GREEK VASES. Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
GREEK VASES.
Courtesy of the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The earlier vases were painted in black on the red background of the clay; later, the artist sketched his design on the red clay and gave the vase back to the workman, who painted in the background in black and then returned it to the artist, who retouched his design and in some cases added here and there a touch of colour.

Besides the rooms for the workmen and artists, and the court where the ovens were placed, a potter's workshop required storerooms where the finished vases were kept, and a room where the master received his customers and sold his pottery.

The subjects of the paintings on the vases were always carefully chosen and were suited to the use to which the vase was to be put. The large vases had graver and more serious subjects, the kylix had more animated scenes. This cup was used at banquets and on festive occasions, and so the artists painted gay and merry scenes on it, and as they tried to attract buyers by the novelty of their designs, the kylix paintings show a great deal of originality. The subjects were taken from mythology, or showed battle scenes, or subjects connected with daily life. If all our other sources of knowledge of life in Athens were suddenly lost to us, the vases would still be a rich mine of information, as in one way or another they represent all the varied experiences of human life.

In all their art the Greeks were chiefly interested in representing the human form. They themselves did not realize that in doing this they were taking a step onward in man's great adventure of learning how to live, but in all the many ways in which they represented man, they showed him going forth into the outside world of nature, conscious that he had the power to make of it a world in which he felt at home. Part of the greatness of the Greeks came from the fact that they did this unconsciously. The craftsmen and vase-painters themselves were in no way regarded as the equals of the great sculptors. The Athenians regarded them as quite lowly workers, but they were artists nevertheless, proved so by the fact that though there was often copying of a general design, the artist never copied mechanically, but put into his work something that was his own. In all the great quantity of Greek vases in the world today no two have been found exactly alike, and so the craftsmen, though they were unconscious of how later ages would regard their work, knew the satisfaction that comes from creating beauty in any form, and they said of their work that "there is no sweeter solace in life for human ills than craftsmanship; for the mind, absorbed in its study, sails past all troubles and forgets them."[3]

[1] A. E. Zimmern: The Greek Commonwealth.

[2] Xenophon: The Economist.

[3] Amphis: quoted by G. M. A. Richter in The Craft of Athenian Pottery.

CHAPTER XII

A DAY WITH AN ATHENIAN

I. THE ATHENIAN GENTLEMAN

The day began early in Athens, and as soon as the sun was up everyone was stirring: the workman was off to his work, the schoolboy to school, and every booth and stall in the Agora was laden with articles to attract the buyers who were expected in the market.

Before leaving his house, the Athenian gentleman had his breakfast, a little bread soaked in wine, after which one of his house-slaves saw that his himation hung in graceful folds, and then, accompanied by one or more slaves carrying baskets, he set forth for the Agora. Here the morning marketing was done, but unless he was giving a very important banquet in the evening, the gentleman did not himself attend to the household marketing; his slaves did that for him and took the purchases home. Their master, in the meantime, would walk up and down the Agora, or take a turn or two in one of the Porches, where he would meet some of his friends, or go to the barber's shop, where he would be sure to hear the latest news of the day: Pericles had proposed to build another temple, and there was much discussion as to whether the state could afford it; the Spartan army was said to be stronger than ever, and Sparta had always been jealous of Athens; was she secretly getting ready for a war, and if so should not Athens be prepared, or were those right who believed that the greatness of Greece lay in a policy of peace with Sparta? Perhaps the Olympic Games were being held and the news had just come and spread like wildfire through the city, that the Athenians had covered themselves with glory, especially in the chariot race, and that the victors were even then on their way home, so all must be in readiness to receive them. Or was it known that a galley had just returned from a trading voyage on the Aegean, and that the sailors were reporting that there was a good deal of discontent in some of the islands, and that threats were being made of withholding some of the tribute money unless the islanders were allowed greater independence? These and many more burning questions of the day were made known and discussed without the use of newspapers.

But the Athenian gentleman did not spend all his morning in talk. If he were wealthy, he would have definite duties required of him by the State: he had to fit out and keep in good order one or more triremes for the navy, and there would be interviews with the captain as to the number of men he required and how much they should be paid; there were estimates for repairs to be gone over, and designs for a new and splendid figure-head on the prow of the ship to be approved. Or perhaps it was his turn to provide for one of the choruses in the coming dramatic festival, and he must see to it that this chorus was well-trained and that no expense was spared in making it better than any of the others, so that he might win the prize.

Then there were other duties towards the State that were demanded of every free-born citizen. He must sit on the jury and judge law-suits whenever he was called upon to do so, and as the Athenians were very fond of such suits the demand came very often. Aristophanes, a dramatist who wrote a number of plays in which he made fun of a great many of the Athenian characteristics, said of the juryman:

He is a law-court lover, no man like him.
Judging is what he dotes on, and he weeps
Unless he sits on the front bench of all.[1]

In some way or other every Athenian citizen took part in the actual government of the state, and in the time of Pericles about nine thousand men held, during the year, some kind of state position. These officials were chosen by the people and were seldom re-elected, so that not only was everybody in turn responsible for certain functions, but everyone was capable of intelligently discussing the affairs of the state, and this was done at great length every day whenever Athenian citizens met together.

About once every ten days, the Agora was deserted in the morning, and every free-born Athenian citizen over thirty years of age, both rich and poor, was expected to go to the Pnyx, the meeting place of the Assembly. In times of war, or when some very important question in which everyone was interested had to be settled, no one stayed away, and there would be great hurrying in the early morning in order to get a good place.

