Chapter V: Euripides and Vase Painting (1)

§ 1. INTRODUCTION.

It has already been made clear that Euripides enjoyed an enormous popularity among Greek and Italian artists, and that he was the chief inspiration for works of art based on tragedy. This latter feature assumes a new interest when studied with the Greek vases. The great majority of these paintings, as has been pointed out, is to be placed within the fourth cent. B.C., and through them one approaches very near to the poet’s own time. They are to be valued, therefore, as most direct and reliable testimony concerning Greek tragedy and the place it occupied in the life of Lower Italy. Not a few of the paintings published in the following pages may have been seen by people who had known the Athenian society in which Euripides himself had moved. This proximity of the vases to the poet’s own day is an important point, and should be thoroughly comprehended in order to bring the true value of the paintings before one. The text of a classical Greek author, exposed to the emendatory zeal of the ancient grammarians and the ignorance and carelessness of scribes, had a precarious sort of existence before it was microscopically dissected and violently revised by modern philologists. Our oldest manuscript hardly goes back more than one-third of the way to the original. Between 1000 A.D. and 340 B.C., when the archetype of the three tragedians was ordered by Lykurgos, how long was the line of copies! It is vastly different with the edition of the _Medeia_, for example, on the amphora, p. 145. The vase relates the tragedy at first hand, and furnishes the student with an exhibition of the play that is more than twenty-two hundred years old. The original work and no copy carries one into the century succeeding the first production of the play. Such facts impress one with the importance of this class of monuments.

Before taking up the discussion of the vase paintings that are under the influence of Euripides, it may be well to examine for a moment the ancient testimony touching the poet. It is well known that he did not follow the orthodox form of tragic composition established by Aischylos and adhered to by Sophokles. He was less religious than either of the other two and, in the same degree, more a man of the world. He was interested in politics, rhetoric, and philosophy, and these elements accordingly found room in his plays. For introducing the common, ordinary affairs of daily life he was stoutly condemned by Aristophanes. His policy continued the same in spite of the virulent attacks of his enemies, and the individual appealed to him more strongly than the body politic; where the former poets had preached ἦθος and directed their messages to the world καθ’ ὅλον, Euripides disclosed for the first time the power of πάθος, and that of itself was specific and applied to the community καθ’ ἕκαστον. Herein lay Aristotle’s unfavourable criticism. The philosopher admired Homer, Aischylos, and Sophokles more than Euripides simply because he considered ἦθος to be a more potent factor than πάθος, and so he complains that none of the younger poets have the former[155]. By νέοι he evidently meant post-Euripidean writers, and yet there is no trace of the Aristotelian conception of ἦθος in Euripides. We may imagine that the great thinker looked for something more stable than πάθος. But this was all cold, calculating criticism, and Aristotle appears, for the most part, alone in placing Euripides below Aischylos and Sophokles. The Alexandrian grammarians were his chief followers. Plato found in Euripides an authority of great pre-eminence[156]. The immediate success that he enjoyed in his own time is well illustrated by the anecdote related in Plutarch’s _Life of Nikias_[157]. The fugitives from the Athenian army in the Sicilian expedition are said to have maintained themselves by reciting from Euripides’ works, and captives were able to gain their freedom by teaching their masters new selections from the Euripidean plays. The element of truth in this remarkable story enables one to understand something of the place held by this poet in the West. It is related of Alexander that he was particularly fond of Euripides, and that he performed the feat of reciting a whole scene from the _Andromeda_ at his fatal banquet[158]. A certain Axionikos wrote a comedy called the ‘Lover of Euripides,’ in which he represented the people as suffering from the Euripides-fad to such an extent that they counted all other poetry worthless[159]. A fitting _finale_ to all this is reached in the story told in the _vita_ of Euripides to the effect that Philemon would have been willing to hang himself if thereby he might have seen Euripides. That he was always in men’s mouths is attested by the large number of fragments from the lost plays. It is instructive to see that he was quoted in the Hellenistic period to the exclusion of Aischylos and Sophokles. Wisdom and state-craft were found in Homer, Hesiod, Pindar, and Euripides[160]. One is not surprised, therefore, to learn that his tragedies were the only ones produced at certain Dionysia[161]. This was the period in which most of the vase paintings in the following pages belong, and it is only these numerous traditions of the unparalleled popularity of this poet, east and west, north and south, that makes it possible to appreciate his wide-spread influence over art. The vases have to be studied in this light, and only then does their importance as a Euripidean commentary become sufficiently clear.

A glance at the conditions in Magna Graecia is necessary before leaving this topic. The theatre-going propensities of the Tarentines has been mentioned above, and one has now to ask himself who their favourite poet was. There can be but one answer. Here, as in Africa, Asia Minor, and Sicily, the public was sure to find the greatest satisfaction in a Euripidean _répertoire_. The travelling troops of actors performed in all the towns of Apulia, Campania, and Lucania, and the tragic forms of the myths were widely published. Euripides was, in short, more than ever the people’s poet, and he became later, with the rise of Latin tragedy, the poet of the Republic. Roman tragedy was Greek in everything but the language. The 166 years between the death of Euripides and the production of Livius Andronicus’ first play in Rome were a seed-time for the works of the Greek poet. The titles of Livius’ ten tragedies include two from Euripides—the _Andromeda_ and the _Danaë_—and the father of Latin poetry was a native of Tarentum. Ennius, born in Rudiae, which Strabo calls a πόλις Ἑλληνίς[162], was educated at Tarentum, and became the first national poet of the Romans. Among his twenty-two plays the following are either translations of Euripides or adaptations from him: _Alexandrus_, _Andromacha_, _Andromeda_, _Erechtheus_, _Medea_, _Medea exul_, _Melanippa_, _Phoenix_, _Telephus_, and perhaps _Alcumena_. Pacuvius, a nephew of Ennius, and the third one of the Latin tragedians, also followed Euripides more than Aischylos or Sophokles. He was born in Brundusium 268 B.C. and died in Tarentum 140 B.C. These three poets who come first in the history of Latin literature are peculiarly indebted to Euripides and likewise have a special relation to Magna Graecia and Tarentum. More than half of the whole number of works produced by them would appear to have been Euripidean. Whether it was the rhetorical or pathetic element that appealed to the Romans more strongly, the fact that Euripides was the primary force in Latin tragedy is very important.

