Delphi Complete Works of Dio Chrysostom

by Dio Chrysostom

  οὐ δυνατόν, εἴπερ τυγχάνεις Ἕλλην γεγώς,

  τὸ μὴ οὐκ ὀλωλέναι σε τῇδ’ ἐν ἡμέρᾳ.

  5. (§ 8):

  πότερον ἐκ τοῦ φανεροῦ μάχῃ κρατήσας ἢ μετὰ δόλου τινός;

  μάχῃ κρατήσας ἢ δόλου τινός μετά;

  By good fortune, four of the seventeen fragments of the play now extant find their parallel in Dio’s version and will be reported in the notes, each in its appropriate place.

  The Fifty-ninth Discourse: Philoctetes

  Odysseus. I fear ‘twill prove that my allies were rash when they conceived of me the thought that I, in sooth, am best and wisest of the Greeks. And yet what kind of wisdom and prudence may this be which makes a man to toil beyond the others to gain the salvation and the victory of the group, seeing that, were he deemed to be but one among the throng, ‘twere his to share these blessings with the best? Ah well, no doubt ’tis difficult to find a thing so proud, so jealous of honour, as man is born to be. For ’tis the prominent, those who dare to undertake more labours than the rest, I dare say, whom we all do view with wonder and regard as truly men.

  [2] This thirst for glory is what leads even me to bear unnumbered woes and live a life of toil beyond all other men, accepting ever fresh peril, fearing to mar the glory won by earlier achievements. So now a task most hazardous and hard brings me to Lemnos here, that Philoctetes and the bow of Heracles I may bear off for my allies. For the one most gifted in prophecy of all the Phrygians, Helenus Priam’s son, when by good fortune taken captive, disclosed that without these the city never could be seized.

  [3] Now to the princes I did not agree to undertake the venture, knowing well the malice of that man, since ’twas I myself caused him to be marooned, that day when by ill fortune he was stung by a fierce and deadly viper. Thus I could not hope to find persuasion such that he should ever feel a kindly feeling toward me; nay, I thought he’d slay me out of hand. But after, Athena urging me in dreams, as is her wont, boldly to go and fetch the man — for she herself would change my form and voice, that I might meet him safe from detection — so did I pluck up courage, and am here.

  [4] But word has come that envoys from the Phrygians too have secretly been sent, if haply they may win Philoctetes by means of bribes, and through his hatred of us Greeks as well, and so take back to Troy him and his bow. With such a prize before him, why should not any man grow keen? For, should one fail in this endeavour, all previous achievements, it seems, have been but labour lost.

  [5] (Aside) Hah! the man draws nigh. ’Tis he himself, the son of Poeas, as is plain from his affliction, toiling along with labour and in pain. Oh what a grievous, awful spectacle! Aye, his person is frightful, thanks to his disease, his garb unwonted too — skins of wild beasts cover his nakedness. Come, Mistress Athena, be thou mine aid, nor show thyself to have promised me safety all in vain!

  [6] Philoctetes. What is thy purpose, whoe’er thou art, by what audacity inspired hast thou come to this my poor retreat — to pillage, or to spy upon my evil fortune?

  Od. Believe me, no man of violence dost thou see.

  Phil. Yet surely not of thy former wont hast thou come here.

  Od. Aye, not former wont; yet may it prove that coming even now is opportune.

  Phil. Methinks thou dost betray much lack of reason in thy coming here.

  Od. Then rest assured, not lacking reason have I come, and to thee at least no stranger shall I prove.

  [7] Phil. How so? This first of all ’tis fair that I should know.

  Od. Well, I’m an Argive, one of those who sailed for Troy.

  Phil. How can that be? Repeat thy words, that I may more clearly know.

  Od. Then dost thou hear it yet a second time: of those Achaeans who advanced on Troy I claim to be.

  Phil. Faith, thou didst well in claiming to be friend of mine, seeing thou art revealed among my bitterest foes, the Argives! So for their injustice shalt thou this very instant pay the penalty.

  Od. Nay, by the gods, forbear to loose thy shaft!