The Pnyx was a great open-air place of assembly, west of the Acropolis and not far from the city wall. In shape it was a sloping semi-circle, part of which was supported by a wall. There were no seats, and the citizens had to make themselves as comfortable as they could on the bare ground. Facing the slope was a rock cut in the form of a platform and mounted by steps on each side. This was called the Bema, and here the orators stood when they addressed the Assembly. In front of the Bema was the altar on which was offered the sacrifice that always opened the Assembly, and behind it on a rock were seats for the state officials who had charge of the meeting.

There were doubtless many days when the business in hand was not very interesting, but there were times when excitement ran high and no one was absent. It is not difficult to imagine the scene. Not far off rose the rock of the Acropolis, symbol of the strength and glory of Athens and of the guardianship of Athena; in the dim distance was the sea, the great bond of union between Athens and the islands of the Aegean and the East, and a symbol of the protecting power of Poseidon; overhead stretched the blue Greek sky; and there below in the Pnyx was the densely packed crowd of Athenians, deliberating on matters on which hung their very life or death. It was there that the decision was made to march to Marathon and to face the unnumbered Persian foe; that Themistocles pleaded passionately for a navy; that the messengers from Delphi brought back the answer about the "wooden walls"; that Aristeides persuaded the Athenians to free the Ionians from their Persian masters and to form the Delian League which led Athens to become an Empire; and it was there, too, that Pericles in stately and measured tones urged the Athenians to beautify their city as no other city in the world had ever been beautified before.

These and similar occupations took up the morning of the Athenian gentleman. After a light meal in the middle of the day, he would go to the Academy or one of the other gymnasia, where he would spend the cool of the day in exercising himself, or in watching the youths at their games; in walking in the pleasant groves talking over the events of the day with his friends; or in discussing with some philosopher all kinds of questions concerning new interpretations of old beliefs and new ideas about man, whence he comes and whither he goes. Some of these were questions which were discussed for the first time in the history of the world, and never before and but seldom since has there been such an eager desire to know the truth about all things, as there was in this Athens of the fifth century B.C.

But as the evening drew on and it grew dusk, the Athenians left the gymnasia and returned to the city. All day long they had been in company, and in the evening the most was made of every opportunity to meet again, for they held that "to eat your dinner alone was not dining but feeding," so it was very likely that the day would end by a banquet. If that were so, the guests would all have been invited in the morning, either by the host himself when he met them, or by a message carried by a slave. Preparations were usually made for more than the invited number of guests, as it was a common custom for guests to bring some additional friends of their own, and uninvited guests would often come without any special bidding. Since leaving the gymnasia, all the guests would have been at their homes. There they would have bathed and clad themselves in fresh chitons and mantles, and slaves would accompany them to the house of their host.

At a banquet the guests reclined on couches, and the food was brought to them on low tables. The evening meal was the chief meal of the day in Athens. It began with fish or meat and vegetables, and when this course was over, the tables were removed, water was poured over the hands of the guests, and garlands were often passed round. Then came the second course of fruits, confectionery and various kinds of sweetmeats, after which the tables were again removed, and replaced by smaller ones on which stood beautifully shaped drinking cups. The guests were given more garlands and wreaths, and the slaves brought in the large kraters, in which the wine and water were mixed, and the after-dinner entertainment of the evening began.

This entertainment was called the Symposium, and it began with the pouring out of three libations: to the Olympian gods, to the Heroes, and to Zeus. Then the health of the hosts and of his guests was drunk; after which began the entertainment. This consisted of conversation, singing, listening to music, watching dancers, in playing games, telling stories or passing round jests. Just what was done at the Symposium depended on the kind of guests present. "When the company are real gentlemen and men of education," said Plato, you will see no flute-girls, nor dancing girls, nor harp girls; they will have no nonsense or games, but will be content with one another's conversation." More often, however, the guests were less serious. They enjoyed the music of the flute and other instruments, they played games, and watched dancing, they "chatted and talked pleasant nonsense to one another."

When the party came to an end, a libation was offered to Hermes, the slaves were called, who attended their masters home, lighting their way with torches or lamps. The older men would go sedately home, the younger would keep up their merriment and go noisily and boisterously through the streets until, having knocked at the doors of their houses, the sleepy porter would wake up and let them in, and silence would at length reign in the streets of the city.

II. THE ATHENIAN LADY

But there are other cares and occupations which are yours by right. This, for instance, to take some maiden who knows nothing of carding wool, and to make her skilful in the art, doubling her usefulness; or to receive another quite ignorant of housekeeping or of service, and to render her skilful, loyal, serviceable, till she is worth her weight in gold. But the greatest joy of all will be to prove yourself my better; to make me your faithful follower; knowing no dread lest as the years advance you should decline in honour in your household, but rather trusting that though your hair turn gray, yet in proportion as you come to be a better helpmate to myself and to the children, a better guardian of our home, so will your honour increase throughout the household as mistress, wife and mother, daily more dearly prized.[2]

Some further good advice was then given, and the husband concluded by recommending exercise as the best means of preserving both health and beauty. He said:

I counsel you to oversee the baking woman as she makes the bread, to stand beside the housekeeper as she measures out her stores; to go on tours of inspection to see if all things are in order as they should be. For, as it seems to me, this will be at once walking exercise and supervision. And as an excellent gymnastic, I urge you to knead the dough, and roll the paste; to shake the coverlets and make the beds; and if you train yourself in exercise of this sort you will enjoy your food, grow vigorous in health, and your complexion will in very truth be lovelier.[3]

