Greek Tragedy in the Light of Vase Paintings

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Title: Greek Tragedy in the Light of Vase Paintings
Author: Huddilston, John Homer
Language: English
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PAINTINGS ***

GREEK TRAGEDY

THE LIGHT OF VASE PAINTINGS

[Illustration]

[Illustration:

(_Size, about 1 ∶ 9_)

MEDEIA AMPHORA IN THE OLD PINAKOTHEK, MUNICH

(_Vid. p. 145 ff._)
]

GREEK TRAGEDY
IN
THE LIGHT OF VASE PAINTINGS

JOHN H. HUDDILSTON
B.A. (HARV.), PH.D. (MUNICH)

FORMERLY INSTRUCTOR IN GREEK IN THE NORTHWESTERN UNIVERSITY AUTHOR OF
‘THE ESSENTIALS OF NEW TESTAMENT GREEK’ AND ‘THE ATTITUDE OF THE GREEK
TRAGEDIANS TOWARD ART’

London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1898

Oxford
HORACE HART, PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

PROFESSOR CARL RIEMENSCHNEIDER, PH.D.

GERMAN WALLACE COLLEGE

BEREA, OHIO

WHOSE RARE CLASSICAL SCHOLARSHIP

IS ALL TOO LITTLE KNOWN

THIS VOLUME

BY ONE OF HIS FORMER PUPILS

IS AFFECTIONATELY

DEDICATED

Πλὴν ὁ Σιμωνίδης τὴν μὲν ζωγραφίαν ποίησιν σιωπῶσαν προσαγορεύει, τὴν
δὲ ποίησιν, ζωγραφίαν λαλοῦσαν· ἃς γὰρ οἱ ζωγράφοι πράξεις ὁς
γινομένας δεικνύουσι, ταύτας οἱ λόγοι γεγενημένας διηγοῦνται καὶ
συγγράφουσιν.

PLUTARCH, _De Gloria Athen._, c. 3.

Nec mirum, si ista, quae tamen in aliquo posita sunt motu, tantum in
animis valent, cum pictura, tacens opus et habitus semper eiusdem, sic
in intimos penetrat adfectus, ut ipsam vim dicendi nonnumquam superare
videatur.

QUINTILIAN, _Inst. Orat._, xi. 3. 67.

PREFACE

Although the archaeologists and mythologists constitute for the most
part the number of those seriously concerned with Greek vases, there
still remain many engaged in the study of Greek literature for whom the
vases are bound to possess an abiding value, since they often relate the
stories that Homer, Pindar, Aischylos, and Euripides tell. One may find
on vases of the fourth, fifth, and sixth centuries B.C. illustrations
for not a few of the famous pieces in Greek poetry. The paintings may
have been an outgrowth of the common stock of legendary tales, having
their origin in the folk-lore, and in such cases they are independent of
the written literature and go along, so to speak, parallel with the work
of the poets, who drew from the same source. These paintings are
valuable as illustrations of the myths, quite apart from any literary
version of the same. Another class still more interesting, perhaps, owe
their origin to some particular poem or play, and are to be taken as
direct products of the poets’ work. Such are of prime importance for one
who would understand the poet thoroughly.

The first class of paintings of the latter sort are based on Homer and
the Cyclic poets. After the epic literature, the tragic drama became the
chief formative force in Greek legend and its representation in art. Yet
here again, as in the case of the Cyclic poets, one is compelled to
interpret paintings inspired by works that have come down to us either
as mere names or in a few wretched fragments. The relation of these
monuments to the lost literature is of paramount importance, but the
investigation is beset with many obstacles and will continue to be
largely a field for the specialist. _Extant_ tragedy and vase paintings,
however, come together at so many points, and the former is so illumined
by the latter, that every student of the classics should become
acquainted with at least this part of Greek ceramics.

The present work represents an attempt to bring this material together
in a convenient and accessible form. The first chapter, which deals with
the influence of tragedy on other classes of monuments, is meant to be
suggestive, not exhaustive; if I shall have succeeded here in setting
the student to think along some new lines that in the end will place him
in more direct touch with antiquity, and help him to a better
understanding of Greek tragic poetry and the part it played in the
artistic life of the Greeks and Romans, my aim will have been achieved.
The foot-notes all the way through are intended to contain somewhat full
references to the literature of the different topics, and to be a sort
of guide to one who desires to prosecute this study further.

In dealing with even the subject of vase paintings and extant tragedy,
it was not possible to omit saying a word regarding the general question
of the earliest influence of the drama upon the vase painters; this has
been done, however, very briefly, and is no more than a sketch. Some may
think that the subject is disposed of too quickly; many pages, indeed,
might have been written to advantage on this much mooted point, but this
would have required going far aside from the task which I set myself;
and, further, it did not seem wise to encumber the work with a
discussion necessarily of a nature to appeal to the archaeologist rather
than to the student of Aischylos and Euripides. It is the latter’s needs
that have been uppermost in my mind, and it will be found that I have
written for him first and for the archaeologist second.

My aim has been to collect and publish all paintings that can with a
high degree of probability be said to be inspired by any of the extant
tragedies, and to unfold the relation of the two to each other in such a
way as to throw the greatest possible light upon the interpretation of
the literature. Many of the publications where one can find these
paintings are so expensive and inaccessible that but a comparatively
small number of classical students can make any use of the original
works; the result is that this important class of monuments has been
very little used by philologists. Wherever it seemed necessary, synopses
of the plays have been given, and these will place the student in
possession of everything required for a full appreciation of the
reproductions. Reference has been made to other monuments representing
scenes based on the plays, so that there is in fact a sort of
archaeological commentary for those who care to go further and examine
the general influence of the poet over the artist. It should be borne in
mind, however, that I have not been concerned with the myths involved
except in so far as they were _the_ forms invented or followed by the
tragedians. To be sure, opinions will not be unanimous regarding the
interpretation of some of the paintings, but wherever I have not felt
sure of the debt of the artist to a given play I have preferred not to
publish the work; some such are mentioned in a separate chapter, where
reference is also made to the literature. My endeavour has been to keep
as far as possible aloof from conjectures and reckless theories into
which one is apt to be drawn in dealing with questions in archaeology;
sins of omission should be less reprehended in a work of this character
than sins of commission, and although I shall no doubt be judged guilty
of both, I hope to have erred rather on the side of the former.

It will be of special interest to archaeologists to have the painting on
the Medeia amphora, in Munich, correctly published; fig. 23 gives for
the first time the correct reading of the inscriptions, and for this
reason I could have wished that space had permitted a much larger
reproduction. The frontispiece, presenting a general view of the whole
vase, will, it is hoped, be of some help in affording those who have not
had an opportunity of seeing the originals, some notion of the size and
magnificent workmanship of this class of vases, called so appropriately
by the Germans _Prachtamphoren_. Another painting, fig. 3, is published
for the first time, and fig. 6, taken from a photograph, displaces the
drawing in Jahn’s _Vasenbilder_. Further than this, the illustrations
are the same as those that have already appeared elsewhere; it has been
possible for me to add new information regarding the whereabouts of some
few vases.

On the spelling of Greek names it need only be said that I have nearly
always preferred the Greek forms to the Latin equivalents; yet I have
not gone so far as to write _Hiketides_ for _Supplices_, or _Hepta_ for
_Septem_; neither did it seem advisable to disturb a word so common in
English as is _Oedipus_ by writing it _Oidipous_, or much less
_Oidipus_.

My thanks are due to Professor Otto Kern for help and encouragement
while he was still at the University of Berlin. Professor Carl Robert
has lent me valuable assistance, and I scarcely know whether I am more
indebted to his suggestive replies to my numerous inquiries or to his
writings, which latter have been a constant inspiration to me. Professor
A. Furtwängler, whose profound knowledge in the field of Greek ceramics,
as well as in every department of classical archaeology, is well known,
has aided me by his counsel and has spared some of his valuable time to
go over all the manuscript. I wish to express my indebtedness to all
these eminent scholars as well as to Mr. Charles B. Newcomer, M.A., who
has been kind enough to read the proof, and has favoured me with many
valuable suggestions. Mrs. Huddilston, who more than any one else has
followed all the work, deserves special mention; there is scarcely a
page that does not bear evidence of her sound judgement.

I indulge the hope that this little book may, with all its defects (and
I am well aware they are many), present much that is helpful in a field
in which there is little addressed to the student of classical
literature; and this brings me to remark that I have long wondered why
the editions of the Greek tragedies are not enlivened more with
reproductions of works of art pertaining to the myth involved. There is
no reason why the student who is set to read the _Choephoroi_,
_Eumenides_, _Medeia_, or _Iphigeneia in Tauris_, not to mention other
plays, should look only at the literary and philological sides of the
author. Is it considered unscholarly to illustrate books of this sort,
or are the scholars who edit them ignorant of the archaeological
apparatus? The time is coming, I firmly believe, when these two
departments of classical studies will not be so divorced as they are at
present, and when the monuments based upon a myth will be included in
our text-books and examined quite as closely as is the text of the poet.
When Greek art is thus made to supplement the study of the poetry, the
latter will be invested with a still greater charm than it now
possesses. More of the spirit is required and less of the letter, and
this is bound to be brought about when Greek art is introduced more
extensively into the instruction in Greek studies. I trust that these
pages will be considered a contribution towards this manner of studying
Greek tragedy, and that the plays which come in question will be read
with renewed interest by all students, and reviewed with pleasure and
profit by those who are instructors in classics; and again by those who
in the various walks of life still have time and inclination to turn
occasionally to the masterpieces of Greek letters—works that will always
remain substantial parts of the world’s literary ballast.

J. H. HUDDILSTON.

LONDON, _March, 1898_.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

THE INFLUENCE OF GREEK TRAGEDY UPON ANCIENT ART OUTSIDE OF THE VASES

PAGE
§ 1. INTRODUCTORY 1

§ 2. TRAGIC INFLUENCES IN SCULPTURE 4

1. Greek Sculpture 4

2. The Etruscan Ash-Urns 10

3. The Roman Sarcophagi 15

§ 3. THE INFLUENCE OF TRAGEDY ON PAINTING 20

1. On Greek Painting 21

2. The Wall Paintings of Pompeii 24

§ 4. TRAGIC ELEMENTS ON THE ETRUSCAN MIRRORS 26

§ 5. GREEK TRAGEDY AND THE ‘MEGARIAN BOWLS’ 27

CHAPTER II

THE EARLIEST INFLUENCE OF TRAGEDY ON VASE PAINTING

§ 1. THEORIES ADVANCED FOR THE EARLIEST TRACES 31

§ 2. EARLIEST EVIDENCE 32

§ 3. THE FIFTH CENTURY B.C. 33

§ 4. THE FOURTH CENTURY B.C. AND THE CONDITIONS IN LOWER ITALY 37

CHAPTER III

AISCHYLOS AND VASE PAINTING

§ 1. INTRODUCTION 42

§ 2. _CHOEPHOROI_ 43

§ 3. _EUMENIDES_ 55

§ 4. THE LOST PLAYS 73

CHAPTER IV

SOPHOKLES AND HIS RELATION TO VASE PAINTING 75

CHAPTER V

EURIPIDES AND VASE PAINTING

§ 1. INTRODUCTION 78

§ 2. _ANDROMACHE_ 83

§ 3. _BAKCHAI_ 88

§ 4. _HEKABE_ 94

§ 5. _HIPPOLYTOS_ 101

§ 6. _IPHIGENEIA AT AULIS_ 112

§ 7. _IPHIGENEIA AMONG THE TAURIANS_ 121

§ 8. _KYKLOPS_ 139

§ 9. _MEDEIA_ 144

§ 10. _PHOINISSAI_ 171

§ 11. SUPPLEMENTARY 178

A List of Vase Paintings sometimes referred to Extant Plays 178

A List of Vase Paintings referred to Lost Plays 179

INDEX 182

THE COMMON ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES

_Annali d. Inst._ = _Annali dell’ Instituto di Corrispondenza
archeologica_ (Rome).

_Arch. Anz._ = _Archäologischer Anzeiger, Beiblatt zum Jahrbuch des
Archäologischen Instituts_ (Berlin).

_Arch. Ztg._ = _Archäologische Zeitung_ (Berlin).

_Athen. Mitth._ = _Mittheilungen des K. deutschen Archäologischen
Instituts in Athen._

Baumeister, _Denkmäler_ = Baumeister’s _Denkmäler des Klassischen
Altertums_.

_B. C. H._ = _Bulletin de Correspondence Hellénique_ (Athens).

_Compte Rendu_ = _Compte Rendu de la Commission impériale archéologique_
(St. Petersburg).

_C. I. A._ = _Corpus Inscriptionum Atticarum._

_Élite Céram._ = _Élite des monuments céramographiques_, Lenormant et De
Witte.

F.-W. = Friederichs-Wolters, _Die Gipsabgüsse antiker Bildwerke_.

Furtwängler, _Masterpieces_ = Furtwängler, _Masterpieces of Greek
Sculpture_.

Gerhard, _Auserl. Vasen._ = Gerhard, _Auserlesen griechische
Vasenbilder_.

Helbig, _Wandgemälde_ = Helbig, _Wandgemälde der vom Vesuv verschütteten
Städte Campaniens_.

Inghirami, _Vasi fitt._ = Inghirami, _Pitture di vasi fittili_.

_Jahrbuch_ = _Jahrbuch des K. deutschen Archäologischen Instituts_
(Berlin).

_J. H. S._ = _Journal of Hellenic Studies_ (London).

_Mon. d. Inst._ = _Monumenti inediti pubblicati dall’ Instituto di
Corrispondenza archeologica_ (Rome).

Nauck, _Fragmenta_ = Nauck, _Fragmenta tragicorum graecorum._ 2 ed.

Overbeck, _Bildwerke_ = Overbeck, _Die Bildwerke zum thebischen und
troischen Heldenkreis_.

Overbeck, _Schriftquellen_ = Overbeck, _Die antiken Schriftquellen zur
Geschichte der bildenden Künste bei den Griechen_.

Reinach-Millin, _Peintures_ = Reinach, _Peintures de Vases
Reinach-Millingen, _Peintures_ antiques recueillies par Millin
(1808) et Millingen (1813)._

Vogel, _Scen. eur. Trag._ = Vogel, _Scenen euripideischer Tragödien in
griechischen Vasengemälden_.

GREEK TRAGEDY IN THE LIGHT OF VASE PAINTINGS

CHAPTER I
THE INFLUENCE OF GREEK TRAGEDY UPON ANCIENT ART OUTSIDE OF THE VASES

§ 1. INTRODUCTORY.

Painting as a fine art has never been developed to any great degree of
perfection independent of literature. The two are, in a sense,
handmaids, each inspiring the other and assisting it to solve new
problems. A great literature is, furthermore, a necessary precursor of
great achievements in art, since the latter is the more dependent of the
two, and seeks its inspiration from the poet. This may not be clear to
one who looks about at painting in this age of eclecticism, and
endeavours to satisfy himself that literature and art are thus related,
and that the former is required to give the initial impetus to the
latter. The principle can, however, be made plain by going back nearer
the fountain spring of modern literary and artistic development. One
should turn to the Italian Renaissance of the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries—to the period when Dante became the teacher and guide of
artistic notions—in order to observe the full meaning and force of the
supremacy of literature. There, where for the first time in the modern
world a great genius fashioned the thought of more than a century, one
can study easily the power of the poet over the artist. The influence of
Dante upon artistic notions from Giotto down to the present has, indeed,
been incalculably great. No painter of the _quattrocento_, at least,
worked in any other than the Dantesque spirit; whether consciously or
unconsciously, he was under the spell of the father of Italian letters.
Dante’s Hell and Paradise became the Hell and Paradise of Signorelli and
Michel Angelo. Botticelli, Flaxman, Doré, and many others left their
canvasses and frescoes to interpret the hidden secrets of the _Divina
Commedia_. The great Christian Epic which Cornelius developed through
many years of study and contemplation of Dante, and which he considered
the crowning work of his life, is told in the altar fresco of the
Ludwig’s Church in Munich. Yet this is but one of the many monumental
works of this century which owes its existence to this poet. Delacroix’s
‘Barque of Dante,’ exhibited in the Paris _Salon_ of 1822, has been
called the first real painting of the century. When one turns to England
there is Rossetti, with ‘Beatrice and Dante,’ ‘Dante’s Dream,’ and
several other famous paintings that witness again to the influence of
the Italian poet. But one may remark that Dante’s position in the
history of human progress is unique. This is true. The world has not
known another whose authority was so absolute or whose philosophy
appeared so final. The influence of poets of less power has been
correspondingly smaller. The principle, however, remains true. The poet
ventures where the boldest artist has not gone and prepares, as it were,
the way for him.

The closest parallel to Dante’s influence upon the trend of artistic
notions must be looked for in ancient Greece; Homer must be named with
Dante. The Homeric poetry has exercised a power which the _Divina
Commedia_ has scarcely surpassed; the thousand and more streams of
influence which rose in the Greek epic literature went out in every
direction to water the fields of art and letters in Greece and Rome, and
flowed on again after Petrarch’s time, and are to-day mighty forces.
Events and incidents of the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ have taken so
permanent a place in modern art that one hardly stops to think that this
or that is from Homer. But this company of persons which the world calls
Homer was not the only vital force that shaped men’s thoughts and
furnished the artist with fresh inspiration. The tragic poets are to be
named with Homer. Had Aischylean, Sophoklean, and Euripidean elements
not entered into ancient and modern works of art the world would never
have known some of its most beautiful monuments. This is not, however,
the place to linger over the influence of the Greek epic and tragic
literature in modern times, interesting though this would be. It is in
ancient times, when there was still among the people a peculiar interest
in the mythic legends, that the contact of poet and artist is most
apparent; it is with the three Greek tragedians that we have to do at
present, and some traces of their work may be pointed out in the various
classes of monuments before the vase paintings are examined.

§ 2. TRAGIC INFLUENCES IN SCULPTURE.

1. _Greek Sculpture._

One does not expect the sculptor’s notions to be largely shaped by a
definite situation in literature, as he has little to do with
illustration; his art is too severe and confined to reproduce the
dramatic and pathetic with great success. There is accordingly little
direct influence of the Greek tragic literature over ancient sculpture
except on the sarcophagi. Of the monuments belonging to the fifth
century B.C., which owe their existence indirectly to the drama, three
reliefs occupy the foremost place. These are the well-known Orpheus[1],
Peliades[2], and Peirithoös[3] reliefs, all of which belong close to the
time of the Parthenon frieze. Reisch has made it clear that these works
were conceived and carried out in the spirit of the tragic drama[4].
They are claimed, indeed, as dedicatory offerings in memory of
particular tragic exhibitions, but no attempt is made to name any poet
or tragedy with which they were connected. Whether one is correct in
holding these reliefs as ἀναθήματα, certain it is that in every
particular they breathe forth the spirit of tragedy. The triple group in
each has been pointed out as corresponding to the three actors. This,
however, is an outer sign that might serve to indicate their origin. The
relation of the figures to each other—the conflict of soul which one may
observe—the pathos that pervades the groups—these are so unlike anything
that occurs on the earlier monuments that a person involuntarily asks
himself whence the artists received their motives. Tragedy provides the
answer. The parting scene between Alkestis and Admetos which Euripides
describes so beautifully belongs to the same decade as does the Orpheus
relief. This touching episode may well have been the incentive to some
such work as the parting between Orpheus and Eurydike. In all three
instances the sculptor was at any rate occupied with the problems which
concerned the tragic poet, and he reproduced true echoes of dramatic
situations.

Related to these reliefs is another class of monuments which grew out of
the tragic performances. From the middle of the fifth century B.C.[5]
till at least the close of the third century B.C.[6] it was customary
for the successful choregos to dedicate the tripod that the state had
given him as a prize. The magnificence and elaborateness accompanying
this ceremony can be learned from the still extant Lysikrates monument
upon which the tripod once stood and on the intercolumniations of which
tripods in relief are represented. A street in Athens was given over to
the exposition of these prizes. Pausanias states that they were of
bronze and stood on temples[7]. More important still for us in this
connexion is the fact that together with the tripod, probably under the
kettle, it was the custom to set up a figure of a satyr or Dionysos or
Nike[8]. This practice does not appear to have been older than the time
of Praxiteles. So it is that one learns of his famous satyr which
Pausanias mentions in connexion with one of the tripods[9]. The Greek of
this passage does not admit of a satisfactory interpretation, and it is
not possible therefore to determine what the attitude of the figure was.
It is probable that the statue which was thus intimately associated with
the Dionysiac performances was the περιβόητος satyr of Praxiteles,
existing in so many copies and known throughout English literature as
the ‘Marble Faun.’ One can easily understand that this class of choregic
monuments was alone of great importance, and that through this channel
the tragic performances worked a wide influence over sculpture. There
was a vast number of statues in bronze and marble that thus arose from
the exigencies of the theatre. Along with these works may be classed the
numerous pieces of sculpture that were put up as decorations for the
theatre. Such were the εἰκόνες mentioned by Pausanias as being in the
Dionysiac theatre at Athens. The periegete names the statues of
Aischylos, Sophokles, Euripides, and Menander[10].

A large number of reliefs that represent Dionysos receiving the worship
of mortals, or advancing in a train of satyrs before a man lying on a
couch, makes up another class of sculpture, which probably owed its
origin to the drama. On the Peiraieus[11] relief three persons carrying
tragic masks advance before the god who reclines upon a _kline_. The
work may possibly be dated as early as the close of the fifth century
B.C.[12] It is at any rate an early example of the influence of the
tragic muse upon sculpture. The so-called Ikarios reliefs illustrating
Dionysos’ first appearance in Attica, and the consequent origin of
tragedy, may not refer to Ikarios at all, but are nevertheless to be
linked to tragedy in some way, as the masks clearly show[13]. They may
have been purely decorative work, or were perhaps offerings of actors.

It remains to speak of a few monuments which seem to have been more
directly under the influence of particular tragedies. One hears, for
example, that the sculptor Seilanion made a ‘Dying Iokaste.’[14] This
notion would appear to have been borrowed from some play. One may think
of the _Oedipus Tyrannus_ of Sophokles or the _Phoinissai_ of Euripides.
Of far greater importance is the relief on one of the columns from
Ephesos which is known to every one[15]. The most satisfactory
interpretation of this work so far offered explains the scene as
Alkestis being delivered from Death. The heroine, rescued from Thanatos
by Hermes, is being conducted to the upper world again. Unfortunately
there is no agreement among archaeologists on this explanation[16].
Until a better one is brought forward, however, this important monument
may be held as evidence for the influence exerted by Euripides’ handling
of this popular myth. The _Alkestis_ is known to have been exceptionally
well received.

If tragic influences are only possibly at hand in the fragment from
Ephesos, the excavations at Pergamon have brought to light extensive
remains of reliefs that were inspired by Attic tragedy. The Telephos
frieze, now in Berlin, is directly associated with the drama. The mythic
founder of Pergamon had a long and varied career, which was told in
dramatic form by both Sophokles and Euripides. The suggestions for the
reliefs in question came from the _Auge_ and _Telephos_ of the latter,
and the _Mysoi_ of the former[17]. In these fragments one can see
distinctly the high esteem in which the Attic drama was held at the
court of the Attalidai. I know of no Greek sculpture which comes so near
being an illustration of tragedy as does this frieze.

Another work of monumental greatness belonging to about the same period
and exhibiting unmistakable signs of tragic influence is the Farnese
Bull in the National Museum in Naples[18]. This colossal group, which
represents Dirke being tied to a rampant bull by Amphion and Zethos, the
sons of Antiope, is characterized by a passion and violence that are
late products in Greek sculpture. Such motives made their appearance
first in the fourth century B.C. Niobe and her children are the earliest
representation on a grand scale of these elements that are so akin to
the drama. Such compositions were first possible with Praxiteles and
Skopas who broke away from the traditions of the Pheidian age. The
generation that saw a new type of Dionysos and of Aphrodite, and could
appreciate the frenzied maenad of Skopas, had been prepared for these
new motives very largely through the theatre. The drama had not a little
to do with impressing the artist and his public with the importance of
delineating the human feelings. In the case of the Niobe group one would
not attempt to point out any special influence of the _Niobe_ of
Aischylos or Sophokles, and still there is little doubt in my own mind
that the sculptor was more or less influenced by the tragic literature.
May not Praxiteles or Skopas, each of whom shares the credit of the
Niobe group, have been led to the pathetic look upon the mother’s face
by the lines of one of these lost plays? This new tendency in sculpture
reached its highest expression in the Laokoön and the Farnese Bull. The
latter can be traced to the influence of Euripides’ _Antiope_, which
appears to have been the source of all Dirke monuments in ancient art;
there is no dissenting voice as to Euripides’ right to occupy the
honourable position thus assigned[19] him. Reference has already been
made to the Laokoön[20] as representing the culmination of tragedy in
marble. The view held by Lessing and many others that Virgil was the
sculptors’ authority has been abandoned long since. The Pergamon altar
frieze has enabled us to fix the date of the Laokoön with approximate
correctness. It is surely some centuries older than the _Aeneid_ and
stands therefore in a possible relation to the _Laokoön_ of Sophokles.
Yet here again opinions vary widely. Sophokles’ play is lost, and the
few remaining fragments are not enough to enable one to make a
satisfactory reconstruction. The story came down from the epic
literature, and, like so many incidents in the fall of Troy, needed no
further popularization in order to appeal to the artist. That Sophokles’
tragedy, however, was wholly without any influence on the Rhodian
sculptors who so tragically and realistically represented Apollo’s
vengeance on his priest seems to me highly improbable. Such a conception
as found expression in this masterpiece of sculpture may well have
sprung from the masterpiece in poetry which was at hand in Sophokles’
_Laokoön_[21].

