The religious element is not so prominent in the poetry of Sophocles, who brought his compositions to the highest perfection of art; and the rationalising element is still more apparent in Euripides, with whom philosophy may be said to have gained the ascendency. In his hands the Athenian drama lost to a large extent its ideal and heroic character, becoming realistic in its mode of thought, and showing the same speculative tendencies as the Sophists had begun to indulge in. Euripides represents a period of decline; but for intellectual keenness and subtlety, for humane sentiment and tender pathos, he is generally regarded as the greatest of the three. It gives us some idea of the marvellous intellectual wealth of Athens at this period in her history when we remember that the great poets we have mentioned were sometimes defeated by competitors, whose writings have unfortunately perished.

Side by side with the later developments of Greek tragedy, Attic comedy reached its culminating point in the writings of Aristophanes, whose plays, eleven in number (dating from 427 B.C. onwards), are all that exist of the comic literature of this period. It originated in the droll procession, with merry song and rude comments on public affairs, which formed one of the features of the “Greater Dionysia”—borrowed no doubt from the rustic celebrations at vintage and harvest which are usually attributed to the Dorian genius. At first voluntary, the procession afterwards became a recognised part of the Athenian festival, and was subsidised by the state, the result being that it assumed a dramatic character in the hands of the poet Cratinus. While fun and laughter were the primary objects it was intended to serve, it found room for an infusion of beautiful lyric poetry; and the chorus became the mouth-piece of the poet for expressing his mind on the questions of the day, and satirising the vices and follies of politicians and other public men. Unfortunately Aristophanes did not spare even such a salutary teacher as Socrates, whom we find caricatured in the Clouds. Though the comic poets were generally conservative in their instincts and bitterly opposed to philosophic radicalism, they owed their right of criticism very largely to the free spirit of the Athenian democracy; and they soon gave up their scathing personalities when power passed out of the hands of the people. Moreover the revelry associated with the worship of Dionysus seemed to justify the licence which they claimed; and when the old religion lost its hold on the mind of the nation they lost their courage and independence as public censors. In Menander and others the “New Comedy” became little more than an amusing reflection of the social life of the day.

The plays in the theatre were only part of the Dionysiac festival, which was celebrated with great magnificence by a public procession and sacrifices. During the fifth and fourth centuries B.C., when the Greek drama was at its best, the responsibility of

producing a play was generally undertaken by some rich man who was called the choregus, it being his duty to provide the chorus and furnish its members with suitable dresses. In the event of the play being successful in the competition, the choregus received a prize in the form of a tripod, which it was customary for him to set up in the precincts of Dionysus’ temple, or in an adjoining street. Fortunately one such monument has been preserved, which had been erected (as the inscription tells) by Lysicrates in 335 B.C.—surmounted by a bronze tripod, which has disappeared. Apart from its historical interest the monument has considerable value from an architectural point of view, as it is one of the earliest and finest specimens of the Corinthian order. It is in the form of a small circular temple of Pentelic marble, fully 20 feet high, standing on a high square pediment of Piræic limestone 13 feet high, with a cornice of Hymettus marble. It is beautifully decorated in a chaste and delicate style, the roof consisting of a single leaf-shaped block of marble, and the frieze being ornamented with scenes in the mythological history of Dionysus. For many years it served as the library of a Capuchin convent which was built round it. The convent was a favourite residence for Englishmen at Athens, and Lord Byron is said to have used the interior of the monument for a study.

