No More Learning

FELLOWES WITH CHILDREN
H
ERCULES (as some say) assuaged the tediousness of his labors,
which he sustayned in open and common games, with play-
ing. This Hercules, I say, being an incomparable warriour,
and the sonne of Jupiter and Latona, made himselfe a playfellowe
with boys. Euripides the poet introduceth, and bringeth in,
the selfe same god speaking in his owne person, and saying, “I
play because choyce and chaunge of labors is delectable and
sweete unto me,” whiche wordes he uttered holdinge a boy by
the hande. Socrates also was espied of Alcibiades upon a time,
playing with Lamprocles, who was in manner but a childe.
Agesilaus riding upon a rude, or cock-horse as they terme it,
played with his sonne beeing but a boy: and when a certayn man
passing by sawe him so doe and laughed there withall, Agesilaus
sayde thus, Now hold thy peace and say nothing; but when thou
art a father I doubt not thou wilt doe as fathers should doe with
their children. Architas Tarentinus being both in authoritie in


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174
ÆLIANUS CLAUDIUS
the commonwealth, that is to say a magestrat, and also a philoso-
pher, not of the obscurest sorte, but a precise lover of wisdom,
at that time he was a housband, a housekeeper, and maintained
many servauntes, he was greatly delighted with their younglinges,
used to play oftentimes with his servauntes' children, and was
wonte, when he was at dinner and supper, to rejoyce in the sight
and presence of them: yet was Tarentinus (as all men knowe) a
man of famous memorie and noble name.
OF A CERTAINE SICILIAN WHOSE EYSIGHT WAS WOONDER-
FULL SHARPE AND QUICK
TH
HERE was in Sicilia a certaine man indued with such sharp-
nesse, quicknesse, and clearnesse of sight (if report may
challenge credite) that hee coulde see from Lilybæus to
Carthage with such perfection and constancy that his eies coulde
not be deceived: and that he tooke true and just account of all
ships and vessels which went under sayle from Carthage, over-
skipping not so much as one in the universall number.
Something straunge it is that is recorded of Argus, a man
that had no lesse than an hundred eyes, unto whose custody Juno
committed Io, the daughter of Inachus, being transformed into a
young heifer: while Argus (his luck being such) was slaine sleep-
ing, but the Goddess Juno so provided that all his eyes (whatso-
ever became of his carkasse) should be placed on the pecock's
taile; wherupon (sithence it came to passe) the pecock is called
Avis Junonia, or Lady Juno Birde. This historie is notable, but
yet the former (in mine opinion) is more memorable.
THE LAWE OF THE LACEDÆMONIANS AGAINST COVETOUS-
NESS
A
CERTAIN young man of Lacedæmonia having bought a plot
of land for a small and easy price (and, as they say, dogge
cheape) was arrested to appear before the magistrates, and
after the trial of his matter he was charged with a penalty. The
reason why hee was judged worthy this punishment was because
he being but a young man gaped so gredely after gain and
yawned after filthy covetousness. For yt was a most commend.
able thing among the Lacedæmonians not only to fighte against
the enemie in battell manfully; but also to wrestle and struggle
with covetousness (that misschievous monster) valliauntly.


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ÆLIANUS CLAUDIUS
175
THAT SLEEP IS THE BROTHER OF DEATH, AND OF GORGIAS
DRAWING TO HIS END
G
ORGIAS LEONTINUS looking towardes the end of his life and
beeing wasted with the weaknes and wearysomenesse of
drooping olde age, falling into sharp and sore sicknesse
upon a time slumbered and slept upon his soft pillowe a little sea-
Unto whose chamber a familiar freend of his resorting to
visit him in his sicknes demaunded how he felt himself affected in
body. To whom Gorgias Leontinus made this pithy and plaus-
ible answeer, “Now Sleep beginneth to deliver me up into the
jurisdiction of his brother-germane, Death. ”
son.
OF THE VOLUNTARY AND WILLING DEATH OF CALANUS
it
T" "procureth admiration; it is no less praiseworthy than it was
worthy wonder. The manner, therefore, was thus. The
within-named Calanus, being a sophister of India, when he had
taken his long leave and last farewell of Alexander, King of
Macedonia, and of his life in lyke manner, being willing, desirous,
and earnest to set himselfe at lybertie from the cloggs, chaines,
barres, boults, and fetters of the prison of the body, pyled up a
bonnefire in the suburbs of Babylon of dry woodde and chosen
sticks provided of purpose to give a sweete savour and an
odoriferous smell in burning. The kindes of woodde which hee
.
used to serve his turne in this case were these: Cedre, Rose-
mary, Cipres, Mirtle, and Laurell. These things duely ordered,
he buckled himselfe to his accustomed exercise, namely, running
and leaping into the middest of the wodstack he stoode bolte
upright, having about his head a garlande made of the greene
leaves of reedes, the sunne shining full in his face, as he stoode
in the pile of stycks, whose glorious majesty, glittering with
bright beams of amiable beuty, he adored and worshipped. Fur-
thermore he gave a token and signe to the Macedonians to kindle
the fire, which, when they had done accordingly, hee beeing com-
passed round about with flickering flames, stoode stoutly and
valiauntly in one and the selfe same place, and dyd not shrincke
one foote, until hee gave up the ghost, whereat Alexander un-
vailyng, as at a rare strange sight and worldes wonder, saide
a


