kos in connexion with the worship of -Asklepios (Aesculapius), the God of Healing. -Whether the physicians of Kroton had an independent -tradition or not, they soon became famous. The -first great name is Demokêdês. That he had a -teacher we know from his words to Darius, but he -has not mentioned his teacher’s name. The fact is -that Demokêdês was the first doctor whose personality -refused to be merged in the guild to which he doubtless -belonged. At Kos the guild was so powerful (it -had a semi-religious character there) that it was -not until the Peloponnesian War that the world -heard the personal name of one of its members—Hippokratês. -Thus Demokêdês corresponds to -Archilochus. I am about to tell again the story of -a man of genius.</p> - -<p><i>At Kroton he was always quarrelling with his father,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> -<a href="#p55" class="anchor">(Note 55)</a>who -had a violent temper. When he could not stand -him any longer, he left him and went to Aegina. Settling -down there, he in his first year proved his superiority -to all the other doctors, although he lacked an outfit -and had none of the instruments of his art. And -in his second year the Aeginetans hired him for a talent -paid by the State, in the third year the Athenian people -hired him for a hundred silver pounds, and in the fourth -year Polykratês</i>—tyrant of Samos—<i>for two talents</i>.</p> - -<p>The instant recognition of Demokêdês is not only -an indication of his genius, it shows a remarkable -degree of enlightenment on the part of contemporary -Greek governments. More credit belongs, no doubt, -to the Aeginetans and Athenians than to Polykratês, -who evidently retained the services of Demokêdês -for the court at Samos. Yet Polykratês too was -enlightened. Under his absolute rule or “tyranny,” -which is the Greek technical term, the Ionian island -of Samos had become the most splendid state in -Greece. <i>Not counting those who became tyrants of -the Syracusans, there is none of all the other Greek -tyrants who is fit to be compared to Polykratês in -magnificence</i>. This position was won by sea-power. -<i>Polykratês is the first of those Greeks we know who -aimed at the Thalassocracy</i> (the command of the sea) -<i>save Minos the Knossian and any one else who acquired -the rule of the sea before Minos</i>—an interesting remark -in view of the theory that the Ionians definitely -aimed at reconstituting the maritime empire of -prehistoric Crete. This glittering tyrant suffered -at last a reversal of fortune so strange and complete -that it became a proverbial instance of the hand of -God in human affairs. He was enticed to the Asiatic -continent opposite his island by the Persian grandee<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> -Oroitês, and there treacherously seized and with -nameless tortures put to death. His <i>entourage</i> -became the slaves of Oroitês. One of them was -Demokêdês.</p> - -<p>Some years afterwards King Darius, who had in -the meanwhile succeeded to the throne, was flung -from his horse while hunting and dislocated his -ankle. He entrusted his injury to the court-physicians -at Susa, who were Egyptians, Egypt being the -home of a very ancient body of medical lore transmitted -from father to son. But the Egyptian doctors -<i>by wrenching and forcing the foot made the evil greater. -For days seven and seven nights Darius was -possessed by sleeplessness by reason of the malady -which beset him, but on the eighth day, when the King -was in poor case, one who had caught a report in -Sardis before he came to Susa of the skill of Demokêdês -of Kroton made report to Darius; and he commanded -that he be brought before him with all speed. And -when they had discovered him among the slaves of -Oroitês in some neglected corner, they brought him into -the presence dragging his fetters and clothed in rags. -And as he stood there Darius asked him if he understood -the art; but he would not admit it, fearing that, -if he discovered himself, he would lose Hellas altogether. -But Darius perceived clearly that he understood the -art, but was feigning, and he commanded the men who -had brought him to bring forth pricks and goads. -Then indeed Demokêdês discovers himself, saying -that he had no accurate knowledge of the matter, but -having been the disciple of a leech he had some poor -knowledge of that skill. Afterwards when he had -entrusted himself to him, by using Greek remedies and -applying mild cures after the violent he caused him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> -to get sleep, and in short space restored him to sound -health, that no longer hoped to have his foot whole -again. For a gift thereafter Darius bestows on him two -pairs of golden fetters; but Demokêdês asked him if he -thus doubled his misfortunes for a gift, just because he -had made him whole. Darius was pleased at the speech -and sends him to his wives. And the eunuchs who -led him there said to the women that this was the man -who had given back his life to the King. And each of -them, plunging a cup in the chest of gold, gave Demokêdês -so rich a gift that his servant, whose name was Skiton, -following him gathered up the nobles that fell from -the cups, and a great deal of gold was amassed by him.</i></p> - -<p><i>Then Demokêdês having healed Darius had a very -great house at Susa, and sat at table with the King, -and had all else save one thing only, namely his return -to the Greeks. And the Egyptian physicians, who -formerly tended the King, when they were about to be -impaled on the stake for that they had been overcome -by a Greek physician, he both saved by his prayers -to the King, and also rescued a prophet of Elis, who -had followed Polykratês, and was neglected among the -slaves. And Demokêdês was a very great matter with -the King.</i></p> - -<p>Herodotus is so interesting that it is almost -inexcusable to interrupt him; but the essayist -has to study brevity. I will therefore in the main -summarize what follows, indulging myself in only -one remark (which has probably already occurred -to my reader) that of course the story has passed -through the popular imagination, and that the -historian has to admire, not so much the caprice -of destiny, as the genius of an indomitable personality.</p> - -<p>Shortly after the accident to Darius, his queen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span> -Atossa was afflicted by an ulcer on her breast. -Atossa was an unspeakably great lady. She was -the daughter of Cyrus the Great, the founder of the -Persian Empire. She had been the wife of the son -and successor of Cyrus, her brother Cambyses. -Now she was the wife of Darius and the mother of -Xerxes. Darius himself may well have been a -little in awe of her. She outlived him, if we may -believe Aeschylus, who has introduced her into his -play of <i>The Persians</i>, uttering magnificent stately -lamentations over the ruin of the Persian cause in -Hellas, and evoking from his royal tomb the ghost -of the “god” Darius. Such was the half-divine -woman, who was to help Demokêdês back to the -Greece for which he felt so deep a nostalgia. A -single touch of Herodotus makes her as real as any -patient you have seen in a hospital. <i>So long as the -thing was comparatively little she concealed it and -being ashamed of it did not tell anybody, but when she -was seriously ill she sent for Demokêdês.</i> He cured -her after extracting a promise, which she fulfilled -in the following manner. She persuaded Darius -to plan an expedition against Greece and, as an aid -to this, to send Demokêdês to make a report on -his native country. The King then summoned -fifteen Persians of distinction and instructed them -to accompany Demokêdês on the projected voyage -along the coasts of Hellas in quest of intelligence, -commanding them on no account to let Demokêdês -escape. Next he sent for his healer and explained -the nature of the employment to which he designed -to put him. He bade Demokêdês take all his movable -possessions with him as presents for his father and -his brethren, promising to requite him many times<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> -over. Demokêdês declined this offer, that he might -not betray himself by too manifest an eagerness. -He did accept the gift of a merchant-vessel freighted -with “goods of every sort” for his “brethren”—and -for his father too, we may hope, that irascible -old man.</p> - -<p>The expedition went first to Sidon, where they -fitted out two triremes and the merchant-vessel -freighted with goods of every sort, then sailed for -Greece. They touched at various points of the -coast, spying out the land and writing down an -account of what seemed most remarkable. In -this way they came at last to Tarentum in Italy. -There Demokêdês got in touch with Aristophilidês, -whom Herodotus calls the “king” of the Tarentines. -Aristophilidês removed the steering-apparatus of -the foreign ships, which prevented their sailing, -and imprisoned the crew as spies; while Demokêdês -took advantage of their predicament to escape to -his native Kroton. Then Aristophilidês released -the Persians and gave them back their rudders. -They at once sailed in pursuit of their prisoner, and -found him at Kroton “holding the attention of the -Agora,” which was the centre of Greek city-life. -There they <i>sought to lay hands on him. And some -of the men of Kroton, fearing the might of Persia, -would have yielded him up, but others gat hold of him -on their part, and began to beat the Persians with their -staves; who made profession in such words as these: -“Ye men of Kroton, consider what ye do; ye are taking -from us a man that is a runaway slave of the King. -How then shall King Darius be content to have received -this insult? And how shall your deeds serve you -well, if ye drive us away? Against what city shall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> -we march before this, and what city shall we try to -enslave before yours?” So spake they, but they did not -indeed persuade the men of Kroton, but had Demokêdês -rescued out of their hands, and the merchantman, -which they had brought with them, taken away from -them, and so sailed back to Asia; neither did they -seek any further knowledge concerning Greece, though -this was the object of their coming; for they had lost -their guide. Now as they were putting forth, Demokêdês -charged them with no message but this, bidding them -tell Darius “Demokêdês is married to Milo’s daughter.” -For the name of Milo the wrestler was of great account -with the King. I think that Demokêdês hurried on -this marriage, paying a great sum, in order that Darius -might see clearly that in his own country also Demokêdês -was a great man.</i></p> - -<p>The explanation of Herodotus is convincing. -Demokêdês was suffering from repressed egotism. -He had had wealth and consideration in Persia, but -he could not breathe its spiritual atmosphere. It -is pleasant to reflect that in the court of Susa he may -have regretted his father. To the Hellenic mind -it was a chief curse in Barbarism that it swamps -the individual. How shall a man possess his soul -in a land where the slavery of all but One is felt to -be a <i>natural</i> state of things? So in ancient Greece -it was above all else personality that counted; -freedom was a merely external matter unless it -meant the liberation of the spirit, the development -(as our jargon expresses it) of personality—although -this development realized itself most effectively in -the service of the State. Greek history is starred -with brilliant idiosyncrasies—Demokêdês being one, -whom we may now leave triumphant there at home<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span> -<a href="#p61" class="anchor">(Note 61)</a>in -his flaming Persian robe, “holding the attention -of the Agora” with his amazing story.</p> - -<p>It would be too strange an omission to say nothing -about that which, before Alexander’s tremendous -march, is the most familiar of all Greek adventures -among the Barbarians; I mean that suffered and -described by Xenophon the Athenian. Again we -witness the triumph of a personality, although that -is not the important thing about the Retreat of -the Ten Thousand. The important thing is the -triumph of the Greek character in a body of rascal -mercenaries. The personality of the young gentleman -who gained so much authority with them found -its opportunity in a crisis among ignorant men, but -it never became a great one. To the last it was -curiously immature. Perhaps it would be an apter -metaphor to say of Xenophon what some one said -of Pitt—“He did not grow, he was cast.” His -natural tastes were very much those of a more generous -and incomparably greater man, Sir Walter Scott. -They were the tastes of a country gentleman with a -love of literature and history, especially with a flavour -of romance. The <i>Cyropaedia</i> is the false dawn of -the Historic Novel. Both Xenophon and Sir Walter -wanted, probably more than anything else, to be -soldiers. But Xenophon wanted to be too many -things. Before his mind floated constantly the -image of the “Archical Man”—the ideal Ruler—who -had long exercised the thoughts of Greek -philosophers, of none perhaps more than Socrates, -whose pupil Xenophon professed himself to be. -One day it seems to have struck him: Might not -he, Xenophon, be the Archical Man? He may not -have framed the thought so precisely, for it is of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> -the kind that even youth does not always admit -to itself; but the thought was there. It was his -illusion. He was not born to command, he was -born to write. He did not dominate, he was always -more or less under the influence of some one else—Socrates, -Cyrus, Agesilaos. He was an incredibly -poor judge of men and the movement of affairs. -But put a pen in his hands and you have, if not -one of the great masters, yet a master in a certain -vivid manner of his own.</p> - -<p>He can have been little more than a boy when -Fate sent him his incomparable adventure. The -King of Persia had died leaving two sons, his heir -and successor Artaxerxes, and Cyrus, the favourite -of their dreadful mother, the dowager queen Parysatis. -The younger son began secretly to collect and mobilize -an army in Asia Minor, where authority had been -delegated to him, intending to march without declaration -of war against Artaxerxes. Xenophon was -introduced to Cyrus by Proxenos of Boeotia, who -indeed had induced him to visit Sardis. Proxenos, -says his friend, <i>thought it was sufficient for being and -being thought an Archical Man to praise him who did -well and to refrain from praising the wrongdoer. -Consequently the nice people among those who came -into contact with him liked him, but he suffered from -the designs of the unscrupulous, who felt that they -could do what they pleased with him</i>. Xenophon appears -to have fallen immediately under the spell -of Cyrus, who undoubtedly has somewhat the air -of a man of genius and who, as a scion of the Achaemenids, -would in any case have inspired in him much -the same feeling as a Bourbon inspired in Sir Walter -Scott. In the army of invasion was a large body<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">63</a></span> -<a href="#p63" class="anchor">(Note 63)</a>of -Greek mercenary soldiers, chiefly from the Peloponnese, -under the command of a hard-bitten -Spartan <i>condottiere</i> called Klearchos. Xenophon -joined this force as a volunteer. He believed at -the time, as did Proxenos, who was one of the -“generals” (<i>Strategi</i>), and indeed everybody except -Klearchos, who was in the secret, that the expedition -was preparing against the Pisidians, hill-tribes -delighting in brigandage. It was not until the -army had passed the “Cilician Gates” of the Taurus -and had reached Tarsus that the Greek troops found -confirmed their growing suspicion that they were -being led against the King. They protested and -refused to go farther. Their discontent was allayed -with difficulty, but it is clear that Xenophon had -already made up his mind. He went with the rest. -They threaded the “Syrian Gates” of the range -called Amanus, and struck across the desert. Having -reached the Euphrates, they followed the river into -“Babylonia,” what we call Mesopotamia, as far -as Kunaxa, in the region where the two great streams -begin to open out again after coming so close in the -neighbourhood of Bagdad. At Kunaxa the Great -King met them with an enormous army. A huge -disorderly battle followed, in which the Greeks -very easily dispersed everything that met them—but -Cyrus was slain.</p> - -<p>What were they to do? The whole purpose of -the campaign—to put Cyrus on the throne—had -vanished. It was clear to them that they could not -rely on the Barbarians who had marched with them -the two thousand miles from Sardis. Nothing -to do but retreat. But retreat by the way they -had come was no longer possible, since they had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">64</a></span> -eaten up the country. It remained to follow the -line of the Tigris up into Armenia, and so cross—in -the winter—that savage plateau, in the hope of -coming at last to Trebizond, away there on the -Euxine, all those leagues away.</p> - -<p>So they set out. It was the first requirement of -their plan to cross Babylonia to the Tigris. Breaking -up their camp at dawn, they were alarmed in the -afternoon by the sight of horses, which at first they -took for Persian cavalry, but soon discovered to -be baggage-animals out at grass. That in itself -was surprising—it seemed the King’s encampment -must be near. They continued their advance, and -at sunset the vanguard entered and took up their -quarters in some deserted and pillaged huts, while -the rest of the army, with much shouting in the -darkness, found such accommodation outside as -they could. That was a night of panics. An inexplicable -uproar broke out in camp, which Klearchos -allayed by proclaiming a reward for information -against “the individual who let loose the donkey.” -The enemy, as appeared in the morning, had been -equally nervous. At least he had vanished from -the neighbourhood. Moreover heralds now appeared -offering a truce from the King. The offer was -accepted under promise that the Greek army would -be provisioned. So the host set out again under -the guidance of the King’s messengers through -a country all criss-crossed by irrigation-ditches, -looking suspiciously full of water for the time of -year. However, they soon reached some villages -full of food and drink. There were some dates ... -“like amber,” says Xenophon reminiscently. (He -had got no breakfast that morning.) Here also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span> -they tasted “the brain of the palm”—the “cabbage”—delicious, -but it gave them a headache.</p> - -<p>In these excellent villages they remained three -days and continued negotiations with Tissaphernes, -the subtle representative of the King. As a result -of the conversations they moved on again under -the satrap’s direction as far as the towering “Wall -of Media,” which crossed the land in a diagonal line -towards Babylon, being twenty feet broad, a hundred -feet high, and twenty leagues long. From the -Wall they marched between twenty and thirty miles, -crossing canals and ditches, until they struck the -Tigris at Sittakê, where they encamped in a “paradise” -full of trees. At the bridge of Sittakê met -the roads to Lydia and Armenia, to Susa and Ecbatana -(Hamadan). Next morning the Greeks crossed -without opposition and advanced as far as a considerable -stream traversed by a bridge at “Opis,” -near which populous centre they found themselves -observed by a large force of Asiatics. Thereupon -Klearchos led his men past in column two abreast, -now marching and now halting them. Every time -the vanguard stopped the order to halt went echoing -down the line, and had barely died out in the distance -when the advance was resumed; <i>so that even to the -Greeks themselves the army seemed enormous, while -the Persian looking on was astounded</i>.</p> - -<p>They were now in “Media”—really Assyria—a -very different country from the “Garden of Eden” -they had left on the other side of the Tigris. They -marched and marched, and at last reached a cluster -of dwellings called the “Villages of Parysatis.” -Then another twenty leagues to the town of Kainai -and the confluence of the Tigris with the Greater<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> -Zab, on whose bank they rested three days. All -this time the enemy, although never attacking, had -been following in a watchful cloud. Klearchos -therefore sought an interview with Tissaphernes -to discover his intentions. The satrap responded -with Oriental courtesy and invited to a discussion -at his headquarters Klearchos and the other generals, -namely Proxenos, Menon, Agias and Socrates the -Achaean. With grave misgivings, relying on the -faith of the Barbarian, they entered the Persian camp. -There they were immediately arrested. The officers -who had accompanied the generals were cut down, -and the Persian cavalry galloped out over the plain, -killing every Greek they could find. The Hellenes -from their camp could make out that something -unusual was happening in that distant cloud of horse, -but what it was they never guessed until Nikarchos -the Arcadian came tearing along with his hands upon -a great wound in his belly, holding in his entrails. -He told them his story; they ran to arm themselves. -However, the enemy did not come on. Meanwhile -the generals were sent to the King, who had them -beheaded.</p> - -<p>As for the leaderless men, <i>few of them tasted food -that evening, only a few kindled a fire, many did not -trouble to return to their quarters at all, but lay down -where each happened to find himself, unable to close -their eyes for misery and longing for the home-town, -and father, and mother, and the wife, and the baby</i>. -Xenophon got a little sleep at last, and as he slept -he dreamed that his father’s house was struck by -a thunderbolt and set on fire. The dream was so -vivid that he awoke and began to ponder what it -might signify. His excited imagination revived<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> -<a href="#p67" class="anchor">(Note 67)</a>in -still more startling colours the terrors of the -situation. Here was the stage set for a moving scene. -Where was the hero? Where was the Archical -Man? Here at last was the opportunity he had -prayed for. There was kindled that night in Xenophon -the flame of a resolution which, while it lasted, -did really keep at the heroic pitch a spirit secretly -doubtful of itself. It was the sense of drama acting -on an artistic temperament; and of course that -army, being Greek, accepted the miracle and naturally -assumed its rôle. The gentleman ranker developed -a Napoleonic energy, and made eloquent speeches -(for which he dressed very carefully); with the result -that he was chosen one of the new generals. He -became in fact henceforward the leading spirit, and -was entrusted with the most difficult task—the -command of the rearguard in a fighting retreat. -He made mistakes; he was not a Napoleon. But -the distinguished French officer who has written -the best military history of the Retreat gives him -high credit for his grasp of the principles of war, -which General Boucher believes he learned from -Socrates. Perhaps you have not thought of Socrates -as an authority on the art of war?</p> - -<p>Next morning they crossed the Zab—it was the -dry season—but had not advanced far on the other -side when they were overtaken by a small force of -horsemen, archers and slingers under the command -of a certain Mithradates. These approached in -a seeming-friendly manner until they were fairly -near, when all at once they began to ply their bows -and slings. The Greek army, marching in hollow -square, could not retaliate. A charge failed to -capture a single man, the enemy retiring before the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span> -charge and shooting as they retired, according to -the “Parthian” tactics which were to become famous -in Roman times. That day the Greeks covered -little more than three miles. Clearly something -must be done about it. Xenophon discovered that -the army contained some Rhodians, who could -sling leaden bullets twice as far as the Persians could -cast their stones, which were “as big as your fist.” -These Rhodians then were formed overnight into a -special corps and instructed in their task. Next -day the host set out earlier than usual, for they -had to cross a ravine, where an attack would be -especially dangerous. When they were about a mile -beyond, Mithradates crossed after them with a -thousand horsemen and four thousand archers and -slingers. No sooner had he come within range -than a bugle rang out and the special troops rushed -to close quarters. The enemy did not await the -charge, but fled back to the ravine pursued by a -small body of mounted men for whom Xenophon had -somehow collected horses. It was a brilliant little -victory, stained by the infamy of some, who mutilated -the dead—a thing so startlingly un-Greek that I -cannot remember another historical instance. And -here what was done was not done in cold blood.</p> - -<p>In the evening of that day they came to a great -deserted city, the name of which was Larissa. A great -city; it was girdled by a wall two leagues in length, -twenty-five feet in thickness, and a hundred feet -high. Hard by was a pyramid of stone two hundred -feet in height, where the Greeks found many fugitives -who had sought refuge there from the neighbouring -villages. Their next march brought them to another -great empty fortress, called Mespila, opposite what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> -<a href="#p69" class="anchor">(Note 69)</a>we -now call Mosul. Somewhere in this region of -Larissa and Mosul had anciently stood the enormous -city of Nineveh, the capital of Assyria; and the -whole district (as one gathers from Xenophon) -was full of dim legends of an overwhelming disaster. -The soldiers were marching over the grave of an -empire. Even the fragments were imposing. Mespila -was based on a kind of ring, fifty feet broad and fifty -feet high, built all of a polished stone “full of shells”; -and on this foundation rose a wall of bricks, the -breadth of it fifty feet, and the height four hundred, -and the circuit six leagues.</p> - -<p>Beyond Mespila Tissaphernes attacked again with -what appeared a very large force. But his light-armed -troops were no match for the Rhodian slingers -and the Cretan bowmen, whose every shot told in the -dense array of the enemy, who withdrew discomfited. -The Greek army was now approaching the mountains, -which they had long seen towering on the -horizon. It appeared to the generals that the “hollow -square” must be replaced by a new formation -better suited to the narrow ways they would soon -be following, and this they now devised. They -were to use it successfully henceforward.</p> - -<p>They came in sight of a “palace surrounded by -villages.” The way to it, they observed with joy, -led across a series of knolls where (thought they) -the Persian cavalry could not come at them. Their -joy was short-lived, for no sooner had the light-armed -troops who composed the Greek rearguard begun to -leave the summit of the first height than the enemy -rushed up after them, and began showering darts -and arrows and stones from the sling upon them, -and so put them out of action for that day. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> -heavy-armed did their best. But they were naturally -unable to overtake the skirmishers, and it went -hard with the army until special tactics were devised -which answered their purpose. The knolls which -had served them so ill were foothills of a loftier line -of heights running parallel to the road. A sufficient -detachment was sent to occupy and move along the -heights simultaneously with the main body advancing -by the road. Afraid of being caught between two -forces, the Persian did not attack. This was the -first employment of a manœuvre which the Greeks -repeated many times, and always with success.</p> - -<p>The Palace and Villages turned out to be full of -bread and wine and fodder collected by the satrap -of the region. So the Greeks halted there for three -days, resting their wounded. Having set out again -on the fourth day, they were overtaken by the -implacable Tissaphernes and, warned by experience, -made for the nearest village, where they beat off -his attack very easily. That night they took advantage -of an unmilitary practice of the Persians -in never encamping less than seven miles from an -enemy, to steal a march on them. The result was -that the next day, and the day after, and the day -after that, they proceeded on their way unmolested. -On the fourth day they came to a place where the -Zacho Dagh, which they had kept so long on their -right, sends down a spur to the river, which it steeply -overhangs in a tall cliff picturesquely crowned to-day -by a native village. The Tigris being still unfordable, -the road is forced to climb over the cliff. -Cheirisophos, commanding the van, halted and sent -a message to Xenophon, who was in command of -the rear. This was highly inconvenient to Xenophon,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span> -<a href="#p71" class="anchor">(Note 71)</a>because -at that very moment who should appear -on the road behind him but Tissaphernes? However, -Xenophon galloped to the front and requested an -explanation. Cheirisophos pointed to the cliff, and -there sure enough were armed men in occupation. -Between these and Tissaphernes the army was in a -perilous position. What to do? Xenophon, looking -up at the wall of the Zacho Dagh, noticed that the -main height at this part of the range was directly -opposite them; looking again, he could make out a -track leading from this peak to the cliff. He immediately -proposed to seize the peak. A picked -force was hastily got together, and off they set upon -their climb. No sooner did the men on the cliff -catch sight of them than they too began to race for -the key-position. With shouts the two sides strained -for the goal. Xenophon rode beside his men, encouraging -them. A grumbling fellow from Sicyon -complained that he had to run with a shield while -the general rode on a horse. Xenophon dismounted, -pushed the man out of the ranks, took his shield -from him, and struggled on in his place. Thus -enkindled, the Greeks—the men to whom mountains -were native—reached the summit first. But -it was a near thing.</p> - -<p>Thus the pass was turned. But the situation -remained not less than dreadful. On the right -of the army arose the cruel mountains of Kurdistan; -on their left ran swiftly the profound current of the -Tigris. A soldier from Rhodes suggested crossing -the stream on an arrangement of inflated skins, -such as appears to be still in use upon the Tigris, -where it is called a “tellek.” The suggestion was -impracticable in face of the enemy, who was found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> -in possession of the opposing bank. Reluctantly -therefore they turned their backs upon the river and -set their minds upon the mountains. Under cover -of darkness they stole across the plain and were on -the high ground with the dawn. They were now -in the country of the Kardouchians, whom we now -call the Kurds, in whose intricate valleys and startling -ravines whole armies had been lost. On the -appearance of the Greeks the natives fled with their -wives and children from their villages and “took -to the heather.” The invaders requisitioned the -supplies they found, but made some effort to conciliate -the highlanders. These remained sullenly unresponsive. -All day long they watched the ten thousand -hoplites with the light-armed and the women of the -camp struggle through the high pass. Then as the -last men were descending in the early-gathering darkness -the Kardouchians stirred. Stones and arrows -flew, and some of the Greeks were killed. Luckily -for the army the enemy had been surprised so completely -that no concerted attack was made in the -steep-walled road. As it was, although they bivouacked -that night without further annoyance, they -could see the signal fires blaze from every peak, -boding ill for the morrow.</p> - -<p>When it came they resolved to leave behind all -prisoners and all they could spare of the baggage-train. -Thus disencumbered, they set forward in -stormy weather and under constant attack, so that -little progress was made. Finally they came to -a complete check. In front of them rose the sheer -side of a mountain, up which the road was seen to -climb, black with their enemies. A frontal attack -was not to be thought of. But was there no byway<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> -across the heights? A captured Kurd confessed -that there was. Only at one point this path led -over an eminence, which must be secured in advance. -Therefore late in the afternoon a storming party -set out with the guide, their orders being to occupy -the eminence in the night, and sound a bugle at -dawn. A violent rainstorm served to conceal this -movement, whose success was also aided by the -advance of Cheirisophos along the visible road. -He soon reached a gulch, which his men must cross -to gain a footing on the great cliff. But when they -attempted the passage the enemy rolled down -enormous boulders, which shattered themselves into -flying fragments against the iron sides of the ravine, -so that crossing was merely impossible. The -attempt then was not at that time renewed. But -through the night the Greeks continued to hear the -thunder of the plunging rocks sent down by the -unwearied and suspicious foe.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile the storm-troops who had gone by -the circuitous path surprised a guard of Kardouchians -seated about a fire, and, having dispersed them, -held the position under the impression that it was -the “col” or eminence. In this they were mistaken, -but at dawn they realized their error and set out -in a friendly mist to seize their true objective. Its -defenders fled as soon as the Greek trumpet sang -out the attack. In the road below Cheirisophos -heard the sound and rushed to the assault of the -cliff. His men struggled up as best they might, -hoisting one another by means of their spears. The -rearguard, under Xenophon, followed the bypath. -They captured one crest by assault, only to find -themselves confronted by another. Xenophon there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span>fore -left a garrison on the first, and with the rest of -his force attacked and captured the second—only -to find a third rising before them, being in fact the -eminence itself. That also was assailed. To the -surprise of the Greeks the enemy made no resistance -and made off at once. Soon a fugitive came to -Xenophon with the news that the crest where he -had left a garrison had been stormed, and all its -defenders slain—all who had not escaped by jumping -down its rocky sides. It was now evident why -the Kardouchians had left the main eminence; they -had seen from their greater elevation what was -happening in Xenophon’s rear. They now came -back to a height facing the eminence and began -discussing a truce, while gradually they were collecting -their people. An agreement was reached, and the -Greeks began to descend from their position, when -instantly the Barbarians were on them, yelling and -rolling down boulders after them. However, with -little difficulty now, a junction was effected with -Cheirisophos.</p> - -<p>In all a week was consumed in traversing the land -of the Kardouchians, and not a day passed without -hard fighting. Every narrow way was beset by -the fierce mountaineers, who shot arrows two cubits -long from bows so mighty that the archer had to -use one foot to get a purchase on his weapon. One -man was pierced through shield and breastplate -and body, another was shot fairly through the head. -In these mountains the Greeks “suffered more -than all they had endured at the hands of the King -and Tissaphernes.” Fighting their way along the -Zorawa, they reached at last the more open ground, -where that river falls into the Bohtan Su, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> -Xenophon calls the Kentrîtês. Alas, in the morning -light they saw the further bank lined with hostile -forces, both foot and horse, while on the mountains -they had just escaped the Kardouchians were -gathered, ready to fall on their rear, if they should -attempt the passage of the Kentrîtês, a deep river -full of big slippery stones. Gloom settled again upon -the host. But in a little time, while Xenophon -was still at breakfast, there ran to him two young -men with great news. The pair of them had gone -to collect sticks, and, down by the river, they had -noticed on the other side “among rocks that came -right down to the water an old man and a woman -putting away in a kind of cave what looked like a -bag of clothes.” So the soldiers put their knives -between their teeth and prepared to swim across. -To their surprise they got to the other side without -the need of swimming. Now here they were back -again, having brought the clothes for evidence.</p> - -<p>Shortly afterwards they were guiding the division -of Cheirisophos to the ford they had so opportunely -discovered, while Xenophon led the rearguard, -whose duty it was to protect the passage of the -army from the assaults of the Kardouchians. These -were duly made, but were beaten off and eluded; -and the Kentrîtês was crossed.</p> - -<p>The Greeks were now in Armenia. Before them -stretched a wide rolling plateau, sombre, lonely, -savagely inclement at that season; and yet they -found it at first like Elysium after their torments -up among the clouds. They crossed two streams, -the Bitlis Tchai, by whose deep trench the caravans -still travel, and the Kara Su. It was in the country -of the satrap Tiribazos, who kept following the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> -invaders with an army. So the march went on. -One night they reached the usual “palace surrounded -by villages,” and there, finding plenty to -eat and drink, with joy refreshed their weariness. -It was judged imprudent to billet the men out among -the villages, so they bivouacked in the open. Then -the snow came—a soft, persistent snow; and in -the morning nothing seemed desirable except to -remain warm and drowsy under that white blanket. -At last Xenophon sprang up, and began to chop -wood, so that the men were shamed and got up too, -and took the log from him, and kindled fires, and -anointed themselves with a local unguent. But -all were certain that such another night would be -the death of them; so it was resolved that they -should find quarters among the villages. Off rushed -the soldiers with cheers.