30 May '35

(Rouse)

Me yole man sez, az he reccomembers, the injuns had
SHORT *my* bows, and you strung 'em over yr/ knee, bow outward string
inward, or if you putt the end of bow on ground, you did it bow
outward.

...

But dad says one kept the bow as steady as possible, which might be
against any trembling.

310 San Gregorio

VENEZIA

30 Aug.

Dear Dr Rouse

Will Lawrence ( T.E's younger brother ) was
a good friend of mine, and thence I met T.E.
From quotations of his Odyssey I thought etc. etc.
anyhow never temped to spend the price on it. AND
his printed remarks on it seemed to me slighting ,
in fact, an attempt of the g.d. briton to high-hat
the original author.

//

I never heard Balfour at any length but once, and
thought him less a man than Odysseus.

BUT I admit
that Ovid's heros do get off law-court discourses.

Remember an american lawyer student, writing
an "epic" or at least a long narrative " to improve
him forensic delivery ".

AND admit that Odysseus may have Chauncey=Depewed,
i,e, conversation or cussin' at the seamen, not
translatable in modo of his best after or before
dinner speeches.

AND if I tried to trans the Odyssey I w.d. probably
make a thing of shreds and patches, all out of shape
and deficient in homogeniety.

BUT the 18th. century missed out in trying FIT
Homer to their preconceived idea of classic dignity.
result: Mr Pope's chippendale. and a lot of
french periwigs.

There is only one ruler in Europe who can conduct a di
diplomatic encounter in his bathing shorts..

and his oratory gets clearer and clearer.
Fewer and fewer of these stuffed arm chairs.

" We are prolific and intend to remain so. "

" The nation's credit is a public affair ".

These sentences are perfectly direct.

God , I wish I could have heard Eden tryin
to sell him a pup.

All of which will seem chaldaic to you, if you read
the unutterable filth poured onto the English eye
from the newzwypers.

AND all of it irrelevant ( or not
wholly ? ) to the subject in hand.

shurely these ouistitis of the Brit. dip/lomatic
service
are the livin' spit of the suitors !

Think of Duff Cooper, and the scenes around Penelope's
dressin' room come UP off of the page.

I suspect there are still mycenian
potsherds showing the tooth=brush moustache ...

enough of this frivolity. ad interim

Dear Dr R/

yes, keep on sending it/ and dont worry abou
about my TIME

what else have I ?

and what is money good for
but to save TIME.

I can't translate the Odyssey myself.

A. am on a job ( or perhaps two to three
that need all the þþ/ brains I(ve got )

B. to god damn iggurunt of GREEK.

C. when I do sink into the greek, what I dig up
is too concentrative,
I dont see how to get unity of the
WHOLE.

I suspect þþ neither Dante or Homer HAD the kind of
boring "unity" of surface that we take to be characteristic
of Pope, Macine, Corneille.

The nekuia shouts aloud that is is OLDER than the rest/
all that island, cretan etc/ hinter-time, that is

NOT Praxiteles, not Athens of Pericles, but Odysseus,
φ

I keep nagging you, because a trans/ of the Odyssey seems to
me so enormous an undertaking, and the requirements
include ALL the possible masteries of English.

A best selling novelist said apropos my Porpertius, that
he ( the novelist i couldn't do anything like that " I got no

DEPTH ". <u>praise</u>

when one starts to prasie the Odyses, very hard not to
get rhetorical.

The deep is so deep, like clear

fathoms down?

para thina poluphloisboio thalasses

310 San Gregorio

Venezia Italy 29 Sept. XIV

Dear W.H.D.R.

Al nearly too busy to live.

These Globe people want adventure. low pay, but they
do pay.

Cd. you do think you cd. reminisce a bit more fully
about hunting Homer by sail boat in the Aegean ?

that might arouse interest. and you cd. tell the immature
denizens of Minnesota the great adventure in simple language.

despite what you have said by letter about these damn
snippets and co ments.

Am including my N.E.W. note and yr letter, in " Polite
Essays " now in press with Faber.

Nott has NO money, and Dent ( if heredity holds ) fears like
hell to lose any.

Do you know Ernest Rhys personally.

I have neither his address nor

Dents here with w me.

