(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!) The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, Must see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, My mother’s death, the ruin of my kind, Not Priam’s hoary hairs defiled with gore, Not all my brothel’s gasping on the shore, As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread.
“I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led! In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes, of which so large a part was thine! To bear the victor’s hard commands, or bring The weight of waters from Hype’ria’s spring. There, while you groan beneath the load of life, They cry: ‘Behold the mighty Hector’s wife!’ Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, Embitters all thy woes by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, A thousand griefs shall waken at the name! May I lie cold before that dreadful day, Pressed with a load of monumental clay! Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.”
Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy Stretched his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. The babe clung crying to his nurse’s breast, Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest. With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled, And Hector hasted to relieve his child; The glittering terrors from his brows unbound, And placed the beaming helmet on the ground. Then kissed the child, and, lifting high in air, Thus to the gods preferred a father’s prayer:
“O thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne, And all ye deathless powers! protect my son! Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown, Against his country’s foes the war to wage, And rise the Hector of the future age!
So when triumphant from successful toils, Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils, Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim, And say, ‘This chief transcends his father’s fame;’ While pleased, amidst the general shouts of Troy, His mother’s conscious heart o’erflows with joy.”
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms, Restored the pleasing burden to her arms; Soft on her fragrant breast the babe he laid, Hush’d to repose, and with a smile survey’d. The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, She mingled with the smile a tender tear. The soften’d chief with kind compassion view’d, And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:
“Andromache, my soul’s far better part, Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb. Fix’d is the term to all the race of earth; And such the hard condition of our birth, No force can then resist, no flight can save– All sink alike, the fearful and the brave. No more–but hasten to thy tasks at home, There guide the spindle and direct the loom: Me, glory summons to the martial scene– The field of combat is the sphere of men; Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim, The first in danger, as the first in fame.”
Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes His towery helmet black with shading plumes. His princess parts with a prophetic sigh, Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye, That stream’d at every look; then, moving slow, Sought her own palace and indulged her woe. There, while her tears deplored the godlike man, Through all her train the soft infection ran: The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed, And mourn the living Hector as the dead. –B. VI. POPE’S. Trans.
HECTOR’S EXPLOITS, AND DEATH OF PATRO’CLUS.
Hector hastened to the field, and there his exploits aroused the enthusiasm and courage of his countrymen; who drove back the Grecian hosts. Disheartened, the Greeks sent Ulysses and Ajax to Achilles to plead with that warrior for his return with his forces to the Grecian camp. But Achilles obstinately refused to take part in the conflict, which was continued with varying success, until the Trojans succeeded in breaking through the Grecian wall, and attempted to fire the Greek ships, which were saved by the valor of Ajax. In compliance with the request of the aged Nestor, however, of whom the poet YOUNG tells us that–
When Nestor spoke, none asked if he prevailed; That god of sweet persuasion never failed–
Achilles now placed his own armor on Patroclus, and, giving him also his shield, sent him to the aid of the Greeks. The Trojans, supposing Patroclus to be the famous Achilles, became panic-stricken, and were pursued with great slaughter to the walls of Troy.
Apollo now goes to the aid of the Trojans, smites Patroclus, whose armor is strewn on the plain, and then the hero is killed by Hector, who proudly places the plume of Achilles on his own helmet.
His spear in shivers falls; his ample shield Drops from his arm; his baldric strews the field; The corslet his astonished breast forsakes; Loose is each joint; each nerve with horror shakes; Stupid he stares, and all assistless stands: Such is the force of more than mortal hands.
Achilles’ plume is stained with dust and gore: That plume which never stooped to earth before, Long used, untouched, in fighting fields to shine, And shade the temples of the mad divine. Jove dooms it now on Hector’s helm to nod; Not long–for fate pursues him, and the god. –B. XVI.
Then ensued a most terrific conflict for the body of the slain warrior, in which Ajax, Glaucus, Hector, Æneas, and Menelaus participated, the latter finally succeeding in bearing it off to the ships. The grief of Achilles over the body of his friend, and at the loss of his wonderful armor, is represented as being intense; and so great a blow to the Greeks was the loss of the armor considered, that Vulcan formed for Achilles a new one, and also a new shield. Homer’s description of the latter piece of marvelous workmanship–which is often referred to as a truthful picture of the times, and especially of the advanced condition of some of the arts and sciences in the Heroic, or post-Heroic, age–is too long for insertion here entire; but we proceed to give sufficient extracts from it to show at least the magnificent conception of the poet.
How Vulcan Formed the Shield of Achilles.
He first a vast and massive buckler made; There all the wonders of his work displayed, With silver belt adorned, and triply wound, Orb within orb, the border beaming round. Five plates composed the shield; these Vulcan’s art Charged with his skilful mind each varied part.
There earth, there heaven appeared; there ocean flowed; There the orbed moon and sun unwearied glowed; There every star that gems the brow of night– Ple’iads and Hy’ads, and O-ri’on’s might; The Bear, that, watchful in his ceaseless roll Around the star whose light illumes the pole, Still eyes Orion, nor e’er stoops to lave His beams unconscious of the ocean wave.
There, by the god’s creative power revealed, Two stately cities filled with life the shield. Here nuptials–solemn rites–and throngs of gay Assembled guests; forth issuing filled the way. Bright blazed the torches as they swept along Through streets that rung with hymeneal song; And while gay youths, swift circling round and round, Danced to the pipe and harp’s harmonious sound, The women thronged, and wondering as they viewed, Stood in each portal and the pomp pursued.
Next on the shield a forum met the view; Two men, contending, there a concourse drew: A citizen was slain; keen rose the strife– ‘Twas compensation claim’d for loss of life. This swore, the mulct for blood was strictly paid: This, that the fine long due was yet delayed. Both claim’d th’ award and bade the laws decide; And partial numbers, ranged on either side, With eager clamors for decision call,
Till the feared heralds seat and silence all. There the hoar elders, in their sacred place, On seats of polished stone the circle grace; Rise with a herald’s sceptre, weigh the cause, And speak in turn the sentence of the laws; While, in the midst, for him to bear away Who rightliest spoke, two golden talents lay.
The other city on the shield displayed Two hosts that girt it, in bright mail arrayed; Diverse their counsel: these to burn decide, And those to seize, and all its wealth divide. The town their summons scorned, resistance dared, And secretly for ambush arms prepared.
Wife, grandsire, child, one soul alike in all, Stand on the battlements and guard the wall. Mars, Pallas, led their host: gold either god, A golden radiance from their armor flowed.
Next, described as displayed on the shield, is a picture of spies at a distance, an ambuscade, and a battle; the scene then changes to ploughing and sowing, and the incidents connected with the gathering of a bountiful harvest; then are introduced a vineyard, the gathering of the grapes, and a merrymaking by the youths at the close of the day; then we have a wild outlying scene of herdsmen with their cattle, the latter attacked by two famished lions, and the tumult that followed. The description closes as follows:
Now the god’s changeful artifice displayed Fair flocks at pasture in a lovely glade; And folds and sheltering stalls peeped up between, And shepherd-huts diversified the scene.
Now on the shield a choir appear’d to move, Whose flying feet the tuneful labyrinth wove; Youths and fair girls there, hand in hand, advanced, Timed to the song their steps, and gayly danced. Round every maid light robes of linen flowed; Round every youth a glossy tunic glowed; Those wreathed with flowers, while from their partners hung Swords that, all gold, from belts of silver swung.
Train’d by nice art each flexile limb to wind, Their twinkling feet the measured maze entwined, Fleet as the wheel whose use the potter tries, When, twirl’d beneath his hand, its axle flies. Now all at once their graceful ranks combine, Each rang’d against the other, line with line.
The crowd flock’d round, and, wondering as they view’d, Thro’ every change the varying dance pursued; The while two tumblers, as they led the song, Turned in the midst and rolled themselves along. Then, last, the god the force of Ocean bound, And poured its waves the buckler’s orb around. –B. XVIII. SOTHEBY’S Trans.
Achilles Engages in the Fight.
Desire to avenge the death of Patroclus proves more powerful in the breast of Achilles than anger against Agamemnon, and, clad in his new armor, he is with difficulty restrained from rushing alone into the fight while his comrades are resting. Turning and addressing his horses, he reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is represented as being Miraculously endowed with voice, and, replying to Achilles, prophesies his death in the near future; but, with unabated rage, the intrepid chief replies:
“So let it be!
Portents and prodigies are lost on me. I know my fate: to die, to see no more
My much-loved parents and my native shore. Enough–when Heaven ordains I sink in night. Now perish Troy!” he said, and rushed to fight.
Jupiter now assembles the gods in council, and permits them to assist either party. The poet vividly describes the terrors of the combat and the tumult that arose when “the powers descending swelled the fight.” Achilles first encounters Æne’as, who is preserved by Neptune; he then meets Hector, whom he is on the point of killing, when Apollo rescues him and carries him away in a cloud. The Trojans, defeated with terrible slaughter, are driven into the river Scamander, where Achilles receives the aid of Neptune and Pallas.
This Death of Hector.