The theatre was often used for public meetings. It was there that it was proposed to honour Demosthenes with a golden wreath in acknowledgment of the signal service he had rendered to his countrymen in reviving their courage and persuading the Thebans to join with them in resisting the victorious advance of Philip. It was a great contrast to the treatment he had experienced in the same place many years before, when a wealthy Hipparch named Meidias attacked him with his fists at the very time he was acting as choregus for his tribe Pandionis. In general, great decorum was observed in the theatre. It was not even permitted to the officials who were responsible for maintaining order to inflict a blow on any disorderly person, though it might be their duty to remove him by force. That same year Demosthenes and some other leading Athenians paid a visit to the court of Philip at Pella. Among other entertainments which the king provided for them, his son Alexander, then a boy of ten years of age, recited a dialogue, along with a companion, from one of the great tragic poets of Athens. The taste for this kind of literature never left the great prince, though his interest in natural science was also shown by a grant of 800 talents to his former tutor, Aristotle, for the purpose of carrying on zoological researches. When he asked Harpalus to send him something to read during his stay in Upper Asia, the works of Æschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides were among the few books selected. Again, when he returned from the conquest of Egypt to Phœnicia, after he had been saluted as the son of Zeus by the priest of Jupiter-Ammon in the Libyan desert, dramatic representations formed an important part of the festivals which were got up in his honour; and the princes of Cyprus were conspicuous for the zeal and liberality with which they acted the part of choregi in competitions modelled on those of Athens. Of the popularity of the tragic poets with Greek soldiers we have a remarkable evidence in the fact that when, a century before, the Athenian army which had been sent for the invasion of Sicily was utterly destroyed, a number of men who escaped capture and wandered about the country, and also some of those who had been reduced to slavery, won the hearts of their conquerors by reciting passages of Euripides which they happened to know by heart. In this connection it may be mentioned that all free-born children in Athens were taught to read and write, while the recitation of selected passages from great authors, and the practice of music on the lyre or flute, along with gymnastics for the training of the body, were always included in a liberal education.

Another great educative influence in democratic Athens was the practice and the love of oratory. In the beginning of the sixth century B.C. we find Solon employing verses on political subjects for the persuasion of his countrymen, while at the same time condemning the incipient drama of Thespis, when he saw him acting, as tending to falsehood—emphasising his opinion, we are told, by striking his stick on the ground. It was not till nearly a century later that the cultivation of prose rhetoric became common in Greece. The Ionic philosophers of Asia Minor, and their successors in Magna Græcia, who had tried to grapple with the problems of the universe, gave place to the sophists who abandoned the quest for abstract truth and devoted themselves to studies which had a direct bearing on the practical interests of life. They naturally gravitated to Athens as the intellectual capital of Greece, and found many young men who were eager to acquire the arts and accomplishments they professed to impart. Socrates has been called the greatest of the sophists, but, apart from deeper points of difference, he was distinguished from them by the facts that he gave no instruction in public speaking (for which he had no taste), and that he accepted no fee from his disciples. On the latter point, however, the sophists do not seem to have been so mercenary as is sometimes alleged, if we may judge from the example of Protagoras, who is represented by Plato as stating that he made no bargain with his pupils beforehand, and that if they thought on leaving that he was asking too much he allowed them to name a smaller figure, on condition that they went into a temple and declared on oath that they considered it a more just remuneration.

The fact that every citizen who had a case in the law courts of Athens was obliged to plead his cause in person before a court consisting of about 500 jurors, gave a great impetus to the cultivation of oratory. Not only was the preparation of the speeches often entrusted to professional rhetoricians, but their services as teachers of elocution were also called into requisition by those who were anxious to do justice to their cause by means of an effective delivery. The general Assembly offered a still larger field for the practice of

eloquence, on the part of those who were ambitious of a political career, and it was open to all citizens who chose to attend. The result was that the Athenians became as pre-eminent in their power of expression in language as in the visible forms of art. One of the most interesting spots in Athens is the Pnyx, where the Assembly usually met—“that angry, waspish, intractable, little old man, Demos of Pnyx”—to quote the words of Aristophanes. The place of meeting was a semicircular space on the face of a low rocky hill, a quarter of a mile west of the Acropolis. Where the diameter of the circle would be, but forming an obtuse angle, is a wall of hewn rock, fifteen feet high at its central part, but getting lower towards the sides. In front of this wall, about where the centre of the circle would be, there is a block of stone eleven feet long and as many broad, resting on a platform of three steps about thirty feet wide at its front base, cut out of the natural rock. This is believed to have been the bēma (“stone in the Pnyx”) from which the speakers in the Assembly sometimes addressed 6000 or 7000 citizens chiefly resident in Athens or the immediate neighbourhood and belonging to the middle or lower classes. Round part of the semicircle, retaining-walls can still be traced, which appear to have been originally much higher, so that the enclosure would slope down towards the bema or platform, and thus bring the speaker within sight and hearing of the whole Assembly.