  Phil. It cannot be, if haply thou art Greek in truth, that thou shouldst fail to die this very day.

  [8] Od. Nay, I have suffered at their hands such things that I should rightly be a friend to thee, to them a foe.

  Phil. And what is this thou hast suffered so terrible?

  Od. Odysseus drove me an exile from the camp.

  Phil. What hadst thou done to meet with such a doom?

  Od. Methinks thou knowest Palamedes son of Nauplius.

  Phil. In truth no common man was he who sailed with us, nor little worth to men and generals.

  Od. Aye, such the man the common spoiler of the Greeks destroyed.

  Phil. O’ercoming him in open fight, or with some guile?

  Od. Charging betrayal of the camp to Priam’s sons.

  Phil. But was it so in fact, or has he met with calumny?

  Od. Could aught at all that scoundrel did be just?

  [9] Phil. Oh thou who hast refrained from naught most cruel, thou utter villain both word and deed, Odysseus, once more how fine the man thou hast destroyed, of no less value to the allied host than thou, methinks, inventing and devising the best and sagest plans! Just so in fact didst thou make me a castaway, when for the salvation and the victory of us all I met with this disaster, because I showed them Chrysê’s altar, where they must first make sacrifice if they would overcome the foe; else, I declared, our expedition was being made in vain. Yet what hast thou to do with Palamedes’ lot?

  [10] Od. Know well, the cursed feud was visited on all his friends, and all have perished, save such as could take to flight. Thus I too during the night just sped, sailing across alone, found refuge here. So I myself am placed in much the same necessity as thyself. If, then, thou hast some scheme, by adding thy eagerness to mine touching my voyage home, thou wilt have done a kindly deed toward me and wilt besides send home to thy own friends him who will bear the story of thy present ills.

  [11] Phil. Nay, wretched creature, thou art come for aid to such another as thou art, helpless himself and lacking friends besides, an outcast on this shore, in niggard fashion and with toil providing with this bow both food and clothing, as thou dost see. For what raiment I had before time hath consumed. But if thou wilt share with me here this life of mine until some second chance of safety falls thy way, I’d grudge it not. Distressing, truly, what thou wilt see indoors, my friend — wrappings polluted with an ulcer’s filth and other tokens of my malady — and I myself am far from being pleasant company when the pain comes on me. And yet the worst of my disease time hath assuaged, though at the start it was in no wise bearable.

  THE SIXTIETH DISCOURSE: NESSUS OR DEÏANEIRA

  Dio’s purpose in this little dialogue is apparently to display his dexterity in reconstructing Greek myth rather than to impart ethical instruction. A somewhat similar tour de force presents itself in the Trojan Discourse (Or. 11). Such exercises constituted a well-known feature of sophistic training and are not to be confused with the effort to rid ancient mythology of its grosser elements, an effort at least as old as Pindar.

  In the present instance the myth in question seems not to have been popular. Though it may have figured in the cyclic epic, The Taking of Oechalia, there is no proof that it did. The only ancient Greek writers known to have dealt with the tale of Nessus and Deïaneira are the two named in the opening paragraph of our dialogue — Archilochus and Sophocles. All that is known of the version of Archilochus is contained in this brief reference and in two meagre scholia on Apollonius Rhodius and the Iliad respectively. The Sophoclean version is contained in his Trachiniae. There the murdered Nessus wreaks a posthumous vengeance upon his murderer in the manner here outlined by Dio. The dramatist puts into the mouth of Deïaneira herself the account of the attempt upon her honour (Trachiniae 555-577).

  The anonymous interlocutor in Dio’s dialogue is a colourless
individual, whose function seems to be, first of all, to afford Dio an opportunity to display his dexterity, and finally to pay “certain philosophers” the doubtful compliment of comparison with coroplasts. The natural inference from that comparison is that Dio himself has attained the standing of a philosopher; but the interlocutor does not say so in plain terms and there is little in the Discourse that smacks of philosophy. In general it seems more suited to Dio’s sophistic period.