Shall quote yr. letter of 25 th inst. at first op( ortunity )

in indecent , but am afraid more and MORE goddamint
haste.

I have just done * cantos. three mostly about Monte d i Paschi
in language that I hope 1z nacherl. at any rate it flows.

As to Cocteau and Prancush ; there IZ their collectit woiks.

waaal now if I quot writin this le'r I might git on wiff a narticle and pay some of the rent.

yrs casual

OLYMPIAN VI.

An attempt at Translation.

In this attempt, I say what Pindar says, neither adding
nor subtracting, nor changing except so far as the English
idiom makes necessary. Where Pindar uses one Greek word,
I use one English word, e.g. in this ode, εὐ is rendered by
'fine.' But I have translated his proper names, where as
they often do, they are meant to carry a meaning to the
Greek hearer. The English hearer will thus be able to hear
Pindar's "calls", the repetitions and echoes, and get their
associations: the key to his art. Where a word has two
meanings, I put two, if the context requires it: thus δαιμόνιος
is used colloquially, yet is echoed by δαιμόνων (46) in its proper
sense. One word I have added: "fancy", to make ἱσ echo
tov, fancy-poison echoing pansy-boy.

I have also tried to keep the order of important words,
and their place in the verses.

The translation does not aim at elevation, or elegance,
or rhythmical prose, but only at truth. It gives the bare
bones of Pindar, and is meant to help the understanding
alone.

TRANSLATION.

(i. a.) Golden pillars we will fix under the chamber's
fine-walled porch, as when building a notable hall: when the
work begins, we must set up a face far-shining. And if an
Olympian victor should be both steward of Zeus in Pisa at
the seer's altar, and fellow-founder of famous Syracuse—what
hymn could that man escape, when he gets townsmen un-
grudging in desirable songs ?

(b.) Let him know, that in this boot he has a foot
that fits to a marvel, this son of Sostratos, saviour of the
host. Undangered prowess neither with men nor in hollow
ships is honourable; but many remember, if any goodly
thing is laboured out. For you, Hagesias, praise is ready,
which once Adrastos with justice sounded off his tongue,
touching Amphiareos Oikleidas, when down the earth
took both him and his shining horses in its grip.

(c.) After that, when the corpses on seven pyres had
been finished, Talaionidas said in Thebes a word of this
sort: "I miss the eye of my host, both together—a good seer,
and good to fight with the spear." This also belongs to the
man of Syracuse, master of the marching-chant. Although
neither ugly in quarrel nor indeed lover of victory over-
much, I will even swear a great oath, and this I will witness
for him; and the honey-sounding muses will consent.

2

(ii. a.) Ho Phintis! come yoke me now the strength of the mules, with all speed; both that we may place the car in a clean way, and that I may come to the men's family too: for those mules, out of all others, know how to lead along this road, since they have received crowns at Olympia. Then we must open wide the gates of hymns for them; and to Pitana by the ford of Eurotas' fine stream, there is need for me this day to come in season:

(b.) She, mark you, joined with Poseidaon Kronios, is said to have born a fine daughter, pansy-braid Euadna. But she hid her maiden travail with the folds of her dress; and in the proper month, sending attendants, she bade them deliver the babe to the hero Eilatidas, who was King of Arcadian men in Phaisana, and his share was to make his home on the Alpheos. There bred up, she first touched sweet Aphrodita, through Apollo. cheridos

(c.) But she did not evade Aipytos the whole time, in concealing her child; but off he went to Pytho, crushing in his breast wrath unspeakable, with keen effort, to consult the oracle about this intolerable suffering. And she, setting down her ruddy-saffron girdle, and her silver pitcher, under a dark-blue thicket bore a god-hearted boy. Beside her, the Golden-haired set quiet-minded Eleithyia, and the Fates.