Vulcan having dried up the Scamander in aid of the Trojans, all those who survive, save Hector, seek refuge in Troy. This hero alone remains without the walls to oppose Achilles. At the latter’s advance, however, Hector’s resolution and courage fail him, and he flees, pursued by Achilles three times around the city; At length he turns upon his pursuer, determined to meet his fate; and the account of the meeting and contest with Achilles, as translated by BRYANT, is as follows:
He spake, and drew the keen-edged sword that hung, Massive and finely tempered, at his side, And sprang–as when an eagle high in heaven Through the thick cloud darts downward to the plain, To clutch some tender lamb or timid hare. So Hector, brandishing that keen-edged sword, Sprang forward, while Achilles opposite Leaped toward him, all on fire with savage hate, And holding his bright buckler, nobly wrought, Before him. As in the still hours of night Hesper goes forth among the host of stars, The fairest light of heaven, so brightly shone, Brandished in the right hand of Pe’leus’ son, The spear’s keen blade, as, confident to slay The noble Hector, o’er his glorious form His quick eye ran, exploring where to plant The surest wound. The glittering mail of brass Won from the slain Patroclus guarded well Each part, save only where the collar-bones Divide the shoulder from the neck, and there Appeared the throat, the spot where life is most In peril. Through that part the noble son Of Peleus drave his spear; it went quite through The tender neck, and yet the brazen blade Cleft not the windpipe, and the power to speak Remained.
And then the crested Hector faintly said: “I pray thee, by thy life, and by thy knees, And by thy parents, suffer not the dogs To tear me at the galleys of the Greeks. Accept abundant store of brass and gold, Which gladly will my father and the queen, My mother, give in ransom. Send to them My body, that the warriors and the dames Of Troy may light for me the funeral pile.”
The swift Achilles answered, with a frown: “Nay, by my knees entreat me not, thou cur, Nor by my parents. I could even wish
My fury prompted me to cut thy flesh In fragments and devour it, such the wrong That I have had from thee. There will be none To drive away the dogs about thy head,
Not though thy Trojan friends should bring to me Tenfold and twentyfold the offered gifts, And promise others–not though Priam, sprung From Dar’danus, should send thy weight in gold. Thy mother shall not lay thee on thy bier, To sorrow over thee whom she brought forth; But dogs and birds of prey shall mangle thee.”
And then the crested Hector, dying, said: “I know thee, and too clearly I foresaw I should not move thee, for thou hast a heart Of iron. Yet reflect that for my sake
The anger of the gods may fall on thee When Paris and Apollo strike thee down, Strong as thou art, before the Scæ’an gates.”
Thus Hector spake, and straightway o’er him closed The light of death; the soul forsook his limbs, And flew to Hades, grieving for its fate, So soon divorced from youth and youthful might.
The great achievement of Achilles was followed by funeral games in honor of Patroclus, and by the institution of various other festivities. At their close Jupiter sends The’tis to Achilles to influence him to restore the dead body of Hector to his family, and sends Iris to Priam to encourage him to go in person to treat for it. Priam thereupon sets out upon his journey, and, having arrived at the camp of Achilles, thus appeals to his compassion:
Priam Begging for the Body of Hector.
“Think, O Achilles, semblance of the gods, On thine own father, full of days like me, And trembling on the gloomy verge of life. Some neighbor chief, it may be, even now Oppresses him, and there is none at hand, No friend, to succor him in his distress. Yet, doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives, He still rejoices, hoping day by day
That one day he shall see the face again Of his own son, from distant Troy returned. But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons, So late the flowers of Ilium, are all slain.
“When, Greece came hither I had fifty sons; But fiery Mars hath thinned them. One I had– One, more than all my sons, the strength of Troy, Whom, standing for his country, thou hast slain– Hector. His body to redeem I come
Into Achaia’s fleet, bringing, myself, Ransom inestimable to thy tent.
Rev’rence the gods, Achilles! recollect Thy father; for his sake compassion show To me, more pitiable still, who draw
Home to my lips (humiliation yet
Unseen on earth) his hand who slew my son!” –COWPER’S Trans.
Achilles, moved with compassion, granted the request of the grief-stricken father, and sent him home with the body of his son. First to the corse the weeping Androm’ache flew, and thus spoke:
Lamentation of Andromache.
“And oh, my Hector! Oh, my lord! (she cries) Snatched in thy bloom from these desiring eyes! Thou to the dismal realms forever gone! And I abandoned, desolate, alone!
An only son, once comfort of our pains, Sad product now of hapless love, remains! Never to manly age that son shall rise, Or with increasing graces glad my eyes; For Ilion now (her great defender slain) Shall sink a smoking ruin on the plain.
“Who now protects her wives with guardian care? Who saves her infants from the rage of war? Now hostile fleets must waft those infants o’er (Those wives must wait them) to a foreign shore: Thou too, my son, to barbarous climes shalt go, The sad companion of thy mother’s woe;
Or else some Greek whose father pressed the plain, Or son, or brother, by great Hector slain, In Hector’s blood his vengeance shall enjoy, And hurl thee headlong from the towers of Troy.” [Footnote: Such was the fate of Astyanax, Hector’s son, when Troy was taken:
“Here, from the tower by stem Ulysses thrown, Andromache bewailed her infant son.”
–MERRICK’S Tryphiodo’rus.]
The death of Hector was also lamented by Helen, and her lamentation is thus spoken of by COLERIDGE: “I have always thought the following speech, in which Helen laments Hector, and hints at her own invidious and unprotected situation in Troy, as almost the sweetest passage in the poem. It is another striking instance of that refinement of feeling and softness of tone which so generally distinguish the last book of the Iliad from the rest.”
Helen’s Lamentation.
“Ah, dearest friend! in whom the gods had joined The mildest manners with the bravest mind, Now twice ten years (unhappy years) are o’er Since Paris brought me to the Trojan shore; (Oh, had I perished ere that form divine Seduced this soft, this easy heart of mine!) Yet was it ne’er my fate from thee to find A deed ungentle, or a word unkind:
When others cursed the authoress of their woe, Thy pity checked my sorrows in their flow: If some proud brother eyed me with disdain, Or scornful sister, with her sweeping train, Thy gentle accents softened all my pain. For thee I mourn; and mourn myself in thee, The wretched source of all this misery. The fate I caused forever I bemoan;
Sad Helen has no friend, now thou art gone! Through Troy’s wide streets abandoned shall I roam! In Troy deserted, as abhorred at home!” –POPE’S Trans.
THE FATE OF TROY.
Homer’s Iliad ends with the burial of Hector, and gives no account of the result of the war and the fate of the chief actors in the conflict. But in VIRGIL’S Æne’id, which gives an account of the escape of Æne’as, from the flames of Troy, and of his wanderings until he reaches the shores of Italy, the way in which Troy is taken, soon after the death of Hector, is told by Æneas to Dido, the Queen of Carthage. By the advice of Ulysses a huge wooden horse was constructed in the Greek camp, in which he and other Grecian warriors concealed themselves, while the remainder burned their tents and sailed away to the island of Ten’edos, behind which they secreted their vessels. Æneas begins his account as follows:
“By destiny compelled, and in despair, The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war, And by Minerva’s aid a fabric reared
Which like a steed of monstrous height appeared. The sides were planked with pine: they feigned it made For their return, and this the vow they paid. Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side Selected numbers of their soldiers hide; With inward arms the dire machine they load, And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.
“In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle (While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile) Renowned for wealth; but since, a faithless bay, Where ships exposed to wind and weather lay. There was their fleet concealed. We thought for Greece Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release. The Trojans, cooped within their walls so long, Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng, Like swarming bees, and with delight survey The camp deserted where the Grecians lay. The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they showed– Here Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode; Here joined the battles; there the navy rode.
“Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ– The pile by Pallas raised to ruin Troy. Thymoe’tes first (’tis doubtful whether hired, Or so the Trojan destiny required)
Moved that the ramparts might be broken down To lodge the monster fabric in the town. But Ca’pys, and the rest of sounder mind, The fatal present to the flames designed, Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.
“The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide, With noise say nothing, and in parts divide. La-oc’o-on, followed by a num’rous crowd, Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud: ‘O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns? What more than madness has possessed your brains? Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone? And are Ulysses’ arts no better known?
This hollow fabric either must enclose, Within its blind recess, our hidden foes; Or ’tis an engine raised above the town T’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down. Somewhat is sure designed by fraud or force– Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’
“Thus having said, against the steed he threw His forceful spear, which, hissing as it flew, Pierced through the yielding planks of jointed wood, And trembling in the hollow belly stood. The sides, transpierced, return a rattling sound, And groans of Greeks enclosed came issuing through the wound; And, had not Heaven the fall of Troy designed, Or had not men been fated to be blind,
Enough was said and done t’ inspire a better mind. Then had our lances pierced the treacherous wood, And Ilion’s towers and Priam’s empire stood.”
Deceived by the treachery of Sinon, a captive Greek, who represents that the wooden horse was built and dedicated to Minerva to secure the aid that the goddess had hitherto refused the Greeks, and that, if it were admitted within the walls of Troy, the Grecian hopes would be forever lost, the infatuated Trojans break down a portion of the city’s wall, and, drawing in the horse, give themselves up to festivity and rejoicing. Æneas continues the story as follows:
“With such deceits he gained their easy hearts, Too prone to credit his perfidious arts. What Di’omed, nor Thetis’ greater son,
A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done– False tears and fawning words the city won.
* * * * *
“A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare; Some hoisting levers, some the wheels prepare, And fasten to the horse’s feet; the rest With cables haul along th’ unwieldy beast: Each on his fellow for assistance calls. At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls, Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crowned, And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around. Thus raised aloft, and then descending down, It enters o’er our heads, and threats the town. O sacred city, built by hands divine!
O valiant heroes of the Trojan line! Four times he struck; as oft the clashing sound Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound. Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate, We haul along the horse in solemn state, Then place the dire portent within the tower. Cassandra cried and cursed th’ unhappy hour, Foretold our fate; but, by the gods’ decree, All heard, and none believed the prophecy. With branches we the fane adorn, and waste In jollity the day ordained to be the last.” –The Æneid. Book II.–DRYDEN.
