by Aeschylus
In view of the length of these fragments, it is remarkable that we can make out so little of the subject-matter. theôroi could mean “spectators” or “members of a sacred embassy”; and since ht text shows that the satyrs of the Chorus mean to compete in the Isthmian games, the title probably indicates that they came there as members of a sacred embassy, presumably sent or conducted by Dionysus in honour of Poseidon.
Our portion of the text begins with the satyrs, thanking someone for exact likenesses of themselves, which they then proceed to nail up upon the temple of Poseidon Isthmios, with the remark that they will frighten away strangers. The strangers will presumably be frightened, as Snell suggests, because they will think they have come to a place like the palace of Oenomaus with its display of severed human heads. We are told that the likenesses are painted (l. 12); but that does not rule out their being sculptures rather than pictures. Eduard Fraenkel has suggested that they are antefixes, the upright ornaments placed along the cornices of Greek temples, originally in order to mask the ends of the covering tiles that protected the joints between the rain-tiles, and customarily shaped like masks. Satyr-masks were sometimes used as antefixes, and the practice may well have suggested this scene; it is not, of course, meant that the satyr’s portraits are antefixes, since antefixes cannot be nailed up or taken down at will. The fright which the portraits are likely to give to the satyrs’ mother or to any strangers makes it likely that such portraits, and probably the art of portraiture itself, are thought of as being unusual or even new at the time in question.
A new character now enters the stage; he has been looking for the satyrs, and grimly remarks that he has known where to find them. He remarks on them what are probably the effects of the practice known as ligatura praeputii, one which was often adopted by Greek athletes in training and which satyr-athletes on several vases are shown as adopting; on this and on the similar but distinct Roman practice of infibulatio, see Dingwall, Male Infibulation, London, 1925, and Brommer, Satyrspele 74. The satyrs should be giving their minds to the dance, says this personage, but instead they have learned new habits, and are exercising their arms and wasting his money (or “ruining his property”?). Between lines 35 and 65 very little can be made out; but it looks as if either the Choragus or a Silenus like those of the Ichneutae and the Cyclops replied to this speech with one in which he complained of the discomforts which the satyrs have endured while in the other speaker’s service and declared that they would no longer obey his orders. Lines 53-60 are missing. When we pick up the thread, the other speaker is replying. “You say I am no good at iron-work,” he says, “but am a cowardly, womanish creature”; then he repeats his former reproaches, and threatens to be avenged. Finally he draws the attention of the satyrs to somebody or something near at hand.
The satyrs now repeat their refusal to leave the temple (80-4). L. 85 seems to be addressed to a new character, who has brought with him, he says, newly-made objects straight from adze and anvil. He offers the first of these to the satyrs, who refuse it with alarm. “What am I to do with this?” they ask, and are told in reply that they are to use it in practising the new craft that they have adopted (91-2). This presumably means athletics (cf. 35). A dangerous object is made with an adze may well be javelin, as Snell suggests.
Silenus (or the Choragus) now says to the other person, “What will you do in return if I let you sail?” (l. 93: Lobel’s suggested restoration of this line, which Snell ignores, seems almost unavoidable). The other replies that he will be a good comrade to him at the Isthmian games. Then Silenus may have said that the other character “will go on board” (l. 95). Soon after that, the text breaks off.
The character who quarrels with the satyrs is very probably Dionysus, their usual master. It might be Silenus, in which case the part which I have suggested might belong to Silenus would belong to the Choragus; but Snell rightly observes that the reproach of being a gynnis is much more appropriately levelled against Dionysus (cf. fr. 31, etc.). It seems that the satyrs have been brought by Dionysus to the Isthmus as members of a sacred embassy to the Isthmian games. Once arrived, they have decided to compete in the games themselves, and have slipped off to practise them instead of dancing. Perhaps Dionysus had meant them to give a display of their usual dances or to enter for the choral contest. They are encouraged in this behaviour by a character who first brings them their portraits meant apparently to scare off rival competitors, and then implements, very likely javelins, that will be useful in the games. (If the javelin-throwing competition was already in existence, the javelin could not be a new invention; but perhaps these were the first javelins equipped with the agkylê (Lat. amentum), a device which makes them a good deal easier to aim; see Saglio in Darember-Saglio i, 226).