(iii. a.) And there came from her womb in adorable travail Iamos the Pansy-boy forthwith into the light. Him she left on the ground in her distress; but two gray-eyed serpents, by the gods' marvellous counsels fed him with the blameless fancy-poison of the honey bees, caring for him. But when the King came driving from rocky Pytho, he asked all in his home for the boy whom Euadna should have born: for he said Phoebus begat him,

(b.) His father, to be a seer for those on earth, excellent above mortals, and his family should never fail. Thus then he declared; and they averred that they had neither seen nor indeed heard of him, though five days born. But in fact, he was hidden in reeds and an impenetrable brake, his delicate body drenched in the yellow and all-purple rays of pansies. And that is why she proclaimed that he should be called for all time, so said his mother,

(c.) by this immortal name. And when he took the fruit of gold-crowned youth, stepping down to the midst of the Alpheos he called upon Poseidaon wide-prevailing, his grandfather, and the arrow-bearing watcher of god-built Delos, and claimed a people-cherishing honour for his own head, under the sky of night. Answer came in perfect words from his father's voice, and it sought him out: "Rise, my son, hither, let us go to a place common to all, following the sound."

3

(iv. a.) They came to the steep rock of lofty Kronion. There he gave him a double treasure of soothseeing—then and there to hear a voice unknowing of falsehood; and when bold-resourceful Herakles should come, the august offshoot of the Alkaidai—should come and found for his father a feast most-frequented of mortals, and the greatest ordinance of contests, then again on the topmost altar of Zeus he bade him set up an oracle.

(b.) From thenceforth much fame amongst the Hellenes came to those lamids, the pansy-family. Happiness followed with it; and honouring prowess they enter upon a manifest road. The event proves each man: out of all others, censure of the grudging hangs over those, on whom, when at some time they drive first about the twelfth run, modest Grace distils a fine famous beauty. But if verily, Hagesias, under the boundaries of Kyllana, men of your mother's line

(c.) who inhabited there, presented Hermas the gods' herald with prayerful sacrifices, many a time and many, he who holds the assemblies and the contests as his portion, and honours the fine men of Arkadia: he, O son of Sostratos, saviour of the host, with his heavy-rumbling father, creates fine luck for you. I have a kind of notion upon my tongue of a sharpener, piping clear—how I welcome it—the thought is wafted to me in delicious breaths of air: my mother's mother was a Stymphalian, that fine flower Metopa, broad-browed nymph,

(v. a.) The horsemistress Theba was her daughter, whose adorable water I drink, while I braid a hymn of many colours for spearmen. Urge now your comrades, Aineas, first to warble of Maiden Hera, and then to know, if in true speech we escape the ancient reproach, Boeotian pig. For you are an upright messenger, wand of despatches for the fine-hair Muses, sweet mixing-bowl of loud-sounding songs:

(b.) Bid them remember Syracuse and Ortygia: which Hieron tending with clean sceptre, with perfect plans, attends about purple-foot Damater, and the feast of her white-horse daughter, and the might of Aitnaian Zeus. Lovely-speaking harps and lays know him. May coming time not disturb his happiness! And with fine adorable hearty cheer may he receive the marching-chant of Hagesias

(c.) homewards from home, from the Stymphalian walls as it returns, leaving Arcadia's mother with her fine sheep. Good in a wintry night are two anchors, to have them plumped down out of a swift ship. May God provide both for these and for those a famous fate in his love.

Master who rulest the sea, lord of golden-distaff Aphrodita, in my songs increase the fine flower of enjoyment!

PINDAR.

Yours were God's thunders, yours the mellow mirth,
And all the splendour of triumphal song;
Your soul was hurt by sight of human wrong
When savages and tyrants walked the earth.
Now, harboured in the Islands of the Blest,
You dwell with truth and beauty, seen before
Through clouds, and darkness, and the fires of war,
Baal in th'east and Moloch in the west.
Hyperion's with you, now at last complete
In deathless youth; and he whose heart so big
Knew Falstaff, Prospero, and Imogene:
They smile, as Ariel playing at their feet
And Cobweb with your Pansy-boy are seen.
What do they think of the Boeotian pig?

OLYMPIAN VI.

From a Lecture.