</p> - -<p>But the retreat must proceed. They caught a -man who told them that Tiribazos meant to attack -them in a high defile upon their road. This stroke -they anticipated and, crossing the pass, marched -day after day in a wilderness of snow. At one -point in their dreadful journey they waded up to -their waists across the icy waters of the upper -Euphrates. The snow got deeper and deeper. -Worst of all the wind—the north wind—blew in -their faces. The snow became six feet deep. Baggage-cattle, -slaves, some thirty of the soldiers themselves -disappeared in the drifts. At last by the -mercy of the gods the wind dropped a little, and -they found an abundance of wood, which they -burned, and so cleared spaces in the snow, that they -might sleep upon the ground. Then they must -bestir themselves and labour on again. Men began<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span> -<a href="#p77" class="anchor">(Note 77)</a>to -drop from hunger-faintness. Xenophon got them -a mouthful to eat; whereupon they got on their -legs and stumbled forward with the rest. All the -time bands of marauders prowled about the skirts -of the army. If a beast were abandoned, they -swooped down upon it, and shortly you would hear -them quarrelling over the carcase. Not only the -beasts were lost, but every now and then a man -would fall out because of frostbite or snow-blindness. -Once a whole bunch of soldiers dropped behind, -and, seeing a dark patch where a hot spring had -melted the snow, they sat down there. Xenophon -implored them to get up; wolfish enemies were at -their heels. Nothing he could say moved them. -Then he lost his temper. The only result was a -tired suggestion from the men that he should cut -their throats. Darkness was falling; nearer and -nearer came the clamour of the pillagers wrangling -over their spoils. Xenophon and his men lay -concealed in the bare patch, which sloped down into -a cañon smoking with the steam of the hot spring. -When the miscreants came near, up sprang the -soldiers with a shout, while the outworn men whooped -at the pitch of their voices. The startled enemy -“flung themselves down the snow into the cañon, -and not one ever uttered a sound again.”</p> - -<p>Not long after, the Greeks came to some villages, -one of which was assigned to Xenophon and his -men. It was occupied so rapidly that the inhabitants -had not time to escape. An extraordinary village -it was, for the houses were all underground. You -entered the earth-house at a hole “like the mouth -of a well,” and, descending a ladder, found yourself -in a fine roomy chamber, shared impartially by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> -“goats and sheep and cows and poultry” as well -as people. There was store of provender for the -animals, and wheat and barley and greens for folk. -There was also “barley-wine,” which you sucked -through a reed, and which was “a very delightful -beverage to one who had learned to like it.” Xenophon -naturally lived with the headman of the village, -whom he graciously invited to dinner at the expense -of the house. He managed to reassure the headman, -who was troubled about many things, including the -capture of his daughter, who had just been married. -So the wine was produced, and they made a night -of it. Next morning, awakening among the cocks -and the hens and the other creatures, Xenophon went -to call on Cheirisophos, taking the headman with -him. On the way they looked in at all the houses -and in each they found high revelry. They were -forced to come down the ladder and have breakfast. -Xenophon has forgotten how many breakfasts he -had that morning, but he remembers lamb, kid, pork, -veal and poultry, not to mention varieties of bread. -If anybody proposed to drink somebody’s health, -he was haled to the bowl and made to shove in his -head and “make a noise like an ox drinking.” To -the headman the soldiers offered “anything he -would like.” (When you think of it, they could -scarcely do less.) The poor man chose any of his -relations whom he noticed. At the headquarters -of Cheirisophos there were similar scenes. The -soldiers in their Greek way had wreathed their -heads for the feast, making wisps of hay serve -the purpose of flowers, and had formed the Armenian -boys “in their strange clothes” into picturesque -waiters. Xenophon took seventeen magnificent young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> -horses which his village had been rearing for the -King, and divided them among his officers, keeping -the best for himself. In return he presented the -headman with an oldish steed of his own, which he -rather thought was going to die.</p> - -<p>After a jolly week the weary retreat began again. -The headman told the Greeks to tie bags upon the -feet of their horses to keep them from falling through -the frozen surface of the snow. He went as guide -with Cheirisophos in the van. As they marched on -and on, never coming to a human habitation, the -general flew into a rage and struck the guide. Next -morning they found that the man had disappeared -in the night. This turned out to be the worst thing -that had befallen them yet. After a week of padding -the hoof over a white desert with no relief for the -eyes but their own red rags, they came to a river. -It was the Araxes, and if they had taken the right -turn here, a few days more would have brought them -to Trebizond. Unfortunately, misled perhaps by -the sound of the native name, they got it into their -heads that the river was the Phasis, about which -everybody knew that it flowed through the land of -the Colchians into the Black Sea. Therefore they -went <i>down</i> the Araxes.</p> - -<p>Fighting began at the very outset. Moreover -provisions soon failed them. They were now in -the wild country of the “Taochians,” who lived in -strong places, where they had stored all their supplies. -The army must capture one of these strongholds -or starve. The first they came to was typical. -It was simply an enclosed space on the top of a -precipice. A winding stream served as a moat. -There was only one narrow way of approach to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span> -the stockade, and this path was commanded by an -insuperable cliff. Within the stockade huddled a -throng of men and women and animals. On the -top of the cliff were Taochian warriors, who flung -stones and precipitated rocks on any Greek who ventured -to set foot on the path. Several who ventured -had their legs broken or their ribs crushed. Some -shelter was afforded by a wood of tall pines, through -which about seventy soldiers filtered, until no more -than fifty or so feet of open ground lay between them -and the stockade. An officer called Kallimachos -began to amuse the army by popping out and into -the wood, thus drawing the fire of the stoners, who -let fly at him with “more than ten cart-loads of -rock.” Then, in a lull of the stones, two or three -made a sudden dash across the exposed ground -and into the stockade. The rest followed at their -heels. Then occurred a very horrible thing. The -women flung their babies down the precipice and -jumped after them. A sort of heroic madness -swept the helpless defenders. Aeneas of Stymphalos -gripped a man who had a splendid dress on; the -man flung his arms about Aeneas and took him -with him over the cliff. Hardly any were saved.</p> - -<p>Now the ten thousand entered the country of the -Chalybians, the bravest race they met on all -their march; whose strongholds the Greeks did -not take. The Chalybians, who wore an immense -tasselled breastplate of linen, and carried a prodigious -long spear and a short sword, used to cut off the -heads of their enemies and go into battle, swinging -the heads, and singing and dancing. Having -escaped from such savages, the army crossed a river -and marched many parasangs, turning west by a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span> -route that led them perhaps by way of the modern -towns of Alexandropol and Kars to a populous city -by Xenophon named Gymnias, which must have -been near Erzerum. Here they found a guide, -who promised to set them on the true road home. -Him they followed for four days. On the fifth -day Xenophon, who as usual was in command of -the rearguard, heard a great and distant shouting. -At once he and his men concluded that the van had -been attacked, for the whole country was up in -arms. Every moment the far-off clamour increased. -As they stared at the mountain-side, which the van -had just ascended, they noticed that, whenever a -company had got a certain distance, the men suddenly -took to their heels and tore up the mountain for -their lives. It was clear that something extraordinary -was happening. Xenophon sprang on his horse -and, followed by the cavalry, galloped to the rescue. -But now in a little they could hear what they were -crying on the mountain; it was <i>The Sea! The -Sea!</i> Then the rearguard also ran, and the baggage-animals -and the horses too! And on the top they -fell to embracing one another, officers and men -indiscriminately, and the tears ran down their faces. -Then they raised a great cairn of stones on that -hill-top, overlooking “the col of Vavoug,” where -the road still passes.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> -<a href="#p82" class="anchor">(Note 82)</a></p> - -<h2>IV<br /><br /> - -ELEUTHERIA</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">What</span> was the special gift of Greece to the world? -The answer of the Greeks themselves is unexpected, -yet it is as clear as a trumpet: <i>Eleutheria</i>, Freedom. -The breath of Eleutheria fills the sail of Aeschylus’ -great verse, it blows through the pages of Herodotus, -awakens fierce regrets in Demosthenes and generous -memories in Plutarch. “Art, philosophy, science,” -the Greeks say, “yes, we have given all these; -but our best gift, from which all the others were -derived, was Eleutheria.”</p> - -<p>Now what did they mean by that?</p> - -<p>They meant <i>the Reign of Law</i>. Aeschylus says -of them in <i>The Persians</i>:</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Atossa.</span> <i>Who is their shepherd over them and -lord of their host?</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Chorus.</span> <i>Of no man are they called the slaves or -subjects.</i></p> - -<p>Now hear Herodotus amplifying and explaining -Aeschylus. <i>For though they are free, yet are they -not free in all things. For they have a lord over -them, even Law, whom they fear far more than thy -people fear thee. At least they do what that lord biddeth -them, and what he biddeth is still the same, to -wit that they flee not before the face of any multitude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span> -<a href="#p83" class="anchor">(Note 83)</a>in -battle, but keep their order and either conquer or -die.</i> It is Demaratos that speaks of the Spartans -to King Xerxes.</p> - -<p>Eleutheria the Reign of Law or <i>Nomos</i>. The word -<i>Nomos</i> begins with the meaning “custom” or -“convention,” and ends by signifying that which -embodies as far as possible the universal and eternal -principles of justice. To write the history of it is -to write the history of Greek civilization. The best -we can do is to listen to the Greeks themselves -explaining what they were fighting for in fighting -for Eleutheria. They will not put us off with -abstractions.</p> - -<p>No one who has read <i>The Persians</i> forgets the -live and leaping voice that suddenly cries out before -the meeting of the ships at Salamis: <i>Onward, Sons -of the Hellenes! Free your country, free your children, -your wives, your fathers’ tombs and seats of your -fathers’ gods! All hangs now on your fighting!</i> -This, then, when it came to action, is what the -Greeks meant by the Reign of Law. It will not -seem so puzzling if you put it in this way: that -what they fought for was the right to govern themselves. -Here as elsewhere we may observe how the -struggle of Greek and Barbarian fills with palpitating -life such words as Freedom, which to dull men -have been apt to seem abstract and to sheltered -people faded. For the Barbarians had not truly -laws at all. How are laws possible where “all -are slaves save one,” and he responsible to nobody? -So the fight for Freedom becomes a fight for Law, -that no man may become another’s master, but all -be subject equally to the Law, “whose service is -perfect freedom.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> -<a href="#p84" class="anchor">(Note 84)</a></p> - -<p>That conception was wrought out in the stress -of conflict with the Barbarians, culminating in the -Persian danger. On that point it is well to prepare -our minds by an admission. The quarrel was never -a simple one of right and wrong. Persia at least -was in some respects in advance of the Greece she -fought at Salamis; and not only in material splendour. -That is now clear to every historian; it never -was otherwise to the Greeks themselves. Possessing -or possessed by the kind of imagination which -compels a man to understand his enemy, they saw -much to admire in the Persians—their hardihood, -their chivalry, their munificence, their talent for -government. The Greeks heard with enthusiasm -(which was part at least literary) the scheme of -education for young nobles—“to ride a horse, to -shoot with the bow, and to speak the truth!” In -fact the two peoples, although they never realized -it, were neither in race nor in speech very remote -from one another. But it was the destiny of the -Persians to succeed to an empire essentially Asiatic -and so to become the leaders and champions of a -culture alien to Greece and to us. In such a cause -their very virtues made them the more dangerous. -Here was no possible compromise. Persia and -Greece stood for something more than two political -systems; the European mind, the European way -of thinking and feeling about things, the soul of -Europe was at stake. There is no help for it; in -such a quarrel we must take sides.</p> - -<p>Let us look first at the Persian side. The phrase -I quoted about all men in Persia being slaves save -one is not a piece of Greek rhetoric; it was the -official language of the empire. The greatest officer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> -<a href="#p85" class="anchor">(Note 85)</a>of -state next to the King was still his “slave” -and was so addressed by him. The King was lord -and absolute. An inscription at Persepolis reads <i>I -am Xerxes the Great King, the King of Kings, the -King of many-tongued countries, the King of this -great universe, the Son of Darius the King, the Achaemenid. -Xerxes the Great King saith: “By grace of -Ahuramazda I have made this portal whereon are -depicted all the countries.”</i> The Greek orator Aeschines -says, “He writes himself Lord of men from -the rising to the setting sun.” The letter of Darius -to Gadatas—it exists to-day—is addressed by -“Darius the son of Hystaspes, King of Kings.” -That, as we know, was a favourite title. The law -of the land was summed up in the sentence: <i>The -King may do what he pleases</i>. Greece saved us from -that.</p> - -<p>No man might enter the sacred presence without -leave. Whoever was admitted must prostrate himself -to the ground. The emperor sat on a sculptured -throne holding in his hand a sceptre tipped with -an apple of gold. He was clad in gorgeous trousers -and gorgeous Median robe. On his head was the -peaked <i>kitaris</i> girt with the crown, beneath which -the formally curled hair flowed down to mingle -with the great beard. He had chains of gold upon -him and golden bracelets, a golden zone engirdled -him, from his ears hung rings of gold. Behind the -throne stood an attendant with a fan against the -flies and held his mouth lest his breath should touch -the royal person. Before the throne stood the -courtiers, their hands concealed, their eyelids stained -with <i>kohl</i>, their lips never smiling, their painted -faces never moving. Greece saved us from all that.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> -<a href="#p86" class="anchor">(Note 86)</a></p> - -<p>The King had many wives and a great harem of -concubines—one for each day of the year. You -remember the Book of Esther. Ahasuerus is the -Greek Xerxes. There is in Herodotus a story of -that court which, however unauthentic it may be -in details, has a clear evidential value. On his -return from Greece Xerxes rested at Sardis, the -ancient capital of Lydia. There he fell in love -with the wife of his brother Masistes. Unwilling -to take her by force, he resorted to policy. He -betrothed his son Darius to Artaynte, the daughter -of Masistes, and took her with him to Susa (the -Shushan of Esther), hoping to draw her mother to -his great palace there, “where were white, green -and blue hangings, fastened with cords of fine linen -and purple to silver rings and pillars of marble.” -In Susa, however, the King experienced a new -sensation and fell in love with Artaynte—who -returned his affection. Now Amestris the Queen -had woven with her own hands a wonderful garment -for her lord, who inconsiderately put it on to pay -his next visit to Artaynte. Of course Artaynte -asked for it, of course in the end she got it, and of -course she made a point of wearing it. When -Amestris heard of this, she blamed, says Herodotus, -not the girl but her mother. With patient dissimulation -she did nothing until the Feast of the Birthday -of the King, when he cannot refuse a request. Then -for her present she asked the wife of Masistes. The -King, who understood her purpose, tried to save -the victim; but too late. Amestris had in the -meanwhile sent the King’s soldiers for the woman; -and when she had her in her power <i>she cut away -her breasts and threw them to the dogs, cut off her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span> -nose and ears and lips and tongue, and sent her -home</i>.</p> - -<p>It may be thought that the Persian monarchy -cannot fairly be judged by the conduct of a Xerxes. -The reply to this would seem to be that it was -Xerxes the Greeks had to fight. But let us choose -another case, Artaxerxes II, whose life the gentle -Plutarch selected to write because of the mildness -and democratic quality which distinguished him -from others of his line. Yet the <i>Life of Artaxerxes</i> -would be startling in a chronicle of the Italian -Renaissance. The story which I will quote from it -was probably derived from the <i>Persian History</i> of -Ktesias, who was a Greek physician at the court of -Artaxerxes. This Ktesias, as Plutarch himself tells -us, was a highly uncritical person, but after all, as -Plutarch goes on to say, he was not likely to be -wrong about things that were happening before his -eyes. Here then is the story, a little abridged.</p> - -<p><i>She</i>—that is, Parysatis the queen-mother—<i>perceived -that he</i>—Artaxerxes the King—<i>had a violent -passion for Atossa, one of his daughters.... When -Parysatis came to suspect this, she made more of the -child than ever, and to Artaxerxes she praised her -beauty and her royal and splendid ways. At last -she persuaded him to marry the maid and make her -his true wife, disregarding the opinions and laws -(Nomoi) of the Greeks; she said that he himself had -been appointed by the god</i> (Ahuramazda) <i>a law unto -the Persians and judge of honour and dishonour.... -Atossa her father so loved in wedlock that, when leprosy -had overspread her body, he felt no whit of loathing -thereat, but praying for her sake to Hera</i> (Anaitis?) -<i>he did obeisance to that goddess only, touching the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> -<a href="#p88" class="anchor">(Note 88)</a>ground -with his hands; while his satraps and friends -sent at his command such gifts to the goddess that -the whole space between the temple and the palace, -which was sixteen stades</i> (nearly two miles) <i>was filled -with gold and with silver and with purple and with -horses</i>.</p> - -<p>Artaxerxes afterwards took into his harem another -of his daughters. The religion of Zarathustra sanctioned -that. It also sanctioned marriage with a -mother. According to Persian notions both Xerxes -and Artaxerxes behaved with perfect correctness. -The royal blood was too near the divine to mingle -with baser currents. There is no particular reason -for believing that Xerxes was an exceptionally -vicious person, while Artaxerxes seemed comparatively -virtuous. It was the system that was all -wrong. What are you to expect of a prince, knowing -none other law than his own will, and surrounded -from his infancy by venomous intriguing women -and eunuchs? Babylon alone used to send five -hundred boys yearly to serve as eunuchs.... I -think we may now leave the Persians.</p> - -<p><i>Hear again Phocylides: “A little well-ordered city -on a rock is better than frenzied Nineveh.”</i> The old -poet means a city of the Greek type, and by “well-ordered” -he means governed by a law which guarantees -the liberties of all in restricting the privileges -of each. This, the secret of true freedom, was -what the Barbarian never understood. Sperthias -and Boulis, two rich and noble Spartans, offered -to yield themselves up to the just anger of Xerxes, -whose envoys had been flung to their death in a -deep water-tank. On the road to Susa they were -entertained by the Persian grandee Hydarnes, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span> -<a href="#p89" class="anchor">(Note 89)</a>said -to them: <i>Men of Sparta, wherefore will ye not -be friendly towards the King? Beholding me and my -condition, ye see that the King knoweth how to honour -good men. In like manner ye also, if ye should give -yourselves to the King (for he deemeth that ye are -good men), each of you twain would be ruler of Greek -lands given you by the King.</i> They answered: <i>Hydarnes, -thine advice as touching us is of one side only, -whereof thou hast experience, while the other thou -hast not tried. Thou understandest what it is to be -a slave, but freedom thou hast not tasted, whether it -be sweet or no. For if thou shouldst make trial of it, -thou wouldest counsel us to fight for it with axes as -well as spears!</i></p> - -<p>So when Alexander King of Macedon came to -Athens with a proposal from Xerxes that in return -for an alliance with them he would grant the Athenians -new territories to dwell in free, and would -rebuild the temples he had burned; and when the -Spartan envoys had pleaded with them to do no -such thing as the King proposed, the Athenians -made reply. <i>We know as well as thou that the might -of the Persian is many times greater than ours, so that -thou needest not to charge us with forgetting that. Yet -shall we fight for freedom as we may. To make terms -with the Barbarian seek not thou to persuade us, nor -shall we be persuaded. And now tell Mardonios -that Athens says: “So long as the sun keeps the -path where now he goeth, never shall we make compact -with Xerxes; but shall go forth to do battle with him, -putting our trust in the gods that fight for us and in -the mighty dead, whose dwelling-places and holy things -he hath contemned and burned with fire.”</i> This was -their answer to Alexander; but to the Spartans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> -<a href="#p90" class="anchor">(Note 90)</a>they -said: <i>The prayer of Sparta that we make not -agreement with the Barbarian was altogether pardonable. -Yet, knowing the temper of Athens, surely ye -dishonour us by your fears, seeing that there is not -so much gold in all the world, nor any land greatly -exceeding in beauty and goodness, for which we would -consent to join the Mede for the enslaving of Hellas. -Nay even if we should wish it, there be many things -preventing us: first and most, the images and shrines -of the gods burned and cast upon an heap, whom we -must needs avenge to the utmost rather than be consenting -with the doer of those things; and, in the -second place, there is our Greek blood and speech, the -bond of common temples and sacrifices and like ways -of life—if Athens betrayed these things, it would not -be well.</i>...</p> - -<p>οὐ καλῶς ἂν ἔχοι, “it would not be well.” When -I was writing about Greek simplicity I should have -remembered this passage. But our present theme -is the meaning of Eleutheria. “Our first duty,” -say the Athenians, “is to avenge our gods and -heroes, whose temples have been desecrated.” Such -language must ring strangely in our ears until we -have reflected a good deal about the character of -ancient religion. To the Greeks of Xerxes’ day -religion meant, in a roughly comprehensive phrase, -the consecration of the citizen to the service of the -State. When the Athenians speak of the gods and -heroes, whose temples have been burned, they are -thinking of the gods and heroes of Athens, which -had been sacked by the armies of Mardonios; and -they are thinking chiefly of Athena and Erechtheus.</p> - -<p>Now who was Athena? You may read in books -that she was “the patron-goddess of Athens.” But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span> -she was more than that; she <i>was</i> Athens. You -may read that she “represented the fortune of -Athens”; but indeed she <i>was</i> the fortune of Athens. -You may further read that she “embodied the -Athenian ideal”; which is true enough, but how -small a portion of the truth! It was not so much -what Athens might become, as what Athens was, -that moulded and impassioned the image of the -goddess. It was the city of to-day and yesterday -that filled the hearts of those Athenians with such -a sense of loss and such a need to avenge their Lady -of the Acropolis. For that which had been the focus -of the old city-life, the dear familiar temple of their -goddess, was a heap of stones and ashes mixed -with the carrion of the old men who had remained -to die there.</p> - -<p>As for Erechtheus, he was the great Athenian -“hero.” The true nature of a “hero” is an immensely -controversial matter; but what we are -concerned with here is the practical question, what -the ancients thought. They, rightly or wrongly, -normally thought of their “heroes” as famous -ancestors. It was as their chief ancestor that the -Athenians regarded and worshipped Erechtheus. -Cecrops was earlier, but for some reason not so -worshipful; Theseus was more famous, but later, -and even something of an alien, since he appears -to come originally from Troezen. Thus it was -chiefly about Erechtheus as “the father of his -people,” rather than about maiden Athena, that -all that sentiment, so intense in ancient communities, -of the common blood and its sacred obligations -entwined itself. This old king of primeval Athens -claimed his share of the piety due to the dead of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> -<a href="#p92" class="anchor">(Note 92)</a>every -household, an emotion of so powerful a quality -among the unsophisticated peoples that some have -sought in it the roots of all religion. It is an emotion -hard to describe and harder still to appreciate. -Erechtheus was the Son of Earth, that is, really, -of Attic Earth; and on the painted vases you see -him, a little naked child, being received by Athena -from the hands of Earth, a female form half hidden -in the ground, who is raising him into the light -of day. The effect of all this was to remind the -Athenians that they themselves were <i>autochthones</i>, -born of the soil, and Attic Earth was their mother -also. Not only her spiritual children, you understand, -nor only fed of her bounty, but very bone -of her bone and flesh of her flesh. <i>Gê Kourotrophos</i> -they called her, “Earth the Nurturer of our Children.” -Unite all these feelings, rooted and made -strong by time: love of the City (Athena), love of -the native and mother Earth (Gê), love of the unforgotten -and unforgetting dead (Erechtheus)—unite -all these feelings and you will know why the defence -of so great sanctities and the avenging of insult -against them seemed to Athenians the first and -greatest part of Liberty.</p> - -<p>So Themistocles felt when after Salamis he said: -<i>It is not we who have wrought this deed, but the gods -and heroes, who hated that one man should become -lord both of Europe and of Asia; unholy and sinful, -who held things sacred and things profane in like -account, burning temples and casting down the images -of the gods; who also scourged the sea and cast fetters -upon it.</i> And it is this feeling which gives so singular -a beauty and charm to the story of Dikaios. “Dikaios -the son of Theokydes, an Athenian then in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span> -exile and held in reputation among the Persians, -said that at this time, when Attica was being wasted -by the footmen of Xerxes and was empty of its -inhabitants, it befell that he was with Demaratos -in the Thriasian Plain, when they espied a pillar -of dust, such as thirty thousand men might raise, -moving from Eleusis. And as they marvelled what -men might be the cause of the dust, presently they -heard the sound of voices, and it seemed to him -that it was the ritual-chant to Iacchus. Demaratos -was ignorant of the rites that are performed at -Eleusis, and questioned him what sound was that. -But he said, <i>Demaratos, of a certainty some great -harm will befall the host of the King. For this is -manifest—there being no man left in Attica—that -these are immortal Voices proceeding from Eleusis to -take vengeance for the Athenians and their allies. -And if this wrathful thing descend on Peloponnese, -the King himself and his land army will be in jeopardy; -but if it turn towards the ships at Salamis, the King -will be in danger of losing his fleet. This is that -festival which the Athenians hold yearly in honour -of the Mother and the Maid, and every Athenian, -or other Greek that desires it, receives initiation; -and the sound thou hearest is the chanting of the initiates.</i> -Demaratos answered, <i>Hold thy peace, and tell -no man else this tale. For if these thy words be -reported to the King, thou wilt lose thine head, and -I shall not be able to save thee, I nor any other man. -But keep quiet and God will deal with this host.</i> Thus -did he counsel him. And the dust and the cry -became a cloud, and the cloud arose and moved -towards Salamis to the encampment of the Greeks. -So they knew that the navy of Xerxes was doomed.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span></p> - -<p>Athena, the Mother-Maid Demeter-Persephone with -the mystic child Iacchus, Boreas “the son-in-law -of Erechtheus,” whose breath dispersed the enemy -ships under Pelion and Kaphareus—of such sort -are “the gods who fight for us” and claim the -love and service of Athens in return. It is well -to remember attentively this religious element in -ancient patriotism, so large an element that one -may say with scarcely any exaggeration at all that -for the ancients patriotism was a religion. Therefore -is Eleutheria, the patriot’s ideal, a religion too. -Such instincts and beliefs are interwoven in one -sacred indissoluble bond uniting the Gods and men, -the very hills and rivers of Greece against the foreign -master. Call this if you will a mystical and confused -emotion; but do not deny its beauty or underestimate -its tremendous force.</p> - -<p>But here (lest in discussing a sentiment which -may be thought confused we ourselves fall into -confusion) let us emphasize a distinction, which -has indeed been already indicated. Greek patriotism -was as wide as Greece; but on the other hand -its intensity was in inverse ratio to its extension. -Greek patriotism was primarily a local thing, and it -needed the pressure of a manifest national danger -to lift it to a wider outlook. That was true in the -main and of the average man, although every generation -produced certain superior spirits, statesmen or -philosophers, whose thought was not particularist. -It was this home-savour which gave to ancient -patriotism its special salt and pungency. When -the Athenians in the speech I quoted say that their -first duty is to avenge their gods, they are thinking -more of Athens than of Greece. They are thinking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span> -of all we mean by “home,” save that home for -them was bounded by the ring-wall of the city, -not by the four walls of a house.</p> - -<p>The wider patriotism of the nation the Greeks -openly or in their hearts ranked in the second place. -Look again at the speech of the Athenians. First -came Athens and her gods and heroes—their <i>fathers’</i> -gods; next <i>To Hellenikon</i>, that whereby they are -not merely Athenians but Hellenes—community of -race and speech, the common interest in the <i>national</i> -gods and their festivals, such as Zeus of Olympia -with the Olympian Games, the Delphian Apollo -with the Pythian Games. Of course this Hellenic -or Panhellenic interest was always there, and in a -sense the future lay with it; but never in the times -when Greece was at its greatest did it supplant -the old intense local loyalties. The movement of -Greek civilization is from the narrower to the larger -conception of patriotism, but the latter ideal is -grounded in the former. Greek love of country -was fed from local fires, and even Greek cosmopolitanism -left one a <i>citizen</i>, albeit a citizen of the -world. So it was with Eleutheria, which enlarged -itself in the same sense and with an equal pace.</p> - -<p>This development can be studied best in Athens, -which was “the Hellas of Hellas.” One finds in -Attic literature a passionate Hellenism combined -with a passionate conviction that Hellenism finds -its best representative in Athens. The old local -patriotism survives, but is nourished more and more -with new ambitions. New claims, new ideals are -advanced. One claim appears very early, if we -may believe Herodotus that the Athenians used it -in debate with the men of Tegea before the Battle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> -<a href="#p96" class="anchor">(Note 96)</a>of -Plataea. The Athenians recalled how they had -given shelter to the Children of Heracles when all -the other Greek cities would not, for fear of Eurystheus; -and how again they had rescued the slain -of the Seven from the Theban king and buried them -in his despite. On those two famous occasions the -Athenians had shown the virtue which they held -to be most characteristic of Hellenism and specially -native to themselves, the virtue which they called -“philanthropy” or the love of man. What Heine -said of himself, the Athenians might have said: -they were brave soldiers in the liberation-war of -humanity.</p> - -<p>There is a play of Euripides, called <i>The Suppliant -Women</i>, which deals with the episode of the unburied -dead at Thebes. The fragmentary Argument -says: <i>The scene is Eleusis. Chorus of Argive women, -mothers of the champions who have fallen at Thebes. -The drama is a glorification of Athens.</i> The eloquent -Adrastos, king of Argos, pleads the cause of the -suppliant women who have come to Athens to beg -the aid of its young king Theseus in procuring the -burial of their dead. Theseus is at first disposed -to reject their prayer, for reasons of State; he must -consider the safety of his own people; when his -mother Aithra breaks out indignantly: <i>Surely it -will be said that with unvalorous hands, when thou -mightest have won a crown of glory for thy city, thou -didst decline the peril and match thyself, ignoble labour, -with a savage swine; and when it was thy part to -look to helm and spear, putting forth thy might therein, -wast proven a coward. To think that son of mine—ah, -do not so! Seest thou how Athens, whom mocking -lips have named unwise, flashes back upon her scorners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> -<a href="#p97" class="anchor">(Note 97)</a>a -glance of answering scorn? Danger is her element. -It is the unadventurous cities doing cautious things -in the dark, whose vision is thereby also darkened.</i> -And the result is that Theseus and his men set out -against the great power of Thebes, defeat it and -recover the bodies, which with due observance of -the appropriate rites they inter in Attic earth.</p> - -<p>“To make the world safe for democracy” is -something; but Athens never found it safe, perhaps -did not believe it could be safe. <i>Ready to take risks, -facing danger with a lifting of the heart ... their -whole life a round of toils and dangers ... born -neither themselves to rest nor to let other people.</i> In -such phrases are the Athenians described by their -enemies. A friend has said: <i>I must publish an -opinion which will be displeasing to most; yet (since -I think it to be true) I will not withhold it. If the -Athenians in fear of the coming peril had left their -land, or not leaving it but staying behind had yielded -themselves to Xerxes, none would have tried to meet -the King at sea.</i> And so all would have been lost. -<i>But as the matter fell out, it would be the simple truth -to say that the Athenians were the saviours of Greece. -The balance of success was certain to turn to the side -they espoused, and by choosing the cause of Hellas -and the preservation of her freedom it was the Athenians -and no other that roused the whole Greek world—save -those who played the traitor—and under God thrust -back the King.</i> And some generations later, Demosthenes, -in what might be called the funeral oration -of Eleutheria, sums up the claim of Athens in words -whose undying splendour is all pride and glory -transfiguring the pain of failure and defeat. <i>Let -no man, I beseech you, imagine that there is anything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> -of paradox or exaggeration in what I say, but sympathetically -consider it. If the event had been clear -to all men beforehand ... even then Athens could -only have done what she did, if her fame and her -future and the opinion of ages to come meant anything -to her. For the moment indeed it looks as if she had -failed; as man must always fail when God so wills -it. But had She, who claimed to be the leader of Greece, -yielded her claim to Philip and betrayed the common -cause, her honour would not be clear.... Yes, men -of Athens, ye did right—be very sure of that—when -ye adventured yourselves for the safety and freedom -of all; yes, by your fathers who fought at Marathon -and Plataea and Salamis and Artemision, and many -more lying in their tombs of public honour they had -deserved so well, being all alike deemed worthy of -this equal tribute by the State, and not only (O Aeschines) -the successful, the victorious.</i>...