2. _The Etruscan Ash-urns._

The reliefs on the Etruscan and Roman sarcophagi carry us to Italian
soil and furnish us with a much larger field for pursuing our subject
than could be found in Greek sculpture. Of all the Italian races with
whom the Greeks came into contact, the Etrurians were by far the most
advanced in civilization; and during the centuries of active commercial
relations between the two peoples this nation, whose origin is the
puzzle of historians, and whose language is the _crux_ of philologists,
came more under the influence of Greek literature and art than any of
the Latin races that remained unhellenized. They have left abundant
evidence of these hellenizing influences. In various classes of
monuments which may still be studied—urns, mirrors, cistae,
tomb-paintings, and vases—one discovers Greek mythology and poetry. The
national mythology of the Etruscans is so much of an exception in their
art, and the Greek is so universally adopted, that one is at a loss to
account for the strange fact. On hundreds of Etruscan monuments one sees
the workings of Greek poetry, which found its way into Etruria before
Livius Andronicus produced the first tragedy in Rome 240 B.C. That the
Greek drama was introduced for the most part directly and not through
the medium of the early Latin tragedians, is shown by the fact that the
latter flourished in the second and first centuries B.C., while the urns
exhibiting tragic subjects are, for the most part, from the third
century B.C. Some may, indeed, date from the fourth century. Roman
tragedy can not be said to have really become at all a matter of general
interest before Ennius went to Rome in 204 B.C. He died 169 B.C., and
one should not think that the influence of these Latin adaptations and
translations of Greek plays took an immediate hold upon the neighbouring
Etruscans. Such elements percolate gradually into the various strata of
national life, to say nothing of the time required to reach a foreign
people whose language and customs are so different. But the _summus
epicus poeta_[22] was not the most popular or most prolific pilferer of
Greek plays. His tragedies numbered only about twenty. _In Accio
circaque eum Romana tragoedia est_[23]; and the probable truth of this
statement is well attested by the list of fifty plays that have come
down to us under Accius’ name. This poet, however, was born 170 B.C. and
first exhibited tragedies in 140 B.C. It is therefore very doubtful
whether one can rightly speak of the influence of Latin tragedy upon the
Etruscan artists. One dare not, at any rate, bring the ash-urns too far
into the second century B.C., as Brunn and those immediately under his
teaching formerly did. More recent investigations have proved the
chronological impossibility of interpreting these reliefs with the help
of Ennius, Accius, and Pacuvius.

Without taking time and space to review the arguments on which the
interpretations of the reliefs are based it will be enough for my
purpose to simply add a list of the scenes which one may reasonably
refer to Greek tragedy. Examining the first volume of Brunn’s _I rilievi
delle urne etrusche_, which is devoted to urns with scenes from the
Trojan Cycle, one learns that those presenting a version of the stories
ascribable to the tragic poets exceed those that are based on the
_Iliad_, _Odyssey_, and other epics. The representation of Paris’ return
to his Trojan home is, with one exception[24], the most frequent. The
thirty-four reliefs were referred, even in the time of the former late
dating, to Euripides’ Ἀλέξανδρος[25]. The fate of Telephos was,
according to Aristotle, a common subject for a tragedy[26]. We have
already met the story on the Pergamon frieze, and it is very frequent on
the Etruscan urns. Telephos grasps the young Orestes and threatens his
life on the altar after the manner of the drama. It may be the influence
of Aischylos or Euripides, but if one judges from the comparative
popularity of these poets in this period he would be inclined to assign
the first place to the latter[27]. The offering of Iphigeneia occurs on
twenty-six urns, nearly all of which were found in the vicinity of
Perugia[28]. It was again unquestionably Greek tragedy that was the
incentive for these scenes. Aischylos, Sophokles, and Euripides may all
share the credit of having furnished the literary source. A smaller
series of urns representing Odysseus’ adventure in taking Philoktetes
from Lemnos is also to be placed under the influence of the fifth
century tragedy[29]. The δόλιος Ὀδυσσεύς is seen playing his part as
cleverly as he does in the extant play of Sophokles. The attitude of
Philoktetes standing before Neoptolemos, having in two cases the arrow
in his hand, corresponds well to the character drawn by this poet. The
injured chieftain displays his courage and scoffs at the thought of
being carried away by the detested Odysseus. The murder of Aigisthos and
Klytaimestra represented on seventeen urns has been shown by Schlie to
be essentially Euripidean[30]. The arrival of Orestes and Pylades at the
precinct of the Tauric Artemis is possibly the subject of three
reliefs[31]. This would also take one directly to Euripides[32]. The
following are published in the second volume of the _Urne etrusche_ by
Körte. Medeia escapes on her dragon-chariot, driving over the bodies of
her children[33]—an echo of the great tragedy that exercised so wide an
influence in other fields of art[34]. The punishment of Dirke on four
reliefs is based without question on the _Antiope_ of Euripides[35]. The
blinding of Oedipus at the hands of Laios’ sons seems to have been an
invention of the same poet and is recognized in another relief[36]. The
Theban fratricide and the assault on the city were both much-prized
subjects[37]. Körte points out many features common to the numerous
reliefs and the _Phoinissai_ of Euripides[38]. The death of Alkmene is
represented on five urns which one would associate with the _Alkmene_ of
the same poet[39]. Euripides’ Κρῆτες is traceable on seven reliefs,
showing the legend of Daidalos and Pasiphaë[40]. Theseus’ fight with the
Minotaur occurs four times and reminds us of Euripides’ _Theseus_[41].
The death of Hippolytos on eight reliefs does not present any essential
variation from the extant Greek tragedy[42]. Perseus and Andromeda are
met with likewise and emphasize the wide popularity of Euripides’
play[43]. The famous legend of Oinomaos’ death and Pelops’ triumph
occurs on thirty-one urns[44]. It can be shown that these were inspired
by one or more of the lost tragedies that dealt with the subject[45].
The Μελέαγρος of Euripides appears to have been the source of at least
three of the many reliefs representing the Kalydonian Hunt[46]. To this
long list of urns based on Euripidean tragedies one must still add seven
that were probably inspired by this poet’s Μελανίππη ἡ σοψή and three
more that follow his Μελανίππη ἡ δεσμῶτις[47].

More than two-thirds of the more than four hundred Etruscan urns
examined are decorated with sculpture based on Greek tragedy, and in
nearly all instances the drama was Euripidean. Such are the instructive
facts regarding this important class of monuments.

3. _Roman Sarcophagi._

Under the expression ‘Roman sarcophagi’ one understands those of the
first and second centuries A.D. unless the expression is further
qualified. Sarcophagi from the time of the Republic are very rare and
they are withal modest in their workmanship. The florid decorations of
the time of the Empire, and especially of the period just noted, are
often of secondary interest, but the reliefs on the sarcophagi are for
the most part of prime importance, as furnishing reminiscences of lost
tragedies and ancient paintings of great renown. The majority are copies
of very ordinary merit, while now and then a sarcophagus relief is not
unworthy a Greek artist of the fourth century B.C.

It is a commonly known fact that long before the Laokoön, or the Farnese
Bull, or the Apollo Belvidere was unearthed in the sixteenth and
fifteenth centuries—long before the classical antiquities of Rome,
Florence, and Naples had attracted students and lovers of art—the
sculptures of these sarcophagi, scattered about in cathedrals and
palaces, had begun to teach the Italian artist what the human figure
really is, and what composition and decoration should be. The
Renaissance artist first learned the charm and simplicity of the ancient
costume from these marbles and perceived how vastly superior this was to
the heavy, conventional church-dress that concealed the outlines of the
form and rendered grace and beauty impossible. The study of the antique,
we have reason to believe, was in the early Renaissance largely a study
of these Roman sarcophagi.

There is no need of going into detail. It will be enough to hint at the
most important monuments of this class that stand under the influence of
Greek tragedy. Whether they are a direct product of the Greek plays or
are founded on the Latin translations, or whether they represent copies
of Greek paintings based on Greek tragedy—this is for the present
purpose all one and the same. It is not necessary to determine whence
the incentive came. The important fact for one to grasp first is, that a
surprisingly large number of the reliefs owe their existence to the
tragic drama, and that these sculptures should be brought into one’s
study of the tragic poets[48].

The series of reliefs illustrating Euripides’ _Alkestis_ is of prime
importance for one who wishes to see in art a scene worthy of the
poet[49]. The touching farewell of Alkestis as she reclines upon her
death-bed is in each instance the centre of the groups on the long side.
Around her gathers the whole family. The children draw up close to their
mother’s side. Her parents are also present, and this lends more
interest to the sight, for they could scarcely be absent although the
poet does not mention them in this connexion. The last words of
Alkestis, and Admetos’ reply, form the real charm of the play. All else
falls far behind these speeches, and following one of the gems in Greek
literature the artist could afford to assign his illustration the first
place on the reliefs. Arranged on either side are the other incidents of
the drama, following the poet with considerable faithfulness. In this
connexion should be mentioned the relief in Florence, also based upon
the same source[50].

The Hippolytos sarcophagi are, so far as I know, the most numerous of
those that are dependent upon tragedy. If we possess more than a score,
either entire or in fragments, after the destructive elements have been
at work on them since antiquity, there is reason to believe that many
times this number were once in existence. Copies were made in large
numbers, and many a Roman was laid to rest behind the tragedy in marble
which in the _Hippolytos_ of Euripides has continued with some
interruptions to move the sympathies of the civilized world for more
than two thousand years. The reliefs are in the main faithful
illustrations of Euripides. One or two situations are foreign to him,
and these would suggest the influence of a Roman poet. It is unnecessary
to do more here than to refer to the following chapter, where the whole
question finds a further discussion[51].

‘The Orestes myth appears upon the sarcophagi exclusively in the form
given to it by the Attic drama. The first part—the slaying of Aigisthos
and Klytaimestra—follows the _Oresteia_ of Aischylos. The second
part—the meeting of Iphigeneia and Orestes and the rape of the Tauric
idol—is based upon the _Iphigeneia in Tauris_ of Euripides.’[52] One
exception only is noted and this appears to represent the influence of a
later play which handled the subject of the _Oresteia_[53]. The scenes
on the other sarcophagi are indeed illustrations of Aischylos. In each
case the final moment of the _Choephoroi_, when the Furies rush in upon
the murderer, guilty of a mother’s blood, is chosen for the middle
group. Right and left from this the succeeding events are arranged. The
right end scene invariably represents Orestes as he is about to escape
from the sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi and go to Athens. He picks his
way with circumspection over the sleeping Furies, and one is led up to
the triumphal verdict of the _Eumenides_[54]. Robert has shown very
clearly the relation of these sculptures to Aischylos’ words, and it is
enough to refer to his discussion.

The Iphigeneia-Orestes sarcophagi breathe from first to last the spirit
of Euripides. A study of them is scarcely less instructive than a
reading of the play. Step by step the story is unfolded. Orestes and
Pylades are taken captives and stand before the priestess, whose
dreadful office is made more horrible by the remains of human sacrifices
that are fastened up around the sanctuary; the recognition scene with
the letter follows. Then Iphigeneia appears with the idol in her arms,
and asks Thoas’ permission to go and purify it in the sea. The two
Greeks stand bound, ready to follow her, and last of all comes the
_mêlée_ at the ship. One after another of the barbarians is laid low by
the strong arms of Orestes and Pylades. Iphigeneia is placed safely
aboard with the image, and one sees the beginning of the homeward
journey that closed the history of the house of Atreus[55].

The Euripidean _Medeia_ is discussed at length in another place, and I
have pointed out there the part that the sarcophagi occupy in art
representations of the tragedy[56]. The two extremes of touching
tenderness and violent passion, which no one ever combined more
successfully in one character than did Euripides in his Medeia, come
prominently to the foreground in these reliefs. I know of no monuments
of ancient art that grasp the spirit of a Greek tragedy more effectually
than the Medeia sarcophagi. The strange and secret power of the
sorceress hovers over and pervades the whole. The dreadful vengeance
exacted by the slighted queen is shown in the most graphic manner.
Standing before the Berlin replica, which is the best preserved and most
beautiful of all the sculptures, one cannot but feel that he is face to
face with a marvellous illustration of the great tragedy. The marble all
but breathes; the dragons of Medeia’s chariot may be heard to hiss.

A small number of other monuments of this class belongs to the ‘Seven
against Thebes,’ and, as in the case of the Etruscan urns, the
_Phoinissai_ of Euripides is the main source of the illustrations.
Perhaps Seneca’s _Phoenissae_ also entered into the work. Robert
conjectures that Euripides’ _Oedipus_ may have furnished suggestions for
parts of the scenes[57].

The _Philoktetes_ of Sophokles is illustrated on one relief very much in
the manner of the Etruscan urns already referred to. The wounded
Philoktetes stands at the mouth of the cave and speaks to Neoptolemos on
the right. Odysseus keeps safely out of sight on the left[58].

The story of Pasiphaë’s unholy love is told on a fragment of a
sarcophagus in the Louvre[59]; Daidalos and his cunning work play the
leading part. The ultimate literary authority was Euripides’ Κρῆτες. The
latter may not have been used directly, as the myth enjoyed after this
play a continuous popularity. The relief on one end represents a fruit
offering, and as this would agree with the vegetarian vow of the chorus,
Robert prefers to recognize a direct connexion with Euripides[60].

Mention may be made lastly of the Meleager sarcophagi, which, like the
Etruscan urns, have much in common with Euripides’ Μελέαγρος[61].

§ 3. THE INFLUENCE OF TRAGEDY ON PAINTING.

Our knowledge of Greek painting is entirely literary. No vestige of this
art has survived that one may study the real monuments. The wall
paintings of Pompeii and Herculaneum are, however, a sort of recompense
for this loss, and with these and the assistance of Pliny and a few
other writers one can get some notion of certain masterpieces of ancient
painting. But the records are at the most very scant, and the student
has, after all, to allow his imagination to fill in many gaps.

1. _On Greek Painting._

The first probable point of contact between tragedy and painting is in
the time of Polygnotos. The series of paintings mentioned by Pausanias
as being in the Propylaia _may_ be brought under the name of the great
painter, since it is expressly stated that two of the ten were from his
hand[62]. Among the subjects were Odysseus fetching Philoktetes from
Lemnos; Orestes slaying Aigisthos; Polyxena on the point of being
sacrificed at Achilles’ tomb. The question arises, have these works any
connexion with the drama? If Polygnotos was the author of all the
paintings, the period of his activity excludes both Sophoklean and
Euripidean influence in the Philoktetes scene. The _Philoktetes_ of
Sophokles is known to have been produced in 409 B.C., and the same play
by Euripides appeared in the trilogy with the _Medeia_ in 431 B.C. This
leaves Aischylos’ tragedy, which could have served Polygnotos’ purpose.
Orestes killing Aigisthos seems also a possible product of the
_Oresteia_, but Pylades engaging the sons of Nauplios who came to the
usurper’s assistance renders the Aischylean source improbable.
Polyxena’s sacrifice is described by Euripides in the _Hekabe_[63], and
was the subject of Sophokles’ _Polyxene_[64]. Nothing, however, can be
made out of the few fragments belonging to the latter. The character of
this picture, in which πάθος excluded ἦθος, led Robert to assign it to
the fourth century and base it upon Euripides[65]. All these subjects
are from the Trojan Cycle, and agree well with what is known of
Polygnotos’ taste in selecting his legends. One has but to recall the
painting in the Lesche of the Knidians at Delphi—τὸ μὲν σύμπαν τὸ ἐν
δεξιᾷ τῆς γραφῆς Ἴλιός τέ ἐστιν ἑαλωκυῖα καὶ ἀπόπλους ὁ Ἑλλήνων[66]—to
learn that the drama was not essential to inspire Polygnotos. On the
other hand, a closer examination of the Philoktetes-Orestes legend
reveals the fact that the crafty Ithacan’s part in bringing Philoktetes
from Lemnos was an invention of the Attic drama[67]. The tragedians
placed Odysseus in the room occupied by Diomede in the Trojan Cycle. It
is absolutely necessary therefore to place this painting under the
influence of tragedy, whether it was by Polygnotos and inspired by
Aischylos or by a later artist and inspired by one or more of the three
tragedies. If the Polygnotos authorship be rejected (and as it is based
on pure conjecture there is nothing to forbid placing it aside), one is
at liberty to point out a relation between these works and later tragic
literature, as has already been done in the case of the Polyxena scene.

In the latter half of the fifth century B.C. painting appears to have
reflected pronounced tendencies of the drama. The legends of the heroic
time when tried in the crucible of the dramatic poet appealed more
strongly to the imagination of the artist who had been accustomed to
epic severeness and calmness. The conventionality and regulation types
gave way, and the tragic drama remained thereafter the vital force in
shaping the character of paintings occupied with heroic legends. At this
time we learn of a Telephos by Parrhasios, which one naturally
associates with Euripides or Aischylos[68]. The Iphigeneia of Timanthes
was a work that was scarcely possible but for the fresh interest
awakened in the story by the three tragedians[69]. It is highly probable
again that Euripides was the inspiration for the Andromeda of Nikias[70]
and the Medeia of Timomachus[71]. These were both works of great renown.
Apollodoros’ painting representing the Herakleidai can with some
certainty be referred to Euripides’ tragedy[72]. Theorus, a Samian,
painted Orestes slaying Aigisthos and Klytaimestra, and could hardly
have worked independent of Aischylos[73]. The fate of Pentheus and
Lykurgos was painted in the younger of the two temples in the Dionysiac
precinct south of the Acropolis[74]. The date of this temple has been
fixed at approximately 400 B.C.[75] The punishment of Pentheus was
particularly popular with the tragedians, and the dependence of this
painting on the play of Aischylos or Euripides is all but certain. The
former’s _Lykurgeia_ was the source of the numerous vase paintings of
Lower Italy representing the madness of the Thracian king[76], and one
may infer that this painting mentioned by Pausanias was essentially the
Aischylean Lykurgos. In the same place were two other scenes from the
career of Dionysos. Ariadne was represented as being forsaken by Theseus
and rescued by the god, and in another place Dionysos was conducting
Hephaistos to Olympos. Euripides’ _Theseus_ handled the love episode in
the first of the two latter, and this play was probably not without its
effect upon the popularity of the story which was of frequent
occurrence, particularly in Pompeii[77]. This poet’s power in dealing
with love exploits and depicting the sad case of unrequited love and the
attending calamities, was a new force in literature and a never-failing
spring from which the painter could draw. These compositions are one and
all connected with Dionysos, while three of them are parallel with
subjects handled in tragedy. Such scenes were possible only after the
drama had popularized the subjects and prepared the way, so to speak,
for the reception of the same in art. Even though one does not go so far
as to contend that these paintings were an outgrowth of tragedy, they
must be accepted as signs of the increasing interest in Dionysos and his
worship—and this was primarily the Greater Dionysia, where the first
editions of Greek tragedies were published. This was the period of
Zeuxis and Parrhasios—the time when Euripidean πάθος was shaping
artistic conceptions.

2. _The Wall Paintings of Pompeii and Herculaneum._

The Pompeian wall paintings, representing scenes from tragedy, are
largely reminiscences of earlier paintings, and many famous works that
have already been referred to are doubtless preserved in more or less
exact copies in these invaluable monuments. Besides the Medeia and
Andromeda, which have been noticed above, there is a series of paintings
based on the Hippolytos-Phaidra casualty[78], and another representing
the sacrifice of Iphigeneia[79]. The latter exhibit a marked similarity
to the work of Timanthes and the final scene in Euripides’ _Iphigeneia
at Aulis_. Several important paintings represent the meeting of Orestes
and Iphigeneia in the Tauric sanctuary, and there can be no question
regarding the decided dramatic colouring here[80]. Two pictures are
based on the Telephos legend, and remind one again of the Pergamon
frieze and the relation of this to Euripides and Sophokles[81]. Daidalos
with his wooden cow before Pasiphaë was another favourite Euripidean
story told at Pompeii[82]. The excavations in 1895 brought to light an
unusual number of priceless treasures in the _casa dei Vettii_. Among
the paintings was one showing the death of Pentheus[83]. The maenads are
hurling stones at him and thrusting him through with their thyrsoi; the
wildness of the locality and the tone of the whole work make it highly
probable that Euripides’ _Bakchai_ was the artist’s inspiration. Mention
may be made lastly of the punishment of Dirke, told in several
paintings[84]. After what has been said touching the Farnese Bull, it is
not necessary to point out again the part played in the Dirke monuments
by Euripides’ _Antiope_.

A glance at this brief sketch of ancient paintings on tragic subjects
cannot but impress one with the permanent and far-reaching influence of
the tragic poet over the painter. The striking fact that stands out
prominently before all others is the firm hold exercised by Euripides.
Note the following subjects—Andromeda, Dirke, Hippolytos, Iphigeneia at
Aulis, Medeia. Each of these characters has stamped upon it the form
given by this poet. Others after him adapted and translated his work,
but the ultimate authority remains none the less the Greek tragedian,
and neither the ancient nor the modern world accepts any other than the
Euripidean Andromeda, Hippolytos, or Medeia[85].

§ 4. TRAGIC ELEMENTS ON THE ETRUSCAN MIRRORS.

The engravers of the mirrors were less inventive than were the sculptors
of the ash-urns, and they moved in a much narrower sphere. Their work is
for the most part that of the ordinary mechanic whose hand is none too
sure. The compositions taken from tragedy are common with those already
met with on the Etruscan sarcophagi. There are Orestes and Pylades at
the temple of the Tauric Artemis[86]; the Kalydonian Hunt, following the
Μελέαγρος[87]; Daidalos constructing the wooden cow[88]; Polyxena taking
her farewell of Hekabe[89]; three scenes from the Telephos legend[90];
the parting scene between Alkestis and Admetos[91]; and Prometheus
chained to the Caucasus[92]. These instances at least may be adduced to
emphasize the fact of the wide-spread familiarity of the Etruscans with
tragedy. There is no doubt whatever that in these common everyday
articles, as well as on their sarcophagi, the Etruscans had
illustrations of the tragic poetry that may have been brought to them by
troops of ‘Dionysiac artists’[93].

§ 5. GREEK TRAGEDY AND THE ‘MEGARIAN BOWLS.’

Intermediate between sculpture and vase paintings appears a remarkably
interesting class of vases, or rather cups, which are decorated with a
band of relief. Certain of these are so intimately connected with the
drama, and with Euripides in particular, that at least a brief reference
should be made to them here. Examples of this ware are to be seen in
nearly every large museum, and I have seen fit to include reproductions
of three in the present work, as well as a small fragment of a
fourth[94]. The inscriptions and general style of the vases lead one to
date them in the second or third century B.C. They are surely not later
than this, and not much earlier. They owe their origin to a wide-spread
interest in the older Greek poets. The majority of the reliefs represent
scenes from the Trojan and Theban Cycles, and illustrate some poetical
work. We have to do at this time with those that are related to tragedy.
It is plain from a casual glance at the nature of the compositions taken
from tragic literature that it was not the words of the poet that
suggested the figures to the artist so much as the theatrical
performances themselves. The posings, gestures, groupings—in short, the
general attempt at effect, take one past the written work to the
Hellenistic stage. The motives are borrowed from Euripides, as played in
the second- and third-century theatre. The humble artist who conceived
these designs had visited the exhibitions of the _Iphigeneia at Aulis_
or of the _Phoinissai_, and received fresh ideas for his work. It is
necessary to emphasize the fact that these little monuments date from
the time when the dominating force in art was the tragic drama. The
influence of the theatre was felt among all classes of people. The
guilds of Dionysiac actors travelled around from one village to another,
and from one city to another, producing their _répertoire_ from the
three great tragedians, and, even when there was no permanent stage,
delivered from an improvised platform bad and indifferent versions of
the well-known plays[95]. The result was that tragedy was the one
popular form of literature in the Hellenistic period, and this meant
practically that the people were feasted on Euripides. The ‘Megarian
Bowls’ are priceless treasures from this period when the drama had
permeated all classes of society. The unpretentious reliefs are replete
with the spirit that one may discover at the same time in Italy, Asia
Minor, Athens, and Alexandria. They are direct witnesses of the fact
that Euripides was the people’s poet, and re-enforce the impression
gained from the study of all other classes of monuments.