It was in the Pnyx that the great debates took place which determined the policy of Athens and influenced the destiny of all Greece. Here might be heard the demagogue Cleon, who knew how to play on the passions and prejudices of the mob. By the strange working of the Athenian constitution, he found himself on two important occasions at the head of the army, first at Sphacteria, when the forces under his command inflicted on Sparta one of the greatest humiliations which it ever suffered at the hands of Athens, and again at Amphipolis, when the Spartan general Brasidas gained the victory, though at the cost of his own life, Cleon also being slain by a spear-wound in the back when he was fleeing from the field. Here too Phocion delivered his opinions, the plain, blunt, warm-hearted soldier who studied brevity and candour in all his utterances, never condescending to flatter or even to please his audience. On one occasion, when some remark he had made was loudly applauded, he turned round to a neighbour and inquired whether he had said anything very much amiss! His wisdom was not always equal to his honesty and courage, but his career was long and honourable, as he was forty-five times elected general for a year, and on many occasions rendered signal service to his country. The conduct of the citizens, assembled in the theatre, in refusing him a hearing (an old man of eighty-four years) before condemning him to death as a traitor, will always be a blot on the history of the Athenian democracy.

In the Pnyx, as well as in the law courts, might be heard the consummate orator, whose extant speeches are pronounced by general consent to be the finest specimens of parliamentary and forensic eloquence in ancient or in modern times. The power of Demosthenes in delivery seems to have been equal to his skill in argument and his clearness and felicity of expression—the result of marvellous patience and perseverance in the face of difficulties which would have seemed to most men to be insuperable, arising from defective articulation, a weak voice, short breath and an awkward manner. His devotion to his country was equal to his enthusiasm as an orator; and if it had been still possible to teach the democracy wisdom and preserve the liberties of Athens, Demosthenes would have been the man to do so. But his lot fell in evil times, and fate was against him. His end, like that of many of the great men of antiquity, was a very sad one. In 324 B.C., six years after delivering his great speech De Corona, which has been fitly called “the funeral oration of Greek liberty,” he was thrown into prison on a charge of conspiring against the Macedonian authority. He made his escape and took refuge in the Peloponnesus, where he was living at the time of the death of Alexander the Great—an event which kindled in the breasts of patriotic Greeks a fresh hope of regaining their liberties. Demosthenes took the lead in the movement for liberation and secured for his countrymen the help of Peloponnesian allies in a last effort to throw off the Macedonian yoke. On landing at Piræus he received a magnificent welcome from all classes of his fellow-citizens. But the rising was soon suppressed. Antipater compelled the city to surrender at discretion; and within a year Demosthenes was again a fugitive under sentence of death, passed against him by the remnant of citizens who were still permitted to abide at Athens. In his extremity he took refuge in a temple of Poseidon at Calauria, which had been an inviolable asylum from time immemorial. The Athenian who was at the head of the Thracian force sent by Antipater to take him was afraid to desecrate the sanctuary, and tried to entice him beyond its precincts by promising that his life would be spared. But Demosthenes knew how little faith was to be put in such a promise. He knew that even if his life were spared he might have his tongue cut out, like other orators who had done what they could to warn their countrymen against Macedonian aggression. Despairing of being able to render any further service to his country he resolved to put an end to his life by swallowing the poison which he had secreted about his person to meet such an emergency. As soon as he felt the poison begin to work he arose and walked slowly out of the sanctuary, calling for support to his tottering steps, in order to save the temple from being desecrated by his death.