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176
ÆLIANUS CLAUDIUS
(as the voice goes) these words: “Calanus hath subdued, over-
come, and vanquished stronger enemies than I. For Alexander
made warre against Porus, Taxiles, and Darius. But Calanus did
denounce and did battell to labor and fought fearcely and man-
fully with death. ”
»
T'
OF DELICATE DINNERS, SUMPTUOUS SUPPERS, AND PRODI-
GALL BANQUETING
imothy, the son of Conon, captain of the Athenians, leaving
his sumptuous fare and royall banqueting, beeing desired
and intertained of Plato to a feast philosophicall, seasoned
with contentation and musick, at his returning home from that
supper of Plato, he said unto his familiar freends: “They whiche
suppe with Plato, this night, are not sick or out of temper the
next day following;” and presently upon the enunciation of that
speech, Timothy took occasion to finde fault with great dinners,
suppers, feasts, and banquets, furnished with excessive fare, im-
moderate consuming of meats, delicates, dainties, toothsome jun-
kets, and such like, which abridge the next dayes joy, gladnes,
delight, mirth, and pleasantnes. Yea, that sentence is consonant
and agreeable to the former, and importeth the same sense not-
withstanding in words it hath a little difference. That the within
named Timothy meeting the next day after with Plato said to
him:— “You philosophers, freend Plato, sup better the day fol-
lowing than the night present.
OF BESTOWING TIME, AND HOW WALKING UP AND DOWNE
WAS NOT ALLOWABLE AMONG THE LACEDÆMONIANS
HE Lacedæmonians were of this judgment, that measureable
to
did they conforme and apply themselves to any kinde of
laboure moste earnestly and painfully, not withdrawing their hands
from works of much bodyly mooving, not permitting any particu-
lar person, beeing a citizen, to spend the time in idlenes, to waste
it in unthrifty gaming, to consume it in trifling, in vain toyes and
lewd loytering, all whiche are at variance and enmity with vertue.
Of this latter among many testimonyes, take this for one.
When it was reported to the magistrates of the Lacedæmo-
nians called Ephori, in manner of complaint, that the inhabitants


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ÆLIANUS CLAUDIUS
177
of Deceleia used afternoone walkings, they sent unto them mes-
sengers with their commandmente, saying:-"Go not up and
doune like loyterers, nor walke not abrode at your pleasure, pam-
pering the wantonnes of your natures rather than accustoming
yourself to exercises of activity. For it becometh the Lacedæmo-
nians to regarde their health and to maintaine their safety not
with walking to and fro, but with bodily labours. ”
HOW SOCRATES SUPPRESSED THE PRYDE AND HAUTINESSE
OF ALCIBIADES
Soo
OCRATES, seeing Alcibiades puft up with pryde and broyling in
ambitious behavioure (because possessor of such great wealth
and lorde of so large lands) brought him to a place where
a table did hang containing a discription of the worlde universall.
Then did Socrates will Alcibiades to seeke out the situation of
Athens, which when he found Socrates proceeded further and
willed him to point out that plot of ground where his lands and
lordships lay. Alcibiades, having sought a long time and yet
never the nearer, sayde to Socrates that his livings were not set
forth in that table, nor any discription of his possession therein
made evident. When Socrates, rebuked with this secret quip:
"And art thou so arrogant (sayeth he) and so hautie in heart for
that which is no parcell of the world ? ”
OF CERTAINE WASTGOODES AND SPENDTHRIFTES
P
RODIGALL lavishing of substance, unthrifty and wastifull spend-
ing, voluptuousness of life and palpable sensuality brought
Pericles, Callias, the sonne of Hipponicus, and Nicias not
only to necessitie, but to povertie and beggerie. Who, after their
money waxed scant, and turned to a very lowe ebbe, they three
drinking a poysoned potion one to another (which was the last
cuppe that they kissed with their lippes) passed out of this life
(as it were from a banquet) to the powers infernall.
1-12


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178
ÆSCHINES
(389-314 B. C. )
If we
He life and oratory of Æschines fall fittingly into that period
of Greek history when the free spirit of the people which
Gel had created the arts of Pindar and Sophocles, Pericles, Phi-
dias, and Plato, was becoming the spirit of slaves and of savants, who
sought to forget the freedom of their fathers in learning, luxury,
and the formalism of deducers of rules. To this slavery Æschines
himself contributed, both in action with Philip of Macedon and in
speech. Philip had entered upon a career of conquest; a policy
legitimate in itself and beneficial as judged by
its larger fruits, but ruinous to the advanced
civilization existing in the Greek City-States
below, whose high culture was practically con-
fiscated to spread out over a waste of semi-
barbarism and mix with alien cultures. Among
his Greek sympathizers, Æschines was perhaps
his chief support in the conquest of the Greek
world that lay to the south within his reach.
Æschines was born in 389 B. C. , six years
before his lifelong rival Demosthenes.
may trust that rival's elaborate details of his
ÆSCHINES early life, his father taught a primary school
and his mother was overseer of certain initia-
tory rites, to both of which occupations Æschines gave his youthful
hand and assistance. He became in time a third-rate actor, and the
duties of clerk or scribe presently made him familiar with the execu-
tive and legislative affairs of Athens. Both vocations served as an
apprenticeship to the public speaking toward which his ambition was
turning. We hear of his serving as a heavy-armed soldier in various
Athenian expeditions, and of his being privileged to carry to Athens,
in 349 B. C. , the first news of the victory of Tamynæ, in Eubea, in
reward for the bravery he had shown in the battle.
Two years afterward he was sent as an envoy into th Pelopon-
nesus, with the object of forming a union of the Greeks against Philip
for the defense of their liberties. But his mission was unsuccessful.
Toward the end of the same year he served as one of the ten
ambassadors sent to Philip to discuss terms of peace. The harangues
of the Athenians at this meeting were followed in turn by a speech
of Philip, whose openness of manner, pertinent arguments, and pre-
tended desire for a settlement led to a second embassy, empowered