Who can this other character be? Snell suggests that it is Sisyphus, the crafty king of Corinth, who figured in satyr-plays by all the three great tragedians. Sisyphus, according to one story, founded the Isthmian games, and Snell thinks the play may have dealt with their foundation. Corinth was a famous centre of craftsmanship; Sisyphus himself is credited with philotechnia as well as with panourgia by Diodorus 6, fr. 6, 3 and is coupled with the famous smiths, the Cercopes and the Telchines, by Aelian, De nat. anim. 6, 58. Snell also suggests that a fragmentary text (P. Oxy. 2250, in vol. xx, 12) in which a rich king is addressed in marching anapaests, may come from an address to Sisyphus by the Chorus of this play.
This suggestion might possibly be right, but there is very little positive evidence in its favour. There is no suggestion in the text that this is the first performance of the Isthmian games: if it were, Aeschylus as an Athenian might be thought likely to prefer the legend that made Theseus their founder. Nor is there any real evidence for Sisyphus as a craftsman. philotechnia in Diodorus must mean much the same as panourgia, and Aelian compares Sisyphus to the Cercopes and Telchines in point of cunning, not of craftsmanship. No tradition connects Corinth with the origins of representative art or of weapons; its fame as a centre of craftsmanship belongs to historic rather than to heroic times. A more positive objection to the theory is the difficulty of reconciling it with Lobel’s very probably restoration of l. 93. Why should Sisyphus ask the satyrs “to let him sail” or “to take him on board”? As for P. Oxy. 2250, it might have occurred in any number of different contexts, and there is no substantial reason for connecting it with this play.
It is worth exploring other possibilities, provided one remembers that certainty is not likely to be attainable. It seems likely that he maker of the portraits and weapons may be one of the great artificers of mythology. At l. 7 one of the likenesses is called to Daidalou mimêma. This has been taken to mean “the likeness like one by Daedalus.” But a more natural sense would be “the likeness by Daedalus.” Can Daedalus be the maker of the portraits and the javelins?
Daedalus is often said to have invented the art of sculpture (see Apollodorus 3. 15. 9, Hyginus, Fab. 274). He was also the inventor of carpentry and several of its instruments, including the adze (Pliny, N.H. 7. 198). He was by origin a noble Athenian, a kinsman of Theseus (Cleidemus ap. Plutarch, Theseus 19, etc.), and had to leave Athens because he killed his nephew out of jealousy at his superior skill. Is Daedalus at the Isthmus, trying to persuade the satyrs to take him on their ship, perhaps so that he can get to Crete? Daedalus certainly figures in the Daedalus and Camici of Sophocles, either or both of which may have been satyric, apart from the comedies by Plato and Aristophanes called after him.
But there is a sculptor and smith even more renowned than Daedalus who is constantly portrayed on vases in the company of satyrs. This is Hephaestus. In spite of Wilamowitz (Kleine Schriften v. 11), there is good reason to believe that Hephaestus was sometimes referred to as Daidalos (see Pearson, Fragments of Sophocles i. 110 and literature there quoted). No legend about satyrs is more commonly depicted on vases than that of the Return of Hephaestus; of how Hera slighted her deformed son; of how he made for her a marvellous throne, which when she tried to rise fro
m it held her fast bound; of how Ares tried to overcome Hephaestus by force and failed miserably; of how Hepheastus vanished from Olympus, so that no one was able to release his mother; and of how he was finally brought back by Dionysus and his satyrs, who had made him drunk (see Beazley, Development of Attic Black-Figure 31, 44; Brommer, Jahrbuch des Deutschen Institute 52, 1937, 198; id. Satyrspiele 23, 68, etc.). Wilamowitz’ guess that it formed the subject of a lost Homeric Hymn rests on insufficient evidence; but it was handled by Alcaeus (see Page, Sappho and Alcaeus 258 f.) and by Epicharmus in his Kômastai ê Haphaistos. The earliest Athenian work that we know to have treated this theme is the satyr-play Hêphaistos of the tragedian Achaeus; but there must have been other satyr-plays that had the exile and return of Hephaestus as a principal or as a subsidiary theme.
