Chapter V: Euripides and Vase Painting (2)

The following groups on the relief reverse the order of the text, so it is best to consider first that on the extreme left. Agamemnon, Klytaimestra, and Iphigeneia are all named. The young Orestes pulls at his father’s chiton; the latter has a mantle over his head, and shields his face with his left hand. The mother has turned aside and is consumed with her deep sorrow. She had won the sympathy of Achilles after the talk with the old servant, vs. 896–1035, and following the choral song appears again to seek Agamemnon whom neither she nor Iphigeneia had seen since the terrible truth of the marriage was disclosed. She calls her daughter from the house, v. 1117, and bids her

λαβοῦς’ Ὀρέστην σὸν κασίγνητον, τέκνον.

All of these figures occur on the cup, so that in a certain sense the whole scene from v. 1122 to v. 1275 is illustrated. The position of Klytaimestra and Iphigeneia would, however, lead one to think that the latter’s long appeal was particularly in the mind of the artist. She recounts in words, as eloquent as they are pathetic, the promises her father had once made to her as a child, and goes over all the ambitions that had filled her girlish heart in the happy Argive home.

βλέψον πρὸς ἡμᾶς, ὄμμα δὸς φίλημά τε,
ἵν’ ἀλλὰ τοῦτο κατθανοῦς’ ἔχω σέθεν
μνημεῖον, εἰ μὴ τοῖς ἐμοῖς πείθει λόγοις.
ἀδελφέ, μικρὸς μὲν σύ γ’ ἐπίκουρος φίλοις,
ὅμως δὲ συνδάκρυσον, ἱκέτευσον πατρὸς
τὴν σὴν ἀδελφὴν μὴ θανεῖν· αἴσθημά τοι
κἀν νηπίοις γε τῶν κακῶν ἐγγίγνεται.
ἰδοὺ σιωπῶν λίσσεταί ς’ ὅδ’, ὦ πάτερ.
ἀλλ’ αἴδεσαί με καὶ κατοίκτειρον βίον.
ναί, πρὸς γενείου ς’ ἀντόμεσθα δύο φίλω·
ὁ μὲν νεοσσός ἐστιν, ἡ δ’ ηὐξημένη. vs. 1238–1248.

There is certainly inspiration enough in these verses for a more pretentious group than the simple terra cotta cup presents, but lacking all other Greek monuments bearing upon this scene one may prize this witness as a valuable inheritance from the Hellenistic period. Agamemnon speaks; he loves his child and realizes full well the meaning of the sacrifice, but he must obey the clamourings of the Greeks.

Iphigeneia and her mother remain alone with the chorus and bewail the bitterness of their sorrow, vs. 1276–1345, when a company of men is observed approaching. Among them is Achilles. His attempt to intercede in behalf of the doomed Iphigeneia had been of no avail. The Achaeans were inexorable; her blood must be spilt. Nevertheless he promises them his assistance, and encourages Klytaimestra to resist Odysseus and the others who come to drag her daughter away to the altar, vs. 1338–1433. The early part of this scene is recognizable in the remaining group.

Iph. διαχαλᾶτέ μοι μέλαθρα, δμῶες, ὡς κρύψω δέμας.

Kly. τί δέ, τέκνον φεύγεις;

Iph. Ἀχιλλέα τόνδ’ ἰδεῖν αἰσχύνομαι.

Kly. ὁς τί δέ;

Iph. τὸ δυστυχές μοι τῶν γάμων αἰδῶ φέρει.

Kly. οὐκ ἐν ἁβρότητι κεῖσαι πρὸς τὰ νῦν πεπτωκότα.
ἀλλὰ μίμν’· οὐ σεμνότητος ἔργον, ἢν δυνώμεθα.

Ach. ὦ γύναι τάλαινα, Λήδας θύγατερ. vs. 1340–1345.

Achilles stands with staff in hand, either about to address the mother or perhaps having uttered the last verse above. Iphigeneia turns with bowed head to avoid his presence; her mother evidently tries to detain her. Inscriptions again indicate who the persons are. We have then precisely the situation in the lines quoted.

The sacrifice which followed, was attended by the marvellous wonder, and it was to be expected that if any _one_ incident of the tragedy was told in art it would be the scene at the altar. Our little monument curiously enough stops where _all_ the others begin. We are taken step by step up to the final act and there we are left. The works enumerated above[220] are, without exception, confined to the moment of the sacrifice. The famous wall painting and the Florence altar have much in common with the renowned painting of Timanthes, and all three are conceived in the spirit of Euripides as far as the actions of Agamemnon are concerned.

... ὡς δ’ ἐσεῖδεν Ἀγαμέμνων ἄναξ
ἐπὶ σφαγὰς στείχουσαν εὶς ἄλσος κόρην,
ἀνεστέναζε, κἄμπαλιν στρέψας κάρα
δάκρυα προῆγεν, ὀμμάτων πέπλον προθείς. vs. 1547 ff.

And so he stands completely wrapped in his mantle, exposing no part of his face. In this invention lay the unsurpassed success which Timanthes enjoyed with his painting. The dates for this artist allow us to place the work subsequent to the production of the _Iphigeneia_ in 405 B.C., and credit Euripides with influencing Timanthes. This is at least possible, but does not admit of proof. It appears to me very likely that all three of these works are more or less closely connected with each other and with Euripides. The Etruscan ash-urns on the other hand, as well as the vase painting in the British Museum[221], follow a totally different version of the story. In these cases Agamemnon himself takes the part of the priest in the ceremony, and performs the ἀπαρχαί. So far from being the tender-hearted father who cannot even stand and watch the offering, he draws the fatal knife or pours the sacrificial liquid upon the victim’s head. Traces of this turn are found early in tragedy[222], but this is an Agamemnon with a far different heart from the one we follow in the _Iphigeneia_ of Euripides. Even though the part from v. 1532 till the close of the play be thrown out as an interpolation, the character of Agamemnon in the first 1500 verses could not have changed so suddenly at the end that he would have taken the place of Kalchas at the altar. This set of monuments does not, therefore, give us the Euripidean spirit.