In the dead of night Sinon unlocked the horse, the Greeks rushed out, opened the gates of the city, and raised torches as a signal to those at Tenedos, who returned, and Troy was soon captured and given over to fire and the sword. Then followed the rejoicings of the victors, and the weeping and wailing of the Trojan women about to be carried away captive into distant lands, according to the usages of war.
The stately walls of Troy had sunken, Her towers and temples strewed the soil; The sons of Hellas, victory-drunken,
Richly laden with the spoil,
Are on their lofty barks reclined
Along the Hellespontine strand;
A gleesome freight the favoring wind Shall bear to Greece’s glorious land;
And gleesome chant the choral strain, As toward the household altars now
Each bark inclines the painted prow– For Home shall smile again!
And there the Trojan women, weeping, Sit ranged in many a length’ning row;
Their heedless locks, dishevelled, sweeping Adown the wan cheeks worn with woe.
No festive sounds that peal along, Their mournful dirge can overwhelm;
Through hymns of joy one sorrowing song, Commingled, wails the ruined realm.
“Farewell, beloved shores!” it said: “From home afar behold us torn,
By foreign lords as captives borne– Ah, happy are the dead!”
–SCHILLER.
For ten long years the Greeks at Argos had watched nightly for the beacon fires, lighted from point to point, that should announce the doom of Troy. When, in the Agamemnon of ÆSCHYLUS, Clytemnes’tra declares that Troy has fallen, and the chorus, half incredulous, demands what messenger had brought the intelligence, she replies:
“A gleam–a gleam–from Ida’s height By the fire-god sent, it came;
From watch to watch it leaped, that light; As a rider rode the flame!
It shot through the startled sky, And the torch of that blazing glory
Old Lemnos caught on high
On its holy promontory,
And sent it on, the jocund sign, To Athos, mount of Jove divine.
Wildly the while it rose from the isle, So that the might of the journeying light Skimmed over the back of the gleaming brine! Farther and faster speeds it on,
Till the watch that keep Macis’tus steep See it burst like a blazing sun!
Doth Macistus sleep
On his tower-clad steep?
No! rapid and red doth the wildfire sweep: It flashes afar on the wayward stream
Of the wild Euri’pus, the rushing beam! It rouses the light on Messa’pion’s height, And they feed its breath with the withered heath. But it may not stay!
And away–away–
It bounds in its fresh’ning might.
“Silent and soon
Like a broadened moon
It passes in sheen Aso’pus green, And bursts in Cithæ’ron gray.
The warden wakes to the signal rays, And it swoops from the hills with a broader blaze: On–on the fiery glory rode–
Thy lonely lake, Gorgo’pis, glowed– To Meg’ara’s mount it came;
They feed it again,
And it streams amain–
A giant beard of flame!
The headland cliffs that darkly down O’er the Saron’ic waters frown,
Are passed with the swift one’s lurid stride, And the huge rock glares on the glaring tide. With mightier march and fiercer power
It gained Arach’ne’s neighboring tower– Thence on our Ar’give roof its rest it won, Of Ida’s fire the long-descended son!
Bright harbinger of glory and of joy! So first and last with equal honor crowned, In solemn feasts the race-torch circles round. And these my heralds, this my sign of Peace! Lo! while we breathe, the victor lords of Greece Stalk, in stern tumult through the halls of Troy.” –Trans. by BULWER.
Such, in brief, is the commonly received account of the Trojan war, as we find it in Homer and other ancient writers. Concerning it the historian THIRLWALL remarks: “We consider it necessary to admit the reality of the Trojan war as a general fact, but beyond this we scarcely venture to proceed a single step. We find it impossible to adopt the poetical story of Helen, partly on account of its inherent improbability, and partly because we are convinced that Helen is a merely mythological person.” GROTE says:[Footnote: “History of Greece.” Chap. XV.] “In the eyes of modern inquiry the Trojan war is essentially a legend and nothing more. If we are asked if it be not a legend embodying portions of historical matter, and raised upon a basis of truth–whether there may not really have occurred at the foot of the hill of Ilium a war purely human and political, without gods, without heroes, without Helen, without Amazons, without Ethiopians under the beautiful son of Eos, without the wooden horse, without the characteristic and expressive features of the old epic war–if we are asked if there was not really some such historical Trojan war as this, our answer must be, that as the possibility of it cannot be denied, so neither can the reality of it be affirmed.” In this connection it is interesting to note that the discoveries of the German explorer, Schliemann, upon the site of ancient Troy, indicate that Homer “followed actual occurrences more closely than an over-skeptical historical criticism was once willing to allow.”
FATE OF THE CHIEF ACTORS IN THE CONFLICT.
Of the fate of some of the principal actors in the Trojan war it may be stated that, of the prominent Trojans, Æneas alone escaped. After many years of wanderings he landed in Italy with a small company of Trojans; and the Roman writers trace to him the origin of their nation. Priam was killed by Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles, during the burning of Troy; while Achilles himself fell some time before, shot with an arrow in the heel by Paris, as Hector had prophesied would be the manner of his death. Ajax, after the death of Achilles, had a contest with Ulysses for the armor of the dead hero, but was unsuccessful, and died by his own hand. The poet EN’NIUS ascribes the following declaration to Tel’amon, the father of Ajax, when he heard of his son’s death:
I knew, when I begat him, he must die, And trained him to no other destiny–
Knew, when I sent him to the Trojan shore, ‘Twas not to halls of feast, but fields of gore. –Trans. by PETERS.
Agamemnon, on his return to Greece, was barbarously murdered by his unfaithful queen, Clytemnestra. Diomed was driven from Greece, and barely escaped with his life. It is uncertain where or how he died. Ulysses, after almost innumerable troubles and hardships by sea and land, at last returned in safety to Ithaca. His wanderings are the subject of Homer’s Odyssey.
But it may be asked, what became of Helen, the primary cause of the Trojan war, disastrous alike to victors and vanquished? According to Virgil, [Footnote: Æneid, B. VI.] after the death of Paris she married the Trojan hero, De-iph’o-bus, and on the night after the city was taken betrayed him to Menela’us, to whom she became reconciled, and whom she accompanied, as Homer relates, [Footnote: Odyssey B. IV.] during the eight years of his wandering, on his return to Greece. LANDOR, in one of his Hellen’ics, represents Menelaus, after the fall of Troy, as pursuing Helen up the steps of the palace, and threatening her with death. He thus addresses her:
“Stand, traitress, on that stair– Thou mountest not another, by the gods! Now take the death thou meritest, the death, Zeus, who presides over hospitality–
And every other god whom thou has left, And every other who abandons thee
In this accursed city–sends at last. Turn, vilest of vile slaves! turn, paramour Of what all other women hate, of cowards; Turn, lest this hand wrench back thy head, and toss It and its odors to the dust and flames.”
Helen penitently receives his reproaches, and welcomes the threatened death; and when he speaks of their daughter, Hermi’o-ne, whom, an infant, she had so cruelly deserted, she exclaims:
“O my child!
My only one! thou livest: ’tis enough; Hate me, abhor me, curse me–these are duties– Call me but mother in the shades of death! She now is twelve years old, when the bud swells, And the first colors of uncertain life
Begin to tinge it.”
Menelaus turns aside to say,
“Can she think of home?
Hers once, mine yet, and sweet Hermione’s! Is there one spark that cheered my hearth, one left For thee, my last of love?”
When she beseeches him to delay not her merited fate, her words greatly move him, and he exclaims (aside),
“Her voice is musical
As the young maids who sing to Artemis: How glossy is that yellow braid my grasp Seized and let loose! Ah, can ten years have passed Since–but the children of the gods, like them, Suffer not age.[Footnote: Jupiter was fabled to be the father of Helen.]
(Then turning to Helen.) Helen! speak honestly, And thus escape my vengeance–was it force That bore thee off?”
Her words and grief move him to pity, if not to love, and he again turns aside to say,
“The true alone and loving sob like her. Come, Helen!” (He takes her hand.)
(Helen.) Oh, let never Greek see this! Hide me from Argos, from Amy’clæ [Footnote: A town of Laconia, where was a temple of Apollo. It was a short distance to the south-west of Sparta.] hide me, Hide me from all.
(Menelaus.) Thy anguish is too strong For me to strive with.
(Helen.) Leave it all to me.
(Menelaus.) Peace! peace! The wind, I hope, is fair for Sparta.
The intimation, by Landor and others who have sought to exculpate Helen, that she was unwillingly borne away by Paris, has been amplified, with much poetic skill and beauty, by a recent poet,[Footnote: A. Lang, in his “Helen of Troy.”] into the story that the goddess Venus appeared to her, and, while Helen was shrinking with apprehension and fear of her power, told her that she should fall into a deep slumber, and on awaking should be oblivious of her past life, “ignorant of shame, and blameless of those evil deeds that the goddess should thrust upon her.” Venus declares to her:
“Thou art the toy of gods, an instrument Wherewith all mortals shall be plagued or blest, Even at my pleasure; yea, thou shalt be bent This way and that, howe’er it like me best: And following thee, as tides the moon, the West Shall flood the Eastern coasts with waves of war, And thy vexed soul shall scarcely be at rest, Even in the havens where the deathless are.
“The instruments of men are blind and dumb, And this one gift I give thee, to be blind And heedless of the thing that is to come, And ignorant of that which is behind;
Bearing an innocent, forgetful mind In each new fortune till I visit thee
And stir thy heart, as lightning and the wind Bear fire and tumult through a sleeping sea.