This ode is full of a mellow sunshine: poet and audience
are all in a golden mood. Everything is bright and happy;
even travail is "lovely" (ἐρατᾶς ὡδῖνος). The two maidens
have their troubles, including a stern parent, but what
becomes of the stern parent? He simply disappears; grief
is swallowed up in glory, and the maidens are still παρθένοι—
indeed in a kind of humourous bravado, the poet picks out
a paradoxical Hera—"Ηρα παρθενία—to match them. Where
the first half-chorus begins with a fine and striking picture
of the palace of Song, this very picture contains a mis-
chievous trick; for it introduces (as we shall see directly)
the number Two, which is made the chief mechanical link
of the ode. This is a trick well known on the stage, for
giving outward and visible unity to an apparent confusion:
we have it in the masterpiece of comedy, Menaechmi,
Plautus's Comedy of Errors, where the wife's *palla*, just
dropt in by accident as it seems, links the scenes into one.
And our ode is comedy, of the same lovely sort as a Mid-
summer Night's Dream. The half-chorus then give their
brilliant picture, and utter their mellifluous commonplaces
which the occasion demands: Victory, Dignity, Tradition,
Popularity, a plain Two (τε-τε) bracketed between an assumed
Two, and leading up to fifty-eight other Twos which are
cleverly hidden in the framework of the ode. Then the
second half-chorus catches them up with a jest—"Why so
solemn, good friends? Certainly our hero's foot fits that
boot to a marvel"—not "Let the Son of Sostratos know that
this sandal fitteth his foot, which is blessèd of Heaven":
not "a mantle of prosperity", simply a boot, that does not
hurt his corns, indeed a foot blessèd of Heaven, if you will
have it, but in a different mood from yours, O ye chorus of
indolent translators. Δαιμόνιος is itself a common colloquial-
ism, more like "fits devilish well" than "blessed of Heaven".
Who does not remember ὦ δαιμόνιε; And both Herodotus

2

and Sophocles use the colloquial δαιμόνιοι that we see here.
Then in the same mood the poet comes to the famous
whetstone.

How that whetstone has weighed on my spirit! since
first I ridiculed it with my fellow-undergraduates, and with
the lecturers too, who were deeply exercised about it. Hear
Sandys: "Methinks I have upon my tongue a whetstone
shrill, that stealeth over me nothing loth, with streams of
inspiration". Hear also Farnell: "Methinks I have as it
were a shrill whetstone on my tongue, which draweth me on
full fair with gusts of harmonious breath". So Paley, so
Fennell, so Gildersleeve; the last says, "One of the harshest
combinations in Pindar". That whetstone stealing over me
with streams of inspiration makes even me lyrical.

See the Whetstone, gently stealing,
Blowing breaths of gracious healing,
Holding out its kindly hands
To enchant the mind of Sandys.

And indeed the very first image of Pindar with a great roly-
poly stuffed into his mouth is bad enough—what could the
poor man say at all? He would be choked. But this is
not Pindar at all. There is no whetstone in Pindar. There
is only a sharpener, 'ακόνα; a suitable name for a whetstone,
but it is no more and no less than a sharpener, a something
that will sharpen up Pindar to say a clever thing, a something
vague as a breath of summer breeze. And it is not the
sharpener that comes over him, whatever that may be; it
is the new idea, the happy thought, the δόξα. Paley is the
only translator who has seen this; but it is clear to any one
who reads the poem naturally; just as ἀ τοι, the first word
of 29, is the first word of the preceding line, Πιτάνα, not ὥρα.

This is what Pindar says :

82 δόξαν ἔχω τιν' ἐπὶ γλώσσᾳ ἀκόνας λιγυρᾶς,
ἀ μ' ἐθέλοντα προσέρπει καλλιροφορεῖ πνοαῖς,
where ἐπὶ γλλώσσᾳ echoes ἀπὸ γλώσσας in