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ÆSCHINES
179
to receive from him the oath of allegiance and peace. It was dur-
ing this second embassy that Demothenes says he discovered the
philippizing spirit and foul play of Æschines. Upon their return to
Athens, Æschines rose before the assembly to assure the people that
Philip had come to Thermopylæ as the friend and ally of Athens.
“We, your envoys, have satisfied him," said Æschines. << You will
hear of benefits still more direct which we have determined Philip
to confer upon you, but which it would not be prudent as yet to
specify. ”
But the alarm of the Athenians at the presence of Philip within
the gates was not allayed. The king, however, anxious to temporize
with them until he could receive his army supplies by sea, suborned
Æschines, who assured his countrymen of Philip's peaceful intentions.
On another occasion, by an inflammatory speech at Delphi, he so
played upon the susceptibilities of the rude Amphictyones that they
rushed forth, uprooted their neighbors' harvest fields, and began a
devastating war of Greek against Greek. Internal dissensions prom-
ised the shrewd Macedonian the conquest he sought. At length, in
August, 338, came Philip's victory at Chæronea, and the complete
prostration of Greek power. Æschines, who had hitherto disclaimed
all connection with Philip. now boasted of his intimacy with the
king. As Philip's friend, while yet an Athenian, he offered himself
as ambassador to entreat leniency from the victor toward the un-
happy citizens.
The memorable defense of Demosthenes against the attack of
Æschines was delivered in 330 B. C. Seven years before this, Ctesi-
phon had proposed to the Senate that the patriotic devotion and
labors of Demosthenes should be acknowledged by the gift of a
golden crown- a recognition willingly accorded. But as this decis-
ion, to be legal, must be confirmed by the Assembly, Æschines gave
notice that he would proceed against Ctesiphon for proposing an
unconstitutional measure. He managed to postpone action on the
notice for six years. At last he seized a moment when the victo-
ries of Philip's son and successor, Alexander, were swaying popular
feeling, to deliver a bitter harangue against the whole life and pol-
icy of his political opponent. Demosthenes answered in that magnifi-
cent oration called by the Latin writers De Corona. Æschines was
not upheld by the people's vote. He retired to Asia, and, it is said,
opened a school of rhetoric at Rhodes. There is a legend that after
he had one day delivered in his school the masterpiece of his enemy,
his students broke into applause: «What,” he exclaimed, “if you
had heard the wild beast thunder it out himself! »
Æschines was what we call nowadays a self-made man. The great
faults of his life, his philippizing policy and his confessed corruption,


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180
ÆSCHINES
arose, doubtless, from the results of youthful poverty: a covetousness
growing out of want, and a lack of principles of conduct which a
broader education would have instilled. As an orator he was second
only to Demosthenes; and while he may at times be compared to
his rival in intellectual force and persuasiveness, his moral defects —
which it must be remembered that he himself acknowledged — make
a comparison of character impossible.
His chief works remaining to us are the speeches (Against Timar-
chus,' On the Embassy,' Against Ctesiphon,' and letters, which are
included in the edition of G. E. Benseler (1855-60). In his History of
Greece,' Grote discusses at length of course adversely - the influence
of Æschines; especially controverting Mitford's favorable view and
his denunciation of Demosthenes and the patriotic party. The trend
of recent writing is toward Mitford's estimate of Philip's policy,
and therefore less blame for the Greek statesmen who supported it,
though without Mitford's virulence toward its opponents. Mahaffy
(Greek Life and Thought') holds the whole contest over the crown
to be mere academic threshing of old straw, the fundamental issues
being obsolete by the rise of a new world under Alexander.
A DEFENSE AND AN ATTACK
From the Oration against Ctesiphon)
IN
N REGARD to the calumnies with which I am attacked, I wish
to say a word or two before Demosthenes speaks. He will
allege, I am told, that the State has received distinguished
services from him, while from me it has suffered injury on
many occasions; and that the deeds of Philip and Alexander,
and the crimes to which they gave rise, are to be imputed to me.
Demosthenes is so clever in the art of speaking that he does not
bring accusation against me, against any point in my conduct of
affairs or any counsels I may have brought to our public meet-
ings; but he rather casts reflections upon my private life, and
charges me with a criminal silence.
Moreover, in order that no circumstance may escape his cal-
umny, he attacks my habits of life when I was in school with my
young companions; and even in the introduction of his speech
he will say that I have begun this prosecution, not for the benefit
of the State, but because I want to make a show of myself to
Alexander and gratify Alexander's resentment against him. He
purposes, as I learn, to ask why I blame his administration as a
whole, and yet never hindered or indicted any one separate act;