“Thou shalt forget Hermione! forget, Forget thy lord, thy lofty palace, and thy kin; Thy hand within a stranger’s shalt thou set, And follow him, nor deem it any sin;
And many a strange land wand’ring shalt thou win; And thou shalt come to an unhappy town, And twenty long years shalt thou dwell therein, Before the Argives mar its towery crown.
“And of thine end I speak not, but thy name– Thy name which thou lamentest–that shall be A song in all men’s speech, a tongue of flame Between the burning lips of Poesy;
And the nine daughters of Mnemos’y-ne, With Prince Apollo, leader of the nine, Shall make thee deathless in their minstrelsy! Yea, for thou shalt outlive the race divine.”
As the goddess had declared, so it came to pass, for when Helen awoke from her long slumber,
She had no memory of unhappy things, She knew not of the evil days to come, Forgotten were her ancient wanderings;
And as Lethæ’an waters wholly numb The sense of spirits in Elysium,
That no remembrance may their bliss alloy, Even so the rumor of her days was dumb, And all her heart was ready for new joy.
The reconciliation of Menelaus with Helen is easily effected by the same kind of artifice; for when, on the taking of Troy, he meets her and draws his sword to slay her, the goddess, again appearing, throws her witching spell over him also:
Then fell the ruthless sword that never fell When spear bit harness in the battle din, For Aphrodi’te spake, and like a spell
Wrought her sweet voice persuasive, till within His heart there lived no memory of sin; No thirst for vengeance more, but all grew plain, And wrath was molten in desire to win
The golden heart of Helen once again.
It is said that after the death of Menelaus Helen was driven from the Peloponnesus by the indignant Spartans.
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IV. ARTS AND CIVILIZATION IN THE HEROIC AGE.
Although but little confidence can be placed in the reality of the persons and events mentioned in the poems of Homer, yet there is one kind of truth from which the poet can hardly have deviated, or his writings would not have been so acceptable as they evidently were to his contemporaries–and that is, a faithful portraiture of the government, usages, institutions, manners, and general condition of the Greeks during the age in which he lived, and which undoubtedly differed little from the manners and customs of the Heroic Age. The pictures of life and character that he had drawn must have had a reality of existence, and they unquestionably give us, to a considerable extent, a true insight into the condition of Grecian society at that early period of the world’s history.
And yet we must bear in mind that epics such as those of Homer, describing the manners and customs of a half-barbarous age, and intended to honor chieftains by extolling the deeds and lives of their ancestors, and to be recited in the courts of kings and princes, would, very naturally, be accommodated to the wishes, partialities, and prejudices of their noble hearers. And this leads us to consider how far even the great epic of Homer is to be relied on for a faithful picture of the political life of the Greeks during the Heroic Age. We quote the following suggestive remarks on this subject from a recent writer and able Greek critic:
THE POLITICAL LIFE OF THE GREEKS, AS REPRESENTED IN THEIR GREAT EPICS.
“Although, in the Greek epics, the rank and file of the army are to be marshaled by the kings, and to raise the shout of battle, they actually disappear from the action, and leave the field perfectly clear for the chiefs to perform their deeds of valor. There is not, perhaps, an example in all the Iliad of a chief falling, or even being wounded, by an ignoble hand. Amid the cloud of missiles that were flying on the plains of Troy, amid the crowd of chiefs and kings that were marshaled on either side, we never hear how a ‘certain man drew a bow at a venture, and smote a king between the joints of the harness.’ Yet this must necessarily have occurred in any prolonged combats such as those about the walls of Troy.
“Here, then, is a plain departure from truth, and even from reasonable probability. It is indeed a mere omission which does not offend the reader; but such inaccuracies suggest serious reflections. If the epic poets ignore the importance of the masses on the battlefield, is it not likely that they underrate it in the public assemblies? Is it not possible that here too, to please their patrons, they describe the glorious ages of the past as the days when the assembled people would not question the superior wisdom of their betters, but merely assembled to be taught and to applaud? I cannot, therefore, as Mr. Grote does, accept the political condition of things in the Homeric poems, especially in the Iliad, as a safe guide to the political life of Greece in the poet’s own day.
“The figure of Thersites seems drawn with special spite and venom, as a satire upon the first critics that rose up among the assembled people to question the divine right of kings to do wrong. We may be sure the real Thersites, from whom the poet drew his picture, was a very different and a far more serious power in debate than the misshapen buffoon of the Iliad. But the king who had been thwarted and exposed by him in the day would, over his cups in the evening, enjoy the poet’s travesty, and long for the good old times when he could put down all impertinent criticism by the stroke of his knotty sceptre. The Homeric Agora could hardly have existed had it been so idle a form as the poets represent. But as the lower classes were carefully marshaled on the battle-field, from a full sense of the importance which the poet denies them, so they were marshaled in the public assembly, where we may be sure their weight told with equal effect, though the poet neglected it for the greater glory of the counseling chiefs.” [Footnote: “Social Life in Greece, from Homer to Menander,” by Rev. J. P. Mahaffy.] Notwithstanding all this, as HEEREN says, “Homer is the best source of information that we possess respecting the Heroic Age.”
The form of government that prevailed among the early Greeks, especially after the Pelasgic race had yielded to the more warlike and adventurous Hellenes, was evidently that of the kingly order, on a democratic basis, although it is difficult to ascertain the precise extent of the royal prerogatives. In all the Grecian states there appears to have been an hereditary class of chiefs or nobles, distinguished from the common freemen or people by titles of honor, superior wealth, dignity, valor, and noble birth; which latter implied no less than a descent from the gods themselves, to whom every princely house seems to have traced its origin.
But the kings, although generally hereditary, were not always so, nor were they absolute monarchs; they were rather the most eminent of the nobility, having the command in war, and the chief seat in the administration of justice; and their authority was more or less extended in proportion to the noble qualities they possessed, and particularly to their valor in battle. Unless distinguished by courage and strength, kings could not even command in time of war; and during peace they were bound to consult the people in all important matters. Among their pecuniary advantages were the profits of an extensive domain which seems to have been attached to the royal office, and not to have been the private property of the individual. Thus, Homer represents Telem’achus as in danger not only of losing his throne by the adverse choice of the people, but also, among the rights of the crown, the domains of Ulysses, his father, should he not be permitted to succeed him.[Footnote: See the Odyssey (Cowper’s Trans.), xi., 207-223.]
During the Heroic Age the Greeks appear to have had no fixed laws established by legislation. Public opinion and usage, confirmed and expounded by judicial decisions, were the only sources to which the weak and injured could look for protection and redress. Private differences were most often settled by private means, and in these cases the weak and deserving were generally plundered and maltreated by the powerful and guilty; but in quarrels that threatened to disturb the peace of the community the public compelled the injured party to accept, and the aggressor to pay, a stipulated compensation. As among the savage tribes of America, and even among our early Saxon ancestors, the murderer was often allowed to pay a stipulated compensation, which stayed the spirit of revenge, and was received as a full expiation of his guilt. The mutual dealings of the several independent Grecian states with one another were regulated by no established principles, and international law had no existence at this early period.
DOMESTIC LIFE AND CHARACTER.
In the domestic relations of life there was much in the conduct of the Greeks that was meritorious. Children were treated with affection, and much care was bestowed on their education; and, on the other hand, the respect which they showed their parents, even after the period of youth and dependence, approached almost to veneration. As evidence of a rude age, however, the father disposed of his daughter’s hand in marriage with absolute authority; and although we meet with many models of conjugal affection, as in the noble characters of Andromache and Penelope, yet the story of Helen, and other similar ones, suggest too plainly that the faithlessness of the wife was not regarded as a very great offence. The wife, however, occupied a station of as much, if not more influence in the family than was the case in the historical period; but she was not the equal of her husband, and even Homer portrays none of those feelings of love which result from a higher regard for the female sex.
We gather from Homer that there was a low sense of truth among the Greeks of the Homeric Age, but that the people were better than might be expected from the examples set them by the gods in whom they professed to believe. Says MAHAFFY: “At no period did the nation attain to that high standard which is the great feature in Germanic civilization. Even the Romans, with all their coarseness and vulgarity, stood higher in this respect. But neither in the Iliad nor the Odyssey is there, except in phrases, any reprobation of deceit as such. To deceive an enemy is meritorious; to deceive a stranger, innocent; 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. But the really leading characters in the Odyssey and Iliad (except Achilles) do not hesitate at all manner of lying. Ulysses is perpetually inventing, and so is his patroness, Pallas Athe’ne; and she actually mentions this quality of wily deceit as her special ground of love and affection for him.” Thus, we read in the Odyssey that when Ulysses, in response to what the goddess–then disguised and unknown to him–had said,
With unembarrassed readiness returned Not truth, but figments to truth opposite, For guile, in him, stood never at a pause–
the goddess, seemingly well pleased with his “tricks of speech delusive,” thus replied:
“Who passes thee in artifice well-framed; And in impostures various, need shall find Of all his policy, although a god.
Canst thou not cease, inventive as thou art And subtle, from the wiles which thou hast loved Since thou wast infant, and from tricks of speech Delusive, even in thy native land?
But come; dismiss we these ingenious shifts From our discourse, in which we both excel; For thou of all men in expedients most
Abound’st and eloquence, and I throughout All heaven have praise for wisdom and for art.” –COWPER’S Trans.
To the foregoing it may be added that “Zeus deceives both gods and men; the other gods deceive Zeus; in fact, the whole Homeric society is full of guile and falsehood. There is still, however, an expectation that if the gods are called to witness a transaction by means of an oath, they will punish deceit. 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 yet remained–the oath by the Styx, [Footnote: see the index at the end of the volume.] 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 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 character of Apollo is unstained by deceit. So is that of Menelaus.”
The Greeks in the Heroic Age were divided into the three classes –nobles, freemen, and slaves. Of the first we have already spoken. The condition of the freemen it is difficult to fully ascertain; but the majority possessed portions of land which they cultivated. There was another class of freemen who possessed no property, and who worked for hire on the property of others. “Among the freemen,” says one writer, “we find certain professional persons whose acquirements and knowledge raised them above their class, and procured for them the respect and society of the nobles. Such were the seer, the bard, the herald, and likewise the smith and the carpenter.” The slaves were owned by the nobles alone, and were treated with far more kindness and consideration than were the slaves of republican Greece.
During this period the Greeks had but little knowledge of geography beyond the confines of Greece and its islands and the coasts of the Ægean Sea. The habitable world was supposed to be surrounded by an ocean-like river, like that which Homer describes as bordering the shield of Achilles, beyond which were realms of darkness, dreams, and death. Legitimate commerce appears to have been deemed of little importance. The largest ships were slender, half-decked row-boats, capable of carrying, at most, only about a hundred men, and having a movable mast, which was hoisted, and a sail attached, only to take advantage of a favorable wind. Most of the navigation at this early period was undertaken for the purposes of plunder, and piracy was not deemed dishonorable. When Mentor and Telemachus came to the court of Nestor, that prince, after entertaining them kindly, asked them, as a matter of curiosity, whether they were travelers or robbers!
But the Heroic Age was not one essentially rude and barbarous. Greece was then a populous and well-cultivated country, with numerous and large cities surrounded by walls and adorned with palaces and temples. Homer describes the different branches of agriculture, and the various labors of farming, the culture of the grape, and the duties of the herdsmen. The weaving of woolen and of linen fabrics was the chief occupation of the women, and was carried to a high degree of perfection. While Homer may have drawn largely upon his imagination for his brilliant pictures, still their main features were undoubtedly taken from life, and many ancient remains of Grecian art attest the general fidelity of his representations: In the wonderful description of the shield of Achilles we get some insight into the progress which the arts of metallurgy and engraving had made, and in the following description, in the Fifth Book of the Odyssey, of the raft of Ulysses, on which this wandering hero floated after leaving Calypso’s isle, we learn to what degree the art of ship-building had attained in the Heroic Age. Calypso furnishes him the material for constructing his raft.
The Raft of Ulysses.
She gave him, fitted to the grasp, an axe Of iron, ponderous, double-edged, with haft Of olive-wood inserted firm, and wrought With curious art. Then placing in his hand A polished adze, she led herself the way To her isle’s utmost verge, where loftiest stood The alder, poplar, and cloud-piercing fir, Though sapless, sound, and fittest for his use, As buoyant most. To that most verdant grove His steps the beauteous nymph Calypso led, And sought her home again. Then slept not he, But, swinging with both hands the axe, his task Soon finished; trees full twenty to the ground He cast; which, dexterous, with his adze he smoothed, The knotted surface chipping by a line. Meantime the lovely goddess to his aid
Sharp augers brought, with which he bored the beams, Then placed them side by side, adapting each To other, and the seams with wadding closed.
Broad as an artist, skilled in naval works, The bottom of a ship of burden spreads, Such breadth Ulysses to his raft assigned. He decked her over with long planks, upborne On massy beams; he made the mast, to which He added suitable the yard; he framed
Rudder and helm to regulate her course; With wicker-work he bordered all her length For safety, and much ballast stowed within. Meantime Calypso brought him for a sail Fittest materials, which he also shaped, And to his sail due furniture annexed
Of cordage strong, foot-ropes and ropes aloft, Then heaved her down with levers to the deep. –Odyssey, B. V. COWPER’S Trans.
We notice in this description the use of the adze–of the double-edged axe; of augers for boring the beams; the caulking of the hull; the decking made of planks; the single mast; the yard from which the sail was spread; the use of the rudder and the helm; “foot-ropes and ropes aloft;” while, for safety, a wicker-work of cordage surrounds the deck, and much “ballast” is stowed within.
To what extent the higher orders of art–those which became in later times the highest glory of Greece, and in which she will always stand unrivalled–were cultivated before the time of Homer, is a subject of much uncertainty. It is clear, however, that poetry and music, which were almost inseparably united, were early made prominent instruments of the religious, martial, and political education of the people. The aid of poetical song was called in to enliven and adorn the banquets of the great public assemblies, the Olympic and other games, and scarcely a social or public gathering can be mentioned that would not have appeared to the ardent Grecians cold and spiritless without this accompaniment.
It is not equally clear, however, whether architecture, in Homer’s time, had arrived at such a stage as to deserve a place among the fine arts. But it is probable that while the private dwellings which the poet describes were strong and convenient rather than ornamental and elegant in design, the public buildings–the temples, palaces, etc.–were elegant in design and in architectural decoration. Statuary was cultivated in this age, as appears from the remains of many of the Greek cities; and, although no paintings are spoken of in Homer, yet his descriptions prove that his contemporaries must have been acquainted with the art of design. Whether the Greeks were acquainted at this early period with the art of writing is, perhaps, the most important of all the questions connected with the progress of art and knowledge at this time, as it has received the most attention. The prevalent opinion is that the art of writing was then unknown, and that no written compositions were extant until many years after the time of Homer.
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V. THE CONQUEST OF THE PELOPONNESUS, AND COLONIES IN ASIA MINOR.
Although not yet fully out of the fabulous era of Grecian history, we now enter upon a period when the crude fictions of more than mortal heroes begin to give place to the realities of human existence; but still the vague, disputed, and often contradictory annals on which we are obliged to rely shed only an uncertain light around us; and even what we can gather as the most reliable cannot be taken wholly as undoubted historic truth.
The immediate consequences of the Trojan war, as represented by Greek historians, were scarcely less disastrous to the victors than to the vanquished. The return of the Grecian heroes to their homes is represented, as we have seen, to have been full of tragic adventures, and their long absence encouraged usurpers to seize many of their thrones. Hence arose fierce wars and intestine commotions, which greatly retarded the progress of Grecian civilization. Among these petty revolutions, however, no events of general interest occurred until about sixty years after the fall of Troy, when a people from Epi’rus, passing over the mountain-chain of Pindus, descended into the rich plains which lie along the banks of the Pene’us, and finally conquered the country, to which they gave the name of Thessaly. The fugitives from Thessaly, driven from their own country, passed over into Boeo’tia, which they subdued after a long struggle, in their turn driving out the ancient inhabitants of the land. This event is supposed to have occurred in 1124 B.C.
The unsettled state of society caused by the Thessalian and Boeotian conquests occasioned what is known as the “Æo’lian Migration,” so-called from the race that took the principal share in it. These people passed over into Asia Minor, and established their settlements in the vicinity of the ruins of Troy. This became known as the Æolian Confederacy.
RETURN OF THE HERACLI’DÆ
About twenty years after the Thessalian conquest, the Dorians, who had frequently changed their homes, and had finally settled in a mountainous region on the south of Thessaly, commenced a migration to the Peloponnesus, accompanied by portions of other tribes, and led, as was asserted, by descendants of Hercules, who had been deprived of their dominions in the latter country, and who had hitherto made several unsuccessful attempts to recover them. This important event in Grecian history is therefore called the “Return of the Heraclidæ.” The Dorians could muster about twenty thousand fighting men; and although they were greatly inferior in numbers to the inhabitants of the country they invaded, the whole of Peloponnesus, except a few districts, was subdued and apportioned among the conquerors. Of the Heraclidæ, Tem’enus received Argos, the sons of Aristode’mus obtained Sparta, and Cresphon’tes was given Messe’nia. Some of the unconquered tribes of the southern part of the peninsula seized upon the province of Acha’ia, and expelled its Ionian inhabitants. The latter sought a retreat on the western coast of Asia Minor, south of the Æolian cities, and the settlements thus formed received the name of Ionia. At a still later period, bands of the Dorians, not content with their conquest of the Peloponnesus, thronged to Asia Minor, where they peopled several cities south of Ionia; so that the Ægean Sea was finally circled by Grecian settlements, and its islands covered with them.
The Dorians did not become undisputed masters of the Peloponnesus until they had conquered Corinth in the next generation. The capture of Corinth was attended by another expedition which drew the Dorians north of the Isthmus. They invaded Attica, and encamped before the walls of Athens. Before proceeding to attack the city they consulted the oracle at Delphi–the most remarkable oracle of the ancient world, of which the poet LU’CAN thus writes:
The listening god, still ready with replies, To none his aid or oracle denies;
Yet wise, and righteous ever, scorns to hear The fool’s fond wishes, or the guilty’s prayer; Though vainly in repeated vows they trust, None e’er find grace before him but the just. Oft to a banished, wandering, houseless race The sacred dictates have assigned a place: Oft from the strong he saves the weak in war, And heals the barren land, and pestilential air.
The Dorians were told by the oracle that they would be successful as long as the Athenian king, Co’drus, was uninjured. The latter, being informed of the answer of the oracle, disguised himself as a peasant, and, going forth from the city, was met and slain by a Dorian soldier, thus sacrificing himself for his country’s good. The superstitious Dorians, now deeming the war hopeless, withdrew from Attica; and the Athenians, out of respect for Codrus, declared that no one was worthy to succeed him, and abolished the form of royalty altogether. Magistrates called Archons were first appointed for life from the family of Codrus, and these were finally exchanged for others appointed for ten years. These and other successive encroachments on the royal prerogatives resulted in the establishment of an aristocratic government of the nobility, and are almost the only events that fill the meager annals of Athens for several centuries.
The foundation of the Greek colonies in Asia Minor may be said to form the conclusion of the Mythical Period of Grecian history, and likewise to furnish the basis for the earlier forms of authentic Greek literature. Before proceeding, therefore, to the general events that distinguish the authentic period of Greek history, we will give, first, a brief sketch of this early literature as embodied chiefly in the poems of Homer; and, second, will point out some of the causes that tended to unite the Greeks as a people, notwithstanding their separation into so many independent communities or states.
CHAPTER III.
EARLY GREEK LITERATURE, AND GREEK COMMUNITY OF INTERESTS.
The earliest written compositions of the Greeks, of which tradition or history has preserved any record, were poetical; a circumstance which, noticed in other nations also, has led to the assertion that poetry is preeminently the language of Nature. But the first poetical compositions of the Greeks were not written. The earliest of them were undoubtedly the religious teachings of the priests and seers; and these were soon followed by others founded on the legends and genealogies of the Grecian heroes, which were addressed, by their authors, to the ear and feelings of a sympathizing audience, and were then taken up by professional reciters, called Rhapsodists, who traveled from place to place, rehearsing them before private companies or at the public festivals.
Of the Greek colonists of Asia the Ionians possessed the highest culture, and with them we find the first development of Greek poetry. Drawing from the common language a richer tone and a clearness and graphic power that their neighbors never equaled, they early unfolded the ancient legends and genealogies of the race into new and enlarged forms of poetical beauty. Says DR. C. C. FELTON,[Footnote: “Lectures on Ancient and Modern Greece,” vol. i., p. 78.] “In Ionia the popular enthusiasm took a poetical turn, and the genius of that richly gifted race responded nobly to the call. The poets–singers as they were first called–found in the Orally transmitted ballads the richest mines of legendary lore, which they wrought into new forms of rhythmical beauty and splendor. Instead of short ballads, pieces of great length, with more fully developed characters and more of dramatic action, were required by a beauty loving and pleasure seeking race; and the leisure of peace and the demands of refined luxury furnished the occasion and the impelling motive to this more extended species of epic song.” From the highly esteemed work of Dr. Felton we transcribe some observations on the beauties of the Ionian dialect, and on the poetical taste and ingenuity that finally developed the immortal epics of Homer:
Ionian Language and Culture.
“The Ionian dialect, remoulded from the Asiatic forms and elements which had traveled through the North and recrossed the Ægean Sea, under the happy influences of a serene and beautiful heaven, amid the most varied and lovely scenery in nature, by a people of manly vigor and exquisite mental and physical organization–of the keenest susceptibility to beauty of sound as well as of form, of the most vivid and creative imagination, combined with a childlike impulsiveness and simplicity–this Ionian language, so sprung and so nurtured, attained a descriptive force, a copiousness and harmony, which made it the most admirable instrument on which poet ever played. For every mood of mind, every shade of passion, every affection of the heart, every form and aspect of the outward world, it had its graphic phrase, its clear, appropriate, and rich expression. Its pictured words and sentences placed the things described, and thoughts that breathe, in living form before the reader’s eye and mind. It was vivid, rich, melodious; in its general character strikingly concrete and objective; a charm to the ear, a delight to the imagination; copious and infinitely flexible; free and graceful in movement and structure, having at the beginning passed over the chords of the lyre, and been modulated by the living voice of the singer; obeying the impulse of thought and feeling, rather than the formal principles of grammar.
“It expressed the passions of robust manhood with artless and unconscious truth. Its freedom, its voluble minuteness of delineation, its rapid changes of construction, its breaks, pauses, significant and sudden transitions, its easy irregularities, exhibit the intellectual play of national youth; while in boldness and splendor it meets the demands of highest invention and the most majestic sweep of the imagination, and bears the impress of genius in the full strength of its maturity. Frederic Jacobs says, fancifully yet truly, that ‘the language of Ionia resembles the smooth mirror of a broad and silent lake, from whose depth a serene sky, with its soft and sunny vault, and the varied nature along its smiling shores are reflected in transfigured beauty.’ In Ionia, to borrow the expressions of the same eloquent writer, the mind of man ‘enjoyed a life exempt from drudgery, among fair festivals and solemn assemblies, full of sensibility and frolic joy, innocent curiosity and childlike faith. Surrendered to the outer world, and inclined to all that was attractive by novelty, beauty, and greatness, it was here that the people listened, with greatest eagerness, to the history of the men and heroes whose deeds, adventures, and wanderings filled a former age with their renown, and, when they were echoed in song, moved to ecstasy the breasts of the hearers.
“The Ionians had from the beginning a superior natural endowment for literature and art; and when this most gifted race came into contact with the antique culture and boundless commercial wealth of Asia and Africa, the loveliest and most fragrant flowers of the intellect shot forth in every direction. Carrying with them the traditions of their race and the war-songs of their bards to the very scenes where the famous deeds of their forefathers had been performed, these local circumstances awakened a fresh interest in the old legends, and epic poetry took a new start, a bolder character, a loftier sweep, a wider range. A general expansion of the intellectual powers and the poetical spirit suddenly took place in the midst of the new prosperity and the unaccustomed luxuries of the East–in the midst of the gay and festive life which succeeded the ages of wandering, toil, hardship, and conflict, like the Sabbath repose following the weary warfare of the week. The loveliness of nature on the Ionian shores, and in the isles that crown the Ægean deep, was soon embellished by the genius of art. Stately processions, hymns chanted in honor of the gods, graceful dances before the altars, statues, and shrines, assemblies for festal or solemn purposes in the open air under the soft sky of Ionia, or within the halls of princes and nobles–these fill up the moments of the new and dazzling existence which the excitable Hellenic race are invited here and now to enjoy.
“Their first and deepest want–that which, in the foregoing periods of their existence, had been the first supplied–was the longing of the heart, the demand of the imagination, for poetry and song; and it would have been surprising if the bright genius of Ionia, under all these favoring circumstances, had not broken upon the world with a splendor which outshone all its former achievements. Poets sprang up, obedient to the call, and a new school of poetical composition rapidly developed itself, embodying the Hellenic traditions of the Trojan story, and the legends handed down by the Trojans themselves. Troops or companies of these poets–singers, as they were called–were formed, and their pieces were the delight of the listening multitudes that thronged around them. At last, among these minstrels who consecrated the flower of their lives to the service of the Muses, appeared a man whose genius was to eclipse them all. This man was Homer.”
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I. HOMER AND HIS POEMS.
Not only was Homer the greatest of the poets of antiquity, but he is generally admitted to be distinguished before all competitors by a clear and even a vast superiority. The circumstances of his life are but little known, except that he was a wandering poet, and, in his later years at least, was blind. He is supposed to have lived nearly one thousand years before the Christian era; but, strange as it may seem, nothing is known, with certainty, of his parentage or his birthplace. Although he was probably a native of the island of Chi’os, yet seven Grecian cities contended for the honor of his birth. In view of this controversy, and of the real doubt that hung over the subject, the poet ANTIP’ATER, of Sidon, who flourished just before the Christian era, as if he could not give to his great predecessor too high an exaltation, attributes his birthplace to heaven, and he ascribes to the goddess Calli’o-pe, one of the Muses, who presided over epic poetry and eloquence, the distinction of being his mother.
From Col’ophon some deem thee sprung; From Smyrna some, and some from Chios; These noble Sal’amis have sung,
While those proclaim thee born in Ios; And others cry up Thessaly,
The mother of the Lap’ithæ.
Thus each to Homer has assigned
The birthplace just which suits his mind.
But if I read the volume right,
By Phoebus to his followers given, I’d say they’re all mistaken quite,
And that his real country’s heaven; While, for his mother, she can be
No other than Calliope.
–Trans. by MERIVALE.
The principal works of Homer, and, in fact, the only ones that have not been declared spurious, are the Iliad and the Odyssey. The former, as we have seen, relates some of the circumstances of the closing year of the Trojan war; and the latter tells the story of the wanderings of the Grecian prince Ulysses after the fall of Troy. The ancients, to whom the writings of Homer were so familiar, fully believed that he was the author of the two great epics attributed to him. It was left to modern critics to maintain the contrary. In 1795 Professor F. A. Wolf, of Germany, published his Prolegomena, or prefatory essay to the Iliad, in which he advanced the hypothesis that both the Iliad and the Odyssey were a collection of separate lays by different authors, for the first time reduced to writing and formed into the two great poems by the despot Pisis’tratus, of Athens, and his friends. [Footnote: Nearly all the modern German writers follow the views of Wolf against the Homeric authorship of this poem, but among the English critics there is more diversity of opinion. Colonel Mure, Mr. Gladstone, and others oppose the German view, while Grote, Professor Geddes, Professor Mahaffy and others of note adopt it, so far at least as to believe that Homer was not the sole author of the poems.] We cannot here enter into the details of the controversy to which this theory has given rise, nor can we undertake to say on which side the weight of authority is to be found. The following extracts well express the views of those who adhere to the common theory on the subject. PROFESSOR FELTON thus remarks, in the preface to his edition of the Iliad: “For my own part I prefer to consider it, as we have received it from ancient editors, as one poem–the work of one author, and that author Homer, the first and greatest of minstrels. As I understand the Iliad, there is a unity of plan, a harmony of parts, a consistency among the different situations of the same character, which mark it as the production of one mind; but of a mind as versatile as the forms of nature, the aspects of life, and the combinations of powers, propensities, and passions in man are various.”