In this attempt to indicate the wider influence of the Attic drama upon the Latins I have been carried beyond the time of the vase industry, but the Latin literature of the third and second century B.C. was the legitimate product of the conditions that had prevailed in the preceding period. The Greek literary and artistic genius blossomed into an Italian flower and flourished in the soil that had been fertilized by centuries of Hellenic influences. It is to a small section of this wonderful life in Magna Graecia that the present work is devoted. The vase paintings that follow can best tell their own story of the wide-spread Hellenization of Lower Italy in the fourth century and of the place held by Euripides in the onward march of Hellenism.

§ 2. ANDROMACHE.

It does not appear that in the pre-Euripidean literature Orestes played any part in the death of Neoptolemos. Pindar at least did not know anything of the Menelaos-Orestes conspiracy against the son of Achilles[163] but Menelaos’ relation to Sparta afforded a rare opportunity for a political polemic. The latter could be painted as a much more despicable character, as could also the Lakedaimonians in general, provided Orestes were involved in the unholy murder. The anti-Spartan feeling in Athens was sufficient to guarantee a hearty reception to any drama depicting the crookedness and treachery of the Spartan character. Such a play was certain to meet the demands of a campaign document.

The _Andromache_ has, however, little of the merit which one can usually discover in Euripides; it was classed even by the ancients among his second-rate works[164]. There is but one effective situation in the whole tragedy, and that is the speech of the messenger, vs. 1085–1165, which gives the account of Neoptolemos’ murder at Delphi. The beginning is remarkably simple and unaffected, but when once the poet gets under way the action increases rapidly in violence, becoming at every step more and more intense until at last the whole temple of Apollo resounds with the roar of the unholy tumult. Orestes’ party is, of course, victorious over the single-handed descendant of Peleus. This manœuvring inside the temple is unique, and intensely dramatic and picturesque. The pictorial importance of the scene is attested by a painting on a large amphora found in Ruvo[165].

Fig. 10.
]

In the centre is the sanctuary of Apollo denoted by two tripods, the laurel tree, the omphalos covered with a netting, and the altar. To the latter, already dashed with blood, Neoptolemos, ΝΕΟΠΤΟΛΕΜΟΣ, has fled. He holds a drawn sword in his right hand and whirls his chlamys about his left. He wears a petasos and has a sword-cut in his left side from which blood is oozing. His face is turned towards the omphalos behind which Orestes, ΟΡΕΣΤΑΣ, appears to be dodging. He has a chlamys and a pilos; in his left hand the sheath of a sword, the latter being in his right. On the left, behind the altar, is another youth, nude except the chlamys on the left arm. He holds a spear in the right hand as though about to cast it at Neoptolemos. The centre of the upper section is filled out with an Ionic temple, the doors of which are open. On the left, the half-figure of a woman, recognizable by the key as the temple priestess (κλῃδοῦχος)[166], appears in great alarm. Apollo, ΑΠΟΛΛΩΝ, with his bow, occupies a seat on the right of the temple[167].

In order to understand the painting it is necessary to bear in mind what preceded the speech of the messenger. Andromache, the wife of Hektor, had fallen to the lot of Neoptolemos on the division of the Trojan spoils and had been taken by him to Phthia. As his captive she had raised him a son, Molossos, while his lawful wife Hermione, daughter of Menelaos and cousin of Orestes, continued barren. Hermione, being suspicious that it was through some drugs of Andromache that she had been rendered thus unhappy, determined upon the latter’s death, and while Neoptolemos was absent at Delphi to atone for certain family wrongs the desperate Hermione proceeded to carry out her resolve to destroy both the mother and the young Molossos. This spiteful work of the injured wife occupies the first part of the tragedy. The two are finally saved by the intervention of the aged Peleus, and Hermione thereupon resolves to kill herself. At this point, Orestes, who is on his way to consult the oracle at Dodona, enters. On learning of the insults and injuries that had been heaped upon Hermione, once promised him for a bride, he at once undertakes to relieve her of any reason for dreading the return of Neoptolemos and the attendant disclosure of her wicked plans.

He leaves accordingly for Delphi. The messenger comes in after a song by the chorus and relates what has taken place. Orestes had gone round putting the Delphians on their guard against this Neoptolemos whose plan was to sack the temple. Credence was at once given to the fabrication, and the inhabitants determined upon a bold step. When Neoptolemos was at the altar addressing the god, the band of armed Delphians who were lying in wait for him behind the sacred laurel tree sprang out and fell upon him.