A few words may be added regarding another aspect of Athenian greatness during the period of the democracy, which has already been incidentally mentioned. The latter half of the fifth century B.C., which was the golden age of the sophists, also saw the rise of a new intellectual movement, which was destined to secure for Athens a position of supremacy in the department

of philosophy for hundreds of years after it had sunk into political insignificance, and even after the sceptre in the realm of literature had passed to Alexandria. The man to whom this new departure was chiefly due was Socrates, a brave soldier, a genial friend, and an incorruptible citizen, as well as an original thinker. Greatly to his own astonishment, he was declared by the Delphian oracle to be the wisest of men—a statement which he could only credit in the sense that he was wiser than others inasmuch as he was aware of his own ignorance. He not only imparted a higher moral tone to the teaching of Greek philosophy than it ever had before, but also laid the foundation of the Logic of Definition, and anticipated in the sphere of ethics the principle of Induction on which Aristotle acted in the next century in various departments of his encyclopædic studies, and which was to be fully applied by Lord Bacon in the natural world nearly 2000 years afterwards. Before the days of Socrates the greatest, or at least the most ambitious, thinkers had made vain attempts to unveil the secrets of the physical universe, and in doing so had either ignored the traditional theology, or else explained it away, like Xenophanes, who held that the gods were the creation of human imagination, and that if oxen or lions were to become religious they would likewise make for themselves gods in their own image. With such impiety Socrates could have no sympathy, as we may judge from the fact that he even condemned the presumption of Anaxagoras in treating Helios and Selené (sun and moon) as if they were material bodies, whose motions and magnitudes could be ascertained by the intellect of man.

In Plato, the disciple and exponent of Socrates, Greek speculation may be said to have reached its culminating point. How greatly his thoughts have influenced the course of philosophy in subsequent times, even to our own day, may be judged from the following words of the late Professor Jowett in his introduction to the Republic, which is generally acknowledged to be the greatest and most suggestive of the numerous works of Plato:—

CHAPTER XII

ATHENS—ITS DECAY AND ITS REVIVAL

WITHIN a few years after the death of Demosthenes a striking evidence was afforded of the sad change which had come over the city of Athens. The restoration of its political freedom for a brief period by Demetrius Poliorcetes (307 B.C.) in the name of his father Antigonus, one of the successors (diadochoi) of Alexander the Great, was the occasion for an exhibition of servility and impiety which showed that the manly spirit of those who fought at Marathon and Salamis had utterly forsaken their descendants. Not only were Demetrius and his father acknowledged as kings, but they were also exalted to the rank of divinities, orders being given by the authorities that their pictures and achievements should be wrought into the sacred robe which figured so prominently at the Pan-Athenaic festival, along with those of Zeus and Athena. A few years afterwards the shameful profanation was carried still further by the admission of Demetrius to the Parthenon as the guest of the goddess, and by the issue of a licentious decree that whatever he commanded was to be regarded as holy and just. How

little sincerity there was in all this obsequious homage became evident the following year, when fortune turned against Demetrius at the battle of Ipsus. He set sail from Ephesus for Athens, but was refused admission.

Various causes may be assigned for the decline and fall of the Athenian state. From a political point of view the more immediate cause was its overweening pride and unbridled ambition—typified by the character of Alcibiades, who has been well described as the evil genius of his country at a most critical period of its history. Hence arose the terrible disasters which befell it in Sicily, and the subsequent dissolution of its naval empire. If the imperial capital had paid more respect to the claims of other Greek states associated with it in the Delian confederacy, its fate might have been very different. But while incurring the jealousy of Sparta and other rival powers it failed to gain the confidence of the minor states allied to it. Its imperial policy when at the height of its power may be contrasted with that of Great Britain, regarding which it has been recently said by Sir Wilfred Laurier, the Prime Minister of Canada: “The British Empire means freedom, decentralisation, and autonomy. It will live and live for ever.”