§ 7. IPHIGENEIA AMONG THE TAURIANS.

Euripides in all probability created in the life of Iphigeneia the chapter concerning her return to Greece with Orestes. There is at any rate no trace of this turn in preceding authors. Homer does not appear to have known any such a daughter of Agamemnon, unless one is to seek to identify Iphigeneia with Iphianassa. The ‘king of men’ speaks of

Χρυσόθεμις καὶ Λαοδίκη καὶ Ιφιάνασσα. _Il._ 9. 145.

as his three daughters. We know, however, from Sophokles[223] that Iphianassa was distinguished from Iphigeneia. Since Homer has not even her name there is no allusion to the catastrophe at Aulis. It is first in the _Kypria_[224], a work usually accredited to Stasinos in the early part of the eighth century B.C., that reference is made to the gathered hosts at Aulis, the calm, the sacrifice. It was not Iphigeneia, however, who was the victim, for Artemis had suddenly intervened and, having taken her away to the Black Sea country, had blessed her with immortality. From this date then the myth may have been widely spread among the Greeks. Hesiod related in his Κατάλογος γυναικῶν that Iphigeneia had received the gift of immortality from Artemis, thus following closely the author of the _Kypria_[225]. Herodotos also repeats the same story[226]. One looks in vain for any trace of her delivery from this wild people, until the latter part of Euripides’ life. Then it is that new light breaks in upon the old orthodox form of the myth: the mortal side of Iphigeneia is made to assume a new interest for the world, and she, who had been long lost amidst a wild, barbarous people, is suddenly restored to her only hope, Orestes. This is the work of ‘Euripides, the human, with his droppings of warm tears.’ With this tragedy the poet created at once a definite chapter in dramatic literature and furnished another impetus for ancient art.

There are traces of two other Greek tragedies dealing with this same subject; yet the play of Timestheos is a mere name[227], while that of Polyeidos is but little more. Aristotle, however, has given a certain prominence to the latter work by making two references to it in his _Poetics_[228]. This differed from the play of Euripides particularly in the recognition scene. The ἀναγνώρισις was brought about by Orestes using the words ‘and shall I too be sacrificed?’ Who but Orestes was likely to know aught of the attempt once made to sacrifice her at Aulis? It is worthy of note that the _libretto_ of Glück’s opera also follows this manner of the _dénouement_. Among the Latin dramatists we hear that Naevius wrote a play called _Iphigenia_. One verse only is preserved[229]. It goes without saying that the tragedy was taken from the Greek, but from what author it is worthless to conjecture. The _Dolorestes_ of Pacuvius was long thought to deal with the same subject, but this has been shown to be of an entirely different character. It is altogether improbable that these Latin versions worked any radical change in the Euripidean form of the myth. It is true that the story was remodelled in some particulars; Hyginus, e.g. in _fabula_ 261, relates that the bones of Orestes had been brought from Aricia to Rome and had been interred before the temple of Saturn! Such a violent contortion of the myth may be laid to the credit of a poet[230], but I would prefer to recognize in the words of Hyginus the influence of the mythological handbooks which were written up in a manner well calculated to pamper the national pride of the Romans.

In no work written subsequent to Euripides is it possible to detect the sources for the representations of the myth in art; in all cases the poet of the fifth century B.C. can be shown to have wielded his absolute power. We shall see in the discussion of the vase paintings based upon the play that this class of monuments is not the only one in which the new Iphigeneia found her place. The Etruscan urns and mirrors, the wall paintings of Pompeii and of Herculaneum, the Roman sarcophagi, as well as pastes and gems, all furnish an extensive field in which parallel scenes may be traced.

This introduces the consideration of the vases and their relation to the tragedy. They fall readily into three classes corresponding to three well-defined stages in the play: 1. Orestes and Pylades alone upon the Taurian coast are surprised, and led by the shepherds to the king and Iphigeneia (vs. 67–466). 2. The scene following, in which it is determined that not both shall be killed, but that one, and he Pylades, shall be allowed to return to Mykenai, bearing a message from Iphigeneia (vs. 467–724). 3. The handing over of the letter and the accompanying explanation, whereby Orestes and his sister recognize each other (vs. 725–1088). There follow two other well-defined scenes which are not traceable on vases[231]. 4. The escape with the Artemis idol (vs. 1152–1233), and 5. the messenger’s speech which relates the manner of the escape.

There is but one vase painting that can be assigned to the first step in the play. The painting is a thoroughly ugly and, from an artistic standpoint, worthless specimen that represents the very decadence of ceramic art[232]. The vase is a slender amphora with three zones of pictures; ours is the middle one. On the left a woman in chiton and mantle sits with head turned to the right, her left hand resting on a sceptre or staff and her right on her knee. She wears a necklace and on one arm a bracelet. Standing before her with outstretched right hand is a bearded male figure in short chiton and mantle, and a spear in his left; he has just arrived, as one may conclude from the position of his feet. Immediately following are two youths entirely naked, hands pinioned behind their backs. The ends of the ropes seem to be held by the group of three youths following, who are dressed as the first male figure except that two of them wear boots. Their attention, like that of all, is directed towards the female figure.