Added to all these occupations was the education of the children. The Athenian lady had nurses for them, Spartan slave-women, if they were to be had, for their discipline was sterner than that of other Greeks, and the Spartan nurses had the reputation of being able to keep their young charges in particularly good order. All kinds of toys were provided for the children, hoops and balls, spinning-tops and go-carts, dolls and toy animals. The Athenian mother learnt to be a good story-teller, for it was in these early days that the children wanted stories told them, and many a tale would she relate of the gods and heroes of old, of the nymphs and spirits of the forests and mountains, of the sea and of the air. And when night came and the children must go to bed, then she would sing them to sleep with a slumber song:

Sleep children mine, a light luxurious sleep,
Brother with brother: sleep, my boys, my life:
Blest in your slumber, in your waking blest.[4]

The girls had to be trained to all the duties of an Athenian wife, and there was much to learn in the short years of their girlhood. It was a domestic training that they were given; of other things they learned as much or as little as their mother knew herself and was able to teach them, probably not more than a little reading and writing. A girl was not encouraged to take up any kind of intellectual pursuits, and during her life before her marriage she was generally "most carefully trained to see and hear as little as possible, and to ask the fewest questions."[5]

But it was not all work for the maiden, and many a time did she sit in the swing in the courtyard and idle away a warm afternoon gently swinging to and fro, and many a merry game of ball did she have with her companions. It was she who made the fresh garlands and wreaths for the altars or the house, and who, when the moon was full, laid offerings on the tomb of her grandparents, and, most glorious of all her girlhood privileges, it was she who helped to weave the robe taken to the temple of Athena at the time of the great Panathenaic festival and who bore baskets of offerings to the goddess in the great procession.

When the Athenian maiden married, all this life came to an end, and she took upon her young shoulders the training of her own household, even as she had seen her mother do. Her marriage had usually been arranged for her, and she often knew but little of her future husband. Before the marriage day, she offered all her girlhood treasures to Artemis, the goddess who had watched over her childhood.

Her tambourines and pretty ball, and the net that confined her hair, and her dolls and dolls' dresses, Timareta dedicates before her marriage to Artemis, a maiden to a maiden as is fit; do thou, daughter of Leto, laying thine hand over the girl Timareta, preserve her purely in her purity.[6]

When these symbols of her youth had passed from her keeping into that of the goddess, the maiden was dressed in beautiful raiment, crowned with a wreath and covered with the bridal veil for the marriage ceremony. This took place in the evening on a day when the moon was full, and when she was ready, the bride was led by her attendant maidens to the court where the bridegroom and her parents and the invited guests awaited her. The marriage took place in the court, a sacrifice was offered and a libation poured out to the gods, and then the marriage feast followed, at which cakes of sesame were always eaten. This was the only occasion on which women were allowed to be present at a feast, but through it all the bride remained closely veiled. When the feast was over, the bridal chariot was driven up to the door, and the bride took her seat in it beside her husband, her mother walked behind it bearing the marriage torch with which the fire on the hearth of her new home would be lighted, the guests surrounded it and with flute-playing and singing escorted the bride to her new home.

If the bridegroom lived in a distant place, the bridal procession broke up at the gates of the city, but if he lived in Athens, he and his bride were escorted to the door of his house, where they were met by his mother, and then, to the music of a marriage song, the bride was led into her new home.

Did the Athenian lady have no amusements or recreations? Did she leave all that was gay behind her when she became a wife? The Athenian lady seldom left the house, and never unless attended by a female slave. She had practically no society but that of her slaves. The peasant woman in the fields and the few women who sold in the market had the society of their friends, but such companionship was denied to the well-born lady. She saw no men, except those of her own family. If her husband dined at home alone, she shared his meal, but if he had guests she was unseen. From time to time she took part in the great religious festivals and processions, and occasionally she was permitted to be present in the theatre when a tragedy was performed, but she was never permitted to see a comedy for the wit and humour were often coarse and were considered unfitting for her ears.

In many ways it was a strange life that the Athenian lady lived, one that seems as if it were in contradiction to all that the Athenians held of the highest importance, for the

Athenian lady lived in the house among a people that lived out of doors. Among a people who gave great importance to physical training she was advised to take her exercise in bedmaking. At a time when the human spirit was at its freest she was enclosed on all sides. Art and thought and letters were reaching the highest development they were ever to know, but for her they hardly existed.

But whatever was the actual life of the Athenian lady, the Athenian ideal of womanhood was very high. In the wondrous temple that stood high above the city, looking down upon it and guarding it, was the figure that symbolized to the Athenians all that was good and beautiful and true, and it was the figure of a woman. It was always the figure of a woman that represented Victory, and nearly all the great Greek dramas deal with the fate of a woman, who was generally the wife or daughter of a King. The Sacred Mysteries of Eleusis, mysteries of such deep meaning that it was said that "partakers in them had better hopes concerning death and all eternity," centred round the story of the love and sorrow of a woman. A race that could produce such great figures as these must have thought nobly of womanhood.[7]

And so, in spite of her subordinate position in the background, the Athenian woman was of real influence in Athens. She reigned supreme in the household, and as her sons grew up, they recognized in her those qualities which every Greek and especially the Athenian, was taught to value so highly: that quiet courage which by its very steadfastness overcomes all the little anxieties and annoyances of daily life; and that self-control and self-mastery which, putting self in the background, sets free the individual for service to others. The Athenian ideal of service was that the man should give it wholly to the state, and the woman wholly to her home, but narrow as was her horizon, limited as were her opportunities, the Athenian woman exercised an influence in Athens, that helped to strengthen and preserve some of the noblest Athenian qualities.

[1] Aristophanes: The Wasps, translated by B. B. Rogers. (By permission of Messrs. G. Bell and Sons.)