But Athens suffered from other causes besides its own imperial pride and the enmity of other Greek states. As Æschylus is said to have foreseen, the virtual abolition in a political sense of the court of Areopagus, the great representative of traditional authority, and the failure to provide any other adequate safeguards against democratic excesses, could not fail sooner or later to be attended with evil consequences. That the appointment to public offices should have been made by lot, as a general rule, and that no one, however eminent for ability and experience, should have been eligible as a member of the Council more than twice, shows how the public interests of the state were sacrificed to the theory of personal equality among the citizens. Even the high level of culture at Athens could not justify such a disregard for the inevitable diversity of natural gifts and acquired habits in every community. Moreover, the love of wealth and the taste for luxury, which resulted from the increasing prosperity of the city, tended to the deterioration of character both among the leading men, who were too open to bribes from foreign powers, even those at war with their country, and among the citizens at large, who were apt to become demoralised by their wholesale payment as dicasts, and were not content with largess at the Dionysiac festivals only. The self-denial which led the citizens in the time of Themistocles to forgo their claim on the proceeds of the silver mines of Laurium, amounting to ten drachms per head, in order that an addition might be made to their naval armament, would not have been so readily found at the close of the fourth century, when the “Theoric Fund” had come to be spoken of as “the cement of the democracy.”

While there are scarcely any monuments of the Macedonian period now to be seen in Athens, it is different as regards the age of Roman supremacy.

One of the oldest of the tributes of respect then paid by foreigners to the famous but decaying city, is the stoa of Attalus, erected by the second king of Pergamus of that name (159-138 B.C.). The Stoa, which formed part of the eastern boundary of the Market-place (by that time commonly called the Cerameicus), consisted of two stories, the lower façade having a row of forty-five Doric columns in front, with an inner row of twenty-two Ionic columns. The latter divided the enclosed space into two aisles, where buying and selling went on, while farther in, behind the inner aisle, there were rooms for storing goods. The upper story did not extend so far back, and had only one row of Doric columns, connected by a lattice balustrade of Pentelic marble—the material of which the columns were also made.

In the same neighbourhood may be seen one of the best preserved monuments in Athens. It is an octagonal marble building, called the Tower of the Winds, standing fully 40 feet high, with a diameter of 26 feet. On each of its eight sides there is an emblematic figure, representing the wind which blows in that direction. On the top of the tower there was once a bronze Triton, which pointed to the picture of the wind that was blowing at the time. Under each figure is a sun-dial, and there was also an ingenious system of waterworks within the tower, to show the time in any weather, by night or by day. The tower was erected in the first century B.C. by a Syrian named Andronicus.

A little farther east stands a great gate or portico, consisting of four Doric columns, 26 feet high, with a massive architrave and pediment. An inscription on the architrave tells that it was erected in honour of Athena Archegetis (“Foundress Athena”) by the people of Athens, from funds bestowed on them by Julius Cæsar and the Emperor Augustus. It was once supposed to be part of a temple, but excavations have proved that it led into a great market-place, which was surrounded by an Ionic colonnade, and was chiefly used (judging from an inscription found in the neighbourhood) for the sale of olive-oil, the great gift of Athena. In the pediment of the gate there was originally a statue of Lucius, the adopted son of Augustus. His son-in-law Agrippa was also held in honour in Athens; and on the Acropolis a pedestal can still be seen, close to the Propylæa, on which his statue rested, with an inscription in which he is styled a benefactor of the city.

On the Museum or Observatory Hill there is a marble structure called the Monument of Philopappus, erected in the beginning of the second century A.D., in honour of a generous Athenian citizen of that name, who was the last hereditary king of Commagene, in Asia Minor. Above the frieze are three niches, two of which contain statues of Philopappus and his grandfather Antiochus Epiphanes, while in the third, on the right, there once stood the figure of Seleucus Nicator, the founder of the dynasty. On the north-east side of the hill there are three rock-hewn chambers, no doubt originally tombs, though they are now called (apparently without any justification) the Prison of Socrates.