For my own part I prefer to think of these cups as answering the place
of text illustrations and corresponding to our illustrated editions of
poetical works. One cannot imagine the papyri texts of the ancient poets
illumined with illustrations, but these ‘Megarian Bowls’ meet every
requirement of this kind of art. In order to keep the reader from going
astray in the interpretation the scenes are often accompanied by
inscriptions that render any misunderstanding impossible. The several
groups showing the successive stages of the play serve in fact every end
that is demanded of illustrations. Whether the vases were used by
schoolmasters in drilling their boys in classical poetry, or whether
they were ornaments for the home, the poet was sure to appeal to his
admirers in a new manner. He could be easily remembered by this means if
artificial aid was at all necessary. They had, moreover, the great merit
of being cheap; any number of copies could be made from the mould, and
such cups are really in existence[96]. If three replicas of one and the
same work have accidentally survived the centuries and can to-day be
studied as text illustrations of Euripides, how extensive must have been
the production and use of this sort of art in ancient times![97]

CHAPTER II
THE INFLUENCE OF GREEK TRAGEDY ON VASE PAINTING.

§ 1. THEORIES ADVANCED FOR THE EARLIEST POINT OF CONTACT.

The question as to when the tragic drama first began to influence the
vase painters has been in late years a much mooted one. When our
knowledge of vase chronology was far more fragmentary than it is now,
and the black figured fabric was dated as largely a fifth-century B.C.
product, the attempt was made to point out the dependence on the drama
of certain paintings of this style[98]. Later, when the improbability of
this theory became more and more plain, and an earlier date was fixed
for the black figured vases, other scholars endeavoured to show that the
painters of Euphronios’ set—the masters of the severe red figured
kylikes—stood under the influence of the three tragedians[99]. No one
would venture, however, to speak now of the influence of any of the
dramatists upon the vase painters of this style that flourished at the
end of the sixth and beginning of the fifth century. More nearly correct
was the principle laid down by Robert, in his famous book _Bild und
Lied_, that no vase painting of the fifth century B.C. shows the
influence of heroic legends as recast by the tragedians and produced in
the theatre. Before the year 400 B.C. one should not expect to find
scenes upon the vases that are the direct outcome of the tragic drama.
This, however, is going too far to the other extreme. There is a mean
that may be struck, and this is, as will appear, more in accord with the
present knowledge of Greek ceramics.

§ 2. EARLIEST EVIDENCE.

There is one point on which there seems to be little difference of
opinion, and that is, that the lusty choruses of satyrs that abound on
the early red figured vases were largely popularized through the
Dionysiac trains. These groups of dancing, springing satyrs along with
Dionysos are direct reflexions of the scenes that actually took place,
and as these celebrations were the simple beginnings of the tragic drama
there is in this class of pictures a remote echo of the theatre. Yet one
must not understand that the artists were conscious of following any
particular performance[100]. These scenes border more on what we should
imagine a satyric drama to have been. It was a long way from this
comical, kick-about dance of the satyrs around Dionysos and his altar to
the time when the actual performance of the theatre, such as is seen on
the Andromeda krater, occurs on the vases. Still these were beginnings.
Another exceedingly instructive bit of evidence for the development of
tragic influences (or rather it is better to speak still of Dionysiac
influences) is found on a black figured vase in Bologna[101]. The
painting represents the epiphany of the god who rides in a ship borne on
wheels and drawn by two satyrs before whom march two others leading a
steer. The god who sits enthroned upon the ship is being entertained by
flute music furnished by two satyrs riding with him. Such sights we have
reason to believe were not uncommon in Attica, and it may have been in
such a _carrus navalis_ that Thespis travelled the country and
established the beginnings of the later drama. These πομπαί and the
satyr-trains appear therefore to be a very significant inheritance which
the earlier vase painters have left us for the disentangling of the all
too bare literary records touching the origin of the tragic drama.

§ 3. FIFTH CENTURY.

Long before one can distinguish definite plays reflected in the vase
paintings, certain marks of interest in tragedy may be detected. There
are, for example, representations of the ceremony connected with the
dedication of the tripod-prize. The painters of _cir._ 460 B.C. have
already taken up this part of the dramatic performances and have
indicated thereby the growing interest in the theatrical
exhibitions[102]. About the same time also the personification of
tragedy and comedy makes its appearance on the vases[103]. These are not
in themselves points of so great weight, but they help to clear the way
for understanding the tremendous influence which the drama had upon
artists of the succeeding generations.

Down to the middle of the fifth century the predominating force in the
legendary scenes on the vases was Homer and the other epic writers. At
this point the latter began to share their popularity with the
tragedians, and gradually but surely passed into the second place. That
Robert’s position is not a correct one seems to me highly probable, and
nevertheless one finds his words so often quoted that there is need of
placing the evidence together and inquiring anew into the question. For
my own part I am unable to understand why the theatre did not exert an
influence upon the smaller art of vase industry as well as it did upon
the more important art of painting. When one notes in the fifth century
that great artists like Timanthes and Parrhasios were drawn under the
spell of tragedy it is but natural to suppose that the same was true
also in the case of the less famous vase painters. Why should the
influence have been more pronounced in one instance than in the other?
If Aischylos and Euripides were popular enough to warrant the support of
the illustrious artists, one may correctly assume that the vase painter
grasped this point likewise. The latter was primarily concerned in
producing something saleable, and the pictures that were popular and
saleable for the first class were no less so for the second class. This
so far has, however, no further weight than one’s personal opinion. Let
us turn to the monuments and see what there is to bear out this view.

The Berlin Andromeda krater may be referred to first[104]. This is one
of the most brilliant examples ascribable to tragedy. The profusely
decorated costumes induce one to believe that the artist really
reproduced the dress of the actors in Euripides’ play. The theatrical
air about the work is quite unmistakable, and its Attic origin leads one
to connect it directly with the immense success won by the _Andromeda_
in 412 B.C. The Kyklops vase, published and discussed below, also dates
from the last quarter of the fifth century[105]. A vase in Naples
representing Diomedes’ rape of the Palladium has been referred to
Sophokles’ Λάκαιναι, and its date is _cir._ 420 B.C.[106] The painting
on the Lower Italy vase published below is also from about this same
time and follows the _Eumenides_[107]. I refer lastly to the celebrated
satyr-play vase in Naples as belonging to this period, and furnishing at
the same time the most palpable evidence of theatrical influence upon
the artist[108]. The picture shows a recital of a satyr chorus in the
presence of Dionysos and Ariadne, and is, as it were, a snap-shot of
this peculiar institution. The painting has long been the keystone of
the ancient testimony concerning the nature of the satyric drama. The
richness of the costume worn by Dionysos and Ariadne gives an invaluable
illustration of the actors’ dress. In this regard the work is in direct
accord with Pollux’s καὶ ἐσθῆτες μὲν τραγικαὶ ποικίλον ... ὁ δὲ κροκωτὸς
ἱμάτιον· Διόνυσος δὲ αὐτῷ ἐχρῆτο, καὶ μασχαλιστῆρι ἀνθινῷ καὶ
θύρσῳ[109].

These are the most important examples that can be brought forward to
show the influence of the drama on fifth-century vase painting, and
although not to be compared with the vast number of paintings of a later
period that indicate the development of tragic tendencies, they seem
nevertheless to constitute a considerable array of evidence for the
occurrence of definite tragic scenes borrowed from the drama. The vase
paintings therefore of the last quarter of this century do furnish
undoubted traces of the forms of the myths seen in the theatre[110].

§ 4. THE FOURTH CENTURY AND THE CONDITIONS IN LOWER ITALY.

Till the close of the fifth century, or at least till the time of the
Peloponnesian War, the export of vases from Athens, Corinth, and other
centres in Greece was a lively and paying industry. This traffic had
been carried on with all the Mediterranean and Black Sea ports, but
especially with the cities of Italy. By far the largest number of sixth-
and fifth-century Attic vases now in the European museums and private
collections have come from excavations in Etruria. This article of trade
must have been highly prized by the Etruscans, and it is to their
fondness for Greek vases that we owe a very large part of our knowledge
in this important field of classical archaeology. With the founding of
Greek colonies in Italy the Greek industries were likewise established,
and it was but a question of time till Thurii (founded 445 B.C.),
Tarentum, Herakleia, and other cities supplied the western demand for
vases, and so destroyed the Attic trade. As a matter of fact, few Attic
vases belonging to the fourth century have been discovered in Lower
Italy, and this means that from about 400 B.C. the demand had fallen
off, and the manufacture in Athens had become gradually less and less
important.

It was to favourable soil that this industry was transplanted. The
cities of Magna Graecia and Sicily were as Greek as were Athens and
Corinth, and they were, besides, far more prosperous. The fourth century
was one of great luxury in these western capitals and Athenian art and
letters found a hearty welcome here. It is instructive to observe the
clear traces of Athenian art that are at hand on the coins of these
regions. The legends on the coins of Thurii, Herakleia, Terina, and
Syracuse, dating from the latter half of the fifth century b.c., are as
distinctly Pheidian in style as are those of the corresponding time at
Athens[111], and this shows clearly the intimate intercourse that
existed between the East and the West, and how rapidly the colonists
took up and appropriated the artistic notions of Athens. Many other
things point to the thoroughly Greek landscape of Southern Italy. Greek
names of cities abounded everywhere, and the ancestral hero of most of
the Apulian towns was Diomede—the Aeneas of the South[112]. Each town
had its own mint and struck its own coin with, of course, a Greek legend
and a Greek inscription. Tarentum soon became the largest and most
influential city of Magna Graecia. The city founded by Taras was
destined to be the Athens of the West for some time to come. Here was
the centre from which Attic influences penetrated inland. The literature
and art of Hellas were received here and handed on to the neighbouring
cities. It is but natural that this flourishing capital should have
become the seat of the vase industry for this part of Italy. The
manufacture was not, however, confined to the limits of the city. We
know that other towns in Apulia contributed to the vast number of vases
that we know as ‘Tarentine’ fabric. There is every reason to believe
that this thoroughly Greek industry continued without any interruption
till the capture of Tarentum, 272 B.C.; but at this point the interest
in vase manufacture no doubt began to abate somewhat. When the
commercial independence and rank of Tarentum were gone the period of
decline began, and the vases that belong to the third century B.C. are
neither numerous nor of great worth artistically. The mysteries of Lower
Italy vase chronology are, however, too great to be settled for some
time to come, and it is best not to be rash in assigning hard and fast
dates to a class of monuments, the investigation concerning which is
quite in its infancy.

But what can be said about the drama at Tarentum? The remarks already
made hardly render it necessary to emphasize the high esteem in which
the Attic tragedy was held. That it was patronized extensively and that
it was _the_ literature of the time was true in any Greek city of the
fourth century, and here where a new Athens flourished it must have been
doubly true. It is interesting, however, to learn something definite in
this regard concerning the Tarentines. We learn from Plato that the
people were inveterate theatre-goers, and that they did not stop short
of drunkenness at the Dionysiac feast[113]. In another place one is told
that when the Roman general Valerius sailed into the harbour in 282 B.C.
the Tarentines were celebrating the Dionysia and paid no heed to the
practical Roman[114]. Worse than this, Pyrrhus found it necessary to
order the theatres to be closed that he might succeed in getting the men
out for military service[115]. Such was the favourable soil in which the
Attic drama took root in Lower Italy, and in this centre the influence
of tragedy on the vase decorators was perhaps more far-reaching than in
any ancient city.

The extent of the influence may be seen by an examination of the
paintings on the Lower Italy vases. It has long since been noticed that
many of the Apulian, Campanian, and Lucanian vase paintings have a
marked theatrical composition. The costumes, posings, and gestures are
often notoriously stage-like. In many cases one can observe the
reminiscence of the stage setting; the scene often represents a temple
or palace in or before which the action occurs[116], and even where one
is not able to determine upon the literary source of the picture the
dramatic handling is plain, and one is convinced that some tragedy
furnished the suggestion for the work. The paintings are not to be
considered by any means reliable copies of any particular scene in a
theatre. They were abridged, extended or modified at the notion of the
artist. When he took his ideas from the tragedian, he might turn the
characters round to please his own fancy, putting in or omitting others.
He never illustrated. The value of these paintings in helping one to
reconstruct the lost plays is very considerable. They are generally
certain to provide more valuable information regarding the lost
literature than the few fragments that may have come down to us[117]. As
the three tragedians of the fifth century B.C. were practically the only
ones that were read and heard with pleasure in the fourth century, their
work is the source of nearly all of the paintings based on tragedy. We
may pass on therefore to our study of Aischylos, Sophokles, and
Euripides in their influence upon the vase painters.

CHAPTER III
AISCHYLOS AND THE VASE PAINTINGS

§ 1. INTRODUCTION.

Notwithstanding the fact that the oldest of the tragedians was the least
read in the fourth century B.C., he easily rivals Sophokles in his
influence on art. This was not due to his being more admired, and can
only be accounted for by the bold situations that he invented-situations
new and striking. There are certain of his plays that left a lasting
impression on Greek and Roman art. Such are the _Choephoroi_, the
_Eumenides_, and the _Lykurgeia_. Further than these, Aischylean plays
did not appeal to the artist to any great extent. It is the peculiarly
popular inventions distinguishable in these tragedies, their uniqueness,
so to speak, that set them apart by themselves, a mark for the artist.
The character of the plays is easily denoted. They ring with cries of
murder and resound with the storming fury of avenging deities; we are
struck by the perils of the situations and remain all but breathless to
learn the issue. These features attracted the painter and sculptor, and
this is what meets one on all the monuments that may be called
Aischylean. The deep religious vein that pulsates in every line of the
mighty tragedian is reflected to some degree on the vases and the
sarcophagi. This force in art was rather epic; it was, in a way,
Polygnotean, and the ethical nature of it all but condemned it for the
artists who sought the πάθος of Euripides. This very fact explains why
Aischylos and Sophokles did not address themselves more to the
succeeding generations of artists. The ethical was more difficult to
express than was the pathetic, and it was not so attractive. The spirit
of the times, moreover, demanded the latter as it demanded Euripides,
and consequently one should not expect to meet a large number of vase
paintings that were made under the influence of either Aischylos or
Sophokles. Those that can be associated with the extant tragedies of the
former are given in the following pages. It will be observed that
certain scenes from Aischylos were greatly in favour in Lower Italy. All
of the nine paintings published are from Italian ware. Not one Attic
vase that shows an Aischylean scene has, so far as I know, been
discovered. In the West, however, where he was quite as much at home as
in his own Athens and where he was destined to end his days, the vase
decorators were largely influenced by him.

§ 2. CHOEPHOROI.

There is no proof at hand that epic literature knew aught of Elektra or
the part which she played in avenging her father’s murder. The fragments
from the lyric poet Stesichoros furnish the oldest literary source for
the _Oresteia_ which became later so popular under the hands of the
fifth-century tragedians. The trilogy of Aischylos which has happily
come down to us is, therefore, the oldest extant authority. When one
turns to works of art one discovers a series of vase paintings
representing the death of Aigisthos; yet these are but a little older
than Aischylos’ work[118]. Events concerned with Orestes’ return are
even less common in early art. The Melan terra cotta _plaque_ in the
Louvre, which represents a scene somewhat similar to the opening of the
_Choephoroi_, is the oldest of the _Oresteia_ monuments, but still must
be dated within the fifth century B.C.[119] It may be considered as
fairly well established that Elektra and Orestes first appeared in art
but a few years before the production of Aischylos’ trilogy in 458 B.C.
Nor is it possible, so far as I know, to discover any influence of the
_Agamemnon_ or _Choephoroi_ upon artistic productions in the last half
of the century. A small group of vase paintings from Lower Italy
belonging to the fourth century B.C. do, however, present situations
which one may well believe to have been suggested by the early part of
the _Choephoroi_.

[Illustration:

FIG. 1.
]

The painting shown in fig. 1[120] represents a tomb, the base of which
is decorated with triglyphs. Surmounting this is a stele, crowned with a
Corinthian helm, and bearing the name ΑΓΑΜΕ[Μ]ΝΩΝ. Sitting with her back
to the stele on the left is Elektra, ΕΛΕΚΤΡ[Α, wearing a chiton and
mantle and clasping her left knee in a meditative mood; beside her is
another female figure similarly dressed and holding a toilet box in the
left arm, an unusually common article on the vases of Lower Italy.
Perhaps the box is meant to recall the offerings which were brought in
it to the grave. This person is not necessarily Chrysothemis, although
her dress would be more appropriate for Elektra’s sister than for her
attendant. It is, however, the work of the latter to carry such a box of
offerings for Elektra. The figure may therefore be left unnamed. Her
face is turned towards Orestes, ΟΡΕΣΤΗΣ, who stands on the right and
appears to be speaking to Elektra, who pays no attention to his words or
his gesture. He is in travelling costume, chlamys, petasos, and carries
a spear and sword, but curiously enough wears no boots. Below him to the
right in a similar attitude stands Pylades. He has simply a chlamys and
a spear. Another youth sits above on a _terrain_. He serves to round out
the picture, and indicates at the same time the attendants of Orestes.
In the background are a sword and shield; on the grave is an amphora, as
an offering, exactly the shape of the vase on which the painting occurs.
There are numerous restorations in the work, but the main part seems to
be antique. Heydemann states that the inscription on the stele is
genuine, and also ΕΛΕΚΤΡ[Α. Doubt is expressed concerning ΟΡΕΣΤΗΣ.

We have before us the grave of Agamemnon, at which the first 585 verses
of the _Choephoroi_ were played. There is no trace of palace or royal
building. Orestes, accompanied by Pylades, enters the orchestra and lays
his tribute upon his father’s tomb, τύμβου δ’ ἐπ’ ὄχθῳ (v. 4), but
suddenly withdraws to avoid the company of women which approaches with
ceremonial step. The chorus and Elektra proceed to perform their
services when the latter discovers the lock of hair, ἄγαλμα τύμβου (v.
200), and the footprints—two proofs that Orestes must be near. While she
is still examining the tracks the latter comes up and proves beyond a
doubt, by pointing to the garment that Elektra had once woven, who he is
(vs. 212–232). Perhaps one may think of Elektra as sitting upon the
grave at some point between v. 84 and v. 212, but when she had
discovered the traces of Orestes’ presence, she must have been actively
scanning the surroundings. It pleased the artist, however, to represent
her as ignoring the appeal of her brother, or at least manifesting no
signs of recognizing him. But for the presence of the τύμβος one would
be inclined to see the influence of Sophokles’ _Elektra_, where Orestes’
words gain credence very slowly, and where Elektra hesitates long,
before believing his assertions that he is living and standing before
her (v. 1219 ff.). But the Sophoklean tragedy is played before the
palace. The pedagogue and Orestes leave the orchestra to pour their
libations on the grave (v. 82 ff.) when Elektra comes out of the house.
The fact that the recognition scene is represented as taking place at
the grave gives us therefore ample reason for accepting our painting as
under the influence of the _Choephoroi_. This painting is strikingly
free in its conception; no words of the poet can be cited as fitting the
situation. The suggestion, the setting, are Aischylean; all else is the
artist’s. The work is far removed from the character of an illustration.

[Illustration:

Fig. 2 (_vid. p. 47 ff._).
]

The second painting is on a Lucanian hydria[121]. The central scene is
again the τύμβος of Agamemnon, built up with several steps and
surmounted by a stele with Ionic capital and bound by a fillet. Elektra
sits upon the upper step in veil and chiton. She holds the former with
her right hand and looks away into space. On other steps below her are a
lekythos and other small vases, also a pomegranate and a fillet. The
offerings are much more abundant here than in fig. 1. Unnoticed by his
sister, Orestes approaches the stele on the left, dressed as in fig. 1,
with the addition of boots. He is about to pour a libation from a kylix
in his left hand. The male figure sitting next to him is doubtless
Pylades. He turns his head towards the main scene. The remaining figure
here is but remotely associated with the action. The persons on the
right are more interesting. The youth standing on the step of the grave
about to lay a wreath upon the stele is denoted by his kerykeion as
Hermes. He wears a travelling costume without the usual boots. An
elderly, bearded, male figure stands behind him. He is not characterized
except by a mantle and a long staff, but has been interpreted as
Orestes’ pedagogue. The only objection to this is his dress[122], but
this may be due to the carelessness of the artist. Behind him is another
bearded male figure sitting upon a sort of bag, or pack. His short
chiton, shoes, and staff all point him out as a traveller. The peculiar,
close-fitting cap denotes him as a foreigner. The female figure on the
extreme right in Doric peplos carries an aryballos in her left hand, and
gazes at the group before her. Perhaps she belongs to Elektra.

The discussion of fig. 1 above applies equally well to Orestes and
Elektra here. We have practically a repetition of the group. The former
figure is, however, thought of at an earlier moment. By removing Elektra
one may think of Orestes at the opening of the play. He holds the vase
in his hand rather than the lock of hair. The first words of the
prologue are suggestive—

Ἑρμῆ χθόνιε πατρῷ’ ἐποπτεύων κράτη,
σωτὴρ γενοῦ μοι ξύμμαχός τ’ αἰτουμένῳ.

Chthonian Hermes, who guards the ancestral rights, has really manifested
himself in the painting, and has appeared as a particular ally. The act
of crowning the stele declares Hermes’ friendliness toward the family
and his interest in Agamemnon’s shade. Elektra addresses him also and
beseeches him to hear her supplications and pity her and her dear
Orestes (v. 124 ff.). We may note, therefore, a special fitness in the
artist’s expressing this double relation of Hermes to the children.
Invoked by both of them as a protecting god he introduces nothing that
is not in harmony with the spirit of Aischylos. The addition of this
figure is, moreover, a good instance of the liberty which the vase
painters took with their authors, and shows well the difference between
illustration and independent work. It cannot be denied that with the
assistance of this monument one is led to see between the lines of the
_Choephoroi_. The pedagogue who does not appear in Aischylos is
nevertheless a natural extension of the group. It will be remembered
that he speaks the prologue in the _Elektra_ of Sophokles and occupies
the place which Pylades usually fills. In Euripides’ _Elektra_ (v. 16),
Autourgos says that Orestes had been given into the charge of a τροφεύς.
The person resting on the pack appears at first sight a gratuitous
addition of the artist, but on closer examination the suggestion for him
is found in the poet. When Orestes explains to the chorus that he and
Pylades will attempt to gain an entrance to the palace, he states that
they will disguise themselves as foreigners by speaking the Phokean
dialect (v. 563 f.). To Klytaimestra’s interrogations (v. 668 ff.) he
replies—

ξἐνος μέν εἰμι Δαυλιεὺς ὲκ Φωκέων·
στείχοντα δ’ αὐτόφορτον οἰκείᾳ σαγῇ
εἰς Ἄργος ...

In other words, he is a stranger from Phokis who has to carry his own
pack. It is upon this σαγή that the figure is resting. The artist has
characterized him as a foreigner by the peculiar cap. No Greek ever wore
such a head-dress. The make-up hints at the appearance of Orestes
seeking admittance to the palace, while, of course, the person is to be
understood merely as one of the latter’s servants. Whatever he may have
said about carrying his own pack, no artist would have thus represented
him. On the oldest of the Orestes-Elektra monuments, the Melan
relief[123], there is such a figure standing behind Orestes with his
luggage strapped to his shoulders. It seems to me that the painter has
naïvely caught up the spirit of the text and brought in a figure which
goes far towards adding a charm and interest to the scene.

Another Lucanian hydria representing the same scene is published here
for the first time, in fig. 3[124]. It will be more instructive to point
out the few points in which the two paintings differ from each other
than to describe this one entire. The column in 3 has a Doric capital,
with maeander and checker-board ornament; in 2 the capital is Ionic. In
3 Hermes stands on the ground; in 2 he stands on the step to the grave.
Elektra reaches out her left hand in 3 as though to receive the
libation; in 2 she is unmindful of Orestes. The latter holds a kylix in
2, and in 3 a pitcher. His hat is a pilos in 3, and he wears it; in 2
the petasos hangs on the back of his neck. The Phokean attendant sitting
upon the luggage is in 3 upon the left, and in 2 upon the right. There
is an extraordinary likeness between the two. There is the same crooked
nose, short chiton, and odd cap, but the latter has no tassel in 3. The
servant wears, besides, a chlamys and rests his stick over his leg.
Behind him is the nude youth, as in 2, upon the left, holding an
ointment vase in a sort of carrier. The two male figures of 2 adjoining
the main scene are wanting in 3. In their stead is a female figure
sitting upon a stool and holding a large toilet box. She is dressed in a
Doric peplos with an _apoptygma_. She is evidently an attendant of
Elektra, and reminds one strongly of the figure in fig. 1. Behind her is
the charming girl, exactly as in 2, except that she carries the
aryballos in her right, and in the left hand a small box.

[Illustration:

Fig. 3 (_vid. p. 51 ff._).
]

The painting is, it would seem, more beautiful than that of fig. 2,
although the publication of the latter is an old one, and may be more or
less inaccurate. I have not seen the vase myself. The scene is
abbreviated by one figure; Pylades would be expected.