[2] Xenophon: The Economist.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Theocritus: From Idyll, XXIV, translated by S. C. Calverley. (By permission of Messrs. G. Bell and Sons.)

[5] Xenophon: The Economist.

[6] Author Unknown: From Select Epigrams from the Greek Anthology, translated by J. W. Mackail.

[7] See Emily James Putnam: The Lady.

CHAPTER XIII

THE ATHENIAN SCHOOLBOY

The chief aim of Athenian education was the building of character. The Athenians were more concerned that their sons should grow up to be good citizens, loving what was beautiful and hating all that was ugly, than that they should know any great number of facts. The object of any education is to teach a child how to live, and a system of education is good or bad according as it fulfils this aim. As different states and countries, at different periods, have had different ideals as to what is meant by living, so they will all have had different kinds of education, each thought out in such a way as best to train the child for that conception of life believed in by his state or country. For example, the Spartan conception of life was that every citizen should be a good soldier, able to defend his country and to go out and fight her wars. Whether the Spartan ideal was a good one or not, may be questioned, but it cannot be denied that Spartan education was an excellent preparation for such a life.

The Athenians had a much wider ideal than the Spartans. They, too, believed in the training of the body, and in making patriotic citizens who would count it a glory to die in defence of their city, but they also believed that it was a glory to live for their city, and to this end they trained the mind and the imagination as well as the body. To an Athenian a good man was a good citizen, one who, being physically perfect, would be able to defend his city in time of war, who, being able to think, would be capable of governing, and loving all that was beautiful would set high standards of taste in art, in letters, and in conduct. Praxiteles gave outward form to this ideal in his statue of Hermes, and though the Athenian ideal was not complete, Athenian education produced a warrior like Miltiades, statesmen like Themistocles and Pericles, a poet like Sophocles, artists like Pheidias and Praxiteles, philosophers like Socrates and Plato, and a historian like Thucydides.

THE FLUTE LESSON, THE WRITING LESSON. (ABOVE A WRITING-ROLL, A FOLDED TABLET, A RULING SQUARE, ETC.) From the Kylix of Douris, now at Berlin (No. 2285). Monumenti dell' Institute, ix. Plate 54.
THE FLUTE LESSON, THE WRITING LESSON. (ABOVE A WRITING-ROLL, A FOLDED TABLET, A
RULING SQUARE, ETC.)
From the Kylix of Douris, now at Berlin (No. 2285).
Monumenti dell' Institute, ix. Plate 54.

The Athenians believed that training which aimed only at money-making, or bodily strength, or mere cleverness apart from intelligence, was mean and vulgar and did not deserve to be called education. True education, they held, made a child long to be a good citizen and taught him both how to rule and to obey. It must not be supposed that the Athenians despised wealth or the power of wealth. Only a wealthy state could have built the Parthenon or celebrated the great Panathenaic Festival, but the Athenians despised mere money-making, and they believed that a man's success was not to be measured by the amount of money he had made, but by the use to which he put it, and they believed that an education which taught a boy to be industrious and thrifty, to despise self-indulgence and luxury, to think straight and see clearly, would make him a better citizen than one which aimed only at making him a successful man of business. So they aimed at giving every boy a good education.

First among things, [said one of their teachers], I reckon human education. For if you begin anything whatever in the right way, the end will probably be right also. The nature of the harvest depends upon the seeds you sow. If you plant good education in a young body, it bears leaves and fruit the whole life long, and no rain or drought can destroy it.[1]

The Athenian boy went to school when he was seven years old. At this age he was placed in the charge of a pedagogue, a trusted slave who accompanied him when he went to school, carried his books for him, and helped him, when necessary, with his lessons. The pedagogue was also expected to keep him in good order, to teach him good manners, to answer all his many questions, and to punish him whenever he thought fit, which was probably very often.

Schools opened early, so early that Solon made a law forbidding schoolmasters to open their schools before sunrise and requiring them to be closed before sunset, so that the boys should not have to walk about the dark and empty streets. The Athenian boy, then, had to be early astir. "He gets up at dawn, washes the sleep from his eyes, and puts on his cloak. Then he goes out from his father's house with his eyes fixed upon the ground, not looking at anyone who meets him." (A modest and unassuming appearance in public was required of every boy.) "Behind him follow attendants and pedagogues, bearing in their hands the implements of virtue, writing-tablets or books containing the great deeds of old, or, if he is going to a music-school, his well-tuned lyre."[2]

Arrived at the school, the pedagogue remained in an ante-room, where he waited with all the other pedagogues until morning school was over. The boy entered a larger room beyond, where he settled down to his lessons. The boys sat on low benches with their writing-tablets on their knees, and the master sat on a higher chair in front of them. Lyres and other musical instruments, a book-roll or two, or perhaps some drinking-cups hung on the walls.

Athenian boys were taught three main subjects: letters, music and gymnastics. The first thing connected with letters was to be able to read and write. The first writing lessons were given on wooden tablets covered with wax, and for a pen a stylus with a sharp metal point was used. With this stylus the letters were scratched on the wax. When a boy had learnt to write better, he was allowed to write on papyrus with a reed dipped in a kind of sticky substance which took the place of ink.