This furnishes the setting for our painting, and we may turn for a little to a closer examination of the account given by the poet. It will be noticed that the artist, while in some respects keeping close to the latter, has in the main done his work rather independently. Common to both are the δάφνη (v. 1115) and the βωμός (vs. 1123 and 1138). The attacking party in the painting includes Orestes, thus emphasizing the point which Euripides really had in mind. In this particular the artist has gone ahead of the poet. It appears, indeed, as though Orestes had just made the slash in Neoptolemos’ side. The moment represented is, therefore, that when the fight was on. The Delphians appear to have but one representative, who is certainly creating far less annoyance for Neoptolemos than does the company in Euripides, where they hurl rocks and fill the air with dust and din. The setting of the scene in the painting is magnificent. Everything points to the great shrine; both the exterior and interior of the temple are visible. As for the Ionic order it should be remembered that this has nought to do with the historic facts in the case. An examination of the buildings on the vases of Lower Italy reveals a decided preference on the part of the artists for this order of architecture[168]. The painting is an excellent example of the influence of the poet over the artist. This is, however, no mere illustration, a fact to be remembered in dealing with all the paintings of this class; the spirit and not the letter is what one can trace most readily in works of art based upon the tragedians. The agreement between the literary source and the picture is more apparent here than in most instances, and this is largely due to the fact that the _Andromache_ is particularly Euripidean. This turn does not occur in any other author. A parallel case will be observed in the chapter dealing with _Iphigeneia among the Taurians_. It is this alteration and extension of old myths which characterizes Euripides’ work. These new features were popular and attracted the public, and here one gets the key to the unparalleled influence which this poet exercised upon artists.

§ 3. BAKCHAI.

Euripides’ _Bakchai_ is our chief authority concerning the fate of Pentheus[169], yet this writer did not by any means establish the details of the story. This was done long before Thespis may have assayed to dramatize the tragic episode[170] and before Aischylos wrote his _Pentheus_[171]. It is not probable that Euripides materially altered the accepted form of the myth, and there may be in his play a mixture of the traditional and Aischylean versions. Pentheus’ death, like the madness of the Thracian king Lykurgos, was inseparably connected with the advent of the Dionysiac worship. The series of victories won by the orgiastic god from the wild North was not bloodless; his coming was attended with opposition. In the end, however, his foes were annihilated or ruined, and the new joy brought in by the foreign god captivated a nation and made it his devout worshipper. Euripides could say little or nothing new touching the triumph of Dionysos over the king of Thebes, yet this tragedy, one of the most brilliant pieces of Greek literature, paints in glorious colours the history of the victory.

The events, as told by Euripides, are briefly as follows. Dionysos has arrived in Thebes from Lydia and the East, where he had already established his choirs of Bacchanals. Thebes was the first city to which he came, and here, where he least expected opposition, scepticism met him. The sisters of his mother Semele circulated the report that he was no god but an impostor. He forthwith drove the Kadmeian women maddened from their homes to wander in the mountains attired in the Dionysiac dress; the Bacchic craze spread further, and seized even the seer Teiresias and Kadmos, who with thyrsoi and fawn-skins joined the orgies. Pentheus, on hearing of these strange doings, appears and chides them both, and threatens to hunt the women from the mountains and punish the stranger who has made his family drunk with frenzy. At v. 434 Dionysos, bewitchingly beautiful, is led a prisoner before Pentheus, who orders him to be bound and cast into the royal stable. Soon afterward the walls are heard to crash in and flames burst forth in every direction (v. 593 ff.). The god, to be sure, is safe, and Pentheus is mocked and wild with anger, while the former bids him be quiet and subdue his anger. At this point a messenger arrives to recount the strange sights that had met his eyes on the mountains. Three bands of women, led by Autonoë, Agave, and Ino, had rushed upon his herd of cattle and torn them limb from limb, and afterward they washed the blood from their hands in a fountain made to flow by the god. In the face of these wonders he urges Pentheus to honour the latter, but the king will not brook this Bacchic insolence and threatens to sacrifice a hekatomb of women on Kithairon rather than propitiate the unwelcome visitor. Dionysos advises him not to kick against the pricks (v. 795); in a moment Pentheus’ attitude is seen to change; the secret power of the god is working on him; he will see the strange actions himself, and would rather forfeit a thousand-weight in gold than forgo the opportunity (v. 812). The linen chiton is at once provided, and Dionysos, who is to lead the way, directs the arrangement of the dress so that Pentheus shall not be mistaken for a man. After some scruples as to the figure he may make before his citizens he is anxious to be off. Once in the mountains giddiness comes upon him. He sees two suns, and a double Thebes, and twice seven gates; he declares that the god himself has taken on a bull’s form with horns (v. 918 ff.). Immediately thereafter he obtains the first glimpse of the women. There are Ino and his mother Agave. Then he worries lest he may not hold his thyrsos correctly. This shows his sad predicament too plainly. Dionysos has done his work; his vengeance on the recalcitrant Pentheus is at hand. At first the latter feels himself able to overturn the whole mountain and asks the advice of the god as to the best means of annihilating the troop. When violence is not recommended he suggests that he had best hide in a pine-tree to view the sight (v. 954). Nothing further is ever heard from the king’s own lips except in his death-cry reported by the messenger who had accompanied him. When they had reached the band in the glen, shadowed by pines (πεύκη, v. 1052), the thicket was so dense that Pentheus requested that he might be allowed to ascend the bank or climb a tree (v. 1061) in order to command the field. Dionysos bent a tree to the ground, placed the king upon the boughs and allowed it to rise again, and, turning to his devotees, pointed to their prey. Stones and darts are directed at Pentheus, and finally the tree is pulled up by main force and he falls an easy victim to the maddened women. Agave, heeding none of his cries, tears out a shoulder; Ino, Autonoë, and the rest help in dismembering the king. His mother fixed his head upon a thyrsos and led the troop on a wild dance over Kithairon, finally coming to the palace. Gradually freed from the insanity, she realized the enormity of her crime. Dionysos’ godhead was, however, established, and the house of Kadmos remained a terrible witness of his power. These are the harrowing details of the murder, and one cannot wonder that there are numerous vase paintings based on the tragedy.

There is a long list of vases that can for the most part be passed over with a mere reference. They are all, with perhaps one exception, later than 500 B.C. This means that the impetus for the tragedy in art was given largely by the tragic drama. The oldest painting is older than the _Pentheus_ of Aischylos and cannot, therefore, be connected with his play. There may have been an earlier dramatization, such as that recorded of Thespis, which figured in this monument[172]. All the remaining paintings belong to the latter part of the fifth century B.C. and the fourth century B.C., and are, with one exception, of too general a character to be used as evidence for one of the tragedies[173]. On the Munich hydria it seems to me there are clear traces of the _Bakchai_, and this widely-known work is given here in fig. 11[174].

