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Fowler Brothers translation #1490

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Fowler Brothers translation
gregorycrane Aug 10, 2023
1286f3e
updated in light of Alison's notes
gregorycrane Aug 10, 2023
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334 changes: 334 additions & 0 deletions data/tlg0062/tlg001/tlg0062.tlg001.perseus-eng4.xml
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163 changes: 163 additions & 0 deletions data/tlg0062/tlg003/tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4.xml
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<title xml:lang="eng">Dionysus, an Introductory Lecture</title>
<sponsor>Tufts University</sponsor>
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@AlisonBabeu AlisonBabeu Aug 10, 2023 •
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We would normally also include the author and editor/translator name up here as well

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fixed

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<name>Francis George Fowler</name>
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<title xml:lang="eng">The works of Lucian of Samosata</title>
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<date>1905</date>
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<head>DIONYSUS, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE</head>

<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="1">

<p>When Dionysus invaded India—for I may tell you a Bacchic legend, may I not?—it is recorded that the natives so underrated him that his approach only amused them at first; or rather, his rashness filled them with compassion; he would so soon be trampled to death by their elephants, if he took the field against them. Their scouts had doubtless given them amazing details about his army: the rank and file were frantic mad women crowned with ivy, clad in fawn-skins, with little pikes that had no steel about them, but were ivy-wreathed



<pb n="v.3.p.253"/>




like themselves, and toy bucklers that tinkled at a touch; they took the tambourines for shields, you see; and then there were a few bumpkins among them, stark naked, who danced wildly, and had tails, and horns like a new-born kid’s.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="2">
<p>Their general, who rode on a car drawn by panthers, was quite beardless, with not even a vestige of fluff on his face, had horns, was crowned with grape-clusters, his hair tied with a fillet, his cloak purple, and his shoes of gold. Of his lieutenants, one was short, thick-set, paunchy, and flat-nosed, with great upright ears; he trembled perpetually, leant upon a narthexwand, rode mostly upon an ass, wore saffron to his superior’s purple, and was a very suitable general of division for him. The other was a half-human hybrid, with hairy legs, horns, and flowing beard, passionate and quick-tempered; with a reedpipe in his left hand, and waving a crooked staff in his right, he skipped round and round the host, a terror to the women, who let their dishevelled tresses fly abroad as he came, with cries of Evoe—the name of their lord, guessed the scouts. ‘Their flocks had suffered, they added, the young had been seized alive and torn piecemeal by the women; they ate raw flesh, it seemed.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="3">
<p>All this was food for laughter, as well it might be, to the Indians and their king: Take the field? array their hosts against him? no, indeed; at worst they might match their women with his, if he still came on; for themselves such a victory would be a disgrace; a set of mad women, a general in a snood, a little old drunkard, a half-soldier, and a few naked dancers; why should they murder such a droll crew? However, when they heard how the God was wasting their land with fire, giving cities and citizens to the flames, burning their forests, and making one great conflagration of all India—for fire is the Bacchic instrument, Dionysus’s very birthright—, then they lost no more time, but armed; they girthed, bitted, and castled their elephants, and out they marched; not that they had



<pb n="v.3.p.254"/>




ceased to scorn; but now they were angry too, and in a hurry to crush this beardless warrior with all his host.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="4">
<p>When the two armies came to sight of one another, the Indians drew up their elephants in front and advanced their phalanx; on the other side, Dionysus held the centre, Silenus led his right, and Pan his left wing; his colonels and captains were the satyrs, and the word for the day evoe. Straightway tambourines clattered, cymbals sounded to battle, a satyr blew the war-note on his horn, Silenus’s ass sent forth a martial bray, and the maenads leapt shrill-voiced on the foe, girt with serpents and baring now the steel of their thyrsus-heads. In a moment Indians and elephants turned and fled disordered, before even a missile could carry across; and the end was that they were smitten and led captive by the objects of their laughter; they had learnt the lesson that it is not safe to take the first report, and scorn an enemy of whom nothing is known.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="5">
<p>But you wonder what all this is about—suspect me, possibly, of being only too fresh from the company of Bacchus. Perhaps the explanation, involving a comparison of myself with Gods, will only more convince you of my exalted or my drunken mood; it is, that ordinary people are affected by literary novelties (my own productions, for instance) much as the Indians were by that experience. They have an idea that literary satyr-dances, absurdities, pure farce, are to be expected from me, and, however they reach their conception of me, they incline to one of two attitudes. Some of them avoid my readings altogether, seeing no reason for climbing down from their elephants and paying attention to revelling women and skipping satyrs; others come with their preconceived idea, and when they find that the thyrsus-head has a steel point under it, they are too much startled by the surprise to venture approval. I confidently promise them, however, that if they will attend the rite repeatedly now as in days of yore, if my old booncompanions