On the same subject, the English author and critic, THOMAS NOON TALFOURD, makes these interesting observations: “The hypothesis to which the antagonists of Homer’s personality must resort, implies something far more wonderful than the theory which they impugn. They profess to cherish the deepest veneration for the genius displayed in the poems. They agree, also, in the antiquity usually assigned to them, and they make this genius and this antiquity the arguments to prove that one man could not have composed them. They suppose, then, that in a barbarous age, instead of one being marvelously gifted, there were many: a mighty race of bards, such as the world has never since seen–a number of miracles instead of one. All experience is against this opinion. In various periods of the world great men have arisen, under very different circumstances, to astonish and delight it; but that the intuitive power should be so strangely diffused, at any one period, among a great number, who should leave no successors behind them, is unworthy of credit. And we are requested to believe this to have occurred in an age which those who maintain the theory regard as unfavorable to poetic art! The common theory, independent of other proofs, is the most probable. Since the early existence of the works cannot be doubted, it is easier to believe in one than in twenty Homers.”
Very numerous and varied are the characterizations of Homer and the writings ascribed to him. POPE, in his “Temple of Fame”, pays this tribute to the ancient bard:
High on the list the mighty Homer shone; Eternal adamant composed his throne;
Father of verse! in holy fillets dressed, His silver beard waved gently o’er his breast; Though blind, a boldness in his look appears; In years he seemed, but not impaired by years. The wars of Troy were round the pillars seen: Here fierce Tydi’des wounds the Cyprian queen; Here Hector, glorious from Patro’clus’ fall; Here, dragged in triumph round the Trojan wall. Motion and life did every part inspire, Bold was the work, and proud the master’s fire: A strong expression most he seemed to affect, And here and there disclosed a brave neglect.
It is admitted by all that the Homeric characters are drawn, each in its way, by a master’s hand. “The most pervading merit of the Iliad,” says one, “is its fidelity and vividness as a mirror of man, and of the visible sphere in which he lived, with its infinitely varied imagery, both actual and ideal; and the task which the great poet set for himself was perfectly accomplished.” “The mind of Homer,” says another, “is like an Æolian harp, so finely strung that it answers to the faintest movement of the air by a proportionate vibration. With every stronger current its music rises along an almost immeasurable scale, which begins with the lowest and softest whisper, and ends in the full swell of the organ.”
The “lofty march” of the Iliad is also often spoken of as characteristic of the style in which that great epic is written. And yet, as has been said, “though its versification is always appropriate, and therefore never mean, it only rises into stateliness, or into a terrible sublimity, when Homer has occasion to brace his energies for an effort. Thus he ushers in with true grandeur the marshalling of the Greek army, in the Second Book, partly by the invocation of the Muses, and partly by an assemblage of no less than six consecutive similes, which describe, respectively–1st, the flash of the Greek arms and the splendor of the Grecian hosts; 2d, the swarming numbers; 3d, the resounding tramp; 4th, the settling down of the ranks as they form the line; 5th, the busy marshalling by the commanders; 6th, the majesty of the great chief Agamemnon, ‘like Mars or Neptune, such as Jove ordained him, eminent above all his fellow-chiefs.'”
These similes are brought in with great effect as introductory to a catalogue of the ships and forces of the Greeks; thus pouring, from a single point, a broad stream of splendor over the whole; and although the enumeration which follows is only a plain matter of business, it is not without its poetical embellishment, and is occasionally relieved by short legends of the countries and noted warriors of the different tribes. We introduce these striking similes here as marked characteristics of the art of Homer, from whom, it is little exaggeration to say, a very large proportion of the similes of all subsequent writers have been, more or less directly, either copied or paraphrased.
When it has been decided to lead the army to battle, the aged Nestor thus addresses Agamemnon:
“Now bid thy heralds sound the loud alarms, And call the squadrons sheathed in brazen arms; Now seize the occasion, now the troops survey, And lead to war when heaven directs the way.” He said: the monarch issued his commands; Straight the loud heralds call the gathering bands: The chiefs enclose their king; the hosts divide, In tribes and nations ranked on either side.
The appearance of the gathering hosts is then described in the following
Similes.
(1.) As on some mountain, through the lofty grove, The crackling flames ascend, and blaze above; The fires expanding, as the winds arise, Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies; So from the polished arms and brazen shields A gleamy splendor flashed along the fields.
(2.) Not less their number than the embodied cranes, Or milk-white swans on A’sius’ watery plains, That, o’er the windings of Ca-ys’ter’s springs, Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings; Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds, Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds.
(3.) Thus numerous and confused, extending wide, The legions crowd Scamander’s flowery side; With rushing troops the plains are covered o’er, And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore.’
(4.) Along the river’s level meads they stand, Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land, Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play, The wandering nation of a summer’s day, That, drawn by milky streams, at evening hours, In gathered swarms surround the rural bowers; From pail to pail with busy murmur run The gilded legions, glittering in the sun. So thronged, so close the Grecian squadrons stood In radiant arms, athirst for Trojan blood.
(5.) Each leader now his scattered force conjoins In close array, and forms the deepening lines. Not with more ease the skilful shepherd swain Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain.
(6.) The king of kings, majestically tall, Towers o’er his armies, and outshines them all; Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads His subject herds, the monarch of the meads, Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen, His chest like Neptune, and like Mars his mien; Jove o’er his eyes celestial glories spread, And dawning conquest played around his head. –POPE’S Trans.
Similes abound on nearly every page of the Iliad, and they are always appropriate to the subject. We select from them the following additional specimen, in which the brightness and number of the fires of the Trojans, in their encampment, are likened to the moon and stars in their glory–when, as Cowper translates the fourth line, “not a vapor streaks the boundless blue.”
As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night, O’er heaven’s blue azure spreads her sacred light, When not a breath disturbs the deep serene, And not a cloud o’ercasts the solemn scene; Around her throne the vivid planets roll, And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole, O’er the dark trees a yellow verdure shed, And tip with silver every mountain head; Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, A flood of glory bursts from all the skies; The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light; So many fires before proud Ilion blaze, And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays. –Iliad, B. VIII. POPE’S Trans.
Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, is said to have declared of the two great epics of Homer:
Read Homer once, and you can read no more, For all books else appear so mean, so poor; Verse will seem prose; but still persist to read, And Homer will be all the books you need.
The following characterization, from the pen of HENRY NELSON COLERIDGE, is both true and pleasing:
“There are many hearts and minds to which one of these matchless poems will be more delightful than the other; there are many to which both will give equal pleasure, though of different kinds; but there can hardly be a person, not utterly averse to the Muses, who will be quite insensible to the manifold charms of one or the other. The dramatic action of the Iliad may command attention where the diffused narrative of the Odyssey would fail to do so; but how can anyone, who loves poetry under any shape, help yielding up his soul to the virtuous siren-singing of Genius and Truth, which is forever resounding from the pages of either of These marvelous and truly immortal poems? In the Iliad will be found the sterner lessons of public justice or public expedience, and the examples are for statesmen and generals; in the Odyssey we are taught the maxims of private prudence and individual virtue, and the instances are applicable to all mankind: in both, Honesty, Veracity, and Fortitude are commended, and set up for imitation; in both, Treachery, Falsehood, and Cowardice are condemned, and exposed for our scorn and avoidance.
“Born, like the river of Egypt, in secret light, these poems yet roll on their great collateral streams, wherein a thousand poets have bathed their sacred heads, and thence drunk beauty and truth, and all sweet and noble harmonies. Known to no man is the time or place of their gushing forth from the earth’s bosom, but their course has been among the fields and by the dwellings of men, and our children now sport on their banks and quaff their salutary waters. Of all the Greek poetry, I, for one, have no hesitation in saying that the Iliad and the Odyssey are the most delightful, and have been the most instructive works to me; there is a freshness about them both which never fades, a truth and sweetness which charmed me as a boy and a youth, and on which, if I attain to it, I count largely for a soothing recreation in my old age.”
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II. SOME CAUSES OF GREEK UNITY.
The natural causes which tended to unite the Greeks as a people were a common descent, a common language, and a common religion. Greek genius led the nation to trace its origin, where historical memory failed, to fabulous persons sprung from the earth or the gods; and under the legends of primitive and heroic ancestors lie the actual migrations and conquests of rude bands sprung from related or allied tribes. These poetical tales, accepted throughout Hellas as historical, convinced the people of a common origin. Thus the Greeks had a common share in the renown of their ancient heroes, upon whose achievements or lineage the claims of families to hereditary authority, and of states to the leadership of confederacies, were grounded. The pride or the ambition of political rivals led to the gradual embellishment of these traditions, and ended in ancestral worship. Thus Attica had a temple to Theseus, the Ionian hero; the shrine of Æsculapius at Epidau’rus was famous throughout the classic world; and the exploits of Hercules were commemorated by the Dorians at the tomb of a Ne’mean king. When the bard and the playwright clothed these tales in verse, all Greece hearkened; and when the painter or the sculptor took these subjects for his skill, all Greece applauded. Thus was strengthened the national sense of fraternal blood.
The possession of a common speech is so great a means of union, that the Romans imposed the Latin tongue on all public business and official records, even where Greek was the more familiar language; and the Mediæval Church displayed her unity by the use of Latin in every bishopric on all occasions of public worship. A language not only makes the literature embodied in it the heritage of all who speak it, but it diffuses among them the subtle genius which has shaped its growth. The lofty regard in which the Greeks held their own musical and flexible language is illustrated by an anecdote of Themis’tocles, who put to death the interpreter of a Persian embassy to Athens because he dared “to use the Greek tongue to utter the demands of the barbarian king.” From Col’chis to Spain some Grecian dialect attested the extent and the unity of the Hellenic race.