  The Sixtieth Discourse: Nessus or Deïaneira

  Interlocutor. Can you solve me this problem — whether or not people are warranted in finding fault now with Archilochus and now with Sophocles in their treatment of the story of Nessus and Deïaneira? For some say Archilochus makes nonsense when he represents Deïaneira as chanting a long story to Heracles while an attack upon her honour is being made by the Centaur, thereby reminding him of the love-making of Acheloüs — and of the events which took place on that occasion — in consequence of which Nessus would have ample time to accomplish his purpose; others charge that Sophocles has introduced the shooting of the arrow too soon, while they were still crossing the river; for in those circumstances, they claim, Deïaneira too would have perished, since the dying Centaur would have dropped her in the river. However, do not, as you usually do, speak quite counter to the general belief and give any version rather than what a man would naturally believe.

  [2] Dio. Then do you bid me tell you those things which a man would believe who believes correctly, or what a man would believe even though not correctly?

  Int. I prefer what one would believe who believes correctly.

  Dio. Then what about beliefs which the masses hold? Must he who desires to interpret correctly speak counter to the belief of the masses?

  Int. He must.

  Dio. Then do not be irritated as you follow the argument, if what is said is of that nature, but rather consider whether it is not suitably expressed.

  Int. Very well, speak and proceed with your exposition as seems good to you.

  Dio. Very good; I tell you that the whole misconception connected with the myth is the matter of the Centaur’s attempt to violate Deïaneira.

  Int. What, did he not attempt it?

  [3] Dio. No. Or does it seem to you plausible that in full view of Heracles, who was carrying his bow, and after having previously had experience of Heracles’ valour — the time when he alone of the Centaurs escaped from the cave of Pholus, though they had done no such injury as that to Heracles — Nessus should attempt to violate the hero’s wife?

  Int. Yes, there is a certain difficulty in a matter of that sort; however, if we raise this question, perhaps we may destroy the myth altogether.

  Dio. By no means, provided we consider first how the affair occurred, and how it was likely to have occurred.

  Int. Very good; I wish you would tell me.

  [4] Dio. Nessus attempted to corrupt Deïaneira the moment he began to carry her across the stream, as well as in the crossing, as I shall explain — not through violence, as men say, but by speaking to her words suited to his purpose and showing how she might obtain mastery over Heracles, saying: “Now he is fierce and stern and will stay with you only a short while, and that too in fretful temper, because of his labours and his expeditions abroad and the life he has chosen. But if,” said he, “you win him over, partly by solicitude for his welfare and partly by argument, urging him to give up this life of hardship and his labours and to live a life of ease and pleasure, he will not only be far kinder toward you, but will also live a better life and remain at home and keep you company from then on.”

  [5] Now the Centaur went into these details with designs on Heracles, in the hope that he might somehow turn him in the direction of indulgence and indolence, for he knew that as soon as he changed his mode of living and his occupation he would be easy to manage and weak. But Deïaneira, as she heard him, paid no casual attention to his words, but rather considered that the Centaur was correct in what he said, as indeed might have been expected, since she wished to have her husband under her control. Heracles, on the other hand, suspecting that the Centaur was saying nothing honourable, judging from the earnestness with which he was talking to Deïaneira, and because she gave him her attention, therefore shot him with his bow. [6] But, though dying, nevertheless the Centaur bade Deïaneira to remember what he had said and to act as he had advised.

  Later on, when Deïaneira recalled the words of the Centaur, and when also Heracles did not relax at all but made an even lengthier journey away from home — his final journey, during which he captured Oechalia — and when in fact he was reported to have become enamoured of Iolê, thinking it better that what the Centaur had advised should be accomplished, she set to work upon Heracles and — [7] such is the nature of female wile and cunning — she did not desist until, partly by coaxing and saying that she was anxious about him, lest he come to grief by persisting winter and summer alike in going unclothed, wearing only his lion’s skin, she at last persuaded him to doff the skin and put on dress like that of other men. And this, of course, was what is called the shirt of Deïaneira, which Heracles put on.