<pb n="v.3.p.255"/>




will call to mind the revels that once we shared, not be too shy of satyrs and Silenuses, and drink deep of the bowl I bring, the frenzy shall take hold upon them too, till their evoes vie with mine.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="6">
<p>Well, they are free to listen or not; let them take their choice. Meanwhile, we are still in India, and I should like to give you another fact from that country, again a link between Dionysus and our business, In the territory of the Machlaeans, who occupy the left bank of the Indus right down to the sea, there is a grove, of no great size, but enclosed both round about and overhead, light being almost excluded by the profusion of ivy and vine. In it are three springs of fair pellucid water, called, one of them the satyrs’ well, the second Pan’s, and the other that of Silenus. The Indians enter this grove once a year at the festival of Dionysus, and taste the wells, not promiscuously, however, but according to age; the satyrs’ well is for the young, Pan’s for the middle-aged, and Silenus’s for those at my time of life.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="7">
<p>What effect their draught produces on the children, what doings the men are spurred to, Pan-ridden, must not detain us; but the behaviour of the old under their water intoxication has its interest. As soon as one of them has drunk, and Silenus has possessed him, he falls dumb for a space like one in vinous lethargy; then on a sudden his voice is strong, his articulation clear, his intonation musical; from dead silence issues a stream of talk; the gag would scarce restrain him from incessant chatter; tale upon tale he reels you off. Yet all is sense and order withal; his words are as many, and find their place as well, as those ‘winter snowflakes’ of Homer’s orator. You may talk of his swan-song if you will, mindful of his years; but you must add that his chirping is quick and lively as the grasshopper’s, till evening comes; then the fit is past; he falls silent, and is his common self again. But the greatest wonder



<pb n="v.3.p.256"/>




I have yet to tell: if he leave unfinished the tale he was upon, and the setting sun cut him short, then at his next year’s draught he will resume it where the inspiration of this year deserted him.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg003.perseus-eng4:" n="8">
<p>Gentlemen, I have been pointing Momus-like at my own foibles; I need not trouble you with the application; you can make out the resemblance for yourselves. But if you find me babbling, you know now what has loosed my tongue; and if there is shrewdness in any of my words, then to Silenus be the thanks, H.

</p></div>
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159 changes: 159 additions & 0 deletions data/tlg0062/tlg004/tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4.xml
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<div type="translation" n="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4" xml:lang="eng">
<head>HERACLES, AN INTRODUCTORY LECTURE</head>

<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4:" n="1">
<p>Our Heracles is known among the Gauls under the local name of Ogmius; and the appearance he presents in their pictures is truly grotesque. They make him out as old as old can be: the few hairs he has left (he is quite bald in front) are dead white, and his skin is wrinkled and tanned as black as any old salt’s. You would take him for some infernal deity, for Charon or Iapetus,—any one rather than Heracles. Such as he is, however, he has all the proper attributes of that God: the lion’sskin hangs over his shoulders, his right hand grasps the club, his left the strung bow, and a quiver is slung at his side; nothing is wanting to the Heraclean equipment.