The Greek institutions of religion were still more powerful instruments of unity. It was the genius of a race destitute of an organized priesthood, and not the fancy of the poet, which animated nature by personifying its forces. Zeus was the all-embracing heavens, the father of gods and men; Neptune presided over the seas; Deme’ter gave the harvest; Juno was the goddess of reproduction, and Aphrodi’te the patroness of Jove; while Apollo represented the joy-inspiring orb of day. The same imagination raised the earth to sentient life by assigning Dryads to the trees, Naiads to the fountains and brooks, O’re-ads to the hills, Ner’e-ids to the seas, and Satyrs to the fields; and in this many-sided and devout sympathy with nature the imagination and reverence of all Greece found expression. But Greek religion in its temples, its oracles, its games, and its councils, provided more tangible bonds of union than those of sentiment. Each city had its tutelary deity, whose temple was usually the most beautiful building in it, and to which any Greek might have access to make his offering or prayer. The sacred precincts were not to be profaned by those who were polluted with unexpiated crime, nor by blood, nor by the presence of the dead: Hence the temples of Greece were places of refuge for those who would escape from private or judicial vengeance. The more famous oracles of Greece were at Dodo’na, at Delphi, at Lebade’a in Boeotia, and at Epidaurus in Ar’golis. They were consulted by those who wished to penetrate the future. To this superstition the Greeks were greatly addicted, and they allowed the gravest business to wait for the omens of the diviner. A people thus disposed demanded and secured unmolested access to the oracle. The city in whose custody it was must be inviolable, and the roads thereto unobstructed. The oracle was a national possession, and its keepers were national servants.
THE GRECIAN FESTIVALS.
The public games or festivals of the Greeks were probably of greater efficacy in promoting a spirit of union than any other outgrowth of the religions sentiment of Greece. The Greeks exhibited a passionate fondness for festivals and games, which were occasionally celebrated in every state for the amusement of the people. These, however, were far less interesting than the four great public games, sacred to the gods, which were–the Pythian, at Delphos, sacred to Apollo; the Isth’mian, at Corinth, to Neptune; the Nemean, at Nemea, to Hercules; and the Olympic, at Olympia in E’lis, to Jupiter. To these cities flocked the young and the aged, the private citizen and the statesman, the trader and the artist, to witness or engage in the spectacles. The games were open to all citizens who could prove their Hellenic origin; and prizes were awarded for the best exhibitions of skill in poetry–and in running, wrestling, boxing, leaping, pitching the discus, or quoit, throwing the javelin, and chariot-racing.
The most important of these games was the Olympic, though it involved many principles common to the others. Its origin is obscure; and, though it appears that during the Heroic Age some Grecian chiefs celebrated their victories in public games at Olympia, yet it was not until the time of Lycurgus, in 776 B.C., that the games at Olympia were brought under certain rules, and performed at certain periods. At that time they were revived, so to speak, and were celebrated at the close of every fourth year. From their quadrennial occurrence all Hellas computed its chronology, the interval that elapsed between one celebration and the next being called an Olympiad. During the month that the games continued there was a complete suspension of all hostilities, to enable every Greek to attend them without hindrance or danger.
One of the most popular and celebrated of all the matches held at these games was chariot-racing, with four horses. The following description of one of these races is taken from a tragedy of SOPHOCLES–the Electra–translated by Bulwer. Orestes, son of Agamemnon, had gained five victories on the first day of the trial; and on the second, of which the account is here given, he starts with nine competitors–an Achæan, a Spartan, two Libyans, an Ætolian, a Magnesian; an Æ’ni-an, an Athenian, and a Boeotian –and meets his death in the moment of triumph.
The Chariot-race, and the Death of Orestes.
They took their stand where the appointed judges Had cast their lots and ranged the rival cars. Rang out the brazen trump! Away they bound! Cheer the hot steeds and shake the slackened reins; As with a body the large space is filled With the huge clangor of the rattling cars; High whirl aloft the dust-clouds; blent together Each presses each, and the lash rings, and loud Snort the wild steeds, and from their fiery breath, Along their manes, and down the circling wheels, Scatter the flaking foam.
Orestes still,
Aye, as he swept around the perilous pillar Last in the course, wheeled in the rushing axle, The left rein curbed–that on the outer hand Flung loose. So on erect the chariots rolled! Sudden the Ænian’s fierce and headlong steeds Broke from the bit, and, as the seventh time now The course was circled, on the Libyan car Dashed their wild fronts: then order changed to ruin; Car dashed on car; the wide Crissæ’an plain Was, sea-like, strewn with wrecks: the Athenian saw, Slackened his speed, and, wheeling round the marge, Unscathed and skilful, in the midmost space, Left the wild tumult of that tossing storm.
Behind, Orestes, hitherto the last,
Had kept back his coursers for the close; Now one sole rival left–on, on he flew, And the sharp sound of the impelling scourge Rang in the keen ears of the flying steeds. He nears–he reaches–they are side by side; Now one–now th’ other–by a length the victor. The courses all are past, the wheels erect– All safe–when, as the hurrying coursers round The fatal pillar dashed, the wretched boy Slackened the left rein. On the column’s edge Crashed the frail axle–headlong from the car, Caught and all mesh’d within the reins, he fell; And! masterless, the mad steeds raged along!
Loud from that mighty multitude arose A shriek–a shout! But yesterday such deeds– To-day such doom! Now whirled upon the earth, Now his limbs dashed aloft, they dragged him, those Wild horses, till, all gory, from the wheels Released–and no man, not his nearest friends, Could in that mangled corpse have traced Orestes. They laid the body on the funeral pyre, And, while we speak, the Phocian strangers bear, In a small, brazen, melancholy urn,
That handful of cold ashes to which all The grandeur of the beautiful hath shrunk. Within they bore him–in his father’s land To find that heritage, a tomb.
The Pythian games are said to have been established in honor of the victory that Apollo gained at Delphi over the serpent Py’thon, on setting out to erect his temple. This monster, said to have sprung from the stagnant waters of the deluge of Deucalion, may have been none other than the malaria which laid waste the surrounding country, and which some early benefactor of the race overcame by draining the marshes; or, perhaps, as the English writer, Dodwell, suggests, the true explanation of the allegorical fiction is that the serpent was the river Cephis’sus, which, after the deluge had overflowed the plains, surrounded Parnassus with its serpentine involutions, and was at length reduced, by the rays of the sun-god, within its due limits. The poet OVID gives the following relation of the fable:
Apollo’s Conflict with Python.
From hence the surface of the ground, with mud And slime besmeared (the refuse of the flood), Received the rays of heaven, and sucking in The seeds of heat, new creatures did begin. Some were of several sorts produced before; But, of new monsters, earth created more. Unwillingly, but yet she brought to light Thee, Python, too, the wondering world to fright, And the new nations, with so dire a sight, So monstrous was his bulk; so large a space Did his vast body and long train embrace; Whom Phoebus, basking on a bank, espied. Ere now the god his arrows had not tried But on the trembling deer or mountain-goat: At this new quarry he prepares to shoot.
Though every shaft took place, he spent the store Of his full quiver; and ’twas long before The expiring serpent wallowed in his gore. Then, to preserve the fame of such a deed, For Python slain he Pythian games decreed, Where noble youths for mastership should strive– To quoit, to run, and steeds and chariots drive. The prize was fame; in witness of renown, An oaken garland did the victor crown.
The laurel was not yet for triumphs born, But every green, alike by Phoebus worn, Did, with promiscuous grace, his flowing locks adorn. –Metamorphoses. Trans. by DRYDEN.
The victory of Apollo over the Python is represented by a statue called Apollo Belvedere, perhaps the greatest existing work of ancient art. It was found in 1503, among the ruins of ancient Antium, and it derives its name from its position in the belvedere, or open gallery, of the Vatican at Rome, where it was placed by Pope Julius II. It shows the conception which the ancients had of this benign deity, and also the high degree of perfection to which they had attained in sculpture. A modern writer gives the following account of it:
“The statue is of heroic size, and shows the very perfection of manly beauty. The god stands with the left arm extended, still holding the bow, while the right hand, which has just left the string, is near his hip. This right hand and part of the right arm, as well as the left hand, were wanting in the statue when found, and were restored by Angelo da Montor’soli, a pupil of Michael Angelo. The figure is nude; only a short cloak hangs over the left shoulder. The breast is full and dilated; the muscles are conspicuous, though not exaggerated; the body seems a little thin about the hips, but is poised with such singular grace as to impart to the whole a beauty hardly possessed by any other statue. The sculptor is not known: many attribute the statue to He-ge’si-as, the Ephesian, others to Praxit’e-les or Cal’amis; but its origin and date must remain a matter of conjecture.”
The following poetical description of this wonderful statue is given us by THOMSON:
All conquest-flushed, from prostrate Python came The quivered god. In graceful act he stands, His arm extended with the slackened bow: Light flows his easy robe, and fair displays A manly, softened form. The bloom of gods Seems youthful o’er the bearded cheek to wave; His features yet heroic ardor warms;
And, sweet subsiding to a native smile, Mixed with the joy elating conquest gives, A scattered frown exalts his matchless air.
THE NATIONAL COUNCILS.
While the elements of union we have been considering produced a decided effect in forming Greek national character–serving to strengthen, in the mind of the Greek, the feelings which bound him to his country by keeping alive his national love and pride, and exerting an important influence over his physical education