Still another painting is given in fig. 4[125], showing a further step
of simplification. Only the middle group, with the female attendant
carrying the aryballos, occurs. Hermes’ position is the same as in fig.
2, but the artist has forgotten to draw the wreath in his right. His
chlamys, too, is buttoned properly instead of being wrapped around his
arm. The latter, however, has the same stumpy appearance seen in 2 and
3. As the scene is simpler, so the offerings on the tomb are fewer.
Orestes’ libation is here in a kantharos. The painting is a careless
piece of work, and cannot be ranked with the other two. It is, however,
very interesting as giving another link to the chain of evidence.

There can be little doubt that these vases all belong to the same artist
or that they come from the same locality. The marvellous agreement that
runs through them is something quite extraordinary. I know of no other
similar cases in vase paintings of the red figured ware. The popularity
of this scene, and therefore of Aischylos’ _Choephoroi_, is attested by
such a series of paintings as one cannot find in the case of any other
work in Greek literature.

[Illustration:

Fig. 4.
]

Since writing the above I have discovered in the Louvre another Lucanian
vase that represents a further simplification of this scene[126]. The
painting is practically identical with the middle group in fig. 3.
Peculiar to the Louvre painting are the tomb with five steps and the
rather tall column, Doric order, surmounted by a krater; an aryballos
and strigil, in addition to the taenia, are fastened to the column.
There is a further slight variation in Elektra’s position, for on her
right is a krater. On her left is a lekythos; below are the two
pomegranates, taenia, and black lekythos, just as in fig. 3. The only
difference in the other persons is that Orestes holds out a kylix and
not a pitcher.

The painting is evidently a product of the same studio as are those in
figs. 2, 3 and 4. It forms another member of this remarkable class of
pictures that stands alone, unique in Greek ceramics, and bears witness
to the enormous popularity of this scene from Aischylos. In the face of
this important chain of evidence one is safe, it seems to me, in
claiming that Aischylos was acted in the fourth century B.C. and that
considerably. What kept this scene before the public and induced the
artist and his pupils to turn out so many copies of the same work? To
have been thus so saleable the picture must have been popular, and this
could have come about best through the acted drama. These vases and
those following, based on the _Eumenides_, must impress the impartial
student with the fact that Euripides and Sophokles did not by any means
oust Aischylos completely in Lower Italy.

§ 3. EUMENIDES.

The various stories which may have been popularly told in regard to
Orestes’ purification, and his reconciliation with the Furies, prior to
March 458 B.C. were swept for ever into oblivion by the last member of
Aischylos’ trilogy. The stamp of his genius has ever remained upon the
myth, and no one ever attempted to repeat his work[127]. All the
elements of the persecution were cast by him into their final mould. The
immense influence of this work is attested in no way more forcibly than
by the monuments of art to which one can point. There is a long line of
vase paintings, dating from the fifth century, that bear witness to the
wide popularity of the _Eumenides_, and that give the most direct and
authoritative testimony of the influence of the play upon the masses of
the people. A sharp distinction must be made, however, between paintings
that illustrate the general myth and those that exhibit unmistakable
Aischylean features. Orestes’ pursuit and expiation were universally
known, and the tale was so popular that it often found its way into art
where the artist had in mind no poetic version of the story. So it is
that there is a number of paintings representing Orestes either pursued
by the Furies or already having reached the omphalos, which do not
represent any situation or combination of situations that can be traced
to Aischylos[128]. Of the number whose subject is Orestes at Delphi, at
least four, it seems to me, are to be explained as substantially under
the influence of the _Eumenides_ and representing the first scene of the
tragedy in more or less modified form.

I discuss first the scene on the St. Petersburg krater[129], fig. 5. The
painting belongs to the latest period of ceramic art, and is in nearly
every detail a hasty and careless piece of work. In an Ionic temple on
four columns, all painted white, Orestes, flesh dark red, sits _en face_
with his left arm around the omphalos which is covered with a white net.
He holds the sword in the right and the sheath in the left, and wears
boots and chlamys. On the steps of the temple lie five sleeping Furies.
They are painted, flesh black, only in rough outline. Their dress is a
short chiton. On the right, hastening from the temple, is the Pythia in
long chiton and veil. She carries the big key—emblem of her office as
κλῃδοῦχος[130]. Her flesh is white.

[Illustration:

Fig. 5.
]

The addition of the temple strikes one at once as being in harmony with
the poet. To be sure, this need not mean a particularly close relation
with the actual production of the play in a Greek theatre. Our temple is
merely one of the numerous buildings of this class found upon the vases
of Lower Italy, some of which were intended evidently as suggestions of
the stage setting. In the present instance the coincidence is a happy
one. The _Agamemnon_ and the _Choephoroi_, which had just been produced,
were both played before the palace at Argos, and this scenery was
changed to represent the Apollo temple at Delphi for the third play.
There can be no question as to this σκηνή for the _Oresteia_, at least,
even though one does not allow an extensive background for the earlier
plays. The painting is well adapted, therefore, for placing the opening
scene vividly before us. It brings one closer to the meaning of the text
than is apparent at first sight. In v. 1048 ff. of the _Choephoroi_
Orestes saw the Furies. They wore bright chitons, and had snakes in
their hair. He calls them hounds from whose eyes oozed ugly drops of
blood. The chorus evidently did not see them, for Orestes cries, ‘You do
not behold them here, but I do’.[131] At these words he is away to
Delphi to seek Apollo’s protection. During the intermission which
followed between the two plays the necessary alterations were made in
the σκηνή and the costumes were changed. The chorus in particular, which
had represented Argive maidens, underwent considerable transformation in
order to appear again as Furies. The _Eumenides_ is opened by the
Pythia, who comes from the temple. She recounts the nature of her
duties, and mentions various gods in her address until v. 30, at which
point she turns from the orchestra to re-enter the temple and attend to
the delivery of responses. In a moment she reappears in great fright,
and begins to relate the cause of her alarm. The sight described is
exactly that which the painter had in mind. One is able, however, to get
behind the scenes with the aid of the picture, for the front of the
temple is removed so that the interior is plainly in view. To compare
the words of Aischylos and the painting more closely—the Pythia says
that a terrible sight drove her ἐκ δόμων τῶν Λοξίου[132]. The artist has
expressed this with some action, for she is actually represented as
leaving ‘the house of Loxias.’ She adds further—

ὁρῶ δ’ ἐπ’ ὀμφαλῷ μὲν ἄνδρα θεομυσῆ
ἕδραν ἔχοντα προστρόπαιον, αἵματι
στάζοντα χεῖρας, καὶ νεοσπαδὲς ξίφος
ἔχοντ’ ...

The picture shows the man upon the omphalos, and in his hand the drawn
sword. One may imagine that the suppliant’s hands are stained with
blood, when but a short time before he had fled from the scene of the
murder in Argos. Even greater explicitness characterizes the next words
of the priestess:—

πρόσθεν δὲ τἀνδρὸς τοῦδε θαυμαστὸς λόχος
εὕδει γυναικῶν ἐν θρόνοισιν ἥμενος.

Surely a ‘marvellous troop of women’ fits the group which we see before
us. In this particular the work is practically an illustration of the
text. The distinction is at once made that the figures are not women nor
Gorgons nor Harpies[133]. They are ἄπτεροι and μέλαιναι, and snore with
unapproachable blasts. It should be noted that the figures in the
painting are also black, as though in direct agreement with
Aischylos[134]. They are further wingless, while the unpleasant details
added are conceivable from the appearance of the ugly creatures. The
number five is of course a mere accident. They lie here in an
unconscious stupour till the ghost of Klytaimestra arouses them again.
The _Eumenides_ is, as is well known, the only extant Greek tragedy in
which the chorus is not visible from the beginning of their part. In the
_Persai_ and _Supplices_ of Aischylos and the _Bakchai_ and _Supplices_
of Euripides the chorus is, however, in the orchestra when the play
opens.

There are still two other vase paintings to be considered in this
connexion. They present minor variations from the one just discussed,
but on the whole the three betray a common source. In fig. 6[135] one
sees also the interior of the temple represented by three Ionic columns.
Various dedicatory articles hang from the wall and ceiling. Further
indications of the sanctuary are the two tripods, the laurel tree, and
the omphalos. Orestes, characterized as usual by the drawn sword and
flying chlamys, has fled to the latter and embraces it. His erect hair
shows his fright. Apollo with bow and arrows hastens behind him and
gestures with his right hand to drive back a Fury who is swooping down
upon Orestes. She is but half in sight, and wears a short Doric peplos,
and her flesh is black. The Pythia, with dishevelled gray hair and
frightened mien, quits the sanctuary on the left. Her key, indistinctly
drawn in Jahn’s publication, owing probably to the copyist’s ignorance
of what the article really was, has just fallen from her hands. Artemis
in her huntress-costume, carrying two spears, stands on tiptoe on the
right of the omphalos and shades her eyes with her right hand as she
peers at the disturbance. Two dogs are with her.

[Illustration:

Fig. 6
]

The time of the Pythia’s exit from the temple, as in fig. 5, and the
later moment when Apollo orders the Erinyes from the sanctuary, are well
combined in this painting:—

ἔξω, κελεύω, τῶνδε δωμάτων τάχος
χωρεῖτ’, ἀπαλλάσσεσθε μαντικῶν μυχῶν,
μὴ καὶ λαβοῦσα πτηνὸν ἀργηστὴν ὄφιν,
χρυσηλάτου θώμιγγος ἐξορμώμενον,
ἀνῇς ὑπ’ ἄλγους μέλαν’ ἀπ’ ἀνθρώπων ἀφρόν.
vs. 179 ff.

Apollo’s authoritative bearing and absolute power in his own precinct
are very well brought out by the artist. One can all but hear the ἔξω,
κελεύω of Aischylos, and the arrows that the god holds in his left hand
seem to show that Apollo is quite ready to carry out his threat. The
whole is, moreover, dramatically told, and in this respect the stage
influence is easily traceable in the painting. That the Fury is black
accords again with the poet’s μέλαιναι (v. 52). The presence of Artemis
lends a certain charm that one can attribute to the artist’s desire to
appear original[136].

The following work falls still further away from the scenery of the
play. Fig. 7 shows a painting on the neck of a large Apulian amphora in
Berlin[137]. The limited space, and the secondary position likewise,
have perhaps curtailed the scope of the work. No architectural details
are given. The sanctuary is denoted by the omphalos and the tripod.
Orestes has sought protection at the former, as in the preceding scenes,
and looks back at a Fury, with short dress and huge wings, who runs
toward him with a dagger in her right and a burning torch in the left
hand. Apollo, who sits upon the tripod, a laurel bough in his hand and
wreath in his hair, extends his right hand to repel the Fury as in fig.
6. On the right the Pythia, dressed as in fig. 5, leaves the shrine in
fright, gesturing at the unexpected visitors. The painter has forgotten
to give her the key. Beside her is an attendant carrying a sort of kylix
in the left hand and looking back at the sanctuary.

[Illustration:

Fig. 7.
]

It does not appear necessary to take up the details here after the
examination which has been given to the preceding paintings. The
artist’s debt to Aischylos was quite as direct as in the case of the two
other works. The greatest modification occurs in the figure of the Fury,
which is a being far removed from the Aischylean type.

A painting on a bell-shaped krater in the Louvre is less hampered by the
scene given in Aischylos, and is accordingly more artistic[138]. The
inventiveness and individuality of the artist come prominently to view,
and the result is an intensely interesting composition. The combination
of events and the manner in which all is told bring one a great deal
nearer to the deeper meaning of _Eumenides_ than any other monument with
which I am acquainted.

[Illustration:

Fig. 8.
]

The shrine of Apollo, the μυχός of vs. 39 and 170, is denoted by a
platform on two steps, above which are the laurel tree and the omphalos.
The god stands to the left in large, embroidered chiton or chlamys,
grasping the tree with his left hand and extending his right, in which
is a young pig, over the head of Orestes, who sits with his back to the
omphalos. The latter holds his sword in his right hand, which is raised
meditatively to his chin. Artemis stands behind the platform on the
right, characterized by her costume and the spears. In the left-hand
upper corner the shade of Klytaimestra, veiled, is engaged in arousing
two Furies who sit fast asleep. She points toward Apollo with her right
hand. Below is the half-figure of another Fury apparently rising out of
the ground wide-awake. The Erinyes are all dressed like Artemis, in
short costume and high boots.

The artist has combined with the first scene a moment earlier than the
action of the play. Orestes’ expiation preceded the prologue of the
Pythia. The purificatory rite had been performed immediately on his
arrival at Delphi, for, when he first appears in the _Eumenides_, he is
undefiled. This is plainly declared to Athena in vs. 237 ff., and to the
Chorus and Athena in vs. 280 ff. While the purification is represented
in various ways upon the other vase paintings[139], this ceremony is the
only one that reminds us of Aischylos. The latter hints at the manner of
the rite, and this passage has unquestionably suggested the group which
we have before us:—

ποταίνιον γὰρ ὂν πρὸς ἑστίᾳ θεοῦ
Φοίβου καθαρμοῖς ἠλάθη χοιροκτόνοις. vs. 282 f.

‘While the blood was fresh it was cleansed at the shrine of the god
Phoibos by purification with the blood of pigs.’ The ceremony is
referred to again in

σφαγαὶ καθαιμάξωσι νεοθήλου βοτοῦ. v. 450.

There is, therefore, in the painting a representation of this service
with pig’s blood. The freshness and beauty of the scene are peculiar to
works of art in the Pheidian age, and the painting must be considered as
a valuable witness of Aischylos’ influence. The fact that the work is
Apulian and not Attic supplies an interesting bit of evidence for the
extension of Athenian literature in Lower Italy during the fifth century
B.C. Tarentum, which was scarcely less Athenian than Athens, received an
edition of the plays brought out at the Greater Dionysia soon after
their appearance in Athens. It is further to be remembered that
Aischylos’ long connexion with Syracuse had probably made him more
widely known in the West than was either Sophokles or Euripides during
the fifth century. Our vase belongs to the last decades of the century,
perhaps as early as 420 B.C., and in this period Euripides had scarcely
gained a large following in Magna Graecia.

Apollo’s speech follows directly upon that of the Pythia’s. How the god
appeared in the orchestra is a question on which scholars are not
agreed. The most widely accepted view is that the ekkyklema was brought
into use, and that on it the whole company was in some manner rolled or
pushed out from the temple to the orchestra. This means that the chorus
of twelve or fifteen, together with Orestes, Apollo, and Hermes, was
moved bodily forward from the σκηνή, far enough at least to give the
audience a glimpse of what had been the interior of the temple with all
its surroundings. Apollo seems to speak of the Furies and Orestes as
though he himself saw them and as though the audience could see
them[140]. They are in fact in plain view if one insists upon the
literal meaning of his words. It is argued on the other hand that such a
ponderous weight could not have been moved by any machinery at
Aischylos’ command. In other words, the ekkyklema, in the interpretation
usually given the term, is not to be counted apart of the Aischylean
scenic apparatus[141]. If Apollo stood in the doorway of the temple
where he could look in upon the Furies and Orestes, and at the same time
be seen by the audience, one has really no need of any machinery. The
shade of Klytaimestra must also be thought of as appearing in the same
place. She glances in upon the Furies who continue to give forth their
grunts till v. 140, when they for the first time appear in the
orchestra. There is much in favour of this explanation of the
arrangements for the scene. Fortunately for our purpose it makes little
difference which of the two opinions one follows. Conclusive evidence is
hardly to be reached either one way or the other, yet the notion that
Aischylos did not employ such extensive machinery as the ekkyklema must
have been certainly does not harmonize either with the extant plays or
with the tradition in regard to Aischylos’ inventions. My conviction is
that from v. 64 the interior of the temple was in some way visible, and
that the whole audience could see Orestes at the omphalos, surrounded by
the slumbering Furies. The god reassures the suppliant of his support,
and bids him leave for Athens and embrace the sacred image of Athena. He
turns to Hermes, who is at hand for the occasion, and bids him accompany
Orestes. At this point, v. 93, the two quit the orchestra, Orestes
passing over the bodies of the Furies[142].

Our painting follows the development in vs. 94–140, where the shade of
Klytaimestra appears and chides the Erinyes for neglecting their duty
and forgetting her and her rights. The artist has grasped the spirit of
the poet, and has given a graphic account of the scene such as one is
not likely to forget. The dread figure of the veiled ghost, who glances
searchingly at the sleeping instruments of her vengeance and endeavours
to rouse them into consciousness, is a creation but little inferior to
that in Aischylos[143]. Her position on the extreme limits of the
sanctuary serves to express the uncleanliness of the spirit and the
incongruity of its appearing within the sacred ground. The gesture
towards the main group connects the two scenes and lends a unity to the
whole. This is real art and no illustration. One must remember that
Orestes is at this time on his way to Athens, and that the shade did not
appear in his presence. The very fact that the painter chose to unite
the two moments adds greatly to the general effect. The tragedy is
played in part before us. The number of Furies representing the chorus
is the same that one meets first in Euripides[144], and that is
particularly emphasized also by Aischylos in

ἔγειρ’, ἔγειρε καὶ σὺ τήνδ’, ἐγὼ δέ σε. v. 140.

Their dress is that of the later type of Erinyes—the huntress-costume of
Artemis. This facilitated their motion. Perhaps the half-figure of the
awakened Fury may be rising from the earth to continue the pursuit, but
it seems to me more probable that the half-figure is such from choice.
After the appearance of the Erinyes in the _Choephoroi_ they are
certainly above ground till conducted to their new home under the
Areopagos.

While the story of Agamemnon’s murder and the succeeding terrible
revenge wrought by Orestes, as well as the latter’s atonement at Delphi,
were all a part of the legendary inheritance from a very early period
and had played for some centuries, at least, before Aischylos an
important rôle in the epic[145] and lyric[146] literature, it remained
for the great tragedian to break new ground for the last chapter of the
_Oresteia_. Orestes’ acquittal and deliverance were, prior to Aischylos,
distinctly Delphic in setting; in his hands all became decidedly
Athenian. Apollo had once been the sole divinity to absolve the
murderer; Athena became the new arbiter and director of the case. The
temple at Delphi gave way to the ‘Old Temple’ of Athena upon the
Acropolis. Keeping these facts in mind, one has to look about for vase
paintings which show traces of this Attic turn. So far, only the early
scene at Delphi has claimed our attention, and here it has been possible
to point out several compositions that demand the _Eumenides_ to the
exclusion of popular tradition.

From v. 235 the scene is transferred from Delphi to Athens, and remains
throughout the rest of the play the ‘Old Temple’ on the Acropolis[147].
Athena becomes the centre. Everything moves about her. The one
impressive figure in this part of the tragedy is the goddess. Orestes is
simply a poor helpless mortal—the apparent subject of the action. He and
the Erinyes sink into insignificance when compared with the majestic
figure of Athena. Substantial traces of the influence of Aischylos’
invention have reached us on the vases. A small number of paintings
claim the right to be considered under this head. The composition of all
(I know three such) is so similar that it seemed necessary to reproduce
only one.

[Illustration:

Fig. 9 (_vid. p. 70 ff._)
]

The painting shown in fig. 9[148] represents the sanctuary at Delphi
with the tripod and the omphalos; kneeling upon the latter is Orestes,
in the same costume as that noticed in the preceding monuments, holding
two spears in addition to the νεοσπαδὲς ξίφος. He glances up to the
right, where Athena looks down upon him. Her right foot rests on a sort
of plinth; she carries a double-pointed spear in her left hand and wears
a Corinthian helm with peculiar crest[149]. Her dress is an embroidered
Ionic chiton and large aigis. The latter is not uncommon on the
fourth-century vases, and is characteristic of the exaggeration of types
in this period. Apollo stands on the left of the omphalos, with a laurel
branch on which are hung fillets and πινάκια[150]. He looks to the left
at a winged Fury with a very elaborate costume, a huge serpent about her
body and one in her hair; above the tripod is the bust of another Fury
on whom are four snakes. In the left-hand upper corner a bust of a youth
with chlamys, pilos, and a spear is most likely meant for Pylades.
Corresponding to this on the other side are the head and shoulders of a
woman, interpreted as Klytaimestra.

The two other vase paintings are, in the main, close counterparts of
this and need not be described here. The Vatican amphora[151] is
particularly interesting as representing Athena with aigis extended over
Orestes to protect him from the Furies. The Capua hydria in Berlin[152]
takes precedence over the other two in age, and furnishes us with the
nearest approach to Aischylos’ time. It falls within the fifth century,
while the others are to be placed in the last half of the fourth
century.

The introduction of Athena is the unmistakable sign. She intervenes at
Delphi simply because Aischylos introduced her in Athens. The artist
transferred her to Delphi and combined the two scenes of the tragedy. If
one considers only Orestes and Athena in fig. 9, and reads the interview
between them in the _Eumenides_, he will appreciate at once how well the
painter has managed his task. The whole make-up of the figures is that
of stage characters. This is especially noticeable in the dresses of the
Fury and Athena. This elegance and finery on vases of the fourth century
were widely regulated by dramatic performances.

The set of paintings which thus associates Athena with Orestes’ delivery
may be counted as the direct product of the _Eumenides_, and therefore
important witnesses for the influence of Aischylos upon the succeeding
century of Greek art.

§ 4. THE LOST PLAYS.

One might carry on a long and fruitless discussion concerning certain of
the lost plays, and paintings that present subjects common to them. It
must be all but ‘fruitless,’ since we know next to nothing about the
character of some of these tragedies, as, for example, the _Pentheus_.
But this whole question lies outside the province of the present work,
and I shall not go further than to append a list of the vase paintings
that do in all probability owe much to Aischylos.

LYKURGEIA.

1. Apulian amphora, Munich, no. 853. Pub. Millin, _Tombeaux de
Canose_, pl. 13.

2. Apulian krater, Naples, no. 2874. Pub. Müller-Wieseler, _Denkmäler
der Alten Kunst_, ii. pl. 37, 440. Cf. Welcker’s _Aeschyleische
Trilogie_, p. 327.

3. Amphora from Ruvo, Naples, no. 3219 (p. 500 of Heydemann). Pub.
_Mon. d. Inst._ iv. 16, B.

4. Krater from Anzi in the Basilicata, no. 3237 in Naples. Pub.
Reinach-Millingen, _Peintures_, pl. 1 = Müller-Wieseler, _op.
cit._ ii. pl. 38, 442 = Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, ii. p. 834.

5. Krater in Ruvo-Jatta coll. Pub. _Catalogo Jatta_, pl. 2. 5 =
_Annali d. Inst._ 1874, pl. R.; cf. _ibid._ p. 194 ff.

6. Krater, also from Ruvo, in Brit. Mus.; cat. iv. F 271. Pub. _Mon.
d. Inst._ v. pl. 23. Cf. Brunn in _Annali d. Inst._ 1850, p. 336
ff.

7. Fragment of an Apulian amphora in Dresden museum. Pub. _Arch. Anz._
1891, p. 24; cf. p. 23 f.

8. Marble relief-vases. Pub. Welcker, _Alte Denkmäler_, ii. pl. 3. 8;
cf. _ibid._, p. 94 ff.; _Mon. d. Inst._ ix. 45.

Cf. further for a discussion of most of these monuments, Michaelis,
_Annali d. Inst._ 1872, p. 248 ff.

PHRYGIANS.

1. Tarentine amphora. Pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ v. pl. 11; cf. _Annali d.
Inst._ 1866, p. 249 ff., and _Arch. Ztg._ 1879, p. 16, and
G. Haupt. _Commentationes archaeologicae in Aeschylum,
Dissertationes Hallenses_, xiii. 1895, p. 13 ff. Vid. also this
work for the whole subject of Aischylos and the monuments.

CHAPTER IV
SOPHOKLES AND HIS RELATION TO VASE PAINTING

Sophokles appears to have enjoyed together with Euripides a large share
of popularity in the fourth and third centuries, and it is well known
that with the Roman tragedians he was a very important factor. It must
be held as passing strange that we can point to but few monuments
inspired by him. One feels that there is abundant material in the
_Antigone_, for example, to have aroused both painters and sculptors,
and yet there is, so far as I know, no trace in Greek art of any
Antigone scene that owes its existence to Sophokles. It is, however,
true that tragedies which were known in ancient times as among the most
celebrated, and which are to-day counted the masterpieces of Greek
tragedy, were often particularly neglected by the artists. How meagre is
the record of monuments based on the _Prometheus_, the _Ion_, or the
_Oedipus Rex_! The reputation of a play cannot be taken as any guaranty,
therefore, that the artist found in it the required motives. The gentle
and calm Sophokles, who ‘made men as they ought to be and not as they
are,’ wrote in a grand and dignified manner that charmed the people of
his own time and won the praise and admiration of all posterity. How
then is one to account for the small part that he played in ancient art?
It seems to me that it rests on the fact that Sophokles was not a
creative power. Say what we may of the elegance and grace of his style
and the perfection of his diction, a glance at his extant work convinces
us that he seldom allowed his imagination to carry him beyond the bounds
of the accepted form of a myth. He preserved the mythological fabric
with religious fervour and altered little. He was neither an iconoclast
nor an innovator. The gods and heroes in their old-time relations to
each other and to humanity served him fully, and he showed an
unwillingness either to shatter the popular faith or to disturb it with
new doctrines. So long, therefore, as nothing new mythologically was
introduced, the value of the Sophoklean plays, from an artist’s point of
view, was far below the fresh and dashing manner of Euripides, who left
the old and beaten paths and added new chapters to the lives of the
heroes and the exploits of the gods. It has already been observed that
where Aischylos broke new ground he was followed by the painter and
sculptor. The novelty of the _Eumenides_ appealed to the artist even
more strongly than to the public; here was something absolutely new,
unheard of before. So it was with the _Choephoroi_, and we have already
seen that of the extant plays these two are the only ones that
influenced vase painting. Had Sophokles grafted new branches on the old
trees of myths he would likewise have had a far larger following among
ancient artists. As it is, it does not seem possible to point to a
single vase painting that is indisputably a Sophoklean product, and one
must be perplexed by the strange problem. To be sure conjectures have
not been wanting, and here and there a painting has been named in
connexion with Sophokles. But this is by no means a frequent occurrence,
and there has never been any consensus of opinion among archaeologists
that this or that picture _must_ be the outgrowth of one of his extant
tragedies. I have accordingly not published any painting under this
head. It seemed best merely to point out the few instances where
Sophoklean influences have been seen by some, and leave the student free
to determine each case for himself[153].

_Antigone._ A Lucanian amphora in the Brit. Mus., cat. iv. F 175. A.
2. Pub. Reinach-Millingen, _Peintures_, pl. 54; cf. Hirzel in
_Arch. Ztg._ 1863, p. 70, who bases the scene on vs. 376 ff. It
may be remarked that the oriental cap of the king does not at
all fit the position of the Theban Kreon.

_Oed. Rex._ Painting pub. Inghirami, _Vasi fitt._ iii. pl. 248 =
Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 2. 11; cf. _ibid._ p. 62 ff., where
vs. 316 ff. are thought of. A much more satisfactory
interpretation is that kindly sent me by Professor Carl Robert.
The scene represents Chryses before Agamemnon and is based on
_Il._ 1.

_Trachiniai._ Herakles wrestles with the river god Acheloös in the
presence of Deianeira. Reinach-Millingen, _op. cit._ pl. 10. B.
11. Robert in _Arch. Ztg._ 1883, p. 262, refers the painting to
vs. 9–24 of the prologue, and calls my attention in a letter to
another similar painting, unpublished, in the Jatta-Ruvo coll.
no. 1092.

Two of the lost plays that have been held by some to be represented on
vase paintings have already been referred to above[154].

CHAPTER V
EURIPIDES AND VASE PAINTING

§ 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].

[Illustration:

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].

[Illustration:

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.

[Illustration:

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.).

[Illustration:

Fig. 13.
]

§ 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.

[Illustration:

Fig. 14 (_vid. p. 102 ff._).
]

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].

[Illustration:

Fig. 15 (_vid. p. 108 ff._).
]

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.

[Illustration:

Fig. 16.
]

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.

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.

[Illustration:

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.

[Illustration:

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].

[Illustration:

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.

[Illustration:

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

[Illustration:

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].

[Illustration:

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].

[Illustration:

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.

As he re-enters the palace the terrible news reaches him, through, one
of the female attendants, that Kreusa is possessed with some strange
malady. It is at this juncture, dramatic in the extreme, that, as it
seems to me, the vase painter thought of the pedagogue. The latter has
forgotten Medeia’s command to arrange the boys’ program for the day and
is determined to go to the apartments whence comes the great alarm. The
attendant, however, endeavours to dissuade him, and the artist has even
represented her in the attempt to deter the sturdy old pedagogue from
carrying out his resolution. While all this is happening within the
palace, Medeia gives expression to the great battle that is going on in
her bosom. The speech is one of the finest in Euripides. Shall she now
go ahead and kill her children, or is the courage lacking? She finally
bids them enter the house χωρεῖτε, παῖδες, ἐς δόμους (vs. 1053 and
1076), and soon follows them. The death-cries of vs. 1271 ff. are heard
not long afterwards. We have therefore no reason to infer from anything
in Euripides that the pedagogue ever met the boys again. The fact that
he is so often represented in the death-scene[292] is simply due to the
fancy of the artists. It is natural to think of him in company with the
boys. The vase painter has in the present instance shown us the
whereabouts of the pedagogue when the poet had passed him by.

The lower section, which represents the events directly succeeding those
in the one just considered, completes the dread vengeance work of
Medeia. The artist had an opportunity here to follow largely his own
notions in disposing of the details, for in the last moments when horror
followed close upon horror, and the royal house of Corinth was shaking
to its foundations, Euripides hurries us on with great rapidity and
omits many of the particulars. Medeia moves with resistless fury through
the last part of the bloody drama, till she at last disappears upon her
chariot. What was the vase painter to do with all this? It is plain that
he felt himself compelled to combine, for greater effect, different
moments. Medeia enters the palace after the triumphant address in vs.
1236–1250, and a moment later the cries of the boys are heard within.
Jason, aroused by the ruin wrought upon Kreusa, suddenly appears and
asks where Medeia is, and remarks that he must save his sons from the
fury of the populace (vs. 1293–1305). He at once learns the whole truth,
and orders that the palace doors be thrown open that he may behold the
scene of murder. Medeia appears then on her chariot, rolled out upon the
ekkyklema. She stands thus during the final dialogue with Jason (vs.
1317–1404) till she disappears by the aid of the _Flugmaschine_[293].

From these elements the vase painter selected the murder scene, which,
not being described by Euripides, could be represented in any manner
that struck his fancy. He made this the centre about which all else was
grouped; all eyes are turned upon Medeia and the altar. In this
disposition of the matter other details had to be sacrificed. The
chariot, which could not be wanting, had to have a charioteer, and as
Medeia was not ready to mount it herself, the personification of the
Medeia-spirit is the natural figure that the artist would select. Jason,
again, to omit whom would have been unpardonable, had to be painted in
the act of rescuing or attempting the rescue of his sons. So we see that
the three moments discernible in the poet, (_a_) the murder, (_b_)
Jason’s appearance to save the boys, (_c_) the chariot and the escape of
Medeia, are all worked together by the artist into a strong complex. One
feels no incongruity in the picture, and is forced to agree to a large
amount of success that the artist has enjoyed here. Since the pedagogue
appears in the scene above, the artist uses one of the ever convenient
doryphoroi as a companion to the boys or rather as rescuer of one of
them[294]. It is immaterial whether the painter intended to represent
the one boy as actually out of danger or not. A great many useless words
have been spent in trying to show that the vase painter has here
followed a tradition referred to by Diodorus Siculus[295], who relates
that one child escaped—πλὴν γὰρ ἑνὸς τοῦ διαφυγόντος τοὺς ἄλλους υἱοὺς
ἀποσφάξαι. This is not only highly improbable[296], but, more than that,
speaks for a superficial reading of Diodorus on the part of those who
use this quotation. It appears that nothing more of the chapter had been
read than it was necessary to quote. In the first place, what can τοὺς
ἄλλους above refer to if not to _more than one_, and therefore to at
least _two_? But where upon our vase or upon any other monument does
Medeia appear with _three_ children[297]? It would seem, therefore,
that, because the vase painter drew the scene as he did, this very inapt
quotation is brought out to bolster up an unnecessary theory.

Is it necessary to conclude with numerous scholars that Oistros upon the
chariot represents one of Pollux’s ἔκσκευα πρόσωπα (iv. 141)? Does our
painting necessarily go back to some tragedy in which the
personification, Oistros, appears before the audience as Medeia’s
charioteer? It has already been pointed out that the moment which the
vase painter chose to represent never was visible in the theatre of
Euripides. What happened before the palace doors were unbarred, in v.
1314, could be painted in a hundred different ways, and still be
inspired by the poet from v. 1271 to v. 1316. It is true that Euripides
does not mention Οἶστρος, much less as Medeia’s charioteer. What need
had he to introduce any personification of her rage and fury to guide
the chariot, when, at the first glimpse of it in v. 1317, Medeia manages
it herself? Any one who thoroughly works himself into the situation that
the painter has shown upon the vase cannot help seeing that Medeia’s
double, her burning and infuriated barbarian wildness, the spirit shown
in vs. 1236–1250, was a natural and easy subject for embodiment under
the name Οἶστρος. This personification is not met with in Euripides, and
has naturally caused much stumbling. It should, however, be compared
with Λύσσα, with which it has much in common. Orestes says to Pylades,
μὴ θεαί (i. e. the Furies) μ’ οἴστρω κατασχῶς’[298], and two verses
further on, εὐλαβοῦ Λύσσης μετασχεῖν τῆς ἐμῆς. Thus the use of the
οἶστρος caused Λύσσα. The step to the personification of a figure
Oistros would easily follow from some such development as this, and I
hold both words to cover the _cause_ and _effect_ in the case mentioned.

As Lyssa was a favourite figure with Euripides, we may examine still
another place where the rôle that she plays is much the same as that
which Oistros takes in the painting.

In _Her. Fur._ vs. 880 ff., the chorus describes Lyssa as _travelling
upon a chariot_[299].

βέβακεν ἐν δίφροισιν ἁ πολύστονος,
ἅρμασι δ’ ἐνδίδωσι κέντρον ὡς ἐπὶ λώβᾳ
Νυκτὸς Γοργὼν ἑκατογκεφάλοις
ὄφεων ἰαχήμασι,[300] Λύσσα[301] μαρμαρωπός.

Here at least one has adequate evidence that the vase painter did not
paint an unknown scene, even though he did prefer to call his figure
Οἶστρος[302].

The shade of Aetes[303], a pure invention of the artist, has been held
to refer to a post-Euripidean tragedy. One finds such pedantic ingenuity
used in explaining this figure that the would-be-learnedness borders
upon the ridiculous. It is affirmed, for example, that somewhere it
_must have been stated for the vase painter that Aetes had died since
Medeia left him_[304]. How far, pray, did vase painters concern
themselves about such points of chronology or sequence of events? We
have already pointed out in regard to these artists that they introduced
and omitted characters just as they chose; and especially is this true
in regard to such side-figures as Aetes is here. Then again, why is any
literary source necessary to prove the old man’s death? It was but the
natural course of events that the painter followed when he concluded
that Aetes was among the shades. It is absurd to require some proof that
the unlucky king had, within the long period of Medeia’s absence, passed
into the world of spirits. It seems to me that there are two views that
can adequately explain this addition to the picture, and with either one
in mind the vase painter would have needed no post-Euripidean work or
painting but simply the _Medeia_ tragedy to inspire him.

Robert[305] pointed to vs. 31 ff. of the prologue as furnishing perhaps
the suggestion for this figure, but that is but a small part of the
whole suggestion, and it is well to follow this note which recurs in
many places, and is, to my mind, a very important part of the Euripidean
conception of Medeia. I give herewith the various places where this
element may be discovered.

αὐτὴ πρὸς αὑτὴν πατέρ’ ἀποιμώζη φίλον
καὶ γαῖαν οἴκους θ’, οὒς προδοῦς’ ἀφίκετο. vs. 31 f.

ὤ πάτερ, ὤ πόλις, ὧν ἀπενάσθην
αἰσχρῶς τὸν ἐμὸν κτείνασα κάσιν. vs. 166 f.

αὐτὴ δὲ πατέρα καὶ δόμους προδοῦς’ ἐμούς. v. 483.

πότερα πρὸς πατρὸς δόμους,
οὓς σοὶ προδοῦσα καὶ πάτραν ἀφικόμην; vs. 502 f.

ἡμάρτανον τόθ’ ἡνίκ’ ἐξελίμπανον
δόμους πατρῴους. vs. 800 f.

These repeated allusions to her father and her former home seem to me to
express in a strong manner what the painter chose to develop into the
ghost-figure. Aetes appears here to behold the retribution that is
overtaking Jason; and his participation in the fearful tragedy
emphasizes the secret power in Medeia, her sorcery, and her chariot. The
artist read between the lines and discovered the spirit of the poet, and
this he has successfully reproduced. A similar instance was noted in the
liberty assumed by Botticelli in including Beatrice in the second plate
to the _Inferno_[306].

In the second place the εἴδωλον emphasizes the barbaric element in the
Medeia-Jason history, and impresses the beholder with the workings of
barbarism _versus_ Hellenism. This chord is, moreover, continuously
struck by Euripides[307]. The poet endeavours from first to last to keep
up the keenest distinction between Greece and Kolchis, between Jason’s
family and that of Aetes.

There was, moreover, an opportunity, in introducing this oriental king,
to add features strikingly characteristic of the Apulian vase
paintings[308]. The elegance and display of costume peculiar to the
Persian and Asia Minor kings were attractive for an artist, and the
introduction of Aetes’ shade was a happy invention that went far towards
making the deeper meaning of the poet plain.

The deities, who, as spectators, are an important part of the paintings
on so many Lower Italy vases, are arranged in the upper section. They
need not have any particular connexion with the incidents before them.
The Olympian sympathy with earthly affairs was a favourite theme with
the artists of the time, and a satisfactory number of participating
divinities is usually added where important events occur. Herakles and
Athena seem to be but indifferently interested in what is happening
below them, although the former was intimately associated with the
Argonautic expedition[309], and the latter was the promoter of the
enterprise[310]. The Dioskouroi, who likewise took a large part in the
adventures of the voyage, are fitly represented here[311]. They are,
however, giving no heed to the tragedy. It is enough if the painter has
recalled for us the famous voyage and shown us the prelude, as it were,
to the drama played in the two lower sections. The panorama of Jason and
Medeia’s life together passes before us in distinct scenes. By painting
the participants in the expedition and also the shade of Aetes the
artist has heightened the effect of the double tragedy which the poet
made famous.

Such is the painting on this celebrated amphora, which I do not hesitate
to call Euripidean.

Another monument which also shows Kreusa’s death is a vase from
Pomarico, now in Naples[312].

[Illustration:

Fig. 24.
]

Kreusa has fallen from the θρόνος that occupies the middle of the scene,
and in a half-sitting posture upon the floor endeavours to remove the
head-dress. Before her is the open box in which the presents were
brought. A mirror hangs on the wall. She is dressed in the Ionic chiton
with mantle; has earrings and one bracelet. She stares at Kreon, who
hurries toward her with outstretched right hand. He has the sceptre in
the left hand, is bearded, bald, and wears a chiton which has slipped
down to his waist. To the left a female figure rushes away _en face_,
and, watching Kreusa, makes the gestures of one terror-stricken. She is
dressed like the latter except the earrings and necklace. Jahn called
her a companion of Kreusa, considering that if she were Merope of the
Munich vase she would be approaching her daughter and not leaving her. I
prefer to see in this figure one of the attendants who in vs. 1177 ff.
spread the news. It is true that the appearance of the figure is that of
a more important personage than a servant. The latter are not usually
represented wearing jewellery and fine costumes, and yet the attendant
on the Munich vase, who is endeavouring to divert the pedagogue, is
quite as richly dressed. In the present instance, however, the drawing
is very careless and the workmanship is of an inferior sort. I believe,
therefore, that the artist either did not know the fitness of things, or
else took no pains to indicate that this figure was a servant or
attendant. When he had once drawn such a miserable king as Kreon is,
hobbling along in a ridiculous manner, he might well have slipped into
the other extreme of painting a nurse in a lady’s garb. The scene is
based upon the messenger’s speech, vs. 1176 ff.

The pedagogue on the right, who is hurrying away the two boys wrapped in
cloaks, is a reminiscence of vs. 1157 ff. where the father, Jason, goes
away with them.

καὶ πρὶν ὲκ δόμων
μακρὰν ἀπεῖνει πατέρα καὶ παῖδας σέθεν.

The winged Fury sitting in the upper right-hand corner observing the
scene might well be expected as a spectator. The suggestion for her may
be found in

ἔξελ’ οἴκων φονίαν
τάλαινάν τ’ Ἐρινὺν ὑπ’ ἀλαστόρων. vs. 1259 f.

The murder of the boys inside of the palace is painted on a Nolan
amphora in the _Cabinet des Médailles_ in Paris[313]. Medeia in Greek
dress and Phrygian cap has slain one boy, who lies over the altar,
either extremity touching the floor. She stands, _en face_, with the
other child grasped fast by the hair. This hand also holds the sword. In
her left, stretched out behind the altar, is the sheath. The artist
doubtless had in mind the words which the chorus heard in vs. 1271 ff.—

οἴμοι, τί δράσω; ποῖ φύγω μητρὸς χέρας;
οὐκ οἶδ’, ἀδελφὲ φίλτατ’· ὀλλύμεσθα γάρ.

In the upper right-hand corner the pedagogue appears, carrying an
oil-cruse in his left hand. His right is raised to his head. A wreath
and two fillets point to the sanctuary.

[Illustration:

Fig. 25.
]

Another Canosa vase in Naples[314], although furnishing a free handling
of Medeia’s escape, is still an important witness for the chariot and
its actual appearance in the production of the tragedy. In this
particular the painting is Euripidean.

Medeia in rapid flight upon her dragon-chariot holds the reins in her
left hand and the corner of her mantle in the right. Her dress is the
customary one for charioteers. On the ground by the wheels one boy lies
dead; the other is said to be visible on the original, inside of the
chariot as on the sarcophagi. The sword is also on the ground. She is
pursued by three youths, one on horseback, Jason (?), and two on foot.
They all carry spears, and each has a chlamys. The middle one also wears
a pilos and has a shield. In front of the chariot is Lyssa (?) with a
sword in the right hand, and staff or κέντρον (?) in the left. She has
an Artemis costume with a mantle. Galloping ahead to lead the way is
Selene, seated as usual on her horse.

The painting is poorly preserved, but the main part is sufficiently
plain. The artist followed the traditional manner of Medeia’s flight.

§ 10. PHOINISSAI.

The _Phoinissai_ in common with the _Septem_ of Aischylos deals with the
well-known story of the attack of Polyneikes and his supporters on
Thebes. The events connected with this war can be traced all through
Greek and Roman literature and art[315]. We have here to do with a
relief cup, which illustrates Euripides’ version of the combat. It
possesses, like the other ‘Megarian Bowls’ discussed in the present
work, a value so unique for the study of our poet that it may stand
beside any vase painting in assisting us in the study of the drama’s
influence upon art.

[Illustration:

Fig. 26 (_vid. p. 170 f._).
]

The cup shown in fig. 27 is of red, unglazed ware, and is said to have
been found in Thebes[316]. The following figures may be discerned. On
the left Teiresias, ΤΕΙΡΕΣΙΑΣ, carrying a bough and led by his daughter
Manto, ΜΑΝΤΩ, approaches Kreon, ΚΡΕΩΝ, who kneels before the aged seer.
They are both bearded, and the latter wears a long chiton. Next follows
Polyneikes, ΠΟΛΥΝΕΙΚΗΣ, and Eteokles, ΕΤΕΟΚΛΗΣ, in full armour, engaged
in their fatal fight. Thebe, ΘΗΒΗ, holding in her hand a sceptre, sits
upon a rock watching the sight. The messenger, ΑΓΓΕΛΟΣ, wearing a short
chiton and chlamys, stands by Iokaste, ΙΟΚ ... ΣΤΗ, before the palace
from which Antigone, ΑΝΤΙΓΟΝΗ, has come. The latter raises her hand in
astonishment. The women both wear long chitons. Lastly, on the right,
Antigone appears before Kreon, inscriptions in each case, in a
supplicating attitude.

That Kreon might know definitely how matters were to terminate, he had
sent for Teiresias. The latter makes his appearance in v. 834—

ἡγοῦ πάροιθε, θύγατερ, ὡς τυφλῷ ποδὶ
ὀφθαλμὸς εἶ σύ, ναυτίλοισιν ἄστρον ὤς·

[Illustration:

Fig. 27 (_vid. p. 173 ff._).
]

and so one sees him here before Kreon. His daughter has brought him as
he wished, and now stands behind him, while the seer discloses the
terrible misfortune which must visit Kreon before success can crown the
Theban arms. The son Menoikeus, who is present in Euripides, has been
left out of the group. The messenger soon appears and calls for Iokaste.

ἔξελθ’, ἄκουσον, Οἰδίπου κλεινὴ δάμαρ. v. 1070.

She does hear, and comes from the palace and learns everything about the
attack thus far, and how the different heroes on each side were armed.
To her special inquiry regarding her two sons the messenger replies in
detail (vs. 1217 ff.).

ἤδη δ’ ἔκρυπτον σῶμα παγχάλκοις ὅπλοις
δισσοὶ γέροντος Οἰδίπου νεανίαι. vs. 1242 f.

στήτην δὲ λαμπρώ, χρῶμά τ’ οὐκ ἠλλαξάτην,
μαργῶντ’ ἐπ’ ἀλλήλοισιν ἱέναι δόρυ. vs. 1246 f.

But this is before the battle. They were waiting for the word from the
priests who examined the entrails of the victims. The second messenger
brings the account of the engagement proper, and this is what the artist
seized upon[317].

ᾖξαν δρόμημα δεινὸν ἀλλήλοις ἔπι·
κάπροι δ’ ὅπως θήγοντες ἀγρίαν γένυν
ξυνῆψαν, ἀφρῷ διάβροχοι γενειάδας·
ᾖσσον δὲ λόγχαις· ἀλλ’ ὑφίζανον κύκλοις,
ὅπως σίδηρος ἐξολισθάνοι μάτην. vs. 1379 ff.

This is the moment which the relief represents. Their spears have
clashed, and each is still safe behind the good circumference of his
shield.

Iokaste, much disturbed at the critical situation described by the
messenger, determines to call Antigone and rush to the battle-field to
reconcile the brothers,—

ὦ τέκνον, ἔξελθ’, Ἀντιγόνη, δόμων πάρος. v. 1264.

she cries, and Antigone at once appears and asks—

τίν’, ὦ τεκοῦσα μῆτερ, ἔκπληξιν νέαν
φίλοις ἀϋτεῖς τῶνδε δωμάτων πάρος; vs. 1270 f.

The situation is dramatically told on the vase. The palace doors are
still open, and Antigone stands astonished before her mother.

No sooner has Kreon learned the result of the battle than he passes an
edict banishing the blind Oedipus from the land. The faithful daughter
comes to intercede for her father and the scene is described in vs.
1539–1682. The artist has seized upon this situation, but has omitted
Oedipus. Antigone bows before the new king, who stands with his arms
folded listening placidly to the supplications.

ἀτὰρ ς’ ἐρωτῶ τὸν νεωστὶ κοίρανον·
τί θεσμοποιεῖς ἐπὶ ταλαιπώρῳ νεκρῷ; vs. 1644 f.

This is the moment which the last group represents.

The personification of Thebes occupying the central field and presiding,
as it were, over the destinies of the capital, extends the setting of
the poet and adds not a little to the interest of the picture.

[Illustration:

Fig. 28
]

There exists, remarkable enough, a small fragment of another cup, which
must have been much like the one just discussed. It is shown in fig. 28,
and joins on well to the last scene in fig. 27, filling out the gap made
by the omission of Oedipus[318]. We see the stooping and aged figure of
the former king, in long chiton, feeling his way along or being led by
some one. The inscription renders everything plain. Οἰδίπ]ους κελεύει
[ἄγειν πρὸς τὸ π]τῶμα τῆς αὑτοῦ μητρ[ός τε καὶ] γυναικὸς καὶ τῶν υίῶ[ν.
The unfortunate Oedipus’ doom is sealed, and he enters with Antigone
upon his permanent banishment, but he will be led to Iokaste that he may
embrace her once more, even though she is now a corpse;

προσάγαγέ νύν με, μητρὸς ὡς ψαύσω σέθεν. v. 1693.

At this moment the artist conceived his figure, and that one might not
mistake its meaning he wrote above it who the person was and what the
scene meant. Here, then, in this bit of potsherd, one can see and study
the workings of that awful curse which blasted the house of Labdakos and
sent the miserable Oedipus to wander ‘blind amidst the blaze of noon.’

§ 11. SUPPLEMENTARY.

There remains still a number of vase paintings that have been referred
to certain of Euripides’ extant plays. It will be seen that I have not
been able to convince myself of their Euripidean character, and have
therefore not included them in the number of published paintings. The
following list gives the most important vases of this class. No
discussion accompanies them, as they seem to me to present difficulties
that preclude their relation to extant tragedies.

_Alkestis._

1. Etruscan amphora, no. 728 in the _Cabinet des Médailles_, Paris.
Pub. as frontispiece to Dennis’ _Cities and Cemeteries of
Etruria_, vol. ii. = _Arch. Ztg._ 1863, pl. 180. 3.

_Andromache._

1. Amphora, Brit. Mus., cat. iii. E 155. Pub. Raoul-Rochette, _Mon.
inéd._ pl. 40. 2; cf. Vogel, _Scen. eur. Trag._ p. 141 f., and
_Arch. Ztg._ 1880, p. 189.