When the boy has learned his letters [we are told], and is beginning to understand what is written, as before he understood only what was spoken, they put into his hands the works of great poets, which he reads sitting on a bench at school; in these are contained many admonitions, and many tales, and praises of ancient famous men, which he is required to learn by heart, in order that he may imitate them and desire to become like them.[3]

Athenian boys had no books for children—they began by reading great poetry and literature. Much of the literature they learnt by heart, standing in front of the master who recited it to them, and they learnt it by repeating it after him line by line. In this way they mastered passages from the Iliad and the Odyssey, and though it must have been unusual, it was not an unknown feat for a boy to be able to recite the whole of those poems by heart. "My father," said one man speaking of his school days, "in his pains to make me a good man, compelled me to learn the whole of Homer's poems, and even now I can repeat the Iliad and the Odyssey by heart."[4] Reciting poetry in an Athenian school was by no means a dull affair, for the boys acted as they recited. The art of reciting poetry was held in high esteem not only in Athens, but all over Greece, and in all places where the Greek tongue was spoken and where Greek ideals prevailed. During the disastrous war that Athens waged against Sparta at the end of the fifth century B.C. an Athenian expedition was sent to Sicily. After a terrible fight in the harbour of Syracuse, the Athenians were utterly defeated, and all those who survived the battle were taken as prisoners and confined in the stone quarries near the city.[5] They were exposed to the sun and the rain and almost starved to death. But any man who could recite a chorus or one of the scenes from a play of Euripides, the great Athenian poet, was given his freedom and allowed to return home.

A certain amount of arithmetic was also taught, for it was considered a good training for the mind.

"No branch of education is considered so valuable a preparation for household management and politics, and all arts and crafts, sciences and professions, as arithmetic; best of all by some divine art, it arouses the dull and sleepy brain, and makes it studious, mindful and sharp,"

and it was said of arithmetic that "those who are born with a talent for it are quick at all learning, while even those who are slow at it, have their general intelligence much increased by studying it."[6] But Athenian children, like others, sometimes found it difficult to learn, and "I am pretty sure," said an Athenian, "that you will not easily find many sciences that give the learner and student so much trouble and toil as arithmetic."[7]

THE LYRE LESSON, AND THE POETRY LESSON. (ABOVE IS AN ORNAMENTAL MANUSCRIPT BASKET.) From a Kylix by Douris, now in Berlin (No. 2285). Monumenti dell' Instituto, ix. Plate 54.
THE LYRE LESSON, AND THE POETRY LESSON. (ABOVE IS AN ORNAMENTAL MANUSCRIPT BASKET.)
From a Kylix by Douris, now in Berlin (No. 2285).
Monumenti dell' Instituto, ix. Plate 54.

Part of the day was given to the study of letters, and then the boys went to the music school, where they learnt to play the lyre and to sing. A song accompanied by the music of the lyre was a favourite part of the entertainment after a banquet, and every Athenian gentleman was expected to be able to sing and play whenever he was called upon. So much was it the mark of a gentleman, that "He who doesn't know the way to play the lyre" became a proverbial expression for an uneducated person.

Very little is known about Greek music, but it was considered very necessary that the music taught should be of an ennobling and inspiring kind. The Lydian melodies were held to be altogether too soft and sentimental, and the Athenians preferred those known as Dorian, because they were simpler and sterner and of a kind to inspire men to noble and manly deeds. Aristotle who wrote so much about the ideal state, wrote also about the education an ideal state should give to its children. He held that "music is neither a necessary nor a useful accomplishment in the sense in which letters are useful, but it provides a noble and worthy means of occupying leisure time," and Aristotle, like all Athenians, believed that it was the part of a good education to teach not only how to work well, but also how to use leisure well. The Athenians thought music was a good medicine for all ills. One philosopher, when his temper had been ruffled and he felt irritated and tired, used to take up his harp and play, saying, "I am calming myself."

In the afternoon the boys were taken by their pedagogues to the palaestra or wrestling-school, where they learned gymnastics. It was as important that the boy should have a well-trained, graceful body, as that he should have a clear and well-furnished mind, and so he spent a good part of each day running, jumping, wrestling, and throwing the discus under a special master.

According to Plato, this education turned the Athenian boy from being "the most unmanageable of animals" into "the most amiable and divine of living beings." This change had not taken place without many a punishment of the boy, and it was a proverb that "he that is not flogged cannot be taught." Not long ago an old Greek papyrus was discovered which gives a vivid account of the discipline that was thought necessary by both parents and teachers, for the schoolboy who preferred, as he probably often did, to play games instead of learning his lessons. A mother brought her truant boy, Cottalus, to his schoolmaster, Lampriscus, to receive a flogging for his misdeeds, and she said:

Mother.

Flog him Lampriscus,
Across the shoulders, till his wicked soul
Is all but out of him. He's spent my all
In playing odd and even; knuckle bones
Are nothing to him. Why, he hardly knows
The door of the Letter School. And yet the thirtieth
Comes round and I must pay—tears no excuse.
His writing tablet which I take the trouble
To wax anew each month lies unregarded
In the corner. If by chance he deigns to touch it
He scowls like Hades, then puts nothing right
But smears it out and out. He doesn't know
A letter till you scream it twenty times.
* * * *
                Yet he knows
The seventh and the twentieth of the month,
Whole holidays, as if he reads the stars,
He lies awake o' nights dreaming of them.
    But, so may yonder Muses prosper you,
Give him in stripes no less than—

Lampriscus (briskly).

Right you are.
Here, boys, hoist him
Upon your backs. I like your goings on,
My boy! I'll teach you manners! Where's my strap,
With the stinging cow's tail?

Cottalus (in terror).

By the Muses, Sir,—Not with the stinger.

Lampriscus.

Then you shouldn't be so naughty.

Cott.

O how many will you give me?

Lamp.

Your mother fixes that.

Cott.

How many, mother?

Mother.

As many as your wicked hide can bear

(They proceed with the flogging).

Cott.