</p> - -<p>Demosthenes was right in thinking that Eleutheria -was most at home in Athens. Now Athens, as all -men know, was a “democracy”; that is, the general -body of the citizens (excluding the slaves and “resident -aliens”) personally made and interpreted their -laws. Such a constitution was characterized by -two elements which between them practically exhausted -its meaning; namely, <i>autonomy</i> or freedom -to govern oneself by one’s own laws, and <i>isonomy</i> -or equality of all citizens before the law. Thus -Eleutheria, defined as the Reign of Law, may be -regarded as synonymous with Democracy. “The -basis of the democratical constitution is Eleutheria,” -says Aristotle. This is common ground with all -Greek writers, whether they write to praise or to -condemn. Thus Plato humorously, but not quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> -<a href="#p99" class="anchor">(Note 99)</a>good-humouredly, -complains that in Athens the -very horses and donkeys knocked you out of their -way, so exhilarated were they by the atmosphere -of Eleutheria. But at the worst he only means -that you may have too much of a good thing. -Eleutheria translated as unlimited democracy you -may object to; Eleutheria as an ideal or a watchword -never fails to win the homage of Greek men. -Very early begins that sentimental republicanism -which is the inspiration of Plutarch, and through -Plutarch has had so vast an influence on the practical -affairs of mankind. It appears in the famous -drinking-catch beginning <i>I will bear the sword in the -myrtle-branch like Harmodios and Aristogeiton</i>. It -appears in Herodotus. Otanes the Persian (talking -Greek political philosophy), after recounting all the -evils of a tyrant’s reign, is made to say: <i>But what -I am about to tell are his greatest crimes: he breaks -ancestral customs, and forces women, and puts men -to death without trial. But the rule of the people in -the first place has the fairest name in the world, -“isonomy,” and in the second place it does none of -those things a despot doeth.</i> In his own person -Herodotus writes: <i>It is clear not merely in one but -in every instance how excellent a thing is “equality.” -When the Athenians were under their tyrants they -fought no better than their neighbours, but after they -had got rid of their masters they were easily superior. -Now this proves that when they were held down they -fought without spirit, because they were toiling for a -master, but when they had been liberated every man -was stimulated to his utmost efforts in his own behalf.</i> -The same morning confidence in democracy shines -in the reply of the constitutional king, Theseus,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> -<a href="#p100" class="anchor">(Note 100)</a>to -the herald in Euripides’ play asking for the -“tyrant” of Athens. <i>You have made a false step -in the beginning of your speech, O stranger, in seeking -a tyrant here. Athens is not ruled by one man, but -is free. The people govern by turns in yearly succession, -not favouring the rich but giving him equal -measure with the poor.</i></p> - -<p>The <i>naïveté</i> of this provokes a smile, but it should -provoke some reflection too. Why does the rhetoric -of liberty move us so little? Partly, I think, because -the meaning of the word has changed, and partly -because of this new “liberty” we have a super-abundance. -No longer does Liberty mean in the -first place the Reign of Law, but something like -its opposite. Let us recover the Greek attitude, -and we recapture, or at least understand, the Greek -emotion concerning Eleutheria. Jason says to Medea -in Euripides’ play, <i>Thou dwellest in a Greek instead -of a Barbarian land, and hast come to know Justice -and the use of Law without favour to the strong</i>. The -most “romantic” hero in Greek legend recommending -the conventions!</p> - -<p>This, however, is admirably and characteristically -Greek. The typical heroes of ancient story are -alike in their championship of law and order. I -suppose the two most popular and representative -were Heracles and Theseus. Each goes up and -down Greece and Barbary destroying <i>hybristai</i>, local -robber-kings, strong savages, devouring monsters, -ill customs and every manner of “lawlessness” -and “injustice.” In their place each introduces -Greek manners and government, Law and Justice. -It was this which so attracted Greek sympathy to -them and so excited the Greek imagination. For<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> -the Greeks were surrounded by dangers like those -which Heracles or Theseus encountered. If they -had not to contend with supernatural hydras and -triple-bodied giants and half-human animals, they -had endless pioneering work to do which made -such imaginings real enough to them; and men -who had fought with the wild Thracian tribes could -vividly sympathize with Heracles in his battle with -the Thracian “king,” Diomedes, who fed his fire-breathing -horses with the flesh of strangers. Nor -was this preference of the Greeks for heroes of such -a type merely instinctive; it was reasoned and -conscious. The “mission” of Heracles, for example, -is largely the theme of Euripides’ play which we -usually call <i>Hercules Furens</i>. A contemporary of -Euripides, the sophist Hippias of Elis, was the -author of a too famous apologue, <i>The Choice of -Heracles</i>, representing the youthful hero making the -correct choice between Laborious Virtue and -Luxurious Vice. Another Euripidean play, <i>The -Suppliant Women</i>, as we have seen, reveals Theseus -in the character of a conventional, almost painfully -constitutional, sovereign talking the language of -Lord John Russell. As for us, our sympathies are -ready to flow out to the picturesque defeated monsters—the -free Centaurs galloping on Pelion—the -cannibal Minotaur lurking in his Labyrinth. But -then our bridals are not liable to be disturbed by -raids of wild horsemen from the mountains, nor are -our children carried off to be dealt with at the -pleasure of a foreign monarch. People who meet -with such experiences get surprisingly tired of them. -There is a figure known to mythologists as a Culture -Hero. He it is who is believed to have introduced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> -law and order and useful arts into the rude community -in which he arose. Such heroes were specially -regarded, and the reverence felt for them measures -the need of them. Thus in ancient Greece we read -of Prometheus and Palamêdes, the Finns had their -Wainomoinen, the Indians of North America their -Hiawatha. Think again of historical figures like -Charlemagne and Alfred, like Solon and Numa -Pompilius, even Alexander the Great. A peculiar -romance clings about their names. Why? Only -because to people fighting what must often have -seemed a losing battle against chaos and night the -institution and defence of law and order seemed -the most romantic thing a man could do. And so -it was.</p> - -<p>Such a view was natural for them. Whether it -shall seem natural to us depends on the fortunes -of our civilization. On that subject we may leave -the prophets to rave, and content ourselves with -the observation that there are parts of Europe -to-day in which many a man must feel himself in -the position of Roland fighting the Saracens or -Aëtius against the Huns. As for ourselves, however -confident we may feel, we shall be foolish to -be over-confident; for we are fighting a battle -that has no end. The Barbarian we shall have -always with us, on our frontiers or in our own -breasts. There is also the danger that the prize -of victory may, like Angelica, escape the strivers’ -hands. Already perhaps the vision which inspires -us is changing. I am not concerned to attack the -character of that change but to interpret the Greek -conception of civilization, merely as a contribution -to the problem. To the Greeks, then, civilization is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> -the slow result of a certain immemorial way of -living. You cannot get it up from books, or acquire -it by imitation; you must absorb it and let it -form your spirit, you must live in it and live through -it; and it will be hard for you to do this, unless -you have been born into it and received it as a birth-right, -as a mould in which you are cast as your -fathers were. “Oh, but we must be more progressive -than that.” Well, we are not; on the contrary -the Greeks were very much the most progressive -people that ever existed—intellectually progressive, -I mean of course; for are we not talking about -civilization?</p> - -<p>The Greek conception, therefore, seems to work. -I think it works, and worked, because the tradition, -so cherished as it is, is not regarded as stationary. -It is no more stationary to the Greeks than a tree, -and a tree whose growth they stimulated in every -way. It seems a fairly common error, into which -Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton sometimes fall, for -modern champions of tradition to over-emphasize -its stability. There has always been the type of -“vinous, loudly singing, unsanitary men,” which -Mr. Wells has called the ideal of these two writers; -he is the foundational type of European civilization. -But it almost looks as if Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton -were entirely satisfied with him. They want -him to stay on his small holding, and eat quantities -of ham and cheese, and drink quarts of ale, and -hate rich men and politicians, and be perfectly -parochial and illiterate. But Hellenism means, -simply an effort to work on this sound and solid -stuff; it is not content to leave him as he is; it -strives to develope him, but to develope him within<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span> -<a href="#p104" class="anchor">(Note 104)</a>the -tradition; to transform him from an Aristophanic -demesman into an Athenian citizen. But -Mr. Belloc and Mr. Chesterton are Greek in this, -that they have constantly the sense of fighting an -endless and doubtful battle against strong enemies -that would destroy whatever is most necessary to -the soul of civilized men. <i>Well I know in my heart -and soul that sacred Ilium must fall, and Priam, -and the folk of Priam with the good ashen spear ... -yet before I die will I do a deed for after ages to hear of!</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span></p> - -<h2>V<br /><br /> - -SOPHROSYNE</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> needs imagination for the modern man to live -into the atmosphere of ancient Greece. It ought -not now to be so hard for us who have seen the -lives and sanctities of free peoples crushed and -stained. It should be easier for us to reoccupy -the spiritual ground of Hellas, to feel a new thrill -in her seemingly too simple formulas, a new value -in her seemingly cold ideals. It is opportune to -write about her now, and justifiable to write with -a quickened hope. For all that, mental habits -are the last we lose, and the habit of regarding -our civilization as secure has had time to work -itself deep into our minds. It has coloured our -outlook, directed our tastes, altered our souls.</p> - -<p>That last expression may appear overstrained. -Yet reflect if it really be so. These many ages we -have felt so safe. If fear came on us, it was not -fear for the fabric itself of civilization. We grew -delicately weary of our inevitably clasping and -penetrating culture. We called it our “old” civilization, -with some implication of senility; and we -were restive under its restraints and conventions. -We were affected in different ways, but we were -all affected, we were all tired of our security. To<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> -escape it some of us fled to the open road and a -picturesque gipsyism, some hunted big game in -Africa. One or two of us actually did these things, -a greater number did them in imagination, reading -about them in books. Others, not caring to fatigue -their bodies, or too fastidious or sincere or morbid -to find relief in personal or vicarious adventures—for -this reason or that—pursued “spiritual adventures” -or flamed out into rebellion against what -they felt insulted their souls. It seems clear enough -that our bohemianism of the city and the field is -not two things but one, and I am not put from this -opinion by the consciousness of temperamental -gulfs between typical moderns such as (not to come -too near ourselves) Whitman and Poe in America. -The symptoms are different, but the malady is the -same.</p> - -<p>I am not concerned to defend the word “malady,” -if it be thought objectionable. It may be a quite -excellent and healthy reaction we have been -experiencing. But a reaction means a disturbance -of poise, leaving us to some extent, as we say, -unbalanced. It may have been so in an opposite -sense with the Greeks. I may not deny (for I am -not sure about it) that they went to the other -extreme. It is possible and even likely. But if -they were rather mad about the virtues of sanity, -and rather excessive in their passion for moderation, -this intensity can only be medicinal to us, who -need the tonic badly. It may help us to reach -that just equilibrium in which the soul is not asleep, -but, in fact, most thrillingly sensitive. Being what -it is, the human soul seems bound to oscillate for -ever about its equipoise. It will always have its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span> -actions and reactions. Our violent reaction against -the sense of an absolute security is entirely natural -because of that strange passion, commingled of -longing and fear, that draws us to the heart of loneliness -and night. But it has exactly reversed our -point of view. We have wished for the presence -of conditions which the Greeks, having them, wished -away. We have wished the forest to grow closer -to our doors. We have admired explorers and -pioneers. We have admired them because we are -different. Well, the Greeks were explorers and -pioneers—and not merely in things of the spirit—and -they wished the forest away. Naturally, you -see; just as naturally as we long for it to be there.</p> - -<p>There is a line in Juvenal which means that when -the gods intend to destroy a man they grant him -his desire. If we suddenly found ourselves in the -heart of savagery, most of us would wish to retract -our prayers. Robinson Crusoe tired of his delightful -island. Men who live on the verge of civilization -are apt to cherish ideals which create strong shudders -in the modern artistic soul. On the African or -Canadian frontiers, or cruising in the south seas, -a man may dream of a future “home” of the kind -which has moved so many of our writers to laughter -or pity. Whatever our own aspiration might be -under the burden of similar circumstances, we should -at least experience a far profounder sense of the -value of those very civilities and conventions, of -which we had professed our weariness. To uphold -the flag of the human spirit against the forces that -would crush and humiliate it—that would seem -the heroic, the romantic thing. Exactly that was -the mission of Greece, as she knew well, feeling all the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> -glory and labour of it. And so far as to fight -bravely for a fair ideal with the material odds against -you is romantic, in that degree Greece was romantic. -Her victory (of which we reap the fruits) has wrought -her this injury, that her ideal has lost the attraction -that clings to beautiful threatened things. It has -become the “classical” ideal, consecrated and—for -most of us—dead.</p> - -<p>But it is not dead, and it will never perish, for -it is the watchword of a conflict that may die down -but cannot expire; the conflict between the Hellene -and the Barbarian, the disciplined and the undisciplined -temper, the constructive and the destructive -soul. Let that conflict become desperate once -more, and we shall understand. But a little exercise -of imagination would let us understand now. -As it is, we hardly do. We note with chilled amazement -the passionate emphasis with which the Greeks -repeat over and over to themselves their <i>Nothing -too much!</i> as if it were charged with all wisdom -and human comfort. We understand what the -words say; we do not understand what they mean.</p> - -<p>The explanation is certain. The Greek watchword -is uninspiring to us, because we do not need -it. We are not afraid of stimulus and excitement, -because we have our passions better under control, -because we have more thoroughly subdued the -Barbarian within us, than the Greeks. It is at -least more agreeable to our feelings to put it that -way than to speak of “this ghastly thin-faced time -of ours.” The Greeks, on the other hand, were -wildly afraid of temptation, not much for puritanic -reasons, although for something finer than prudential -ones. It may seem a little banal to repeat it, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span>— -they had the artistic temperament. They had the -exceptional impressionability, and they felt the very -practical necessity (at least as important for the -artist as the puritan) of a serenity at the core of -the storm. <i>The wind that fills my sails, propels; -but I am helmsman</i> is the image in Meredith. I once -collected a quantity of material for a study of the -Greek temperament. I have been looking over -it again, and I find illustration after illustration -of an impressionability rivalling that of the most -extreme Romantics. It is difficult to appraise this -evidence. Quite clearly it is full of exaggeration -and prejudice. If you were to believe the orators -about one another, and about contemporary politicians, -you would think that fourth-century Athens -was run exclusively by criminal lunatics. Nor are -the historians writing in that age much better, -infected as they are by the very evil example of the -rhetoricians. But the cumulative effect is overwhelming, -and is produced as much, if not more, -by little half-conscious indications, mere gestures -and casual phrases, as by the records of hysterical -emotionality and scarlet sins. Don’t you remember -how people in Homer when they meet usually burst -into tears and, if something did not happen, might -(the poet says) go on weeping till sunset? It is -not so often for grief they weep—unless for that -remembered sorrow which is a kind of joy—as for -delight in the renewal of friendship, or merely to -relieve their feelings. The phrase used by Homer -to describe the end of such lamentations is one he -also applies to people who have just thoroughly -enjoyed a meal. There is a sensuous element in -it. Of course, one murmurs “the southern” or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> -<a href="#p110" class="anchor">(Note 110)</a>“the -Latin temperament”; but if we understood -the Latin temperament better, we should be able -to read more meaning into that warning <i>Nothing -too much!</i></p> - -<p>A friend said to Sophocles, “<i>How do you feel -about love, Sophocles? Are you still fit for an amorous -encounter?</i>” “<i>Don’t mention it, man; I have just -given it the slip—and very glad too—feeling as if I -had escaped from bondage to a ferocious madman.</i>” -To be sure Sophocles was a poet and had the poetical -temperament, and it would argue a strange ignorance -of human nature to make any inferences concerning -his character from the Olympian serenity of his -art. But listen to this anecdote about an ordinary -young man. <i>Leontios the son of Aglaion was coming -up from the Piraeus in the shadow of the North Wall, -on the outside, when he caught sight of some corpses -lying at the feet of the public executioner. He wanted -to get a look at them, but at the same time he was disgusted -with himself and tried to put himself off the -thing. For a time he fought it out and veiled his eyes. -His desire, however, getting the mastery of him, he -literally pulled apart his eyelids and, running up to -the dead bodies, said, “There you are, confound you; -glut yourselves on the lovely sight!”</i></p> - -<p>Both anecdotes are in Plato, and may serve as -a warning when we are tempted to think him too -hard on the emotional elements of the soul. He -knew the danger, because he felt it himself, because -he understood the Greek temperament—better, for -instance, than Aristotle did. Undoubtedly there is -an ascetic strain in Plato, as there is in every moralist -who has done the world any good. But Greek -asceticism is an attuning of the instrument, not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span> -<a href="#p111" class="anchor">(Note 111)</a>a -mortification of the flesh. It is just the training -or discipline that is as necessary for eminence in -art or in athletics as for eminence in virtue. The -Greek words—askêsis, aretê—level these distinctions.</p> - -<p>This high tension is the natural reaction of a -spirit, finely and richly endowed as the Greek was, -to the pressure of strong alien forces. If the tension -relaxed or broke, the result was what you might -expect; there was a rocket-like flash to an extreme. -Others as well as I may have wondered at the sort -of language we find in Greek writers concerning -“tyrants.” The horror expressed is not merely -conventional or naïve as in a child’s history book, -it is real and deeply felt. The danger of tyranny -was of course very actual in most of the Greek -states, even in Athens. But it is not so much the -danger of suffering as of exercising a tyranny that -is in the minds of the best Greek writers. The -tyrant is a damned soul. Waiting for him in -the dark are “certain fiery-looking” devils and the -Erinyes, Avengers of Blood. The tyrant is the -completion and final embodiment of human depravity.... -Well, perhaps he is. But we should -never think of giving the tyrant so very special a -pre-eminence over every other type of criminal. -Yet the Greek feeling seems quite natural when -we reflect that the very definition of a tyrant is -one that is placed above the law, and is therefore -under no external obligation to self-restraint, lacking -which the average Greek very rapidly and flamboyantly -went to the devil.</p> - -<p>There was, for example, Alexander prince of -Pherae, whom Shakespeare read about in his Plutarch. -Alexander had a habit of burying people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> -<a href="#p112" class="anchor">(Note 112)</a>alive, -or wrapping them in the skins of bears or -boars; he used to hunt them with dogs. He consecrated -the spear with which he had murdered his -uncle, crowning it with garlands and offering sacrifices -to it under the name of Tychon, an obscene -god. This same Alexander was present once at a -performance of Euripides’ <i>Trojan Women</i>, and was -so overcome by his feelings that he hurried from -the theatre, leaving a message for the leading actor, -which explained that he did not disapprove of the -acting, but was ashamed to let people see him, -who had never shown the least pity for his victims, -crying over Hecuba and Andromache. <i>What’s -Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should -weep for her?</i></p> - -<p>One might perhaps say of Alexander what Ruskin -(speaking, as he assures us, after due deliberation) -says of Adam Smith, that he was “in an entirely -damned state of soul.” It would be easy to multiply -examples like that of this Pheraean, but it would be -still easier to disgust the reader with them. I will -take, then, a milder case (more instructive in its way -than much pathology) which has for us this twofold -value, that it is full of human and pathetic interest, -and at the same time reflects, all the more if there -are legendary elements in it, the popular imagination -of the tyrant’s mood. It is the tragedy of -Periandros, lord of Corinth. Hear Sosikles the -Corinthian in Herodotus.</p> - -<p><i>When Kypselos had reigned thirty years and ended -his life happily, he was succeeded by his son, Periandros. -Now Periandros was milder than his father -at first, but afterwards by means of messengers he -joined himself to Thrasyboulos the tyrant of Miletus,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span> -and became yet more bloody by far than Kypselos. -For he sent a herald to Thrasyboulos and inquired -how he might most safely put affairs in order and best -govern Corinth. Thrasyboulos brought the messenger -of Periandros forth from the city, and entering into -a field of corn he went through the corn, putting one -question after another to the herald on the matter of -his coming from Corinth. And ever as he spied an -ear that overtopped the rest, he would strike it off, -and so marring it cast it down, until in this way he -destroyed the fairest and tallest portion of the crop. -And having traversed the field he sends away the herald -without giving him a word of counsel. When the -herald returned to Corinth, Periandros wished to -learn the counsel. But the other said that Thrasyboulos -had answered nothing, and that he marvelled -at him, what manner of man he had sent him to, one -beside himself and a destroyer of his own possessions; -relating what he saw done by Thrasyboulos. But -Periandros, understanding the action and perceiving -that Thrasyboulos advised him to slay the most eminent -of the citizens, then showed every manner of villainy -towards the Corinthians. Whatever Kypselos had left -unaccomplished by his slaughterings and banishments, -Periandros fulfilled. And in one day he stripped -naked all the women of Corinth for his wife Melissa’s -sake. For when he had sent messengers to the river -Acheron in Thesprotia, to the Oracle of the Dead there, -to inquire concerning a treasure deposited by a stranger, -the ghost of Melissa appeared and said that she would -not signify nor declare in what place the treasure was -laid; for she was cold and naked, since she had no -profit of the garments that had been buried with her, -for that they had not been burned; and for proof<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> -that her words were true she had a secret message for -his ear.... When these things were reported to -Periandros (for the secret forced him to believe, since -he had had to do with Melissa when she was dead) -immediately after he caused it to be proclaimed that -all the wives of the Corinthians should come forth to -the temple of Hera. And when they came, wearing -their richest garments as for a holy feast, he set his -bodyguard in their way, and stripped them all, bond -and free alike, and gathering all into a trench he burned -the pile with prayer to Melissa. And when he had -done this, and had sent to her the second time, the -ghost of Melissa told him where she had deposited the -stranger’s treasure.</i></p> - -<p>Periandros had murdered Melissa. After her death -<i>another calamity</i>, says Herodotus, <i>befell him as I -shall tell. He had two sons by Melissa, one seventeen -years of age and the other eighteen. Their mother’s -father Prokles, tyrant of Epidaurus, sent for them to -his castle and kindly entreated them, as was natural, -for they were his daughter’s children. But when he -was bidding them farewell, he said, “Know ye, my -children, who slew your mother?” This saying the -elder regarded not, but the younger, whose name was -Lykophron, when he heard it was so moved</i>—the poor -young man—<i>that when he came to Corinth, he spake -no word to his father, accounting him his mother’s -murderer, neither would he converse with him nor -answer any question. And at last Periandros in -great anger drave him from the house. And after he -had expelled him, he questioned the elder son, what -discourse their uncle had held with them. And he -told his father that Prokles had received them kindly, -but made no mention of that speech of Prokles, which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> -he uttered at their departing, for he had not marked -it. But Periandros declared that it was in no way -possible but that he had given them some counsel, -and closely questioned the lad, till he remembered -and told this also. And Periandros, understanding -the matter and resolved not to yield weakly in any -thing, sent a messenger to those with whom the son -whom he had driven forth was living, and forbade -them to take him in. And whenever the wanderer -came to another house, he would be driven from this -also, Periandros threatening those who received him -and commanding them to thrust him forth. And he -went wandering from house to house of his friends, -who, for all their fear, used to receive him, seeing -that he was the son of Periandros. But at last Periandros -caused proclamation to be made, that whosoever -should receive him in his house or speak to him, the -same must pay such and such a sacred penalty to -Apollo. Therefore because of this proclamation no -man was willing to speak to the lad or to give him -shelter. Moreover neither would he himself try to -obtain that which was forbidden him, but endured -all, haunting the public porticos. On the fourth day -Periandros saw him all unwashen and emaciated for -lack of food, and was moved to pity, and remitting -somewhat of his anger he approached and said, “My -son, whether is better, to fare as now thou farest, or -to take over my lordship and the good things that are -mine, reconciled to thy father? But thou, my son -and prince of wealthy Corinth, hast chosen a vagrant -life, opposing and showing anger against him whom -thou oughtest least to hate. If there has been a mishap -in that matter, the same hath befallen me also, and -I have the larger share therein, as mine was the deed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span> -But apprehending how far better it is to be envied -than pitied, and at the same time what manner of -thing it is to be wroth with them that begat thee and -are stronger than thou, come back home.” With these -words Periandros sought to constrain his son, but he -made no other answer but only this, that his father -had incurred the sacred penalty to the god by entering -into speech with him. And Periandros, perceiving -that there was no dealing with nor overcoming of the -enmity of his son, sends him away out of his sight -on board a ship to Corcyra, for he was master of Corcyra -also. But after he had dispatched him, Periandros -made an expedition against Prokles his father-in-law, -blaming him chiefly for what had happened, and took -Epidaurus, and took Prokles himself alive.</i></p> - -<p><i>But in course of time Periandros came to be old, -and knew himself no longer capable of watching over -and administering affairs. Wherefore he sent to -Corcyra and recalled Lykophron to the tyranny; for -he saw nothing in his elder son, but looked upon him -as somewhat dull of wit. But Lykophron would not -even answer the messenger. But Periandros, who -was bound up in the young man, made a second attempt, -sending his own daughter, Lykophron’s sister, -thinking he would most readily listen to her. And -when she had come she said, “Dear Lykophron, is -it your desire that our lordship should fall to others -and thy father’s substance be scattered abroad, rather -than come away and have it thyself? Come home; -cease punishing thyself. A proud heart is poor profit. -Do not cure one evil with another. Many prefer -mercy to justice; and many ere now in seeking what -was their mother’s have lost what their father had. -A tyranny is a slippery thing, and many there be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> -that long for it; and he is now an old man and past -his prime. Give not away what is thine own to -others.” These were her words, which her father had -taught to her as the most persuasive. But Lykophron -answered that he would on no account come to Corinth -so long as he knew his father was alive. When she -had brought back this answer, Periandros sends a -third messenger, a herald, to propose that he should -go himself to Corcyra, and bidding Lykophron come -to Corinth to succeed him in the tyranny. The young -man agreed to these terms, and Periandros was setting -out for Corcyra and the prince to Corinth, when the -Corcyraeans, becoming aware of all this, in order that -Periandros might not come to their land, put the lad -to death. Therefore Periandros took vengeance on the -Corcyraeans</i>.</p> - -<p>The revenge of the old man was to send three -hundred boys of the chief Corcyraean families to -the great Lydian king, Alyattes, to be made eunuchs.... -He was cheated of his revenge by a humane -stratagem of the Samians. The lonely old man, -with that touch of original nobleness all gone now, -black frustrate rage in his heart, love turned to -an inhuman hate of all the world, wearing this -Nessus shirt of remorse and despair! <i>Such is tyranny</i>, -says Sosikles at the end of his speech, <i>Such is tyranny, -O Lacedaemonians, and such its consequences.</i></p> - -<p>Periandros, you see, has already become a type. -There is a curious fitness in the application to these -old “tyrants” of the worn quotation from <i>The -Vanity of Human Wishes</i>—they do very specially -point a moral and adorn a tale. The moral they -point is the danger of losing <i>Sophrosyne</i>. There is -a wonderful description in Plato’s <i>Republic</i> of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> -tyrant’s genesis, a description which may startle -us by the intensity of feeling which one touches -in it. It is a story of the gradual loss of Sophrosyne, -ending in perfect degeneration and the loss of all the -other virtues as well. This Sophrosyne (one of the -cardinal Greek virtues and the most characteristic -of all) confronts us at the outset of any study of -the Hellenic temperament. To understand the one -is to understand the other. Complete understanding -is of course impossible, but we may get nearer and -nearer to the secret.</p> - -<p>Sophrosyne is the “saving” virtue. That means -little—or nothing—until it is steeped in the colours -of the Greek temperament, and viewed in the Greek -attitude to life. Well then, the Greek attitude to -life—how shall we describe that? I am going to -describe it in a phrase which is at least accurate -enough to help on our discussion greatly: it looks -upon life as an <i>Agon</i>, and by an Agon is meant -the whole range of activities from the most to the -least heroic, from the most to the least spiritual, -contest or competition. The reader will forgive an -appearance of pedantry in this, since the word -needs careful translation. Now my suggestion is -that this <i>agonistic</i> view of life, if I may so call it, -pervades and characterizes all Classical antiquity. -To understand clearly the nature of an Agon we -must keep firmly in mind its origin. It would be -misleading surely to call its origin religious—as if -men needed to be religious to fight!—but it is undeniable -that its roots are embedded in that primitive -life which is so largely mastered by religion and -magic. In consequence an ancient Agon was nearly -always a religious ceremony. That seems curious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> -enough to a modern mind, yet nothing is more -certain. The great national Games like the Olympic, -the rhapsodic and musical contests, the Attic Drama -(which was specifically an Agon)—all had this -religious or supernatural <i>aura</i> investing them. And -when one looks into Greek religion itself, one finds -everywhere as its characteristic expression a choric -dance, which normally takes the form of an actual -or mimic contest between two sides or “semi-choruses.”</p> - -<p>The motive then of an Agon differed from that -of an ordinary modern contest. It was normally -a <i>ritual</i> contest, and its motive a <i>religious</i> motive. -It was not held for its own sake, like a football -match, but for a definite object. This object the -Greeks called <i>Nikê</i>, which we translate—inadequately -enough, as is plain from the facts we have been -considering—as “victory.” It was felt to be not -so much a personal distinction as a blessing upon -the whole community. It possessed a magical virtue. -There was even a sense in which in an ancient Agon -everybody won. Nor does it seem extravagant to -say that Greek society, like a primitive society, -only in a far richer, more complex, more significant -and spiritual way, was organized for the production -of Nikê.</p> - -<p>That is a large matter. There is, to be sure, no -need of accumulated detail to prove that the Agon -was the most characteristic institution of ancient -life; it only requires to be pointed out; everywhere -we find these competitions. What may chiefly -interest us for the moment is that the Agon was -simply the outward expression of the characteristic -Greek outlook upon life and upon the whole human<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> -<a href="#p120" class="anchor">(Note 120)</a>scene. -For the Greek looked upon life itself as a -struggle, an Agon, an opportunity for the production -of Nikê. Mr. Wells gives to one of his essays the -title of “The Human Adventure.” Life as the -Human Adventure very well expresses the Greek -feeling about it. Only let us not forget that the -Nikê which is the object and justification of every -Agon is—I have already remarked it—something -utterly, qualitatively different from mere success. -It is the triumph of the Cause. “Success”—“the -successful business man”—not that kind of success.</p> - -<p>The most successful man in Greece, every one -remembers, was rewarded with a little garland of -wild olive. <i>God help us, Mardonios</i>, said a noble -Persian when he heard this, <i>what men are these thou -hast brought us to fight against!—men that contend -not for money but for merit</i>. The individual Greek -could want money badly enough, as may be gathered -from the amusing, but satirical, <i>Characters</i> of Theophrastus. -Yet in the soul of Hellas, for all its -strong sense of reality and despite some inclination -to avarice, one finds at last something you might -almost call quixotic. Is there not some element -of quixotry in every high adventure? And what -adventure could be higher than to fight for “the -beautiful things,” <i>Ta Kala</i>, against the outnumbering -Barbarian?</p> - -<p>Sophrosyne is the virtue that “saves” in this -battle. Understand it so, and you must share -some part of the ardour this word inspired. It -means the steady control and direction of the total -energy of a man. It means discipline. It means -concentration. It is the angel riding the whirlwind, -the charioteer driving the wild horses. There is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> -<a href="#p121" class="anchor">(Note 121)</a>word -for it in English, and we must coldly translate -“moderation,” “temperance,” “self-restraint.” -“Moderation” as a name for this strong-pulsed, -triumphant thing! Why even the late-born, unromantic -Aristotle, even while he is describing -Sophrosyne as a “mean” between excessive and -deficient emotionality, turns aside to remark, as a -thing almost too obvious to need pointing out, -that “there is a sense in which Sophrosyne is an -<i>extreme</i>.” This is She whom Dante beheld on the -Mountain of Purgatory such that “never were -seen in furnace glasses or metals so glowing and -red”:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>giammai non si videro in fornace</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>vetri o metalli sì lucenti e rossi</i>.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> -<a href="#p122" class="anchor">(Note 122)</a></p> - -<h2>VI<br /><br /> - -GODS AND TITANS</h2> - -<p><span class="smcap">It</span> was an ancient hypothesis that the Gods are -only deified men. A certain Euêmeros suggested -this. His favourite illustration was Zeus; that -greatest of the Gods, he said, was a prehistoric -king in Crete, as the Cretan legends about him -proved. This theory has received a fresh life from -the investigations of modern scholars. Historically, -it seems to be largely true; psychologically, it -explains nothing at all. <i>All men have need of the -Gods</i>, says Homer; the religious instinct, that is -the important thing, or rather (since the other is -important too) that is the fundamental thing. It -is also the prior thing, the spring of the religious -act. If I want to know why primitive men make -a god of one of their number, it seems no answer -to assure me that they do so. Yet the historical -inquiry has great interest too, and throws a dim -and rather lurid light on the development of religion -and religious thought. And I could not leave untouched -an aspect of the old Greek life so vital as -its belief about the gods without illustrating how -here also the conflict of Greek and Barbarian worked -itself out.