Among all the Roman emperors Hadrian was the

greatest admirer of Athens, and conferred most benefits on the city, both in the way of architectural adornment and otherwise. He erected a number of magnificent buildings in the heart of the city, one of which (as Pausanias tells us) had a hundred columns of Phrygian marble, another a hundred columns of Libyan marble, while a third, which was used as a library, was adorned with a gilded roof and alabaster. Part of a rich colonnade has been preserved, and is known as the Stoa of Hadrian. But the emperor’s greatest monument was the Olympieum, or temple of Olympian Zeus, situated to the south-east of the Acropolis, on the right bank of the Ilissus. The foundation of the temple had been laid by Peisistratus nearly 700 years before, and the work had been considerably advanced by Antiochus Epiphanes nearly 400 years later; but it was reserved to Hadrian to complete the great undertaking, which he did in a munificent style. Unfortunately only fifteen of the hundred or more Corinthian columns of Pentelic marble are now standing, occupying but a small part of the vast platform (about 2200 feet in circumference) on which the temple stood. But such is the grandeur of the columns, rising to a height of nearly 57 feet and fully 5½ feet in diameter, that they form one of the most imposing ruins in the world. Even before the commencement of the temple of Peisistratus, the place was regarded with peculiar veneration as the traditional site of a temple erected by Deucalion, the survivor of the Flood; and in the days of Pausanias a cleft was to be seen in the ground, into which the subsiding waters were said to have sunk, and where, every year, the people cast in wheaten meal kneaded with honey, probably in memory of those who perished in the Deluge.

Somewhere in this neighbourhood—though the exact locality has not been determined—was the Lyceum, a gymnasium named after an old temple of Lycean Apollo, in the midst of spacious grounds, where military reviews were sometimes held, but chiefly famous as the place where Aristotle and his followers had their daily walk and conversation, on account of which they received the name of Peripatetics.

Between the Acropolis and the Olympieum, probably in the line of the old city wall, stands the Arch of Hadrian, a handsome structure of Pentelic marble, almost 60 feet high, with an archway 20 feet wide. On one side of the entablature, facing the city, are inscribed the words, “This is Theseus’ Athens, the old city,” and on the other side, “This is the city of Hadrian and not of Theseus.” The emperor’s hope of a new city of Athens has been fulfilled in modern times, but the extension has not taken place in the direction of Hadrianopolis, but rather to the north.

Few cities in the Old World have made such rapid progress as Athens has done since the liberation of Greece three-quarters of a century ago. In 1834, when it became the capital of the new kingdom, it had only a population of a few hundreds, while Piræus was scarcely inhabited at all. The population of Athens is now approaching 150,000, and that of Piræus is about 50,000. The wealth of both has kept pace with the population.

Piræus is a prosperous and well-built town, whose trade has outstripped that of every other port in Greece, while Athens is incomparably the finest city in the kingdom, containing many beautiful modern buildings, both public and private, and some handsome streets, with shops that would do credit to London or Paris.

The growth of Athens is chiefly due to its political importance as the capital of the country and the residence of the king. Politics is the chief occupation of its educated citizens—dust and politics, indeed, are said to be its two plagues. The whole of Greece is remarkable for its consuming interest in politics; and, next to the daily newspapers, of which some thirteen are published in Athens, history is the favourite reading of the people. Unfortunately for the welfare of the country, the interest in politics does not arise so much from zeal for rival principles as from party struggles for place and power. In these struggles it is not merely the professional politicians whose personal interests are affected, but also the public officials of the country, most of whom are liable to dismissal or translation every time there is a change of Government—an event of much more frequent occurrence in Greece than in Great Britain. There is only one legislative chamber, the Boulé or Council, the number of whose members varies, but can never be less than 150. They are elected on a basis of manhood suffrage, and receive a salary of from £50 to £100 a year, according to the length of the session. The Government consists of seven members, who receive each £300 a year, with an additional £150 for the Prime Minister.[8]