  [8] But along with his dress, she made him change his mode of living in general, now sleeping on bedding and not camping in the open for the most part, as was his former custom, nor labouring with his own hands, nor using the same food as formerly, but rather eating grain most carefully prepared and fish and sweet wine and in fact whatever goes with these things. But as an outcome of this change, as was inevitable methinks, falling into weakness and flabbiness of body, and thinking that, having once adopted self-indulgence, it was no longer easy to lay it aside, he therefore set himself on fire, not only because he believed it better to be freed from such a life as that, but also because he was distressed that he had allowed himself to take up a life of luxury.

  So there you have my reasoning, such as I have been able to express it, regarding the myth.

  [9] Int. And, by Heaven, it seems to me not at all a bad one or unconvincing either. And somehow or other I have the feeling that the method of some philosophers in dealing with their arguments resembles in a way that of the makers of figurines. For those craftsmen produce a mould, and whatever clay they put into this they render like to the mould in form; and some of the philosophers ere now have proved like that, with the result that, whatever myth or story they take in hand, by tearing it to pieces and moulding it to suit their fancy they render it beneficial and suited to philosophy, the sort of philosopher in fact that Socrates in particular proved to be, as we are told. [10] For Socrates indeed entered the lists in all kinds of arguments and all sorts of lectures — against orators, sophists, geometricians, musicians, athletic trainers, and all the other craftsmen — and, whether in palaestra or symposium or market-place, he was not prevented in any way at all from plying his calling as philosopher or from impelling toward virtue those who were with him, not by introducing any topic of his own or any preconceived problem, but rather by consistently employing the topic at hand and applying it to philosophy.

  THE SIXTY-FIRST DISCOURSE: CHRYSEÏS

  In this little dialogue it would seem that Dio had chosen for discussion the most unpromising of topics. Little as is known about Briseïs, Homer at least tells us that when Agamemnon’s messengers came to fetch her she followed them unwillingly, but Chryseïs, the involuntary cause of the quarrel out of which grew the Iliad, is restored to the arms of her father without giving the slightest clue to her emotions or desires. Apart from the epithet “fair-cheeked” which she shares with Briseïs, our only testimony regarding her personality is the tribute paid her by Agamemnon when he compares her with Clytemnestra to the disadvantage of the latter, a tribute, it may be, inspired as much by arrogant pride as by passion.

  So far as is known, none of the Greek playwrights found in her story material suitable for dramatic treatment; yet Dio here undertakes the task of endowing this lay figure with life. His partner in the discussion is not a colourless individual, as is oft
en the case, merely providing the cues for further argumentation and meekly assenting to the conclusions reached, but a woman with a mind of her own, repeatedly raising logical objections and asking pertinent questions. Her final utterance shows that, despite the dexterity of Dio, she has some lingering doubts about the true character of Chryseïs. It is of course peculiarly fitting that in treating such a topic as Chryseïs the interlocutor should be a woman, but that Dio should have cast a woman for such a rôle is of itself noteworthy, and there is such an atmosphere of verisimilitude surrounding the dialogue as to suggest that it may actually have taken place.

  The Sixty-first Discourse: Chryseïs

  Dio. Since, as it happens, you praise Homer in no ordinary manner and you do not, like most persons, merely pretend to admire him, trusting to his reputation, but instead have discerned that quality in the poet in which he is most effective, his acquaintance with the passions of mankind, let us, if you please, pass by all else for the moment, the fortunes of kings and generals, and turn our attention to discover how the poet has depicted the daughter of the priest whom he has mentioned at the very beginning of his poem. For Agamemnon seems to praise not only the beauty but also the character of the young woman, for he says that she is in no wise inferior in mind to his own wife — clearly believing that Clytemnestra has intelligence.

  [2] Interlocutor. What of it? Has he not said this thoughtlessly, beguiled by his infatuation?

  Dio. That is worth looking into; and yet it is very difficult to convince men who are in love, for most of them are suspicious and easily angered, and they never admit that they are loved as they deserve by their beloved, especially when they are so superior in station to the objects of their passion and associate with them by virtue of authority.

  Int. That kind of thing, in my opinion, happens with lovers of the low sort.