</p> - -<p>It is almost the other day that we rediscovered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span> -<a href="#p123" class="anchor">(Note 123)</a>the -old Aegean religion—the immemorially ancient -religion of the non-Greek peoples, the Barbarians, -who lived about the Aegean Sea. It is now clear -that the Hittites, the Phrygians, the ancient peoples -of Anatolia generally, worshipped a kind of triad -or trinity of Father, Son and Consort. Sometimes, -as in the Hittite sculptures, the Father and the -Son seem the important members of the group; -sometimes, as in the Phrygian religion, the emphasis -is chiefly on the Mother and Consort, and the Son. -But the third member can always be discovered too, -standing pretty obviously in the background. In -prehistoric Crete (which, of course, became Greek -in historical times) we again recognize the divine -Three in the persons of those native divinities -whom the Greeks learned to call Kronos, Rhea -and Zeus. That is the skeleton of the old religion; -the living flesh in which it was clothed was begotten -in tribal custom. Primitive peoples fashion their -gods after their own image. Their chief god they -think of as a greater and more worshipful “king,” -swayed by the passions, observing the etiquette, -and wearing the regalia of their earthly rulers. -Now the primitive king held his place by force or -craft or the terror of his rages (his <i>menos</i>)—and -by no other tenure. He lived in constant dread -of the rival who, younger and stronger, would one -day rise against him and seize his throne. The -rival might be a stranger, but more frequently he -was the king’s own son, who, for one thing, would -be thought likely to inherit the magical virtue of -his sire. Accordingly, when the Young King was -born, the Old King would seek his life. But there -he would be apt to meet the opposition of the Queen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> -<a href="#p124" class="anchor">(Note 124)</a>who -would seek to convey the child to a safe retreat. -Then, grown at last to manhood, suddenly the -Prince would return to challenge the Old King to -mortal combat. The Gods behave exactly like that.</p> - -<p>The chief depositary in ancient Greece of popular -beliefs about the Gods is the curious poem attributed -to Hesiod, called the <i>Theogony</i>. Along with certain -parts of Homer, it formed what might be called -the handbook of orthodoxy, and it tells us with an -incomparable authoritativeness what the sacred -tradition was. Eldest of all, says the <i>Theogony</i>, -was Gaia or Mother Earth, a goddess. Now she -<i>bare first starry Ouranos, equal to herself, that he -might cover her on every side ... and afterward -she lay with him, and bare the deep coil of Okeanos, -and Koios, and Krios, and Hyperîon, and Iapetos, -and Thea, and Rhea, and Themis, and Mnemosyne, and -Phoibe with the gold upon her head, and lovely -Tethys. And, after these, youngest was born Kronos -the Crooked-Thinker, most dangerous of her sons, -who loathed his lusty begetter.</i> There is a fuller -account in another place. <i>Next, of Gaia and Ouranos -were born three sons, huge and violent, ill to name, -Kottos and Briareos and Gyes, the haughty ones. -From their shoulders swang an hundred arms invincible, -and on their shoulders, upon their rude bodies, -grew heads a fifty upon each; irresistible strength -crowned the giant forms. Of all the children of Gaia -and Ouranos most to be feared were these, and they -were hated of their Sire from the first; yea, soon as -one was born, he would not let them into the light, -but would hide them all away in a hiding-place of -Earth, and Ouranos gloried in the bad work. And, -being straitened, huge Gaia groaned inwardly; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span> -she thought of a cruel device. Hastily she created -the grey flint, and of it fashioned a mighty Sickle, -and expounded her thought to her Sons, speaking -burning words from an anguished heart. “Sons of -me and of an unrighteous Father, if ye will hearken -to me, on your Father ye may take vengeance for his -sinful outrage, for it was He began the devising of -shameful deeds!”</i></p> - -<p><i>So spake she, but fear seized them all, I ween, neither -did one of them utter a word. But mighty Kronos -the Cunning took heart of grace, and made answer -again to his good Mother. “Mother, I will undertake -and will perform this thing, since of our Father -(‘Father!’) I reck not; for it was He began the -devising of shameful deeds!” So spake he, and -mighty Gaia rejoiced greatly in her heart, and hid -him in an ambush, and put in his hands the sharp-fanged -Sickle, and taught him all the plot.</i></p> - -<p><i>Great Ouranos came with falling night and cast -him broadly over Gaia, desiring her, and outstretched -him at large upon her. But that other, his Son, reached -out with his left hand from the place of his hiding ... -and with his right grasping the monstrous fanged -Sickle, he swiftly reaped the privy parts of his Father -and cast them to fall behind him.</i></p> - -<p>In calling this story Barbarian, I feel as if I ought -to apologize to the Barbarians. Nevertheless it -is clearly more in their way than in the way of the -Greeks. It excellently illustrates the kind of stuff -from which Greek religion refined itself. You will -see that it is the old savage stuff of the battle between -the Kings. On this occasion it is the Young -King who prevails and pushes the Old King from -his throne—not to die (for he was a God), but to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> -<a href="#p126" class="anchor">(Note 126)</a>live -a shadowy, elemental life. But neither was -Kronos able to escape his destiny. For <i>Rhea, -subdued unto Kronos, bare shining children, even -Hestia, and Demeter, and gold-shod Hera, and strong -Hades, that pitiless heart, dwelling under ground, -and the roaring Earth-Shaker, and Zeus the Many-Counselled, -the Father of Gods and men, by whose -thunder the broad earth is shaken. They also—great -Kronos was used to swallow them down, as each came -from the womb to his holy Mother’s knees, with intent -that none other of the proud race of Ouranos should -hold the lordship among the Everliving. For he knew -from Gaia and starry Ouranos that he was fated to -be overcome of his own child.... Therefore no blind -man’s watch he kept, but looked for his children and -swallowed them; but Rhea grieved and would not -be comforted. But when she was at point to bring -forth Zeus, then she prayed her own dear parents, -Gaia and starry Ouranos, to devise a plan whereby -she might bear her Son in secret, and retribution be -paid by Kronos the Crafty Thinker for his father’s -sake and his children that he gorged. And they truly -gave ear to their daughter and obeyed her, and told her -all things that were fated to befall concerning Kronos -the King and his strong-hearted Son. And they conveyed -her to Luktos in the fat land of Crete, when she -was about to bring forth the youngest of her sons, great -Zeus. Him gigantic Gaia received from her in broad -Crete to nurture and to nurse. Thither came Gaia -bearing him through the swift black night, to Luktos -first; and she took him in her arms and hid him in -a lonely cave, withdrawn beneath the goodly land, -there where the wild-wood is thick upon the hills of -Aigaion. But she wrapped a great Stone in swaddling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span>clouts, -and gave it to the Son of Ouranos so mightily -ruling, the Old King of the Gods. And Kronos seized -it then with his hands, and put it down in his belly -without ruth, nor knew in his own mind that for a -Stone his Son was left to him unvanquished and unharmed, -that was soon to overcome him by main strength -of his hands, and drive him from the sovranty, and be -King himself among the Everliving.</i></p> - -<p><i>For swiftly thereafter mightiness was increased to -the Young King and his shining limbs waxed greater, -and, as the seasons rounded to their close, great Kronos -the Cunning was beguiled by the subtile suggestions -of Gaia, and cast up again his offspring; and first -he spewed forth the Stone, that he had swallowed last. -Zeus planted it where meet the roads of the world in -goodly Pytho under the rock-wall of Parnassus, to be -a sign and to be a marvel to men in the days to come.</i></p> - -<p>The Stone was there all right, for the French -excavators have found it, looking highly indigestible. -But it is unfair to treat Hesiod in this spirit. In -fact, to read in him such passages as I have quoted -is to give oneself quite a different emotion. There -is the most curious conflict between one’s moral -and one’s æsthetic reactions to them. You have a -matter which it is poor to call savage, which is more -like some atavistic resurrection of the beast in man; -and you find it told in a style which is like some -obsolescent litany full of half-understood words -and immemorial refrains. The most primitive-minded -is also the most literary poet in Greek, if -by “literary” one means influenced by a tradition -in style. He is full of the epic <i>clichés</i>, and he repeats -them in a helpless, joyless way, as if he had no choice -in the matter. If you wish to be unkind, you may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> -<a href="#p128" class="anchor">(Note 128)</a>describe -his style as the epic jargon. But you will -be unjust if you do not admit a certain grandeur -arising (it would almost seem) out of its very -formalism. Even in its decay the epic style is a -magnificent thing. The singing-robes of Homer have -faded and stiffened, but they are still dimly gorgeous, -and it is with gold that they are stiff. The poet -of the <i>Theogony</i>—I call him Hesiod without prejudice—wears -them almost like a priest. But if -you have to tell a story like those I have quoted, -what other manner is possible than just such a -conventional, half-ritualistic style, which acts like a -spell to move the religious emotions and suspend -the critical judgment? I am not quite finished -with Hesiod, and I want the reader to have a little -more patience with him and with me.</p> - -<p>Before he was cast out of his throne, Ouranos, -having conceived a hatred of his Sons, Briareos -and Kottos and Gyes, <i>strongly bound them, being -jealous of their overbearing valour, their beauty and -stature, and fixed their habitation under the wide-wayed -earth, where they were seated at the world’s -end and utmost marge, in great grief and indignation -of mind. Natheless the Son of Kronos, and the rest -of the immortal Gods that deep-haired Rhea bare in -wedlock with Kronos, brought them up to the light -again by the counsels of Gaia, who told them all the -tale, how they would gain the victory and bright glory -with the aid of those.</i> In another place we read -that Briareos and Kottos and Gyes <i>were grateful -for that good service, and gave Zeus the thunder and -the burning bolt and the lightning-flash, that aforetime -vast Gaia concealed; in them he puts his trust as he -rules over mortals and immortals</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> -<a href="#p129" class="anchor">(Note 129)</a>He -required them almost at once in his battle -with the Titans. The word “Titans” seems to -mean nothing more or less than “Kings.” They -were the Old Kings at war with the Young Kings -(who, because they lived on Mount Olympus in -Thessaly, came to be called the “Olympians”) -with Zeus at their head. Naturally the Old Kings -took the side of Kronos, but after a ten years’ war -they were beaten in a terrific battle, and Zeus reigned -supreme. And then how do we find him behaving? -Like this. <i>And Zeus King of the Gods took to wife -first Metis, that was wisest of Gods and men. And -when indeed she was about to bring forth the blue-eyed -Goddess Athena, he beguiled her with cunning words, -and put her down into his belly, by the counsels of -Gaia and starry Ouranos, who counselled him so, -lest some other of the ever-living Gods should hold -the sovranty in the stead of Zeus, for of her it was -fated that most wise children should be born, first the -bright-eyed Maid Tritogeneia, of equal might with -her Sire and of a wise understanding, and after her -I ween she was to bear a high-hearted Son, that would -be King of Gods and men. So he clutched her and -put her down in his belly, in fear that she would bear -a stronger thing than the Thunderbolt.</i></p> - -<p>Now, of course, the Greeks once believed this -sort of thing; otherwise you would not have Hesiod -solemnly repeating it. But they very early repudiated -it; and it is just the earliness and the -thoroughness of their repudiation wherein they -show themselves Greek. For the surrounding Barbarians -kept on believing myths hardly less damnable, -and kept acting on their faith; whereas as -early as Homer you find the Greek protest. In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> -<a href="#p130" class="anchor">(Note 130)</a>Homer -it is silent; he simply leaves Hesiod’s rubbish -out. But the Ionian philosophers were not -silent; indeed they included in their condemnation -Homer himself. Heraclitus said that Homer deserved -to be scourged out of the assemblies of men, -and Archilochus likewise. Xenophanês said, <i>Homer -and Hesiod attribute to the Gods all things that are -scandals and reproach among men—to thieve, to be -adulterers, and to deceive one another.</i> Pindar (a -very moral poet) is indignant at the suggestion -that an immortal god would eat boiled baby. -Naturally, however, the poets and the philosophers -approached the myths in a different spirit, which -led to what in Plato’s time was already “a standing -quarrel.” The philosophers objected to them altogether; -the poets made them so beautiful in the -telling that they passed beyond the sphere of the -moralist. Even the <i>Theogony</i> in parts achieves -nobility; even in the <i>Theogony</i> the Hellenizing -process is at work on the Barbarian matter.</p> - -<p>We shall be better instructed, however, if we -observe the process in a later poet and a much -greater artist. It so happens that the <i>Prometheus -Bound</i> of Aeschylus, like the <i>Theogony</i>, deals with -the relations between the Old King and the New. -The drama which we know as the <i>Prometheus Bound</i> -is only a part of what ancient scholars called a -trilogy, which is a series of three plays developing a -single theme; and we cannot even be certain whether -it is the first part or the second. Of the other -members of the trilogy we possess little more than -the titles, which are <i>Prometheus Unbound</i> and <i>Prometheus -the Fire-Carrier</i>. Most students are now -strongly disposed to believe that the <i>Fire-Carrier</i><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span> -received its name from the circumstance that the -play had for its theme, or part of its theme, the -foundation of the Prometheia or Festival of Prometheus -at Athens, the culmination of which was -a torch-race engaged in by youthful fire-carriers. -Every year the Athenian ephêbi, running with lit -torches in relays of competitors, contended which -should be the first to kindle anew the fire upon -the common altar of Prometheus and Hephaistos -in the Academy. If this conjecture regarding the -theme of the <i>Fire-Carrier</i> is just, then we may be -sure that this play came last in the series, because -it celebrates the triumph of the hero. Accordingly -it is usual to arrange the trilogy in the order: -<i>Prometheus Bound</i>, <i>Prometheus Unbound</i>, <i>Prometheus -the Fire-Carrier</i>.</p> - -<p>The <i>Prometheus Bound</i> deals with the punishment -of Prometheus by Zeus. It is commonly said that -the hero of the play is punished because he had -stolen fire, which Zeus had hidden away, and -bestowed it upon mortals, who are represented as -hitherto uncivilized. There is a certain amount of -truth in this view, for in the opening scene of the -play, when Prometheus is nailed to his rock, the -fiend Kratos repeats that the reason for this torture -is the theft of fire. But the proper theme of the -<i>Prometheus Bound</i> is not so much the binding of -the Titan as the keeping him in bonds; and the -reason for the prolongation of his torture is quite -different from the reason for beginning it. The -new reason is the refusal of Prometheus to reveal -a secret, known to him but not to Zeus. All that -Zeus knows is that one day he is fated to be superseded -by his own son. What he does not, and what<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> -Prometheus does know, is who must be the mother -of that son. On the withholding and the final -revelation of this secret revolves the whole plot, -not only of the <i>Prometheus Bound</i>, but also of the -lost plays of the trilogy. To get the truth Zeus -patiently tortures his immortal victim for three -myriads of years, himself tortured by the old dynastic -terror. It is the recurring situation of the <i>Theogony</i> -renewing itself once more.</p> - -<p>Such crude material lay before Aeschylus. But -his genius and his time alike required from him a -different treatment from that which does not dissatisfy -us in the archaic chronicle of Hesiod. The -genius of the Athenian poet is of course essentially -dramatic, and he lived in an age which had woken -to the need for what I will simply call a better -religion. Therefore he chose the subject of Prometheus, -and therefore he treated it dramatically. -Now for the poet and his audience what is most -dramatic is, or ought to be, what is felt by them as -most human; and what is most human is simply -what is most alive and real to them; for drama -aims at the illusion of reality. So Aeschylus could -not handle his matter with the hieratic simplicity -of the <i>Theogony</i>. The issues could not be so simple -for the dramatist, because they are never so simple -in actual life. If Aeschylus was to make Prometheus -his hero, he would have to make him “sympathetic.” -And so, in <i>Prometheus Bound</i>, he does; -Prometheus engages all our sympathy, while Zeus -appears a tyrant in the modern, and not merely -the ancient, sense of the word. But that is not the -conclusion of the matter. We know that in the -last play of the trilogy the tormentor and the tor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span>mented -were reconciled. To the uncompromising -Shelley this was intolerable; and so he wrote his -“Prometheus Unbound.” And nearly every one who -in modern times has written on the subject, whatever -explanation or apology he may have put forward -in behalf of Aeschylus, has wished in his heart that -the Greek had felt like the Englishman.</p> - -<p>That he did not, is just the curious and disconcerting -thing we should like explained.</p> - -<p>The tradition, of course, counts for much. Aeschylus -did not invent his story. He found it already -in existence, and he found it ending in a certain -way. We cannot tell if it ended precisely in the -way that Aeschylus represented. But we can be -perfectly sure that it did not end in an unqualified -victory for Prometheus. The tradition appears to -be dead against him. Aeschylus therefore was so -far bound by that. Then the problem presented -itself to him with this further complication, that -as a matter of knowledge Zeus was reigning <i>now</i>. -So the justification of Zeus against the rebel Titan -becomes a justification of the moral governance of -the universe. Yet although Aeschylus felt the -restraint of the myth and the restraint of the moral -issue, it is to be believed that he submitted to them -with full, and even passionate, acceptance. Like -the great artist, like the great dramatic poet he is, -he begins by stating the case for Prometheus as -strongly as he can—more strongly, it would seem, -than the existing legends quite allowed—and even -in the end the Titan is not shorn of his due honour. -But as against the Olympians, Aeschylus argues -(with the Greek poets in general), the Titans were -in the wrong. The sin of the Titans was lawlessness.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> -Prometheus, in bringing to mortals the gift of fire, -broke the law which forbade them its use. The -question whether the dealings of God with man -were “just” or no, was not to be decided by your -feelings (as Prometheus judged), but by cool and -measured reflection as to what was best in the end -for mankind, or rather for the universe, of which -they formed after all so small a part.</p> - -<p>Such doctrine falls chillingly on the modern -spirit. But that is largely because we realize so -ill what it means. The <i>Prometheus</i>-trilogy was a -dramatization of the conflict of Pity and Justice -embodied in two superhuman wills. Before you -condemn the solution of Aeschylus, perhaps you -are bound to answer the question if this is not the -conflict which the modern world is trying with -blood and tears to solve. In the end (so the old -poet fabled) Zeus the rigid Justicer learned mercy, -while his passionate enemy came to recognize the -sovereignty of Law. A compromise, if you like; -but if you are sorry for it, it only means that you -are sorry for human life. I daresay Aeschylus -was sorry too, but then he was not going to be -sentimental. Life <i>is</i> after all governed by a compromise -between Justice and Pity. And if it comes -to a mere question of emotional values, does not -one love Prometheus all the more because at the -last he had, like any man, to give up a little of his -desire?</p> - -<p>Even so we shall not have done complete justice -to the Greek position, until we have renewed in our -minds the Greek emotion about law, order, measure, -limitation—the things we are engaged in criticizing -and, most of us, in disparaging. We must for our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span> -purpose accept the Hellenic paradox. We must -see with the Greek that it was not the wilderness, -but the ploughed field and the ordered vineyard -that was truly romantic. And in the moral reign -it was Temperance, Self-Discipline, <i>Sophrosyne</i>; in -the sphere of art the strict outline, the subjugation -of excess, that filled the Greek with the pleasurable -excitement we find in the exotic, the crude, the -violent, the bizarre. The explanation is engagingly -simple. To the ancient world law and order were -the exception—the wild, romantic, hardly attainable -exception; while us they interest about as much -as a couple of boiled potatoes. We are for the -Open Road and somewhere east of Suez. But the -attraction then and now is exactly the same. It -is the attraction of the unfamiliar.</p> - -<p>We could understand the Hellenic paradox better -if we had to live in an unsettled country. We -should then receive the thrill which words like -<i>Nomos</i> and <i>Thesmos</i> and <i>Kosmos</i>, the watchwords -of civilization, awakened in the Greek bosom. We -should understand the longing for a clue in the -maze of the lawless, a saving rule to guide one -through the thickets of desperate and degrading -confusion. But as it is we are so hedged about -by the barbed-wire entanglements of Government -regulations and social conventions that our desires -are chiefly concentrated on breaking through—breaking -through, let us admit, at but a little point -and for but a little time, for we are really rather -fond of our prison-house and care not to be too long -out of it. Yes, I think with a little effort we can -understand. We can believe that the sense of home -is strongest in the wanderer. He wanders to find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span> -<a href="#p136" class="anchor">(Note 136)</a>his -home, and when he has found it, he cannot -make it “home-like” and conventional enough.</p> - -<p>So to the ancients Greek civilization had the -flavour of a high and rare adventure. It was a -crusade, the conquest of the Barbarian—the Barbarian -without and within. Viewed in this light, -the conflict between Zeus and Prometheus assumes -an aspect novel enough to us. Zeus represents -the Law—unjust in this instance if you will, unjust -as perhaps Zeus himself came in the end partly -to admit—but still the Law. Prometheus represents -Anarchy. In this he shows himself truly a Titan, -for the Titans embodied the lawless forces of nature -and an undisciplined emotionality. Our fatigued -spirits love to gamble a little with these excitements. -But the Greeks had just escaped from them, and -were horribly afraid of them. There is nothing -their art loved to depict like the victory of the -disciplined will—fairly typified in Zeus, perfectly in -Athena—over unchained passion. Hence those endless -pictures of Olympians warring against Titans, -against Giants—of Greeks against Amazons—of -Heracles, of Theseus against the monsters. They -are records of a spiritual victory won at infinite -cost.</p> - -<p>The true theme of the <i>Prometheus</i>-trilogy is the -Reign of Law. Law in the realm of affairs, <i>Sophrosyne</i> -in morals, form in art. There is nothing -tame or negative about the doctrine. The Greek -spirit was not tame or negative; it would be difficult -to say how much it was not that! Indeed the -inspiration of their creed was just the desire of -the Greeks to extract the full value of their emotions. -None knew better the danger lest one</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span> -<a href="#p137" class="anchor">(Note 137)</a></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line i4"><i>should lose distinction in his joys</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>As doth a battle when they charge on heaps,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>The enemy flying</i>.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>And, from the point of view of art—always so -important for them—the rule of “measure” becomes -the art of concentration. So Law stands revealed -as Beauty. As Keats says, the final condemnation -of the Titans was that, compared with the Olympians, -they failed in Beauty:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>For first in Beauty shall be first in Might</i>.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>The evolution of Greek religion is thus largely -an artistic process. It would be obstinate to deny -that the process may have been carried, at last, -too far. Greek art begins as almost a form of -religion; Greek religion ends as almost a form of -art. Yet it would certainly be still more obstinate -to deny that more was gained than lost. There -was gained, for instance, the Greek mythology. -And what simplicity and sincerity that were lost -were not more than made up for by that Greek -religion—no longer of the State but of the individual—which -we find in Plato and (as we have begun -to see) in so much of the New Testament?</p> - -<p>How much, and with what immense justification, -the Greek religious spirit was a spirit of beauty -transforming Barbarism, could hardly be more -aptly illustrated than by a story in Herodotus. It -is the tale of Atys the son of Croesus. How beautiful -it is, every reader will confess. But how instructive -it is, hardly any but the special student will recognize. -For he finds in it the unmistakable features of an -ancient myth. <i>Atys</i>, the brilliant, early-dying prince<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> -whom Herodotus, repeating the legend as he heard -it, calls the son of the historical Croesus, is no -other than <i>Attis</i>, brother and son and spouse—the -ambiguity is in the myth—of the Mountain Mother -of Phrygia. Atys, slain in hunting the boar, is -Attis, who was a hunter, and scarcely distinguishable -from Adonis. The matter is explained at length -by Sir James Frazer in his <i>Attis, Adonis and Osiris.</i> -The myth arose out of the worship of the Asiatic -goddess variously named by the Greeks Kybelê, -Kybêbê, Rhea, and other titles, though in reality -a nameless deity, a holy Mother and Bride wedded -at the right season of the year to her son, Attis, -that its fruits might be renewed through the magic -of that ritual. There was a temple of “Kybelê” -near Sardis—still stand a column or two—where -the Paktôlos rushes from its mountain gorge. That -helps to explain why a prince of Sardis has entered -into her myth. It is even possible that actual -princes of Sardis, did anciently personate once a -year the consort of the great goddess of the region. -This at least accords with analogy, and best explains -the origin of the story in Herodotus. For the rest -it is a Phrygian tale. Olympus, where the fabled -boar is hunted, was in Mysia, which was in Phrygia. -Adrastos, “He from whom there is no Escape,” is -certainly connected with the goddess Adrasteia, -much worshipped in the Phrygian Troad. Above -all it was in Phrygia that the Mountain Mother was -chiefly worshipped. In spring the Phrygians -fashioned an image of the young Attis, and mourned -over it with ritual dirges, recalling his doom. Thus -gradually we may dig down to the roots of the myth.</p> - -<p>What we find there is a thing of horror. Nana,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> -daughter of the River Sangarios, saw an almond-tree, -which had sprung from the blood of a son of -Kybelê, whom the gods in fear of his strength had -mutilated. (Here is the Hesiodic <i>motif</i> again.) -She conceived and bare a child, which she exposed. -At first the wild goats nurtured him; then shepherds -of the mountain. At last Attis was grown so beautiful -that Agdistis (who is but a form of Kybelê) loved -him, and when he would not answer her love, drove -him mad, so that he fled to the hills and there under -a pine-tree unmanned himself. From his blood -sprang violets to hang about the tree.</p> - -<p>But for the unexpected sweetness of wild violet -and mountain pine at the close, the story is curiously -unlovely. But what really gives one a shudder is -the reflection that the story mirrors a fact. The -priests of Kybelê ... what I would say is that -they behaved like Attis.</p> - -<p>You would guess none of these things from Herodotus. -What has happened to the myth that it -is transmuted to the exquisite and piteous tale he -has related? We can only say that it has suffered -the Greek magic. The Hellenic spirit, dreaming -on the old dark fantasy, robs it a little of its wild, -outrageous beauty (which was to reappear later in -the <i>Attis</i> of Catullus), but keeps much of its -natural magic, and by introducing the figure of -the father adds overwhelmingly to the dramatic -value of the story. Most of all it steeps the whole -in a wonderful rightness of emotion. The gift -which has achieved this is, as I have hinted, a -dramatic gift; the magic is the same as that which -pervades the Attic Tragedy. So much is this the -case that the Tale of Atys in Herodotus reads like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> -a Greek tragic drama in prose. The explanation is -that ancient Tragedy arose out of just such a ritual -as that from which sprang the Atys story. That -story, so far as I know, was never made the subject -of an actual drama. It seems a pity. What a -subject it would have been for Euripides!</p> - -<p>It seems to me a legitimate procedure, in an -essay of this kind, to indicate the affinity between -the tale in Herodotus and the normal structure -and method of Attic Tragedy by treating the narrative -portions of the tale as so many stage-directions, -and the dialogue as we treat the dialogue -in a play, assigning every speech to its proper speaker. -Let me only add that all the dialogue, and practically -all of the stage-directions, are literally translated.</p> - -<h3><i>THE DEATH OF ATYS</i></h3> - -<p>[<i>The scene is Sardis in Lydia. It is a populous -settlement of reed-thatched houses clustering about a -wonderful, sheer, enormous rock crowned by the great -walls of the Citadel. Over against it, to the south, -rises the neighbouring range of Tmôlos, whence issues -the famous little stream of the Paktôlos, which, emerging -from a gorge, rolls its gold-grained sand actually through -the market-place of Sardis into the Hermos. Some -miles away, by the margin of a lake, appear the vast -grave-mounds of the Lydian kings. Within the Citadel -is the ancestral Palace of</i> <span class="smcap">Croesus</span>. <i>Any one entering -the palace would observe its unwonted splendour—silver -and gold and electrum everywhere. He would -also be struck by the circumstance that the walls of the -great Hall are bare of the swords and spears and -quivers, which it was customary to hang there. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> -present the weapons are piled in the women’s -chambers.</i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Croesus</span> <i>is seen clad in a great purple-red mantle, -and carrying a long golden sceptre tipped with a little -eagle in gold. He is surrounded by his bodyguard -of spearmen, who wear greaves and breastplates -of bronze, and helmets crested with the tails of -horses.</i></p> - -<p><i>A</i> <span class="smcap">Stranger</span> <i>in the peaked cap, embroidered dress, -and tall boots of a Phrygian noble enters with drawn -sword, and with looks of haste and horror. Seeing</i> -<span class="smcap">Croesus</span>, <i>he utters no word, but, running forward, -sits down by the central hearth of the house, strikes -his sword into the floor, and covers his face. By -this proceeding he confesses at once that he is a homicide, -and that he desires absolution from his sin. In silence -also the</i> <span class="smcap">King</span> <i>approaches and gazes on the man. Then -he goes through the elaborate and displeasing ritual -of purification from bloodshed, calling aloud on the -God of Suppliants to sanctify the rite. At last he is -free to question the</i> <span class="smcap">Stranger.</span>]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Croesus.</span> Man sitting at my hearth, who art -thou and whence comest thou out of Phrygia? -What man or what woman hast thou slain?</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Stranger.</span> O King, I am the son of Gordias -the son of Midas, and my name is Adrastos. Behold -here one that by unhappiness hath slain his own -brother, and my father hath driven me out, and -all hath been taken from me.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Croesus.</span> Now art thou among friends, for there -is friendship between our houses. Here wilt thou -lack nothing, so long as thou abidest in my house. -Strive to forget thy mischance; that will be best -for thee.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">142</a></span></p> - -<p>[<i>The man</i> <span class="smcap">Adrastos</span> <i>enters the Palace with</i> <span class="smcap">Croesus.</span> -<i>Meanwhile arrive certain messengers. They are -mountaineers, dressed in skins and carrying staves -hardened at the point by fire. They come from Mount -Olympus in Mysia.</i>]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Mysians.</span> Lord, a very mighty boar hath revealed -himself in our land, the which layeth waste our -tillage, neither can we by any means slay him. -Now therefore we beseech thee, send thy son with -us, and chosen young men, and dogs, that we may -destroy him out of the land.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Croesus.</span> As for my son, make ye no mention -of him hereafter; I will not send him with you; -for he hath lately married a wife, and is occupied -with this. Yet will I send chosen men of the Lydians, -and all the hunt, and straitly charge them very -zealously to aid you in destroying the beast out of -the land.</p> - -<p><i>[Enters now the young man</i>, <span class="smcap">Atys</span>, <i>the son of</i> <span class="smcap">Croesus</span>. -<i>He is dressed much in the Greek fashion, but with -such ornaments of gold and embroidery of flowers -upon him as beseem a prince of the House of the -Mermnadae. He has heard of the prayer of the</i> -<span class="smcap">Mysians</span>, <i>and now pleads with his father that he may -be permitted to go with them.</i>]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Atys.</span> Father, aforetime when I would be going -to battle and the chase and winning honour therein, -that was brave and beautiful. But now hast thou -shut me out alike from war and from the hunt, -albeit thou hast not espied in me any cowardice -or weakness of spirit. And now with what countenance -must I show myself either entering or -departing from the assembly of the people? What -shall be deemed of me by the folk of this city and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">143</a></span> -my newly married wife? What manner of husband -will she suppose is hers? Therefore either suffer -me to go upon this hunting, or else persuade me -that thy course is better.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Croesus.</span> O son, I do not this because I have -espied cowardice or any unlovely thing in thee at -all. But the vision of a dream came to me in sleep, -and said that thy life was not for long; by an iron -edge thou wouldest perish. Therefore I was urgent -for thy marrying, because I had regard unto this -vision, and therefore I will not send thee upon this -emprise, being careful if by any means I may steal -thee from death, while I am living. For thou -art mine only son, not counting the other, the -dumb.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Atys.</span> I blame thee not, father, that having -beheld such a vision thou keepest ward over me. -But what thou perceivest not neither understandest -the significance thereof in thy dream, meet is it -that I tell thee. Thou sayest that the dream told -that I should be slain by an iron edge. But a -boar—what hands hath it, or what manner of iron -edge which thou fearest? Had the dream made -mention of a tusk or the like, needs must thou do -as now thou doest; but it said an edge. Seeing -therefore that it is not against men that I go to -fight, let me go.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Croesus.</span> My son, herein thou dost convince my -judgement by thine interpretation of the dream. -Wherefore being thus persuaded by thee I do now -change my thought and suffer thee to go to the -hunting.</p> - -<p>[<i>The</i> <span class="smcap">King</span> <i>now sends for</i> <span class="smcap">Adrastos</span> <i>and they speak -as follows.</i>]</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">144</a></span></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Croesus.</span> Adrastos, when a foul mischance smote -thee (I reproach thee not therewith), I cleansed -thee of thy sin, and received thee in my house, -and have furnished thee with abundance of all -things. Now therefore (for thou owest me a kindness) -keep ward over my son that goeth forth to -the chase, lest evil thieves appear to your hurt. -Moreover for thyself also it is right that thou go -where thou shalt win glory by thy mighty deeds; -for so did thy fathers before thee; and moreover -thou art a mighty man.