12 ἀπὸ γλώσσας Ἀδραστας μάντιν Οἰκλεῖδαν ποτ' ἐς 'Αμφιάρηον,

3

a line containing two other "calls", and therefore well in
our memory. It suggests that the δόξα has put upon my
tongue an inspired word such as Adrastos said off his tongue:
and by and by it will come off my tongue, as we shall see.
No one has ever asked what, but we will. It certainly is not
shrill, unless the nightingale is shrill; it will be something
melodious like the nightingale's song, and clever as befits my
now sharpened tongue. What then does Pindar say? "I have a
sort of notion coming upon me—that sharpens up my tongue
—it is like a soft breath of air wafted to me: how I welcome
it!". Could anything be more charming, to hint how the
new idea comes to him soft and vague? And all with a
tone of playful exaggeration, for what is this new idea, so
smart and so inspired? "I am a Stymphalian too! I am
linked up with the main thought of my ode, that of mother-
hood"—note the prominence of μάτηρ 56, μάτρωες ἄνδρες 77,
each last of its strophe. "Well, I can beat that! double it
in fact" (here is Two again)—"I had a ματρομάτωρ! My
mother's mother's mother was a Stymphalian, a fine flower
of a woman"—another "call", to the fine flower of delightful
song, in the last line of the ode. "Her name, by a lucky
chance, was Μετώπα, Madonna Broad-brow"—another call,
to the first stanza this time, to the portal of song with its
far-shining front (πρόσωπον 3). It would be quite like Pindar
if he invented this name; but in any case, he says, "See
how I am linked with my friend Hagesias and his fortunes,
and with all this ode from first to last!" And then he goes
on—"She was the mother of Theba, whose water I drink, as
I braid my songs for the men of war"; Two more calls :—
one to Euadna, with her pansy-braids (ιόπλοκον 30), and through
her to Iamos the Pansy-boy and his flowerbed of golden-
purple pansies; one to the warriors (ἀνδρες), who pervade
the ode, and through them to Hagesias. "Now, friend Aineas,
make your merry men dance, first in honour of Hera the
Maiden"—again calling in a dominant thought—"then to
ask what people think now of the Boeotian pig!" This
pig has had his wits and his tongue well sharpened; it
would take a smart man to say all that I have said. "I

refers to

4

know you will tell me the truth, you faithful dispatch-box,
you punch-bowl of poesy".

Pindar is bubbling over with gaiety. Now in his char-
acteristic way, he drops in one of his little pills of good
advice; may Hieron keep his sceptre clean, and make his
plans with the same exact fitness as there was in Apollo's
bidding to his son (ἀρτιεπής 61), or indeed in Hagesias's boot.
May Hieron also follow the God's voice! He keeps the same
sportive touch when he comes to the two anchors (again
two calls, one to Two, one to the ships in 10).

100

ἀγαθαι δὲ πέλοντ' ἐν χειμερίᾳ
νυκτὶ θοᾶς ἐκ ναὸς ἀπεσκίμφθαι δύ' ἄγκυραι :

You can hear the anchors "plump down," as you heard Aietas
swagger in with the plough on his shoulder, and "plump
it down" before Jason (σκίμψατο Pyth. iv. 224).

W. H. D. ROUSE.

PINDAR

PINDAR was a human being. You would not think so to read his editors, who picture something between Calvin and the magus of a melodrama, now denouncing sin, now patting himself on the back as The Poet, but always as solemn as an owl. They never think of the audience, who would have shooed him out in a very short time if he had bored them. The audience were full of triumph and determined to enjoy themselves, first a good feed and then a good show. They were in the bump-supper mood, and although they had taste and knew good music and dancing from bad, they could enjoy a joke too.

Pindar gave them what they wanted, and a great deal more; but it is the lighter side I am thinking of now. As an example, I will give a short and easy ode literally, and then suggest how it came about.

Ergoteles was a Cretan, who had been banished by faction, and migrated to Sicily in a happy hour. The two princes, Theron of Acragas and Hieron of Syracuse, two years before had utterly destroyed the invading Carthaginian host at Himera; for the time being, civilised life was safe. Ergoteles settled at Himera, bought land, and got on in life. He was a long-distance runner, and he had just won the race at Olympia, the greatest prize a Greek could win. Pindar happened to be in Sicily, composing odes for the princes, and Ergoteles got him to write an ode for himself. Here is the ode: but let me premise that Greek proper names had meaning, and they sounded to a hearer just like compound epithets. Thus Ergoteles was "the man who did the job, the successful man;" his father, Philanor, was the "lover of mankind;" Himera was the "city of heart's delight," and so forth. Where the names come in the ode, I give their meanings too. The translation is quite literal, and I have not tried to make it elegant.

(1) I pray, O daughter of Zeus, God of the free, be busy about Himera, wide-prevailing, City of Heart's desire, O Saviour Luck! For by thee on the sea swift ships are steered, on dry land nimble wars and meetings that bring counsel. But man's hopes now—often up, but down again they go, cutting through false fantasies, rolling along:

(2) Trusty token never yet was found from the gods, by one of those who dwell on earth, about any future venture;

but signs of things to come have been made blind. Often
things have fallen out for mankind against judgment,
sometimes clean contrary to pleasure; other men after
encountering tempests of trouble have exchanged woe
for deep blessing in a short time.