Fig. 11.
]

Pentheus, wearing chlamys, pilos, and boots, crouches, with a drawn sword in his right hand, in a thicket denoted by two trees. A maenad who appears to have just discovered him rushes into the hiding-place with a torch in her right hand[175]; she is dressed in a plain, Doric peplos. Another maenad, similarly dressed but having a fawn-skin over the left hand and a sword in the right, does not seem to have sighted Pentheus. A third, dressed like the first one, holding a tympanon in the left hand and a thyrsos in the right, approaches wholly unconcerned with the discovery of her companions. On the right is another group of three maenads all dressed alike and all in rapid motion. The first holds in either hand the quarters of a kid or roe. The second shoulders the thyrsos with her left hand and makes an ecstatic gesture with her right. The third one, in even more violent motion, swings her veil about her and rushes on towards the left.

It should be noted, to begin with, that the vase is a Lower Italy fabric of the fourth century B.C., and that there is therefore no chronological difficulty in placing it under the influence of the _Bakchai_. The troop of maenads is arranged symmetrically, an equal number being on each side of the central scene, and this suggests the chorus in the play. The striking feature is the introduction of the landscape; there is no doubt as to where the catastrophe occurs. The artist did not allow himself the licence of placing Pentheus in the tree, for this had been too grotesque a sight for the fourth-century painter. The frequent references to the thicket[176] and the protection it was or the inconvenience it caused, is happily brought out in the picture, but the poet has not been followed in details. Pentheus does not appear with the thyrsos, talaric chiton, and dishevelled hair, for the simple reason that he would have been indistinguishable from the maenads. As he appears in the painting the contrast is striking and the eye at once grasps the situation. The torch held by the foremost maenad lights the way to the retreat of Pentheus, suggesting the words—

καὶ πρὸς οὐρανὸν
καὶ γαῖαν ἐστήριζε φῶς σεμνοῦ πυρός. v. 1082 f.

That one is armed with a sword while the others have no weapon finds also a parallel in Euripides, who says one time that they used nought but their hands—

χειρὸς ἀσιδήρου μέτα. v. 736.

and again that the sword shall do its work—

ἴτω ξιφηφόρος. vs. 992, 1012.

The wild revelry of the whole is instructive when studied with the poet. The Bacchanal who flaunts the quarters of her victim reminds one at once of the words—

ἀγρεύων | αἷμα τραγοκτόνον, ὠμοφάγον χάριν. v. 138 f.

In conclusion, reference should be made again to the newly discovered wall painting in Pompeii. It is so remarkably preserved and so thoroughly in the spirit of Euripides that there can be little doubt as to the influence of the _Bakchai_[177]. The only Pentheus painting recorded in classical literature was that in the Dionysos temple in Athens, which may also have been inspired by Euripides[178]. Is the Pompeian painting an echo of the celebrated one in Athens?

§ 4. HEKABE.

The _Hekabe_ is one of those plays which, like the _Andromache_, embraces a series of events loosely associated. There are in fact two distinct parts to this tragedy, having no other connexion than one would observe between two separate works where the same heroine appeared. Two heavy blows which the Fates dealt Hekabe after the fall of Troy constitute the subject of the action.

The first of these new calamities was the death of Polyxena. The Greeks are encamped on the Chersonesos side of the Hellespont. Among the captives are the former queen of Troy and her daughter. Achilles, who is among the shades, demands of the Greeks that Polyxena be sacrificed to him. The request cannot be ignored, and Odysseus and others are commissioned to secure her from her mother. The parting scene between Hekabe and the daughter is heartrending, but the courage and self-control exhibited by the latter are remarkable. Talthybios, the faithful herald of Agamemnon, afterwards reports to Hekabe the details of the sacrifice, and this description of the fair and innocent Polyxena is one of the gems of Greek literature. The lines in particular which describe her actions immediately before the fatal moment are famous for their beauty.

Although the offering of Polyxena was known in Greek art and letters before Euripides’ time[179], the subject must have been far more popular after the production of this tragedy. It appears to me a mere accident that no vase painting representing the scene has so far come to light. There is, however, on a so-called ‘Megarian Bowl’ a relief decoration, probably dating from the third century B.C., which doubtless owes its existence to Euripides[180]. It has seemed to me desirable to include this here, even though it carries us beyond the limits prescribed to the present work. The cup, found in Thebes, is in the Berlin Antiquarium[181]. The middle of the composition represents the tumulus of Achilles, above which is raised a stele with akroteria and a fillet. On the left, Polyxena, with exposed bosom and flowing hair, kneels with extended arms. Approaching her is Neoptolemos wearing a chlamys and holding his sword ready for the fatal stroke; behind the latter is a figure in a short undergarment, mantle and pilos. The cap distinguishes the person as Odysseus. Agamemnon sits with back to the beholder upon the extreme left, and lifts his left hand (not his right hand as Robert says), evidently astonished at the remarkable composure of the victim. On the right of the tomb are three warriors, who are more or less closely connected with the others. The first one appears to raise his hand in wonder at the fortitude of Polyxena; the second, who does not seem to be armed, has the appearance of one weeping; the third is apparently little interested in the tragedy. It is not necessary to name these three persons, evidently representatives of the Achaeans. The first one may perhaps be Talthybios, since he says he was present (v. 524). The dolphins upon the vase are meant no doubt to characterize the sea-shore where the sacrifice took place.

Fig. 12.
]

The essential part of the composition is, however, the tumulus and the figures on the left. Everything here illustrates Euripides. One reads in v. 221 of

... ὀρθὸν χῶμ’ Ἀχιλλείου τάφου.