</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Adrastos.</span> For another reason, O King, I would -not have gone on such a venture. For neither is -it seemly, nor do I wish, that one so afflicted mingle -among his fortunate peers; yea, for manifold reasons -I would have refrained. But now, since thou art -urgent thereto and I am bound to perform thy -pleasure—for I owe thee return of kindness—I am -ready to do this thing: thy son, whom thou straitly -chargest me to guard, expect thou to return home -without hurt, so far as I am able to guard -him.</p> - -<p><i>In this manner</i>, continues Herodotus, <i>did he then -make answer to Croesus. And after that they set -forth with service of chosen young men and of dogs. -And when they had come to the mountain Olympus, -they began to quest for the beast; and having found -him they stood round about him, and cast their javelins -at him. Then the stranger, the man that had been -purged of the stains of blood, even he that was named -Adrastos, cast his spear at the boar, and missed him, -and smote the son of Croesus instead. And he so -smitten by the edge of the spear fulfilled the saying -of the nightly vision. But one ran to tell Croesus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span> -that which had befallen; and when he was come to -Sardis he declared to him the manner of the fight -and the slaying of his son. And Croesus being mightily -troubled by the death of the young man complained -the more vehemently for that he had been killed by -that very one whom he had purified of a manslaying. -And in the passion of his grief he cried aloud with -a great and terrible voice on Zeus of Purification, -calling him to bear witness what recompense he had -received at the hands of the stranger; and he named -him moreover God of the Hearth and God of Companionship, -naming him by the former name because -receiving the stranger into his house he had unwittingly -given meat and drink to the slayer of his child, -and by the latter name because having sent him with -his son to guard him he now found him his greatest -enemy.</i></p> - -<p><i>And now the Lydians came bearing the dead body, -and behind them followed the slayer. And he standing -before the dead yielded himself up to Croesus, stretching -forth his hands, bidding him slay him over the body, -making mention of his former calamity, and how -now he had besides brought destruction upon the man -that had purified him, neither was it meet that he -should live. Croesus hearing has pity on Adrastos, -albeit in so great sorrow of his own, and says to him</i>: -Guest, I have all I may claim of thee, since thou -dost adjudge thyself to death. Not thee I blame -for this ill, save as thou wert the unwilling doer -thereof; nay but some god methinks is the cause, -who even aforetime showed me that which should -come to pass.</p> - -<p><i>Then did Croesus honourably bury his son. But -Adrastos the son of Gordias the son of Midas, even<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span> -the man that had killed his own brother, and had -killed the son of him that washed away his offence, -after the people had left the tomb and there was silence, -deeming in his own heart that of all men that he knew -himself was most calamitous, slew himself upon the -grave.</i></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> -<a href="#p147" class="anchor">(Note 147)</a></p> - -<h2>VII<br /><br /> - -CLASSICAL AND ROMANTIC</h2> - -<h3>I</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">When</span> Alexander the Great invaded India, that -pupil of Aristotle interested himself in questions to -the Gymnosophists, or native philosophers. To the -eldest of these Gymnosophists (says Plutarch) he -addressed the following conundrum: <i>Which is older—the -night or the day?</i> The ancient man promptly -replied, <i>The day—by the length of one day.</i> When -Alexander demanded what he meant by such an -answer, the sage remarked that he always gave that -sort of answer to people who asked that kind of -question. I think this must be one of the best -retorts ever made, but I have an uncomfortable -feeling that it applies rather exactly to the subject of -this essay. The difference between the Classical and -the Romantic! It is indeed an apparently insoluble -problem. Nor can I imagine anything more disheartening -or more inimical to human happiness -than blowing upon the embers of a half-extinct -controversy. That, it will be gathered, is not -my intention. I merely intend to let my discourse -eddy about a familiar topic, in the hope -that some accretions may be washed away, and at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span> -least the true outline of the subject revealed. We -have been trying to build up an impression of -Hellenism as an <i>Agon</i>, or Struggle with Barbarism. -The material being so vast, it has been necessary -to be somewhat meagrely selective and illustrative, -or else to fritter away the point in details. But the -most general survey would be incomplete, unless we -attain some view of how Greek literature, so much -the most important witness left us of the old Greek -spirit, reflects the situation.</p> - -<p>The suggestion I have to offer may be helpful or -not. But it has two qualities which should make it -worth entertaining, if only for the moment: it is -easily understood, and it is easily tested. My suggestion -is that Classical art is an expression of Hellenism -and Romantic art of Barbarism, so far as Barbarism -is capable of expression.</p> - -<p>Here I feel the want of something beyond my own -instinct in discerning the Classical from the Romantic. -To distinguish them is never perfectly easy: in the -greatest art it is thought to be impossible. In the -end one has to rely upon oneself, for nobody is pleased -with a second-hand or impersonal criticism. If you -happen to care for literature, you will not be content -with discussions of it which do not help you to realize -the thing you love. As to the words “Classical” and -“Romantic,” they have become current coin with -us, and yet they are coin without fixed value. Thus -when Mr. Shaw attacks the “Romance” which -Stevenson adored, it is clear that they cannot mean -the same thing. What, then, do they mean? It is -very hard to find out. You may read that Romance -is the spirit of the Middle Ages, or the spirit of the -German forest; but you find yourself left to your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span> -own interpretation of Mediævalism or Fairyland. As -for the “Renaissance of Wonder”—that of course -is just beautiful nonsense.</p> - -<p>The clearest words on the matter are Matthew -Arnold’s. There is a kind of justice in this, for -Arnold’s criticism was perpetually engaged in the -issue between the Romantic and the Classical. Himself -(as his best poetry shows) a Romantic at heart, -he stood in the middle of the Romantic triumph -pleading for the austerities of art. That alone -proves his genius for criticism. It also gives him a -special right to be heard. As I shall seem to be -attacking Arnold, it will be better for me to say now -that with his general attitude and temper I am in -intimate sympathy. I am disposed to think that his -statement of the Classical case is the best that has -yet been made. In some points I think it is even -too favourable; in others not favourable enough. -That is all.</p> - -<p><i>The forest solitude</i>, he says in his book “On the -Study of Celtic Literature,” <i>the bubbling spring, the -wild flowers, are everywhere in romance. They have a -mysterious life and grace there; they are nature’s own -children, and utter her secret in a way which makes -them something quite different from the woods, waters -and plants of Greek and Latin poetry. Now of this -delicate magic, Celtic romance is so pre-eminent a mistress -that it seems impossible to believe the power did -not come into romance from the Celts. Magic is just -the word for it—the magic of nature; not merely the -beauty of nature—that the Greeks and Latins had; -not merely an honest smack of the soil, a faithful -realism—that the Germans had; but the intimate life -of nature, her weird power and her fairy charm</i>. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> -<a href="#p150" class="anchor">(Note 150)</a>on -the way to this attribution and this denial he -distinguishes four modes of handling nature. <i>There -is the conventional way of handling nature, there is the -faithful way of handling nature, there is the Greek way -of handling nature, there is the magical way of handling -nature. In all these three last the eye is on the object, -but with a difference; in the faithful way of handling -nature, the eye is on the object, and that is all you can -say; in the Greek the eye is on the object, but lightness -and brightness are added; in the magical the eye is -on the object, but charm and magic are added.</i></p> - -<p>One need not deny the value of these distinctions. -But, admitting them, must we confess that there is -no “natural magic” in the Greeks? Of your grace -listen a little to Homer in prose. <i>As the numerous -nations of winged birds—wild geese or cranes or long-throated -swans—in the Asian Mead about the runnels -of Kaÿster stream make little flights and flights in the -glory of their pinions, alighting with cries which make -the marish ring.</i> Is there no natural magic in that? -Or in this? <i>As when torrents running down a mountain -into a cañon hurl together their violent waters from -large springs in a deep watercourse, and the shepherd -on far-off mountains hears their thunder?</i> Or consider -this. <i>As when the glare of a blazing fire is seen by -sailors out at sea burning at some lonely shieling high -up among the hills.</i> Again we read: <i>They clomb -Parnassus, steep forest-clad hill, and soon came to the -windy gullies. The sun was then smiting the fields -with his earliest rays out of the quiet, deep-running -river of the world; and the beaters came to the glade.</i> -A last example: <i>As when Pandion’s daughter, the -greenwood nightingale, sings beautifully at the start of -spring, perched in a place of leafy trees, with running<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span> -<a href="#p151" class="anchor">(Note 151)</a>variable -note she sheds abroad her far-heard song, -mourning the end of Itylus</i>. Is there no magic -in all this?</p> - -<p>Still, it is uncritical to attempt to carry the critical -judgment by storm. You will of course admit the -glory and intoxication of these Homeric similes, but -you may still feel that Arnold’s distinction is not -finally swept away by them. Something in the lines -he quotes—Keats’s</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>Magic casements opening on the foam</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Of perilous seas in faery lands forlorn;</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Shakespeare’s</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line i5"><i>On such a night</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Stood Dido with a willow in her hand</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Upon the wild sea-banks, and waved her love</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>To come again to Carthage</i>——</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>something there may be felt to express a more personal -or intimate relation to nature than anything I have -yet quoted from Homer. Shall I then quote more to -show that even this touch Homer has got? <i>He -burned him with his inlaid arms and heaped a grave-mound -over him; and round it the hill-nymphs planted -elms.</i> Is not that final touch magical enough? -And surely there is intimacy here. <i>As when the great -deep glooms with silent swell, dimly foreboding the -hurrying path of the piping winds.</i> And the personal -note, is it not audible here? <i>And now in a rocky -place of lonely hills, at Sipylos, where couch the nymphs -(men say) whose feet are swift on Acheloïos’ banks—there -changed to stone she broods upon the wrongs that gods -have wrought her.</i> And here are two passages of love,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span> -<a href="#p152" class="anchor">(Note 152)</a>of -love in a Romantic setting, if we mean anything -by that at all. <i>Under them the divine earth sent up -sudden grass and dewy lotus and crocus and hyacinth -thick and soft, upbearing them from the ground. Thereon -they lay, folded in a beautiful golden cloud that dropped -a glimmer of dew.</i> That is the love of Zeus and Hera. -What follows tells of the desire of Poseidon for Tyro. -<i>She conceived a love of divine Enîpeus, fairest by far -of rivers flowing over the earth, and haunted the fair -waters of Enîpeus. Therefore the Earth-Embracer and -Earth-Shaker made himself like Enîpeus and lay with -her at the outflowings of the eddying river; then a -darkling wave rose mountain-like about them and -hung over them, hiding the god and the mortal woman.</i> -Does not this possess the magical touch?</p> - -<p>It is in Homer everywhere. In all his dealings -with nature he adds to his words not merely lightness -and brightness, but something magical as well. If -he does not do it, no poet does. Why, Homer’s very -“fixed epithets” are surcharged with magic. Think -of his epithets for the dawn alone—κροκόπεπλος, -<i>saffron-robed</i>; χρυσόθρονος, <i>golden-throned</i>; ῥοδοδάκτυλος, -<i>rose-fingered</i>—the Romantic poets have -always envied them. It is impossible to deny the -magical, Romantic quality to Homer, unless you make -an admission with which I shall deal in a moment. -And Homer is not alone among Greek poets in the -possession of “natural magic”; one might almost -say all the great Greek poets have it. Almost the -loveliest words that Sappho has left us are little -broken fragments of description as imaginatively -touched as anything in Keats or Coleridge. Such -are the fragments translated by Rossetti, and the -fragment of the sleepless woman crying to the stars<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span> -<a href="#p153" class="anchor">(Note 153)</a>for -her lover. There are the few lines of Alcman, -comparing him to “the sea-blue bird of spring,” -which are enough to put him not too far from -Sappho and Coleridge themselves. And Aeschylus -in <i>Prometheus Bound,</i> and Euripides in the <i>Bacchae</i>—have -they got no feeling for Romantic nature? -Then there is Pindar. Why, Pindar has almost more -of it than any one. Remember the strange splendour -like a windy sunset of the great <i>Fourth Pythian</i> ode, -telling of Jason in marvellous lands. Repeat a line -or two: <i>Coming to the margin of the whitening sea, -alone in the dark he called aloud upon the roaring -Master of the Trident; and he appeared to him anigh -at his foot.</i> Or take this of the new-born Iamos, whom -his mother Euadne “exposed”: <i>But he was hidden -in the rush and the boundless brake, his delicate body -splashed with the yellow and deep purple glory of -pansies</i>. Is there “natural magic” there, or is there -not?</p> - -<p>Two things, perhaps, misled Arnold, both of them -just and true. The first was the feeling of a radical -difference somewhere between Classical and Romantic -art. The second was the insignificance in Greek -literature of magic pure and simple, the magic of -fairies and witches. Greek literature deals sparingly -in this sort of magic, while it is part of the stock-in-trade -of Romance. It looks as if Arnold were unconsciously -arguing that the Romantic passion for -magic professed ought somehow to make itself felt -in descriptions of nature, while the Greek dislike of -magic would disable the Classical poet from seeing -her with the enchanted eyes of the Celt. Now there -is an element of truth in this, though not, I think, a -very important element. It may be suggested that in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> -all true poetry, whether Classical or Romantic, Greek -or Celtic, mere vulgar magic is transmuted into that -infinitely finer and lovelier thing which Arnold, in -claiming it for Keats and Shakespeare, calls “natural -magic”; which may be more abundant in Romantic -poetry, but is present just the same in Homer and -Pindar.</p> - -<p>One is led to this conjecture about the train of -Arnold’s thought when one reads the quotations he -has selected to illustrate the special appeal of Celtic -Romance. They mainly come from the <i>Mabinogion</i> -in Lady Charlotte Guest’s translation. Although it -seems a pity that Arnold must draw his shafts from -one quiver, and that not his own, still the <i>Mabinogion</i> -is beautiful enough, and the translation so readable, -that it is not clear where he could have found, for -people who have no Welsh or Irish, better illustrations. -He quotes the words of Math to Gwydion when -Gwydion wished a wife for his pupil. <i>“Well,” says -Math, “we will seek, I and thou, by charms and illusions, -to form a wife for him out of flowers.” So they -took the blossoms of the oak, and the blossoms of the -broom, and the blossoms of the meadow-sweet, and -produced from them a maiden, the fairest and most -graceful that man ever saw. And they baptized her, and -gave her the name of Flower Aspect.</i> It is a famous -passage since Arnold quoted it; and if we are to have -magic, let it always be as beautiful as this; for I -am far from denying the beauty of many a magical rite. -But magic you see it is, magic palpable and practical—not -the magic of</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>And beauty born of murmuring sound</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Shall pass into her face;</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span> -<a href="#p155" class="anchor">(Note 155)</a></p> - -<p>which is the true poetical magic and something yet -more attractive.</p> - -<p>Arnold immediately proceeds from this to a passage -in which the Celtic writer describes the dropping of -blood as <i>faster than the fall of the dewdrop from the -blade of reed-grass upon the earth, when the dew of June -is at the heaviest.</i> Well, Homer says, <i>Gladness fell -upon his spirit like dew upon the ears of ripening -corn when there is a rustling in the fields.</i> The Celtic -passage is the more exquisite, at any rate than Homer -in my prose. But between these two passages who -would say that there is an essential difference? -It is not maintained that Homer writes in this manner -as often as a Romantic poet; and that is a difference -worth remarking. But I do assert that he can write -so when he likes, and as well as any.</p> - -<p>Now what if this finer poetic magic is really a -subtilization of the crude appeal of practical magic? -Something like this Arnold almost suggests. What -if Homer’s and Keats’s magic entrances us in part -because somewhere in us sleeps a memory of miracles -wrought in days when every rock and tree and river -was alive with supernatural force? There is nothing -fantastic in such a speculation. If we entertain it, -we may find it illuminating the whole field of this -discussion. At once we recall the almost incredibly -vast and almost wildly “Romantic” mythology of -Greece, the material and the inspiration of Greek -poetry as it was the material and inspiration of Keats. -Now the genuine mythology of Hellas first gathered -shape in an age which believed in obvious magic, in -the transformation of men and women into birds and -beasts and trees and flowers, and in the living holiness -of natural objects. Its origin is not explicable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span> -on any other hypothesis. We have therefore to -consider how it happened that Greek poetry, born -(we must believe) in an atmosphere as redolent of -magic as this mythology implies, came to divest -itself of vulgar magic and “Celtic vagueness,” till -it came to appear to a critic like Arnold devoid -also of the touch which he thinks exclusively -characteristic of Romance.</p> - -<p>It happened, no doubt, as part of that whole -reaction to Barbarism which we call Hellenism. -For magic is barbaric. The peoples all about Hellas -believed in it of course, and had magicians practising -it. In Greece itself the belief in magic lingered -throughout Greek history, lingered that is to say in -secluded places and among the many unenlightened. -We hear of <i>Epôdoi</i>, “Charmers”; of <i>Goêtes</i>, -“Groaners”; of <i>Baskanoi</i>, who had the evil eye—three -varieties of wizard. There are echoes of a -popular credence in the magical to be heard even in -Greek literature, that disdainful and fastidious -thing. In Homer we read that the wound received -by Odysseus from the boar of Parnassus was closed -by repeating an incantation over it. There is a -good deal of white magic in the <i>Works and Days</i> of -Hesiod. Nearly half of Aeschylus’ <i>Choêphoroi</i> consists -in an invocation or evocation of the ghost of -dead Agamemnon. And so on. In later Hellenistic -times there existed a great body of magical writings, -born of the contact between Greek civilization and -Oriental superstition. There must have been a -public for this stuff. Professional miracle-workers -were not uncommon, and some of them won a resounding -popularity. The book of Pausanias, who wrote -down what he heard and saw in the greater part of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span> -Greece at the beginning of the second Christian -century is strongly and—to you and me—pleasantly -redolent of immemorial customs and beliefs among -the peasantry. Many of these are plainly magical -in their nature or their origin. The priests of -Lykaian Zeus, he tells us, used to bring rain by -dipping a branch in a certain stream and shaking it, -sprinkling waterdrops. That, of course, was sheer -magic—“making rain” as an African medicineman -would say. A custom of this sort, which has -become a ritual, may be kept up after people have -ceased quite to believe in the doctrine which it -assumes as true. That, however, does not touch the -historical significance of the custom, which must -have arisen among people who believed in magic. -Besides, the peasants in Pausanias’ day were clearly -very superstitious. His book is the proof of that. -To suppose that in this respect they differed widely -from their ancestors is to suppose something which -common sense cries out against, and what evidence -there is refutes.</p> - -<p>Hellenism, then, the flower of the Greek spirit, -grew in a soil impregnated with superstition, or, if -you do not care for that word, with a religion containing -many elements of magic. Every modern -student of the subject, I fancy, admits that, although -some scholars make more of the magical elements, -some less. What no one can deny is that Hellenism -tends to reject magic, and tries to expel it from human -life. Magic was barbaric, and Hellenism was in -reaction against Barbarism. Very likely the reaction -went too far; reactions usually do. Very likely -something too much was sacrificed to “Greek -sanity.” But it would be strange ingratitude on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span> -our part to forget that it was this very urgency for -the sane, for the rational, which ensured that our -civilization was founded on hard realistic thinking, -and not on a mere drift of emotionality. The task -of thinking things out to their end, even to their -bitter end, which was so characteristic of the Greeks, -peculiarly fitted them for their task of laying intellectual -foundations. It is not an English characteristic, -and for that reason we are the more -indebted to them. But scarcely less unjust would -it be to suppose that the Greeks sacrificed everything -to the rational. Nothing of the sort. They felt -the charm to which the Celtic imagination yielded -itself so utterly. But out of magic could not be -built, they thought, any helpful philosophy or sound -method of art. So their literature, when it deals -with this matter and deals with it at its best, consciously -or instinctively aims at drawing from it its -full value for the imagination without for a moment -permitting it to subdue the judgment. Any one -reading in turn Mr. Yeats’s <i>The Shadowy Waters</i> and -that part of the <i>Odyssey</i> which deals with the adventures -of Odysseus in magic-haunted lands will see -what I mean. Yeats’s hero yields himself to the -charm; Odysseus fights against it. Which is the -wiser is a question I leave to you. But here we have, -in an illustration that is almost an epigram, the -difference between the Celtic or extreme Romantic -temper and the Hellenic temper. The Celt hears -the Sirens and follows them; the Greek hears them -and unwillingly sails past.</p> - -<p>Or you may say: the Celtic gift is vision, the -Hellenic gift is light.</p> - -<p>Observe Homer’s dealings with magic. He often<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span> -finds himself in its presence, and he deals with it -in various ways. He leaves it out, he veils it, he -transforms it. I am unable to see on what real -grounds we can follow one of the most eminent of -English scholars in Homer in dividing off the rest -of the Homeric poems from those books of the -<i>Odyssey</i> which tell of Odysseus’ wanderings in unknown -lands and seas. When does magic cease to -be magic? Is it magic when Circe in the Odyssean -fairyland changes men into swine, and not magic -when Athena in Ithaca changes Odysseus into a -beggar and herself into a bird? However, what -Dr. Leaf has in mind is rather a difference which he -feels in the whole atmosphere of these fairyland -books, which the ancients knew by the title of the -<i>Narrative to Alkinoos</i>, from the rest of the <i>Odyssey</i> -and from the <i>Iliad</i>. The <i>Narrative</i>, he thinks, moves -in places which it is hopeless to look for in the map. -The geography of the rest is really to be found on -the map, if you only know where to look for it. I -might agree with this and yet hold (as I should) -that the geographical point is deceptive. Odysseus -does pass out of known into unknown lands, but he -does not pass out of one atmosphere into another. -There are more miracles and magic in the <i>Narrative</i> -than in the rest of Homer, but the treatment of -them is the same. Or, to put it somewhat differently, -Phaeakia is just as real to me as Troy or Ithaca. And -I fancy it was just as real to Homer.</p> - -<p>After all, there is really very little overt magic in -the <i>Narrative</i>, even if we include the wonder-working -of the goddess Circe and other divine beings, who -might be said to perform miracles rather than practise -witchcraft. Of this wonder-working observe how<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> -little is made: just as little as possible. The transformation -and retransformation of Odysseus’ companions -is told in a line or two. Think what the -<i>Kalevala</i> or the <i>Arabian Nights</i> would have made of -it. The whole necromantic business of the Descent -to Hades in the eleventh book of the <i>Odyssey</i> is transacted -in a few formal, ritualistic phrases. Originally -all that matter must have been steeped in magic. -It is the same with Homer’s treatment of the monstrous. -The Homeric spirit objects to monsters; -and so you never notice, unless you look closely at -the text, what horrible creatures the Sirens were. -Scylla and Charybdis are not fully described; much -is left to the reader’s imagination. The Cyclops, it -must be allowed, is different. Homer, you see, <i>had</i> -to make him eat Odysseus’ men and <i>had</i> to put his -eye out; the story would not tell otherwise. But -somehow the passage is not so ghastly as one would -expect. It is full of remorseless description—the -Cyclops vomits “wine and bits of human flesh”—and -yet despite such “realism” the poet contrives -to enfold our spirits in an air of enchantment—the -true poetical enchantment—in which all things are -at once vivid and remote, like a dream freshly -remembered.</p> - -<p>Homer of course is a problem, about which it is -very hard to say anything that pleases everybody. -There are on the one side scholars who think that our -<i>Iliad</i> and <i>Odyssey</i> are only the final versions of two -traditional poems, which were handled by many -poets through a long succession of years. On the -other side are those who believe that the two poems -are entirely, or substantially, the work of a single -early poet, who rose so far above his predecessors as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span> -<a href="#p161" class="anchor">(Note 161)</a>to -owe little or nothing to them. This makes it -difficult to argue a point in Homer with any general -acceptance. But no student now seems to deny that -Homer—whether we give the name to the one exceptional -early poet or (tentatively) to the last of all -those who worked on the poems—inherited something -of his material. He did not invent the history of -Troy, and he had to deal with it as he found it. Now -all this traditional matter—for the matter is traditional -whether the <i>Iliad</i> and the <i>Odyssey</i> themselves -are traditional poems or not—must to all appearance -have been saturated in the magical. That is the -normal condition of the stuff in which poetry, so far -as we can see, everywhere takes its rise. Besides, the -mythology of Greece, which it is fair to call the stuff -of Greek poetry, is full of magic. The inference is -that Homer and the Greek poets in general till -the end of the “Classical” period sought to -work out of their matter all that savoured of the -magical.</p> - -<p>I think it was Andrew Lang who first pointed out -that Homer clearly avoids telling stories which are -“morally objectionable.” Still more certainly we -discover that stories which are quite inoffensive in -Homer are excessively “objectionable” in other -writers. What is the meaning of this? Is it that -later generations defiled the golden innocence of -Homeric days in their baser imaginations, or that -Homer knew the other, more savage and ancient-seeming -versions, and would not recount them? -For my part I think Homer knew! And I think he -knew about the magic also. There are constant -transformations, particularly in the <i>Iliad</i>, of gods into -human and animal forms. Is that magic or is it not?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> -Surely it is all of a piece with the “shape-shiftings” -of wizards, so common in all mythologies; and these -are admitted magic. But in the first place these -transformations, as we remarked, are treated with -a light and veiling hand, and secondly they are confined -to the gods. What Homer allows to them he -will not allow to mortals. He or his predecessors -have erected the distinction between gods and men -which forms one of the bases of Greek religion. Nay, -you can trace in him, I believe, the beginnings of -something more—a reluctance to speak even of the -gods as performing these metamorphoses into brutish -form. As a rule the Greeks did not mind such tales, -or even clung to them from motives which can only -be described as “Romantic.” But Homer perhaps -softens them down a good deal, and scarcely deserves -the censure of Plato, who denounces them who would -make a wizard of God. The metamorphoses in -Homer are singularly unobtrusive. But why are they -there at all? The answer must surely be because -they were in the story and could not be left out -altogether.</p> - -<p>Am I forgetting that Homer was a poet and not a -moralist? I think not. I might, with a show of -reason, reply that the early Greek poet <i>was</i> a moralist, -his aim (as Aristophanes puts it) “to make men better -in their cities.” But I prefer to say that Homer’s -objection to the monstrous and the grossly magical -is really an æsthetic one. Other considerations come -in as well, but the æsthetic consideration is found to -be in the long run predominant. I once pointed out -that many of the similes in Homer turn out, on closer -examination, to involve an actual metamorphosis. -An actual transformation—say of Athena into a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> -<a href="#p163" class="anchor">(Note 163)</a>shooting-star—imperceptibly -passes into a mere -comparison. This is one device for reducing the -magical element. But there are others. <i>So spake -she</i>, says the poet of Helen, when she wondered why -her brethren were not to be descried among the -Greek host before Troy. <i>So spake she, but them the -life-breathing earth was now holding fast in Lacedaemon, -there, in their own native land.</i> φυσίζοος αἶα, “life-breathing -earth,” as unhappy translators must say, -derives half its poetical value as Ruskin saw (in this -case at least justly enough) from the ancient belief, -very strong in old Greece, that Earth was physically -the mother of all life, the dear mother of gods and -men. Again, who cannot see the passage before his -eyes of physical into poetical magic in the lines where -Zeus mourns the coming doom of his son Sarpedon? -<i>“When soul and life have left him, send Death and -sweet Sleep to carry him until they come to the land of -broad Lycia, where his brethren and his kin will make -an abiding barrow and pillar for him; for thus we -honour the dead.” So Hera spake, and the Father of -Gods and men obeyed her counsel; and he let fall -blood-drops on the ground, honouring his son, that -Patroklos was fated to slay in fruitful Troyland far -from his native land.</i> What is Romantic poetry if -this is not? And you see how it is produced? By -a veiling of the crudely magical.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to resist a little more quotation. -<i>Father</i>, cries Telemachus to Odysseus, <i>verily a great -marvel is this that I behold with mine eyes. Truly, the -walls of the chambers, and the fair bases of the pillars, -and the roof-beams of fir, and the columns that hold -all on high are shining to my sight as if from -flaming fire. Doubtless some god is in the house!</i> It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> -<a href="#p164" class="anchor">(Note 164)</a>is -in just such a light that we see all the Homeric -world. It is not the witch’s firelight, but it is the -light in which the true poetical magic works. -<i>Unhappy, what curse hath come upon you? In darkness -your heads are rolled, and your faces, and your knees -beneath you; a moan is enkindled, and cheeks are -wet, and blood is on the walls and fair pedestals; ghosts -in the doorway, ghosts in the courtyard of them that -hasten to the dark world below; the sun hath perished -out of heaven, and an evil mist is over you!</i> So cries -in the <i>Odyssey</i> the man with second sight. Is it not -all very “Celtic”?</p> - -<p>In the ancient <i>Hymn to Demeter</i> Persephone is -described as <i>playing with the deep-bosomed daughters -of Ocean and culling flowers—rose and crocus and violet -over the soft meadow, and iris and hyacinth and narcissus, -which, by the will of Zeus, Earth, favouring Him -of the Many Guests, sent up to snare the flower-faced -maiden a glittering marvel for all to see with wondering -eyes, both gods immortal and mortal men:—from -the one root an hundred heads of blossom; very sweet -the fragrance of that flower, and the delight of it made -laugh wide heaven above, and all the earth, and the salt -and surging waters.</i></p> - -<p>If this be not “natural magic,” where shall we -find it? And is there not something exquisite in -the sense or tact which tells the Greek when to stop -before the magic becomes too crude or obvious? -The Greek poet knows when to stop, the Romantic -not always. Here, in another of the <i>Hymns</i>, the -<i>Hymn to Dionysus</i> (VII), is the frank description of -a miracle. <i>But soon marvellous things were shown -among them. First, over the swift black ship sweet, -odorous wine was plashing, and a divine perfume arose;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> -and amaze took hold of all the gazing mariners. Anon, -along the topmost edge of the sail a vine laid out its -tendrils here and there; thick hung the clusters; and -round the mast dark ivy twined, deep in flowers and -pleasant with berries, and all the thole-pins were garlanded.</i> -For sheer loveliness of fancy it would not -be easy to beat that. And how great an effect is -gained by temperance! A little more detail and the -charm would be dissolved—the ship would be too -like a Christmas tree. It is in such wise economies -that Greek art is so great. It is just in them that -the Romantic is apt to fail. Therein he bewrays his -Barbarism.</p> - -<p>I will no longer doubt that the reader (who probably -did not require the demonstration) is convinced that -Greek poetry occasionally attains those very effects -of “natural magic” which Arnold denied it. What -has happened is merely this: Greek poetry has -carried farther than any other a process of refining -out some elements in the crude material in which it -began. That it may have lost in the process a certain -amount of the purest gold I am not denying. I am -not pleading the cause of Greek poetry, I am trying -to understand it. It is thought by scholars that -poetry has everywhere been developed out of a kind -of song or chorus, which (to put it gently) is very often -magical in character. One at last gets things like -some of the Russian folk-songs or the Finnish lays -which Lönnrot collected to form the <i>Kalevala</i>. It is -a pity the <i>Kalevala</i> has not found an adequate English -translator. One may honestly wish that Longfellow -had translated it instead of giving us <i>Hiawatha,</i> -which is a somewhat close imitation. One may -delight in <i>Hiawatha</i>, but one can see in the baldest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> -translation (as it were with half an eye) that <i>Kalevala</i> -is fifty times better. If you want magic, and very -delightful magic, go there! It seems to me, remembering, -that all the chief characters in the <i>Kalevala</i> -are sorcerers. In the very first lay you are lost in -the forest of enchantment, and you never get out -of it. The <i>Kalevala</i> is not the highest kind of poetry -of course; it is (as Mrs. Barbauld complained of -<i>The Ancient Mariner</i>) too “improbable” for that. -But it pleases our taste because it is so desperately -“Romantic.”—But you are not going to say that -it is as good as the <i>Odyssey</i>?</p> - -<p>The truth, of course, is that poetry like the -<i>Odyssey</i> and the <i>Iliad</i> and the <i>Agamemnon</i>, just as -much as <i>The Divine Comedy</i> and <i>Hamlet</i>, gets beyond -these distinctions of Romantic and Classical. I -daresay there is as much, in proportion, of this kind -of poetry in Greek as even in our own literature. -At any rate, there seems to be no doubt that the -greatest poetry is not written except on Greek principles. -There must be that “fundamental brain-work,” -as Rossetti called it, which is the characteristic -Greek contribution to art. You may put a less rigid -interpretation upon the Hellenic maxims, you may -apply them in ever so many new fields, but the -essence of them you must keep. The Barbarian -may be picturesque enough, but he is not an artist: -he loses his head.