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181
.
why, after a considerable interval of attention to public affairs,
I now return to prosecute this action.
But what I am now about to notice a matter which I hear
Demosthenes will speak of - about this, by the Olympian deities,
I cannot but feel a righteous indignation. He will liken my
speech to the Sirens', it seems, and the legend anent their art is
that those who listen to them are not charmed, but destroyed;
wherefore the music of the Sirens is not in good repute. Even
so he will aver that knowledge of my words and myself is a
source of injury to those who listen to me. I, for my part, think
it becomes no one to urge such allegations against me; for it is
a shame if one who makes charges cannot point to facts as full
evidence. And if such charges must be made, the making surely
does not become Demosthenes, but rather some military man
some man of action — who has done good work for the State, and
who, in his untried speech, vies with the skill of antagonists
because he is conscious that he can tell no one of his deeds, and
because he sees his accusers able to show his audience that he
had done what in fact he never had done. But when a man
made up entirely of words,- of sharp words and overwrought
sentences, - when he takes refuge in simplicity and plain facts, who
then can endure it? — whose tongue is like a flute, inasmuch as if
you take it away the rest is nothing.
This man thinks himself worthy of a crown— that his honor
should be proclaimed. But should you not rather send into exile
this common pest of the Greeks? Or will you not seize upon him
as a thief, and avenge yourself upon him whose mouthings have
enabled him to bear full sail through our commonwealth? Re.
member the season in which you cast your vote. In a few days
the Pythian Games will come round, and the convention of the
Hellenic States will hold its sessions. Our State has been con.
cerned on account of the measures of Demosthenes regarding
present crises. You will appear, if you crown him, accessory to
those who broke the general peace. But if, on the other hand,
you refuse the crown, you will free the State from blame. Do
not take counsel as if it were for an alien, but as if it concerned,
as it does, the private interest of your city; and do not dispense
your honors carelessly, but with judgment; and let your public
gifts be the distinctive possession of men most worthy. Not only
hear, but also look around you and consider who are the men
who support Demosthenes. Are they his fellow-hunters, or his


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ÆSCHINES
associates in old athletic sports ? No, by Olympian Zeus, he was
never engaged in hunting the wild boar, nor in care for the
well-being of his body; but he was toiling at the art of those
who keep up possessions.
Take into consideration also his art of juggling, when he says
that by his embassy he wrested Byzantium from the hands of
Philip, and that his eloquence led the Acarnanians to revolt, and
struck dumb the Thebans. He thinks, forsooth, that you have
fallen to such a degree of weakness that he can persuade you
that you have been entertaining Persuasion herself in your city,
and not a vile slanderer. And when at the conclusion of his
argument he calls upon his partners in bribe-taking, then fancy
that you see upon these steps, from which I now address you,
the benefactors of your State arrayed against the insolence of
those men. Solon, who adorned our commonwealth with most
noble laws, a man who loved wisdom, a worthy legislator, asking
you in dignified and sober manner, as became his character,
not to follow the pleading of Demosthenes rather than your
oaths and laws. Aristides, who assigned to the Greeks their
tributes, to whose daughters after he had died the people gave
portions— imagine Aristides complaining bitterly at the insult to
public justice, and asking if you are not ashamed that when your
fathers banished Arthurias the Zelian, who brought gold from
the Medes (although while he was sojourning in the city and a
guest of the people of Athens they were scarce restrained from
killing him, and by proclamation forbade him the city and any
dominion the Athenians had power over), nevertheless that you
are going to crown Demosthenes, who did not indeed bring gold
from the Medes, but who received bribes and has them still in
his possession. And Themistocles and those who died at Mara-
thon and at Platæa, and the very graves of your ancestors-
will they not cry out if you venture to grant a crown to one who
confesses that he united with the barbarians against the Greeks?
And now, ( earth and sun! virtue and intelligence! and thou,
O genius of the humanities, who teachest us to judge between
the noble and the ignoble, I have come to your succor and I
have done.
If I have made my pleading with dignity and
worthily, as I looked to the flagrant wrong which called it forth,
I have spoken as I wished. If I have done ill, it was as I was
able. Do you weigh well my words and all that is left unsaid,
and vote in accordance with justice and the interests of the city!


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183
ÆSCHYLUS
(B. C. 525-456)
BY JOHN WILLIAMS WHITE
He mightiest of Greek tragic poets was the son of Euphorion,
an Athenian noble, and was born B. C. 525. When he was a
lad of eleven, the tyrant Hipparchus fell in a public street
of Athens under the daggers of Harmodius and Aristogeiton. Later,
Æschylus saw the family of tyrants, which for fifty years had ruled
Attica with varying fortunes, banished from the land. With a boy's
eager interest he followed the establishment of the Athenian democ-
racy by Cleisthenes. He grew to manhood in stirring times. The
new State was engaged in war with
the powerful neighboring island of
Ægina; on the eastern horizon was
gathering the cloud that was to burst
in storm at Marathon. Æschylus was
trained in that early school of Athe-
nian greatness whose masters were
Miltiades, Aristides, and Themistocles.
During the struggle with Persia,
fought out on Greek soil, the poet
was at the height of his physical
powers, and we may feel confidence
in the tradition that he fought not
only at Marathon, but also at Sala-
mis. Two of his. extant tragedies
ÆschyLUS
breathe the very spirit of war, and
show a soldier's experience; and the epitaph upon his tomb, which
was said to have been written by himself, recorded how he had been
one of those who met the barbarians in the first shock of the great
struggle and had helped to save his country.
«How brave in battle was Euphorion's son,
The long-haired Mede can tell who fell at Marathon. ”
Before Æschylus, Attic tragedy had been essentially lyrical. It
arose 'from the dithyrambic chorus that was sung at the festivals of
Dionysus. Thespis had introduced the first actor, who, in the pauses
of the choral song, related in monologue the adventures of the god
or engaged in dialogue with the leader of the chorus. To Æschylus