The attitude of Polyxena is based upon the beautiful verses in the messenger’s speech:—

λαβοῦσα πέπλους ἐξ ἄκρας ἐπωμίδος
ἔρῥηξε λαγόνος ἐς μέσον παρ’ ὀμφαλόν,
μαστούς τ’ ἔδειξε στέρνα θ’ ὡς ἀγάλματος

κάλλιστα, καὶ καθεῖσα πρὸς γαῖαν γόνυ
ἔλεξε πάντων τλημονέστατον λόγον·
‘ἰδοὺ τόδ’, εἰ μὲν στέρνον, ὦ νεανία,
παίειν προθυμεῖ, παῖσον, εἰ δ’ ὑπ’ αὐχένα
χρῄζεις, πάρεστι λαιμὸς εὐτρεπὴς ὅδε.’
ὁ δ’ οὐ θέλων τε καὶ θέλων, οἴκτῳ κόρης,
τέμνει σιδήρῳ πνεύματος διαρῥοάς. vs. 558–567.

Even the hesitation of Neoptolemos, expressed in the last two verses, finds its place in the relief. Odysseus, who was intimately identified with the proceedings from first to last (vs. 218–437), could not be wanting in an illustration of the final scene. Agamemnon too is fittingly present, for, according to Euripides, he had given the order to carry out the sacrifice,

Ἀγαμέμνων τ’ ἄναξ
εἶπεν μεθεῖναι παρθένον νεανίαις. vs. 553 f.

and had dismissed Talthybios to Hekabe (v. 504).

The second part of the play begins with v. 658, where the servant of Hekabe enters with the body of the latter’s young son Polydoros. Priam had intrusted the boy to Polymestor, king of Thrace, when the Greeks attacked Ilion. A considerable sum of gold accompanied the child to ensure his maintenance if the city should be captured. As long as the Trojans held out, Polymestor was true to his charge, but no sooner had the news of the downfall of Priam’s house reached the ears of the good Thracian than he put the child to death for the money and cast his body out unburied. This is related in the prologue by the ghost of Polydoros, who also prophesies the death of Polyxena on that day. His body was accordingly discovered by the attendant, who happened upon it by mere chance, and immediately after receiving the terrible message from Talthybios, Hekabe was made to bow beneath another sorrow. She at once summons her courage and determines to have revenge upon the unrighteous Polymestor. She first relates to Agamemnon the story of the boy’s death, and the king, deeply incensed at the ἀξενία of the Thracian, agrees to her plan for avenging herself on the latter. She sends for Polymestor under the pretence of disclosing to him some weighty matter. He comes, and at her request dismisses his bodyguard, not mistrusting in the least that his crime had been discovered. To questions as to the welfare of Polydoros and the safety of the gold he replies that all is well and that the child would gladly have come to visit his mother. Hekabe then proceeds to tell him of some treasures which she wishes to commit to his keeping. These are in the tent, and he shall go inside and examine them for himself. ‘No Achaean is within; we are quite alone,’ she says, and with this assurance Polymestor leaves the light of day for ever. Once inside, his cries of agony soon announce that Hekabe has done her work with swift and certain hand.

The scene representing the reappearance of the blinded Polymestor has been recognized on a Lucanian vase[182]. In the middle stands the helpless king, his arms extended in a distressed manner. He is dressed in a short, embroidered chiton and a mantle, and wears a tall head-gear that indicates his barbarian nationality. Agamemnon is on the left, with sceptre and himation; he appears to be addressing the former. Following is a doryphoros. On the right are Hekabe and an attendant, both dressed in chiton and mantle. The latter places her arm over Hekabe’s shoulder and seems to be comforting her, as she shrinks away from the figure in the centre. The cane is suggestive of the queen’s age and of the wandering life upon which she is entering. A sword rests upon the ground, pointing probably to the weapon which was used to blind Polymestor. It is not necessary to cite any particular verses from Euripides which the artist may have had in mind. He simply told the story as it recurred to him. Especially suggestive of the king’s staggering step are the verses beginning

ὤμοι ἐγώ, πᾷ βῶ,
πᾷ στῶ, πᾷ κέλσω; vs. 1056 ff.,

spoken when Polymestor first appeared before the tent of Hekabe after the latter had put out his eyes. The chorus, Agamemnon, and Hekabe are then present, and with alternating parts fill out the rest of the play (vs. 1109 ff.).

Fig. 13.
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§ 5. HIPPOLYTOS.

In the _Phaidra_ of Sophokles and the first _Hippolytos_ of Euripides it was Phaidra herself who acknowledged to Hippolytos her love for him. The votary of Artemis, at once enraged at this effrontery, cast her aside. She then defamed the youth to Theseus, who, believing her statement, prayed to Poseidon to destroy his son. The god accordingly sent a sea-monster to frighten the horses of Hippolytos, and the latter was soon dragged to his death. On receiving the news of this, Phaidra hung herself[183]. Sophokles’ play does not appear to have ever made any impression upon the world and must have been soon forgotten, and Euripides’ tragedy met with great disapproval. Such a Phaidra was more than the Greeks would tolerate. The poet grasped the situation and wrote another _Hippolytos_, which set him right with his public. It was no longer Phaidra in and of herself who became the instrument of the youth’s death; Aphrodite, angered at Hippolytos’ serving Artemis instead of herself, starts the gentle flame within Phaidra’s bosom and visits her with a love-sickness that drives the unfortunate woman into a confession of her illness to her attendant. On the latter’s placing the matter before Hippolytos, all to no avail, Phaidra takes her own life, not forgetting, however, to leave behind a letter containing delicate charges against her step-son. Theseus returns, finds his wife a corpse, and reads the letter. The curse and death of his son follow, as in the earlier _Hippolytos_. This ruin was brought on him not so much by Phaidra as by Aphrodite.