</p> - -<p>It would be enormously interesting to consider -how a passage like this—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>I was but seven year auld,</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>When my mither she did dee:</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>My father married the ae warst woman</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>The warld did ever see.</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>For she changed me to the laily worm,</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>That lies at the fit o’ the tree,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And my sister Masery</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>To the machrel of the sea.</i></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><i>And every Saturday at noon</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>The machrel comes to me,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>An’ she takes my laily head</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>An’ lays it on her knee,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And kames it wi’ a siller kame,</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>And washes it i’ the sea</i>—</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>which is pure magic, such as you might find in the -<i>Kalevala</i>, is transformed into a passage like</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>“O haud your tongue o’ weeping,” he says,</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>“Let a’ your follies a-bee;</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>I’ll show you where the white lilies grow</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>On the banks o’ Italie”</i>—</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>which is Romantic poetry at its best—or into</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>Now Johnnie’s gude bend-bow is broke,</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>And his gude gray dogs are slain;</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer;</i></div> -<div class="line i1"><i>And his hunting it is done</i>—</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>which is the Classical style very nearly at its best. -But an essay must end after a reasonable time. -Besides there is something else I want to say about -the Classical and the Romantic.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span> -<a href="#p168" class="anchor">(Note 168)</a></p> - -<h3>II</h3> - -<p>Arnold expressed the difference between the Greek -and the Celtic or Romantic spirit by the word -<i>Titanism</i>. That is a very happy expression, happier -even than Arnold knew, unless he knew what we said -about the Titans. For Titanism is just Barbarism -in heroic proportions. It is the spirit of the Old -Kings—the “Strainers,” as Hesiod, etymologizing, -calls them—who failed because they would not discipline -their strength. With some of Arnold’s language -about the Celtic character, and the “failure” in -practical affairs of the Celtic race, it is unnecessary -now for any one to concern himself, for no one now -uses that kind of language. Even if it were justified -it would scarcely be relevant, since success in literature -depends (as of course Arnold saw) on qualities -quite other than those which may be relied upon to -give us success in life. It is the Titanism of the Celt, -says Arnold, which makes him a failure in the world -of affairs, but in compensation gives him the gift of -style. We need not accept that way of putting the -matter, but I do not think we can fairly deny -either the style or the Titanism.</p> - -<p>The Greeks had their measure of Titanism also, -and very certainly their measure of style. Arnold -quotes from Henri Martin a description of the Celt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> -as <i>always ready to react against the despotism of fact</i>. -Whereupon the Greek student instantly remembers -that this is just what Cleon said about the Athenians. -He will also remember that a Corinthian politician -said that they seemed to him to be <i>born neither to -be quiet themselves nor to let other people be quiet</i>. -Any one who fails to notice the unappeasable restlessness -of the Greek temperament will miss a great -piece of its quality. It comes out in the Greek -attitude to Hope, which set ancient hearts beating -with a violence which frightened them and extremely -surprises us. It comes out in the popular conception -of Alexander the Great as one marching on and -on in a dream of never-ending victories. It comes out -in spite of Arnold. He quotes from Byron:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>Count o’er the joys thine hours have seen,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Count o’er thy days from anguish free,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And know, whatever thou hast been,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>’Tis something better not to be.</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>He thinks this characteristically Celtic. So perhaps it -is. But it is characteristically Greek too. It is a -commonplace of Greek poetry. Then he quotes:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line i5"><i>What though the field be lost,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>All is not lost, the unconquerable will,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And study of revenge, immortal hate,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>And courage never to submit or yield,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>Or what is else not to be overcome.</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>This also he calls Celtic, although he knew his -<i>Prometheus Bound</i>, and might have reflected that -Milton knew it too. At last Arnold flings up his -case, and describes a passage quoted to support his -antithesis as, up to a certain point, “Greek in its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span> -clear beauty”; and when he wishes to find a name -for the Celtic “intoxication of style” goes to a -Greek poet for his word and comes back with -<i>Pindarism</i>.</p> - -<p>That shows how impossible it is to press these -critical distinctions. Still one sees what Arnold is -driving at, and one may go with him most of the -way. It is quite true that Celtic literature is full of -Titanism. But it is an error to say that Titanism -is strange to Greek art. There is far more of it in -Celtic, and in Romantic literature generally, than in -classical literature, and this does produce a striking -difference between them. But it is only a difference -of method and emphasis. Titanism appeals to the -Romantic, and he gives himself up to it. The -Greek feels the attraction too, but he fights against -it, and over Titanism he puts something which he -thinks is better.</p> - -<p>Thus it is part of the Romantic mood to love -a strange and hyperbolical speech. We see the -Romantic poet or his hero like a man increased to -superhuman proportions and making enormous gestures -in a mist. This effect is not beyond the reach -of any true poet, and it has been achieved by -Aeschylus better perhaps than by any one before or -since. We must return to this point. Here we need -only remark that the Greeks could manage the -poetical hyperbole when they pleased. But it is only -the Romantic, or if you like the Celtic poets, who -never tire of it. Again, it is a mistake to believe that -there is no symbolism in ancient literature. But -what there is differs greatly from modern “Symbolism.” -Our “Symbolism” employs certain accepted -symbols, which allusively and discreetly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span> -recombining it sets the spirit dreaming. Ancient -art kept its symbols—I do not know if the word be -not misapplied—separate and definite. But it had -them. The background of the <i>Agamemnon</i>, for -instance, is crowded with symbols. It is all lit up -by triumphal and ruinous fires with (passing unscathed -through it all) the phantasmal beauty of -Helen; while students of metre have observed that -the heart of the verse beats faster and slower as she -comes and goes. This symbolical use of fire, and -Helen’s form, of dreams and tempest and purple -and much else, is profoundly and intricately studied -in the play. But it is not like modern Symbolism, -which is often content to gaze ecstatically on the -symbol itself, instead of using it dramatically to -flood a situation with the light that is hidden in the -heart of Time.</p> - -<p>So all these differences resolve themselves into a -change of attitude, which nevertheless is no small -matter. Though not the foundations of life itself, -yet man’s reading of life changes; and it is just the -play of this inconstant factor upon the fixed bases -of the soul which produces that creative ferment -from which all art is born.</p> - -<p>This may be seen in one matter of peculiar interest -in the history of art—the passion of love. One constantly -finds it said that Romantic love is a purely -mediæval and modern thing. Those who make -this statement might reflect that so profound and -intimate an emotion is not likely to have been discovered -so late in the human story. And it was not. -Since there is perhaps a good deal of vagueness in -our notions of what Romantic love is, let us take it -here to mean the passion whose creed is, in Dryden’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> -<a href="#p172" class="anchor">(Note 172)</a>phrase, -<i>All for Love and the World well Lost</i>. Was -such a passion unknown in antiquity? Was not that -very phrase of <i>All for Love</i> used of the Greek Cleopatra, -who is one of the world’s famous lovers? -Did not Medea leave all for love’s sake, and Orpheus, -and the shepherd Daphnis, whose legend is the more -significant because it appears to be pure folk-story? -Have not all poets of Romantic love turned instinctively -to Greek mythology as the inexhaustible -quarry of their lore? That they treat the myths in -their own way is not to be denied. But they would -not turn to them at all if they felt that those stories -had been moulded by an alien spirit. Then, so far -as one can judge from the haplessly scanty fragments -of Greek lyrical poetry, the Romantic spirit -was strong in that. Sappho and the fine poet -Ibykos were wholly given over and enslaved to love; -and the great and bitter heart of Archilochus hardly -escaped from it with curses. In the Alexandrian era -it flowers in poetry anew. One might take perhaps -as typical of the extreme Romantic mood the considerable -fragment left us of Hermesianax. It is -little more than a numbering of famous lovers for -pure delight in their names. There is a trifle of -childishness in the piece, and a trifle of artificiality, -yet it is not without a haunting loveliness like that -which clings to the <i>Catalogue of the Women</i> in Homer. -It is no accidental kinship. An underground river -has burst up again. One finds it flowing unchecked -in the <i>Argonautika</i> of Apollonios.</p> - -<p>You may have noticed that none of my examples -was taken from the greatest period of Greek literature, -the Attic age. That also is no accident. For -it is then that the hostile spirit most effectively<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> -comes in. The capacity for Romantic love was not -at any time denied to the Greek nature. But what -happened was this: the great age applied, as to the -other passions, so to love, its doctrine of <i>Sophrosyne</i>. -What was the result? Love became terrible and to -be shunned in exact proportion to its power over -the soul. And on the Greek soul love had great -power; no one ought to be mistaken about that. -<i>Of old He has been called a tyrant</i>, says Plato of Eros. -It is a famous saying of Plato again that love is a -form of madness. Sophocles, we remember, compared -it to a wild beast. Such language is habitual -with the Attic poets. (It is used, for example, by -both Sophocles and Euripides in the famous odes -invoking Eros, the one in <i>Antigone</i>, the other in -<i>Hippolytus</i>.) It is not at all the language of -Romance; it does not say <i>All for Love</i>. Indeed when -we consider it more closely, we find that it means -the exact opposite of what the extreme Romantic -means. The Greek means that he has conquered, -the Romantic that he has surrendered. There is, to -be sure, in the Romantic theory, examined in cold -blood, a certain amount of bravado. A great imaginative -passion is rare enough to be more than a nine -days’ wonder. Such an objection has no weight in -the world of art, but it is extremely in point when -we are contrasting the actual conditions of ancient -and modern life. It will turn out in the long run that -in ancient Greece men felt love as much as we, but -felt about it differently. They were for self-mastery, -we for ecstasy. They were Greeks, and we are -Barbarians.</p> - -<p>They were also, one may believe, in this the truer -artists. There is nothing more characteristic of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> -artist than his capacity to bind his emotions to the -service of his art.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"><i>To be in a passion you good may do,</i></div> -<div class="line"><i>But no good if a passion is in you</i></div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>is his thought. The man who said that said also -<i>The tigers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction</i>. -The two sentiments are in fact not incompatible, -but it takes an artist to reconcile them. -The poor plain modern man always divines something -immoral in this attitude. As to that, it is easiest to -reply that it all depends. But surely the Greek is the -only sound artistic doctrine. No one will write very -well who cannot control his inspiration. A platitude -no doubt, but a platitude which in these days seems -very easily forgotten. The mere emotion is not -enough. Tannhäuser has suggested great poetry; -he could not have written any, for that would have -required moral energy.</p> - -<p>It might be thought a subterfuge to leave this -topic without a word on a matter which cannot be -ignored. I believe a very few words will suffice. -But it is as well to make clear a point which has not -been observed by those who claim the Greek example -as a confirmation of their view that all experiences -are permissible to the artist. The point is this. It -was not in the artistic portion of the Greek people -that the kind of sexual perversity, so often indiscriminately -attributed to the Hellenes in general, -was most widely prevalent. It was chiefly a Dorian -vice, fostered by the Dorian camp-life, though I -dare say it was to some extent endemic in the Near -East. The Ionians (including the Athenians), who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span> -<a href="#p175" class="anchor">(Note 175)</a>inherited -nine-tenths of the Hellenic genius, unhesitatingly -condemned such practices, even if they -themselves were somewhat infected by them. -Athenian bourgeois morality was quite sound on -that point, as you may see by merely reading -Aristophanes. His attitude is really remarkable, and, -so far as we can see, there is only one possible explanation: -the Athenian people would not tolerate the -Dorian sin upon the stage. Yet you know what they -did tolerate, and what the comic tradition tolerated. -It would take a lot to stop Aristophanes.</p> - -<p>Another point may be put in the form of a question. -How, on the assumption of Greek perversity, -are we to account for the exceptional sanity of Greek -thought and sentiment? It does not seem humanly -possible that a pathological condition of the body -should not result in a morbid state of the mind. -Yet I never could hear of anybody who called the -Greeks morbid. It is to be surmised that certain -passages in Plato have been the chief source of the -misconception, or exaggerated impression, which is -still perhaps too prevalent. Now with regard to -what is called Platonic Love, there are two things -which ought not to be forgotten. One is this. The -young men with whom Socrates used to talk—who -were not, you know, in any proper sense, his disciples—were -apt to be members of a tiny minority, among -what we should call the upper classes at Athens, who -professed what strikes us as a very unnecessary -“philolaconism” or cult of things Spartan. Some -of these young people certainly practised or trifled -with the Dorian offence, and Socrates was willing -to discuss the matter with them. He was the more -willing to do this because he held a very definite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span> -view himself. He condemned the fleshly sin outright, -though not perhaps uncompromisingly. But he -attached the very highest value to the association -of friends, an older and a younger, and he wished this -comradeship to be intense enough to merit the name -of love. This leads to the second point. You must -judge ancient love—I mean this love of man and boy—by -its ideal, as you insist on judging Romantic love. -So judged, it often appears a fine and noble thing. -That it sometimes sank in the mire is no more than -can be said of modern love. Do not, at any rate, -let us be hypocritical.</p> - -<p>It is time to recover the thread of our original -argument, which was to this effect, that the contrast -of Hellenism and Barbarism appears in literature -as the contrast of Classical and Romantic. -Just as Hellene and Barbarian are correlative terms, -so you cannot understand Classical art without -reference to Romance, nor Romantic art in isolation -from the Classics. But again, just as Greek and -Barbarian are equally human, so Classical and -Romantic art are alike art. The difference in the -end is a difference of degree or (in another way of -putting it) of tendencies. The great vice of the -Barbarian is that he has no self-restraint. There -cannot be art of any kind without restraint, and the -Barbarian <i>pur sang</i>, if he exist, must be incapable of -art. But it is not he we are discussing; it is the -artistic expression of Barbarism which we call -Romance. Now observe how clearly, within the -limits imposed by art, Romance reveals the bias of -the Barbarian temperament. In literature it comes -out in the form of hyperbole or artistic exaggeration. -It will not be denied that Romance indulges a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span> -deal in that. The Greeks fought shy of it. To -deal largely in it was likely to bring upon the writer -the epithet of ψυχρός, “frigid”—a curious charge -to us, who are inclined to look upon exaggeration -as natural to a fiery spirit. They thought it the -mere spluttering of a weak nature, which could not -master and direct its inward flame.</p> - -<p>Yet the Romantic exaggeration can be very fine. -I agree with Arnold in liking a good deal a passage -which he quotes in an abridged form from the -<i>Mabinogion</i>. <i>Search is made for Mabon, the son of -Modron, who was taken when three nights old from -between his mother and the wall. The seekers go first -to the Ousel of Cilgwri; the Ousel had lived long enough -to peck a smith’s anvil down to the size of a nut, but he -had never heard of Mabon. “But there is a race of -animals who were formed before me, and I will be your -guide to them.” So the Ousel guides them to the Stag -of Redynvre. The Stag has seen an oak sapling, in -the wood where he lived, grow up to be an oak with a -hundred branches, and then slowly decay down to a -withered stump, yet he had never heard of Mabon. -“But I will be your guide to the place where there is an -animal which was formed before I was”; and he guides -them to the Owl of Cwm Cawlwyd. “When first I -came hither,” says the Owl, “the wide valley you see -was a wooded glen. And a race of men came and -rooted it up. And there grew a second wood; and this -wood is the third. My wings, are they not withered -stumps?” Yet the Owl, in spite of his great age, -had never heard of Mabon, but he offered to be guide -“to where is the oldest animal in the world, and the -one that has travelled most, the Eagle of Gwern Abbey.” -The Eagle was so old, that a rock, from the top of which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span> -he pecked at the stars every evening, was now not so -much as a span high.</i></p> - -<p>The popular belief in the great age of certain -animals appears in many lands, and appeared in -ancient Greece. It is expressed in an old poem, -attributed to Hesiod, called <i>The Precepts of Chiron</i>. -<i>Nine lives of men grown old lives the cawing crow; -four lives of a crow lives the stag; the raven sees the -old age of three stags; but the phoenix lives as long as -nine ravens, as long as ten phoenixes we, the Nymphs -with beautiful hair, daughters of ægis-bearing Zeus.</i> -Compared with the Celtic passage, the quotation -from “Hesiod” is poor and dry and like a multiplication -sum. The Celtic imagination, with its fine frenzy, -is at home in the region of popular fancy, and deals -with it effectively; whereas the Greek method, if -employed without art, spoils everything. You will -observe that “Hesiod,” in spite of his vastly greater -moderation (herein at least showing himself Greek), -does not really succeed in being any more convincing -to the imagination, while he does not impress it at -all as the Celt impresses it. Employed with the art -of Homer, or indeed of Hesiod at his best, the Greek -method should at once impress the imagination and -convince it. If it can do this, it clearly excels the -method of impressing the imagination by a process -akin to stunning it. One ought probably to prefer -Hesiod at his dryest to mere senseless hyperbole -even in a passage where a little hyperbole is in place. -There is a future to Hesiod’s style in the hands of an -imaginative artist, while there is no possible artistic -future to mere shrieking. The Celtic method is -always committing suicide.</p> - -<p>Arnold quotes again from the <i>Mabinogion</i>: <i>Drem,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span> -the son of Dremidyd</i> (<i>when the gnat arose in the morning -with the sun, Drem could see it from Gelli Wic -in Cornwall, as far off as Pen Blathaon in North -Britain</i>). Here is what the ancient epic called the -<i>Cypria</i> says: <i>Climbing the topmost peak he sent his -glance through all the Isle of Pelops son of Tantalos, -and soon the glorious hero spied with his wondrous -eyes horse-taming Castor and conquering Polydeukês -inside the hollow oak</i>. The superiority of the Classical -style is now beginning to assert itself. The exaggeration -in the Greek passage is immense, but it does -suspend incredulity for a moment—and the moment -in art is everything—while the Celtic passage pays no -attention to verisimilitude at all, and therefore really -misses its effect. (If you think we are here dealing -with magic rather than simple hyperbole, the answer -will be much the same.) What Euripides says -about shame we may say about exaggeration; that -there is a good kind and a bad. The good is, so to -speak, intensive; the bad, merely extensive. The -excellent method of hyperbole reflects some large -hidden significance of it may be a little thing or a -trifling action. The inartistic hyperbole is just -overstatement—impressing nobody.</p> - -<p>Any one who has read even a little of the old Celtic -literature must have been struck by the presence in -it of a very large element of enormous and almost -frantic exaggeration. I speak very much under -correction, as I have to work with translations, but -no one can be wrong about so plain a matter. I have -indeed heard a man who reads Irish say that in his -opinion some of the exaggeration was merely -humorous; but even this scholar did not deny -that the exaggeration was there, and plenty of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span> -it. From the <i>Táin Bó Cúalnge</i> (the chief document -of early Ireland) translated by Professor -Joseph Dunn, I take part of the description of -Cuchulain in one of his fits of rage. <i>He next -made a ruddy bowl of his face and his countenance. -He gulped down one eye into his head so that it -would be hard work if a wild crane succeeded in -drawing it out on to the middle of his cheek from the -rear of his skull. Its mate sprang forth till it came -out on his cheek, so that it was the size of a five-fist -kettle, and he made a red berry thereof out in front -of his head. His mouth was distorted monstrously -and twisted up to his ears. He drew the cheek from the -jaw-bone so that the interior of his throat was to be -seen. His lungs and his lights stood out so that they -fluttered in his mouth and his gullet. He struck a mad -lion’s blow with the upper jaw on its fellow so that as -large as a wether’s fleece of a three year old was each -red, fiery flake which his teeth forced into his mouth -from his gullet. There was heard the loud clap of his -heart against his breast like the yelp of a howling bloodhound -or like a lion going among bears. There were -seen the torches of the Badb, and the rain clouds of -poison, and the sparks of glowing-red fire, blazing and -flashing in hazes and mists over his head with the seething -of the truly wild wrath that rose up above him. -His hair bristled all over his head like branches of a -redthorn thrust into a gap in a great hedge. Had a -king’s apple-tree laden with royal fruit been shaken -around, scarce an apple of them all would have passed -over him to the ground, but rather would an apple have -stayed stuck on each single hair there, for the twisting -of the anger which met it as it rose from his hair above -him. The Lon Laith (“Champion’s Light”) stood out<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> -of his forehead, so that it was as long and as thick -as a warrior’s whetstone, so that it was as long as his -nose, till he got furious handling the shields, thrusting -out the charioteer, destroying the hosts. As high, -as thick, as strong, as steady, as long as the sail-tree -of some huge prime ship was the straight spout of dark -blood which arose right on high from the very ridge-pole -of his crown, so that a black fog of witchery was -made thereof like to the smoke from a king’s hostel -what time the king comes to be ministered to at nightfall -of a winter’s day.</i></p> - -<p>It would be mistaken and dull criticism to blame -anything so characteristic as bad in itself. If such -exaggerations are bad, it must be because the whole -class of literature to which they belong is bad. But -any one who should say that would be (not to put -too fine a point upon it) an ass. Still, it would be -paradoxical to maintain that the passage just quoted -is in quite the best manner of writing. Cuchulain -reminds one of Achilles, and it is instructive to compare -the treatment of Cuchulain in the <i>Táin Bó Cúalnge</i> -with the treatment of Achilles in the <i>Iliad</i>. In one -sense the comparison is infinitely unfair. It is -matching what some have thought the greatest poem -in the world against something comparatively rude -and primitive. But it is done merely to illustrate -a point of art. In other respects no injustice happens. -If one takes the combat of Ferdiad and Cuchulain, -which is the crowning episode of the <i>Táin</i>, with the -combat between Hector and Achilles, which is perhaps -the crowning episode of the <i>Iliad</i>, one cannot -fail to see that the advantage in valour, and chivalry, -and the essential pathos of the situation is all on the -Irish side. But in the pure art of the narrative,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span> -<a href="#p182" class="anchor">(Note 182)</a>what -a difference! The <i>Táin</i>, not without skill, -works through a climax of tremendous feats to an -impression of deadly force and skill in its hero. But -it is all considerably overdone, and at last you are -so incredulous of Cuchulain’s intromissions with the -“Gae Bulga” (that mysterious weapon) that you -cease to be afraid of him. What does Homer do? -He shows you two lonely figures on the Plain of -Troy; Hector before the Skaian gate, and Achilles -far off by the River Skamandros. And as Hector -strengthens his heart for the duel which must be -fatal to one, nearer and nearer, with savage haste, -the sun playing on his armour, comes running -Achilles. Nothing happens, only this silent, tireless -running of a man. But it gets on your nerves just -as it got on Hector’s.</p> - -<p>Or take that singular description of the Champion’s -Light. It so happens that Achilles also has something -of the kind. But what is grotesque in the case -of Cuchulain, in the case of Achilles has a startling -effect of reality. The Trojans have defeated the -Achaeans and come very near the ships in the absence -of Achilles from the battle, when suddenly to the -exulting foe the hero shows himself once more. -<i>Round his head the holy goddess twisted a golden cloud, -and lit therefrom an all-shining flame. And as when -a smoke rising from a town goes up to the sky in a -distant isle besieged by fighting men, and all day the -folk contend in hateful battle before their town, but with -the setting of the sun thick flame the bale-fires, and the -glare shoots up on high for the dwellers round to see, so -haply they may come in their ships to ward off ruin—so -from Achilles’ head the light went up to heaven. -From the wall to the trench he went, he stood—not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> -<a href="#p183" class="anchor">(Note 183)</a>mingling -with the Achaeans, for he regarded his mother’s -wise behest. There standing he shouted—and, aloof, -Athena called; but among the Trojans was aroused -confusion infinite.... And the charioteers were -astonisht when they saw burning above the head of the -great-hearted son of Peleus the unwearied, awful fire, -that the goddess, grey-eyed Athena, made to burn.</i> -The poet, you see, does not fairly describe the Champion’s -Light, he describes its effect. In the same -way the face of Helen is never described, only the -effect she had on the old men of Troy. Such art is -beyond our praising.</p> - -<p>It may be complained that I am taking extreme -examples—of Hellenic tact and moderation on the -one hand, of Romantic extravagance on the other. -This is admitted, but the process seems justifiable; -you must let me illustrate my point. The argument -is that the Romantic style tends to a more lavish -employment of hyperbole than does the Greek. I -cannot imagine any one denying it. Read of some -nightmare feat of strength in a Celtic story, and -then read something in Homer (am I giving too -much of Homer?)—something like this: <i>Aias the -son of Telamon was first to slay a man, smiting him -with a ragged stone, that was within the wall by the -battlement, piled huge atop of all, nor might a man with -ease upbear it in both his arms, even in full lustihead -of youth—such as men are now ... but Aias swang -and hurled it from on high</i>. How moderation tells! -How much more really formidable is this Aias than -Aeneas when Virgil (with Roman or Celtic exaggeration) -says that he cast “no small part of a mountain”!</p> - -<p>A matter of this delicacy will mock at a rigid -handling. There is no rule to be laid down at all save<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span> -<a href="#p184" class="anchor">(Note 184)</a>the -rule that is above rules, the instinct of the artist. -The limits of exaggeration—and there is a sense in -which all art is exaggeration—shift with the shifting -of what one may call the horizon of the soul. It is -clear, for instance, that the atmosphere of the -Domestic Drama or the Descriptive Poem is markedly -different from that of the Heroic Epic or the Choral -Ode. A <i>gabe</i> appropriate to Oliver or Kapaneus -would sound very strangely on the lips of Holy -Willie or Peter Bell; it could only be mock-heroic -or parody. One’s sensitiveness to these atmospheres,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">then, the temperament of the reader, his</span><br /> -critical taste, the character of his education—all -that and more affect his response to what he reads. -We have had a different experience from the ancients -and live, as it were, in different emotional scenery. -Hyperbole counts for more in our art than it did in -theirs. To the device in itself there could be no -possible objection. When one thinks of the superb -and intoxicating hyperboles of Romantic literature -from the winding of Roland’s horn to the <i>Playboy of -the Western World</i>; when one thinks how largely -they serve to make the style of Shakespeare; the -Greeks appear a little timid in comparison. Perhaps -they were, although I cannot believe it was timidity -that ailed them. Only they guarded more strictly -against a danger they felt more keenly than we, into -which we have more frequently fallen.</p> - -<p>Art of course must go where its own winds and -currents carry it. To forbid it to be itself because -it is not Greek is extreme, though happily impotent, -nonsense. But it will be extraordinarily interesting -to see how modern art is going to save itself from the -two extremes of brutality and sentimentalism—the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> -faults of the Barbarian—with which it is so manifestly -and so painfully struggling. The Greeks -solved that problem, and their solution stands. -Meanwhile a student of Greek may help a little by -explaining what the solution is. For it has been -greatly misunderstood.</p> - -<p>The secret was half recovered in the Renaissance. -Thus in England Milton learned from the Greeks the -value of form for the concentration of meaning, and -that poetry should be not only “sensuous and passionate” -but also “simple.” But the Renaissance -had drunk too deep of the new wine to keep its head -quite steady; and this, in turn, helped to provoke a -Puritanic reaction which distrusted the arts, and -therefore differed widely from Greek asceticism, -which was itself a kind of art. The Restoration -produced a new orientation of the English spirit, -and a new interpretation of the Classical. Repelled -by the extravagances and the frequently outrageous -slovenliness of decadent Elizabethanism, the age of -Dryden, communicating its impulse to the age of -Pope, fell in love with the quietness and temperance -of the ancients, and above all with their accomplishment -of form. This admiration was an excellent -and salutary thing for the times. But it seemed -content to gaze on the surface. There arose a poetry -which aimed above all at mere correctness. As if -Greek poetry aimed at nothing but that!</p> - -<p>The modern Romantic movement—I mean the new -spirit in English literature which <i>Lyrical Ballads</i> is -regarded as initiating—was largely a revolt against -eighteenth-century Classicism. Yet it cannot fairly -be said that the Romantics introduced a juster conception -of Classical art. They started with a prejudice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span> -against it, which their discovery of the Middle Ages -merely confirmed. Wordsworth indeed (who had -much of the eighteenth century in him) felt the -attraction of Classical art, but his best work is not -in things like <i>Laodamia</i>. Landor is not Greek, any -more than Leconte de Lisle is Greek. They have -Greek perfection of form, but (except at his rare best -Landor) they are glacial; they have not the banked -and inward-burning fire which makes Sappho, for -example, so different. It has been thought that no -English poet has come nearer than Keats to recapturing -the ancient secret. The <i>Ode to a Grecian -Urn</i> nearly does recapture it. But not quite. <i>Beauty -is Truth, Truth Beauty</i> is very Greek; but it is not -Greek to forget, as Keats and his followers have been -apt to forget, the second half of their aphorism. So -the Greek poets aimed less directly at beauty than at -the truth of things, which they believed to be beautiful; -and this realism—this effort to realize the world -as it is—remains, in spite of the large element of -convention in Greek poetry, the most characteristic -thing about the Greek poetical genius.</p> - -<p>In the very midst of the Romantic movement we -find Matthew Arnold pleading for a return to Hellenic -standards. The plea had curiously little effect. If -you read <i>Merope</i> immediately after <i>Atalanta in -Calydon</i>, you will scarcely wonder at that. Arnold -in fact saw only half the truth. He cries for Greek -sanity and absence of caprice; he does not cry for -Greek intensity, Greek realism. He pleads for tact -and moderation—in a word, for that good manners -in style which had seemed so important to the -eighteenth century. The doctrine was too negative -for the age. It can hardly be said to inspire the best<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> -work of Arnold himself. Yes, that is just what is -wrong with it, it does not <i>inspire</i>; and so, although -based on a right instinct, it does not really lift him -above his time. He did not care for Tennyson, -whom he accused of affectation. But he would -not have understood the twentieth century’s objection -to Tennyson, that he lacked the courage of his genius. -If he had understood it, he would no doubt have -sided with Tennyson, for Arnold was, after all, -mainly “Victorian.” But what do you suppose -Aristophanes would have said about Tennyson? -If the answer is not at once obvious, the reason must -be the difficulty that would arise in getting a Greek -of Aristophanes’ time to understand the Victorian -timidities at all.</p> - -<p>The present age is said to be extremely in revolt -against Victorianism. Unfortunately one may be in -full revolt and yet be only shaking one’s chains. There -is a thing that is fairly clear. The paroxysmal art of -the hour must bring its inevitable reaction. The cry -will again be heard for a return to urbanity and a -stricter form, and people will again call these things -Classical, as if this were all the Classics have to offer. -And then in due time will come once more the counter-swing -of the pendulum. Well, perhaps art depends -more than we think upon this ceaseless movement; -for all art aims at giving the effect of life, and life is -in movement.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span></p> - -<h3>III</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Were</span> it not for an original propriety in the distinction, -it would be better not to speak at all of -“Classical” and “Romantic.” This seems clearly to -be the fault of modern criticism, which has hidden -the path under so deep a fall of many-coloured -leaves, that now one must spend a deal of time -merely in sweeping them up. It is annoying how -inapt are current terms of criticism to express the -essence of ancient literature. I have hinted that it -might almost be expressed in the word “realism,” -and at once I am checked by the reflection that -realism in modern speech appears to mean anything -you like. How, then, is a man to avoid being misunderstood? -But he has to take the risk; and on the -whole it will be safer for him to grasp this runaway -by the hair than to sow more definitions in a soil -already exhausted.