(3) Son of Philanor, the friend of man, truly for you also, like a fighting-cock at home, beside the family hearth, without fame, the honour of your feet would have shed its leaves had not faction setting man against man amerced you of your Cnossian fatherland. But now having got yourself crowned at Olympia, and twice at Pytho, and at the Isthmus, your job is well done, Ergoteles! And you support the Hot Baths of the Nymphs, visiting a place near your own acres.

Quite simple, isn't it? Yet every touch is something which goes straight to his client's heart. Pindar always got acquainted with his clients, learnt all about them, family traditions, other victories, and not less, his clients' troubles: all this came out in the odes, and here we can almost see what happened. Pindar pays him a visit and finds him feeding his fighting-cocks.

Pind: Good day Sir. I see you are an all-round sportsman!

Erg: Well Sir, I do a little in this way too, and I must say I am fond of these plucky birds. That one is a real champion, and I match him against my neighbours here tomorrow. Would you like to see the fight?

P. Indeed I should, many thanks for your hospitality. You need the same sort of "bottom," as they call it, for your own line. Three miles takes it out of a man, when he comes to the last spurt.

E. You are right sir, and I have been a long distance runner in real life, as I daresay you have heard.

P. I have heard something about it. A good thing you were a Cretan, where running runs in the blood!

E. Yes, I had to run for it. One of those political quarrels, you know; people will not live and let live.

P. Ah yes, that is a great pity in our nation. What might we not do if we were united!

E. Just what I told them, but they only said "Wait till you are in again, and then you will say yourself 'The spoils to the victors!'"

P. He had you there.

E. I am afraid he did. But I collected what I could carry, and ran to the sea—took arms against a sea of troubles, in fact! Took a ticket for Sicily, like a merchant on business, and trusted to luck!

P. Then Luck saved you and set you free.

E. Yes, I have come to the land of freedom, and to the city where our people destroyed the Carthaginian Armada once for all, praise be to Zeus! They have treated me well, I must say, and I am glad to have brought some credit on the town. You see my little place, all my own—

P. Really? Do they let you possess land?

E. They do! Handsome, isn't it? Here I am, my house is my castle, and I can enjoy my fun at home.

P. You must feel friendly to all mankind, a true son of Philanor.

E. Yes,—and my own name isn't a bad one, is it? I did the job, didn't I? So I have forgiven the people at Cnossos; they did me a good turn in making me run! By the way, I understand you are interested in sports. Do you feel inclined to run off a verse for me? I know you are engaged in high society, but you can do my little job in an afternoon; and I will make it worth your while—pardon me, but I am a business man, and we must all live, you know.

P. Well, I hope to live myself, and grow old in peace, so I will see what I can do.

E. A thousand thanks. Must you go so soon?

P. Yes, if you really wish me to celebrate you tonight decently.

E. Goodbye to you sir, and good luck.

And there is the ode, ready made, needing only to be put into shape by the artist; if you will read how he does it, you will see every point touched, and no more, just the delicate touch needed to send it home. So he makes a lovely song out of a trifle; and Ergoteles gets a good return for his subscription to the Hot Baths Fund.

W. H. D. ROUSE.

PINDAR

PINDAR was a human being. You would not think so to read his editors who picture something between Calvin and the magus of a melodrama, now denouncing sin, now patting himself on the back as The Poet, but always as solemn as an owl. They never think of the audience, who would have shooed him out in a very short time if he had bored them. The audience were full of triumph and determined to enjoy themselves, first a good feed and then a good show. They were in the bump-supper mood, and although they had taste and knew good music and dancing from bad, they could enjoy a joke too.

(1) I pray, daughter of Zeus, God of the free, be busy about Himera wide-prevailing, City of Heart's desire, O Saviour Luck! For by thee on the sea swift ships are steered, on dry land nimble wars and meetings that bring counsel. But man's hopes now—often up, but down again they go, cutting through false fantasies, rolling along:

P. He had you there.

W. H. D. ROUSE.