Fig. 17.
]

The arrest of Orestes and Pylades is given here, and more definitely their appearance before Iphigeneia. To be sure the manner is entirely different from that on other monuments. One expects Iphigeneia to be in or near the temple of Artemis and to be represented in a more concerned and active attitude; and furthermore, one looks for the altar (v. 72), and some indication of the fate which awaits the captives. All these features are wanting. That the artist endeavoured to represent the meeting of the priestess and the two Greeks can, however, admit of no doubt; that the necessary setting of the scene was omitted need be no more a matter of surprise to one than the helpless workmanship of the whole. The monument is valuable as being the only vase painting showing the first scene, which is never wanting on the sarcophagi[233]. This moment occurs likewise on certain other monuments[234]. The shepherd relates (vs. 260–339) how the discovery and capture were made; how they learned that one of the two was named Pylades; and further that the prisoners had been conducted first to the king, who after glancing at them (ἐσιδών) sent them to Artemis and her priestess. Iphigeneia says to the boukolos in v. 342, σὺ μὲν κόμιζε τοὺς ξένους μολών, and in v. 467, after her soliloquy and the song of the chorus, she appears again on the stage where she meets the captives. This is the moment, very largely modified, which the painting represents. Iphigeneia’s first words are—

μέθετε τῶν ξένων χέρας,
ὡς ὄντες ἱεροὶ μηκέτ’ ὦσι δέσμιοι.

At this the guards are commanded to enter the temple and make ready for the offering. Our picture follows in one respect the traditional manner of representing the scene. Orestes and Pylades are invariably nude, or so lightly clad with the chlamys that they are practically naked. There is the closest analogy between them as they appear here and as they occur on the sarcophagi.

Fig. 18.
]

The second moment, as I have marked it out above, is also represented on one vase only[235]. In the centre Orestes, ΟΡΕΣΤΑΣ, sits to the right upon a large altar, chlamys about his hips, sword on his left side, hands supported upon his stick towards which his head is sunk. The whole attitude betokens sorrow. On the right is Iphigeneia wearing long, sleeved chiton, and mantle, necklace, and bracelets. In her left hand close by her side (incorrectly published as a knife) is the temple key which is emblematic of her office as κλῃδοῦχος[236]. Her right is extended towards Orestes, with whom she is speaking. She is accompanied by a temple servant who, entirely wrapped in chiton and mantle, carries in her right an oinochoë and upon her head a dish in which are articles for the sacrifice, including the branches for sprinkling. Behind Orestes is a laurel tree and on his right Pylades, ΠΥΛΑΔΗΣ, standing with one foot thrown over the other, his right hand placed sorrowfully to his head. The left rests upon his staff. On his left side is a sword. He is deeply concerned in the conversation. Above on the right behind a _terrain_ is the temple of Artemis, Ionic order, and akroteria. Beside it on the left, Artemis, distinguished by her huntress-mantle, two spears, and hair-dress, sits with face to the left towards Apollo who is the remaining figure on the vase. He wears a garment around his waist, and rests his right upon a cane and turns his face towards Artemis.

The vase is especially interesting as being the only one on which any of the characters is accompanied by an inscription, and secondly, because Orestes sits here upon the altar. He cannot be thought of as a victim, and I do not believe he has fled to the altar for refuge, as has been suggested. That would comport but poorly with the spirit which he exhibits throughout the interview. Where does Orestes sit passively upon an altar at the attack of the Furies? He invariably has his sword drawn in a very emphatic manner, and while he crouches upon or clings to the altar he never gives any appearance of being an easy victim to his pursuers[237]. Just this point it is necessary to emphasize, for had the artist felt that the meaning of Orestes’ position indicated his pursuit either by seen or unseen Furies, he never would have committed the egregious error of placing him in a calm attitude quite unconscious that he has a _sword ready at his side_. Furthermore there is no trace in Euripides or the painting to allow us to assume that Orestes is again pursued at this point. He is not, therefore, in any sense a suppliant. The vase painter has simply allowed himself a great liberty in seating his figure where we should least expect to find him. An altar is not by any means a usual seat, and much less for the victim[238]. This same freedom in disposing of details led the decorator still further from the established usage, for neither of the captives should be allowed their swords. They are already ἱεροί (v. 469) and should be represented accordingly. In these particulars we must acknowledge that the painter idealized the scene (vs. 472 ff.).

If it were necessary to determine upon any one moment which the artist had in mind, one would discover a close parallel between vs. 625 ff. and the present scene. It has been agreed that Pylades shall be the messenger; Orestes is to die in his stead. The latter proceeds to ask who shall perform the sacrificial act, and whether a tomb shall receive him when all is over. To this Iphigeneia replies—

πῦρ ἱερὸν ἔνδον χάσμα τ’ εὐρωπὸν πέτρας.

and Orestes—

φεῦ·
πῶς ἄν μ’ ἀδελφῆς χεὶρ περιστείλειεν ἄν;

to which Iphigeneia remarks,

μάταιον εὐχήν, ὦ τάλας, ὅστις ποτ’ εἶ,
ηὔξω.

I can conceive of no more pitiable and hopeless condition than that of the unfortunate Orestes which the poet depicts. At this point his course seemed all in vain; Apollo’s promise appeared to be a farce, and Heaven and Earth seemed wrought into one violent confusion (cf. vs. 572 f. and 711). Perhaps it was at this juncture that he most impressed the painter, and we may see the wretched Orestes prostrate upon the altar in this moment of extreme despair.

Artemis and Apollo take no part in the action, but there is a greater fitness in their position as spectators than is often the case with the gods on the vases of Lower Italy. The former is a natural figure in her own precinct, by her own temple, while Apollo, as her brother, properly balances the scene. The latter, moreover, stands in so close a relation to Orestes’ trial and delivery that he is a most appropriate beholder of the progress of this his own enterprise (cf. v. 977).

Mention should be made here of the sarcophagi, on which essentially the same scene is found. The agreement with our vase is striking[239]. Orestes sits with his head wrapped in his mantle and drooping on his lap, while Pylades stands before him, always in the same attitude, one leg thrown over the other, one hand clutching his hair and the other resting on his stick. This is a striking coincidence, indeed, in these two classes of monuments, separated by at least four hundred years.

In the third step of the tragedy we are more fortunate and possess among vase paintings at least three that represent the transmission of the letter to Pylades, and the accompanying recognition between Orestes and his sister. It is not surprising that the supreme moment in the action should have attracted the artists, and that on the sarcophagi[240] also this unique point in Greek tragedy should have been represented[241].