Stop!—That's enough! Stop!

Lamp.

You should stop your ways.

Cott.

I'll never do it more, I promise you.

Lamp.

Don't talk so much, or else I'll bring a gag.

Cott.

I won't talk,—only do not kill me,—please.

Lamp. (at length relenting).

Let him down, boys.

Mother.

No, leather him till sunset.

Lamp.

Why, he's as mottled as a water snake.

Mother.

Well, when he's done his reading, good or bad,
Give him a trifle more, say twenty strokes.[8]

Children were not always well behaved in other ways, it seems, and complaints were made by their parents that the children contradicted them and did not always rise when their elders came into the room, that they chattered too much before company, crossed their legs when they sat down, and completely tyrannized over their pedagogues.

But in spite of all his misdemeanours and punishments, in letters, music and gymnastics, the Athenian boy was educated until he was eighteen years old. The stories of the ancient heroes who had fought at Troy, and those of more recent times who had defeated the Persians filled him with enthusiasm for his race and a love of freedom for his city. Having to learn many things without the aid of books, his mind grew quick, alert and observant, and his music and gymnastics taught him the beauty of self-control and dignified restraint.

MUSIC SCHOOL SCENES. From a Hydria in the British Museum. (E 171.)
MUSIC SCHOOL SCENES.
From a Hydria in the British Museum. (E 171.)

At eighteen, the Athenian youth left school. The state did not give him the full rights of a citizen until a few years later, and until then he was required to perform certain military duties, but he was no longer a boy, and he was considered old enough to understand the meaning of citizenship, and to know what were its duties and privileges. So it was then, at the time of leaving his boyhood behind, and entering upon the richer and fuller life before him, that the youth took the oath of the Ephebi or young men. He was given the shield and spear of the warrior, and then in the temple, before Zeus, the Lord of Heaven, and in the presence of the highest Athenian magistrates, he swore:

"Never to disgrace his holy arms, never to forsake his comrade in the ranks, but to fight for the holy temples, alone or with others: to leave his country, not in a worse, but in a better state than he found it; to obey the magistrates and the laws, and defend them against attack; finally to hold in honour the religion of his country."

[1] From The Schools of Hellas, by Kenneth J. Freeman.

[2] Lucian, translated by Kenneth J. Freeman, in The Schools of Hellas.

[3] Plato: Protagoras, translated by Jowett.

[4] Xenophon: Banquet.

[5] See p. 312.

[6] Plato: Laws.

[7] Plato: Republic, translated by Davies and Vaughan.

[8] Herodas: Mime, III, translated by Kenneth J. Freeman in The Schools of Hellas.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GREEK THEATRE

The Greek drama began as a religious observance in honour of Dionysus. To the Greeks this god personified both the spring and the vintage, the latter a very important time of year in a vine-growing country, and he was a symbol to them of that power there is in man of rising out of himself, of being impelled onwards by a joy within him that he cannot explain, but which makes him go forward, walking, as it were, on the wings of the wind, of the spirit that fills him with a deep sense of worship. We call this power enthusiasm, a Greek word which simply means the god within us.

From very early times, stories of his life were recited at the religious festivals held in honour of Dionysus, and then stories of the other gods and of the ancient heroes were told as well. It was from these beginnings that the drama came. Originally, the story was told in the form of a song, chanted at first by everyone taking part in the festival, and later by a chorus of about fifty performers, and at intervals in the song the leader would recite part of the story by himself. By degrees the recitation became of greater importance than the song; it grew longer, and after a time two people took part in it and then three; at the same time the chorus became smaller and of less importance in the action of the drama, until at last it could consist of only fifteen performers.

A Greek drama was in many ways much simpler than a modern drama. There were fewer characters, and usually only three speaking actors were allowed on the stage at once. There was only one story told and there was nothing to take the attention of the audience away from this. The Chorus, though it no longer told the story, was very important, for it set the atmosphere of the play, and lyrics of haunting loveliness hinted at the tragedy that could not be averted, because of terrible deeds done in the past, or if, indeed, there might be any help, the imagination was carried forward on wings of hope. The Chorus also served another purpose. In a modern drama, when the tragedy of a situation becomes almost too great for the audience to bear, relief is often found in some comic, or partly comic, episode which is introduced to slacken the tension. Shakespeare does this constantly. But comic episodes were felt to be out of place in a Greek drama, and therefore when a tragic scene had taken place, the Chorus followed it by a song of purest poetry. In one play of Euripides, a terrible scene of tragedy was followed by a song in which the Chorus prayed for escape from such sorrows on the wings of a bird to a land where all was peace and beauty. They sang:

Could I take me to some cavern for mine hiding,
    In the hill-tops where the Sun scarce hath trod;
Or a cloud make the home of mine abiding,
    As a bird among the bird-droves of God.

And the song goes on to carry the imagination to a spot

Where a voice of living waters never ceaseth
    In God's quiet garden by the sea,
And Earth, the ancient life-giver, increaseth
    Joy among the meadows, like a tree.[1]

In the great Greek dramas, the Chorus is a constant reminder that, though they cannot understand or explain them, there are other powers in the world than the wild passions of men.

The great dramatic festival in Athens was held in the spring in the theatre of Dionysus, to the south-east of the Acropolis. The theatre in Athens never became an everyday amusement, as it is today, but was always directly connected with the worship of Dionysus, and the performances were always preceded by a sacrifice. The festival was only held once a year, and whilst it lasted the whole city kept holiday. Originally, admission to the theatre was free, but the crowds became so great and there was such confusion and sometimes fighting in the rush for good seats, that the state decided to charge an admission fee and tickets had to be bought beforehand. But even then there were no reserved seats, except for certain officials who sat in the front row. In the time of Pericles, complaints were made that the poorer citizens could not afford to buy tickets, and so important was the drama then considered, that it was ordered that tickets should be given free to all who applied for them.