The tragedy was counted among the best of Euripides’, and has always retained its popularity. The subject was dramatized again in Greek[184], and there is extant the Latin version of Seneca[185]. The theme was one which was sure to appeal to modern authors, and among the French alone one hears of no less than seven tragedies on the love of Phaidra, written between the years 1573 and 1786. Four of these, the most famous of which is Racine’s _Phèdre_, belong to the seventeenth century. They are, however, more directly indebted to Seneca and Ovid[186] than to Euripides. Mention should be made also of the two operas by Pellegrin, 1733, and Lemoine, 1786. But after all has been said on versions of the story either in classical or modern times, one turns to the masterpiece of Euripides as the great work. According to the author of the Hypothesis, the play is among the best of this poet and was given the first prize. In reflecting that Hippolytos has stood forth since March, 428 B.C., as the _beau idéal_ of innocent, unsullied, young manhood, one is inclined to credit the judges with possessing good sense.

There was hardly a more attractive legend than this which the artists might have been tempted to make their own, yet one discovers a surprising dearth of Greek monuments that can be referred to the myth. From these I select two vase paintings that appear to be based upon Euripides.

Fig. 14 (_vid. p. 102 ff._).
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Fig. 14 represents a painting on a krater in the British Museum[187]. The upper section alone concerns us here, and this shows the interior of a gynaikonitis with _kline_. On the left is a group of two females. One sits on a stool to the right, wears chiton and veil, diadem, bracelets, and necklace, and leans forward, with head dropped to one side, clasping her right knee thrown over the other. Her left foot rests on a foot-stool. Behind her a white-haired servant in the usual costume holds her right hand to her chin, and with troubled air gestures with the left hand as she speaks to her mistress. A large Eros with immense wings flies down towards the latter with a taenia in his hands. There are, further, two other groups of two each. The one before the _kline_ is two females again. An attendant, distinguished by her hood, who holds a fan in her right hand, talks and gestures earnestly before the other, who wears the simple Doric peplos, ungirdled, and stands with her back to the _kline_ in a disturbed and troubled sort of mood. The remaining group of two, a pedagogue in the customary dress and a female figure similar to the one on the extreme left, is also concerned over some important matter which the pedagogue is telling. Certain articles hang on the wall.

The picture has been interpreted as representing Phaidra in the presence of the chorus, and depending upon _Hippolytos_ vs. 267 ff. The right-hand group would then be very loosely connected with the rest. In so far as the love-sickness of Phaidra is concerned this appears to me a correct interpretation, but that the chorus is in any way represented by the other figures is entirely out of the question. The whole affair is supposed to be in Phaidra’s apartments, to which at no time the Troizenian women had access. What would they be doing by the _kline_[188]? The pedagogue is added on one side, as though to indicate how the news is spreading among the domestics[189].

But let me turn for a moment to another class of monuments that help to a better understanding of the scene. There are no less than seventeen reliefs on the long side of Roman sarcophagi which are practically intact and furnish from two to three scenes of the tragedy. Less frequently the ends contain one or two other groups supplementing the front side[190]. There are four moments that are distinctly traceable. (1) The love-sick Phaidra sits on a chair in her apartments surrounded by the old nurse and other servants, who attempt to comfort her. She wears a veil as on the vase painting, and on two reliefs one of the attendants is removing this[191]. The diadem is also distinguishable. (2) The nurse makes her declaration to Hippolytos, who turns away from her. (3) Hippolytos with his followers is about to start upon, or is already engaged in, the hunt. (4) The horses run away and bring him to his death. All four scenes occur on the famous sarcophagus in Girgenti[192], and on another in St. Petersburg[193]. It will be observed that in three of the four groups Hippolytos himself is present, and one naturally looks for him in scenes taken from the tragedy where he is the main figure. The earliest scene in Euripides which develops the hopeless state of affairs with Phaidra is, however, of prime importance next to the death of Hippolytos.

But a brief comparison of the left-hand group of our painting and the Phaidra scene on these reliefs is necessary, in order to reveal a striking resemblance in the compositions. The one difference rests in the size of the groups; the painter has confined himself to fewer figures. This fact, however, is of little importance. A closer examination of the two discloses much that points to a common source. On nearly all the reliefs Phaidra’s chair has, as in the painting, no back or arms; Eros, who flies towards Phaidra in fig. 14, invariably stands beside her on the sarcophagi, looking up into her sad face, or, what is still worse, aims an arrow at her[194]. The queen wears in all cases the veil, and often on the reliefs the diadem likewise[195]. The nurse never fails in her ministry.

It is time now to look more closely at the tragedy. After the prologue by Aphrodite, Hippolytos and his followers enter and pay their homage to Artemis. The hero lays a wreath upon her statue, which adorned one side of the entrance to Pittheus’ palace. The attendants are ordered inside and he then withdraws. His servant remains long enough to address a prayer to Aphrodite’s image on the other side of the stage. Following is the parodos in which the chorus relates what had been learned concerning the illness of Phaidra. Among other things they hear that she sits

... λεπτὰ δὲ φάρη
ξανθὰν κεφαλὰν σκιάζειν. v. 133 f.

This, it will be observed, corresponds to her position in the painting and in the reliefs. It is just this time of abstinence and mourning, spent in the palace surrounded by the faithful old nurse and other servants, which suggested the scene on the reliefs and on the vase. The visitations of Eros serve well to bring into objectivity the real cause of Phaidra’s illness, and to render the poet more plain. To be sure this all took place in her apartments, ἐντὸς οἴκων (v. 132), and could therefore be worked out according to the artist’s fancy. A long and animated scene ensues, in which Phaidra utters strange expressions that betray the sadness of her condition. The trophos finally coaxes the secret from her, and the chorus dips in from time to time as a sort of second to the nurse. The interview which the latter has with Hippolytos, vs. 601–668, is overheard by Phaidra. Her unrequited love bears her down and she leaves the stage determined to die (v. 731), and in a few moments is announced as dead[196].