Dionysus complains (l. 66 f.) that the satyrs reproach him with being no good at work in iron. This suggests that he may be being unfavourably contrasted with some other possible patron who is. It reminds us that there are several legends in which the satyrs figure as Hephaestus’ workmen (see Pearson, op. cit, ii. 136). And it recalls the problem set by a fairly numerous group of vases which feature what at first sight seems to be the Return of Hephaestus: only the figure on the ass and holding the smith’s tools that we should expect to be Hephaestus turns out on closer inspection to be Dionysus (see Brommer, Jahrb. Des Deut. Inst. L.x., 206, with literature there quoted). It has already been suggested that there may have been a story of Dionysus stealing Hephaestus’ tools. I cannot help suspecting that the giver of the portraits and the javelins may have been the exiled Hephaestus, eager for a lift on the satyrs’ ship to escape those who are trying to fetch him back to Olympus; that Dionysus may have tried to punish Hephaestus for stealing his retainers by stealing his tools; and that finally Dionysus may have learned that Hephaestus was wanted on Olympus and have made the return of the tools conditional upon his surrender. But I put this forward only as a guess at the nature of facts that are not known.
[?]
[1] . . . seeing the portraits, wrought by super-human skill. And however you may act, you won’t be guilty of irreverence.
[CHORUS]
[3] I’m very grateful to you for this: you’re most obliging. Listen, all of you, and . . . in silence. Look and see whether this image could [possibly] be more [like] me, this likeness by the Skilful One; it can do everything but talk! Look at these! You see? Yes, come! Come! I bring this offering to the god to ornament his house, my lovely votive picture. It would give my mother a bad time! If she could see it, she’d certainly run shrieking off, thinking it was the son she brought up: so like me is this fellow.
[12] Ho there! look upon the house of the Lord of the Sea, the Shaker of the Earth! and let each fasten up the likeness of his handsome face, a truthful messenger, a voiceless herald to keep of travellers; he’ll halt strangers on their way by his terrifying look, Hail, King, hail, Poseidon . . . protector . . .
[DIONYSUS]
[23] I knew I’d find you, my good fellows! I won’t apply to you the words, “I couldn’t see that you were on your way.” The road itself tells me this, and [the . . . . , seeing these companions of yours], warned me of this and set me on the right track . . . cum decurtatas, tanquam murium caudas, mentulas vobis video. You’ve practised hard for the Isthmia; you haven’t been slack but have trained properly. Well, if you’d been loyal to the old saying, you might have seen to your dancing instead. But you’re playing the Isthmian competitor; you’ve learned new ways, and are keeping your arm-muscles in trim and wasting my money . . . So aren’t you breaking your oath when you flout me? a curse on you . . .
[39] (Fifteen lines unintelligible, including “a slave or thrice a slave,” “rightful master,” “miserable bed and miserable sleepings-out,” “in the (?wretched) . . . of this old . . .,” “running away from . . . of a polyp,” “Did I do anything . . . to you? Didn’t I do you many . . .?” “Well, then, be brave and speak . . .,” “. . . stay in the temple.” Eight lines missing; fragments of two lines.)
[63] . . . covering with a shield . . . and you spread this story . . . and let loose a spate of words, venting your fury against me, saying that I’m no good at work in iron, but am a cowardly, womanish creature, not to be counted as a male. And now you have to hand these other new implements, the most detestable of all tools. And you abuse me and my dancing, for which I’m summoning together the people of the Isthmian land, and no one, young or old, stays away from these double rows of dancers if he can help it. But you are playing the Isthmian competitor, and with your wreath of pine-leaves you refuse the ivy its due honour. Well, you’ll weep for this, you’ll weep tears that are not stung from you by mere smoke. But don’t you see your darling close at hand?
[CHORUS]
[79] No, I will never leave the temple! Why do you keep threatening me so? I enter my new home, the Isthmian house of Poseidon. But you must direct these gifts to others.
[?]
[84] Since you like to learn of novelties like these, I’m bring these new toys, freshly made, straight from adze and anvil. Here’s the first plaything for you.
[CHORUS]
[89] No, not for me! Give it to one of my friends!
[?]
[90] Don’t refuse, my dear fellow! Why, think of the evil omen!
[CHORUS]
[91] How can one enjoy this thing? and how shall I use it?
[?]
[92] It is suited toe the new craft which you’ve taken up.
[CHORUS]
[93] But what are you willing to do in return, if I let you sail?
[?]
[94] To be your comrade at the Isthmian games, a most agreeable pursuit.
[CHORUS]
[95] . . . bring . . . shall go on board . . . you shall go on foot . . . ankles.