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ÆSCHYLUS
is due the invention of the second actor. This essentially changed the
character of the performance. The dialogue could now be carried on
by the two actors, who were thus able to enact a complete story.
The functions of the chorus became less important, and the lyrical
element was subordinated to the action. (The word “drama” signi-
fies action. ) The number of actors was subsequently increased to
three, and Æschylus in his later plays used this number.
This re-
striction imposed upon the Greek playwright does not mean that he
was limited to two or three characters in his play, but that only two,
or at the most three, of these might take part in the action at once.
The same actor might assume different parts. The introduction of
the second actor was so capital an innovation that it rightly entitles
Æschylus to be regarded as the creator of the drama, for in his
hands tragedy first became essentially dramatic. This is his great
distinction, but his powerful genius wrought other changes. He per-
fected, if he did not discover, the practice of introducing three plays
upon a connected theme (technically named a trilogy), with an after-
piece of lighter character. He invented the tragic dress and buskin,
and perfected the tragic mask. He improved the tragic dance, and
by his use of scénic decoration and stage machinery, secured effects
that were unknown before him. His chief claim to superior excel-
lence, however, lies after all in his poetry. Splendid in diction, vivid
in the portraiture of character, and powerful in the expression of
passion, he is regarded by many competent critics as the greatest
tragic poet of all time.
The Greek lexicographer, Suidas, reports that Æschylus wrote
ninety plays. The titles of seventy-two of these have been handed
down in an ancient register. He brought out the first of these at
the age of twenty-five, and as he died at the age of sixty-nine, he
wrote on an average two plays each year throughout his lifetime.
Such fertility would be incredible, were not similar facts authen-
tically recorded of the older tragic poets of Greece. The Greek
drama, moreover, made unusual demands on the creative powers of
the poet.
It was lyrical, and the lyrics were accompanied by the
dance. All these elements — poetry, song, and dance — the poet con-
tributed; and we gain a new sense of the force of the word “poet”
(it means creator”), when we contemplate his triple function.
Moreover, he often staged” the play himself, and sometimes he
acted in it. Æschylus was singularly successful in an age that pro-
duced many great poets. He took the first prize at least thirteen
times; and as he brought out four plays at each contest, more than
half his plays were adjudged by his contemporaries to be of the
highest quality. After the poet's death, plays which he had writ-
ten, but which had not been acted in his lifetime, were brought out


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ÆSCHYLUS
185
by his sons and a nephew. It is on record that his son Euphorion
took the first prize four times with plays of his father; so the poet's
art lived after him and suffered no eclipse.
Only seven complete plays of Æschylus are still extant. The
best present source of the text of these is a manuscript preserved in
the Laurentian Library, at Florence in Italy, which was written in
the tenth or eleventh century after Christ. The number of plays
still extant is small, but fortunately, among them is the only com-
plete Greek trilogy that we possess, and luckily also the other four
serve to mark successive stages in the poet's artistic development.
The trilogy of the Oresteia' is certainly his masterpiece; in some of
the other plays he is clearly seen to be still bound by the limitations
which hampered the earlier writers of Greek tragedy. In the follow-
ing analysis the seven plays will be presented in their probable
chronological order.
The Greeks signally defeated Xerxes in the great sea fight in the
bay of Salamis, B. C. 480. The poet made this victory the theme of
his Persians. This is the only historical Greek tragedy which we
now possess: the subjects of all the rest are drawn from mythology.
But Æschylus had a model for his historical play in the Phæni-
cian Women of his predecessor Phrynichus, which dealt with the
same theme. Æschylus, indeed, is said to have imitated it closely
in the Persians. Plagiarism was thought to be a venial fault by
the ancients, just as in the Homeric times piracy was not considered
a disgrace. The scene of the play is not Athens, as one might
expect, but Susa. It opens without set prologue. The Chorus con-
sists of Persian elders, to whom the government of the country has
been committed in the absence of the King.
These venerable men
gather in front of the royal palace, and their leader opens the play
with expressions of apprehension: no news has come from the host
absent in Greece. The Chorus at first express full confidence in the
resistless might of the great army; but remembering that the gods
are jealous of vast power and success in men, yield to gloomy fore-
bodings. These grow stronger when Atossa, the aged mother of
Xerxes, appears from the palace and relates the evil dreams which
she has had on the previous night, and the omen that followed. The
Chorus beseech her to make prayer to the gods, to offer libations to
the dead, and especially to invoke the spirit of Darius to avert the
evil which threatens his ancient kingdom. Too late! A messenger
arrives and announces that all is lost. By one fell stroke the might
of Persia has been laid low at Salamis. At Atossa's request, the mes-
senger, interrupted at first by the lamentations of the Chorus, recounts
what has befallen. His description of the battle in the straits is a
passage of signal power, and is justly celebrated. The Queen retires,