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4:" n="2">
<p>Now I thought at first that this was just a cut at the Greek Gods; that in taking these liberties with the personal appearance of Heracles, the Gauls were merely exacting pictorial vengeance for his invasion of their territory; for in his search after the herds of Geryon he had overrun and plundered most of the peoples of the West.</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4:" n="3">
<p>However, I have yet to mention the most remarkable feature in the portrait. This ancient Heracles drags



<pb n="v.3.p.257"/>




after him a vast crowd of men, all of whom are fastened by the ears with thin chains composed of gold and amber, and looking more like beautiful necklaces than anything else. From this flimsy bondage they make no attempt to escape, though escape must be easy. There is not the slightest show of resistance: instead of planting their heels in the ground and dragging back, they follow with joyful alacrity, singing their captor’s praises the while; and from the eagerness with which they hurry after him to prevent the chains from tightening, one would say that release is the last thing they desire. Nor will I conceal from you what struck me as the most curious circumstance of all. Heracles’s right hand is occupied with the club, and his left with the bow: how is he to hold the ends of the chains? The painter solves the difficulty by boring a hole in the tip of the God’s tongue, and making that the means of attachment; his head is turned round, and he regards his followers with a smiling countenance.

</p></div>


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<p>For a long time I stood staring at this in amazement: I knew not what to make of it, and was beginning to feel somewhat nettled, when I was addressed in admirable Greek by a Gaul who stood at my side, and who besides possessing a scholarly acquaintance with the Gallic mythology, proved to be not unfamiliar with our own. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I see this picture puzzles you: let-me solve the riddle. We Gauls connect eloquence not with Hermes, as you do, but with the mightier Heracles. Nor need it surprise you to see him represented as an old man. It is the prerogative of eloquence, that it reaches perfection in old age; at least if we may believe your poets, who tell us that Youth is the sport of every random gust, whereas old age Hath that to say that passes youthful wit. Thus we find that from Nestor’s lips honey is distilled; and





<pb n="v.3.p.258"/>




that the words of the Trojan counsellors are compared to the lily, which, if I have not forgotten my Greek, is the name of a flower.</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4:" n="5">
<p>Hence, if you will consider the relation that exists between tongue and ear, you will find nothing more natural than the way in which our Heracles, who is Eloquence personified, draws men along with their ears tied to his tongue. Nor is any slight intended by the hole bored through that member: I recollect a passage in one of your comic poets in which we are told that

<l>There is a hole in every glib tongue’s tip.</l>
</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4:" n="6">
<p>Indeed, we refer the achievements of the original Heracles, from first to last, to his wisdom and persuasive eloquence. His shafts, as I take it, are no other than his words; swift, keenpointed, trne-aimed to do deadly execution on the soul.’ And in conclusion he reminded me of our own phrase, ‘winged words.’

</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4:" n="7">
<p>Now while I was debating within myself the advisability of appearing before you, and of submitting myself for a second time to the verdict of this enormous jury, old as I am, and long unused to lecturing, the thought of this Heracles portrait came to my relief. I had been afraid that some of you would consider it a piece of youthful audacity inexcusable in one of my.
years. ‘Thy force,’ some Homeric youth might remark with crushing effect, ‘is spent; dull age hath borne thee down’; and he might add, in playful allusion to my gouty tees,

<l>Slow are thy steeds, and weakness waits upon thee.</l>
But the thought of having that venerable hero to keep me in countenance emboldens me to risk everything: I am no older than he.</p></div>


<div type="textpart" subtype="section" xml:base="urn:cts:greekLit:tlg0062.tlg004.perseus-eng4:" n="8">
<p>Good-bye, then, to bodily perfections, to strength and speed and beauty; Love, when he sees my grey beard, is, welcome to fly past, as the poet of Teos' has it, with rush of gilded wines; ’tis all one to Hippoclides. - Old age is Wisdom’s

1 Anacreon,




<pb n="v.3.p.259"/>




youth, the day of her glorious flower: let her draw whom she can by the ears; let her shoot her bolts freely; no fear now lest the supply run short. There is the old man’s comfort, on the strength of which he ventures to drag down his boat, which has long lain high and dry, provision her as best he may, and once more put out to sea.</p>

<p>Never did I stand in more need of a generous breeze, to fill my sails and speed me on my way: may the Gods dispose you to contribute thereto; so shall I not be found wanting, and of me, as of Odysseus, it shall be said How stout a thigh lurked ’neath the old man’s rags! F.

</p></div>
</div>

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