Fig. 19.
]

1. The best known of the vases is an amphora formerly in the possession of the Duke of Buckingham[242]. In front of the temple of Artemis, Doric order, stands Iphigeneia, _en face_, in richly embroidered chiton, and high head-dress from which falls a sort of veil reaching to the knees. She wears necklace, bracelets, earrings, and sandals; her costume bespeaks in every respect that of the theatre. She carries again the token of her office in the left, and hands the letter to Pylades with the right, who stands ready for the journey, wearing chlamys, pilos, boots, and carrying two spears. Further, on the left, leaning against the περιρῥαντήριον is Orestes, _en face_, but with laurel-wreathed head turned towards Pylades; his right leg is thrown over the left. He wears a chlamys, and carries two spears and a sword. Beside Iphigeneia is her servant, as in fig. 18, but with a simple girdled chiton, and in her right the dish with articles for the altar which is represented in poor perspective behind Iphigeneia. Above, on the right, before the temple doors, is Artemis in short, huntress-costume and high Thracian boots; two spears in her left, and a burning torch in her right. She wears the Thracian cap. On the left of the temple behind a _terrain_ is a young satyr, no doubt thrown in to fill up the space.

2. The largest painting representing this scene is that on an amphora in St. Petersburg[243]. The centre of the picture is taken up by the temple, four Ionic columns. Inside on the right is the Artemis statue, costumed like Artemis in fig. 19; a burning torch in the right, around which is bound a sort of decoration. It is on a large pedestal, and has in the left a spear. On the left, about to leave the temple, is Iphigeneia with an elegant chiton, mantle, a diadem in hair, and the peculiar key in her left; beside her, and leaning against the wall, is a kylix with long handle. She makes a gesture towards Pylades with her right in which there is no letter. He stands on the left by the temple, leaning against his knotty stick; has petasos on the back of the neck, and wears high boots and an escaping chlamys. On the left, lower down, Orestes leans on the περιρῥαντήριον, as in fig. 19, but he is evidently more dejected here. The rest of the painting, which consists of five groups of two figures each, has so little to do with the central scene that we may omit any description of it. In the upper zone on the right are Hermes and Artemis, on the left Athena and Nike. Athena will observe the final part of the affair in which she was so deeply interested in Athens. The two groups, a female and an armed Thracian, represent the common ‘love-scenes’ on this class of vases. For the third group on the right, the artist preferred to draw a young deer instead of the female figure. Stephani[244] is correct in calling these ‘love-scenes,’ and so separating them permanently from any part in the action. Countless such groups are thrown upon vases of this style as meaningless, decorative figures. The parasol, wreaths, and vessels serve to enrich the setting and add charm to the coquetry.

Fig. 20 (_vid. p. 133 ff._).
]

Fig. 21.
]

3. A vase, formerly in the possession of the art dealer Barone in Naples, shows an abridgement of the scene[245]. In an Ionic temple, four columns, and akroteria, Iphigeneia, _en face_, long chiton, mantle, hair done in a knot behind, leans with her left elbow upon the βρέτας. In her left is the temple attribute, and in the right the letter which she extends to Pylades, in chlamys and petasos. He leans against his stick, and has a sword in the left, while he points with the right towards the letter. On the right are Apollo and Artemis. The former, nude except for a mantle and high boots, grasps the laurel tree with his left, and rests his right upon Artemis’ shoulder, who sits to the left upon the altar and looks up to Apollo. She is dressed as usual with short chiton and high boots. She has two spears in the left.

In setting these three paintings over against each other and comparing the elements in them, the uniformity is very striking. Perhaps the details may be clearer if placed in a sort of scheme.

_a._ Elements common to all three vases.

1. Temple of Artemis. 2. Iphigeneia in elaborate dress, indicated as the κλῃδοῦχος. 3. A youth in travelling costume, with whom she is talking. 4. Artemis on the _right_ of the temple.

_b._ Elements common to two of the three vases.

1. In figs. 19 and 20 a youth leans against the περιρῥαντήριον, resting on one leg over which the other is thrown. 2. In figs. 19 and 21 Iphigeneia hands the letter to the youth. 3. The Artemis ἄγαλμα is in the temple in figs. 20 and 21; so also is Iphigeneia.

We thus observe that the remarkable agreement, even in the details, shows that they must all be copies more or less exact of one and the same original. That Iphigeneia in fig. 20 does not hold the letter in her hand may be accredited to the carelessness of the artist who merely forgot to paint it. The same may be said with regard to the abridged form of the scene in fig. 21, where Orestes has been left out. The two central figures appeared to the artist to be the important part of the original, and accordingly he omitted all else.

Immediately following the scene represented in fig. 18, Iphigeneia entered the temple to get the letter—

ἀλλ’ εἶμι, δέλτον τ’ ἐκ θεᾶς ανακτόρων
οἴσω. v. 636 f.

and ordered the guards to watch the two without binding them. Thereafter ensues the touching scene between Orestes and Pylades (vs. 657–724). The priestess then reappears, and commanding the attendants to go inside, continues—

δέλτου μὲν αἵδε πολύθυροι διαπτυχαί,
ξένοι, πάρεισιν· ἃ δ’ ἐπὶ τοῖσδε βούλομαι,
ἀκούσατ’.

Orestes speaks first after these lines and asks her what she wishes. It shall be an oath for the safe delivery of the letter. At this he demands a counter-oath from her for the safe withdrawal of Pylades from the country. We may imagine that during the delivery of these verses, which were probably spoken while Iphigeneia was still in the temple doorway, Pylades had approached her to receive the letter, while Orestes stepped to one side as he appears in figs. 19 and 20. In vs. 769–787 the contents of the letter are related to ensure safe transfer of the message, even though the written words be lost in a shipwreck. This is the time represented on our vases. The hopelessness of Orestes requires, moreover, the earlier part of the scene, since from v. 772 he begins to be aroused and to prove his brotherhood to Iphigeneia. The αναγνώρισις is complete at the close of v. 826, and there follow the fourth and fifth stages which were noticed above[246]. Neither of these movements is, so far as I am aware, shown on any vase painting, although they are an important part of the reliefs on the Roman sarcophagi[247].