</p> - -<p>Greek literature is realistic in the sense that it -aims at producing the effect of reality, not by the -accumulation of startling details—which perhaps is -what is usually meant in these days by realism—but -by a method of its own. Greek literature is marked -by a unique sincerity, or veracity, or candour, equally -foreign to violence and to sentimentality—a bitter -man might say, equally foreign to what we now call<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span> -<a href="#p189" class="anchor">(Note 189)</a>realism -and to what we now call idealism. So profound -is this truthfulness that we (who cry out daily -for a resolute fidelity to fact in our writers) have not -yet sounded it. It needs a long plummet. So many -of us have come to imagine that the truth of a situation -is not apparent except in flashes of lightning—preferably -red lightning—which the Greeks thought -distorting. We think we are candid, and we are -not so very candid. I could never be one of those -fanatical champions of antiquity to whom the modern -is merely the enemy. Their position is so pathetically -untenable that one can only with a sigh busy -oneself with something that really matters. But, -however modern I may feel, I cannot get myself to -believe that we attain so perfect a truthfulness as -the Greeks. We have written volumes about the -“Classical Ideal,” and we are apt to contrast -“Hellenic Idealism” with our uncompromising -modern “Realism” and “Naturalism.” And all -the time the Greeks have had a truer realism -than we.</p> - -<p>For instance, we have of late almost made a -speciality of wounds and death. You could not say -this of any ancient writer. Curiously enough, you -might say it with less impropriety of Homer than of -any other. A warrior, he says, was pierced to the -heart by a spear, <i>and the throbbing of the heart made -also the butt of the spear to quiver</i>. That gives you a -pretty satisfactory shiver. Menelaos smote Peisandros -<i>above the root of the nose; and the bones cracked, -and his eyes dropped bloody in the dust of the ground -at his feet</i>. This is how Peneleos treated Ilioneus. -<i>He wounded him under the eyebrow where the eye is -embedded and forced out the ball, and the spear went<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> -<a href="#p190" class="anchor">(Note 190)</a>clean -through the eye and through the muscle behind, -and the wounded man crouched down, spreading out -his hands; but Peneleos drawing his sharp sword -smote his neck in the midst and dashed the head on the -ground, helmet and all; and the heavy spear was still -in the eye, and he raised up the head like a poppy.</i> I -suspect your modern realist of envying that image -of the bloody head stuck “through the eye” on a -spear and looking like a “poppy” or a “poppy-head” -on its stalk. Another unfortunate fighter was -hit <i>down the mouth</i> with a spear, which penetrated -<i>under the brain and broke the white bones; and the -teeth were shaken out and both his eyes were filled with -blood, and with a gape he sent the blood gushing up -his mouth and down his nostrils</i>. The youngest -son of King Priam was wounded by Achilles <i>beside -the navel</i>, and so <i>dropped moaning on his knees</i> and -<i>clutched his entrails to him with his hands</i>—a passage -remembered by Pater.</p> - -<p>From it and the others it may be seen that Homer, -when he likes, can be as grisly as Mr. Sassoon. But -they are not typical of Homer, still less of the ancient -Greek writers in general. It is not their way to -obtrude details. Their aim is to give you the whole -situation, and to give it truly. Their method is to -select the significant, rather than the merely striking, -details. Such a theory and method are best entitled, -on reflection, to the name of realism. Kebriones, the -charioteer in Homer, has his forehead crushed in by -a stone, and a terrible battle is waged over his body. -The poet in the heat of his battle thinks for a moment -of the dead man. <i>But he in the whirling dust-storm lay, -with large limbs largely fallen, forgetful of his horsemanship.</i> -No insistence here on the ghastly wound.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span> -<a href="#p191" class="anchor">(Note 191)</a>The -reader for a breathing space is rapt from the -blood and the horror into quiet spaces of oblivion. -Is not this, just here, the right note to strike—and -not the other? It gives the whole situation—the -roaring tumult above, the unheeding body underneath—not -merely one aspect. It is the more real because -it is not simply painful.</p> - -<p>Contrast, again, the Greek with the mediæval and -the modern attitudes to death. See how many of -the passages on death you can recall in writers not -ancient are inspired by a grotesque or reflective -horror, or ring with a hopeful or hopeless defiance. -Think of Villon on death, and Raleigh, and Donne, -and Shakespeare’s Claudio, and <i>Hydriotaphia</i>, and -Browning, and Swinburne. There is nothing in the -great age of Greek literature even remotely comparable -to the gorgeous variety of these dreams and -invocations. But if the question is of realism (as -we are understanding it), if we resolve to see death -as it is, neither transformed by hope nor blurred by -tears, see if the ancients have not the advantage.</p> - -<p>They will disappoint you at first. (But remember -you are asking for realism.) Thus when Aristotle in -his dry manner says, <i>Death is the most fearful thing; -for it is an end, and nothing after it seems to the dead -man either good or bad</i>, you may think it a poor attitude -to strike. But Aristotle is not striking an -attitude at all, he is simply facing a fact. He may -be wrong, of course, but that is how death looks to -Aristotle, and he is not going to gild the pill either -for you or for himself. But if you miss in Aristotle -the thrill of the greatest literature, you must feel -it in the last words of Socrates to the judges who had -condemned him. <i>But now is come the hour of departure,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> -<a href="#p192" class="anchor">(Note 192)</a>for -me that have to die, for you that have still to live; -but which path leads to a better lot is hidden from all -but God.</i> And with that Socrates falls silent, leaving -the reader silent too, and a little ashamed perhaps -of our importunate hells and heavens.</p> - -<p>Odysseus meets the ghost of Achilles in Hades and -speaks of the great honour in which the young hero -is held here. <i>Not of death</i>, replies Achilles, <i>speak -thou in words of comfort, glorious Odysseus! Rather -above ground would I be the hired servant of a man -without a lot, whose livelihood is but small, than reign -over all the perished dead.</i> The truth as he sees it is -what you get from the Greek every time. Odysseus -hears it from Achilles, the greatest of the dead. He -hears it from Elpênor, one of the least. (Elpênor got -drunk in Circe’s house and, feeling hot, wandered -on to the roof, where he fell asleep, and everybody -forgot about him. In the morning he was aroused -by the noise of people moving about and jumped up, -forgetting where he was, and fell backwards from the -roof and broke his neck.) <i>Ah, go not and leave me -behind unwept and unburied, turning thy back on me, -lest I become a vessel of the wrath of gods upon thee; -but bury me with all mine armour, and by the margin -of the whitening sea heap me a high grave of a man that -had no luck, that even after ages may know. This -do for me, and on my grave plant the oar with which, -alive, I rowed among my comrades.</i> The natural -pathos of this must touch everybody. But I wonder -if everybody feels how much of its effect is due to -an almost harsh avoidance of sentimentality, as in -that hidden threat of the pleading ghost. And -even that piercing last line about the oar—it may -grieve certain readers to know that setting up an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> -<a href="#p193" class="anchor">(Note 193)</a>oar -on the grave was merely part of a ritual usually -observed in the burial of a dead mariner.</p> - -<p>The <i>corpus</i> of Greek inscriptions naturally contains -a great many epitaphs. There is not one, belonging -to what we think of as the great age of Greece, that -has the least grain of smugness or hypocrisy or sentimentality. -It must be confessed that these -“pagans” could die with a good grace. Here is an -inscription, <i>incerti loci</i>, “of uncertain provenience,” -but in the Greek of Attica. <i>The tomb of Phrasikleia, -“I shall be called a maid for evermore, having won -from the gods this name instead of marriage.”</i> I -ought to add at once that the original is grave and -beautiful poetry. I can only give the sense. One -must read the Greek to feel entirely how good -Phrasikleia is. At least she is not Little Nell. Some -of the most famous epitaphs are by known authors; -the most famous of all by Simonides. Over the -Tegeans who fell in battle against the Barbarian he -wrote: <i>Here lie the men whose valour was the cause -that smoke went not up to heaven from broad Tegea -burning; who resolved to leave their city flourishing -in freedom to their children, and themselves to die -among the foremost fighters</i>. All these little poems -are beyond translation. The art of them lies in -a deliberate bareness or baldness, which ought to be -shockingly prosaic (and in English almost inevitably -is so), but contrives to be thrilling poetry. The finest -of all the epigrams is that on the Three Hundred -who fell at Thermopylae. <i>O stranger, tell the Lacedaemonians -that we lie here, following their instructions.</i> -Literally that is what it says. Yet I suppose that -even a man who does not know Greek may feel in an -instinctive way that it may be extraordinarily good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> -in the original. It is. It is an instance of the famous -Laconic brevity, whose virtue it was to cut at once -to the heart of things. One other epigram I will -add, partly because it also refers to the time of the -Persian Wars, partly because the author was said -(perhaps rightly) to be Plato. It is on the people -of Eretria, a town in Euboea by the seashore, who were -carried off into captivity and settled by Darius far -away, hopelessly far, “at Arderikka in the Kissian -land” beyond the Tigris. <i>We who one day left the -deep-voiced swell of the Aegean lie here midmost the -Plain of Ecbatana. Good-bye Eretria, our city famous -once; good-bye Athens, the neighbour of Eretria; -good-bye dear sea.</i> By the side of this mere “pathos” -looks almost vulgar. If Plato wrote it, he was certainly -a poet; but it is improbable that he did. I -notice that Professor Burnet thinks Plato did not -write any of the poems attributed to him in the -manuscripts. In any case, when people say that -Plato was “really a poet” they are thinking of -his prose. I cannot help adding the irrelevancy -that I wish they would not go on repeating this. -He is an incomparably great master of imaginative -prose. Is that not enough? He may have been -no better at poetry than Ruskin or Carlyle. A poet -is a man who writes poems.</p> - -<p>Next to death the great test of sincerity is love. -There used to be a general opinion that love, as we -understand it, did not exist among the ancients at -all. That point has been already discussed, but -we may consider for a little the treatment of love -in the Attic dramatists, who best represent the great -period of Athenian development. There is plenty of -love in them, only they don’t mention it. “Please<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> -<a href="#p195" class="anchor">(Note 195)</a>do -not be impatient,” as the Greek orators say, -“until you hear what I mean.” Let us take Aeschylus, -the earliest of the dramatists, first, and for a -play let us take his <i>Agamemnon</i>. The great character -is Clytaemnestra. She has allowed herself to -become the paramour of a vile and cowardly relation -of her husband called Aegisthus, who apparently -seduced her out of mere idleness and hatred of King -Agamemnon. When her husband returns she -treacherously murders him.... What are you going -to make of a subject like that? How are you going -to make Clytaemnestra, I will not say “sympathetic,” -but merely human and tolerable? It seems an insoluble -problem. Yet Aeschylus solves it. For one -thing, he represents Agamemnon, the nominal hero -of the play, as rather wooden, weak and bombastic—not -very unlike Julius Caesar, the nominal hero of -Shakespeare’s play, where the dramatist had a -similar but less difficult problem. The result is that -the sympathies of the reader are not too deeply -stirred in favour of the victim. Again, Clytaemnestra -appears to be really in love with Aegisthus, -while her feeling towards her husband is not merely -the thirst for revenge or the hate a woman conceives -of the man she has wronged; it is a physical -abhorrence. She loathes him in her flesh. It is -impossible to explain by what miracle of genius we -are led to receive this impression, for she speaks -nothing but flatteries and cajolery. Yet every -speech of hers to him, as he dimly feels, shudders -with a secret disgust. These long, glittering, coiling -sentences are certainly not politic; they are the -expression of a morbid loathing, which has ended by -fascinating itself. When the blood of her lord<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> -<a href="#p196" class="anchor">(Note 196)</a>bursts -over her she <i>rejoices no less than the sown -ground in the heaven’s bright gift of rain</i>. Now in -the play Agamemnon is rather ineffective, but at -any rate he is more a man than the immeasurably -contemptible Aegisthus. Is it to be supposed that -Clytaemnestra does not know that? Of course she -knows, but she does not cease to love Aegisthus on -that account. So the matter stands. Aeschylus -does not make it any easier for you. A bad modern -playwright would make Clytaemnestra a sadly misunderstood -woman with a pitiful “case.” It so -happens that the queen does have something of a -case, really a good case, but she does not much insist -on it. She knows quite well that it is not for her -murdered daughter’s sake that she has killed the -king. Neither is it from fear of detection; the -woman does not know the meaning of fear. -Aeschylus will not purchase your sympathy for her -by any pretences. One of his unexpected, wonderful -touches is to make her superbly intelligent. She -feels herself so much superior intellectually to every -one else that she hardly takes the trouble to deceive -them. Nobody is asked to like Clytaemnestra, but -surely she gives food for some reflection on the power -and subtlety of Greek psychology, and the unswerving -truthfulness of Greek realism, in a peculiarly complex -affair of the heart.</p> - -<p>There are in Sophocles at least two fine and tender -studies of conjugal love of the conventional (but not -silly conventional) type, namely Tekmessa in the -<i>Ajax</i> and Dêianeira in the <i>Trachinian Women</i>; -and one study not conventional in the very least, the -Iokasta of <i>Oedipus the King</i>. She is the woman -who slew herself because she had borne children<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span> -to her own son, who had murdered his father, who -begot him by her. The legend has made her a thing -of night and horror. Sophocles has made her grand, -proud, sceptical, lonely, pitiful, ravaged by thoughts -not to be breathed, horribly pathetic. But these -three are wives. Of love between man and maid -Sophocles has hardly a word to say. People quote -Haimon and Antigone. There is no doubt of the -young man’s love for Antigone; he dies for her. -But is she in love with Haimon? She is betrothed -to him of course, but in ancient Greece these matters -were arranged. She probably liked him a good deal; -everybody likes him; but we are speaking of love. -Those who have little doubts on the subject quote -her cry, <i>Dearest Haimon, how thy father slights thee!</i> -which she utters when Kreon has said, <i>I hate bad -wives for my sons</i>. But they have no right to quote -the cry as hers until they have proved she utters -it; which they don’t, but merely assume the manuscripts -be wrong. The manuscripts give the line to -Ismênê, the sister of Antigone, and they appear to be -clearly right. Any one who looks at the context -will see that it is Ismênê who brings the mention of -Haimon into the dispute with Kreon. Antigone -stands apart in proud and indignant silence. She -will die rather than let the man who has outraged -her dead brother see how much her resistance is -costing her. Besides, I think the manuscripts are -right anyway. Imagine the case of an extremely -high-minded young lady, who for the very best -reasons has quarrelled with her prospective father-in-law. -The young lady’s sister reminds the old man -that after all Octavia is engaged to his son, which -provokes the retort, “I object to bad wives for my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> -boys.” Would Octavia then exclaim, “Dearest -William, how your father insults you!”? Well, -would she? But it looks delightfully like what -Octavia’s sister would say. Therefore, I vote for -the manuscripts and giving the line to Ismênê.</p> - -<p>Antigone had two brothers, Eteokles and Polyneikes. -After their father had been driven from -Thebes the brethren disputed the succession to his -throne. Polyneikes lost, and took refuge in Argos, -where he gathered assistance and marched against -his native city. The attempt had no success, and -Polyneikes and Eteokles fell in single combat. This -mutual fratricide left Kreon, their uncle, king. He, -in a flame of “patriotism,” had Eteokles interred -with honour and commanded that the body of Polyneikes -should be left unburied. Such an order might -be compared to excommunication, for the effect of -it was for ever to bar the spirit of the dead from -peace. Antigone sprinkled dust on the naked corpse, -which satisfied the gods of the underworld and eluded -the penalty of the ban. When Kreon asks her if -the spirit of Eteokles will not resent the saining of -his fraternal enemy—which would be the orthodox -opinion—she replies, beautifully but inconsequently, -<i>It is not my nature to join in hating, but in loving</i>. -She also speaks of a higher, unwritten law. But -Polyneikes is the favourite brother. I hardly think -any one can read carefully the <i>Antigone</i> and the -<i>Oedipus at Colonus</i> without seeing that. All through -the <i>Antigone</i> he is never out of her thoughts. -“Natural enough,” you may be inclined to say. But -is it? On the supposition that she is in love with -Haimon? There is another play, the <i>Electra</i>, in -which Sophocles portrays the love of a sister for a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span> -brother; and there are a good many points of resemblance -between Electra and Antigone. Only there -is in the love of Electra for Orestes (whom she -brought up) a fierce, hungry, maternal quality, -which would be out of place between the children -of Oedipus.</p> - -<p>When we pass to Euripides we seem by comparison -to approach the modern. The impression is largely -illusory, but not wholly false. It is the fact that he -is troubled by many of the problems that trouble -us, and it is the fact that he sometimes answers, or -does not answer, them in a way we should regard as -modern. This comes out in his treatment of love. -It is best seen in the <i>Medea</i> and the <i>Hippolytus</i>. -Medea has a special interest for us because she is -a Barbarian (princess of Colchis in the eastern corner -of the Black Sea). But her case is quite simple. -She is a woman in love with a man who is tired of -her. Necessarily he cuts a poor figure in the story. -She had saved his life. On the other hand, she had -thrown herself at his head, she had done her best to -ruin his chances in life, and all she had now to offer -him was a perfect readiness to murder anybody who -stood in his way. She is one of those women who are -never satisfied unless the man is making love to them -all the time, so that one may have a sneaking sympathy -for that embarrassed, if rather contemptible, -Jason. Indeed, Euripides’ opinion of this kind of -“Romantic” love is probably no higher than Mr. -Shaw’s. It is the passion of the Barbarian woman. -That does not prevent Euripides from sympathizing -profoundly with Medea, the passionate, wronged, -foreign woman. Why, indeed, should it? The case -of Medea, as Euripides with the pregnant brevity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span> -Greek art presents it, has seemed to many as true as -death. It is an excellent example of realism.</p> - -<p>More definitely than the <i>Medea</i>, the <i>Hippolytus</i> is -a tragedy of love. Yet in the eloquence of the -Romantic lover the one is as deficient as the other. -Phaedra was dying for love of Hippolytus. Her -secret is discovered and she dies of shame. What -an opportunity for the sentimentalist! However, -adds the relentless poet, that is not all the story. -Before killing herself she forged a message to her -husband making the charge of Potiphar’s wife against -Hippolytus. She could not die without the pleasure -of hurting him. Yet Euripides does not represent -her as an odious woman; quite the contrary. The -question for us is, does she, when we read the play, -strike us as real or not? The poet has set himself -a difficult task—to convince us that a soul overthrown -by desire, cruel, lying, unjust was yet -essentially modest, gentle and honourable. If she -is almost too convincing, so that a sentimental part -of you bleeds inside, you will perceive that realism -was not invented in Norway. And there is this -about the Greek sort: it never exaggerates.</p> - -<p>It is hardly to be believed how startling an effect -of truth this moderation of the Greek writers can -produce. Sappho, in the most famous of her odes, -says that love makes her “sweat” with agony and -look “greener than grass.” Perhaps she did not -turn quite so green as that, although (commentators -nobly observe) she would be of an olive complexion -and had never seen British grass. But, even if it -contain a trace of artistic exaggeration, the ode as -a whole is perhaps the most convincing love-poem -ever written. It breathes veracity. It has an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> -intoxicating beauty of sound and suggestion, and it -is as exact as a physiological treatise. The Greeks -can do that kind of thing. Somehow we either -overdo the “beauty” or we overdo the physiology. -The weakness of the Barbarian, said they, is that he -never hits the mean. But the Greek poet seems -to do it every time. We may beat them at other -things, but not at that. And they do it with so little -effort; sometimes, it might appear, with none at all. -Thus Aeschylus represents Prometheus as the proudest -of living beings. The <i>Prometheus Bound</i> opens with -a scene in which Hephaistos, urged on by two devils -called Strength and Force, nails Prometheus to a -frozen, desert rock. While the hero of the play -endures this horrible torture, he has to listen to the -clumsy sympathy of Hephaistos, who does not like -his job, and the savage taunts of the two demons. -To all this he replies—nothing at all. No eloquence -could express the pride of that tremendous silence. -Of course there is, or there used to be, a certain kind -of commentator who hastens to point out that a -convention of the early Attic stage forbade more -than two persons of a tragedy to speak together at -any time, so that in any event it was not permissible -for Prometheus to speak. All you can do with a -critic like that is (mentally, I fear) to hang a millstone -round his neck and cast him into the -deepest part of the sea.</p> - -<p>Not but what the point about convention, if -rightly taken, is extremely notable. It is an undying -wonder how the kind of realism we have been discussing -could be combined with, could even, as in -that instance from the <i>Prometheus Bound</i>, make use -of, the limitations imposed on the ancient poet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> -To a reader who has not looked into the case it is -hard to give even an idea of it. If a man were to -tell you that he had written a novel in which the -hero was Sir Anthony Dearborn and the heroine -Sophia Wilde, while other characters were Squire -Crabtree, Parson Quackenboss, Lieutenant Dashwood -and the old Duchess of Grimthorpe, you would think -to yourself you knew exactly what to expect. Yet -you must admit there is nothing to prevent the -man leaving out (if he can) Gretna Green, and the -duel, and the eighteenth-century oaths. But if a -Greek tragic dramatist put on the stage a play -dealing, say, with the House of Atreus, he positively -could not leave out any part of the family -history. It was not done. So the audience knew -your story already, and knew, roughly, your characters. -Nor, as historians say, was that all. There -had to be a Chorus, which had to sing lyrical odes of -a mythological sort at regular intervals between the -episodes of your drama; while the episodes themselves -had to be composed in the iambic metre and -in a certain “tragic diction” about as remote from -ordinary speech as <i>Paradise Lost</i>. How Aeschylus -and Sophocles and Euripides contrive under such -conditions to give a powerful impression of novelty -and naturalness it is easier to feel than explain. -About the feeling at least there is no doubt. Let -us look again for a moment at that singular convention, -the tragic Chorus. Very often it consists -of old men who ... sing and dance. Consider -the incredible difficulty of keeping a number of -singing and dancing old men solemn and beautiful -and even holy. Yet the great tragic poets have -overcome that difficulty so completely that I sup<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span>pose -not one reader in a hundred notices that there -is a difficulty at all. The famous Chorus of old men -in the <i>Agamemnon</i>, whose debility is made a point -in the play, never for a moment remind one of -Grandfer Cantle. Rather they remind us of that -“old man covered with a mantle,” whom Saul -beheld rising from the grave to pronounce his doom. -It is, in their own words, as if God inspired their -limbs to the dance and filled their mouths with -prophecy.</p> - -<p>There is only one way of redeeming the conventional, -and that is by sincerity. I am very far from -maintaining that the moral virtue of sincerity was -eminently characteristic of the ancient Greek; but -intellectual sincerity was. None has ever looked -upon gods and men with such clear, unswerving -eyes; none has understood so well to communicate -that vision. To see that essential beauty is truth and -truth is beauty—that is the secret of Greek art, -as it is the maxim of true realism. To keep measure -in all things, that no drop of life may spill over—that -is the secret of Greek happiness. To be a -Greek and not a Barbarian.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span></p> - -<h2>NOTES</h2> - -<h3>THE AWAKENING</h3> - -<blockquote> - -<p>The beginnings of Ionia, the earlier homes and the racial -affinities of the Ionians, are still obscure, although the -point is cardinal for Greek history. There is perhaps a -growing tendency to find “Mediterranean” elements in -the Ionian stock, and this would explain much, if the -Ionians of history did not seem so very “Aryan” in -speech and habits of thought. On the other hand the -“Aryan” himself is daily coming to look more cloudy -and ambiguous, and so is his exact contribution to western -culture.</p> - -<p>The chief ancient sources of our information concerning -the Ionians are Herodotus, Pausanias and Strabo.</p> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_14">14.</a><a name="p14" id="p14"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Thuc. I. 2. Thuc. I. 6. Herod. I. 57.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_15">15.</a><a name="p15" id="p15"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">See especially D. G. Hogarth, <i>Ionia and the East</i> -(1909).</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">J. Burnet, <i>Who was Javan?</i> in Proceedings -of the Class. Assoc. of Scot. 1911-12. -Herod. I. 142.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_16">16.</a><a name="p16" id="p16"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. I. 171 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_17">17.</a><a name="p17" id="p17"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">An authoritative little book dealing with (among -other peoples) the Anatolian races is D. G. -Hogarth’s <i>The Ancient East</i> (Home Univ. Ser.), -1914. Also H. R. Hall, <i>The Ancient History -of the Near East</i> (1913).</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_18">18.</a><a name="p18" id="p18"></a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">V. Bérard, <i>Les Phéniciens et l’Odyssée</i> is full -of instruction on the ways of the ancient -mariner.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">For the Colchians, see Hippocrates <i>de aer. aq. -loc.</i> 15. <i>Cf.</i> Herod. II. 104 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_19">19.</a><a name="p19" id="p19"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Chalybes. <i>Il.</i> II. 857. Herod. I. 203.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_20">20.</a><a name="p20" id="p20"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. IV. 93 f. Olbia. Herod. IV. 18. -Scythian bow. Plato, <i>Laws</i>, 795-.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_21">21.</a><a name="p21" id="p21"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. IV. 18 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_22">22.</a><a name="p22" id="p22"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. IV. 172 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_25">25.</a><a name="p25" id="p25"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. II. 152. Abusimbel inscr. in Hicks and -Hill’s <i>Manual</i>.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_26">26 f.</a><a name="p26" id="p26"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Fragments of Archilochus in Bergk’s <i>Poet. -Lyr. Gr.</i></p></td></tr></table> - -<h3>KEEPING THE PASS</h3> - -<p>The Battle of Thermopylae as related by Herodotus -(practically our sole authority) is an epic. Therefore in -telling it again I have frankly attempted an epical manner -as being really less misleading than any application of -the historical method. This is not to say that the narrative -of Herodotus has not been greatly elucidated by -the research of modern historians, especially by the -exciting discovery of the path Anopaia by Mr. G. B. -Grundy. I have followed his reconstruction of the battle -(which may not be very far from the truth) in his book, -<i>The Great Persian War</i> (1901). See also Mr. Macan’s -commentary in his great edition of Herodotus.</p> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_34">34.</a><a name="p34" id="p34"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">See Frazer’s note on Thermopylae in his edition -of Pausanias.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_36">36.</a><a name="p36" id="p36"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Cf.</i> Xen. <i>Anab.</i> VII. 4, 4 (Thracians of -Europe).</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_39">39.</a><a name="p39" id="p39"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Tiara. <i>schol.</i> Ar. <i>Birds</i> 487. The King’s tiara -was also called <i>kitaris</i>.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. 39.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">For Persian dress <i>cf.</i> with Herod. Strabo 734. -Xen. <i>Cyrop.</i> VII. 1, 2. There are also representations -in ancient art, e.g. a frieze at Susa.</p></td></tr></table> - -<h3>THE ADVENTURERS</h3> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_45">45.</a><a name="p45" id="p45"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Strabo IV.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_46">46.</a><a name="p46" id="p46"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. IV. 44.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_47">47.</a><a name="p47" id="p47"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>The Greek Tradition</i> (1915), Allen and Unwin, -p. 6f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_48">48.</a><a name="p48" id="p48"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. IV. 151-153.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_50">50.</a><a name="p50" id="p50"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">For an account of the Oasis at Siwah, see A. B. -Cook, <i>Zeus</i>, vol. I.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_51">51.</a><a name="p51" id="p51"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Hymn <i>ad Apoll.</i> 391 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_52">52.</a><a name="p52" id="p52"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Pind. <i>Ol.</i> 3 <i>ad fin.</i></p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_53">53.</a><a name="p53" id="p53"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. VI. 11, 12, 17. <i>Cf.</i> Strabo on foundation -of Marseille, IV (from Aristotle).</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_54">54.</a><a name="p54" id="p54"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. III. 125, 129-137 (Demokêdês).</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_55">55.</a><a name="p55" id="p55"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Polycrates. Herod. II. 182 and III <i>passim</i>.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_61">61 f.</a><a name="p61" id="p61"></a>61 f.</td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Xen. <i>Anab.</i> I-IV.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_63">63.</a><a name="p63" id="p63"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Pisidians. <i>Cf.</i> Xen. <i>Memor.</i> V. 2, 6.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_67">67.</a><a name="p67" id="p67"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>L’Anabase de Xenophon avec un commentaire -historique et militaire</i>, by Col. (General) Arthur -Boucher, Paris, 1913.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_69">69.</a><a name="p69" id="p69"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">There is a fine imaginative picture of Nineveh -in the Book of Jonah.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_71">71.</a><a name="p71" id="p71"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">The famous Moltke was nearly drowned from -a “tellek.”</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_77">77.</a><a name="p77" id="p77"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">The hot spring may be the sulphurous waters -of Murad, which have wonderful iridescences.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">The Armenian underground houses are still to be -seen. These earth-houses are found elsewhere—in -Scotland, for instance. See J. E. Harrison, -in <i>Essays and Studies presented to W. Ridgeway</i>, -p. 136 f.</p></td></tr></table> - -<h3>ELEUTHERIA</h3> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_82">82.</a><a name="p82" id="p82"></a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Aesch. <i>Pers.</i> 241 f. Herod. VII. 104.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_83">83.</a><a name="p83" id="p83"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Pers.</i> 402 f. Eur. <i>Helen</i> 276.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_84">84.</a><a name="p84" id="p84"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Thuc. I. 3, 3 (“Hellenes” and “Barbarians” -correlative terms).</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. I. 136.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_85">85.</a><a name="p85" id="p85"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Aeschines 3, 132. Letter to Gadatas, Dittenb. -<i>Syllog.</i><sup>2</sup> 2.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. III. 31. <i>Cf.</i> Daniel VI. 37, 38. Ezekiel -xxvi. 7.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_86">86.</a><a name="p86" id="p86"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. IX. 108-113.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_88">88.</a><a name="p88" id="p88"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Cf.</i> vengeance of Persians on Ionians, Herod. -VI. 32.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. VII. 135.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_89">89.</a><a name="p89" id="p89"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. VIII. 140 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_90">90 f.</a><a name="p90" id="p90"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">“The ancients were attached to their country -by three things—their temples, their tombs, -and their forefathers. The two great bonds -which united them to their government were -the bonds of habit and antiquity. With the -moderns, hope and the love of novelty have -produced a total change. The ancients said -<i>our forefathers</i>, we say posterity; we do not, -like them, love our <i>patria</i>, that is to say, the -country and the laws of our fathers, rather -we love the laws and the country of our children; -the charm we are most sensible to is -the charm of the future, and not the charm -of the past.” Joubert, transl. by M. Arnold.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_92">92.</a><a name="p92" id="p92"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">See J. E. Harrison on Anodos Vases in her -<i>Prolegomena</i>, p. 276 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. VIII. 109. Herod. VIII. 65.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_96">96.</a><a name="p96" id="p96"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. IX. 27. <i>Supplices</i> 314 f. But see the -whole speech of Aithra, and indeed the whole -play, which is full of the mission of Athens as -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span> -the champion of Hellenism. <i>Cf.</i> also Eur. -<i>Heraclid</i>. G. Murray, Introduction to trans. -of Eur. <i>Hippol.</i> etc., on “Significance of -<i>Bacchae</i>” (1902).</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_97">97.</a><a name="p97" id="p97"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Thuc. I. 70, 9. Herod. VII. 139. Dem. <i>de -Cor.</i> 199 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_98">98.</a><a name="p98" id="p98"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Arist. <i>Pol.</i> 1317<sup>2</sup> 40, agreeing with Plato <i>Resp.</i> -562B.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_99">99.</a><a name="p99" id="p99"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Plato <i>Resp.</i> 563c. Herod. III. 80.