THEATRE AT EPIDAURUS
THEATRE AT EPIDAURUS

The theatre is a great semi-circle on the slope of the Acropolis, with rows of stone seats on which about eighteen thousand spectators can sit. The front row consists of marble chairs, the only seats in the theatre which have backs, and these are reserved for the priests of Dionysus and the chief magistrates. Beyond the front row, is a circular space called the orchestra, where the Chorus sings, and in the centre of which stands the altar of Dionysus. Behind the orchestra, is the stage on which the actors will act, at the back of which is a building painted to look like the front of a temple or a palace, to which the actors retire when they are not wanted on the stage or have to change their costumes. That is the whole theatre and all its stage scenery. Overhead is the deep blue sky, the Acropolis rises up behind, and the olive-laden hills are seen in the distance. Much will have to be left to the imagination, but the very simplicity of the outward surroundings will make the audience give all their attention to the play and the acting.

When the play begins, there will only be three actors on the stage at once. They will wear very elaborate costumes, and a strange-looking wooden sole called a cothurnus or buskin, about six inches high, on their shoes, to make them look taller and more impressive, and over their faces a curious mask with a wide mouth, so that everyone in that vast audience will hear them. There will be no curtain and the play is not divided into different acts. When there is a pause in the action, the Chorus will fill up the time with their song. If it is tragedy, we shall not see the final catastrophe on the stage, but a messenger will appear who will give us an account of what has happened. All this is very different from the way in which a modern play is given, but some of the greatest dramas the world possesses were written by Athenian dramatists and acted on this Athenian stage more than two thousand years ago.

On this occasion the play we are to see is "Iphigenia in Tauris," written by Euripides, one of the greatest of the Athenian dramatists.

The legends and traditions from which most of the Greek plays took their plots were, of course, well known to the Athenians. They were stories commemorating some great event, or explaining some religious observance, but naturally these legends were differently treated by different dramatists, each of whom brought out a different side of the story to enforce some particular lesson which he wished to bring home to the people, and this is especially true of the legends like that of Iphigenia connected with the Fall of Troy.

In the opening speech of this play, Iphigenia very briefly tells her story up to the moment when the play begins. Just as the Greeks had been ready to sail for Troy, they were wind-bound at Aulis. The wise men were consulted as to the meaning of this, and how the gods who must in some way have been offended, might be appeased, so that fair winds might send them on their way. Calchas, the seer, told them that Artemis demanded the sacrifice of Iphigenia, daughter of Agamemnon, King of Argos, the great leader of the host, and her father sent for her accordingly. The maiden was at home with her mother, and the messenger who was sent to Argos to bring her was charged to say that her father desired to wed her to the hero Achilles. She came and the sacrifice was offered, but at the supreme moment, Artemis carried Iphigenia away and placed her in the land of the Tauri, a wild and barbarous tribe, as their priestess. These Tauri had an image of Artemis in a temple, to which they sacrificed all strangers who were cast on their shores, and it was the duty of the priestess to consecrate each victim before he was slain. Here, performing this rite, had Iphigenia lived for more than ten years, but never yet had a Greek come to this wild land. She knew, of course, nothing of what had happened at Troy or afterwards; she did not know that on his return home her father had been slain by Clytemnestra his wife, or that Orestes, her brother, had avenged that death by slaughtering his own mother, after which deed he had wandered from place to place pursued by the relentless torment of the Furies. Bitter against the Greeks for having willed her sacrifice at Aulis, Iphigenia says of herself that she is "turned to stone, and has no pity left in her," and she half hopes that the day will come when a Greek shall be brought to her to be offered in his turn to the goddess.

In the meantime, Orestes, tormented beyond endurance by the Furies, had gone to the Oracle of Apollo, to ask how he might be purified from his sin, and Apollo had told him to go to the land of the Tauri and bring back to Attica the image of Artemis his sister, so that it might no longer be stained by the blood of the human sacrifices. And so it comes about that Orestes is the first Greek who will be brought to Iphigenia for sacrifice to Artemis. It is at this moment that the play opens.[2]

CHARACTERS OF THE PLAY

IPHIGENIA.
ORESTES, her brother.
PYLADES, friend to Orestes.
THOAS, King of Tauris.
A HERDSMAN.
A MESSENGER.

CHORUS of captive Greek Women, handmaids to Iphigenia.

THE GODDESS, PALLAS ATHENA.

The scene shows a great and barbaric Temple on a desolate sea-coast. An altar is visible stained with blood. There are spoils of slain men hanging from the roof. Iphigenia, in the dress of a priestess, comes out of the Temple, and in a speech that serves really as a Prologue to the play, she tells her story. At the end of her speech, which is haunted throughout by a sense of exile and homesickness, she describes a strange dream she has just had, which she interprets as meaning that Orestes, her brother, is dead. She then goes into the Temple.

Voice.

Did some one cross the pathway? Guard thee well.

Another Voice.

I am watching. Every side I turn my eye.

(Enter Orestes and Pylades. Their dress shows they are travellers. Orestes is shaken and distraught.)

Orestes.

How, brother? And is this the sanctuary
At last, for which we sailed from Argos?

Pylades.

For sure, Orestes. Seest thou not it is?

Orestes.

The altar, too, where Hellene blood is shed.

Pylades.

How like long hair those blood-stains, tawny red!

Orestes.