In conclusion, mention should be made of the wall paintings which represent the departure of the three with the statue to purify it in the sea. The first and most important of these is the fine _casa del citarista_ painting[248]. Robert first correctly recognized the right meaning of this beautiful monument and based it upon the poet[249], thereby bringing it into harmony with the sarcophagi. That he was happily correct in reading the time in the painting _after the recognition_, contrary to Helbig’s interpretation[250], is nicely borne out by the painting recently discovered in the _casa dei Vettii_[251], which is another copy of the same original[252]. The variations are, however, enough to render any misunderstanding of it impossible. Here there is no temple, and Iphigeneia occupies the centre between Orestes and Pylades on the left, and Thoas on the right. She carries plainly the temple βρέτας on the left shoulder. Furthermore, the unconcerned attitude of the two prisoners in their _tête-à-tête_ points clearly to the proper significance of the scene. Curiously enough Orestes appears to sit on the altar here as on the vase painting, fig. 18.

§ 8. KYKLOPS.

The satyr dance, the earliest form of the Greek drama and the simple beginning from which the immense superstructure of tragedy took its start, continued, in the satyr composition which followed the regular trilogy, to remind the public of the original plan and tendency of the performances in honour of Dionysos[253]. Till late in the fourth century B.C., at least, this echo of the original Dionysiac festival remained in vogue. The _Kyklops_ of Euripides is the only example of this sort of composition which has reached us, and although the present work is concerned with tragedy and vase paintings I cannot refrain from including here a painting that is under the influence of this unique relic of Greek literature. The connexion between the satyr-play and tragedy is certainly intimate enough to warrant the introduction of the present chapter.

Every one is acquainted with the story of Odysseus’ adventure with the Kyklops Polyphemos. Since the author of the _Odyssey_ threw a charm around the story, this event in the wanderings of the hero has remained one of the most popular. In early Greek art there are numerous monuments based upon the myth. The black figured vases represent two critical moments. 1. The blinding of Polyphemos. 2. The escape of Odysseus and his companion from the cave. A long list of paintings tells this story over and over again, with little variation[254]. The artists evidently became tired of the monotony of the subject, for it is practically dead at the beginning of the fifth century. There was nothing new in the tale; it was distinctly epic, and for this very reason had its day and gave way to new motives in the dramatic literature. At the end of the century there was a revival of the myth. It gained a new lease of life through the _Kyklops_ of Euripides, and once again all eyes were turned towards the old Homeric fiction. When the poet introduces Seilenos and his company of satyrs as slaves to Polyphemos, and turns the fortunes of Odysseus, on his arrival at the cave, by the intervention of this new element, the artist had certainly a new incentive. The rollicking, lusty antics of the tribe of satyrs had ever been the red figured vase painter’s delight, and when Euripides connected them with the adventures of Odysseus and the Kyklops the old story was ingrafted with a vigorous shoot[255]. Timanthes, whom we have already met[256], very likely owed it to Euripides that he associated Polyphemos with satyrs[257]. An interesting vase painting, which may be dated _cir._ 410 B.C., bears strong testimony to the influence of the _Kyklops_ in Lower Italy[258].

Fig. 22.
]

The picture appears in fig. 22. In the foreground Polyphemos lies stretched out in his drunken stupour[259]; beside him is a stump on which hangs an empty wineskin, and on the ground a bowl. In the centre three youths, the middle one wearing a pilos, are busy tugging at a log. Two others on the left bring fire-wood to kindle the large stick[260]; another youth, probably Odysseus, in pilos and chlamys, directs the work from the opposite side. Two bearded satyrs, with the usual horse-tails, caper around on the right[261].

The whole painting breathes with the spirit running through the _Kyklops_. The impression gained by reading the play is remarkably well supported by a study of the former. There is no detailed agreement between the two which strikes one, for the situations in Euripides are not closely followed. There is, however, the same stamp of originality and newness characterizing both. The painting is a revelation to one who has seen only the earlier Homeric monuments.

It may first be noticed that Polyphemos is represented outside of his cave, and that the attack upon his big eye is about to take place. This is quite opposed to Homer and Euripides, yet more than half the charm of the scene lies in the _naïveté_ with which the artist disposes of the giant. A glance at the words of the poet will make this clearer. Odysseus and his chorus of satyrs have fixed upon the means for overcoming the Kyklops. They beg Odysseus for permission to take a hand in preparing the fatal pole;

δεῖ γοῦν· μέγας γὰρ δαλός, ὃν ξυλληπτέον. v. 472.

says the son of Laertes, but when he came to the point where he really needed their help they made every manner of excuse; some were suddenly seized with lameness; others had dust in their eyes. But he knew that it would turn out so, and he relies on his own companions,

... τοῖσι δ’ οἰκείοις φίλοις
χρῆσθαί μ’ ἀνάγκη. vs. 650 f.

This is well brought out, whether intentionally or not I do not say, for it is Greeks who are lifting the δαλός, and as for its size every one will agree that it is μέγας. The two satyrs, representing the chorus, dance around lustily the while, having smelt the contents of the wineskin (v. 153 f.). As soon as the plan has been decided upon, Polyphemos appears again, having already sated his appetite on two of the Greeks, and having had at least a taste of the wine. What could prepare one better for the appreciation of the figure on the vase than his own words?

παπαπαῖ, πλέως μὲν οἴνου,
γάνυμαι δὲ δαιτὸς ἥβῃ
σκάφος ὁλκὰς ὡς γεμισθεὶς
ποτὶ σέλμα γαστρὸς ἄκρας.
ὑπάγει μ’ ὁ χόρτος εὔφρων
ἐπὶ κῶμον ἦρος ὥραις,
ἐπὶ Κύκλωπας ἀδελφούς.
φέρε μοι, ξεῖνε, φέρ’ ἀσκὸν ἔνδος μοι. vs. 503 ff.

His proposal to go and share his good fortune with the brother Kyklopes does not meet the approval of Odysseus, who bids him keep his good things to himself and enjoy them. Seilenos goes even further and says—

κλίθητί νύν μοι πλεῦρα θεὶς ἐπὶ χθονός. v. 543.

and Polyphemos takes up the suggestion at once, for we hear him ask

τί δῆτα τὸν κρατῆρ’ ὄπισθε μου τίθης; v. 545.

There can be little doubt that these verses particularly interested the artist. Well satisfied with the newly discovered drink, the Kyklops has dropped down upon his side as Seilenos recommended. The ἀσκός, which he ordered extra, hangs beside him and upon the ground is a bowl[262]. Both of these have evidently been drained. The inhuman monster sleeps on, quite in the manner of Euripides, in the presence of the active preparations for his own ruin.

§ 9. MEDEIA.

The heroine of this tragedy of Euripides is one of the most imposing and terrible figures that has come down to us from ancient Greek literature. It is not, however, the magician of strange power, who assisted Jason in winning the Golden Fleece and in performing his other Kolchian adventures, that overawes one; neither is it the sorceress who worked her wonders on Pelias, but rather the Medeia who avenged her slighted honour through the destruction of Jason’s newly won bride and his two sons; it is the Medeia _at Corinth_ that we know best, the Medeia of Euripides. This chapter in the barbarian’s career assumed under his hand a prominence which far exceeded anything that had gone before. Euripides’ Medeia has remained ever since _the_ Medeia of art and letters.

In early Greek art Medeia is not a common figure, and when she does occur it is invariably as the sorceress[263]. In this rôle one meets her on both black and red figured vases[264], and on the famous relief in the Lateran[265]. After the beginning of the fourth century B.C. the Corinthian Medeia predominates. As such one finds her on vases from Lower Italy, Apulia and Campania especially, on Pompeian wall paintings[266], on terra cottas[267], gems[268], and the Roman sarcophagi[269].

Fig. 23 (_vid. p. 145 ff._)
]

The most famous vase upon which we find Medeia is the great amphora in Munich[270], found in Canosa, the ancient Canusium, in Apulia, Oct. 16, 1813. The painting consists of three sections of figures parallel with the perimeter of the vase. The two upper ones are divided in the middle by a building with six Ionic columns. On the inside hang two round shields—a common decoration in this sort of picture. On the right, inside of the house, is a chair or θρόνος, over the arm-rest of which a richly dressed female figure has fallen; above on the frieze the inscription ΚΡΕΟΝΤΕΙΑ (sc. ΠΑΙΣ) shows the person to be Kreusa, or Glauke[271], the daughter of Kreon. Rushing rapidly towards her from the right is a youth in petasos and chlamys. He has already reached the upper step of the palace and is attempting to remove Kreusa’s head-dress. Incised in the vase is the name ΙΠΠΟΤΗΣ[272]. On the left an elderly male figure, bearded, wearing long, richly embroidered chiton, hurries to Kreusa. One hand is placed behind her as though to support the body; the other, from which the sceptre has just fallen, clutches his hair. He gazes to one side in a dazed sort of manner. On the frieze above is ΩΝ, evidently the last letters of ΚΡΕΩΝ[273]. To the left outside of the palace, and somewhat lower, an elderly woman in long chiton and mantle runs toward the scene of the tragedy, extending her left hand and holding her right to her head in the usual attitude of fright. She is designated by the inscription, incised, as ΜΕΡΟΠΗ[274]—most likely the wife of Kreon. Further on the left is a group of two, a pedagogue in the usual costume, and a female attendant. The former is hurrying towards the palace, while the latter attempts to divert him from his onward rush.

To the right from Hippotes is another female figure, _en face_, who appears to be leaving the palace. Her dress, especially the veil, and her bearing point her out as a nurse or servant of Kreusa. Just in front of the latter upon the ground is the open box in which the baneful presents were brought.

The lower section is divided into two parts by Medeia’s dragon-chariot, held in readiness by the charioteer with a burning torch in either hand. The upper part of the latter’s body is nude. There can be little doubt that the figure is female. The inscription ΟΙΣΤΡΟΣ shows it to be Οἴστρος, the personification of Medeia’s rage. On the left, Medeia, ΜΗΔΕΙΑ[275], with richly decorated oriental costume and Phrygian cap, advances to the right with drawn sword to kill one son whom she grasps by the hair with the left hand. It is not easy to say whether the boy has taken refuge on the altar, or whether his mother has lifted him upon it. More probably the latter is true. The lad is nude, with the exception of a garment over his left shoulder. He wears bracelets and on the left leg an anklet. Immediately behind Medeia a doryphoros, dressed as Hippotes, but with two spears instead of a sword, hurries to the left with the second boy, dressed as is the other. On the right of the chariot and hastening impetuously to rescue his son is Jason, ΙΑΣΩΝ. He is bearded and has a sword and long spear. His chlamys is thrown over his left arm. Beside him, but moving at slackened speed, another doryphoros extends the right hand towards the chariot as though to warn Jason of the futility of his intervention. Above this group on the right is a bearded male figure, pointing towards the events transpiring below. He wears a long royal dress and Phrygian cap, and carries a sceptre in his left. ΕΙΔΩΛΟΝ ΑΗΤΟΥ, incised, indicates him as the ghost of Aetes, Medeia’s father.