_Elektra._

1. Slender Campanian amphora, Berlin. _Pub. Arch._ Anz. 1890, p. 90,
no. 7; cf. _loc. cit._ The interpretation given explains the
scene as representing Orestes slaying Aigisthos. This was done,
however, not at a sanctuary or in the open, as here, but _in the
palace_ where Aigisthos, Orestes, and Pylades were engaged in
the slaughtering of oxen. At v. 790 they had entered the palace.

_Herakles Furens._

1. The Assteas vase in Madrid. Pub. _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser. B,
pl. 1 = _Mon. d. Inst._ viii. 10; cf. Hirzel, _Annali d. Inst._
1864, p. 323 ff.: Körte, _Ueber Personificationen
psychologischer Affekte_, p. 18 f., and Vogel, _op. cit._ p.
143.

_Hippolytos._

1. Amphora. Attic fabric, _cir._ 420 B.C. Berlin, vid. _Arch. Anz._
1890, p. 89.

2. Lekythos from Paestum, now in Naples, no. 2900. Pub.
Reinach-Millingen, _Peintures_, 41 = _Élite Céram._ iv. 87.

_Ion._

1. Nolan vase in Cassel. Pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1852, pl. 37; cf.
Furtwängler, _Sammlung Sabouroff, Vasen_, Einleitung, p. 14,
note 12; Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 145.

2. Painting on a fourth cent. krater. Pub. _Élite Céram._ ii. 76 a;
cf. Furtwängler, _op. cit._ p. 14.

3. An Oxybaphon in the Louvre. Pub. _Élite Céram._ ii. 88 a =
Reinach-Millin. _op. cit._ i. 46 = Müller-Wieseler, _Denkmäler
d. a. Kunst._ ii. 142; cf. Furtwängler, _loc. cit._

_Iphigeneia at Aulis._

1. Lucanian krater, Brit. Mus., cat. iv. F 159. Pub. Overbeck,
_Bildwerke_, pl. 14. 9 = _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser. 5, pl. 9.
3 = Inghirami, _Vasi fitt._ iii. pl. 251; cf. Vogel, _op. cit._
p. 116.

Euripides’ Lost Plays.

The following list includes most of the paintings referred to the lost
tragedies. Where it has seemed to me doubtful about the Euripidean
character of the scenes I have preferred to omit mention of them
altogether.

_Aiolos._

1. Canosa hydria in Bari. The shoulder decoration only is pub. _Arch.
Ztg._ 1883, pl. 7. 1; cf. p. 51 ff. and Furtwängler,
_Masterpieces_, p. 109. The latter thinks the painting is from
the fifth cent. B.C. Vid. also Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 28 ff.

_Alkmene._

1. Bell-shaped krater, signed by Python now in the Brit. Mus., cat.
iv. F 149. Pub. _J. H. S._ 1890, pl. 6; cf. _ibid._ p. 225 ff.

2. Amphora from Capua. Brit. Mus., cat. iv. F 193. Pub. _Annali d.
Inst._ 1872, pl. A. Cf. _ibid._ p. 1 ff. On both paintings
Alkmene sitting on an altar appeals to Zeus against Amphitryon.
Cf. Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 34.

_Andromeda._

1. Krater from Capua. Berlin, no. 3237. Cf. _Arch. Anz._ 1893, p. 91,
f. no. 50. Pub. and discussed by Bethe, _Jahrbuch_, 1896, p. 292
ff. and pl. 2; cf. Bethe’s _Prolegomena zur Geschichte des
Theaters im Altertum_, p. 320, 330, and p. 35 above.

2. Amphora from Canosa. Naples, no. 3225. Pub. Minervini, _Memorie
accademiche_, pl. 1–3; cf. Vogel, p. 39.

3. Amphora in Naples, no. 708, _Museo S. Angelo_. Pub. _Mon. d. Inst._
ix. 38; cf. _Annali d. Inst._ 1872, p. 108 f., and Vogel, _op.
cit._ p. 41.

4. Hydria from Anzi in the Basilicata. Brit. Mus., cat. iv. F 185; cf.
Vogel, p. 42. C.

_Antigone._

1. Ruvo amphora. Jatta coll. no. 423. Pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1871, pl. 40.
2, and by Heydemann, _Ueber eine nacheuripideische Tragödie_,
1868, pl. 1, and _Mon. d. Inst._ x. 26, 27. Polychrome view of
whole vase on pl. 26 = Rayet et Collignon, _Histoire de la
Céramique grecque_, pl. 12, p. 300.

2. Apulian amphora. Berlin, no. 3240. Pub. Gerhard, _Apulische
Vasenbilder_, xi = _Arch. Ztg._ 1871, pl. 40. 1. Cf. Heydemann,
_op. cit._ and Klügmann, _Annali d. Inst._ 1876, p. 173 ff., and
Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 50 ff.

3. Fragment of Apulian amphora in Carlsruhe; Winnefeld’s _Beschreibung
der Vasensammlung_, p. 62 f. Pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1884, pl. 19. b =
_Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser. E. 6. 3. Cf. Winckler in _Aus der
Onomia_, p. 149 ff.

_Antiope._

1. Apulian krater found near Syracuse. Berlin, no. 3296. Pub. _Arch.
Ztg._ 1878, pl. 7 and 8; cf. _ibid._ p. 42 ff, and Robert, _Bild
und Lied_, p. 36; Vogel, p. 60 f.

_Bellerophon._

1. Ruvo amphora. Pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ iv. 21 = _Wiener
Vorlegeblätter_, ser. viii, pl. 8. 1. Cf. _Annali d. Inst._
1845, p. 227.

_Chrysippos._

1. Ruvo amphora. Naples, no. 1769. Pub. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, 1. 2.

2. Apulian amphora. Berlin, no. 3239. Pub. Overbeck, _op. cit._ 1. 1.

3. An abridgement of the foregoing. Pub. _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser.
6, II. 2 = Roscher’s _Lexikon_, i. p. 903; cf. Vogel, _op. cit._
p. 137 f.

_Hypsipyle._

1. Lasimos amphora in the Louvre. Pub. Reinach-Millin, _Peintures_,
ii. 37 = Overbeck, _op. cit._ pl. 28. 1. Cf. Vogel, p. 98 f.

2. Ruvo amphora. Naples, no. 3255. Pub. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 4.
3 = Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, i. p. 114; cf. Vogel, p. 99 f.

3. Ruvo amphora. St. Petersburg, no. 523. Pub. Overbeck, _op. cit._
pl. 4. 2; cf. Vogel, _loc. cit._

_Meleagros._

1. Apulian amphora. Naples, _Mus. S. Angelo_, no. 11, A. Pub. _Arch.
Ztg._ 1867, pl. 220.

_Stheneboia._

1. Krater in Naples, No. 1891. Pub. _Annali d. Inst._ 1874, pl. A.

2. Krater in St. Petersburg, no. 427. Pub. Inghirami, _Vasi fitt._ i.
pl. 1–3; cf. Engelmann in _Annali_, 1874, p. 35 f., and Vogel,
_op. cit._ p. 85 f.

_Telephos._

1. Hydria in Naples. Heydemann, _Raccolta Cumana_, no. 141. Pub.
_Arch. Ztg._ 1857, pl. 106.

2. Tischbein, _Vases d’Hamilton_, ii. 6; cf. Jahn, _Telephos und
Troilos_, p. 44, and Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 89 ff.

INDEX

N.B.—All references are to pages.

Accius, 11.

Aischylos, authority of, in Magna Graecia, 55, 66, 81 f.
ἦθος of, 80.
statue of, 6.
_Agam._, 58, 112.
_Choe._, 17, 21, 43 ff., 58.
_Eumen._, 35, 55 ff., scenes of, 69 f.
_Iph._, 12, 23.
_Lykurgeia_, 23, 74.
_Niobe_, 8.
Ὅπλων Κρίσις, 31, note 2.
_Pentheus_, 88, 91.
_Phrygians_, 74.
_Prom._, 27.
_Telephos_, 23.

Andronicus (Livius), 11, 82.

Antiope, myth of, 9.

Assteas, 70, note 1, 179.

Choregos, prize of, 5 f.

Comedy, on vases, 40, note 2.

Dante, influence of on art, 1 ff.
Botticelli’s drawings for, 155.

Dirke, monuments of, 9.

Divinities, on vases, 110.

Ekkyklema, 66 f., 160.

Ennius, 11, 26, 82, 112.

Etruscans, art of, 10 ff., 27, note 6.

Euphronios, 31 f., 157.

Euripides, Aristotle’s criticism of, 79 f.
influence of, 26, 28 f.
πάθος of, 79 f.
_Aiolos_, 179.
_Alexandros_, 12.
_Alkestis_, 7, 16, 27, 178.
_Alkmene_, 14, 179.
_Andromache_, 83, 178.
_Andromeda_, 23, 35, 180.
_Antigone_, 180.
_Antiope_, 9, 13, 26, 180.
_Auge_, 8.
_Bakchai_, 25, 88 ff.
_Bellerophon_, 180.
_Chrysippos_, 180 f.
_Elektra_, 50, 178.
_Hekabe_, 21, 94 ff.
_Herakleidai_, 23.
_Herakles Fur._, 163 f., 179.
_Hippolytos_, 17, 25, 101 ff., 179.
_Hypsipyle_, 181.
_Ion_, 179.
_Iph. A._, 23, 25, 112 ff., 179.
_Iph. T._, 13, 17 f., 25 f., 121 ff.
_Kretes_, 14, 20, 27.
_Kyklops_, 35, 139 ff.
_Medeia_, 13, 19, 23, 144 ff.
_Melanippe_, 14.
_Meleagros_, 14, 20, 26, 181.
_Oedipus_, 13, 19.
_Oinomaos_, 14.
_Philoktetes_, 21.
_Phoin._, 14, 19, 171 ff.
_Rhesos_, 32.
_Stheneboia_, 181.
_Telephos_, 8, 12, 23, 31, 181.
_Theseus_, 14, 24.

_Flugmaschine_, 160.

Homer, 3, 34.

Laokoön, 9 f.

Lyssa, 163, 171.

Niobe, group, 8 f.

Oedipus, banishment of, 177.

Oistros, 162 ff.

Orpheus, relief of, 4 f.

Paeuvius, 12, 82.

Parrhasios, 23 f., 34.

Peirithoös, relief, 4.

Peliades, relief, 4.

Pergamon, frieze, 7.

Polygnotos, 21 f., 95, 110.

Polyxena, 21, 95.

Praxiteles, 6, 9.

Python, 70, note 1.

Seilanion, ‘Iokaste’ of, 7.

Skopas, 9.

Sophokles, influence of, on art, 75 ff.
statue of, 6.
_Antigone_, 75, 77.
_Elektra_, 50.
_Iphigeneia_, 12, 23.
_Lakainai_, 35.
_Laokoön_, 10.
_Mysoi_, 8.
_Niobe_, 8.
_Niptra_, 36, note 3.
_Oed. Rex_, 77.
_Oinomaos_, 14.
_Phaidra_, 101.
_Philoktetes_, 13, 19, 21.
_Polyxene_, 21.
_Trachiniai_, 77.
_Troilos_, 32.

Tarentum, 37 ff., 66, 82.

Timanthes, 23, 25, 34, 113, 140.

Timomachus, 23, 138.

Tragedy, Roman and Greek, 11, 82.

Zeuxis, 24.

-----

Footnote 1:

F.-W. no. 1198; pub. in Brunn’s _Vorlegeblätter_, no. 18, and
Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, ii. p. 1121.

Footnote 2:

Benndorf und Schöne, _Die Bildwerke des Lateranensischen Museums_. no.
92 = F.-W. no. 1200; pub. in Brunn’s _Vorlegeblätter_, no. 17.

Footnote 3:

F.-W. no. 1201; pub. in _Museo Torlonia_, pl. 93, no. 377. This is the
youngest of the three, but the original still belongs to the period
just after the completion of the Parthenon.

Footnote 4:

Cf. _Griechische Weihgeschenke_, p. 130 ff.

Footnote 5:

Cf. Isaeus v. 41, and Xen. _Hieron_, ix. 4.

Footnote 6:

_Athen. Mitth._ 1878, p. 233; Ἀθήναιον B. vii. p. 93.

Footnote 7:

1. 20. 1.

Footnote 8:

Cf. _C. I. A._ ii. 3, 1298, and _Anth. Pal._ vi. 239.

Footnote 9:

_Loc. cit._

Footnote 10:

1. 21. 1 and 2.

Footnote 11:

Pub. _Athen. Mitth._ 1882, pl. 14; cf. F.-W. no. 1135.

Footnote 12:

Furtwängler, _Sammlung Sabouroff_, p. 31.

Footnote 13:

Cf. F.-W. no. 1843, 1844, and Jahn’s _Archäologische Beiträge_, p. 198
ff.

Footnote 14:

Cf. Overbeck’s _Schriftquellen_, no. 1128.

Footnote 15:

F.-W. no. 1242.

Footnote 16:

I follow Robert. Cf. _Thanatos_, p. 37 ff.

Footnote 17:

Cf. Robert in _Jahrbuch_, 1887, p. 244 ff.

Footnote 18:

F.-W. 1402. Cf. Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ 36, 34.

Footnote 19:

One may distinguish two distinct moments in works of art based upon
the Antiope myth. (1) The two sons of Antiope have the unfortunate
Dirke all but fastened to the bull, which is being held only with the
utmost exertion. (2) The catastrophe ensues. The wild animal is
dragging his victim over the ground. It need not be said that the most
celebrated representation of (1) is the _toro farnese_. For (2), cf. a
wall painting, pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1878, pl. 9, _a_ and _b_. The myth
was wonderfully popular and appears on coins, gems, reliefs, &c., all
of which belong to the period when tragic influence predominated in
art. Cf. Dilthey, _Arch. Ztg._ 1878, p. 43 ff. and Jahn, _ibid._,
1853, p. 65–105.

Footnote 20:

F.-W. no. 1422. Cf. Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ 36, 37.

Footnote 21:

Robert, _Bild und Lied_, p. 192 ff., contends against the influence of
Sophokles.

Footnote 22:

Cic. _de opt. gen. orat._ 1. 1.

Footnote 23:

Velleius, 1. 17. 1.

Footnote 24:

The favourite subject was the murder of Troïlos.

Footnote 25:

Brunn, _op. cit._ pl. 1–16; cf. Schlie, _Die Darstellungen des
troischen Sagenkreises auf etruskischen Aschenkisten_, p. 13 ff.

Footnote 26:

_Poet._ 1453^a. 21.

Footnote 27:

_Op. cit._ pl. 26–34, gives eighteen reliefs.

Footnote 28:

Cf. p. 113 f.

Footnote 29:

Brunn, _op. cit._ pl. 69–72; cf. especially nos. 1, 2 and 3. The
remaining four are not Sophoklean and betray an admixture of different
elements. Odysseus bathes the afflicted foot of Philoktetes on nos. 6
and 7.

Footnote 30:

_Op. cit._ p. 155; cf. pl. 74–83.

Footnote 31:

_Op. cit._ pl. 84–85. The attitude of ‘Iphigeneia’ causes some
difficulty in this interpretation. Cf. her part on the other
monuments.

Footnote 32:

Cf. p. 124 ff. below.

Footnote 33:

Körte, _op. cit._ vol. ii. pl. 1. 2.

Footnote 34:

Cf. p. 144 ff.

Footnote 35:

_Op. cit._ vol. ii. pl. 4. 1, 2 and 3. and pl. 5. 4.

Footnote 36:

Cf. schol. Eur. _Phoin._ v. 61, and Nauck’s _Fragmenta_, Eur. no. 541,
and _op. cit._ ii. pl. 7. 1.

Footnote 37:

There are twenty-eight in all representing the fratricide, and nine
showing the attack; Körte, _I rilievi d. urne etrusche_, ii. pl. 8 24.

Footnote 38:

_Op. cit._ ii. p. 32 ff.

Footnote 39:

Pl. 26–27.

Footnote 40:

Pl. 28–30.

Footnote 41:

Pl. 31–32.

Footnote 42:

Cf. p. 105 f. below.

Footnote 43:

Pl. 39–40. Three in all.

Footnote 44:

Pl. 41–56.

Footnote 45:

One may think of Soph. _Oinom._, called also _Hippodameia_, and of
Eur. _Oinom._ The latter seems to have been followed by Accius.

Footnote 46:

Pl. 62; cf. also _op. cit._ ii. p. 150 ff.

Footnote 47:

Pl. 100–104.

Footnote 48:

The monumental publication, which is now appearing under the direction
of the German Imperial Archaeological Institute, will, when completed,
place within one’s reach all this immense material. The projected plan
embraces six volumes of which the second has so far appeared: _Die
Antiken Sarkophag-Reliefs_, ii. 1890, edited by Carl Robert. The third
part is to embrace three vols., so that we have in the _Antiken
Sarkophag-Reliefs_, iii. 1897, Carl Robert, only the first vol.

Footnote 49:

Robert, _op. cit._ iii. part i, pl. 6–7. Nos. 22, 23, 24, 26 are all
practically intact and agree closely with each other. Nos. 27–30 are
larger or smaller fragments.

Footnote 50:

Pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1875, pl. 9 = Robert, _op. cit._ iii. part i, pl. 7.
32 = Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, i. p. 46.

Footnote 51:

P. 101 ff.

Footnote 52:

Robert, _op. cit._ ii. p. 165.

Footnote 53:

Robert, _Die antiken Sark.-Reliefs_, ii. pl. 54, no. 154.

Footnote 54:

Cf. _op. cit._ ii. pl. 54–56, nos 155–166; vid. also p. 67 below.

Footnote 55:

Robert, _op. cit._ ii. pl. 57–59, nos. 167–180, and p. 124 ff. below.

Footnote 56:

P. 145 ff.

Footnote 57:

Robert, _op. cit._ ii. pl. 60, nos. 183, 184, and p. 191 ff.

Footnote 58:

Robert, _op. cit._ ii. pl. 51, no. 139.

Footnote 59:

Pub. by Robert, _Die Pasiphaë-Sarkophag_, 1890, pl. i.; also _op.
cit._ iii. part i, pi. 10. 35, 35^a, 35^b.

Footnote 60:

Cf. Nauck’s _Fragmenta_, no. 472.

Footnote 61:

Cf. Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, ii. p. 917, where the Louvre fragment is
published = Clarac, _Musée de Sculpture_, pl. 201, no. 208. A similar
scene is shown in no. 256.

Footnote 62:

Paus. 1. 22. 6.

Footnote 63:

Cf. p. 94 ff.

Footnote 64:

Cf. schol. Eur. _Hek._ v. 3, and Nauck’s _Fragmenta_, p. 245 ff.

Footnote 65:

_Homerische Becher_, p. 75; but on p. 25 f. of the _Iliupersis des
Polygnot in der Poikile_, Robert refers the picture to Polykleitos on
the strength of the epigram (_Anth. Plan._ 3. 30) by Pollianos. The
question turns on the reading Πολυκλείτοιο, which has generally been
held to be a corruption of Πολυγνώτοιο. But this does not convince me
that Polygnotos might not have painted the work in the Propylaia. It
is by no means necessary to consider the two paintings identical even
if Πολυκλείτοιο must remain.

Footnote 66:

Paus. 10. 25. 2.

Footnote 67:

This was shown by Schneidewin in _Philologus_, 1849, p. 645 ff.

Footnote 68:

Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ 35. 71.

Footnote 69:

Cf. Overbeck, _Schriftquellen_, 1735–1739, and p. 112 f. below.

Footnote 70:

Pliny, _Nat. Hist._ 35, 132, and Helbig, _Wandgemälde_, 1183–1203.

Footnote 71:

Pliny, _op. cit._ 35, 136, and Helbig, _op. cit._ nos. 1189,
1262–1264. The latter is from Herculaneum. Cf. Overbeck,
_Schriftquellen_, 2126–2135, for various epigrams touching this
painting of Timomachus.

Footnote 72:

Overbeck, _op. cit._ 1642. Cf. Reisch, _Griechische Weihgeschenke_, p.
127.

Footnote 73:

Pliny, _op. cit._ 35, 144; cf. a Pompeian wall painting, pub. _Arch.
Ztg._ 1883, pl. 9. 1.

Footnote 74:

Paus. 1. 20. 3.

Footnote 75:

Vid. Dörpfeld and Reisch, _Das griechische Theater_, p. 21.

Footnote 76:

Cf. p. 74 below.

Footnote 77:

Cf. Helbig, _op. cit._ Three groups are distinguishable. (1) Nos.
1216–1240, Ariadne forsaken by Theseus. (2) 1222–1232, she mourns in
her solitude. (3) 1233–1240, Dionysos comes to her rescue.

Footnote 78:

Helbig, _op. cit._ nos. 1242–1247; cf. p. 108, note 1.

Footnote 79:

Cf. Helbig, _op. cit._ nos. 1304, 1305.

Footnote 80:

Cf. p. 138 below.

Footnote 81:

Helbig, _op. cit._ nos. 1142, 1143.

Footnote 82:

Especially fine is the painting discovered in the _casa dei Vettii_,
photo. Alinari, no. 12133; cf. _Röm. Mitth_. 1896, p. 50 f.

Footnote 83:

Cf. _Röm. Mitth_. 1896, p. 45 f., and _Arch. Anz_. 1895, p. 121,
photo. Alinari, no. 12134. Pub. _J. H. S._ 1896, p. 151.

Footnote 84:

Helbig, _op. cit._ nos. 1151–1153. The excavations in 1895 added still
another to those already known. Vid. _Röm. Mitth_. 1896, p. 46, photo.
Alinari, no. 12135. Cf. also _Arch. Ztg_. 1878, pl. 9. _a_ and _b_ for
two others.

Footnote 85:

Livius Andronicus, Ennius, and Accius, each wrote an _Andromeda_.
Ennius translated the _Medeia_, and chose over half his pieces from
Euripides.

Footnote 86:

Gerhard’s _Etruskische Spiegel_, ii. pl. 239, and v. pl. 117.

Footnote 87:

_Op. cit._ iv. pl. 354. 2.

Footnote 88:

Gerhard, _op. cit._ iv. 367. 2. Cf. Euripides’ Κρῆτες.

Footnote 89:

_Op. cit._ iv. pl. 401.

Footnote 90:

_Op. cit._ ii. pl. 229 = Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 14. 1; iv. pl.
390. 2; v. pl. 108.

Footnote 91:

_Op. cit._ v. p. 217.

Footnote 92:

_Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser. D. pl. 10. 4 and 5 = _op. cit._ ii. pl.
138. 139. Aischylos was the first to chain Prometheus, and all the
monuments representing the giant thus fastened on the cliff are
dependent on the _Prometheus_. Cf. Milchhoefer, in _Berliner
Winckelmannsprogramm_ for 1882.

Footnote 93:

The question as to where and how the Etruscans came to have so wide a
knowledge of Greek poetry will long remain a perplexing one. One thing
seems clear, viz., that the Romans did not serve as any connecting
link between Greece and Etruria. Greek art as well as Greek letters
reached this people direct. It hardly seems probable that translations
of the Greek poets were so extensively made by this practical people,
that the artists could in this manner have had access to so much that
is Euripidean. There is, moreover, a great deal in some of the reliefs
that bespeaks a familiarity with the scenes as actually given in the
theatre. This leads me to think that the wandering troops of actors
had penetrated Etruria also, and introduced the plays of which the
Etruscans made so much in their art.

Footnote 94:

Figs. 12, 16, 27, 28; cf. also note 2, p. 95 f.

Footnote 95:

Vid. Lüders, _Die dionysischen Künstler_, Berlin, 1873.

Footnote 96:

Cf. p. 114 ff.

Footnote 97:

The ‘Megarian Bowls’ have much in common with such later monuments as
the _tabula iliaca_. Cf. Jahn’s _Bilderchroniken_, and Baumeister,
_Denkmäler_, i. no. 775.

Footnote 98:

Jahn, _Telephos und Troilos_, 1841, p. 46 ff., believed that Exekias
was indebted to Euripides’ _Telephos_ for the idea of his
dice-players; cf. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 14. 4, and _Wiener
Vorlegeblätter_, 1888, pl. 6. 1^a. We know now that Exekias must have
lived nearly 100 years before the date of the _Telephos_.

Footnote 99:

Klein in his _Euphronios_, 1886, p. 236 ff., saw in the Iliupersis
kylix, pub. Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, i. no. 795, the workings of
Aischylos’ Ὅπλον Κρίσις; in the Euphronios kylix, _Wiener
Vorlegeblätter_, ser. v. pl. 6, representing the death of Troïlos, a
connexion was pointed out with Sophokles’ _Troilos_; and the Dolon
kylix, also by Euphronios, cf. _op. cit._ p. 136 f., might be brought
under the _Rhesos_ of Euripides.

Footnote 100:

Note especially the Brygos kylix, Brit. Mus., cat. iii. E 65; pub.
_Mon. d. Inst._ ix. 46, and _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser. viii. 6.
Dionysos stands by his altar over which a satyr springs to grasp Iris.
Others of the tribe make merry. Cf. also Brit. Mus., cat. iii. E 768;
pub. _Wiener Vorlegebl._ ser. vii. 4, in the style of Euthymides.
Seilenos in herald’s dress is in the midst of a long train of satyrs.

Footnote 101:

The main scene is published and discussed by Dümmler in _Rheinisches
Museum_, 1888, p. 355 ff.

Footnote 102:

Cf. the Peiraieus frag. pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1880, pl. 16. Other examples
of later styles are included by Reisch, _Griech. Weihgeschenke_, p. 68
ff. Vid. further the list in _Arch. Ztg._ 1880, p. 182 f.

Footnote 103:

Gerhard, _Auser. Vasen_, pl. 56, and Reinach-Millin, _Peintures_, i.
9.

Footnote 104:

Berlin, inv. no. 3237. Pub. and discussed by Bethe, _Jahrbuch_, 1896,
p. 292 ff. and pl. 2; cf. Furtwängler, _Arch. Anz._ 1893, p. 91 f.

Footnote 105:

P. 141 ff.

Footnote 106:

No. 3235, A. Pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ ii. pl. 36; Overbeck, _Bildwerke_,
pl. 24. 19; cf. Furtwängler, _Masterpieces_, p. 152 f.

Footnote 107:

Fig. 8, and p. 63 f.

Footnote 108:

Heydemann’s cat. no. 3240. Pub. Müller-Wieseler, _Theater-gebäude_,
pl. 6. 2; Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, i. fig. 422.

Footnote 109:

iv. 115–117. Cf. also Bethe, _Prolegomena zur Geschichte des Theaters
im Altertum_, p. 42.

Footnote 110:

The Penelope vase, pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ ix. pl. 42 = Baumeister’s
_Denkmäler_, iii. no. 2332, has lately been explained by Robert as
being based on Soph. Νίπτρα. Cf. _Die Marathonschlacht in der
Poikile_, p. 78 ff. If I could accept this view my position would be
very materially strengthened. The Νίπτρα must be set _cir._ 428 B.C.,
and this means that the painting is later than this date. Much as I
should like to bring this important monument into connexion with the
drama, I cannot think of a later date for the vase than 440 B.C.,
which to be sure renders its relation to Sophokles impossible. If,
however, Professor Robert be correct, it shows that there is at least
one vase painting of the fifth century that represents a form of a
myth which belonged to the theatre, and this was not granted in _Bild
und Lied_.

Footnote 111:

Cf. Gardner’s _Types of Greek Coins_, pl. v. nos. 17–20, and
Furtwängler’s _Masterpieces_, p. 105 ff., with the very instructive
collection of Italian and Sicilian coins which shows the Attic
influence in this period.

Footnote 112:

Cf. Mommsen, _Unteritalische Dialekte_, p. 89 ff.

Footnote 113:

_De leg._ 1. 637^c.

Footnote 114:

Dio Cassius, 39. 3. 6.

Footnote 115:

Zonaris, viii. 2. 370, καὶ τὸ θέατρον ἔκλεισε.

Footnote 116:

Cf. figs. 5, 6, 18, 19, 20, 21, 23.

Footnote 117:

The large class of Lower Italy vases that illustrate scenes from
comedy are priceless treasures. They are based on the ‘farce-plays,’
φλύακες τραγικοί—the invention of Rhinthon (vid. _Rhinthonis
Fragmenta_, Halle, dissertation by E. Völker, 1887); cf. especially
Heydemann, _Jahrbuch_, 1886, p. 260 ff., where all the examples then
known are discussed. Bethe, _Prolegomena zur Geschichte des Theaters
im Altertum_, p. 278–292, handles particularly the interesting
question of the stage represented in the scenes.

Mention should be made also of Körte’s excellent article in the
_Jahrbuch_ for 1893, p. 61–93, on _Archaeologische Studien zur alten
Komödie_.

Footnote 118:

Robert’s conclusion in regard to the literary source of all the
monuments (_Bild und Lied_, p. 149 ff.) is that they go back to the
_Oresteia_ of Stesichoros. This view has been generally accepted by
archaeologists, and met with no opposition till Wilamowitz showed
reason for believing in the existence of a Delphic epic dealing with
this subject. The whole question needs another careful investigation.

Footnote 119:

Pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ vi. pl. 57. 1 = Roscher’s _Lexikon_, i. p. 1238.
Cf. Robert, _op. cit._ p. 167 ff.

Footnote 120:

Naples, no. 1755, pub. Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, iii. 1939 =
Reinach-Millingen, _Peintures_, pl. 14.

Footnote 121:

Fig. 2. Pub. Raoul-Rochette, _Monuments inédits_, pl. 34. Cf. _ibid._
p. 159 ff.; Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 28. 5; cf. text _ibid._, p. 688
ff.; Inghirami, _Vasi fitt._ ii. pl. 151.

Footnote 122:

Cf. figs. 14, 15, 23, 24 for the regulation dress of the pedagogue.

Footnote 123:

Cf. note 2, p. 44.

Footnote 124:

Munich coll. Jahn’s cat. no. 814. The figure of Elektra alone together
with the view of the tomb is published by Inghirami, _Vasi fitt._ ii.
pl. 154.

Footnote 125:

Pub. Inghirami, _op. cit._ ii. pl. 153.

Footnote 126:

An amphora, no. 544. The painting has not been published so far as I
know, but the similarity it bears to figs. 3 and 4 appeared to me to
render a publication of it here unnecessary.

Footnote 127:

Cf. παρ’ οὐδετέρω κεῖται ἡ μυθοποιία of the Hypothesis.

Footnote 128:

Cf. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 29, and Raoul-Rochette, _Mon. inéd._
pl. 35–38.

Footnote 129:

Cat. no. 349; pub. _Compte Rendu_, 1864, pl. 6. 5; cf. Stephani,
_ibid._ p. 252 ff.

Footnote 130:

Cf. a similar figure with the key in figs. 6, 18, 20. In the latter
cases Iphigeneia is the priestess.

Footnote 131:

v. 1061.

Footnote 132:

v. 35.

Footnote 133:

Vid my _Attitude of the Greek Tragedians toward Art_, p. 12 ff., for a
discussion of this passage.

Footnote 134:

So Eur. _Orest._ v. 321; _Elekt._ v. 1345.

Footnote 135:

Naples, no. 3249, photo, Alinari, 11296, from which fig. 6 is taken.
The painting was published by Jahn, _Vasenbilder_, 1839, pl. 1. 1,
from a drawing. Jahn himself had not seen the vase. The drawing does
the fine picture so little justice that I could not think of
reproducing it. The work on the vase is wonderfully clear and strong.
Every figure is in itself a beautiful work of art. The picture
presents an unusual variety of situations that are artistically of
great interest.

Footnote 136:

Cf. also fig. 8.

Footnote 137:

No. 3256. Pub. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 29. 4; general view of the
whole vase, Gerhard’s _Apulische Vasen_. pl. A. 6. Another painting, a
late work and wretchedly done, somewhat similar, is published in
_Arch. Ztg._ 1877, pl. 4. 11.

Footnote 138:

Fig. 8. Pub. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 29. 7; _Mon. d. Inst._ iv. pl.
48; _Arch. Ztg._ 1860, pl. 138. 2; Baumeister’s _Denkmäler_, ii. p.
1117; Rayet et Collignon, _Histoire de la céramique grecque_, p. 297.

Footnote 139:

Vid. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 29. 11, and 12.

Footnote 140:

Cf. vs. 67, 84, 91.

Footnote 141:

This view is maintained by Dörpfeld and Reisch, _Das griechische
Theater_, p. 243 ff. In reply to this vid. Robert in _Hermes_, vol.
32, p. 439 ff. Vid. also Bethe, _Prolegomena zur Geschichte des
Theaters im Altertum_, pp. 112–116, where this point in the production
of the _Eumenides_ is ably discussed.

Footnote 142:

Cf. this scene on the Sarcophagi reliefs. Robert, _Die antiken
Sarkophag-Reliefs_, ii. pl. 54–56, nos. 155–161, the right end scene;
also no. 157^1, p. 173.

Footnote 143:

Cf. the ghosts of Aigisthos and Klytaimestra on the end reliefs of the
Sarcophagus, no. 155, _op. cit._

Footnote 144:

_Orest._ 408, 1650; _Tro._ 457; cf. also the relief found near Argos,
pub. _Athen. Mitth._ 1879, pl. 9 = Roscher’s _Lexikon_, i. p. 1330.

Footnote 145:

Wilamowitz, _Aischylos Orestie, Zweites Stück_, 1896, p. 246 ff., has
shown the plausibility of believing in such an epic. The author was a
Delphian.

Footnote 146:

A few fragments remain from the _Oresteia_ of Stesichoros. Cf.
Bergk-Schaefer, _Poetae lyrici graeci_, iii. p. 219 ff.

Footnote 147:

Opinions vary on this point. Three different views are held. (1) The
temple of Athena remains the scene throughout the rest of the play;
the Areiopagos (v. 685) becomes then merely a part of the stage
decorations given by the periaktoi. (2) Between v. 235 and v. 685 the
scene was changed from the Acropolis to the Areiopagos. (3) There is
no scene from v. 235 other than the Areiopagos. The latter seems to me
absolutely untenable. Repeated allusion is made to the temple and to
Orestes clinging to the old image in the δῶμα (v. 242 ff.). Regarding
the first and second, it makes little difference whether the scene was
in fact shifted or whether it was represented on the wings. The
practical working was the same in either case.

Footnote 148:

The present whereabouts of the vase is not known. Pub. Baumeister,
_Denkmäler_, ii. p. 1118; Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 29. 9;
Reinach-Millingen, _Peintures_, ii. 68; also as frontispiece to the
4th ed. of Paley’s _Aeschylus_. He disposes of it in a line or two,
and, with the usual accuracy which characterizes philologists when
dealing with matters of archaeology, says the vase is ‘probably nearly
contemporaneous’ with the _Eumenides_ (p. 584). The composition is
remarkably like the Assteas painting, _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser. i.
pl. 7. The figures of Apollo and Kadmos, as well as the two Athenas,
have much in common. There is the same roundness and plumpness in the
figures. Furthermore, Assteas was partial to bust figures and never
lost an opportunity to introduce them. The border on the veil of the
female bust of our vase is Campanian, as are also certain other
details. All this brings me to the opinion that Assteas, who was very
likely from Paestum and may have been in touch with Campanian styles
as well, was the painter of our vase. It is at least from the school
of Assteas. A painting by Python (_J. H. S._ 1890, pl. 6), one of the
set of Assteas, exhibits the same treatment of hair and decoration
that is found on the painting, fig. 9.

Footnote 149:

These feathers, for that is what these projections are, can be counted
on dozens of helms belonging to this period. Athena and warriors wear
them alike. Their occurrence before the latter part of the fourth
century B.C. is unknown to me.

Footnote 150:

Cf. Aisch. _Supp._ v. 463.

Footnote 151:

Pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1860, pl. 137. 4 = Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 29. 8.

Footnote 152:

Vid. _Arch. Anz._ 1890, p. 90.

Footnote 153:

It is worth noting that, when viewed both from the artistic in his
plays and the art that was an outgrowth of his plays, Sophokles
occupies the same position as regards Aischylos and Euripides. Cf. my
_Attitude of the Greek Tragedians toward Art_, p. 32 ff.

Footnote 154:

P. 35, note 3, and p. 36, note 3.

Footnote 155:

_Poet._ 1450^a. 25.

Footnote 156:

_Rep._ 8. 568^a.

Footnote 157:

C. 29.

Footnote 158:

Athen. p. 537; cf. Plut. _Alex._ c. 10 and 53.

Footnote 159:

Athen. p. 175.

Footnote 160:

This fact comes out particularly in Polybios; cf. Susemihl,
_Geschichte der griech. Litteratur in der Alexanderzeit_, ii. p. 119.

Footnote 161:

_C. I. A._ ii. 973 is the authority for this occurrence in the years
341–39 B.C.

Footnote 162:

6. 3. 5.

Footnote 163:

Cf. _Nem._ 7. v. 49 ff.

Footnote 164:

Vid. Hypothesis: τὸ δὲ δρᾶμα τῶν δευτέρον.

Footnote 165:

Fig. 10; no. 239 in the Jatta catalogue. Pub. _Annali d. Inst._ 1868,
pl. E = Engelmann’s _Atlas zum Homer_, ii. _Odyssee_, pl. 4. 18; cf.
Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 36 ff.

Footnote 166:

Cf. similar figures in figs. 6, 18, 20.

Footnote 167:

The composition is strikingly like that in fig. 18. The two temples
are exact counterparts of each other. The altars likewise and the
Apollo figures have much in common. Most important of all is the fact
that in both pictures the chief persons are denoted by inscriptions.
It should be observed further that both vases are of the same style,
amphoras with volute handles, and both were found in Ruvo. These facts
lead me to believe that one and the same artist may have been the
painter of both works.

Footnote 168:

Cf. figs. 6, 7, 18, 20, 21, 23.

Footnote 169:

The 26th idyll of Theokritos should also be counted with the
_Bakchai_.

Footnote 170:

Suidas s. v. Thespis.

Footnote 171:

But one verse remains, Nauck’s _Fragmenta_, no. 183.

Footnote 172:

A psykter in the Bourguignon coll., Naples; pub. _Jahrbuch_, 1892, pl.
5. The vase belongs to the Epiktetos set, and may be dated _cir._ 500
B.C.

Footnote 173:

The following, given by Hartwig, _Jahrbuch_, 1892, p. 154 ff., may be
mentioned as supplementing the list in Jahn’s well-known essay,
_Pentheus und die Mainaden_, Kiel, 1841.

(1) Attic pyxis, Louvre; pub. _Jahrbuch_, 1892, p. 156; date 420–400
B.C.

(2) Kylix in _Museo di Papa Giulio_, Rome, described by Hartwig, _op.
cit._ p. 163, who thinks it may have well been influenced by
Euripides, but he sets the date of the _Bakchai_ at 410 B.C.! I have
not seen the vase nor any publication of it, but should infer from
Hartwig’s description that it is older than the tragedy.

Footnote 174:

Lucanian fabric, no. 807 in Jahn’s cat., pub. Jahn’s _Pentheus und die
Mainaden_, pl. ii. a; Reinach-Millingen, _Peintures_, pl. 5 =
Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, ii. no. 1396.

Footnote 175:

The original shows no trace of the fire that is so prominent in the
publications. There can, however, be no doubt that a _burning_ torch
was meant, if not so painted originally.

Footnote 176:

vs. 954 ff., 1052, 1061 ff.

Footnote 177:

P. 25 above. It should be noted that this is the first example of a
Pentheus scene discovered in Pompeii or Herculaneum.

Footnote 178:

P. 23 above.

Footnote 179:

The episode seems to have been first told in the Ἰλίου Πέρσις of
Arktinos. Polyxena being led by Neoptolemos to the tomb of Achilles
appears on an Attic bl. fig. vase of _cir._ 550 B.C., vid. Berlin cat.
1902; pub. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 27. 17. Two gems of the severe
style in the Berlin Antiquarium (nos. 489, 490), pub. Overbeck, _op.
cit._ pl. 27. 13 and 14, also represent the sacrifice. The painting in
the Pinakotheke of the Propylaia may have been by Polygnotos (cf. p.
21 above), and if it was, Euripides no doubt had often seen it. This
showed her about to be sacrificed; Paus. 1. 22. 6.

Footnote 180:

‘Megarian Bowls’ is a name applied to a class of small cups decorated
with a band of relief. The ware is red or black, and appears both in
glazed and unglazed form. The largest number of the vases has been
found in Megara, hence the name ‘Megarian.’ As many have been
discovered also in Boeotia and other places, the present terminology
is somewhat misleading. Examples of this ware are to be found in every
large museum in Europe. The British Museum possesses no less than nine
such cups, and fragments from fourteen others (vid. cat. iv. pp.
251–256). The reliefs illustrate mostly scenes from the Theban and
Trojan Cycles. Whether the terra cotta presented a cheap way of
reproducing silver and gold cups, which were highly prized, and served
therefore the place of our casts, or whether the bowls were made from
special moulds and are to be considered independent works of art, is
quite uncertain. The fact that there are in existence three copies of
the same work, each agreeing in every detail with the others, would
seem to point to the former supposition. Robert, who has handled this
set of monuments most thoroughly, distinguishes two classes: (1) the
whole vase is cast from one mould; (2) the reliefs having been made
separately are stamped on the ready bowl. Vid. especially Robert’s
_Homerische Becher_ for the whole question; cf. also p. 27 ff. above.

Footnote 181:

Fig. 12, pub. by Robert, _op. cit._ p. 73 ff.

Footnote 182:

Fig. 13: pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ ii. pl. 12; Welcker, _Alte Denkmäler_,
iii. pl. 23. 2; Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 28. 2.

Footnote 183:

The first play belonged to the trilogy containing the _Aigeus_ and
_Theseus_, which made up a set of purely Attic interest. It is well
known that Euripides deepened and widened the belief in the Athenian
heroic period.

Footnote 184:

Suidas names an _Hippolytos_ of Lykophron—a poet of Alexandria.

Footnote 185:

The _Phaedra_ seems to have followed the first _Hippolytos_ of
Euripides.

Footnote 186:

Cf. _Met._ 15, vs. 497 ff., and _Heroid._ 4.

Footnote 187:

Cat. iv. F 272, pub. by Braun, _Mon. ed Annali_, 1854, pl. 16;
Engelmann’s _Atlas zum Homer_, ii, _Odyssee_, pl. 15. 93. First
correctly interpreted by Heydemann, _Arch. Ztg._ 1871, p. 158 ff.; cf.
also Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 66 f., and Kalkmann, _Arch. Ztg._ 1883, p.
62 ff. The vase is Apulian ware. The lower zone represents the
violence of the Centaurs at the marriage of Peirithoös’ daughter,
Laodameia. Theseus and the father are seen rushing to the help of the
bride.

Footnote 188:

The fact that no succession of events, where one person appears more
than once, can be found in Hellenic art, forbids us interpreting this
group as again Phaidra and an attendant. I cannot, however, rid myself
of the feeling that the figure leaning on the _kline_ is not a
servant, but is more in rank with Phaidra. Her rôle is more than that
of the other attendants. This is shown by her attitude and dress. Her
appearance is exactly that required for Phaidra after she had ordered
her attendants to lift her up, remove her veil, and allow her hair to
drop over her shoulders (vs. 198–202).

Footnote 189:

Cf. the part of the pedagogue on the Medeia vase, fig. 23, p. 146.

Footnote 190:

There are, besides, fragments of several other reliefs. For the
literature vid. Kalkmann, _Arch. Ztg._ 1883, p. 65 ff., and Jahn,
_Arch. Beiträge_, p. 300 ff.

Footnote 191:

Cf. vs. 201 ff.

Footnote 192:

Pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1847, pl. 5 and 6.

Footnote 193:

Pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ vi. pl. 1, 2, 3.

Footnote 194:

So on the Constantinople relief, pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1857, pl. 100 =
Brunn’s _Vorlegeblätter_, pl. 9. 3; and on the Girgenti sarcophagi;
cf. note 1 above.

Footnote 195:

Clarac, _Musée de Sculpture_, pl. 213, no. 228, and _Mon. d. Inst._
viii. pl. 38. 1 = _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser. 5, pl. 12, and
Gerhard, _Antike Bildwerke_, pl. 26.

Footnote 196:

A number of vase paintings interpreted as Phaidra are not included
here since they all admit of a variety of interpretations. Vid. p. 179
below.

Footnote 197:

The remarkable feature in these reliefs that shows non-Euripidean
influence is the letter which the old nurse hands to Hippolytos. This
points to another handling of the myth, where the former confined
herself to a written statement rather than a word of mouth proposal.
Strikingly in harmony with Euripides, however, is the position of the
trophos. She grasps Hippolytos’ elbow—ναὶ πρός δε τῆσδε δεξιᾶς
εὐωλένου (v. 605). Cf. also the Pompeian wall painting, _Mus.
Borbonico_, 8, pl. 52. This and other wall paintings represent the
scene between Hippolytos and the nurse as taking place in the presence
of Phaidra, who sits quite alone.

Footnote 198:

Cf. fig. 15. Cat. vol. iv. F 279; pub. by Kalkmann, _Arch. Ztg._ 1883,
pl. 6; vid. _ibid._ p. 43 ff.

Footnote 199:

Cf. a similar group in fig. 23.

Footnote 200:

The same group of divinities, with the exception of Apollo, occurs on
the Naples amphora, no. 3256, pub. _Mon. d. Inst._ ii. 30, and Robert,
_Die Marathonschlacht_, p. 37; Robert calls attention to the fact that
this is an essentially Athenian assembly. Poseidon, Athena, and Pan
were inseparably associated with the Acropolis, the latter, of course,
after the battle of Marathon. The Naples vase represents a battle
between Greeks and barbarians, and according to Robert’s theory is
dependent upon Polygnotos’ painting in the Stoa Poikile. As
participants and spectators the gods occur in the upper section.
Athena, indeed, whirls into line on her chariot. If this ingenious
theory has hit the gist of the matter regarding the Naples painting,
then we may also claim the group of gods on the Hippolytos vase as
peculiarly Athenian. And such would be very appropriate for a picture
that represented an Attic tragedy, whose hero had a cult under the
shadow of the Acropolis.

Footnote 201:

vs. 1199 ff.

Footnote 202:

v. 1214; cf. also Ovid, _Met._ 15. 512, where the bull is described as
having his breast half out of the water.

Footnote 203:

Bk. ii. 4.

Footnote 204:

_Nat. Hist._ 35. 114.

Footnote 205:

Cf. _Mon. d. Inst._ vi. pl. 2; _Arch. Ztg._ 1847, pl. 6.

Footnote 206:

Körte, _I rilievi delle urne etrusche_, ii. pl. 33–36.

Footnote 207:

The urn in the _Brit. Mus._, no. 6, pl. 36, _op. cit._, has two such
figures.

Footnote 208:

So Bergk and Ribbeck.

Footnote 209:

v. 234 ff.

Footnote 210:

Pliny, 35. 73, says of the picture, _oratorum laudibus celebrata_.
Numerous mentions are in fact made of it by the orators. Cf.
especially Cic. _Orat._ 22. 74. Vid. further, Brunn’s _Griech.
Künstler_, ii. p. 82 ff.

Footnote 211:

Discovered April 30, 1825, in the house of the ‘Tragic Poet’; pub.
Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, i. no. 807 = photo, Alinari, 12027. Vid.
Helbig, _Campanische Wandgemälde_, no. 1304. Here, however, Iphigeneia
is being carried (cf. Aisch. _Agam._ _loc. cit._), while Pliny speaks
of her as _stans_ in Timanthes’ painting.

Footnote 212:

Pub. Baumeister, _op. cit._ i. 806; vid. F.-W. no. 2143.

Footnote 213:

Vid. Michaelis in _Röm. Mitth._ 1893, p. 201 ff.; cf. p. 4 above.

Footnote 214:

Brunn, _I rilievi delle urne etrusche_, i. pl. 35–47. There are
altogether twenty-six reliefs, of which twenty-one belong to Perugia.
Cf. Schlie, _Die Darstellungen des troischen Sagenkreises auf
etruskischen Aschenkisten_, p. 60 f.

Footnote 215:

_Op. cit._ p. 81 f., but cf. my remarks on p. 10 ff.

Footnote 216:

Pub. by Robert, _Homerische Becher_, p. 51.

Footnote 217:

A second in Athens, pub. Ἐφ. Ἀρχ. 1887, pl. 5; a third, on the
authority of Furtwängler (vid. Robert, _loc. cit._), in the Branthegem
coll. in Brussels.

Footnote 218:

So at least one thinks of the case. Agamemnon ought to have been
inside at this moment, shut off from the public gaze. The Greek drama,
however, had to bring outside, before the public as it were, even
those delicate scenes such as the present where the _interior_ of
Agamemnon’s tent should have been the scene.

Footnote 219:

The name occurs six times on the vase, and is always without an N.
This is strong epigraphical evidence that our spelling Klytaim_n_estra
is incorrect.

Footnote 220:

P. 113 f.

Footnote 221:

Vid. p. 179.

Footnote 222:

Cf. Aisch. _Agam._ v. 224 ff.; Eur. _Iph. T._ v. 8 and 360; _Iph. A._
v. 873, 875, 935, 1177, are hardly to be taken in the literal sense.

Footnote 223:

_Elekt._ v. 157 and schol.

Footnote 224:

Cf. Proklos in Argum. to _Kypria_.

Footnote 225:

Frag. 123, and Paus. 1. 43. 1.

Footnote 226:

Bk. iv, ch. 103, and Paus. _loc. cit._

Footnote 227:

Vid. Suidas s.v.

Footnote 228:

1456^a. 6; 1453^b. 11.

Footnote 229:

Ribbeck, _Die römische Tragödie_, p. 50.

Footnote 230:

Ribbeck thinks of Naevius.