And spoils of slaughtered men—there by the thatch.

Pylades.

Aye, first-fruits of the harvest, when they catch
Their strangers!—'Tis a place to search with care.

(He searches while Orestes sits.)

During this search, Orestes, in a speech addressed to Apollo, explains why they are there, and expresses hopelessness at their ever accomplishing the will of the god, and even suggests their turning back. But Pylades encourages him and bids him take courage, for, he says,

        Danger gleams
Like sunshine to a brave man's eyes, and fear
Of what may be is no help anywhere.

Orestes.

Aye, we have never braved these leagues of way
To falter at the end. See, I obey
Thy words. They are ever wise. Let us go mark
Some cavern, to lie hid till fall of dark.
God will not suffer that bad things be stirred
To mar us now, and bring to naught the word
Himself hath spoke. Aye, and no peril brings
Pardon for turning back to sons of kings.

(They go out towards the shore.)

After they are gone, enter gradually the women of the Chorus. These are Greek women who have been taken captive in war by King Thoas, and so they are friendly to the exiled and lonely Iphigenia, for they are just as homesick as she is. They come now in obedience to a call from her to assist in mourning for Orestes, who, she is convinced by her dream, is dead.

Chorus.

Peace! Peace upon all who dwell
By the Sister Rocks that clash in the swell
            Of the Friendless Seas.

* * * *

From Hellas that once was ours,
We come before thy gate,
From the land of the western seas,
The horses and the towers,
The wells and the garden trees,
And the seats where our fathers sate.

Leader.

What tidings, ho? With what intent
    Hast called me to thy shrine and thee,
    O child of him who crossed the sea
To Troy with that great armament,
The thousand prows, the myriad swords?
I come, O child of Atreid Lords.

(Iphigenia, followed by attendants, comes from the Temple.)

Iphigenia.

Alas! O maidens mine,
I am filled full of tears:
My heart filled with the beat
Of tears, as of dancing feet,
A lyreless, joyless line,
And music meet for the dead.

For a whisper is in mine ears,
By visions borne on the breath
Of the Night that now is fled,
Of a brother gone to death.
Oh sorrow and weeping sore,
    For the house that no more is,
For the dead that were kings of yore
And the labour of Argolis!

Iphigenia and the Chorus then lament together over the ruin and loss that has befallen the House of Agamemnon. Suddenly the Leader of the Chorus stops them.

Leader.

Stay, yonder from some headland of the sea
There comes, methinks a herdsman, seeking thee.

(Enter a Herdsman. Iphigenia is still on her knees.)

Herdsman.

Daughter of Clytemnestra and her King,
Give ear! I bear news of a wondrous thing.

Iphigenia.

What news, that so should mar my obsequies?

Herdsman.

A ship hath passed the blue Symplegades,
And here upon our coast two men are thrown,
Young, bold, good slaughter for the altar-stone
Of Artemis.

(She rises.)

Make all the speed ye may;
'Tis not too much. The blood-bowl and the spray!

Iphigenia.

Men of what nation? Doth their habit show?

Herdsman.

Hellenes for sure, but that is all we know.

Iphigenia.

No name? No other clue thine ear could seize?

Herdsman.

We heard one call his comrade "Pylades."

Iphigenia.

Yes. And the man who spoke—his name was what?

Herdsman.

None of us heard. I think they spoke it not.

Iphigenia.

How did ye see them first, how make them fast?

Herdsman.

Down by the sea, just where the surge is cast,—

Iphigenia.

The sea? What is the sea to thee and thine?

Herdsman.

We came to wash our cattle in the brine.

Iphigenia.

Go back, and tell how they were taken; show
The fashion of it, for I fain would know
All.—'Tis so long a time, and never yet,
Never, hath Greek blood made this altar wet.

The herdsman tells his tale of how the men were taken prisoners. Iphigenia hears in silence and at the end of it says:

'Tis well. Let thy hand bring them, and mine own
Shall falter not till here God's will be done.

(Exit Herdsman.)

Iphigenia then gives way to her feelings. There are strangers to be sacrificed; to that she is accustomed, but these men are Greeks. Yet she herself suffered bitter things at the hands of the Greeks; should she not avenge these? By degrees, however, as she thinks of her youth, of her home, she melts, and at length withdraws into the Temple, raging against the cruel deed that she must do, and not at all sure that she can nerve herself to do it.

The coming of these Greeks has brought Greece vividly back to the thoughts of the Chorus. All Greeks loved the sea and were seafarers, and the arrival of these two adventurous men reminds these exiled women of their home, and in their imagination they see the ship cross the sea, until it touches the Friendless and cruel shore.

Chorus.

But who be these, from where the rushes blow
On pale Eurotas, from pure Dirces,
That turn not neither falter,
Seeking Her land, where no man breaketh bread,
Her without pity, round whose virgin head
Blood on the pillars rusts from long ago,
Blood on the ancient altar.

A flash of the foam, a flash of the foam,
A wave on the oar-blade welling,
And out they passed to the heart of the blue;
A chariot shell that the wild waves drew.
Is it for passion of gold they come,
    Or pride to make great their dwelling?

* * * * *

Through the Clashing Rocks they burst:
    They passed by the Cape unsleeping
Of Phineus' sons accurst:
They ran by the star-lit bay
    Upon magic surges sweeping,
Where folk on the waves astray
Have seen, through the gleaming grey,
Ring behind ring, men say,
    The dance of the old Sea's daughters.

The guiding oar abaft
    It rippled and it dinned,
And now the west wind laughed
    And now the south west wind;
And the sail was full in flight,
And they passed by the Island White: