Laudator Temporis Acti

What punishment would suit a man who left his country and refused to guard the temples of his fathers, who abandoned the graves of his ancestors and surrendered the whole country into the hands of the enemy? The greatest and final penalty, death, though the maximum punishment allowed by law, is too small for the crimes of Leocrates.

τί γὰρ χρὴ παθεῖν τὸν ἐκλιπόντα μὲν τὴν πατρίδα, μὴ βοηθήσαντα δὲ τοῖς πατρῴοις ἱεροῖς, ἐγκαταλιπόντα δὲ τὰς τῶν προγόνων θήκας, ἅπασαν δὲ τὴν χώραν ὑποχείριον τοῖς πολεμίοις παραδόντα; τὸ μὲν γὰρ μέγιστον καὶ ἔσχατον τῶν τιμημάτων, θάνατος, ἀναγκαῖον μὲν ἐκ τῶν νόμων ἐπιτίμιον, ἔλαττον δὲ τῶν Λεωκράτους ἀδικημάτων καθέστηκε.

I believe, gentlemen, that all the greatest and most atrocious crimes are to-day included within the scope of your single verdict; for Leocrates can be shown to have committed them all. He is guilty of treason, since he left the city and surrendered it to the enemy; guilty of overthrowing the democracy, because he did not face the danger which is the price of freedom; guilty of impiety, because he has done all in his power to have the sacred precincts ravaged and the temples destroyed. He is guilty too of injuring his forbears, for he effaced their memorials and deprived them of their rites, and guilty of desertion and refusal to serve, since he did not submit his person to the leaders for enrolment.

ἡγοῦμαι δ᾿, ὦ ἄνδρες, ὑπὲρ ἁπάντων τῶν μεγίστων καὶ δεινοτάτων ἀδικημάτων μίαν ὑμᾶς ψῆφον ἐν τῇ τήμερον ἡμέρᾳ φέρειν, οἷς ἅπασιν ἔνοχον ὄντα Λεωκράτην ἔστιν ἰδεῖν, προδοσίας μὲν ὅτι τὴν πόλιν ἐγκαταλιπὼν τοῖς πολεμίοις ὑποχείριον ἐποίησε, δήμου δὲ καταλύσεως ὅτι οὐχ ὑπέμεινε τὸν ὑπὲρ τῆς ἐλευθερίας κίνδυνον, ἀσεβείας δ᾿ ὅτι τοῦ τὰ τεμένη τέμνεσθαι καὶ τοὺς νεὼς κατασκάπτεσθαι τὸ καθ᾿ ἑαυτὸν γέγονεν αἴτιος, τοκέων δὲ κακώσεως τὰ μνημεῖα αὐτῶν ἀφανίζων καὶ τῶν νομίμων ἀποστερῶν, λιποταξίου δὲ καὶ ἀστρατείας οὐ παρασχὼν τὸ σῶμα τάξαι τοῖς στρατηγοῖς.

The forms of cult provide a valuable test. By this test we can detect no sharp line of cleavage within the chthonioi themselves, whereas it throws into high relief the contrast between them and the Olympians. Here are some typical differences, which I offer with the proviso (to forestall captious criticism) that strict logic and the absolute rule have no more place here than in any other phenomena of Greek or any other religion. We are speaking, as Aristotle would say, of what happens "either always or for the most part".¹

i. Name for the act of sacrifice: θύειν for the Olympians, ἐναγίζειν for the chthonians.²

ii. Method: animal killed with throat upward for Olympians, downward for chthonians (so that blood may most easily soak into the earth).³

iii. Type of altar: for Olympians the high-built βῶμος, for the chthonians a low altar called ἐσχάρα (hearth), or else no altar at all, but the sacrifice performed into a pit or trench (βόθρος). In either case the purpose is to make the offering immediately accessible to those beneath the earth.⁴

iv. Choice of victim: (a) Colour—for Olympians white, for chthonians black. So Odysseus to Teiresias in the Odyssey. There certainly seems to have been exceptions to this, but it is what the ancients themselves say, and must have expressed at least a preference.⁵ (b) Species. The ram is the usual offering to the chthonians, also the pig, which had particular associations with sacrifices of expiation and purification, and was therefore the victim offered to Demeter in the Eleusinian mysteries.⁶ The ox which was usually offered to Olympians was absent. It may be added that as well as animal victims "bloodless offerings," e.g. of honey or [p. 222] the fruits of the earth, were commonly made to the powers of the earth.

v. Type of shrine: for Olympians the familiar classical temple, above ground and often on a height; for the chthonians a subterranean cave or adyton, which may or may not have represented a tomb.

vi. Time of day: sacrifice to the Olympians was performed in the morning sunshine, to the chthonians in the evening or at dead of night.¹

vii. We may add, on the authority of Picard,² the gesture employed in prayer: the hand raised, palm upward, to the Olympians, and lowered with the palm downward to invoke the powers of the earth.

¹ Cf. on this A.D. Nock, "The Cult of Heroes" (Harv. Theol. Rev. xxxvii (1944) 141 ff.).

² Cf. esp. Hdt. ii, 44 (referring to the unique double aspect of Herakles, as Olympian god and as hero): τῷ μὲν ὡς ἀθανάτῳ Ὀλυμπίῳ δὲ ἐπωνυμίην θύουσι, τῷ δὲ ἑτέρῳ ὡς ἥρωι ἐναγίζουσι.

³ Ch. Picard in Rev. de l'Hist. des Rel. cxiv (1936), 157.

⁴ Od. xi, 25 ff.; Ap. Rhod. iii, 1032 ff., for sacrifice ἐς βόθρον in the one case to the shades, in the other to Hekate. Archaeological evidence for sacrificial pits is plentiful. See P. Stengel, Griechischen Kultusaltertümer (Munich, 3rd ed., 1920), p. 16, and for ἐσχάραι pp. 15 ff.

⁵ Stengel, o.c., p. 151.

⁶ Cf. p. 193 above, and Aristophanes, Peace, 374:

ἐς χοιρίδιόν μοί νυν δάνεισον τρεῖς δραχμάς·
δεῖ γὰρ μυηθῆναί με πρὶν τεθνηκέναι.

[p. 222]

¹ Stengel, o.c., p. 150.

² Ch. Picard, "Le geste de la prière funèraire en Grece et in Étrurie," Rev. Hist. Rel. cxiv (1936), 137 ff.

³ Ap. Rhod. iii, 1029 ff.

Aristodemus was foul and lewd in the extreme, whence the arsehole is also called Aristodemus.

ὁ Ἀριστόδημος δὲ μιαρὸς καὶ καταπύγων ἐς ὑπερβολήν, ἀφ᾿ οὗ καὶ ὁ πρωκτὸς Ἀριστόδημος καλεῖται.

The comic poets used to call the arsehole Aristodemus and Theodorus and Timesianax, after male prostitutes.

Ἀριστόδημον οἱ κωμικοὶ τὸν πρωκτόν καὶ Θεόδωρον καὶ Τιμησιάνακτα ἔλεγον, ἀπὸ τῶν ἡταιρηκότων.

Execestus: a male prostitute, whence they also used to call arseholes by analogy Excestuses.

Ἐξήκεστος· ἡταιρηκώς. ὅθεν καὶ τοὺς πρώκτους ὁμωνύμως Ἐξηκέστους ἔλεγον.

Eupolis calls the arsehole Batalus.

Εὔπολις δὲ τὸν πρωκτὸν Βάταλον λέγει.

There are those who call the arsehole Batalus.

εἰσὶ δ᾿ οἳ Βάταλον προσηγόρευον τὸν πρωκτὸν.

The son of Zeus, gloriously victorious Heracles,
dwells here; let nothing evil come in.

ὁ τοῦ Διὸς παῖς καλλίνικος Ἡρακλῆς
ἐνθάδε κατοικεῖ· μηδὲν εἰσίτω κακόν.

You ask your little boy what he would like to be when he grows up. To your consternation he answers, 'A man!' You hide your face: you cannot tell him how impossible it is now to be that. Poor little chap! He is born centuries too late.

Do you remember with what delight you used to wander in the depth of the country? Sometimes, laying yourself down on a bed of turf, you would listen to the water of a brook murmuring over the stones; at another time, seated on some open hill, you would let your eye wander freely over the plain stretched at your feet; at others, again, you enjoyed a sweet slumber beneath the shady trees of some valley in the noontide heat, and revelled in the delicious silence. Never idle, in your soul you would ponder over some high meditation, with only the Muses for your friends—you were never less alone than when in their company, and then, like the old man in Virgil who reckoned himself

"As rich as kings, when, at the close of day,
Home to his cot he took his happy way,
And on his table spread his simple fare,
Fresh from the meadow without cost or care,"

you would come at sunset back to your humble roof; and, contented with your good things, did you not find yourself the richest and happiest of mortal men?

meministi quanta cum voluptate reposto quondam rure vagabaris, et nunc herbosis pratorum thoris accubans murmur aque luctantis hauriebas, nunc apertis collibus residens subiectam planitiem libero metiebaris intuitu; nunc in aprice vallis umbraculo dulci sopore correptus optato silentio fruebaris; nunquam otiosus, mente aliquid altum semper agitans, et, solis Musis comitantibus, nusquam solus? Denique virgiliani senis exemplo qui

regum equabat opes animo, seraque revertens
nocte domum, dapibus mensas onerabat inemptis

sub occasum solis angustam domum repetens et tuis contentus bonis, nunquid non tibi omnium mortalium longe ditissimus et plane felicissimus videbaris?

Who shall find words to utter my daily disgust for this place where I live, in the most melancholy and disorderly of towns, the narrow and obscure sink of the earth, where all the filth of the world is collected? What brush could depict the nauseating spectacle —streets full of disease and infection, dirty pigs and snarling dogs, the noise of cart-wheels grinding against the walls, four-horse chariots coming dashing down at every cross-road, the motley crew of people, swarms of vile beggars side by side with the flaunting luxury of the wealthy, the one crushed down in sordid misery, the others debauched with pleasure and riot; and then the medley of characters—such diverse rôles in life—the endless clamour of their confused voices, as the passers-by jostle one another in the streets? All this destroys the soul accustomed to any better kind of life, banishes all serenity from a generous heart, and quite upsets the student's habit of mind.

quis vite mee tedia et quotidianum fastidium sufficienter exprimat, mestissimam turbulentissimamque urbem terrarum omnium, angustissimam atque ultimam sentinam et totius orbis sordibus exundantem? quis verbis equet que passim nauseam concitant: graveolentes semitas, permixtas rabidis canibus obscenas sues, et rotarum muros quatientium stridorem aut transversas obliquis itineribus quadrigas; tam diversas hominum species, tot horrenda mendicantium spectacula, tot divitum furores: illos mestitia defixos, hos gaudio lasciviaque fluitantes; tam denique discordantes animos, artesque tam varias, tantum confusis vocibus clamorem, et populi inter se arietantis incursum? que omnia et sensus melioribus assuetos conficiunt et generosis animis eripiunt quietem et studia bonarum a contium interpellant.

• A Town and a Country Life Compared Together
• Tired of the Town
• Country Comforts and Town Grievances
• No Relish for the Country
• Life in the Country
• Anti-Georgic
• Kick a Tree for Me
• Away from the Roar and the Rattle
• I Don't Like It
• They Call It Enjoyment
• Rome versus Bilbilis
• Aversion from Solitude and Rural Scenes
• The City versus the Country
• Country Mouse and City Mouse

Behold him naked and unformed, born in wailings and tears, comforted with a few drops of milk, trembling and crawling, needing the hand of another, fed and clothed from the beasts of the field, his body feeble, his spirit restless, subject to all kinds of sickness, the prey of passions innumerable, devoid of reason, joyful to-day, to-morrow sorrowful, in both full of agitation, incapable of mastering himself, unable to restrain his appetite, ignorant of what things are useful to him and in what proportion, knowing not how to control himself in meat or drink, forced with great labour to gain the food that other creatures find ready at their need, made dull with sleep, swollen with food, stupefied with drink, emaciated with watching, famished with hunger, parched with thirst, at once greedy and timid, disgusted with what he has, longing after what he has lost, discontented alike with past, present and future, full of pride in his misery, and aware of his frailty, baser than the vilest worms, his life is short, his days uncertain, his fate inevitable, since Death in a thousand forms is waiting for him at last.

aspice nudum et informem inter vagitus et lacrimas nascentem, exiguo lacte solandum, tremulum atque reptantem, opis indigum aliene, quem muta pascunt animalia et vestiunt; caduci corporis, animi inquieti, morbis obsessum variis, subiectum passionibus innumeris, consilii inopem, alterna letitia et tristitia fluctuantem, impotentem arbitrii, appetitus cohibere nescium; quid quantumve sibi expediat, quis cibo potuique modus ignorantem; cui alimenta corporis, ceteris animalibus in aperto posita, multo labore conquerenda sunt; quem somnus inflat, cibus distendit, potus precipitat, vigilie extenuant, fames contrahit, sitis arefacit; avidum timidumque, fastidientem possessa, perdita deplorantem et presentibus simul et preteritis et futuris anxium; superbientem inter miserias suas et fragilitatis sibi conscium; vilissimis vermibus imparem, vite brevis, etatis ambigue, fati inevitabilis, ac mille generibus mortis expositum.

Why do we go on talking? It is a serious question, one on which the happiness of thousands depends. For there is no more wearing social demand than that of compulsory conversation. All day long we must either talk, or—dread alternative—listen. Now, that were very well if we had something to say, or our fellow-sufferer something to tell, or, best of all, if either of us possessed the gift of clothing the old commonplaces with charm. But men with that great gift are not to be met with in every railway-carriage, or at every dinner. The man we actually meet is one whose joke, though we have signalled it a mile off, we are powerless to stop, whose opinions come out with a whirr as of clockwork. Besides, it always happens in life that the man—or woman—with whom we would like to talk is at the next table. Those who really have something to say to each other so seldom have a chance of saying it.

Happy monks of La Trappe! One has heard the foolish chattering world take pity upon you. An hour of talk to a year of silence! O heavenly proportion!

Or, if we must talk, let it be in Latin, or in the 'Volapük' of myriad-meaning music; and let no man joke save in Greek—that all may laugh. But, best of all, let us leave off talking altogether, and listen to the morning stars.

Unto the pure all things are pure.

To the Puritan all things are impure, as somebody says.

ἔσχατ᾽ ἐσχάτων κακά

• King of Kings, and Lord of Lords
• King of Kings Again

Good God! how many dung-botes full of fruitles Volumnes doe they yearely foyst vpon his Maiesties subiectes, by lying Titles, insinuations, and disparaging of more profitable Books! how many hundred reames of foolish prophane and sensles Ballads do they quarterly disperse abroade? And howe many thousande poundes doe they yearely picke out of the purses of ignorant people, who refer the Choyce of their books to the discreations and honesties of these men!

Labels: typographical and other errors

Labels: lexicography

With slight exaggeration, his motto might have been this: The text, the whole text and nothing but the text, so help me God!

How comes it, Maecenas, that no man living is content with the lot which either his choice has given him, or chance has thrown in his way, but each has praise for those who follow other paths? "O happy traders!" cries the soldier, as he feels the weight of years, his frame now shattered with hard service. On the other hand, when southern gales toss the ship, the trader cries: "A soldier's life is better. Do you ask why? There is the battle clash, and in a moment of time comes speedy death or joyous victory." One learned in law and statutes has praise for the farmer, when towards cockcrow a client comes knocking at his door. The man yonder, who has given surety and is dragged into town from the country, cries that they only are happy who live in town. The other instances of this kind—so many are they—could tire out the chatterbox Fabius. To be brief with you, hear the conclusion to which I am coming. If some god were to say: "Here I am! I will grant your prayers forthwith. You, who were but now a soldier, shall be a trader; you, but now a lawyer, shall be a farmer. Change parts; away with you—and with you! Well! Why standing still?" They would refuse. And yet 'tis in their power to be happy. What reason is there why Jove should not, quite properly, puff out both cheeks at them in anger, and say that never again will he be so easy-going as to lend ear to their prayers?

Qui fit, Maecenas, ut nemo, quam sibi sortem
seu ratio dederit seu fors obiecerit, illa
contentus vivat, laudet diversa sequentis?
"o fortunati mercatores!" gravis annis
miles ait, multo iam fractus membra labore.        5
contra mercator, navem iactantibus Austris,
"militia est potior. quid enim? concurritur: horae
momento cita mors venit aut victoria laeta."
agricolam laudat iuris legumque peritus,
sub galli cantum consultor ubi ostia pulsat.        10
ille, datis vadibus qui rure extractus in urbem est,
solos felices viventis clamat in urbe.
cetera de genere hoc, adeo sunt multa, loquacem
delassare valent Fabium. ne te morer, audi
quo rem deducam. si quis deus "en ego" dicat,        15
"iam faciam, quod voltis: eris tu, qui modo miles,
mercator; tu, consultus modo, rusticus; hinc vos,
vos hinc mutatis discedite partibus: eia!
quid statis?"—nolint. atqui licet esse beatis.
quid causae est, merito quin illis luppiter ambas        20
iratus buccas inflet neque se fore posthac
tam facilem dicat, votis ut praebeat aurem?

One sees the farmer voicing his envy of city-dwellers, for the elegant and luxurious lives they lead; but at the same time one also sees habitués of the Assembly and the courts, even the most distinguished among them, bemoaning their lot and longing to live with a hoe and a little plot of land. One hears the soldier's envy for the man of peace, and the admiration of the man of peace for soldiers. If one of the gods were to strip each of these men of his present life and aspect and reclothe him in those of his neighbour, like actors In a play, then once again these same people will be found longing for their previous lives and bemoaning the present. So utterly malcontent a creature is man, so querulous and so terribly peevish, with no love at all for what is his own!

καὶ ἴδοις ἂν τὸν μὲν γεωργικὸν μακαρίζοντα τοὺς ἀστικούς, ὡς συνόντας βίῳ χαρίεντι καὶ ἀνθηρῷ· τοὺς δὲ ἀπὸ τῶν ἐκκλησιῶν καὶ τῶν δικαστηρίων, καὶ τοὺς πάνυ ἐν αὐτοῖς εὐδοκίμους, ὀδυρομένους τὰ αὑτῶν, καὶ εὐχομένους ἐπὶ σκαπάνῃ βιῶναι καὶ γηδίῳ σμικρῷ. ἀκούσῃ δὲ τοῦ μὲν στρατιωτικοῦ τὸν εἰρηνικὸν εὐδαιμονίζοντος, τοῦ δὲ ἐν εἰρήνῃ τὸν στρατιωτικὸν τεθηπότος. καὶ τὶς θεῶν, ὥσπερ ἐν δράματι ὑποκριτάς, ἀποδύσας ἕκαστον τοῦ παρόντος βίου καὶ σχήματος μεταμφιέσει τὰ τοῦ πλησίον· αὖθις αὖ οἱ αὐτοὶ ἐκεῖνοι ποθήσουσι μὲν τὰ πρότερα, ὀδυροῦνται δὲ τὰ παρόντα. οὕτω δυσάρεστόν τι ἐστὶν ὁ ἄνθρωπος κομιδῇ, καὶ φιλαίτιον, καὶ δεινῶς δύσκολον· καὶ οὐδὲν τὰ αὑτοῦ ἀσπάζεται.

When we live on land, we seek the sea; conversely, when sailing, we look around for fields of grain. The seaman thinks that the farmer is lucky, and the man at the plow has the opposite view: he believes that it is the sailor who is happy.

οἰκοῦντες γῆν ζητοῦμεν θάλατταν, καὶ πλέοντες πάλιν περισκοποῦμεν τὰ λήια. ὁ πλωτὴρ μακαρίζει γηπόνον· καὶ τὸν ναυτίλον ἀρότης ἡγεῖται πάλιν εὐδαίμονα.

Commanders and kings deem the private citizen happy, but the private citizen yearns for kingship. The man active in politics deems the artisan happy, as free from danger, but the artisan deems the politician happy, as having power over all.

ἡγεμόνες καὶ βασιλέες μακαρίζουσι τὸν ἰδιώτην, ὁ δὲ ἰδιώτης ὀρέγεται βασιλείης. ὁ πολιτευόμενος τὸν χειροτεχνεῦντα ὡς ἀκίνδυνον, ὁ δὲ χειροτέχνης ἐκεῖνον ὡς εὐτονεῦντα κατὰ πάντων.

Even in his youth he showed no inclination for the fireside and indoor life, the warm bower or pillows stuffed with down.

Ungr læiddiz elldvelli    oc inni sitja,
varma dyngju    eða vattu dúnsfulla.

For all the duties of this office were performed by him with skill and care, and he laid aside all other concerns when he was engaged in these, omitting nothing and adding nothing new, but ever contending even with his colleagues about the small details of ceremony, and explaining to them that, although the Deity was held to be good-natured and slow to censure acts of negligence, still, for the city at least it was a grievous thing to overlook and condone them; for no man begins at once with a great deed of lawlessness to disturb the civil polity, but those who remit their strictness in small matters break down also the guard that has been set over greater matters.

Ye shall not add unto the word which I command you, neither shall ye diminish ought from it, that ye may keep the commandments of the LORD your God which I command you.

He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much: and he that is unjust in the least is unjust also in much.

Roman religion placed a great deal of emphasis on the most meticulous repetition of the correct formulae; supposedly, the slightest error in performance, even a single wrong word, led to the repetition of the whole ritual.

And it is customary for the Romans to renew sacrifices and processions and spectacles, not only for such a reason as the above, but also for trivial reasons. For instance, if one of the horses drawing the sacred chariots called Tensae gives out; or again, if the charioteer takes hold of the reins with his left hand, they decree that the procession be renewed. And in later ages, a single sacrifice has been performed thirty times, because again and again some failure or offence was thought to occur. Such is the reverent care of the Romans in religious matters.

Friend, that was not well-spoken; you seem like one who is reckless.
So it is that the gods do not bestow graces in all ways
on men, neither in stature nor yet in brains or eloquence;
for there is a certain kind of man, less noted for beauty,
but the god puts comeliness on his words, and they who look toward him
are filled with joy at the sight, and he speaks to them without faltering
in winning modesty, and shines among those who are gathered,
and people look on him as on a god when he walks in the city.
Another again in his appearance is like the immortals,
but upon his words there is not grace distilled, as in your case
the appearance is conspicuous, and not a god even
would make it otherwise, and yet the mind there is worthless.

ξεῖν᾽, οὐ καλὸν ἔειπες· ἀτασθάλῳ ἀνδρὶ ἔοικας.
οὕτως οὐ πάντεσσι θεοὶ χαρίεντα διδοῦσιν
ἀνδράσιν, οὔτε φυὴν οὔτ᾽ ἂρ φρένας οὔτ᾽ ἀγορητύν.
ἄλλος μὲν γάρ τ᾽ εἶδος ἀκιδνότερος πέλει ἀνήρ,
ἀλλὰ θεὸς μορφὴν ἔπεσι στέφει, οἱ δέ τ᾽ ἐς αὐτὸν        170
τερπόμενοι λεύσσουσιν· ὁ δ᾽ ἀσφαλέως ἀγορεύει
αἰδοῖ μειλιχίῃ, μετὰ δὲ πρέπει ἀγρομένοισιν,
ἐρχόμενον δ᾽ ἀνὰ ἄστυ θεὸν ὣς εἰσορόωσιν.
ἄλλος δ᾽ αὖ εἶδος μὲν ἀλίγκιος ἀθανάτοισιν,
ἀλλ᾽ οὔ οἱ χάρις ἀμφιπεριστέφεται ἐπέεσσιν,        175
ὡς καὶ σοὶ εἶδος μὲν ἀριπρεπές, οὐδέ κεν ἄλλως
οὐδὲ θεὸς τεύξειε, νόον δ᾽ ἀποφώλιός ἐσσι.

167 πάντεσσι codd.: πάντ' ἶσα Stanford

• Both ... And
• Either ... Or
• Triple Correlative Conjunctions in Aristophanes
• More Triple Correlative Conjunctions
• Three Types of Blindness
• Triple Correlative Conjunctions in Alcman
• Mutability

These are questions that for the time being we can only ask. The answers must await further excavations. In the meantime, however, we can put forward theories. It would be wrong to baulk at the word 'theory'. Theories often guide our searches, which would otherwise of necessity be blind. In the sixth century bc the Greek thinker Heraclitus pointed the way for the whole of European science when he formulated one of his cryptic aphorisms: 'He who does not expect will not find out the unexpected, for it is trackless and unexplored.'⁵⁴

54. The Art and Thought of Heraclitus, an edition of the fragments with translation and commentary by Charles H. Kahn (Cambridge, 1979), Fragment VII, 31.

[Zeus ... wet the ea]rth, that she become heavy with fruit and flower with ears of corn. This I, Metreodoros, beg of you, Zeus son of Kronos, as I perform delightful sacrifice on your altars.

[.................................................................βρέχε γαῖ]αν,
    καρπῷ [ὅπ]ως βρί[θῃ καὶ ἐν]ὶ σταχύεσσι τεθήλῃ.
τ[αῦτ]ά [σε] Μητρεόδωρος ἐγὼ λίτομαι, Κρονίδα Ζεῦ,
    ἀμφὶ τεοῖς βωμοῖσιν ἐπήρρατα θύματα ῥέζων.

Demokydes and Telestodike having made a vow in common
Erected this offering to virgin Artemis
On her sacred ground, the daughter of aegis-bearing Zeus.
To their offspring and livelihood give increase in safety.

Δημοκύδης τόδ' ἄγαλμα Τελεστοδίκη τ' ἀπο κοινῶν
    εὐχσάμενοι στῆσαν παρθένῳ Ἀρτέμιδι
σεμνῷ ἐνὶ ζαπέδῳ κο(ύ)ρῃ Διὸς αἰγιόχοιο.
    τῶν γενεὴν βίοτόν τ' αὖχσ' ἐν ἀπημοσύνῃ.

Before I was bent-backed, I was eloquent of speech, my wonderful deeds were admired; the men of Argoed always supported me.

Before I was bent-backed, I was bold; I was welcomed in the drinking-hall of Powys, the paradise of Wales.

Before I was bent-backed, I was handsome, my spear was in the van, it drew first blood — I am crooked, I am sad, I am wretched.

Wooden staff, it is Autumn, the bracken is red, the stubble is yellow; I have given up what I love.

Wooden staff, it is Winter, men are talkative over the drink; no one visits my bedside.

Wooden staff, it is Spring, the cuckoos are brown, there is light at the evening meal; no girl loves me.

Wooden staff, it is early Summer, the furrow is red, the young corn is curly; it grieves me to look at your crook.

Wooden staff, knotty stick, support the yearning old man, Llywarch, the perpetual babbler...

Boisterous is the wind, white is the hue of the edge of the wood; the stag is emboldened, the hill is bleak; feeble is the old one, slowly he moves.

This leaf, the wind drives it, alas for its fate! It is old — this year it was born.

What I have loved from boyhood I now hate — a girl, a stranger, and a grey horse; indeed I am not fit for them.

The four things I have most hated ever have met together in one place; coughing and old age, sickness and sorrow.

I am old, I am lonely, I am shapeless and cold after my honoured couch; I am wretched, I am bent in three.

I am bent in three and old, I am peevish and giddy, I am silly, I am cantankerous; those who loved me love me not.

Girls do not love me, no one visits me, I cannot move about; ah, Death, why does it not come for me!

Neither sleep nor joy come to me after the slaying of Llawr and Gwen; I am an irritable carcass, I am old.

A wretched fate was fated for Llywarch ever since the night he was born — long toil without relief from weariness.

• Sans Teeth, Sans Eyes, Sans Taste, Sans Everything (Maximianus, Elegies 1.119-156)
• Ronsard, Odes IV.13
• Old Age (William Butler Yeats, "The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner")
• An Old Man (C.P. Cavafy, "An Old Man")
• Methuselah (Brian Sewell)

As deer or heifers in spring time,
when sated with feeding, bound about a meadow,
so they, holding up the folds of their lovely garments,
darted down the hollow path, and their flowing hair
like a crocus flower streamed about their shoulders.

αἳ δ᾿ ὥς τ᾿ ἠ᾿ ἔλαφοι ἢ πόρτιες εἴαρος ὥρῃ
ἅλλοντ᾿ ἂν λειμῶνα κορεσσάμεναι φρένα φορβῆς,
ὣς αἳ ἐπισχόμεναι ἑανῶν πτύχας ἱμεροέντων
ἤϊξαν κοίλην κατ᾿ ἀμαξιτόν, ἀμφὶ δὲ χαῖται
ὤμοις ἀΐσσοντο κροκηΐῳ ἄνθει ὁμοῖαι.

                                            The winds bared her limbs,
the opposing breezes set her garments a-flutter as she ran,
and a light air flung her locks streaming behind her.

                               nudabant corpora venti,
obviaque adversas vibrabant flamina vestes,
et levis inpulsos retro dabat aura capillos.

It is this direct borrowing from the poet's own experience and from his own surrounding material world that I am terming Fiction. It is this which makes his re-creation of the heroic past seem so immediately present and so vivid. Indeed, since it is fiction which imparts verisimilitude to his scenes, we may say without fear of paradox that the more real they seem the more fictional they are. We may even make of this a theorem to assert that the more an oral poet seems to know about a distant event the less he really knows about it and the more certainly he is inventing. The Greek historian Ephoros understood and formulated this principle very satisfactorily when he declared,

In the case of contemporary happenings we think those witnesses the most reliable who give the greatest detail, whereas in the case of events long ago we hold that those who thus go into detail are the least to be believed, since we consider it highly improbable that the actions and words of men should be remembered at such length.

Religions strike so deeply into the inmost fibres of the human consciousness, that a scientific explanation of them becomes, from a distance, almost impossible. No efforts of the most subtle criticism can correct the false position in which we find ourselves placed with regard to these primitive works. Full of life, of feeling, of truth for the people who have animated them with their breath, they are but dead letters, sealed hieroglyphics to us; created by the simultaneous effort of all the faculties acting in perfect harmony, they are for us but objects of curious analysis. To construct the history of a religion, one need not believe it now, but one must needs have believed it once. We rightly comprehend no worship save that which has stirred in us the first impulse towards the ideal. Who can be just to Catholicism if he has not been cradled in that wondrous legend—if, in the music of its hymns, the ceilings of its temples, the symbols of its devotion, he does not revive the first sensation of his religious life? The most essential condition of a fair appreciation of ancient religion will for ever therefore be missing with us, for one must have lived in the bosom of those religions, or at least be able to reproduce the sentiment they convey, with a depth that the most privileged historical genius can scarcely attain. With all our efforts, we shall never so frankly renounce our modern ideas as to find the tissue of fables which is commonly offered as the belief of Greece and Rome, anything but an absurdity unworthy the attention of a serious man. For persons unfamiliar with historical science, it is an endless subject of astonishment to see men who are presented to them as masters of the human mind, adoring gods, drunken and adulterous, and admitting extravagant stories, and scandalous adventures among their religious dogmas. The simplest thinks he has a right to shrug his shoulders at such prodigious infatuation. We must, however, start from this principle, that the human mind is never absurd on purpose, and that whenever the spontaneous creations of the mind appear to us senseless, it is because we do not understand them.

Les religions tiennent si profondément aux fibres intimes de la conscience humaine, que l'interprétation scientifique en devient à distance presque impossible. Les efforts de la critique la plus subtile ne sauraient redresser la position fausse où nous nous trouvons vis-àvis de ces œuvres primitives. Pleines de vie, de sens, de vérité pour les peuples qui les ont animées de leur souffle, elles ne sont plus à nos yeux que des lettres mortes, des hiéroglyphes scellés; créées par l'effort simultané de toutes les facultés agissant dans la plus parfaite harmonie, elles ne sont plus pour nous qu'un objet de curieuse analyse. Pour faire l'histoire d'une religion, il faut ne plus y croire, mais il faut y avoir cru : on ne comprend bien que le culte qui a provoqué en nous le premier élan vers l'idéal. Qui peut être juste envers le catholicisme s'il n'a été bercé de cette légende admirable, si dans les accents de ses hymnes, dans les voûtes de ses temples, dans les symboles de son culte, il ne retrouve les premières sensations de sa vie religieuse? La condition la plus essentielle pour bien apprécier les religions de l'antiquité nous manquera donc à jamais; car il faudrait avoir vécu dans le sein de ces religions, ou du moins en faire renaître en soi le sentiment avec une profondeur dont le génie historique le plus privilégié serait à peine capable. Quelque effort que nous fassions, nous ne renoncerons jamais assez franchement à toutes nos idées modernes pour ne pas trouver absurde et indigne d'occuper un homme sérieux l'ensemble des fables que l'on présente d'ordinaire comme la croyance de la Grèce et de Rome. C'est pour les personnes peu versées dans les sciences historiques un éternel sujet d'étonnement de voir les peuples qu'on leur présente comme les maîtres de l'esprit humain adorer des dieux ivrognes et adultères, et admettre parmi leurs dogmes religieux des récits extravagants, de scandaleuses aventures. Le plus simple se croit en droit de hausser les épaules sur un aussi prodigieux aveuglement. Il faudrait cependant partir de ce principe, que l'esprit humain n'est jamais absurde à plaisir, et que toutes les fois que les œuvres spontanées de la conscience nous apparaissent comme dénuées de raison, c'est qu'on ne sait pas les comprendre.

It may be boyish and mischievous; but I acknowledge I have sometimes felt a pleasure in irritating, by the cast of a pebble, those who stretch forward to the full extent of the chain their open and frothy mouths against me.

In our land people so shudder at the winter that they cannot bring themselves even to put their heads out of their chambers for a moment. Indeed, we have been overwhelmed with such a mass of snow, that for two months now we have been lurking in our burrows, buried with our very houses.

οἵ γε παρ᾿ ἡμῖν οὕτω κατέπτηξαν τὸν χειμῶνα, ὡς μηδὲ τὸ μικρότατον προκύπτειν τῶν δωματίων ἀνέχεσθαι. καὶ γὰρ τοσούτῳ πλήθει χιόνων κατενίφημεν, ὡς αὐτοῖς οἴκοις καταχωσθέντας δύο μῆνας ἤδη ταῖς καταδύσεσιν ἐμφωλεύειν.

"I dare say he hasn't been very honest. When men make so much money, I don't know how they can have been honest."

• Making Money
• Mma Potokwane and Saint Jerome

He liked little bits of learning, the easy outsides and tags of classical acquirements, which come so easily within the scope of the memory when a man has passed some ten years between a public school and a university. But though he did love to chew the cud of these morsels of Attic grass which he had cropped, certainly without any great or sustained effort, he had no desire to be ostentatious in doing so, or to show off more than he knew. Indeed, now that he was away from his college friends, he was rather ashamed of himself than otherwise when scraps of quotations would break forth from him in his own despite.

Next in criminality to him who violates the laws of his country, is he who violates the language.

Lord Bacchos has wept tears, that he may wipe away man's tears!

Βάκχος ἄναξ δάκρυσε, βροτῶν ἵνα δάκρυα λύσῃ.

[A]t least one line in the Dionysiaca, from book 12, could never have been written in a Greek pagan poem before the Christian era: "Bacchus our lord shed tears, so that he might bring an end to the tears of mortals." Pagan gods had certainly not traditionally taken upon themselves the tribulations of mortals.

Simple? Listen: nothing is simple to the Anxious Pedant. The restaurateur Prue Leith once watched a wretched cookery-school pupil (male, of course) deconstruct the following first line of a recipe: "Separate the eggs." For a thoughtful while he pondered the two eggs placed in front of him, before carefully moving one a few inches to his left and the other a few inches to his right. Satisfied, he went on to the second line of instruction. I feel for this bonehead.

They did not recognize her, for gods are hard for mortals to see.

οὐδ᾿ ἔγνον· χαλεποὶ δὲ θεοὶ θνητοῖσιν ὁρᾶσθαι.

A man who disputes, resists, speaks of himself, — a man who maintains his opinion and his prerogative, who puts others ill at ease, who apostrophizes them to their face, — such a man is disagreeable to us.

Un homme qui dispute, résiste, parle de lui-même, un homme qui maintient son opinion et sa prérogative, qui fait de la peine aux autres, qui les apostrophe en face, un tel homme nous est antipathique.

Paul is not Jesus. How far removed are we from thee, dear Master! Where is thy mildness, thy poetry? Thou, to whom a flower did bring pleasure and ecstasy, dost thou recognize as thy disciples these wranglers, these men, furious over their prerogatives, and desiring that everything should be held of them? They are men: thou wast a God. Where would we be, wert thou only known to us through the harsh letters of him calling himself thy apostle? Happily, the remembrances of Galilee still live in a few faithful memories.

Paul n'est pas Jésus. Que nous sommes loin de toi, cher maître! Où est ta douceur, ta poésie? Toi qu'une fleur enchantait, et mettait dans l'extase, reconnais-tu bien pour tes disciples ces disputeurs, ces hommes acharnés sur leur prérogative, qui veulent que tout relève d'eux seuls? Ils sont des hommes, tu fus un dieu. Où serions-nous, si tu ne nous étais connu que par les rudes lettres de celui qui s'appelle ton apôtre? Heureusement, les parfums de Galilée vivent encore dans quelques mémoires fidèles.

Among these trivial, brilliant, superficial inhabitants of the borders of the Mediterranean, factions, parties, and divisions constitute a social necessity; without them, life appears tiresome. To procure themselves satisfaction of hating and loving, of being excited, jealous, and triumphant in turn, they often oppose each other in the most trivial things. The object of dissension is insignificant. It is the dissension which they wish, and which they seek for itself alone.

Chez ces populations légères, brillantes, superficielles des bords de la Méditerranée, les factions, les partis, les divisions sont un besoin social. La vie sans cela paraît ennuyeuse. Pour se procurer la satisfaction de haïr et d'aimer, d'être excité, jaloux, triomphant à son heure, on se bute souvent sur les choses les plus puériles. L'objet de la division est insignifiant; c'est la division qu'on veut et qu'on cherche pour elle-même.

Parker. We must lay gentle constructions and liberal interpretations on the Scriptures.

Marvel. Then let us never open them. If they are true, we should receive them as they are; if they are false, we should reject them totally. We cannot pick and choose: we cannot say to the Omniscient, "We think you right here; we think you wrong there; however, we will meet you halfway, and talk it over with you."

You are a stranger, poor man, in a strange land; bring yourself to loathe what the city is accustomed to dislike and to respect what it holds dear!

τόλμα ξεῖνος ἐπὶ ξένας,
ὦ τλάμων, ὅ τι καὶ πόλις
τέτροφεν ἄφιλον ἀποστυγεῖν
καὶ τὸ φίλον σέβεσθαι.

Father, we should share the concerns of the citizens, giving way and obeying when we must.

ὦ πάτερ, ἀστοῖς ἴσα χρὴ μελετᾶν,
εἴκοντας ἃ δεῖ κἀκούοντας.

For we have come as strangers, and must learn from the citizens and do as they tell us.

                                μανθάνειν γὰρ ἥκομεν
ξένοι πρὸς ἀστῶν, ἃν δ᾿ ἀκούσωμεν τελεῖν.

In Aristophanes we have a sarcastic caricature of what could happen in the torch-race. In the Frogs Aeschylus is represented in the Other World as accusing Euripides of being responsible for producing a generation of Athenians of whom 'no one is able to carry a torch any longer through lack of athletic training.' Dionysus supports this charge with a reminiscence: 'No indeed, by Jove, and at the Panathenaia I split myself laughing when a slow fellow was running, doubled up, white and flabby, left behind and in a terrible state. Then the men from Kerameikos [the workmen's quarter through which the course went] in the gates were butting him on the belly and ribs and flanks and buttocks. When he was beaten on the road he gave a fart, blew out his torch and fled.' The episode is perhaps not all mischievous fantasy and is certainly a corrective to any romantic and sentimental notion of classical Greeks who were all perfect athletes.<sup>30

30</sup> Ar. Ra. 1089 ff.

Not only was feasting an appropriate act of worship, but even athletics and play-acting were proper institutions for holy days. The pious psalmist, sure in his knowledge of the nature of Jehovah, might assert: 'He hath no pleasure in the strength of an horse; neither delighteth he in any man's legs.' But the Athenian when he took part in chariot-racing or running at the Panathenaic games believed that Athena was honoured by these exertions.

Disregard of the movements and sentiments developing around them was a primary folly. They were deaf to disaffection, blind to the alternative ideas it gave rise to, blandly impervious to challenge, unconcerned by the dismay at their misconduct and the rising wrath at their misgovernment, fixed in refusal to change, almost stupidly stubborn in maintaining a corrupt existing system.

The religion of Christ is peace and goodwill. The religion of Christendom is war and ill-will.

All the rogues that ever lived have brought little misery upon the world, in comparison with those who had too much zeal.

A dictionary without quotations is a skeleton.

Un dictionnaire sans citations est un squelette.

The enemy has no definite name, though in a certain degree we all know him. He who puts always the body before the spirit, the dead before the living, the ἀναγκαῖον before the καλὸν; who makes things only in order to sell them; who has forgotten that there is such a thing as truth, and measures the world by advertisement or by money; who daily defiles the beauty that surrounds him and makes vulgar the tragedy; whose innermost religion is the worship of the lie in his soul. The Philistine, the vulgarian, the great sophist, the passer of base coin for true, he is all about us and, worse, he has his outposts inside us, persecuting our peace, spoiling our sight, confusing our values, making a man's self seem greater than the race and the present thing more important than the eternal. From him and his influence we find our escape by means of the grammata into that calm world of theirs, where stridency and clamour are forgotten in the ancient stillness, where the strong iron is long since rusted, and the rocks of granite broken into dust, but the great things of the human spirit still shine like stars pointing man's way onward to the great triumph or the great tragedy; and even the little things, the beloved and tender and funny and familiar things, beckon across gulfs of death and change with a magic poignancy, the old things that our dead leaders and forefathers loved, viva adhuc et desiderio pulcriora.<sup>1

1</sup> "Living still and more beautiful because of our longing."

However the Devil revealed the gate of Hell to Brénainn then. And Brénainn beheld that rough murky prison, full of stench, full of flame, full of filth, full of encampments of venomous demons, full of the weeping and shrieking and injury and pitiful cries and great wailings and lamentations and beating together of hands, of the tribes of sinners; and a dismal sorrowful life in kernels of torture, in prisons of fire, in streams of waves of everlasting fire, in a cup of eternal sorrow, in black dark sloughs, in chairs of mighty flame, in profusion of sorrow and death and torment and bonds and irresistible heavy combat, with the terrible yelling of the venomous demons; in the eternally dark, eternally cold, eternally stinking, eternally foul, eternally gloomy, eternally rough, eternally long, eternally melancholy, deadly, baneful, severe, fiery-haired dwelling place of the most hideous depths of Hell, on the slopes of mountains of everlasting fire, without stay, without rest; but troops of demons are dragging them in pitiful, grievous, rigid, fiery, dark, deep, hidden, empty, base, black, idle, filthy, antiquated, old and stinking, everlastingly quarrelsome, everlastingly pugnacious, everlastingly wearisome, everlastingly deadly, everlastingly tearful prisons; sharp, fierce, windy, full of wailing, screaming, complaining, and bitter crying; horrible.

There are curly, cruel, bold, big-headed maggots; and yellow, white, great-jawed monsters; fierce ravening lions; red, black, brown, devilish dragons; mighty treacherous tigers; inky hairy scorpions; red high-soaring hawks; rough sharp-beaked griffins; black hump-backed beetles; sharp snouted flies; bent bony-beaked wasps; heavy iron mallets; ancient old rough flails; sharp swords; red spears; black demons; stinking fires; streams of poison; cats scratching; dogs rending; hounds hunting; demons calling; fetid lakes; great sloughs; dark pits; deep gullies; high mountains; hard crags; a mustering of demons; a filthy camp; torture without cease; a ravenous swarm; frequent conflict; endless fighting; demons torturing; torment in abundance; a sorrowful life.

A place in which there are frosty, bitter, everlastingly fetid, eternal, wide-stretched, agitated, grievous, putrid, deliquescent, burning, bare, rapid, full-fiery streams; hard, rocky, sharp-headed, long, cold, deep, swampy little straits of the sea; bare burning plains; peaked rugged hills; hard verminous ravines; rough thorny moors; black fiery forests; filthy monster-infested roads; congealed stinking-billowed seas; huge iron spikes; black bitter waters; many extraordinary places; a dirty everlastingly-gloomy assembly; bitter wintry winds; frosty everlastingly-falling snow; red fiery blades; base dark faces; swift ravening demons; vast unheard-of tortures.

• What is Hell?
• Hell
• Evil Smells
• Hellish Noise
• Hot as Hell
• Heaven and Hell
• The Hereafter

The gayety, the youthfulness of heart, breathed by these evangelical Odysseys were something new, original, and charming. The Acts of the apostles, an expression of this first transport of the Christian conscience, compose a book of joy, of serene ardor. Since the Homeric Poems, no work had been seen full of such fresh sensations. A breeze of morning, an odor of the sea, if I dare express it so, inspiring something joyful and strong, penetrates the whole book, and makes it an excellent compagnon de voyage, the exquisite breviary for him who is searching for ancient remains on the seas of the south.

La gaieté, la jeunesse de cœur que respirent ces odyssées évangéliques furent quelque chose de nouveau, d'original et de charmant. Les Actes des Apôtres, expression de ce premier élan de la conscience chrétienne, sont un livre de joie, d'ardeur sereine. Depuis les poèmes homériques, on n'avait pas vu d'œuvre pleine de sensations aussi fraîches. Une brise matinale, une odeur de mer, si j'ose le dire, inspirant quelque chose d'allègre et de fort, pénètre tout le livre et en fait un excellent compagnon de voyage, le bréviaire exquis de celui qui poursuit des traces antiques sur les mers du Midi.

One is tempted to think of the end of "Faust": was not the graving of a thing on brass or stone, was not even the painting of a reindeer in the depths of a palaeolithic cave, a practical, though imperfect, method of saying to the moment, "Verweile doch, Du bist so schön" ("Stay longer, thou art so beautiful")?

Both soul and body are preserved, imperfectly of course, in grammata, or letters; in a long series of marks scratched, daubed, engraved, written, or printed, stretching from the inscribed bone implements and painted rocks of prehistoric man through the great literatures of the world down to this morning's newspaper and the manuscript from which I am reading — marks which have their own history also and their own vast varieties. And "the office of the art grammatikê is so to deal with the grammata as to recover from them all that can be recovered of that which they have saved from oblivion, to reinstate as far as possible the spoken word in its first impressiveness and musicalness."<sup>1

1</sup> Rutherford, History of Annotation, p. 12.

The traditio, the handing-down of the intellectual acquisitions of the human race from one generation to another, the constant selection of thoughts and discoveries and feelings and events so precious that they must be made into books, and then of books so precious that they must be copied and re-copied and not allowed to die — the traditio itself is a wonderful and august process, full, no doubt, of abysmal gaps and faults, like all things human, but full also of that strange half-baffled and yet not wholly baffled splendour which marks all the characteristic works of man.

Glen of fruit and fish and pools, its peaked hills of loveliest wheat, it is distressful for me to think of it — glen of bees, of long-horned wild oxen.

Glen of cuckoos and thrushes and blackbirds, precious in its cover to every fox; glen of wild garlic and watercress, of woods, of shamrock and flowers, leafy and twisting-crested.

Sweet are the cries of the brown-backed dappled deer under the oak-wood above the bare hill-tops, gentle hinds that are timid lying hidden in the great-treed glen.

Glen of the rowans with scarlet berries, with fruit fit for every flock of birds; a slumbrous paradise for the badgers in their quiet burrows with their young.

Glen of the blue-eyed vigorous hawks, glen abounding in every harvest, glen of the ridged and pointed peaks, glen of blackberries and sloes and apples.

Glen of the sleek brown round-faced otters that are pleasant and active in fishing; many are the white-winged stately swans, and salmon breeding along the rocky brink.

Glen of the tangled branching yews, dewy glen with level lawn of kine; chalk-white starry sunny glen, glen of graceful pearl-like high-bred women.

If when the moon is being born you lift your hands
upturned towards the sky, rustic Phidyle,
  if you placate the Lares with incense,
    this year's grain, and a greedy pig,

your vine will be fertile and not feel the wind        5
which brings disease from Africa, nor will your crop know
  the blight of mildew nor your lovely suckling beasts
    a time of danger when the year bears fruit.

The sacrificial victim feeding
on snowy Algidus among oak and ilex        10
  or fattening in the Alban grasslands,
    will stain the axes of priests

with blood from its neck. There is no call for you
to ply your little gods with great killings
  of yearlings. Just crown them        15
    with rosemary or brittle sprigs of myrtle.

If your empty hand touches the altar, it is
more persuasive for offering no costly victim,
  and appeases angry Penates
    with consecrated grain and crackling salt.        20

---

Caelo supinas si tuleris manus
nascente Luna, rustica Phidyle,
  si ture placaris et horna
    fruge Lares avidaque porca,

nec pestilentem sentiet Africum        5
fecunda vitis nec sterilem seges
  robiginem aut dulces alumni
    pomifero grave tempus anno.

nam quae nivali pascitur Algido
devota quercus inter et ilices        10
  aut crescit Albanis in herbis
    victima, pontificum securis

cervice tinguet: te nihil attinet
temptare multa caede bidentium
  parvos coronantem marino        15
    rore deos fragilique myrto.

immunis aram si tetigit manus,
non sumptuosa blandior hostia,
  mollivit aversos Penatis
    farre pio et saliente mica.        20

He saw the only perfect things which have ever existed, which ever will exist: the Propylaea, that noble masterpiece; the Parthenon, which destroys all other grandeur except its own; the temple of wingless Victory, worthy of the battles which it consecrated; the Erechtheum, prodigy of elegance and finesse; the Errhephores, those divine young girls of so graceful a carriage. He saw all that, and his faith was not shaken. He did not startle. The prejudices of the iconoclastic Jew, insensible to plastic beauties, blinded him. He regarded these incomparable images as idols. "His spirit," says his biographer, "was stirred within him when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry." Ah! beautiful and chaste images, true gods and true goddesses, tremble!—here is one who will raise the hammer against you. The fatal word has been pronounced,—ye are idols.

Il vit les seules choses parfaites qui aient jamais existé, qui existeront jamais, les Propylées, ce chef-d'œuvre de noblesse, le Parthénon, qui écrase toute autre grandeur que la sienne, le temple de la Victoire sans ailes, digne des batailles qu'il consacra, l'Érechthéum, prodige d'élégance et de finesse, les Errhéphores, ces divines jeunes filles, au port si plein de grâce; il vit tout cela, et sa foi ne fut pas ébranlée; il ne tressaillit pas. Les préjugés du juif iconoclaste, insensible aux beautés plastiques, l'aveuglèrent; il prit ces incomparables images pour des idoles: «Son esprit, dit son biographe, s'aigrissait en lui-même, quand il voyait la ville remplie d'idoles.» Ah! belles et chastes images, vrais dieux et vraies déesses, tremblez; voici celui qui lèvera contre vous le marteau. Le mot fatal est prononcé: vous êtes des idoles.

As from the cloudbank comes the storm of snow or hail,
    and thunder follows from the lightning flash,
exalted men portend the city's death: the folk
    in innocence fall slave to tyranny.
Raise them too high, and it's not easy afterwards        5
    to hold them. Now's the time to read the signs.

From a cloud comes force of snow or hail,
    and thunder is produced from bright lightning;
from powerful men comes a city's destruction, and through stupidity
    citizens have fallen into bondage to a tyrant.
If someone is raised up too high, it isn't easy to restrain him        5
    afterwards, but right now you need to ponder all that is good.

ἐκ νεφέλης πέλεται χιόνος μένος ἠδὲ χαλάζης,
    βροντὴ δ᾿ ἐκ λαμπρῆς γίγνεται ἀστεροπῆς·
ἀνδρῶν δ᾿ ἐκ μεγάλων πόλις ὄλλυται, ἐς δὲ μονάρχου
    δῆμος ἀϊδρίῃ δουλοσύνην ἔπεσεν.
λίην δ᾿ ἐξάραντ᾿ <οὐ> ῥᾴδιόν ἐστι κατασχεῖν        5
    ὕστερον, ἀλλ᾿ ἤδη χρή <καλὰ> πάντα νοεῖν.

3 ἐς plerique: ἐκ Diodorus Siculus 9.20.2; μονάρχου plerique: τυράννου Diodorus Siculus 19.1.4
5 οὐ add. Dindorf
6 καλὰ add. West: περὶ Dindorf: τινα Sintenis: τάδε Passow

I will sing of well-founded Earth, mother of all,
eldest of all beings. She feeds all creatures that are in the world,
all that go upon the goodly land and in the sea,
and all that fly: all these are fed of her store.
Through you men are blessed in their children and in their harvests,        5
O queen, and to you it belongs to give means of life and to take it away
from mortal men. Happy is the man whom you in your heart
delight to honor! He has all things abundantly:
his fruitful land is laden with corn, his pastures
thrive with cattle, and his house is filled with good things.        10
Such men with good order in their cities of fair women
hold sway: great riches and wealth follow them:
their sons exult with ever-fresh delight,
and their daughters in flower-laden bands merrily
play and skip over the soft flowers of the field.        15
Thus is it with those whom you honor, O holy goddess, bountiful spirit.

Γαῖαν παμμήτειραν ἀείσομαι, ἠϋθέμεθλον,
πρεσβίστην, ἣ φέρβει ἐπὶ χθονὶ πάνθ᾿ ὁπόσ᾿ ἐστίν,
ἠμὲν ὅσα χθόνα δῖαν ἐπέρχεται ἠδ᾿ ὅσα πόντον
ἠδ᾿ ὅσα πωτῶνται, τὰ δὲ φέρβεται ἐκ σέθεν ὄλβου.
ἐκ σέο δ᾿ εὔπαιδές τε καὶ εὔκαρποι τελέθουσι,        5
πότνια, σεῦ δ᾿ ἔχεται δοῦναι βίον ἠδ᾿ ἀφελέσθαι
θνητοῖς ἀνθρώποισιν· ὃ δ᾿ ὄλβιος, ὅν κε σὺ θυμῷ
πρόφρων τιμήσῃς· τῷ τ᾿ ἄφθονα πάντα πάρεστι.
βρίθει μέν σφιν ἄρουρα φερέσβιος ἠδὲ κατ᾿ ἀγρούς
κτήνεσιν εὐθηνεῖ, οἶκος δ᾿ ἐμπίμπλαται ἐσθλῶν·        10
αὐτοὶ δ᾿ εὐνομίῃσι πόλιν κάτα καλλιγύναικα
κοιρανέουσ᾿, ὄλβος δὲ πολὺς καὶ πλοῦτος ὀπηδεῖ·
παῖδες δ᾿ εὐφροσύνῃ νεοθηλέϊ κυδιόωσι,
παρθενικαί τε χοροῖς πολυανθέσιν εὔφρονι θυμῷ
παίζουσαι σκαίρουσι κατ᾿ ἄνθεα μαλθακὰ ποίης,        15
οὕς κε σὺ τιμήσῃς, σεμνὴ θεά, ἄφθονε δαῖμον.

Queen Earth, all bounteous, giver of honey-hearted wealth,
how kindly, it seems, you are to some,
and how intractable and rough for those with whom you are angry.

Πότνια Γῆ πάνδωρε, δότειρα μελίφρονος ὄλβου,
ὡς ἄρα δὴ τοῖς μὲν φωτῶν εὔοχθος ἐτύχθης,
τοῖσι δὲ δύσβωλος καὶ τρηχεῖ᾿, οἷς ἐχολώθης.

Man is imprisoned in the external present; and what we call a man's religion is, to a great extent, the thing that offers him a secret and permanent means of escape from that prison, a breaking of the prison walls which leaves him standing, of course, still in the present, but in a present so enlarged and enfranchised that it is become, not a prison, but a free world. Religion, even in the narrow sense, is always looking for Soteria, for escape, for some salvation from the terror to come, or some deliverance from the body of this death.

And men find it, of course, in a thousand ways, with different degrees of ease and of certainty. I am not wishing to praise my talisman at the expense of other talismans. Some find it in theology; some in art, in human affection, in the anodyne of constant work, in that permanent exercise of the inquiring intellect which is commonly called the search for truth; some find it in carefully cultivated illusions of one sort or another, in passionate faiths and undying pugnacities; some, I believe, find a substitute by simply rejoicing in their prison, and living furiously, for good or ill, in the actual moment.

And a scholar, I think, secures his freedom by keeping hold always of the past, and treasuring up the best out of the past, so that in a present that may be angry or sordid he can call back memories of calm or of high passion, in a present that requires resignation or courage he can call back the spirit with which brave men long ago faced the same evils. He draws out of the past high thoughts and great emotions; he also draws the strength that comes from communion or brotherhood.

Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides,
And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old,

come back to comfort another blind poet in his affliction. The Psalms, turned into strange languages, their original meaning often lost, live on as a real influence in human life, a strong and almost always an ennobling influence. I know the figures in the tradition may be unreal, their words may be misinterpreted, but the communion is quite a real fact. And the student, as he realizes it, feels himself one of a long line of torch-bearers. He attains that which is the most compelling desire of every human being, a work in life which it is worth living for, and which is not cut short by the accident of his own death.

First, we may say, the chains of the mind are not broken by any form of ignorance. The chains of the mind are broken by understanding. And so far as men are unduly enslaved by the past, it is by understanding the past that they may hope to be freed. But, secondly, it is never really the past — the true past — that enslaves us; it is always the present. It is not the conventions of the seventeenth or eighteenth century that now make men conventional. It is the conventions of our own age, though, of course, I would not deny that in any age there are always fragments of the uncomprehended past still floating like dead things pretending to be alive. What one always needs for freedom is some sort of escape from the thing that now holds him. A man who is the slave of theories must get outside them and see facts; a man who is the slave of his own desires and prejudices must widen the range of his experience and imagination. But the thing that enslaves us most, narrows the range of our thought, cramps our capacities, and lowers our standards, is the mere present — the present that is all round us, accepted and taken for granted, as we in London accept the grit in the air and the dirt on our hands and faces. The material present, the thing that is omnipotent over us, not because it is either good or evil, but just because it happens to be here, is the great jailer and imprisoner of man's mind; and the only true method of escape from him is the contemplation of things that are not present. Of the future? Yes; but you cannot study the future. You can only make conjectures about it, and the conjectures will not be much good unless you have in some way studied other places and other ages. There has been hardly any great forward movement of humanity which did not draw inspiration from the knowledge or the idealization of the past.

No: to search the past is not to go into prison. It is to escape out of prison, because it compels us to compare the ways of our own age with other ways.