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. V. 78. <i>Cf.</i> Hippocr. <i>de aer. aq. loc.</i> -23, 24. Both agree that a high spirit may be -produced by suitable <i>nomoi</i> and that man’s -spirits are “enslaved” under autocracy. This -is a more liberal doctrine than that discussed -in Aristotle, that Barbarians are slaves “by -nature.”</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_100">100.</a><a name="p100" id="p100"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Supplices</i> 403 f. <i>Medea</i> 536 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">The association of Liberty and Law is exhibited -both positively and negatively (as in the -breach of both by the tyrant) in the tragic -poets, etc. Thus the <i>Suppliants</i> of Aeschylus -is concerned with a point of marriage-law, -the <i>Antigone</i> of Sophocles with a point of -burial-law, and so on.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Another “romantic” hero is Cadmus.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_104">104.</a><a name="p104" id="p104"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Hom. <i>Il.</i> VI. 447 f.</p></td></tr></table> - -<h3>SOPHROSYNE</h3> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_110">110.</a><a name="p110" id="p110"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Plato <i>Resp.</i> 329B. <i>ib.</i> 439E.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_111">111.</a><a name="p111" id="p111"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Plato <i>Resp.</i> 615c. -Xen. <i>Hellen.</i> VI. 4, 37.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_112">112.</a><a name="p112" id="p112"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Plut. <i>Pelop.</i> 29. Herod. III. 50; V. 92.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_120">120.</a><a name="p120" id="p120"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. VIII. 26.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_121">121.</a><a name="p121" id="p121"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Purg.</i> XXIV. 137-8.</p></td></tr></table> - -<h3>GODS AND TITANS</h3> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_122">122.</a><a name="p122" id="p122"></a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Od.</i> III. 48.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_123">123 f.</a><a name="p123" id="p123"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">I may allow myself to refer, for more detailed -evidence, to my article <i>The Religious Background -of the “Prometheus Vinctus”</i> in -Harvard Studies in Class. Philol. vol. XXXI, -1920. <i>Cf.</i> Prof. G. Murray in <i>Anthropology and -the Classics</i>, ed. R. R. Marett.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_124">124.</a><a name="p124" id="p124"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Theog.</i> 126 f. <i>Theog.</i> 147 f. “ill to name,” -οὐκ ὀνομαστοί. I think the meaning may -be that to mention their names was dangerous—especially -if you got them wrong. -<i>Cf.</i> Aesch. Ag. 170. The Romans provided -against this danger by the <i>indigitamenta</i>.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_126">126.</a><a name="p126" id="p126"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Theog.</i> 453 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_128">128.</a><a name="p128" id="p128"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Theog.</i> 617 f. <i>Theog.</i> 503 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_129">129.</a><a name="p129" id="p129"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Solmsen, <i>Indog. Forsch.</i> 1912, XXX, 35 n. 1. -<i>Theog.</i> 886 f. <i>Theog.</i> 929<sup>h</sup> f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_130">130.</a><a name="p130" id="p130"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Heracl. <i>fr.</i> 42 (Diels). Xenophan. <i>fr.</i> 11.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Pind. <i>Ol.</i> I. 53 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_136">136.</a><a name="p136" id="p136"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">On the “anarchic life,” see Plato <i>Laws</i> 693-699. -Democritus (139) says, “Law aims at the -amelioration of human life and is capable of -this, when men are themselves disposed to -accept it; for law reveals to every man who -obeys it his special capacity for excellence.”</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Zeus, acc. to Plato <i>Crit. sub fin.</i> is a <i>constitutional</i> -ruler.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_137">137.</a><a name="p137" id="p137"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Herod. I. 34 f.</p></td></tr></table> - -<h3>CLASSICAL AND ROMANTIC</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> - -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_147">147.</a><a name="p147" id="p147"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Plut. <i>Alex.</i> I.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_150">150.</a><a name="p150" id="p150"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> II. 459 f. <i>Il.</i> IV. 452 f. <i>Il.</i> XIX. 375 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Od.</i> XIX. 431 f. <i>Od.</i> XIX. 518 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_151">151.</a><a name="p151" id="p151"></a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> VI. 418 f. <i>Il.</i> XIV. 16 f. <i>Il.</i> XXIV. 614 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_152">152.</a><a name="p152" id="p152"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> XIV. 347 f. <i>Od.</i> XI. 238 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_153">153.</a><a name="p153" id="p153"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Pind. <i>Ol.</i> I. 74 f. <i>Ol.</i> VI. 53.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_155">155.</a><a name="p155" id="p155"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> XXIII. 597 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_161">161 f.</a><a name="p161" id="p161"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">See my <i>Studies in the Odyssey</i>, Oxford, 1914.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_163">163.</a><a name="p163" id="p163"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> III. 243 f. <i>Il.</i> XVI. 453 f. <i>Od.</i> XIX. 36 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_164">164.</a><a name="p164" id="p164"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Od.</i> XX. 351 f. <i>ad Cererem</i> 5 f. <i>ad Dion.</i> 24 f.</p></td></tr></table> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_168">168.</a><a name="p168" id="p168"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Thuc. III. 38. ζητοῦντές τε ἄλλο τι ὡς εἰπεῖν ἢ -ἐν οἷς ζῶμεν.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">On Elpis, see F. M. Cornford in <i>Thucydides -Mythistoricus</i>, ch. IX, XII, XIII.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_172">172.</a><a name="p172" id="p172"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Od.</i> XI. 235 f. Plato <i>Resp.</i> 573<span class="smcap">B</span>.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_175">175.</a><a name="p175" id="p175"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">See Prof. Burnet, <i>Greek Philosophy</i> (1914), -Part I, p. 146 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_182">182.</a><a name="p182" id="p182"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> XVIII. 205 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_183">183.</a><a name="p183" id="p183"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> XII. 378 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_184">184.</a><a name="p184" id="p184"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">J. M. Synge said, “It may almost be said -that before verse can be human again it -must learn to be brutal.” But this merely -shows how much we are suffering from a -reaction against sentimental romanticism.</p></td></tr></table> - -<h4>III</h4> - -<table summary="Notes" width="100%" border="0"><tr> -<td class="tdl2">P. <a href="#Page_189">189.</a><a name="p189" id="p189"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il</i>. XIII. 444. <i>Il.</i> XIII. 616 f. <i>Il.</i> XIV. 493 f. -<i>Il.</i> XVI. 345 f. <i>Il.</i> XX. 416 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_190">190.</a><a name="p190" id="p190"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Il.</i> XVI. 751 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_191">191.</a><a name="p191" id="p191"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Arist. <i>Nic. Eth.</i> III. 6, 6. Plato <i>Apol. ad fin.</i></p></td></tr><tr> - -<td> </td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Od.</i> XI. 488 f. <i>Od.</i>. XI. 72 f. Note the effect -of the καί before ζωός. It is “simple pathos” -if you like, hardly self-conscious enough to -be called “wistful.” There are some wonderful -touches of it in Dante’s <i>Inferno</i>.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_192">192.</a><a name="p192" id="p192"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent">Phrasikleia. Kaibel, <i>Epigr. Sepulchr. Attic.</i> 6.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_193">193.</a><a name="p193" id="p193"></a></td><td class="tdl"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span> -<p class="indent">The Eretrian epigram is preserved in the -Palatine Anthology.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_195">195.</a><a name="p195" id="p195"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Ag.</i> 1391 f.</p></td></tr><tr> - -<td class="tdl">P. <a href="#Page_196">196.</a><a name="p196" id="p196"></a></td><td class="tdl"><p class="indent"><i>Ant.</i> 571 f.</p></td></tr></table> -</blockquote> -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span></p> - -<h2>INDEX</h2> - -<blockquote> -<ul class="IX"><li> -Abu Simbel, <a href="#Page_25">25</a></li><li> -Achilles, <a href="#Page_181">181</a> f., <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li><li> -Adrastos, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a> f.</li><li> -Adriatic, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li><li> -Aegean peoples and culture, <a href="#Page_14">14</a> f., <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li><li> -Aegina, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li><li> -Aegisthus, <a href="#Page_194">194</a> f.</li><li> -Aeneas, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li><li> -Aeschines, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li><li> -Aeschylus, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a> f., <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a> f., <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a> f.</li><li> -Africa, <a href="#Page_22">22</a> f., <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a> f.</li><li> -Agamemnon, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a> f.</li><li> -<i>Agon</i>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a> f., <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li><li> -Ahuramazda, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a></li><li> -Aias, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li><li> -Aithra, <a href="#Page_96">96</a> f.</li><li> -Alexander (the Great), <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>;<ul><li> - (of Macedon I), <a href="#Page_89">89</a>;</li><li> - (of Pherae), <a href="#Page_111">111</a> f.</li></ul></li><li> -<i>Alkinoos, Narrative to</i>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a> f.</li><li> -Alkman, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li><li> -Alyattes, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li><li> -Amazons, <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li><li> -Amestris, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></li><li> -Amphiktyones, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li><li> -Anaximander, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li><li> -Anopaia, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li><li> -Antigone, <a href="#Page_196">196</a> f.</li><li> -Apollonios, of Rhodes, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li><li> -<i>Arabian Nights,</i> <a href="#Page_160">160</a></li><li> -Araxes, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li><li> -“Archical Man,” The, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li><li> -Archilochus, <a href="#Page_26">26</a> f., <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li><li> -Arganthonios, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li><li> -Aristophanes, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li><li> -Aristotle, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a> f.</li><li> -Armenia, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a> f.</li><li> -Arnold, M., <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a> f., <a href="#Page_176">176</a> f., <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li><li> -Artaxerxes II, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a> f.</li><li> -Artaynte, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></li><li> -Artemision, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li><li> -Asceticism, Greek, <a href="#Page_110">110</a> f.</li><li> -Asia Minor (Anatolia), <a href="#Page_13">13</a> f., <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li><li> -Asôpos, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;<ul><li> - (Gorge of), <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li></ul></li><li> -Assyria, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li><li> -Assyrians, <a href="#Page_17">17</a></li><li> -Atarantes, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li><li> -Athena, <a href="#Page_90">90</a> f., <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></li><li> -Athenians, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a> f., <a href="#Page_95">95</a> f., <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a> f.</li><li> -Atlantes, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span></li><li> -Atlantic, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li><li> -Atlas, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li><li> -Atossa, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li><li> -Attica, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li><li> -Atys-Attis, <a href="#Page_137">137</a> f.</li><li> -<i>Autochthones</i>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li><li> -<i>Autonomy</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Babylon, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li><li> -<i>Bacchae</i>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li><li> -Beauty, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></li><li> -Belloc, H., <a href="#Page_103">103</a> f.</li><li> -Bitlis Tchai, <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li><li> -“Black-Cloaks,” <a href="#Page_22">22</a></li><li> -Black Sea, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></li><li> -Blake, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></li><li> -Bomba, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li><li> -Bosphorus, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li><li> -Boucher, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li><li> -Boudinoi, <a href="#Page_22">22</a></li><li> -Boulis, <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li><li> -Briareos, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li><li> -“Bronze Men,” <a href="#Page_25">25</a></li><li> -Burnet, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li><li> -Byron, <a href="#Page_169">169</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Carians, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li><li> -Catullus, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></li><li> -Caucasus, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li><li> -Cecrops, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></li><li> -Celtic Literature, <a href="#Page_149">149</a> f.</li><li> -Chalybes, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></li><li> -“Champion’s Light,” <a href="#Page_180">180</a> f.</li><li> -Cheirisophos, <a href="#Page_70">70</a> f.</li><li> -Chesterton, G. K., <a href="#Page_103">103</a> f.</li><li> -Chios, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li><li> -Chorus, <a href="#Page_201">201</a> f.</li><li> -Cimmerians, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li><li> -Circe, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li><li> -Civilization, <a href="#Page_102">102</a> f., <a href="#Page_105">105</a> f.</li><li> -“Classical,” <a href="#Page_147">147</a> f.</li><li> -Cleopatra, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></li><li> -Clytaemnestra, <a href="#Page_194">194</a> f.</li><li> -Colchians, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a></li><li> -Coleridge, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li><li> -Colonies, <a href="#Page_24">24</a> f., <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a> f.</li><li> -Corcyra, <a href="#Page_116">116</a> f.</li><li> -Corinth, <a href="#Page_112">112</a> f., <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li><li> -Corinthian Gulf, <a href="#Page_13">13</a></li><li> -Corsica, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></li><li> -Cretans, <a href="#Page_46">46</a> f., <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li><li> -Crete, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a> f., <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a></li><li> -Crimea, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li><li> -Croesus, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a> f.</li><li> -Cuchulain, <a href="#Page_179">179</a> f.</li><li> -Culture Hero, <a href="#Page_101">101</a> f.</li><li> -Cyclops, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></li><li> -<i>Cypria</i>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></li><li> -Cyrene, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a> f.</li><li> -Cyrus (the Great), <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>;<ul><li> - (the Younger), <a href="#Page_62">62</a> f.<br /><br /></li></ul></li><li> - -Dante, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></li><li> -Danube, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li><li> -Daphnis, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></li><li> -Dardanelles, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li><li> -Darius, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a> f., <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li><li> -Dead, Worship of, <a href="#Page_91">91</a> f., <a href="#Page_113">113</a> f.</li><li> -Delphi, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a> f.</li><li> -Demaratos, <a href="#Page_82">82</a> f., <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li><li> -Democracy, <a href="#Page_98">98</a> f.</li><li> -Demokêdês, <a href="#Page_54">54</a> f.</li><li> -Demosthenes, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li><li> -Dikaios, <a href="#Page_92">92</a> f.</li><li> -Dionysius, <a href="#Page_53">53</a> f.</li><li> -Dionysus, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li><li> -Dorians, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a> f.</li><li> -Dryden, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br /><br /></li><li> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span> -Earth-houses, <a href="#Page_77">77</a> f.</li><li> -Egypt, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li><li> -Egyptians, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a> f.</li><li> -Eighteenth century, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li><li> -Elea, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></li><li> -Eleusis, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li><li> -Eleutheria, <a href="#Page_52">52</a> f.</li><li> -Elpênor, <a href="#Page_191">191</a> f.</li><li> -Erechtheus, <a href="#Page_91">91</a> f.</li><li> -Eretria, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li><li> -Eros, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li><li> -Esther, <a href="#Page_86">86</a></li><li> -Etruria, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li><li> -Euboea, <a href="#Page_37">37</a> f., <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li><li> -Euêmeros, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li><li> -Euphrates, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li><li> -Euripides, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a> f.</li><li> -Exaggeration (hyperbole), <a href="#Page_179">179</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -Ferdiad, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></li><li> -Fire, Theft of, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li><li> -Frazer, <a href="#Page_138">138</a></li><li> -Frigidity, <a href="#Page_176">176</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Gadatas, Letter to, <a href="#Page_85">85</a></li><li> -Garamantes, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li><li> -Gê (Gaia, Earth), <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a> f., <a href="#Page_138">138</a></li><li> -Germans, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li><li> -Getai, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li><li> -Gindânes, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li><li> -Gods, <a href="#Page_122">122</a> f.</li><li> -Gyes, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li><li> -Gyges, <a href="#Page_29">29</a> f.</li><li> -Gymnosophists, <a href="#Page_147">147</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Haimon, <a href="#Page_196">196</a></li><li> -Harpagos, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li><li> -Hector, <a href="#Page_181">181</a> f.</li><li> -Hecuba, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li><li> -Helen, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li><li> -Hephaistos, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li><li> -Heracles, <a href="#Page_100">100</a> f., <a href="#Page_136">136</a>;<ul><li> - (children of), <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li></ul></li><li> -Heraclitus, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li><li> -Hermesianax, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li><li> -Herodotus, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a> f., 25, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a> f., <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a> f., <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a> f.</li><li> -Hesiod, <a href="#Page_124">124</a> f., <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a> f.</li><li> -Hippias, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li><li> -Hippokratês, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></li><li> -Hippolytus, <a href="#Page_199">199</a></li><li> -Hittites, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li><li> -Homer, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a> f., <a href="#Page_140">140</a> f., <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a> f., <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_189">189</a> f.</li><li> -Hope, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li><li> -Hydarnes, <a href="#Page_41">41</a> f., <a href="#Page_88">88</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -“Immortals,” The, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a> f.</li><li> -India, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li><li> -Indians, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li><li> -Iokasta, <a href="#Page_196">196</a></li><li> -Ionia, <a href="#Page_13">13</a> f.</li><li> -Ionians, <a href="#Page_13">13</a> f., <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a> f., <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li><li> -Irish, <a href="#Page_179">179</a> f.</li><li> -Ismênê, <a href="#Page_196">196</a> f.</li><li> -<i>Isonomy</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a> f.</li><li> -Issêdones, <a href="#Page_22">22</a></li><li> -Itanos, <a href="#Page_48">48</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -Jason, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a> f.</li><li> -Julius Caesar (in Shakespeare), <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li><li> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span></li><li> -<i>Kalevala</i>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a> f.</li><li> -Kallidromos, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li><li> -Kardouchians, <a href="#Page_72">72</a> f.</li><li> -Keats, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a> f.</li><li> -Kebriones, <a href="#Page_190">190</a></li><li> -Kentrîtês, <a href="#Page_75">75</a></li><li> -<i>Keraunos</i>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a> f.</li><li> -King (the Great), <a href="#Page_85">85</a> f.;<ul><li> - (Old and New), <a href="#Page_123">123</a> f.</li></ul></li><li> -Kissians, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a> f.</li><li> -Klearchos, <a href="#Page_63">63</a> f.</li><li> -Korôbios, <a href="#Page_48">48</a> f.</li><li> -Kottos, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li><li> -Kratos, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li><li> -Kreon, <a href="#Page_196">196</a> f.</li><li> -Kronos, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a> f.</li><li> -Kroton, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a> f.</li><li> -Ktesias, <a href="#Page_87">87</a></li><li> -Kunaxa, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li><li> -Kurdistan, <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li><li> -Kypselos, <a href="#Page_112">112</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -Ladê, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></li><li> -Landor, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li><li> -Lang, A., <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li><li> -Law, <a href="#Page_83">83</a> f., <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a> f.</li><li> -Leaf, W., <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li><li> -Leonidas, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a> f., <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li><li> -Leontios, <a href="#Page_110">110</a></li><li> -Longfellow, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li><li> -Lönnrot, <a href="#Page_165">165</a></li><li> -Love, <a href="#Page_171">171</a> f., <a href="#Page_199">199</a></li><li> -Lycians, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li><li> -Lydians, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a> f., <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a> f.</li><li> -Lykophron, <a href="#Page_114">114</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -<i>Mabinogion</i>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li><li> -Magic, <a href="#Page_149">149</a> f.</li><li> -Makai, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li><li> -Malis, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>;<ul><li> - (Gulf of), <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li></ul></li><li> -Marmara, Sea of, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li><li> -Marseille, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li><li> -Martin, H., <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li><li> -Medea, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></li><li> -Medes, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a> f.</li><li> -Melissa, <a href="#Page_113">113</a> f.</li><li> -Mercenaries, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li><li> -Meredith, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li><li> -Mesopotamia, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li><li> -Metis, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a> f.</li><li> -Midas, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></li><li> -Miletus, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li><li> -Milton, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></li><li> -“Minoan” Culture, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li><li> -Minos, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li><li> -Mountain-Mother, <a href="#Page_138">138</a> f.</li><li> -“Mycenaean” Culture, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li><li> -Mysians, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a></li><li> -Mythology (Greek), <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a> f., <a href="#Page_171">171</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -Nana, <a href="#Page_138">138</a> f.</li><li> -Napoleon, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li><li> -Nasamônes, <a href="#Page_22">22</a></li><li> -Neoboule, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li><li> -Neuroi, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li><li> -<i>Nikê</i>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a> f.</li><li> -Nineveh, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li><li> -Nomads, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li><li> -<i>Nomos</i>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a> f., <a href="#Page_135">135</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -Odysseus, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a> f., <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li><li> -Oeta, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li><li> -Olbia, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li><li> -Olympians, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li><li> -Olympic Victor, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li><li> -Olympus (Thessalian), <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>;<ul><li> - (Mysian), <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_142">142</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></li></ul></li><li> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span> -Oroitês, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li><li> -Otanes, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li><li> -Ouranos, <a href="#Page_124">124</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -Paktôlos, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></li><li> -Paros, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li><li> -Parthian Tactics, <a href="#Page_68">68</a></li><li> -Parysatis, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a></li><li> -Patriotism (Greek), <a href="#Page_94">94</a> f.</li><li> -Pausanias, <a href="#Page_156">156</a> f.</li><li> -Periandros, <a href="#Page_112">112</a> f.</li><li> -Persephone, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></li><li> -Persians, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a> f., <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a> f.</li><li> -Phaedra, <a href="#Page_199">199</a></li><li> -Phasis, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li><li> -“Philanthropy,” <a href="#Page_96">96</a></li><li> -Phocians, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a> f.</li><li> -Phoenicians, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li><li> -Phokaia, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></li><li> -Phrasikleia, <a href="#Page_192">192</a></li><li> -Phrygians, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a> f.</li><li> -Pindar, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li><li> -Pindarism, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li><li> -Pirates, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li><li> -Pisidians, <a href="#Page_63">63</a></li><li> -Platea, <a href="#Page_48">48</a> f.</li><li> -Plato, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a> f.</li><li> -Plutarch, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li><li> -Polykratês, <a href="#Page_55">55</a> f.</li><li> -Polyneikes, <a href="#Page_197">197</a> f.</li><li> -Prokles, <a href="#Page_114">114</a> f.</li><li> -<i>Prometheia</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a> f.</li><li> -Prometheus, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a> f., <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li><li> -Proxenos, <a href="#Page_62">62</a> f.</li><li> -Psammetichos, <a href="#Page_24">24</a> f.</li><li> -Pytheas, <a href="#Page_45">45</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Queen-Consort, <a href="#Page_123">123</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -Realism, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a> f.</li><li> -Renaissance, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></li><li> -Restoration, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li><li> -Rhea, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a></li><li> -Rhodians, <a href="#Page_68">68</a> f., <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li><li> -“Romantic,” <a href="#Page_100">100</a> f., <a href="#Page_107">107</a> f., <a href="#Page_147">147</a> f.</li><li> -Rossetti, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li><li> -Ruskin, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li><li> -Russia, <a href="#Page_19">19</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Salamis, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li><li> -Salmoxis, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li><li> -Samians, <a href="#Page_49">49</a> f., <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li><li> -Sappho, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li><li> -Sardis, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a> f.</li><li> -Scotland, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li><li> -Scott, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a></li><li> -Scythians, <a href="#Page_20">20</a> f.</li><li> -Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li><li> -Shaw, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a></li><li> -Shelley, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li><li> -Simonides, <a href="#Page_192">192</a> f.</li><li> -Sirens, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></li><li> -Skylax, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></li><li> -Socrates, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_191">191</a></li><li> -Sophocles, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a> f.</li><li> -<i>Sophrosyne</i>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a> f., <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li><li> -Sosikles, <a href="#Page_112">112</a> f.</li><li> -Spain, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></li><li> -Spartans, <a href="#Page_34">34</a> f., <a href="#Page_37">37</a> f., <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a> f., <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li><li> -Sperthias, <a href="#Page_88">88</a> f.</li><li> -Stone (Omphalos), <a href="#Page_127">127</a></li><li> -Strabo, <a href="#Page_45">45</a></li><li> -Susa, <a href="#Page_56">56</a> f., <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li><li> -Symbolism, <a href="#Page_190">190</a> f.<br /><br /></li><li> - -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> -<i>Táin Bó Cúalnge</i>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></li><li> -Tarentum, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li><li> -Tartessos, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li><li> -Tauri, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li><li> -Telemachus, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li><li> -<i>Tellek</i>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a></li><li> -Tennyson, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li><li> -Thales, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li><li> -Thasos, <a href="#Page_27">27</a> f.</li><li> -Thebans, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a> f.</li><li> -Themistocles, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li><li> -<i>Theogony</i>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></li><li> -Theophrastus, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li><li> -Thera, <a href="#Page_48">48</a> f.</li><li> -Thermopylae, <a href="#Page_33">33</a> f., <a href="#Page_193">193</a></li><li> -Theseus, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a> f., <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a> f., <a href="#Page_136">136</a></li><li> -Thespians, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a></li><li> -Thessaly, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li><li> -Thracians, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a> f., <a href="#Page_36">36</a></li><li> -Thrasyboulos, <a href="#Page_112">112</a> f.</li><li> -Thucydides, <a href="#Page_14">14</a></li><li> -Tiara, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li><li> -Tigris, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a> f.</li><li> -Tiribazos, <a href="#Page_75">75</a> f.</li><li> -Tissaphernes, <a href="#Page_65">65</a> f.</li><li> -<i>Titanism</i>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a> f.</li><li> -Titans, <a href="#Page_122">122</a> f.</li><li> -Tragedy, Attic, <a href="#Page_139">139</a> f., <a href="#Page_194">194</a> f.</li><li> -Trebizond, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li><li> -Trinity (Primitive Religious), <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li><li> -Troglodytes, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></li><li> -Trojans, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li><li> -Tugdammi, <a href="#Page_29">29</a> f.</li><li> -Tyranny, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -<i>Victorianism</i>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a> f.</li><li> -Virgil, <a href="#Page_183">183</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Wainamoinen, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li><li> -Wells, H. G., <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li><li> -Wordsworth, <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Xenophanês, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li><li> -Xenophon, <a href="#Page_61">61</a> f.</li><li> -Xerxes, <a href="#Page_33">33</a> f., <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a> f., <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Yeats, W. B., <a href="#Page_158">158</a><br /><br /></li><li> - -Zab, <a href="#Page_66">66</a> f.</li><li> -Zacho Dagh, <a href="#Page_70">70</a> f.</li><li> -Zeus, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a> f., <a href="#Page_128">128</a> f., <a href="#Page_145">145</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a></li> -</ul> -</blockquote> -<hr /> -<p class="center"><small><i>Printed in Great Britain by</i><br /> - -UNWIN BROTHERS, LIMITED, THE GRESHAM PRESS, WOKING AND LONDON</small></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Greeks & Barbarians, by James Alexander Kerr Thomson - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREEKS & BARBARIANS *** - -***** This file should be named 55792-h.htm or 55792-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/7/9/55792/ - -Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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