Closely associated with the politicians are the barristers, of whom there are about 800 in Athens, besides a great many others scattered through the country. The highest court of appeal, both for civil and criminal cases, bears the time-honoured name of Areopagus, and consists of eighteen judges. Of inferior judges there are nearly 600 in the whole country, most of whom are removable on a change of Government—an evil in some degree mitigated by the fact that all candidates for judicial posts must have passed a series of examinations in law. The medical profession is said to be also overstocked, though the legal fees chargeable for medical attendance would not be thought tempting in this country. With regard to the clergy, comparatively few of them receive their education in Athens or pass through the University. Their average culture is very low—but not lower than their remuneration—and the consequence is that any influence the Church exerts on the life of the nation is of a superficial kind, and finds its chief support in the festive celebration of the numerous Saints’ Days. The services in the churches are of a ritualistic order, and sermons are seldom heard except in Lent. The kissing of an eikon or the lighting of a taper appears to be with many worshippers a mere formality, while, at the same time, there is a large amount of ignorance and superstition in the country districts.

Of late there has been a considerable diminution in the number of students at the University, notwithstanding the liberal subsidies which have been granted to it by Government; and pursuits of an industrial nature are attracting more attention. The opinion is gaining ground that education of a literary character has been overdone, with the result that a large proportion of those who have received an academic training fail to find suitable employment and become idlers and hangers-on, spending their time largely in talking politics in the neighbourhood of the Boulé or the cafés of Constitution Square. In a political sense great importance is attached by many to the fact that about a third of the students at the University (say 200 freshmen every year) come from “Outer Greece,” and are expected on their return home to do much in the way of fostering enthusiasm for the great hope of a reunited Greece, to embrace Macedonia, Epirus, Crete, and the Levant. This hope has been somewhat damped by the favour recently shown by Russia to Bulgaria, the other likely claimant to Macedonia when the Turkish Empire is dissolved; and it is to Great Britain and France that the Greeks now chiefly look for countenance and support in their national aspirations. Their debt of gratitude to this country finds visible acknowledgment in the fine monument to Byron near the Arch of Hadrian, and in the statue of Gladstone in front of the University.

There is abundance of patriotic sentiment in Greece, which shows itself not only in eloquent speech but in voluntary contributions made in school and through national lotteries for the purpose of providing a more adequate navy. But what is most needed for the wellbeing of the country is a more steady and efficient administration of its own affairs, and greater energy and perseverance in developing its commercial and agricultural resources. For many years emigration to the United States of America has been going on at an alarming rate, especially from the Peloponnesus, including some of its most fertile provinces. The home-affection of the emigrants is shown by their generous remittances to their friends in the old country; and one of the most hopeful features in the life of modern Greece is to be found in the frequency with which her sons who have succeeded abroad devote their wealth to the founding of educational and philanthropic institutions at Athens or elsewhere. They are rewarded with the proud name of “national benefactors,” which is as much prized in democratic Greece as titles of nobility in Great Britain. One of the most recent of such benefactions is that of M. Averof (of Alexandria), who has restored the Stadium at a cost of a million and a half of francs, fitting it up with seats of marble from the quarries of Pentelicus (as Herodes Atticus did in the second century A.D.), to accommodate upwards of 50,000 people.

In the Archæological Congress held at Athens in 1905, which was attended by visitors and delegates from all parts of Europe, one of the most interesting

events was a public representation of Sophocles’ Antigoné in the Stadium. It may be questioned how far its language would be understood even in Athens by the less educated classes. Probably the proportion of citizens who understood it thoroughly was not much greater than in Oxford when similar plays were put on the stage in that city some years ago. In the days of Sophocles the whole community virtually spoke the same language, so that his plays would be understood by the masses as well as the classes. It would seem that even the peculiarities of his Ionic dialect did not prevent Herodotus from being understood by the Greeks assembled at Olympia when he recited his History to them before it was published as a book. Nowadays the style and vocabulary of the ancient classical authors are foreign to a large section of the Greek nation. Hence it has been found that when the plays of Aristophanes are turned into the colloquial speech and so presented on the stage at Athens, they are attended with far greater success than in their original form.