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ÆSCHYLUS
and the Chorus sing a song full of gloomy reflections. The Queen
reappears, and the ghost of Darius is invoked from the lower world.
He hears from Atossa what has happened, sees in this the fulfill-
ment of certain ancient prophecies, foretells disaster still to come,
and warns the Chorus against further attempts upon Greece. As he
departs to the underworld, the Chorus sing in praise of the wisdom
of his reign. Atossa has withdrawn. Xerxes now appears with
attendants, laments with the Chorus the disaster that has overtaken
him, and finally enters the palace.
The economy of the play is simple: only two actors are required.
The first played the parts of Atossa and Xerxes, the second that of
the messenger and the ghost of Darius. The play well illustrates
the conditions under which Æschylus at this period wrote. The
Chorus was still of first importance; the ratio of the choral parts in
the play to the dialogue is about one to two.
The exact date of the Suppliants' cannot be determined; but the
simplicity of its plot, the lack of a prologue, the paucity of its char-
acters, and the prominence of the Chorus, show that it is an early
play. The scene is Argos. The Chorus consists of the daughters of
Danaüs, and there are only three characters, — Danaüs, a Herald, and
Pelasgus King of Argos.
Danaüs and Ægyptus, brothers, and descendants of Io and Epa-
phus, had settled near Canopus at the mouth of the Nile. Ægyptus
sought to unite his fifty sons in marriage with the fifty daughters of
the brother. The daughters fled with their father to Argos. Here
his play opens. The Chorus appeal for protection to the country,
once the home of Io, and to its gods and heroes. Pelasgus, with the
consent of the Argive people, grants them refuge, and at the end of
the play repels the attempt to seize them made by the Herald of the
sons of Ægyptus.
A part of one of the choruses is of singular beauty, and it is
doubtless to them that the preservation of the play is due. The
play hardly seems to be a tragedy, for it ends without bloodshed.
Further, it lacks dramatic interest, for the action almost stands still.
It is a cantata rather than a tragedy. Both considerations, . however,
are sufficiently explained by the fact that this was the first play of a
trilogy. The remaining plays must have furnished, in the death of
forty-nine of the sons of Ægyptus, both action and tragedy in suffi-
cient measure to satisfy the most exacting demands.
The Seven Against Thebes' deals with the gloomy myth of the
house of Laïus. The tetralogy to which it belonged consisted of the
Laius,' 'Edipus, Seven Against Thebes,' and (Sphinx. The
themes of Greek tragedy were drawn from the national mythology,
but the myths were treated with a free hand. In his portrayal of


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187
the fortunes of this doomed race, Æschylus departed in important
particulars, with gain in dramatic effect, from the story as it is read
in Homer.
Edipus had pronounced an awful curse upon his sons, Eteocles
and Polynices, for their unfilial neglect, — «they should one day
divide their land by steel. ” They thereupon agreed to reign in
turn, each for a year; but Eteocles, the elder, refused at the end of
the first year to give up the throne. Polynices appealed to Adrastus
King of Argos for help, and seven chiefs appeared before the walls
of Thebes to enforce his claim, and beleaguered the town. Here
the play opens, with an appeal addressed by Eteocles to the citizens
of Thebes to prove themselves stout defenders of their State in its
hour of peril. A messenger enters, and describes the sacrifice and
oath of the seven chiefs. The Chorus of Theban maidens enter in
confusion and sing the first ode. The hostile army is hurrying from
its camp against the town; the Chorus hear their shouts and the
rattling din of their arms, and are overcome by terror. Eteocles
reproves them for their fears, and bids them sing a pæan that shall
hearten the people. The messenger, in a noteworthy scene, de-
scribes the appearance of each hostile chief. The seventh and last
is Polynices. Eteocles, although conscious of his father's curse, nev-
ertheless declares with gloomy resoluteness that he will meet his
brother in single combat, and, resisting the entreaties of the Chorus,
goes forth to his doom. The attack on the town is repelled, but
the brothers fall, each by the other's hand. Thus is the curse ful-
filled. Presently their bodies are wheeled in. Their sisters, Antigone
and Ismene, follow and sing a lament over the dead. A herald an-
nounces that the Theban Senate forbid the burial of Polynices; his
body shall be cast forth as prey of dogs. Antigone declares her
resolution to brave their mandate, and perform the last sad rites for
her brother.
«Dread tie, the common womb from which we sprang,–
Of wretched mother born and hapless sire. »
The Chorus divides. The first semi-chorus sides with Antigone;
the second declares its resolution to follow to its last resting-place
the body of Eteocles. And thus the play ends. The theme is here
sketched, just at the close of the play, in outline, that Sophocles
has developed with such pathetic effect in his Antigone. '
The Prometheus' transports the reader to another world. The
characters are gods, the time is the remote past, the place a desolate
waste in Scythia, on the confines of the Northern Ocean. Pro-
metheus had sinned against the authority of Zeus. Zeus wished to
destroy the old race of mankind; but Prometheus gave them fire,


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ÆSCHYLUS
taught them arts and handicrafts, developed in them thought and
consciousness, and so assured both their existence and their happi-
ness. The play deals with his punishment. Prometheus is borne
upon the scene by Force and Strength, and is nailed to a lofty cliff
by Hephæstus. His appeal to Nature, when his tormentors depart
and he is left alone, is peculiarly pathetic. The daughters of Oce-
anus, constituting the Chorus, who have heard the sound of the ham-
mer in their ocean cave, are now borne in aloft on a winged car,
and bewail the fate of the outraged god. Oceanus appears upon a
winged steed, and offers his mediation; but this is scornfully rejected.
The resolution of Prometheus to resist Zeus to the last is strength-
ened by the coming of Io. She too, as it seems, is a victim of the
Ruler of the Universe; driven by the jealous wrath of Hera, she
roams from land to land. She tells the tale of her sad wandering,
and finally rushes from the scene in frenzy, crazed by the sting of
the gadily that Hera has sent to torment her. Prometheus knows a
secret full of menace to Zeus. Relying on this, he prophesies his
overthrow, and defies him to do his worst. Hermes is sent to de-
mand with threats its revelation, but fails to accomplish his purpose.
Prometheus insults and taunts him. Hermes warns the Chorus to
leave, for Zeus is about to display his wrath. At first they refuse,
but then fly affrighted: the cliff is rending and sinking, the elements
are in wild tumult. As he sinks, about to be engulfed in the bowels
of the earth, Prometheus cries:
«Earth is rocking in space!
And the thunders crash up with a roar upon roar,
And the eddying lightnings flash fire in my face,
And the whirlwinds are whirling the dust round and round,
And the blasts of the winds universal leap free
And blow each upon each with a passion of sound,
And æther goes mingling in storm with the sea. ”
The play is Titanic. Its huge shapes, its weird effects, its mighty
passions, its wild display of the forces of earth and air, — these im-
press us chiefly at first; but its ethical interest is far greater. Zeus
is apparently represented in it as relentless, cruel, and unjust, -a
lawless ruler, who knows only his own will, — whereas in all the
other plays of Æschylus he is just and righteous, although sometimes
Æschylus, we know, was a religious man. It seems incred-
ible that he should have had two contradictory conceptions of the
character of Zeus. The solution of this problem is to be found in
the fact that this 'Prometheus) was the first play of the trilogy. In
the second play, the Prometheus Unbound, of which we have only
fragments, these apparent contradictions must have been reconciled.
Long ages are supposed to elapse between the plays. Prometheus
severe.


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189
yields. He reveals the secret and is freed from his bonds. What
before seemed to be relentless wanton cruelty is now seen to have
been only the harsh but necessary severity of a ruler newly estab-
lished on his throne. By the reconciliation of this stern ruler with
the wise Titan, the giver of good gifts to men, order is restored to
the universe. Prometheus acknowledges his guilt, and the course
of Zeus is vindicated; but the loss of the second play of the trilogy
leaves much in doubt, and an extraordinary number of solutions of
the problem has been proposed. The reader must not look for one
of these, however, in the Prometheus Unbound' of Shelley, who
deliberately rejected the supposition of a reconciliation.
The three remaining plays are founded on the woful myth of the
house of Atreus, son of Pelops, a theme much treated by the Greek
tragic poets. They constitute the only existing Greek trilogy, and
are the last and greatest work of the poet. They were brought out
at Athens, B. C. 458, two years after the author's death.
The Aga-
memnon' sets forth the crime,—the murder, by his wife, of the
great King, on his return home from Troy; the 'Choëphori, the ven-
geance taken on the guilty wife by her own son; the Eumenides, the
atonement made by that son in expiation of his mother's murder.
Agamemnon on departing for Troy left behind him in his palace
a son and a daughter, Orestes and Electra. Orestes was exiled from
home by his mother Clytemnestra, who in Agamemnon's absence
lived in guilty union with Ægisthus, own cousin of the King, and
who could no longer endure to look upon the face of her son.
The scene of the Agamemnon' is the royal palace in Argos.
The time is night. A watchman is discovered on the flat roof of
the palace. For a year he has kept weary vigil there, waiting for
the beacon-fire that, sped from mountain-top to mountain-top, shall
announce the fall of Troy. The signal comes at last, and joyously
he proclaims the welcome news. The sacrificial fires which have
been made ready in anticipation of the event are set alight through-
out the city. The play naturally falls into three divisions. The
first introduces the Chorus of Argive elders, Clytemnestra, and a
Herald who tells of the hardships of the siege and of the calamitous
return, and ends with the triumphal entrance of Agamemnon with
Cassandra, and his welcome by the Queen; the second comprehends
the prophecy of the frenzied Cassandra of the doom about to fall
upon the house and the murder of the King; the third the conflict
between the Chorus, still faithful to the murdered King, and Cly-
temnestra, beside whom stands her paramour Ægisthus.
Interest centres in Clytemnestra. Crafty, unscrupulous, resolute,
remorseless, she veils her deadly hatred for her lord, and welcomes
him home in tender speech :-


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ÆSCHYLUS
«So now, dear lord, I bid thee welcome home-
True as the faithful watchdog of the fold,
Strong as the mainstay of the laboring bark,
Stately as column, fond as only child,
Dear as the land to shipwrecked mariner,
Bright as fair sunshine after winter's storms,
Sweet as fresh fount to thirsty wanderer —
All this, and more, thou art, dear love, to me. )
Agamemnon passes within the palace; she slays him in his bath,
enmeshed in a net, and then, reappearing, vaunts her bloody deed:
«I smote him, and he bellowed; and again
I smote, and with a groan his knees gave way;
And as he fell before me, with a third
And last libation from the deadly mace,
I pledged the crowning draught to Hades due,
That subterranean Saviour- of the dead!
At which he spouted up the Ghost in such
A flood of purple as, bespattered with,
No less did I rejoice than the green ear
Rejoices in the largesse of the skies
That fleeting Iris follows as it flies. ”
Æschylus departs from the Homeric account, which was followed
by other poets, in making the action of the next play, the Cho-
ëphori,' follow closer upon that of the Agamemnon. ' Orestes has
heard in Phocis of his father's murder, and returns in secret, with
his friend Pylades, to exact vengeance. The scene is still Argos,
but Agamemnon's tomb is now seen in front of the palace. The
Chorus consists of captive women, who aid and abet the attempt.
The play sets forth the recognition of Orestes by Electra; the plot
by which Orestes gains admission to the palace; the deceit of the
old Nurse, a homely but capital character, by whom Ægisthus is
induced to come to the palace without armed attendants; the death
of Ægisthus and Clytemnestra; the appearance of the avenging
Furies; and the flight of Orestes.
The last play of the trilogy, the Eumenides,' has many singular
features. The Chorus of Furies seemed even to the ancients to be
a weird and terrible invention; the scene of the play shifts from
Delphi to Athens; the poet introduces into the play a trial scene;
and he had in it a distinct political purpose, whose development
occupies one-half of the drama.
Orestes, pursued by the avenging Furies, «Gorgon-like, vested in
sable stoles, their locks entwined with clustering snakes,” has fled to
Delphi to invoke the aid of Apollo. He clasps the navel-stone and
in his exhaustion falls asleep. Around him sleep the Furies. The


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191
play opens with a prayer made by the Pythian priestess at an altar
in front of the temple. The interior of the sanctuary is then laid
bare. Orestes is awake, but the Furies sleep on. Apollo, standing
beside Orestes, promises to protect him, but bids him make all haste
to Athens, and there clasp, as a suppliant, the image of Athena.
Orestes flies. The ghost of Clytemnestra rises from the underworld,
and calls upon the Chorus to pursue. Overcome by their toil, they
moan in their sleep, but finally start to their feet. Apollo bids them
quit the temple.
The scene changes to the ancient temple of Athena on the
Acropolis at Athens, where Orestes is seen clasping the image of the
goddess. The Chorus enter in pursuit of their victim, and sing an ode
descriptive of their powers.
Athena appears, and learns from the Chorus and from Orestes the
reasons for their presence. She declares the issue to be too grave
even for her to decide, and determines to choose judges of the mur-
der, who shall become a solemn tribunal for all future time. These
are to be the best of the citizens of Athens. After an ode by the
Chorus, she returns, the court is established, and the trial proceeds
in due form. Apollo appears for the defense of Orestes. When the
arguments have been presented, Athena proclaims, before the vote
has been taken, the establishment of the court as a permanent tri-
bunal for the trial of cases of bloodshed. Its seat shall be the Are-
opagus. The votes are cast and Orestes is acquitted. He departs for
Argos. The Furies break forth in anger and threaten woes to the
land, but are appeased by Athena, who establishes their worship for-
ever in Attica. Heretofore they have been the Erinnyes, or Furies;
henceforth they shall be the Eumenides, or Gracious Goddesses.
The Eumenides are escorted from the scene in solemn procession.
Any analysis of the plays so brief as the preceding is necessarily
inadequate. The English reader is referred to the histories of Greek
Literature by K. O. Müller and by J. P. Mahaffy, to the striking
chapter on Æschylus in J. A. Symonds's Greek Poets,' and, for the
trilogy, to Moulton's 'Ancient Classical Drama. If he knows French,
he should add Croiset's Histoire de la Littérature Grecque,' and
should by all means read M. Patin's volume on Æschylus in his
'Études sur les Tragique Grècs. There are translations in English
of the poet's complete works by Potter, by Plumptre, by Blackie,
and by Miss Swanwick. Flaxman illustrated the plays. Ancient
illustrations are easily accessible in Baumeister's Denkmäler,' under
the names of the different characters in the plays. There is a transla-
tion of the Prometheus) by Mrs. Browning, and of the (Suppliants)
by Morshead, who has also translated the Atridean trilogy under
the title of The House of Atreus. ' Goldwin Smith has translated
portions of six of the plays in his “Specimens of Greek Tragedy. '
>


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Many translations of the 'Agamemnon' have been made, among oth-
ers by Milman, by Symmons, by Lord Carnarvon, and by Fitzgerald.
Robert Browning also translated the play, with appalling literalness.
John Williams Weih
THE COMPLAINT OF PROMETHEUS
PROMETHEUS (alone)
O
HOLY Æther, and swift-winged Winds,
And River-wells, and laughter innumerous
Of yon Sea-waves! Earth, mother of us all,
And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you, -
Behold me a god, what I endure from gods!
Behold, with throe on throe,
How, wasted by this woe,
I wrestle down the myriad years of Time!
Behold, how fast around me
The new King of the happy ones sublime
Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me!
Woe, woe! to-day's woe and the coming morrow's
I cover with one groan.
And where is found me
A limit to these sorrows ?
And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown
Clearly all things that should be; nothing done
Comes sudden to my soul — and I must bear
What is ordained with patience, being aware
Necessity doth front the universe
With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse
Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave
In silence or in speech. Because I gave
Honor to mortals, I have yoked my soul
To this compelling fate. Because I stole
The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went
Over the ferrule's brim, and manward sent
Art's mighty means and perfect rudiment,
That sin I expiate in this agony,
Hung here in fetters, 'neath the blanching sky.
Ah, ah me! what a sound,
What a fragrance sweeps up from a pinion unseen
Of a god, or a mortal, or nature between,
Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound,
-
-


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193
To have sight of my pangs, or some guerdon obtain
Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain!
The god Zeus hateth sore,
And his gods hate again,
As many as tread on his glorified floor,
Because I loved mortals too much evermore.
Alas me! what a murmur and motion I hear,
As of birds flying near!
And the air undersings
The light stroke of their wings —
And all life that approaches I wait for in fear.
From E. B. Browning's Translation of (Prometheus.
A PRAYER TO ARTEMIS
STROPHE IV
T"
HOUGH Zeus plan all things right,
Yet is his heart's desire full hard to trace;
Nathless in every place
Brightly it gleameth, e'en in darkest night,
Fraught with black fate to man's speech-gifted race.
ANTISTROPHE IV
Steadfast, ne'er thrown in fight,
The deed in brow of Zeus to ripeness brought;
For wrapt in shadowy night,
Tangled, unscanned by mortal sight,
Extend the path ways of his secret thought.
STROPHE V
From towering hopes mortals he hurleth prone
To utter doom: but for their fall
No force arrayeth he; for all
That gods devise is without effort wrought.
A mindful Spirit aloft on holy throne
By inborn energy achieves his thought.
ANTISTROPHE V
But let him mortal insolence behold:
How with proud contumacy rife,
Wantons the stem in lusty life
My marriage craving ; - frenzy over-bold,
Spur ever-pricking, goads them on to fate,
By ruin taught their folly all too late.
1-13


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STROPHE VI
Thus I complain, in piteous strain,
Grief-laden, tear-evoking, shrill;
Ah woe is me!