The upper section is bounded on either side by a Corinthian column surmounted by a tripod. Herakles, with club, bow and quiver, and lion’s skin, stands on the left facing Athene, who sits upon a _terrain_. She has her helmet in her right hand and leans against her shield. The spear is not wanting. On the right are two male figures, one sitting, the other standing. The oil-cruses and strigils, as well as the two stars and the pilos, near the one who sits, designate them as the Dioskouroi.

We turn now to a closer consideration of our vase to see if it is under the influence of Euripides. Starting with the scene which the vase painter has given us in Kreon’s palace, one cannot but be struck with the agreement between the picture and the scene described by the poet through the mouth of the messenger in the celebrated speech, vs. 1136–1230. This wonderful passage is the triumph of Euripidean rhetoric in the _Medeia_. The two boys, together with their father, had entered Kreusa’s apartment conveying the box with the rich vestment and golden crown, and she, who had refused to listen to words and be softened, was, woman-like, melted by these unexpected gifts. She accepts them, and father and sons retire. She then arrays herself before the mirror, admires her beauty, retreats across the room with proud, exulting step, all too captivated by her gracious figure, when the terrible moment comes—

χροιὰν γὰρ ἀλλάξασα λεχρία πάλιν
χωρεῖ τρέμουσα κῶλα καὶ μόλις φθάνει
θρόνοισιν ἐμπεσοῦσα μὴ χαμαὶ πεσεῖν. vs. 1168–1170.

There is a remarkable harmony between these words and the picture upon the vase, where Kreusa lies a helpless mass across the arms of the θρόνος. Her attitude suggests to one’s mind exactly the idea in θρόνοισιν ἐμπεσοῦσα μὴ χαμαὶ πεσεῖν. Rarely has a vase painter come nearer to _illustration_ than here. It had, indeed, been far easier to paint Kreusa in her fallen position upon the floor, πίτνει δ’ ἐς οὖδας (v. 1195), where the chair and the form of the body would have presented no such difficulties in drawing as they do in the present position[276]. Why was this not done? Simply, as I am convinced, because the painter chose to present the most tragic moments, and shape them into the greatest possible dramatic effect. He seized the crisis in Kreusa’s dread struggle, when, doomed by the poison and flames, she _dropped_ across the chair. Here, as in the scene below, the vase painter has given evidence of dramatic power of a high degree, and I venture to think that had he not been an artist he would have been a tragedian.

Kreon, who, of course, could not be represented as falling upon the body of Kreusa as he entered the room, ἄφνω προσελθὼν δῶμα προσπίτνει νεκρῷ (v. 1205), while she was still resting on the chair[277], is painted in the first moment of reaching the unfortunate one. He places his left hand under her body, and, overcome by the horror of the sight, lets fall his sceptre from his right hand as he gazes for a moment in transfixed agony from his daughter’s situation. The position of the arms is exactly that of the same figure on the sarcophagi reliefs[278], and no doubt would be traceable through the five intervening centuries if the monuments were at hand. Our vase would appear to represent here a tradition that was always closely followed in representing Kreon in an upright position.

Merope, the mother, who is mentioned in Corinthian legends only as the wife of Sisyphos[279] and of Polybos[280], does not appear at all in Euripides. The painter’s principle was to name all the chief figures on the vase, and it is not necessary to point out here another source than the _Medeia_ of Euripides. A name thus known as belonging to Corinthian royal families would be a natural invention for the wife of Kreon if there was no legend to provide further information about her. I hold this painting, however, as adequate evidence that there was a _third_ Merope known in Corinth[281]. That the mother as well as the father should be represented here is further witness of the spirit which the poet breathed into his work. Medeia’s fixed determination to ruin all her enemies at one blow and to root out the whole royal house in a day (vs. 373 f.) is expressed in the extended scene here given, in a manner well calculated to inspire the beholder with much that lies between the lines in Euripides. There is absolutely no reason for claiming this scene as an extension of that given in the poet, and therefore based upon a post-Euripidean tragedy. One who denies the vase painter the right to introduce figures foreign to the poet fails utterly in comprehending the spirit of the fourth and third century vase painting. The artists followed the number of characters in the poetical version no more slavishly than they did the disposition and movement of the same. Starting with what the poet gave them and holding this in mind as a guide and inspiration in certain details, the painters proceeded to create, as _independent_ artists, a similar scene, transfused, however, with their own alterations. It is to be expected that in the over-filled vase paintings of Apulia and Campania one will find figures that show a wide liberty on the part of the painters, and that illustrate well how much the severe methods of the Athenian vase painters had been altered in Magna Graecia.

Another instance of this same independence of the painter is seen in the introduction of Hippotes, to whom there is not the slightest reference in Euripides. In vs. 1168–1203, where Kreusa’s fate is described, no one is referred to as present except the female attendants, who were possessed with terror and lent no aid to their mistress. Kreon unexpectedly entered, ξυμφορᾶς ἀγνωσίᾳ, and soon succumbed, a victim together with his daughter. Why does Hippotes appear on the vase as the one who is trying to liberate Kreusa? With Vogel[282] again the answer _liegt auf der Hand: weil Euripides nicht die Quelle der Darstellung ist_. Because the painter enlarged the scene of the poet, and was more tragic and more dramatic than Euripides, a later or at least another version of the myth is claimed as his authority. This appears to me altogether _improbable_ and _unnecessary_. It is _improbable_ because, as we have abundant reason to believe, Euripides’ version of the myth was, both in Greek and Roman times, the most popular[283]. Other _Medeias_ are mere names. Furthermore our vase cannot be dated later than the second half of the fourth century B.C., i. e. not much more than a century after the first appearance of the _Medeia_ in 431 B.C. This is an important fact which seems to have been mostly overlooked. Euripides, it must be remembered, ruled the fourth century B.C. as the prophet of the time, and was hailed by the Greeks of the colonies and the motherland with universal admiration. It is safe to say that no Greek poet was more upon the lips of the people or more in their hearts. Tardy as was the recognition of his genius during his lifetime, the extent of his posthumous fame was unparalleled and his name rang through Alexandrian and Hellenistic times as that of one of the immortals. Are we to suppose then that a vase painter of Magna Graecia, who might have lived with those who had seen Euripides, was, in dealing with the Medeia myth, under the influence of some poet of a day? Was an artist who lived in this proximity to Euripides’ own time likely to follow the guidance of any other than the great master who created the Medeia character and started her down the centuries in that unexampled rage and fury? We dare, moreover, go further and claim with Robert that _die Vasen stehen der Aufführungszeit der Medeia so nahe, dass sie den Werth directer Zeugnisse beanspruchen dürfen_[284].