In closing, a few words may be said on what may be described as one of the burning questions of the day. For more than a century there has been a tendency in high quarters to approximate as much as possible to classical Greek. Especially during the last quarter of the nineteenth century, there has been a strenuous attempt on the part of the educated classes, backed by the authorities in Church and State, to mould the written language according to classical forms, by restoring the old orthography and grammatical inflexions and by expressing new ideas and inventions in ancient terms, frequently compounded in a curious fashion. The ideal cherished by many educated Greeks was expressed by the Metropolitan Archbishop of Athens when he said that he hoped the time was not far distant when they would be using the language of Xenophon, and that if the newspapers would introduce but one new classical word a day, they would add 70,000 words to the language in the course of twenty years. The archaic style has been adopted by the Government in all public documents and in the system of education; it dominates the speeches delivered in Parliament, except when passion gets the better of the speakers; it is approved by the Church, and is cultivated by the newspapers and journals, and the vast majority of authors. Hence the most of the Greek which one reads in current literature bears a strong resemblance to that of the classical authors studied at school and college, and a good Greek scholar has no great difficulty in reading an Athenian newspaper, if he make himself acquainted with a few modern particles of frequent occurrence, and have patience to make out the meaning of the new combinations that have been devised to meet the requirements of modern civilisation.

But side by side with this artificial language, which, though classical upon the surface, is generally modern in style and construction, bearing the stamp, especially, of French and English idioms—there is what may be called the vernacular Greek, spoken more or less by all classes when they are not on ceremony, and understood in all parts of Greece, and in the Levant. The difference between the two does not lie merely in pronunciation, or grammatical forms, or the occasional use of peculiar words, such as are found in the local dialects of almost all languages; it shows itself in the employment of different words to express the commonest things in daily life, such as water, bread, wine. You may see such things called by their classical names on the merchant’s signboard, and yet if you wish to be understood when you go into the shop you must use the popular equivalents.

The relation between the spoken and the written Greek is often compared to that of Italian and mediæval Latin. Italian had to struggle for a literary existence before it gained a secure position as the national tongue in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. But unfortunately for Greek as a living language, ever since the days of Dionysius of Halicarnassus it has had to contend repeatedly against a persistent effort to go back, as far as possible, to the golden age of Athenian literature in the fifth century B.C. Its capacity for literary purposes has never been properly recognised, although it has preserved more of the original language than the Italian has of Latin. This fact is now forcing itself on the attention of the nation; and just as the descendants of the ancient Romans have practically given up the use of Latin, so there is an increasing party in Greece, supported by distinguished grammarians in other lands, who hold that the intellectual and moral life of the nation will never get fair-play and have full scope for its energies until the Atticising pedantry which has so long been the fashion both in Athens and in Constantinople shall be given up, and the popular speech be recognised as a suitable instrument for literary purposes as well as for the intercourse of common life. But those who are of this opinion will have a great battle to fight before they can hope to see their views prevail. A few years ago (in 1901) the world was startled by serious disturbances in Athens over a translation of the New Testament into the vulgar tongue, which showed what strong passions lie at the bottom of this linguistic controversy. A scholarly Greek merchant resident in Liverpool (Mr. Alexander Pallis), who has brought Homer within the reach of all classes of his countrymen by a translation into the language of the common people, set about rendering to them a similar service in the case of the New Testament. His version of the Gospel according to Matthew appeared in the Acropolis, one of the Athenian newspapers. It called forth a letter from the Patriarch of Constantinople to the Holy Synod of Greece, lamenting the degradation to which the sacred book was being subjected. Then followed a great outburst of indignation on the part of the educated classes, especially the “noble student youth” of the University. A demand was made for the excommunication of the translator and the banning of his work. But the ecclesiastical authorities were not in a position to proceed to this extremity. For the question was complicated by the fact that a popular version of