1. Text very doubtful: see Summary.
2. Ogtogterôzoydêlosêsthodoiporôn: other editors read this as outoi heterôs, ou, dêlos, ktl. Prof. K. J. Dover makes the very attractive suggestion that the words I have put in inverted commas may be a quotation from one of Archilochus’ beast-fables. But I can find no evidence to substantiate this.
3. Text very doubtful: see Summary.
4. Doubtless erdoi tis ên hekastos eideiê technên: “Let each other practise the craft he knows” (Lobel).
5. Worn by competitors at the Isthmian games in early times.
6. Emblem of Dionysus
NIOBÊ
FRAGMENT 277
Ed. Pr. Vitelli-Norsa, Bulletin de la société royale d’archéologie d’Alexandrie 28, 1933, 108, with Plate.
The Papyrus gives no direct indication of speaker or speakers. Are the words preserved spoken by one speaker or no? And is all or part of the fragment spoken by Niobe herself?
Let us first consider ll. 1-9. We know from Aristophanes (Ran. 911 f.) and from the ancient Life of Aeschylus (quoted below) that for the whole of the early part of the play Niobe remained veiled and silent. Do these lines come from a speech made by her, after she has at last broken her silence, or do they come from a description of her behaviour by some other character? Three passages look as though, if their text was complete, they would supply an answer to this question. But of these three passages two (1-4, 10-11) are mutilated at the vital point, and might be supplemented in accordance with either view. In l. 1, we might read either anasten[ein echo or anasten[ein echei. L. 11 would be most naturally filled in by a participle (e.g. zêtôn, agôn); but one cannot rule out the possibility that the poet wrote, e.g., psuchês] komistra têde, ktl: in which case Niobe would after all have been the speaker. Ll. 6-8 should furnish a more certain indication, especially since they are quoted, or rather paraphrased by Hesychius (cf. fr. 78). But unfortunately the text of the papyrus is almost certainly corrupt, nor does Hesychius help us to amend it with certainty.
Hesychius explains the word epôzein as follows: epikathêsthai tois ôois. Aischylos Niobê metaphorikôs. ephêmenê taphon teknois epôze tois tethnêksin. From t
his scholars have inferred that the epoimôzousa of the papyrus in l. 7 is corrupt. Those who think Niobe is not the speaker mostly suppose that the corruption arose from epôze (Latte), and in l. 8 supply a participle; those who think she is in l. 7 read epôazousa and l. 8 supply an aorist indicative.
The verbs epôzô and epôazô can both mean “to sit on eggs”; but also both can mean “to utter cries,” one deriving from ô and the other from ôa. (When they mean “to sit on eggs,” they should properly be written with adscript iota after the ô, but adscript iotas are so often omitted in papyri that the absence of this is of no significance.) Hesychius, or rather his authority, clearly thought that Niobe was compared to a hen; and some of those who share his view argue against Niobe’s beign the speaker on the ground that she herself can hardly have made such a comparison. But the argument has no force, since Hesychius is unlikely to be right. The sense of “utter cries of lamentation” is far better suited to the context; nor is it reasonable to insist that Niobe’s silence must exclude the uttering of cries of lamentation. See Kloesel’s excellent treatment of this point.
Page rightly says that it would have been far easier for the MS. reading to be displaced by a paraphrasing word that would not destroy the sense than by a word that would destroy it; and this makes in favour of epoimôzousa as against epôzei zôna. But it is still unlikely that those who supply an aorist in l. 8 are right. Wolff’s tritai]on at the beginning of l. 6 is generally accepted. He compares Vita Aeschylus s. 6, where in all MSS. except M we read en gar têi Niobêi heôs tritês hêmeras epikathêmenê tôi taphôi tôn paidôn ouden phtheggetai. The words tritês hêmeras may be a mere corruption of M’s reading tritou merous. But even if it is, tritaion or some other ordinal number is very probably right. Is it possible for tritaion êmar . . . ephêmenê, “I have been sitting . . . for two days,” to be followed by a main verb that is not present but aorist? Page explains his reading eklausa as being an instantaneous aorist, of the kind which in English is properly rendered by a present. But I know of no case of a present participle that is used closely with an indication of time, as ephêmenê is used with tritaion hêmar, being followed by an aorist main verb. Instantaneous aorists of this sort may be equivalent in sense to English presents, but they are not treated as presents in Greek syntax. I therefore think it likely that whatever was displaced by epoimôzousa must have included a main verb in the present tense and that at the beginning of l. 8 we should supply a participle.
