No More Learning

He is indeed mistaught with reference to the use of the strong hand. Human life is cheap ; so cheap that even a mild and gentle youth may be betrayed, upon a casual quarrel over some childish game with his friend, into taking it away. And even so throughout his life, should some occasion come that stirs up his passions from their depths, a wild beast, as it were, awakes within him, and he loses his humanity for the time, until reason has reestablished her control. Short, however, of such a desperate crisis, though he could not for the world rob his friend or his neighbor, yet he might be not unwilling to triumph over him to his cost, for the sake of some exercise of signal ingenuity ; while, from a hostile tribe or a foreign shore, or from the individual who has become his enemy, he will ac quire by main force what he can, nor will he scruple to inflict on him by stratagem even deadly injury. He must, however, give liberally to those who are in need ; to the wayfarer, to the poor, to the suppliant who begs from him shelter and protec tion. On the other hand, should his own goods be wasted, the liberal and open-handed contributions of his neighbors will not be wanting to replace them.
His early youth is not solicited into vice by finding sensual excess in vogue, or the opportunities of it glaring in his eye and sounding in his ear. Gluttony is hardly known ; drunken ness is marked only by its degrading character, and by the evil consequences that flow so straight from it ; and it is abhorred.
VOL. II. —7
98 ETHICS OF THE HEROIC AGE.
But he loves the genial use of meals, and rejoices in the hour when the guests, gathered in his father's hall, enjoy a liberal hospitality, and the wine mantles in the cup. For then they listen to the strains of the minstrel, who celebrates before them the newest and the dearest of the heroic tales that stir their blood, and rouse their manly resolution to be worthy, in their turn, of their country and their country's heroes. He joins the dance in the festivals of religion ; the maiden's hand upon his wrist, and the gilded knife gleaming from his belt, as they course from point to point, or wheel in round on round. That maiden, some Nausicaa, or some Hermione of a neighboring district, in due time he weds, amidst the rejoicings of their families, and brings her home to cherish her, " from the flower to the ripeness of the grape," with respect, fidelity, and love.
Whether as a governor or as governed, politics bring him, in ordinary circumstances, no great share of trouble. Govern ment is a machine, of which the wheels move easily enough ; for they are well oiled by simplicity of usages, ideas, and desires ; by unity of interest ; by respect for authority, and for those in whose hands it is reposed ; by love of the common country, the common altar, the common festivals and games, to which already there is large resort. In peace he settles the disputes of his people, in war he lends them the precious ex ample of heroic daring. He consults them, and advises with them, on all grave affairs ; and his wakeful care for their inter ests is rewarded by the ample domains which are set apart for the prince by the people. Finally, he closes his eyes, delivering over the scepter to his son, and leaving much peace and happi ness around him.
Such was, probably, the state of society amidst the conclud ing phase of which Homer's youth, at least, was passed. But a dark and deep social revolution seems to have followed the Trojan war ; we have its workings already become visible in the Odyssey. Scarcely could even Odysseus cope with it, con tracted though it was for him within the narrow bounds of Ithaca. On the mainland, the bands of the elder society are soon wholly broken. The Pelopid, Neleid, GSnid houses are a wreck : disorganization invites the entry of new forces to control it ; the Dorian lances bristle on the ^Etolian beach, and the primitive Greece, the patriarchal Greece, the Greece of Homer, is no more.
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LIFE IN THE HOMERIC TIME. By J. P. MAHAFFY.
[John Pentlakd Mahafft, born in Switzerland of Irish parentage, February 26, 1839, is one of the most brilliant of recent scholars and writers on classical Greek subjects ; especially the literature, habits, and morals of the Hellenic or Hellenized peoples down to the time of Christ. He is professor of ancient his tory in Trinity College, Dublin. He has written only one formal history of events, " The Empire of the Ptolemies " (1896) ; though much valuable incidental historic and biographic matter is contained in his other works, the chief of which are "Social Life in Greece," " Greek Life and Thought" (a continuation of the former), "Greece under Roman Sway," "Problems in Greek History," " History of Greek Classical Literature," etc. ]
I estimate the society and the morals of the Iliad and Odyssey quite differently from those writers who have com pared them with primitive conditions in other nations. Of course primitive features remained, as they do in every nation ; but they were combined with vices which betray the decadence of culture, and with virtues rather springing from mature re flection and long experience than from the spontaneous impulse of a generous instinct.
Mr. Grote, Mr. Gladstone, and others have made the Ho meric age more familiar than any other phase of Greek life to English readers. They have accepted the descriptions of the rhapsodists as a literal account of a real contemporaneous society ; they have moreover deduced, with exceeding subtlety, all the inferences which can be extracted from the poems in favor of Homeric honor and purity. Every casual utterance is weighted with the deepest possible meaning ; every ordinary piece of good nature attributed to profound and self-denying benevolence. We are told that morals in historic Greece had decayed ; that a social state of real refinement and purity had passed away, to make way for cold calculation and selfish aggrandizement. How far this picture is real we shall see.
The mediaeval knights, with whom it is fashionable to com pare the princes of the Iliad and Odyssey, were wont to sum up the moral perfection which they esteemed under one com plex term — a term for which there is no equivalent in Greek — the term Honor. It may be easily and sufficiently analyzed into four component ideas, those of courage, truth, compassion, and loyalty. No man could approach the ideal of chivalry, or rank himself among gentlemen and men of honor, who was not
100 LITE IN THE HOMERIC TIME.
ready to contend, when occasion arose, against any odds, and thus to encounter death rather than yield one inch from his post. He must feel himself absolutely free from the stain of a single lie, or even of an equivocation. He must be ever ready to help the weak and the distressed, whether they be so by nature, as in the case of women and children, or by circumstances, as in the case of men overpowered by numbers. He must with his heart, and not with mere eyeservice, obey God and the king, or even such other authority as he voluntarily pledged himself to obey. A knight who violated any of these conditions, even if he escaped detection at the hands of his fellows, felt himself degraded, and untrue to the oath taken before God, and the obligation which he had bound himself to fulfill. This, I con ceive, was the ideal of knighthood.
Let us now turn to the Homeric poems to obtain information on these four points, remembering that, as the real knight may have fallen short of the ideal we have just sketched, so doubt less the real Homeric Greeks were considerably worse than the ideal characters depicted by the rhapsodists.
I believe I shall run counter to an old-established belief when I say that the courage of the Homeric chiefs — in this types of their historical descendants —was of a second-rate order. It was like the courage of the modern French, depend ent upon excitement, and vanishing quickly before depression and delay. No doubt the Greeks were a warlike nation, like the French, fond of glory, and reveling in excitement ; but they did not possess that stubborn valor which was the duty of the mediaeval knight, and which is the physical characteristic of the English and German soldier. With the exception of Achilles and of Diomede, all the chiefs in the Iliad are subject to panics, and fly before the enemy. Of course, the flattering bard ascribes these disgraceful scenes to the special interference of the gods, but as he equally attributes special feats of valor to a like interference, we may discount the marvelous element, and regard these men, as we do a French army, to be capable of splendid acts of daring and of courage, but liable to sudden relapse into dismay and craven flight. Even Achilles flies in fear from the pursuit of the river Scamander, but this is rather the dread of an ignoble death, as he himself says, than proper cowardice. Ajax, who approaches nearest of the ordinary men in the poem to our notions of a stubborn soldier — even he is surprised by panic, and makes for the ships.
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There are farther indications of the same thing in the Odyssey. When Ulysses hears from Circe what sufferings he has yet to undergo, he tells us himself, " So she spake, but my spirit was broken within me, and I sat crying on the bed, and I felt no more desire to live and see the light of the sun. " This was natural enough, but very different from the courage, not only of the mediaeval knight, but of the modern gentleman. Still worse, when the hero is telling Achilles among the Shades of the valor of his son Neoptolemus, he says that as the chiefs entered the wooden horse, though they were the best of the Greeks, yet " the other leaders of the Danai wiped tears from their eyes, and the limbs of each trembled beneath him, but Neoptolemus alone neither grew pale nor wept. "
These hints in an ideal description, professing to tell of the highest possible heroism, indicate plainly that the Greeks of the heroic age were no extraordinary heroes, and that they were not superior in the quality of courage to the Greeks of history. In this respect, then, the Acheean chiefs were indeed but the fore runners of their descendants. The same combination of war like ardor, but of alternating valor, meets us all through Greek history. The Athenians, the brave people who first ventured to look the barbarians in the face, whether at Sardis, or at Marathon, as Herodotus says — these brave Athenians are fre quently seized with panics and run for their lives. The same may be said of all the Greeks, except the Spartans, who suc ceeded in curing their national defect by a very strict and complete discipline. But this discipline controlled all their lives, and sacrificed all higher objects to that of making them stand firm in their ranks. I conclude this discipline to have been unnatural and strained, from the fact that no other Greek city, much as they all admired Spartan organization, ever at tempted to imitate it. When we nowadays see the German armies better disciplined than our own, we forthwith propose to reform ourselves on their model. No such attempt ever occurs in Greek history. This could hardly have been so, but for the reason just assigned. The Spartan training was so oppressive that not even the certainty of victory in battle could induce other Greek politicians to recommend it, or other Greek citizens to adopt it. Thucydides hints at this very plainly, and
in the mouth of Pericles, shows that even with inferior military training, the real advantages are on the side of wider culture. Aristotle supports the same view in stronger and more explicit
102 LIFE IN THE HOMERIC TIME.
terms. I cite these authorities to show how artificial and facti tious a thing the Spartan valor was, and how different from the spirit of the Viking, the Baron, and the Yeoman. We know, too, how even the Spartan valor collapsed as soon as Epami- nondas met it with superior tactics, and how little idea there was, either at Leuctra or Sphacteria, of resisting to the death. The Greeks, then, though a very warlike, were not a very cour ageous people.
The reasons of this curious combination are obvious enough, and worth a moment's digression. In the first place, the Greeks, from Homer's day downward, were an exceedingly sensitive people. Evidences of this feature crowd upon us in the Iliad and Odyssey. The delicate tact with which unpleas ant subjects are avoided in conversation shows how easily men were hurt by them, and how perfectly the speaker could fore tell it by his own feelings. In fact, so keenly alive are the Homeric Greeks to this great principle of politeness, that it seriously interferes with their truthfulness ; just as in the present day the Irish peasant, with the same lively imagination and the same sensitiveness, will instinctively avoid disagree able things, even if true, and " prophesy smooth things " when he desires especially to please. He is not less reluctant to be the bearer of bad news than the typical messenger in Greek tragedy, who complains, in regular stock phrases, of the hard and ungrateful duty thrust upon him by untoward circum stances.
To this mental sensitiveness there was doubtless joined a corresponding bodily sensitiveness. An acute sense of pain and of pleasure, delicate nerves of taste and touch — these gifts were essential for the artistic products in which the Greeks excelled. We know how important a place was held in histor ical times by cooks, and how keenly the Greeks enjoyed the more refined pleasures of the table. So we may find Plato's contemporaries disputing in music on the difference of notes almost identical, showing that they appreciated dissonances which we consider unimportant.
I cannot parallel these facts in Homer, except by a curious case of sensitiveness in smell. When Menelaus is windbound off the coast of Egypt, and at his wit's end, a goddess (Ei- dothea) explains to him how to catch and interrogate Proteus, and engages to place him in ambush, which she does by con cealing him with three comrades under fresh sealskins. These
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men were in danger of their lives, and were engaged on the perilous errand of doing violence to a marine god. Yet the point which left its mark most strongly on Menelaus' mind was the bad smell of the sealskins ! " That would have been a most dreadful ambush ; for a most deadly stench of sea-bred seals distressed us sore. For who would lie down beside a sea monster ? But the goddess saved us, and devised a great boon. She brought and put very sweet-smelling ambrosia under our nostrils, and it destroyed (counteracted) the smell of the seal. "
If we combine with this great delicacy of sensibility the gloomy and hopeless views which the Homeric Greeks held concerning a future life, we shall see good reason for their dread of death. For although Homer distinctly admits an after life, and even introduces us to it in the Odyssey, he represents the greatest kings and heroes in weakness and in misery, without hope or enjoyment, save in hearing the vague and scanty rumors that reached them from the world of mortal men. The blessed islands of the West were indeed even then a home for the dead, but they had not yet been opened to moral worth, as in the days of Pindar. They were reserved for those who, like Menelaus, had the good fortune of being nearly re lated to the gods by marriage or family connections. From this aristocratic heaven therefore even Agamemnon, Achilles, and Ajax were excluded, and wandered forlorn in the doleful meadow of asphodel.
There will be less controversy as to the low sense of truth among Homeric Greeks. At no period did the nation ever attain that high standard which is the great feature in Ger manic civilization. Even the Romans, with all their coarseness, stood higher in this respect. But neither in Iliad nor Odyssey is there, except in phrases, any reprobation of deceit as such. To deceive an enemy is meritorious, to deceive a stranger inno cent, to deceive even a friend perfectly unobjectionable if any object is to be gained. So it is remarked of Menelaus, as it were exceptionally, that he will tell the truth, if you press him, for he is very considerate. This was said to Telemachus, who was expecting melancholy news, and in such a case I have already observed that the Greeks would almost certainly avoid the truth. But the really leading characters (except Achilles) in the Odyssey and Iliad do not hesitate at all manner of lying. Ulysses is perpetually inventing, and so is his patroness, Pallas Athene ; and she actually mentions this quality of wily deceit
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as her special ground of love and affection for him. Zeus de ceives both gods and men, the other gods deceive Zeus ; in fact, the whole Homeric society is full of guile and falsehood.
There is indeed as yet a check upon men, which is often ignored in later Greek society. There is still a belief in the gods, and an expectation that if they are called to witness a transaction by means of an oath, that they will punish deceit. This belief, apparently surviving from an earlier and simpler state of society, must have been rudely shaken in Homeric times, when we consider the morality of Olympus in the epic poetry. The poets clearly held that the gods, if they were under no restraint, or fear of punishment from Zeus, were at liberty to deceive as they liked. One safeguard as yet re mained, the oath by the Styx ; the penalties of violating which are enumerated in Hesiod's " Theogony," and consist of nine years' transportation, with solitary confinement and hard labor. As for other oaths, the Hymn to Hermes shows that in succeeding generations their solemnity was openly ridiculed. Among the Homeric gods, as well as among the heroes, there were indeed old-fashioned characters who adhered to probity. The char acter of Apollo is unstained by deceit. So is that of Menelaus. But Apollo fails in defending his favorite against the reckless party politics of Here and Pallas ; he gives way in battle before Poseidon ; he is like Menelaus among men, an eminently re spectable but second-rate personage. The experience of Ho meric men was aged enough to know that probity secured no man from the troubles of life and the reverses of fortune. The gods were often ungrateful and thankless, and so the weight of public opinion inclined decidedly to the belief that honesty was indeed respectable, and of better repute than deceit, but that it was not safe to practice it without the help of superior force. So Achilles was master of the situation, and to him lying was useless to attain ends that might be better attained by force. This subject will naturally recur when we come to compare the Homeric with later Greeks.
We pass to the third element in chivalrous honor, a sense of compassion for the weak, and an obligation to assist the oppressed. Unfortunately this duty appears to have been dele gated to Zeus, whose amours and other amusements often pre vented him from attending to his business. How badly he performed it in this respect is plain from the very pathetic pas sages in which the condition of the decrepit father, the forlorn
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widow, and the helpless orphan are described. We must not for a moment imagine that the Homeric age was wanting in sympathy for children. On the contrary, Herodotus alone, of later Greek authors, shows this sympathy as strongly as we find it in the Iliad. The Homeric similes — and no similes are more thoroughly realistic" and drawn from actual experience — con stantly imply it. As a mother drives away the fly from her child when it lies in sweet sleep. " " Why do you weep like an infant girl, who, running along by her mother, begs to be carried, and holding on by her dress delays the hurrying woman, but looks up at her with her eyes full of tears in order that she may be taken up and carried? " Apollo destroys the earth works of the Greeks " very easily, as a child treats the shingle by the seaside, who, when he has heaped it up in his childish sport, in his sport again levels it all with his hands and feet. "
These comparisons are evidently drawn from the same society which suggested the delightful picture of Andromache with her nurse and darling son, coming to bid farewell to Hector as he was hurrying to the battle. The whole picture — the child " fair as a star," his terror at Hector's helmet and nodding crest, the strong love of the parents sorrowing at the very prospect of misfortune for their child : this picture, which I dare not abridge, and which is too long for quotation, shows no ordinary feeling for helpless innocence. But all this sympathy in the poet, and doubtless in the society which he described, did not save little children from cruelty and from neglect. There is no passage in the two poems, if we except that on the dog Argus, which will bring more tears into hard modern eyes than the lament of Andromache over Hector : —
Now thou beneath the depths of earth art gone, Gone to the viewless shades ; and me has left A widow in thy house, in deepest woe,
Our child an infant still, thy child and mine. Ill-fated parents both ! nor thou to him,
Hector, shalt be a guard, nor he to thee ;
For though he 'scape this tearful war with Greece, Yet naught for him remains but ceaseless woe,
And strangers on his heritage shall seize.
No young companions own the orphan boy.
With downcast eyes, and cheeks bedewed with tears, His father's friends approaching, pinched with want,
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He hangs upon the skirt of one, of one
He plucks the cloak ; perchance in pity some
May at their tables let him sip the cup,
Moisten his lips, but scarce his palate touch :
While youths with both surviving parents blest
May drive him from their feast with blows and taunts : Begone, thy father sits not at our board !
Then weeping to his widowed mother's arms
He flies, that orphan boy, Astyanax, etc.
It is here the lamentable condition of the orphan that strikes us so forcibly. "Who has seen the misery of men has seen nothing, one must see the misery of women ; who has seen the misery of women has seen nothing, one must see the misery of children. " How different, for example, do we find the Irish peasants, with whom I have already compared the Greeks, where the neighbors divide among them without complaint the children left destitute by the death or emigration of the parents, and extend their scanty fare and their wretched homestead to the orphan as to their own children. The Homeric gentleman, of whose refinement and delicate politeness we hear so much, was far removed from such generosity. We feel almost pain fully the beauty of the simile, by which the poet pictures the joy of Ulysses, when, after two nights and two days in the deep, he sees land from the summit of the great rocking wave (e 394) : —
As when a father on the point to die
Who for long time in sore disease hath lain,
By the strong fates tormented heavily
Till the pulse faileth for exceeding pain,
Feels the life stirring in his bones again,
While glad at heart his children smile around ;
He also smiles — the gods have loosed his chain —
So welcome seemed the land, with forest crowned,
And he rejoicing swam, and yearned to feel the ground.
And again (6 523) : " As when a woman weeps falling upon the body of her dear lord, who has fallen before his city, and com manding his people, in defending the town and his children from the pitiless day [of slavery] . She then, seeing him gasp ing in death, casts her arms about him with shrill cries. But they (the enemy) striking her with spears on the back and
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shoulders, bring her into slavery, to have sorrow and misery, and her cheeks waste with piteous woe. "
Little, indeed, need be said about the respect for the rights of women. As is well known, when a town was captured, the noblest and fairest ladies, whether married or not, became the property of the victors as their concubines. But a still more significant fact has not been adequately noted — that such a fate, though felt as a lamentable misfortune, was in no sense a dishonor to the Greek lady, of which she need afterwards be ashamed. In spite of all the courtliness with which ladies are treated in the Homeric poems, in spite of the refinement of their characters and the politeness of their ordinary life, the hard fact remains that they were the property of the stronger, and that they submitted to this fate without being compromised in society. Neither Briseis nor Chryseis seem the least dis graced by their residence in the Greek camp ; and still worse,
Helen, after living for years with Paris, is then handed over to Deiphobus, and finally taken back by Menelaus without scruple or difficulty. If we weigh carefully her appearance in the Odyssey, we shall see that her regrets are chiefly for the tur moil she has caused, and for the tears and blood wasted upon her recovery; her dignity has suffered no great shock, nor does she avoid (except in words) the eyes of men.
These facts show with great clearness how completely the law of force prevailed over the weak, and how the Homeric lady was so constrained by its iron necessity, that all delicate feeling, however ornamental to the surface of society, vanished in stern practice. The case of Penelope corroborates this view: it was hateful to her to marry one of the rude and ungentle- manly suitors, who thrust their attentions upon her in her grief. Yet if Ulysses were surely dead, there was no help, she must pass into their hands, whether she choose it or not.
Stranger and not less characteristic is the treatment of old age. The king or chief, as soon as his bodily vigor passed away, was apparently pushed aside by younger and stronger men. He might either maintain himself by extraordinary use fulness, like Nestor, or be supported by his children, if they chanced to be affectionate and dutiful; but except in these cases his lot was sad indeed. We hear Achilles lamenting that doubtless in his absence the neighboring chiefs are ill- treating the aged Peleus, and he longs to dye his spear in their blood. We see Laertes, the father of Ulysses, exiled, appar
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ently by grief and disgust, to a barren farm in the country, and spending the close of his life, not in honor and comfort, but in poverty and hardship. When these princes, who had sons that might return any day to avenge them, were treated in such a way, it is surely no strained inference to say that unprotected old age commanded very little veneration or re spect among the Homeric Greeks. While therefore we find here, too, much courtliness of manner, and respectfulness of address towards the aged from their younger relations, the facts indicate that helpless women and children and worn-out men received scanty justice and little consideration. Among friends and neighbors, at peace and in good humor, they were treated with delicacy and refinement; but with the first clash of con flicting interests such considerations vanished. The age was no longer, as I have said, a believing age; the interference of the gods to protect the weak was no longer the object of a simple faith, and Greek chivalry rested on no firmer basis.
I may add, by anticipation, that at no period of Greek his tory can we find old age commanding that respect and rever ence which has been accorded it in modern Europe. We hear, indeed, that at Sparta the strictest regulations were made as to the conduct of young men towards elders; but this seems an exceptional case, like most things at Sparta. There is a hack neyed story of an old man coming into the crowded theater at Athens, and looking in vain for a seat, till he came near the Spartan embassy, who at once stood up and made room for him. Though the whole theater applauded this act of courtesy, I am sure they did not habitually imitate it. The lyric and tragic poets, as I shall show by ample quotations in future chapters, were perpetually cursing the miseries of old age, and blessing youth, fair in poverty, fairer still in riches. Probably old Athenian gentlemen were for these reasons like old French men, who are very prone to prolong their youth by artificial means, and strive to maintain a place among their fellows which they will lose when they are confessedly of the past generation. And so in Greece, as in France, old age may have come to lack that dignity and that importance which it obtains in the British army, on our Governing Boards, and in Chinese society. The comic features in Euripides' old men, and their ridiculous at tempts to dance and to fight, show the popular feeling about them to have recognized this weakness. But apart from these peculiarities of race, the feverish and agitated condition of
LIFE IN THE HOMERIC TIME. 109
Greek politics, the perpetual wars and civil conflicts must have made prompt action and quick decision all-important; and so the citizens could not brook the slowness and caution of old age, which often mistakes hesitation for deliberation, and brands prompt vigor as rashness.
There yet remains the idea of loyalty — I mean hearty and unflinching allegiance to superior authority, or to the obliga tions taken by oath or promise. The idea is not unknown to Homer's men and women. Achilles and Penelope (more espe cially the latter) are in the highest sense loyal, the one to his friend Patroclus, the other to her husband Ulysses. But in the Greek camp, the chiefs in general are woefully deficient in that chivalrous quality. I will not lay stress on their want of conjugal loyalty, — a point in which Menelaus, according to the scholiasts, formed an honorable but solitary exception. In those days, as in the times of the Mosaic law, absolute fidel ity was expected from women, but not from men. In their own homes, indeed, scandals of this kind were avoided as the
cause of ill will and domestic discomfort. It is specially ob served that Laertes avoided these relations with Euryclea from respect for his wife's feelings, and the misconduct of the suitors in the same direction is specially reprobated; but when the chiefs were away at their wars, or traveling, the bard seems to expect no continence whatever. The model Ulysses may serve as an example, instar omnium.
But it is in their treatment of Agamemnon that the want of loyalty is specially prominent. Achilles is quite ready to insult him ; and but for the promptings of Athene (that is, of pru dence), who suggests that he may play a more lucrative game by confining himself to sulkiness and bad language, is ready even to kill him. The poet, too, clearly sympathizes with Achilles.
He paints Agamemnon as a weak and inferior man, succeeding by fortune to a great kingdom, but quite unfit to govern or lead the turbulent princes whose oath had bound them to fol low him to Troy. It is in fact Ulysses, Diomede, and Nestor who direct him what to do. It may be said that we might ex pect such insubordination in the case of an armament collected for a special purpose, and that even the mediaeval knights did not escape this disgrace in the very parallel case of the Cru sades. I will not, then, press the point, though Agamemnon's title to supremacy is far different from that of Godfrey de Bouillon. Take the case of Peleus, which I have already men
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tioned. Take the case of Ithaca in the absence of its king : we are told repeatedly that he treated his people like a father, and yet only a few old servants seem to side with him against the worthless aspirants to the throne.
The ezperimentum cruris, however, is the picture of the gods in Olympus. We have here Zeus, a sort of easy-going but all- powerful Agamemnon, ruling over a number of turbulent self- willed lesser gods, who are perpetually trying to evade and thwart his commands. At intervals he wakes up and terrifies them into submission by threats, but it is evident that he can count on no higher principle. Here, Poseidon, Ares, Aphro dite, Pallas, all are thoroughly insubordinate, and loyal to one thing only, that is, their party. Faction, as among the Greeks of Thucydides, had clearly usurped the place of principle ; and we are actually presented with the strange picture of a city of gods more immoral, more faithless, and more depraved than the world of men.
This curious feature has much exercised critics, and caused many conjectures as to the real moral attitude of the epic poets. I think the most natural explanation is based upon the notorious levity and recklessness of the Ionic character, as developed in Asia Minor. We know from the lyric poets, we know from the course of history, how the pleasure-loving Ionians of Asia Minor seem to have lost all the stronger fiber that marked the Greeks of Hellas. Reveling in plenty, associating with Asiatic splendor and luxury, they very soon lost those sterner fea tures — love of liberty, self-denying heroism, humble submission to the gods — which still survived in Greece ; and thus I con ceive the courts at which the bards sang, enjoyed a very free and even profane handling of the gods as a racy and piquant entertainment, so that presently it was extended even to the so-called Homeric hymns, which of all Greek poetry treat the gods in the most homely and even sensual way. The Hymn to Aphrodite, detailing her amour with Anchises, and that to Hermes, detailing his theft and perjury, are exact counterparts to the lay of Demodocus, which treats both Ares and Aphrodite in the same way.
This bold and familiar attitude was narrowly connected with another leading feature in the Greeks — their realism in art. There is nothing vague, or exaggerated, or incompre hensible, tolerated by their chaste judgment and their correct taste. The figures of dogs or men, cast by Hephsestus, are
LIFE IN THE HOMERIC TIME. Ill
specially remarked for being lifelike throughout the Homeric poems. They actually walk about, and are animated by his peculiar cunning. This, as Overbeck has well observed, is merely the strong expression of the object proposed to himself by the Greek artist, in contrast to the cold repose and mute deadness of Egyptian sculpture. The Egyptians seldom meant to imitate life in action. The Greeks, from their very first rude essays, set before them this higher goal. Like the statu ary, so the poet did not waste his breath in the tiresome and vague adoration of the Egyptian psalmist, but clothed his gods in the fairest and best human form, and endowed them with a human intellect and human will.
Homer's gods are therefore too human to embody an abstract principle ; and so this side of their religion the poets relegated to certain personified abstractions, which seldom appear, and which seem to stand apart from the life of the Olympic gods. Perhaps Zeus himself, in his Dodonean character, has this im personal aspect as the Father of light and of good. But Zeus of Olympus is quite a different conception. So there is a per sonified or semipersonified Ai'Stu? and an "Atj; and Acrai and an 'E/jiVw, which represent stern and lasting moral ideas, and which relieve the Olympic gods from the necessity of doing so, except when the poet finds it suitable to his purpose. But as these moral ideas restrained and checked men, so the special privilege of the gods seems to be the almost total freedom from such control. The society of Olympus, therefore, is only an ideal Greek society in the lowest sense, — the ideal of the schoolboy, who thinks all control irksome, and its absence the summum bonum, —the ideal of a voluptuous man, who has strong passions, and longs for the power to indulge them with out unpleasant consequences.
It appears to me, therefore, that the Homeric picture of Olympus is very valuable as disclosing to us the poet's notion of a society freed from the restraints of religion. For the rhapsodists were dealing a deathblow (perhaps unconsciously) to their religion by these very pictures of sin and crime among their gods. Their idea is a sort of semimonarchical aristoc racy, where a number of persons have the power to help favor ites, and thwart the general progress of affairs ; where love of faction overpowers every other consideration, and justifies violence or deceit. It will quite satisfy our present object to select the one typical character which both the poems place in
112 LIFE IN THE HOMERIC TIME.
the foreground as the Greek ideal of intelligence and power of the highest order.
The leading personage in Homer's world of men and gods is undoubtedly Pallas Athene. She embodies all the qualities which were most highly esteemed in those days. She is evi dently meant to be the greatest and most admirable of the deities that concern themselves with men. Yet, as Mr. Hay- man has truly observed, she is rather infra-human than super human. There is no touch of any kindly feeling, no affection or respect for either God or man. There is not even a trace of sex, except in her occasional touches of spite. " Her character is without tenderness or tie of any sort ; it never owns obliga tion, it never feels pain or privation, it is pitiless ; with no gross appetites, its activity is busy and restless, its partisanship unscrupulous, its policy astute, and its dissimulation profound. It is keenly satirical, crafty, whispering base motives of the good (indeed she comprehends no others), beating down the strong, mocking the weak, and exulting over them ; heart less — yet stanch to a comrade ; touched by a sense of liking and admiration for its like, [she accounts expressly for her love of Ulysses by his roguery and cunning,] of truth to its party ; ready to prompt and back a friend through every hazard. " Such is Mr. Hayman's picture, verified by citations for each and every statement.
This very disagreeable picture is not, as he would have it, an impersonation of what we call the world. Surely the modern world at least professes some high motives, and is touched by some compassion. But it is the impersonation of the Greek world, as conceived by Thucydides in his famous reflections on the Corcyraean massacre. He was mistaken in deed, profoundly mistaken, as we shall often see in the sequel, in considering this hard and selfish type a special outcome of the civil wars. No doubt they stimulated and multiplied it. But here, in the Iliad and Odyssey, in the days of Greek chiv alry and Greek romance, even here we have the poet creating his ideal type — intellect and energy unshackled by restraints ; and we obtain a picture which, but for the total absence of sex, might be aptly described as a female Antiphon. The great
historian, despite of his moral reflections, speaks of Antiphon, the political assassin, the public traitor to his constitution, as " in general merit second to none. " The great epic poet silently expresses the same judgment on his own Pallas Athene.
THE GREEK FUTURE LIFE. 113
THE GREEK FUTURE LIFE.
By PINDAB.
(Translation of John Conington. )
I.
They from whom Persephone
Due atonement shall receive
For the things that made to grieve,
To the upper sunlight she
Sendeth back their souls once more, Soon as winters eight are o'er.
From those blessed spirits spring Many a great and goodly king, Many a man of glowing might, Many a wise and learned wight: And while after days endure,
Men esteem them heroes pure.
Shines for them the sun's warm glow When 'tis darkness here below:
And the ground before their towers, Meadow land with purple flowers, Teems with incense-bearing treen, Teems with fruit of golden sheen. Some in steed and wrestling feat, Some in dice take pleasure sweet, Some in harping: at their side Blooms the spring in all her pride. Fragrance all about is blown
O'er that country of desire. Ever as rich gifts are thrown Freely on the far-seen fire
Blazing from the altar stone.
But the souls of the profane,
Far from heaven removed below,
Flit on earth in murderous pain 'Neath the unyielding yoke of woe; While pious spirits tenanting the sky
Chant praises to the mighty one on high. VOL. II. —8
THE GREEK FUTURE LIFE.
ii.
For them the night all through,
In that broad realm below,
The splendor of the sun spreads endless light;
'Mid rosy meadows bright,
Their city of the tombs with incense trees,
And golden chalices
Of flowers, and fruitage fair, Scenting the breezy air,
Is laden. There with horses and with play,
With games and lyres, they while the hours away.
On every side around
Pure happiness is found,
With all the blooming beauty of the world;
There fragrant smoke, upcurled From altars where the blazing fire is dense
With perfumed frankincense,
Burned unto gods in heaven,
Through all the land is driven,
Making its pleasant place odorous
With scented gales and sweet airs amorous.
m.
(Translation of A. Moore. )
The day comes fast when all men must depart,
And pay for present pride in future woes.
The deeds that frantic mortals do
In this disordered nook of Jove's domain,
All meet their meed; and there's a Judge below Whose hateful doom inflicts th' inevitable pain.
O'er the Good soft suns the while Through the mild day, the night serene,
Alike with cloudless luster smile, Tempering all the tranquil scene. Theirs is leisure ; vex not they Stubborn soil or watery way,
To wring from toil want' s worthless bread : No ills they know, no tears they shed,
But with the glorious Gods below
Ages of peace contented share.
Meanwhile the Bad with bitterest woe
Eye-startling tasks and endless tortures wear.
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA. 115
All, whose steadfast virtue thrice
Each side the grave unchanged hath stood
Still unseduced, unstained with vice, They by Jove's mysterious road
Pass to Saturn's realm of rest,
Happy isle that holds the blest;
Where sea-born breezes gently blow
O'er blooms of gold that round them glow, Which Nature boon from stream or strand
Or goodly tree profusely pours;
Whence pluck they many a fragrant band,
And braid their locks with never-fading flowers.
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA. (From the Iliad of Homer : translated by Alexander Pope. )
[Homer : His date, instead of being somewhat cleared up by recent archae ological discoveries, is rendered more obscure than ever. The reality and remote date of the Trojan war prove nothing, because he certainly lived long enough after it for the exact site to have been forgotten, for the city and plain he de scribes do not correspond at all with those of Hissarlik. Professor Sayce has shown that the dialect of our Iliad is a later one ; yet Homer lived early enough for his personality to be mere guesswork, even in the sixth century.
Alexander Pope : An English poet ; born May 22, 1688. His whole career was one of purely poetic work and the personal relations it brought him into. He published the "Essay on Criticism" in 1710, the "Rape of the Lock" in 1711, the "Messiah" in 1712, his translation of the Iliad in 1718- 1720, and of the Odyssey in 1725. His " Essay on Man," whose thoughts were mainly suggested by Bolingbroke, appeared in 1733. His "Satires," modeled on Horace's manner, but not at all in his spirit, are among his best-known works. He died May 30, 1744. ]
Book I.
Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing !
That wrath which hurled to Pluto's gloomy reign
The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain ;
Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore :
Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,
Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jovel
Declare, O Muse ! in what ill-fated hour Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA
Latona's son a dire contagion spread,
And heaped the camp with mountains of the dead. The king of men his reverent priest defied,
And for the king's offense the people died.
For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain His captive daughter from the victor's chain. Suppliant the venerable father stands ;
Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands :
By these he begs ; and lowly bending down, Extends the scepter and the laurel crown.
He sued to all, but chief implored for grace
The brother kings, of Atreus' royal race : —
"Ye kings and warriors ! may your vows be crowned And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground.
May Jove restore you when your toils are o'er
Safe to the pleasures of your native shore.
But, oh I relieve a wretched parent's pain, And give Chrysels to these arms again ;
If mercy fail, yet let my presents move, And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove. "
The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare, The priest to reverence, and release the fair.
Not so Atrides : he, with kingly pride, — Repulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied :
" Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains, Nor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains : Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod ;
Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god.
Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain ;
And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain Till time shall rifle every youthful grace,
And age dismiss her from my cold embrace.
In daily labors of the loom employed,
Or doomed to deck the bed she once enjoyed.
Hence then ; to Argos shall the maid retire,
Far from her native soil or weeping sire. "
The trembling priest along the shore returned, And in the anguish of a father mourned. Disconsolate, not daring to complain,
Silent he wandered by the sounding main ;
Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays, — The god who darts around the world his rays :
" O Smintheus ! sprung from fair Latona's line, Thou guardian power of Cilia the divine,
Thou source of light ! whom Tenedos adores,
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA 117
And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's shores If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,
Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain ;
God of the silver bow ! thy shafts employ,
Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy. "
Thus Chryses prayed: —the favoring power attends,
And from Olympus' lofty tops descends.
Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound ; Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound. Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread, And gloomy darkness rolled about his head.
The fleet in view, he twanged his deadly bow, And hissing fly the feathered fates below.
On mules and dogs the infection first began ; And last, the vengeful arrows fixed in man.
For nine long nights, through all the dusky air, The pyres, thick-flaming, shot a dismal glare. But ere the tenth revolving day was run, Inspired by Juno, Thetis' godlike son
Convened to council all the Grecian train ;
For much the goddess mourned her heroes slain. The assembly seated, rising o'er the rest, — Achilles thus the king of men addressed :
" Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore,
And measure back the seas we crossed before ?
The plague destroying whom the sword would spare, 'Tis time to save the few remains of war.
But let some prophet, or some sacred sage,
Explore the cause of great Apollo's rage ;
Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove
By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove. If broken vows this heavy curse have laid,
Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid.
So Heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore,
And Phoebus dart his burning shafts no more. "
He said, and sat: when Calchas thus replied; Calchas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide, That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view, The past, the present, and the future knew: Uprising slow, the venerable sage
Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age : —
" Beloved of Jove, Achilles ! wouldst thou know
Why angry Phoebus bends his fatal bow ?
First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word Of sure protection, by thy power and sword :
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DBAMA.
For I must speak what wisdom would conceal, And truths, invidious to the great, reveal.
Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise, Instruct a monarch where his error lies ;
To whom Pelides : " From thy inmost soul
Speak what thou know'st, and speak without controL E'en by that god I swear who rules the day,
To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey,
And whose blessed oracles thy lips declare ;
Long as Achilles breathes this vital air,
No daring Greek, of all the numerous band,
Against his priest shall lift an impious hand ;
Not e'en the chief by whom our hosts are led,
The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head. "
Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies : — "Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice,
But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest, Apollo's vengeance for his injured priest.
Nor will the god's awakened fury cease,
But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase, Till the great king, without a ransom paid,
To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid. Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer,
The priest may pardon, and the god may spare. "
The prophet spoke : when with a gloomy frown The monarch started from his shining throne; Black choler filled his breast that boiled with ire, And from his eyeballs flashed the living fire.
" Augur accursed ! denouncing mischief still,
Prophet of plagues, forever boding ill I
Still must that tongue some wounding message bring, And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king ?
For this are Phoebus' oracles explored,
To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord ?
For this with falsehood is my honor stained,
Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned ;
Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold,
And heavenly charms prefer to proffered gold ?
A maid unmatched in manners as in face,
Skilled in each art, and crowned with every grace ; Not half so dear were Clytaemnestra's charms,
When first her blooming beauties blessed my arms. Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail ;
For though we deem the short-lived fury past, 'Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last. "
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA 119
Our cares are only for the public weal :
Let me be deemed the hateful cause of all, And suffer, rather than my people fall.
The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign, So dearly valued, and so justly mine.
But since for common good I yield the fair, My private loss let grateful Greece repair ; Nor unrewarded let your prince complain, That he alone has fought and bled in vain. "
" Insatiate king (Achilles thus replies),
Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize !
Wouldst thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well-fought field ?
The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain,
We share with justice, as with toil we gain ;
But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves
(That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.
Yet if our chief for plunder only fight,
The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite,
Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conquering powers
Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers. "
Then thus the king : " Shall I my prize resign With tame content, and thou possessed of thine ? Great as thou art, and like a god in fight,
Think not to rob me of a soldier's right.
At thy demand shall I restore the maid :
First let the just equivalent be paid ;
Such as a king might ask ; and let it be
A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.
Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim This hand shall seize some other captive dame. The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign; Ulysses' spoils, or even thy own, be mine.
The man who suffers, loudly may complain ; And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain. But this when time requires. — It now remains We launch a bark to plow the watery plains, And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa's shores, With chosen pilots, and with laboring oars. Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend,
And some deputed prince the charge attend: This Creta's king, or Ajax shall fulfill,
Or wise Ulysses see performed our will ;
Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain,
Achilles' self conduct her o'er the main ;
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA
Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,
The god propitiate, and the pest assuage. " — " At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied :
O tyrant, armed with insolence and pride ! Inglorious slave to interest, ever joined
With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind !
What generous Greek, obedient to thy word, Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword ? What cause have I to war at thy decree ?
The distant Trojans never injured me;
To Pythia's realms no hostile troops they led :
Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed ;
Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main, And walls of rocks, secure my native reign,
Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace,
Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race.
Hither we sailed, a voluntary throng,
To avenge a private, not a public wrong :
What else to Troy the assembled nations draws, But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother's cause ?
Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve ; Disgraced and injured by the man we serve ?
And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away, Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day ?
A prize as small, O tyrant ! matched with thine, As thy own actions if compared to mine.
Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey, Though mine the sweat and danger of the day. Some trivial present to my ships I bear :
Or barren praises pay the wounds of war.
But now, proud monarch, I'm thy slave no more ; My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia's shore :
Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain, " What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain ?
To this the king : " Fly, mighty warrior ! fly ; Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.
There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight, And Jove himself shall guard a monarch's right. Of all the kings (the god's distinguished care)
To power superior none such hatred bear;
Strife and debate thy restless soul employ,
And wars and horrors are thy savage joy.
If thou hast strength, 'twas Heaven that strength bestowed For know, vain man ! thy valor is from God.
Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away !
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA 121
Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway ;
I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate
Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate. Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons : — but here 'Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear. Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand,
My bark shall waft her to her native land;
But then prepare, imperious prince ! prepare,
Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair :
Even in thy tent I'll seize the blooming prize,
Thy loved Briseis with the radiant eyes.
Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour Thou stood'st a rival of imperial power ;
And hence, to all our hosts it shall be known,
That kings are subject to the gods alone. "
Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppressed,
His heart swelled high, and labored in his breast ; Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled ;
Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cooled :
That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword,
Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord ; This whispers soft his vengeance to control
And calm the rising tempest of his soul.
Just as in anguish of suspense he stayed,
While half unsheathed appeared the glittering blade, Minerva swift descended from above,
Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove
(For both the princes claimed her equal care) ; Behind she stood, and by the golden hair Achilles seized ; to him alone confessed ;
A sable cloud concealed her from the rest.
He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries, — Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes :
" Descends Minerva, in her guardian care,
A heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear
From Atreus' son ? — Then let those eyes that view The daring crime, behold the vengeance too. "
" Forbear (the progeny of Jove replies), To calm thy fury I forsake the skies :
Let great Achilles, to the gods resigned,
To reason yield the empire o'er his mind.
By awful Juno this command is given :
The king and you are both the care of heaven. The force of keen reproaches let him feel ; But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel.
OPENING OF THE ILIAD'S DRAMA.
For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power) Thy injured honor has its fated hour,
When the proud monarch shall thy arms implore, And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store. Then let revenge no longer bear the sway ; Command thy passions, and the gods obey. "
To her Pelides : " With regardful ear,
I thy dictates hear. Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress :
'Tis just, O goddess !
Those who revere the gods the gods will bless. " He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid ; Then in the sheath returned the shining blade. The goddess swift to high Olympus flies,
And joins the sacred senate of the skies.