The scenes on the sarcophagi representing Hippolytos’ hunt, the counterpart of Phaidra’s illness, and the trophos’ proposal[197] to the hero do not appear on vases.

Hippolytos’ ride to death, the terrible _finale_ of the tragedy, appears on an Apulian krater also in the British Museum[198]. The painting falls into an upper and lower section. In the latter, Hippolytos dashes along in his chariot; the four horses are not in any apparent disorder although the next moment must be fatal, for just before them the sea-monster rises into view, and a Fury with a flaming torch and serpents wound about her arms runs into their course. A pedagogue hurries along from the rear, extending his left hand, warning Hippolytos of his danger. The scene is viewed by five divinities. Their positions are the stereotyped ones of the Apulian vases, and their connexion with the tragedy before them need not be intimate[199]. Athena in the middle, a great favourite in these groups, leans on her shield and carries a lance and in her right hand the helmet. Apollo, distinguished by bow, laurel bough, and wreath in the hair, sits on her right, facing Pan who stands half reversed to the beholder with the syrinx in the right hand, and resting his left elbow on a rock. On Athena’s left sits Aphrodite, attended by a large Eros, who extends a kylix to Poseidon sitting on the right, holding the trident. There is certainly ample reason for the presence of the last two gods at the death of Hippolytos; they are, in fact, very instrumental in bringing about the catastrophe. I am not able to assign any satisfactory reason for the appearance of Athena, Apollo, and Pan. Mere speculation concerning the choice of these deities cannot be of much value. Artemis is surely indispensable in a group of gods concerned with Hippolytos’ death. Any one who knows these groups on the vases of Lower Italy is aware that Athena is a great favourite and often appears, as here, merely because she was so admired. Perhaps Apollo is intended to represent Artemis, but it is not likely that the artist thought so far[200].

Fig. 15 (_vid. p. 108 ff._).
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In regard to the lower section it may be observed first that the district is not denoted in any way as being the sea-shore where Euripides sends the youth for a drive[201]. There is no water indicated, out of which the ταῦρος ἄγριον τέρας[202] is issuing. The mounted companions of Hippolytos are represented only by the pedagogue. The time is that just preceding the breaking away of the horses described by the messenger, vs. 1218 ff. The Fury, a gratuitous addition of the artist, serves to intensify the violence of the death awaiting Hippolytos.

The deplorable end of the hero has never failed to awaken one’s sympathy. The innocent youth dragged to his death through the workings of a hasty and unjust curse presents one of the most pathetic pictures in Greek literature. It is well depicted by Philostratos in the _Imagines_[203]. ‘You see,’ he says, ‘how the horses no longer obey the reins but rush madly along the plain, covered with foam. This one makes for the wild beast, the second rebounds, another rushes for the sea, and the fourth glances fearfully at the ground.’ The breaking and crashing of the chariot are pointed out. Then the companions gallop up and try to manage the horses. The hills near by, sentinels of the disaster, in the form of women, tear their cheeks for grief; the meadows, in the form of boys, allow their flowers to wilt and the nymphs from the springs rend their hair, while water spouts from their breasts. Hippolytos’ limbs are torn and shattered, and his eyes are gouged from their sockets. Pliny tells of a painting by Antiphilus of Alexandria which represented _Hippolytus tauro emisso expavescens_[204], but nothing further is known of Antiphilus or when he lived. The sarcophagi reliefs representing the catastrophe are numerous, compared with those showing any other moment[205]. Not less interesting is the list of Etruscan urns decorated with reliefs showing the bull, the runaway horses, and the _expavescens_ youth[206]. In all of these a female figure, doubtless a Fury, is frightening the horses[207]. In two cases she is winged, and every one carries a torch likewise, as on the vase painting.

§ 6. IPHIGENEIA AT AULIS.

The story of Iphigeneia’s sacrifice appears to have been told first in the _Kypria_, and yet only occasional references are made to it by writers before the fifth century. It was the drama that infused new life into the myth and launched it as one of the most popular ones in the Trojan Cycle. Each of the three great tragedians tried his hand at the catastrophe in Aulis. Euripides’ work, the only one surviving, is at least two generations younger than the play of Aischylos, so that the wide popularity of the tragedy in this period is well attested. Among the Roman poets we know that Ennius, at least, wrote a version of the tragedy. Although it is known that this poet had a special predilection for Euripides, and for the most part translated or adapted the latter’s plays, attempts have been made to show that in his _Iphigenia_ Ennius was largely indebted to Sophokles[208]. The few fragments remaining from these three _Iphigeneias_ are, however, inconsiderable, and a clear notion of their relation to each other cannot be reached. The extant work of Euripides is accordingly of great value to us.