This explanation is _unnecessary_, for, as we have already pointed out, the vase painters gave less heed to the subject-matter and the details of the traditional types than to the general effect and dramatic arrangement. It was possible to double the dramatic effect here through the introduction of the bride’s brother, and the painter did not hesitate to place him on the vase, although the poet did not refer to him. The onward rush of this finely drawn figure, with his chlamys fluttering in the wind, has altogether a dramatic air and brings one to feel that the theatrical element, so much in the background in the fifth century B.C., had taken possession of the fourth century work[285]. It is surprising to find with what persistency certain scholars refuse such additions as incompatible with the dependence of the work on a given literary source. If the artist has done more than _illustrate_, all relationship between him and the poet is denied. But let us turn to a famous work where illustration pure and simple is meant, and we shall discover that if one follows even there this mode of criticism, the poet and the drawing which is meant to illustrate him will have to be divorced. I refer to Botticelli’s drawings for Dante’s _Divina Commedia_[286]. Each drawing is intended to bring out the events of the _canto_ to which it is devoted, and so one expects only the incidents of one _canto_ to appear in one drawing. The illustration for the _Inferno_, _canto_ ii, represents Beatrice swinging upward in the air, to whom Virgil is pointing and calling Dante’s attention. This is all a pure invention of the artist as Beatrice is simply mentioned in the text, and not at all thought of as present or appearing to the two pilgrims. Had Botticelli then some other story in mind, and was there another version of Dante than that which we have? Certainly not. The artist, although in this place engaged as a mere illustrator, read his own notions into Dante and put them into his drawing. Again, even on the same plate, the entrance to the _Inferno_ is shown with the words _per me_ over the door. This scene belongs to _canto_ iii, where in fact Botticelli again introduces it. If, therefore, the third _canto_ and the drawing that belongs to it had never reached us but we did possess _canto_ ii and its illustration, how would the critics who read the Greek vases as we have indicated, dispose of Botticelli and his faithfulness to Dante? They would all declare that the famous painter must have had another text which he followed. And so one may go on multiplying instances in this one work to show that an artist, even when he set out to follow the poet, was not able to do so[287].

There are also among the Pompeian wall paintings[288] some that are mere illustrations and are in the spirit of this sort of work, and yet they show various peculiar changes and additions contrary to the epigrams on which they are based. One is to remember therefore that in the vase paintings, where a more independent form of art is found than in illustrations, a liberty in adding or omitting figures, that may often disturb the form of the myth, is to be allowed. To select one example from many: Euphronios[289] on the Eurystheus kylix represents Sthenelos and his wife as present when Herakles brings the boar and is about to drop it into the cistern where Eurystheus has taken refuge. That the latter was king and had imposed the labours on Herakles, was proof enough that Sthenelos was already dead. How then did Euphronios dare to place him on the vase? Evidently because he took little heed of the exactitude for which modern scholars would call him and others of his trade to account.

The old nurse who observed the first signs of her mistress’ precarious condition—καὶ τις γεραιὰ προσπόλων ... ἀνωλόλυξε (vs. 1171–73)—or one of the numerous attendants present (v. 1176) may be recognized in the figure to the right from Hippotes. Perhaps this is more correctly the one who broke away to convey the sad news to Jason—ἑ δὲ πρὸς τὸν ἀρτίως πόσιν, | φράσουσα νύμφης συμφοράς (vs. 1178 f.). This person with the matronly air always occurs on the sarcophagi, but in the scene where the two boys are handing over the gifts to Kreusa[290].

The position of the pedagogue on the opposite side is not so incongruous as many have thought. There is really no reason for considering him a sort of connecting link between the middle and lower sections, as Robert has done[291]. Let us follow the pedagogue and the boys through the play. At vs. 46 f. of the prologue the nurse reports the latter as returning from their sport—ἐκ τρόχων πεπαυμένοι—and in vs. 89 ff. she orders them inside the palace,

ἴτ’, εὖ γὰρ ἔσται, δωμάτων ἔσω, τέκνα,

and commands the pedagogue to keep them at a safe distance from their mother,

σὺ δ’ ὡς μάλιστα τούσδ’ ἐρημώσας ἔχε,
καὶ μὴ πέλαζε μητρὶ δυσθυμουμένῃ.

At v. 105 the three disappear and nothing more is heard of them till Medeia, who is addressing Jason and the chorus, cries out in v. 894—

ὦ τέκνα, τέκνα, δεῦτε, λείπετε στέγας,
ἐξέλθετ’.

Hereupon the boys appear in the orchestra, _unaccompanied_ by their pedagogue, and remain with Medeia and Jason till vs. 969 ff., where their mother hands them the gifts and bids them go, ὁς τάχιστα (v. 974), to Kreusa and place the same in her hands. They then depart with their father and deliver the presents in the manner afterwards described by the messenger (vs. 1136–1155), and in company with Jason leave Kreusa’s apartments. Just outside somewhere the pedagogue joins them and appears with the children in the orchestra to inform Medeia that her sons have been pardoned (vs. 1002 ff.). Immediately thereafter she orders the pedagogue to go inside,

... ἀλλὰ βαῖνε δωμάτων ἔσω
καὶ παισὶ πόρσυν’ οἶα χρὴ καθ’ ἡμέραν. vs. 1019 f.