Footnote 231:

For these last two scenes as well as the others, vid. Robert, _Die
antiken Sarkophag-Reliefs_, vol. ii. pl. 57–59, and p. 165 f. and 177
ff.

Footnote 232:

Fig. 17, from Raoul-Rochette, _Mon. inéd._ pl. 41. Heydemann, _cat.
Santangelo_, no. 24; cf. Trendelenburg in _Annali d. Inst._ 1872, p.
114.

Footnote 233:

Vid. Robert, _op. cit._ nos. 157^b, 168, 171.

Footnote 234:

A wall painting from Herculaneum, pub. _Pitture di Ercolano_, i. pl.
12; Overbeck’s _Bildwerke_, pl. 30. 9; cf. Helbig, _Campanische
Wandgemälde_, no. 1334. Another painting from Pompeii is published in
_Arch. Ztg._ 1875, pl. 13; for the same on pastes and gems cf.
Overbeck, _op. cit._ pl. 30, and Furtwängler’s _Beschreibung der
geschnittenen Steine im Antiquarium_ (Berlin), nos. 791 ff.

Footnote 235:

Fig. 18 from a Ruvo amphora in Naples. Heydemann, no. 3223. Pub. _Mon.
d. Inst._ ii. pl. 43; Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl. 30. 4. Vid. _Annali
d. Inst._ vol. ix. p. 198 ff.; _Arch. Ztg._ 1875, p. 137; Vogel,
_Scenen eur. Trag._ p. 70 ff.

Footnote 236:

Cf. v. 1463, where the poet says Iphigeneia is to be κλῃδοῦχος for the
Brauronian Artemis. In Aisch. _Supp._, also, Io is spoken of as at one
time κλῃδοῦχος ἥρας. Cf. v. 291.

Footnote 237:

Cf. the monuments in Overbeck’s _Bildwerke_, pl. 30, that represent
this scene; and the central group on the front side of the Munich
sarcophagus, _op. cit._ no. 167.

Footnote 238:

Artemis sits on an altar in fig. 21, as do Orestes and Pylades on an
Etruscan mirror; vid. Gerhard’s _Etruskische Spiegel_, ii. 239, and v.
117. Neoptolemos jumps upon the βωμός in the _Andromache_ (v. 1123) to
avoid his foes. Cf. fig. 10, p. 84.

Footnote 239:

Cf. Robert, _op. cit._ nos. 177 and 178, the Berlin and Weimar
Sarcophagi, and no. 180, a fragment in the court of the Palazzo
Mattei. Robert properly refers to the next following moment when
Orestes and Pylades are left alone with the chorus, Iphigeneia having
gone inside to bring the letter. In order to obtain just the
sarcophagi scenes we have but to allow Iphigeneia to withdraw after
the close of her speech, v. 642.

Footnote 240:

Robert, _op. cit._ pl. 57–59, and p. 165 f. and 177 ff.; _Arch. Ztg._
1875, p. 134 ff.

Footnote 241:

The two wall paintings published by Overbeck, _Bildwerke_. pl. 30,
nos. 31 and 14, and interpreted as representing this same moment, have
since been explained by Petersen, _Arch. Ztg._ 1863, p. 113 ff., as
belonging to the _Alkestis_. While the former view has been generally
given up, the latter has not by any means been everywhere accepted. It
is, at most, probable.

Footnote 242:

Fig. 19, pub. _Arch. Ztg._ 1849, pl. 12 = Overbeck, _op. cit._ pl. 30.
7 = _Mon. d. Inst._ iv. pl. 51. Vid. also under ‘Iphigeneia’ in
Baumeister, and Roscher. Cf. Vogel, _op. cit._ p. 72 ff., and _Arch.
Ztg._ 1875 p. 136.

Footnote 243:

Fig. 20, no. 420, in the cat. of the Hermitage, pub. _Mon. d. Inst._
vi. pl. 66; cf. _Annali d. Inst._ 1862, p. 116 ff., and Stephani in
_Compte Rendu_, 1863, p. 159 ff.

Footnote 244:

_Compte Rendu_, _loc. cit._

Footnote 245:

Fig. 21; pub. in the _Bullettino archeologico Napolitano_, 1862, pl.
7, and in Brunn’s _Vorlegeblätter_, pl. 13. 1. Cf. also Vogel, _op.
cit._ p. 74 ff.

Footnote 246:

P. 124.

Footnote 247:

Cf., however, Laborde’s _Vases Lamberg_, i. p. 14, also _Annali d.
Inst._ 1848, pl. L, and Overbeck’s _Bildwerke_, pl. 30. 8, for a vase
which probably shows the escape with the idol. It is not certain, but
this seems to be what is represented. The work is very ordinary.

Footnote 248:

Helbig, no. 1333, pub. in _Mon. d. Inst._ viii. pl. 22; photo,
Alinari, no. 12029. Cf. Helbig, _Untersuchungen über die Campanische
Wandmalerei_, p. 147 ff.

Footnote 249:

_Arch. Ztg._ 1875, p. 144.

Footnote 250:

_Loc. cit._

Footnote 251:

Vid. _Röm. Mitth._ 1896, p. 67.

Footnote 252:

We know of such an original, the famous painting of Timomachus. Pliny,
_Hist. Nat._ 35. 136, says, _Timomachus Byzantius Caesaris dictatoris
aetate Aiacem et Medeam pinxit_ ... TIMOMACHI AEQUE LAUDANTUR ORESTES,
IPHIGENIA IN TAURIS. Further than this we know nothing of the painter.
That he was immensely popular follows from Pliny’s statement (_loc.
cit._) that Caesar paid 80 talents for this Aiax. In regard to the
date of Timomachus we possess Pliny’s authority for _Caesaris aetate_.
Robert defends this (_Arch. Märchen_, p. 132), while others seek to
find an earlier date. Miss Sellers in _The Elder Pliny’s Chapters on
the History of Art_, Jex-Blake and Sellers, p. 160 f., argues for the
fourth century B.C. Vid. _loc. cit._ for the latest discussion of this
painter’s date, as well as for references to the literature. Further
reference may be made to Helbig, _Untersuchungen_, p. 147 ff., where
especially the influence of Timomachus on the wall paintings is dwelt
upon.

Footnote 253:

Cf. Arist. _Poet._ 1449^a. 19 and 20.

Footnote 254:

Miss Harrison, _J. H. S._ 1883, p. 248 ff., has brought together and
discussed thirteen vases connected with this myth, of which the first
twelve are bl. fig.

Footnote 255:

v. 99, Odysseus says he thinks they have dropped down on a city of
Bromios, so many are the satyrs whom he sees before the cave.

Footnote 256:

P. 23.

Footnote 257:

Pliny 35, 74. A _Cyclops dormiens_ so large that a number of satyrs
were engaged in measuring his thumb with a thyrsos. I follow Robert
(_Bild und Lied_, p. 35) and Winter (_Jahrbuch_, 1891, p. 272) in
connecting this painting with Euripides.

Footnote 258:

The painting is on a krater in the possession of Sir Francis Cook,
Richmond, England; pub. by Winter, _Jahrbuch_, 1891, pl. 6. He thinks
the work Attic, but Furtwängler (_Masterpieces_, p. 109, note 8) is
sure it is Lower Italy ware.

Footnote 259:

The three eyes are plainly visible. One huge eye alone in the centre
of the forehead belongs to later times.

Footnote 260:

Furtwängler, _loc. cit._, remarks that the publication is not exactly
correct, as fire is plainly noticeable on the wood that the youths are
contributing.

Footnote 261:

Polyphemos here is strikingly like the figure on an Etruscan urn.
Brunn, _I rilievi_, i. pl. 873. The Kyklops is in both cases stretched
out upon his left side, and is on the point of being attacked.

Footnote 262:

The poet mentions the krater, and in the next breath the skyphos,
neither of which is exactly found in the rough sketch in the painting.
Besides these, Euripides names in this play the kylix, amphora, and
pithos—a considerable vocabulary of ceramic terms.

Footnote 263:

My remark applies only to the extant monuments, for one finds that
Pausanias saw the marriage of Jason and Medeia represented on the
Kypselos Chest (5. 18. 3). This is in keeping with the Corinthian
origin of the Chest. It is hardly to be expected that such domestic
events in Medeia’s career would have found their place in any work of
art that was not made in Corinth, or at least in a place essentially
influenced by Corinthian legend.

Footnote 264:

Vid. _Arch. Ztg._ 1867, p. 58.

Footnote 265:

Benndorf und Schöne, _Die antiken Bildwerke des Lateranensischen
Museums_, p. 61 ff.; F.-W. no. 1200. The Berlin copy of this relief,
long supposed to be of Renaissance origin, has lately been proved to
be antique; vid. Kekulé von Stradonitz in _Jahrbuch_, 1897, p. 96 ff.

Footnote 266:

Cf. Baumeister’s _Denkmäler_, i. p. 142; ii. p. 875; iii. p. 1852.

Footnote 267:

Kekulé’s _Die antiken Terracotten_, ii. p. 21.

Footnote 268:

Vid. Roscher’s _Lexikon_, ii. p. 2513.

Footnote 269:

Robert in _Die antiken Sarkophag-Reliefs_, ii. p. 205–217, gives all
the literature; cf. also pl. 62–65. Vid. _Arch. Ztg._ 1866, p. 234
ff.; _Annali d. Inst._ 1869, p. 5 ff.; Urlichs’ _Würzburger Programm,
ein Medea-Sarkophag_, 1888. (This fine sarcophagus is now in the
Berlin museum.) Robert and Urlichs have, to my mind, shown
conclusively that these reliefs go back to Euripides’ _Medeia_ for
their literary source. Notwithstanding that they all date from about
the second century A.D., and could thus be based on various Roman
plays, the arrangement of the events on the reliefs bears a remarkable
similarity to the scenes in Euripides. The reliefs on the long sides
are taken up with exactly the scenes of the Greek poet. Those on the
ends are but indifferently worked out, and often do not represent any
events in the Medeia-Jason adventures.

Footnote 270:

A half-tone reproduction of the vase is shown in the _frontispiece_.
The section with the painting is given separately in fig. 23. It is
no. 810 in Jahn’s catalogue; pub. in Millin’s _Tombeaux de Canose_,
1816, pl. 7; _Arch. Ztg._ 1847, pl. 3; _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, ser.
i. pl. 12; Baumeister’s _Denkmäler_, ii. p. 903; Roscher’s _Lexikon_,
ii. p. 2510; Inghirami, _Vasi fitt._ iv. pl. 388; Engelmann,
_Bilderatlas zu Ovid_, pl. 13, 81. Discussed by Jahn, _Arch. Ztg._
1847, p. 33 ff.; _ibid._ (by Dilthey) 1875, p. 68 f.; Robert, _Bild
und Lied_, p. 37 ff., and _Hermes_, vol. 30, p. 567 note; Körte,
_Ueber Personificationen psychologischer Affecte_, p. 38 ff.; Vogel,
_Scenen eur. Trag._ p. 146 ff.; Seeliger in Roscher’s _Lexikon_, _loc.
cit._; Bethe, _Prolegomena zur Geschichte des Theaters im Altertum_,
p. 148, note 6.

Footnote 271:

The latter name is found in schol. Eur. _Med._ v. 19, and in Hyginus.
_fab._ 25.

Footnote 272:

Diod. Sic. iv. 55. 5, calls Kreusa’s brother Hippotes.

Footnote 273:

The reading Κ ... ΩΝ in Millin’s publication, followed also by Conze
in the _Vorlegeblätter_ and by Baumeister, is incorrect as Jahn (vid.
cat. no. 810, note) expressly stated, and as is plainly proved by a
glance at the original. Hence the useless conjectures that have been
made to fill up the space between the first and last letters. There is
absolutely no trace of the Κ, but there are faint remains of letters
preceding ΩΝ, and the correct reading is without question, ΚΡΕ]ΩΝ.

Footnote 274:

Cf. p. 152, and note 3.

Footnote 275:

This inscription, which is very distinct, does not appear in Conze’s
publication. All the inscriptions occurring on the palace are painted
in white. All others are incised.

Footnote 276:

This moment is shown on another vase (vid. fig. 24), and so, too, on
the sarcophagi Kreusa is always represented in the moment of falling
or springing from the κλίνη.

Footnote 277:

In spite of this, Vogel, p. 149, asks, _Warum zeigt uns der Vasenmaler
den Kreon nicht in dem Augenblicke, wo er seine Tochter von den
unheilvollen Brautgeschenken der Medeia befreien will, sondern in dem,
wo er überwältigt von dem Unglücke das Scepter seinen Händen entfallen
lässt und starr und seiner selbst nicht mehr mächtig seine Blicke auf
die herbeieilende Merope lenkt?_ i. e. why did the vase painter not
paint another scene instead of the one he did?

Footnote 278:

Cf. note 7, p. 145. On fragment no. 197, Robert, _op. cit._, the arms
of Kreon are incorrectly restored, and his hands are represented as
clasped. On all the reliefs Kreon is turned towards Kreusa and not
away, as on the vase. I refuse, however, to believe with Jahn and
others that Kreon is staring at Merope. He sees nothing and nobody.

Footnote 279:

Apollod. I. 9. 3.

Footnote 280:

Soph. _Oed. Rex_, v. 775, the wife of Πόλυβος Κορίνθιος.

Footnote 281:

Supposing the word to be a pure invention of the painter, there are
still in Euripides suggestions of the name if one were seeking such
for the figure. In v. 404, Medeia declares she ‘will not be a
laughing-stock to the race of _Sisyphos_ and Jason’s new alliances’;
and in v. 1381, γη δε τηδε Σισύφου, the former queens would be
suggested with the name Merope. It is but natural that the vase
painter took the name thus suggested by Euripides.

Footnote 282:

P. 149.

Footnote 283:

Suidas refers to a _Medeia_ by Neophron. Ennius’ _Medea_ was,
according to Cicero, _De Fin._ 1. 2. 4, a literal translation from
Euripides. The _Medea exul_ by the same poet has generally been held
to be a version of Euripides’ _Aigeus_.

Footnote 284:

_Hermes_, vol. 31, p. 567 note.

Footnote 285:

_Bild und Lied_, p. 42.

Footnote 286:

_Zeichnungen von Sandro Botticelli zu Dantes Goettlicher Komoedie nach
den Originalen im König. Kupferstichkabinet zu Berlin_, von Dr. F.
Lippmann.

Footnote 287:

In _canto_ iii, Charon is an old man; Botticelli drew him as the
devil. In the second plate to this same _canto_ the souls are swimming
out to Charon’s boat, a fact which Dante does not mention. The
illustration to _canto_ xx has only two persons identical with those
of the poet, and in _Purgatorio_ iii the souls on the shore and in the
boat are additions of the artist.

Footnote 288:

Cf. Dilthey in _Annali d. Inst._ 1876, p. 294, and pl. 35 in _Mon. d.
Inst._ x.

Footnote 289:

Vid. Klein’s _Euphronios_, p. 89, and Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, _Her.
Fur._ vol. ii, ed. 1, p. 214.

Footnote 290:

Cf. fig. 24, where the female figure on the left is none other than a
nurse.

Footnote 291:

_Bild und Lied_, p. 38.

Footnote 292:

Cf. figs. 24 and 25 and Baumeister’s _Denkmäler_, i. p. 142.

Footnote 293:

It will be observed that the writer does not share the view of Bethe,
_Prolegomena zur Geschichte des Theaters im Altertum_, p. 142 ff.,
that the _Flugmaschine_ was not in use in the Greek theatre before 425
B.C. Robert, _Hermes_, vol. 31, p. 530–577, has conclusively shown the
incorrectness of Bethe’s arguments, and not only proved the use of the
_Flugmaschine_ for the _Medeia_, 431 B.C., but also for a much earlier
date. Bethe’s remark, _Demnach ist für die erste Aufführung der Medea
im Jahre 431 ihr Erscheinen in der Höhe, also auch die Anwendung der
Flugmaschine, nicht möglich_ (p. 146), is based upon a false
conception of the resources at hand in that period of Athenian
architectural activity.

Footnote 294:

It has already been pointed out above, p. 159, that Medeia entered the
palace to slay the boys, and that they might or might not have been
alone. At any rate it was not allowable to represent them in art
without some older companion. Robert’s remark, _Bild und Lied_, p. 39,
_Den Kindern die bereits bei der Mutter angelangt sind, muss aber
jetzt noch ein anderer Begleiter zugestellt werden_, is inexplicable.
Where had the children gone to reach their mother? Was it not just the
reverse, viz. that the mother had gone to them?

Footnote 295:

iv. 54. 7.

Footnote 296:

One must remember that Diodorus gathered his excerpts together at
least 300 years after the date of our vase, during all of which time
the mythographers had been busy helping to straighten out the family
affairs that the tragedians of the fifth century had treated
imperfectly!

Footnote 297:

As a matter of fact this reference, although brought in under another
φασί than the first remark, where three sons are named, τοὺς μὲν
πρεσβυτάτους δίο διδύμους Θετταλόν τε καὶ Ἀλκιμένην, τὸν δὲ τρίτον
πολυνεώτερον τούτων Τίσανδρον, iv. 54. 1, seems to me to speak of a
common origin, and I hold both as coming from the same authority,
under whose influence our vase painter certainly never stood.

Footnote 298:

Eur. _Orest._ v. 791.

Footnote 299:

As in the _Medeia_, nothing is said to indicate how the chariot was
drawn. It is only from the monuments and later literary references
(vid. Argum. to the _Medeia_ and schol. on v. 1320) that one learns of
the dragons; or is the utterance of Jason, vs. 1297 f., ἢ πτηνὸν ἆραι
σῶμ’ ες αἰθέρος βάθος | εἰ μὴ τυράννων δώμασιν δώσειν δίκην | πέποιθ’,
an intimation of the strange escape of the sorceress? How was Lyssa’s
chariot drawn? Why not also by dragons?

Footnote 300:

Cf. fig. 26, where the figure that stands beside the dragons has been
identified as Οἶστρος or Λύσσα. That the latter is the child of night
harmonizes well with the night escape indicated by Selene and the
stars on this vase.

Footnote 301:

On a vase of Assteas, vid. p. 179 below, which shows Herakles in the
act of murdering his sons, the painter calls the personification of
Lyssa, _mania_.

Footnote 302:

Mention should be made here of the Parian inscription, which gives us
the curious information that there was a society of _hetairai_
established under the patronage of the goddess Οἰστρώ; cf. Pernice,
_Athen. Mitth._ 1893, p. 16. 2, and Maass, _ibid._ p. 25 f. There is,
of course, a wide distinction between the personification and the cult
use of οἶστρος, but it is worth while to point out that Eur. _Hipp._
vs. 1300 ff., gives the same notion that Maass suggests and supports
by a quotation from Paullus Silentiarius (_Anth. Plan._ v. 234), where
οἰστροφόρου Παφίης occurs. Artemis, speaking to Theseus of Hippolytos’
death and its cause, says, ἀλλ’ ἐς τόδ’ ἦλθον, παιδὸς ἐκδεῖξαι φρένα |
τοῦ σοῦ δικαίαν, ὁς ὑπ’ εὐκλείας θάνῃ | καὶ σῦς γυναικὸς οἶστρον, ἢ
τρόπον τινὰ | γενναιότητα, where we may suppose Euripides to have
thought of Phaidra as possessed with οἶστρος, which means τῆς ἐχθίστης
θεῶν (v. 1301), i.e. τῆς Κύπριδος (v. 1304).

Footnote 303:

Cf. Aisch. _Pers._ vs. 681–842, where the εἴδωλον of Dareios is one of
the _dramatis personae_. Also Eur. _Hek._, where the prologue is
spoken by the εἴδωλον of Polydoros.

Footnote 304:

Dilthey, _Arch._ 219, 1875, p. 71, followed also by Vogel, _Scen. eur.
Trag._ p. 151. How do these scholars account for the appearance of
Megara and her sons upon the ‘under-world’ vases where Herakles is
also represented in his last labour of capturing Kerberos? This latter
must have been finished and Herakles must have returned to the upper
world before Megara and the boys _could be thought of as in fact in
the under-world_.

Footnote 305:

_Bild und Lied_, p. 39 f.

Footnote 306:

P. 156 above.

Footnote 307:

Cp. among other places in the _Medeia_, vs. 133, 328, 405, 475 ff.,
536 ff., 550, 1330.

Footnote 308:

Cf. the Dareios vase in Naples, also found in Canosa; pub.
Baumeister’s _Denkmäler_, i. no. 449; also the costume of the judges
on the so-called ‘under-world’ vases, pub. _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_,
ser. E. 1–3.

Footnote 309:

Apoll. Rhod. 1. 122 and 341 ff.; Hyg. _fab._ 14; Diod. Sic. iv. 53. 4.

Footnote 310:

Apoll. Rhod. 1. 108 ff.; Apollod. 1. 9. 16; Hyg. _fab._ 14.

Footnote 311:

Apoll. Rhod. 1. 146 ff.; Paus., 1. 18. 1, relates that in the temple
of the Dioskouroi in Athens, known also as the Anakeion, Mikon painted
events from the Argonautic expedition.

Footnote 312:

Fig. 24. Heydemann, _cat. Mus. Santangelo_, no. 526. Pub. in
Raoul-Rochette’s _Choiseaux de Peintures_, p. 263. Discussed by Jahn,
_Arch. Ztg._ 1867, p. 59, and referred to by Vogel, _Scen. eur. Trag._
p. 151.

Footnote 313:

Fig. 25; pub. Raoul-Rochette, _Choiseaux de Peintures_, p. 277.
Described by Jahn, _Arch. Ztg._ 1867, p. 60; cf. Vogel, _op. cit._ p.
79.

Footnote 314:

Fig. 26. Heydemann, no. 3221, A. Cf. _Arch. Ztg._ 1867, p. 62 and pl.
224. 1.

Footnote 315:

The Theban Cycle was handled in the Θηβαΐς and the Οἰδιπόδεια, from
which the tragedians probably drew their material. For the subject in
the fifth century B.C. vid. Benndorfs _Heroon von Gjölbaschi_, p. 187
ff. and pl. 24. A1–A5. Kapaneus’ catastrophe in attempting to storm
the walls was often shown. Cf. _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, 1889, pl. 11,
nos. 13, 14, 16, 17. The death of Amphiaraos was another popular
story. Cf. _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, 1889, pl. 11. 8. 15. There are
many interesting monuments which represent the conference of the
chiefs before the assault. Cf. especially the famous Etruscan gem with
inscriptions naming Polyneikes, Amphiaraos, Adrastos, Tydeus, and
Parthenopaios; pub. _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, 1889, pl. 11. 5;
Baumeister, _Denkmäler_, iii. no. 1839, no. 369 in _Bilderheft_. An
Etruscan mirror, Gerhard, _Etruskische Spiegel_, ii. pl. 178, gives
Adrastos, Amphiaraos, and Tydeus.

Footnote 316:

Brit. Mus., vase cat. vol. iv. G 104. Pub. _ibid._ pl. 16. Cf. _Class.
Review_, 1894, p. 325.

Footnote 317:

The fratricide, so common on the Etruscan urns, is rare on Greek
monuments. (1) The group was on the Kypselos Chest (Paus. 5. 19, 6).
(2) Pythagoras worked the brothers in marble (vid. Overbeck,
_Schriftquellen_, no. 501). (3) One group on the Heroön from
Gjölbaschi, cf. Benndorf, _op. cit._ pl. 24. A. 3. There are thirty
urns representing the scene: vid. Körte, _I rilievi delle urne
etrusche_, ii. pl. 8–20, and 36, and supplement. p. 261 ff. Cf.
further Overbeck’s _Bildwerke_, pl. 5 and 6. An Etruscan mirror, which
shows a composition remarkably like that in the inside of the
Penthesileia kylix (Munich, no. 370, pub. Overbeck, _Bildwerke_, pl.
17. 3), and must be from a fifth century pattern, is perhaps the
oldest of the extant representations. Vid. Gerhard, _Etruskische
Spiegel_, v. pl. 95.

Footnote 318:

Brit. Mus., cat. iv. G 105_{1}; pub. _Wiener Vorlegeblätter_, 1889,
pl. 9. 13; Robert, _Homerische Becher_, p. 59; first correctly
interpreted by Murray, _Class. Rev._ 1888, p. 328.

OXFORD: HORACE HART
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. P. xx, changed “Scenen euripideisher Tragödien in griechischen
Vasengemälden” to “Scenen euripideischer Tragödien in griechischen
Vasengemälden”.
2. P. 128, changed “In her left close by her side” to “In her left hand
close by her side”.
3. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.
4. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed.
5. Footnotes were re-indexed using numbers and collected together at
the end of the last chapter.
6. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
7. Superscripts are denoted by a caret before a single superscript
character or a series of superscripted characters enclosed in
curly braces, e.g. M^r. or M^{ister}.
8. Subscripts are denoted by an underscore before a series of
subscripted characters enclosed in curly braces, e.g. H_{2}O.

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Greek Tragedy in the Light of Vase Paintings" ***

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