In art, likewise, this subject was rarely treated. I know of no Iphigeneia monument earlier than the fifth century. There is a reference in the _Agamemnon_ to the sacrifice as though Aischylos may have seen the scene represented in a painting[209], and granted that the poet really had such a work in mind this becomes the earliest date for Iphigeneia in art. The earliest monument of which we possess any authentic record is the famous painting of Timanthes, who was a contemporary of Zeuxis and Parrhasios[210]. This date, however, does not carry one beyond the last years of the fifth century B.C.—an altogether late date for an art representation of a myth, which, from Aischylos’ time at least, was widely known. We have reason to believe that Timanthes’ work was suggested by Euripides’ tragedy. The latter was first produced in Athens after the poet’s death, not earlier than 405 B.C., and this requires that the painting be placed near the end of the century, which many are unwilling to admit; it is, however, more a matter of opinion than proof. Traces of this celebrated picture are very probably at hand in the well-known Pompeian wall painting[211], and the Uffizi altar[212]. The composition of the latter has much in common with such fifth-century products as the Orpheus and Peliades reliefs[213]. The Etruscan urns on the other hand furnish a wealth of reliefs representing the sacrifice, rarely surpassed in this class of monuments. Numbers have come to light in the neighbourhood of Perugia especially[214]. Two groups are easily distinguishable, (1) Iphigeneia, as a little girl, is held over the altar by Odysseus, while Agamemnon goes through the ἀπαρχαί. (2) The first group is extended by (_a_) Klytaimestra on the side of Agamemnon, and (_b_) Achilles on the side of Odysseus, each begging for mercy and the life of Iphigeneia. This is all non-Euripidean, and Schlie has attempted to point out that the reliefs owe their origin to Ennius’ play which combined Sophoklean and Euripidean elements[215].

There is no vase painting which can be claimed for this scene in its Euripidean character, but the whole play is the basis of a relief on a ‘Megarian’ cup, and the illustration is so valuable for the proper appreciation of the tragedy that I do not hesitate to include this little monument. The cup furnishes inscriptional evidence not only for the _dramatis personae_ but for the literary source as well, and is, therefore, a _unicum_ among the monuments that are based upon Euripides. The cut given in fig. 16 is of the vase in Berlin[216]. It should be observed, however, that there are two other copies of this same work, and that they tell exactly the same story from the _Iphigeneia_[217]. A word is necessary in order to prepare us for the first scene given. Agamemnon had sent a message to Argos summoning Iphigeneia, and, in spite of his attempt to countermand this by a secret letter to Klytaimestra, he was forced to face the results of his earlier resolve. His daughter came, and accompanying her were her mother and her young brother Orestes. The nuptials were to be celebrated with the son of Peleus, and the Argive party in gayest, happiest mood halted before the tent of Agamemnon. The Chalkian women, who through curiosity had crossed the Euripos to see the gathered hosts of the Greeks, are ready at hand to assist Iphigeneia in alighting from the chariot. The lad Orestes, who appears to have gone to sleep during the journey, is awakened and lifted down by one of the kindly strangers. With her mother’s permission, Iphigeneia hastens inside to meet her father[218]—she, innocently happy over the arrival of her wedding day—he, overcome with grief at her impending death, and smitten with remorse at the enormity of his crime.

Fig. 16.
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This much renders plain the group on the right. Agamemnon, ΑΓΑΜΕΜΝΩΝ, sits upon his θρόνος with one foot on a foot-rest; his right hand is placed to his temple as though to shut out the gaze of Iphigeneia, ΙΦΙΓΕΝΕΙΑ, who approaches him in a beseeching manner with extended arms. The group is based upon vs. 644 ff.—

Iph. ἔα·
ὡς οὐ βλέπεις ἕκηλον, ἄσμενος μ’ ἰδών.

Aga. πόλλ’ ἀνδρὶ βασιλεῖ καὶ στρατηλάτῃ μέλει.

· · · · ·

Iph. μέθες νυν ὀφρὺν ὄμμα τ’ ἔκτεινον φίλον.

· · · · ·

κἄπειτα λείβεις δάκρυ’ ἀπ’ ὀμμάτων σέθεν;

Such is the situation described by the poet, and surely the artist has succeeded to a considerable degree in grasping the meaning of the scene. Klytaimestra, ΚΛΥΤΑΙΜΗΣΤΡΑ[219], appears on the left with Orestes, ΟΡΕΣΤΗΣ, and would seem to have had the boy in charge after he was helped from the chariot (vs. 621 f.). Following is the inscription, ΕΥΡ[ΙΠΙΔΟΥ] ΙΦΙΓΕΝΕΙΑΣ. The genitive case in the last word may depend upon some such word as τύποι. To avoid a possible misunderstanding of the scenes, even with the characters named each time, the artist considered it advisable to add the literary source. This is the _Iphigeneia of Euripides_ and not of any other poet.

After Iphigeneia leaves her father he endeavours to persuade Klytaimestra to return to Argos and leave the final arrangements for the nuptials in his charge. Naturally enough she refuses, and retires to appear at v. 819, where she meets Achilles and enthusiastically brings up the subject of the marriage. Achilles, amazed at the disclosure, assures the queen that he has neither wooed Iphigeneia nor heard aught from the Atreidai concerning any such an alliance. This scene is represented in the next group. Achilles, ΑΧΙΛΛΕΥΣ, bends toward Klytaimestra and gestures emphatically. The latter holds her hand to her chin and is evidently dumbfounded by the declarations. The last words exchanged before the two separate are suggestive—

Ach. ἴσως ἐκερτόμησε κἀμὲ καὶ σέ τις,
ἀλλ’ ἀμελίᾳ δὸς αὐτὰ καὶ φαύλως φέρε.

Kly. χαῖρ’· οὐ γὰρ ὀρθοῖς ὄμμασίν ς’ ἔτ’ εἰσορῶ,
ψευδὴς γενομένη καὶ παθοῦς’ ἀνάξια.

Ach. καὶ σοὶ τόδ’ ἐστὶν ἐξ ἐμοῦ· πόσιν δὲ σὸν
στείχω ματεύσων τῶνδε δωμάτων ἔσω. vs. 849–854.

Immediately after these words the faithful old servant of Agamemnon comes out and relates to Klytaimestra that Iphigeneia is to be slain by her father; he goes further and tells the cause of it all, and how he had failed to get away to Argos with the letter. This meeting of the servant, ΠΡΕΣΣΒΥΣ, and the queen, is dramatically told in the third group. The former wears the costume of a pedagogue, with peculiar-looking boots. The latter has laid aside the veil which she wears in all the other scenes.