The literary presentation of him in the guise of a ferryman only is a comparatively late development. The early poets know nothing of him whatever in any character. The first literary reference to him was apparently in the Minyad, an epic poem of doubtful but not early date, of which two lines referring to the descent of Theseus and Pirithous to the lower world ran thus: ‘There verily the ship whereon the dead embark, even that which the aged Charon as ferryman doth guide, they found not at its anchorage[233].’ These are the lines by which Pausanias believed that Polygnotus had been guided when painting the figure of Charon in his famous representation of the nether world at Delphi. Thenceforth this was the one orthodox presentation of Charon in both literature and art. Euripides and Aristophanes in numerous passages[234] both alike conform to it, and the painters of funeral vases were equally faithful.
But there is evidence to show that this was not the popular conception of Charon, or at any rate not the whole of it. Phrases occur (and were probably current in classical times) which seem to imply a larger conception of Charon’s office and functions. The ‘door of Charon’ (Χαρώνειος θύρα[235] or Χαρώνειον[236]) was that by which condemned prisoners were led out to execution. The ‘staircase of Charon’ (Χαρώνειος κλίμαξ[237]) was that by which ghosts in drama ascended to the stage, as if they were appearing from the nether world. To Charon likewise were ascribed in popular parlance many caverns of forbidding aspect, particularly those that were filled with mephitic vapours—Χαρώνεια βάραθρα[238], σπήλαια[239], ἄντρα[240]. Finally Χαρωνῖται is Plutarch’s[241] rendering of the Latin Orcini, the sobriquet given to the low persons whom Caesar brought up into the Senate. These uses point to a popular conception of Charon larger than classical art and literature reveal, and justify Suidas’ simple identification of Charon with death[242].
Moreover once in Euripides, for all his strict adherence to the conventional literary characterisation of Charon, a glimpse of popular thought is reflected in the person of Death (Θάνατος) and the part which he plays in the Alcestis. First, in the altercation between Apollo and Death over the fate of Alcestis, there occur the words, ‘Take her and go thy way; for I know not whether I should persuade thee’; to which Death answers, ‘Persuade me to slay those whom I must? nay, ’tis with this that I am charged’ (τοῦτο γὰρ τετάγμεθα[243]). Can it be a mere coincidence that, in modern folk-song, when some doomed man seeks to persuade Charos to grant a respite, he answers, ‘Nay, brave sir, I cannot; for I am straitly charged’? The very word ‘charged,’ προσταμμένος, the modern form of προστεταγμένος, repeats the word placed by Euripides in the mouth of Death. Secondly, Death appears in warrior-guise, just as does Charos most commonly in modern folk-songs; he is girt with a sword[244], and it is by wrestling[245] that Heracles vanquishes him and makes him yield up his prey. Is this again a mere coincidence? Or was Euripides, in his personification of Death, utilising the character popularly assigned to Charon? It looks indeed in one line as if the poet had almost forgotten that he was not using the popular name also; otherwise there is no excuse for the inelegance of making Death inflict death[246]. It is hardly surprising that the copyist of one[247] of the extant manuscripts of the Alcestis was so impressed with the likeness of Death to Charon as he knew him, that he altered the name of the dramatis persona accordingly.
In the Anthology again Charon appears several times[248] acting in a more extended capacity than that of ferryman; as in modern folk-songs, he actually seizes men and carries them off to the nether world. One epigram is particularly noticeable as seeming to have been suggested by a passage of the Alcestis. ‘Is there then any way whereby Alcestis might come unto old age?’ asks Apollo; and Death answers, ‘There is none; I too must have the pleasure of my dues.’ ‘Yet,’ says Apollo, ‘thou wilt not get more than the one soul,’—be it now or later. And similarly the epigram from the Anthology, save that Death is frankly named Charon. ‘Charon ever insatiable, why hast thou snatched away Attalus needlessly in his youth? Was he not thine, an he had died old?’
Clearly, it would seem, Euripides knew a popular conception of Charon other than that which literary and artistic tradition had crystallised as the orthodox presentation, but rather than break through the conventions by bringing Charon on the stage otherwise than as ferryman, he had recourse to a purely artificial personification of death.
But the conception of Charon as lord of death can be traced yet further back than the time of Euripides. Hesychius states that the title Ἀκμονίδης[249] was shared by two gods, Charon and Uranus. Charon therefore, as son of Acmon and brother of Uranus, is earlier by two long generations of gods than Zeus himself, and belongs to the old Pelasgian order of deities. Was Charon then the god of death among the old Pelasgian population of Greece, before ever the name of Hades or Pluto had been invented or imported? Yes, if the corroboration from another Pelasgian source, the Etruscans, is to count for anything. On an Etruscan monument figures the god of death with the inscription ‘Charun’[250]; and the same person is frequently depicted on urns, sarcophagi, and vases[251]. Usually the door of the nether world is to be seen behind him; either he is issuing forth to seek his prey, or he is about to enter there with a victim who stands close beside him, his hand clasped in that of wife or friend to whom he bids farewell[252]. In appearance he is most often an old bearded man (though a more youthful type is also known) bearing an axe or mallet, and more rarely a sword as well, wherewith he pursues men and slays them[253]. In effect the Etruscan Charun closely corresponds with the modern Greek Charos in functions as well as in name. The coincidence allows of one explanation only. The Greeks of the present day must have inherited their idea of Charos from ancestors who were closely connected with the Etruscans and to whom Charon was the god of death who came to seize men’s souls and carry them off to his realm in the nether world. These ancestors can only have been the original Pelasgian population of Greece. In classical times the primitive conception of Charon was in abeyance. Hades had assumed the reins of government in the nether world; and a literary legend, which confined Charon to the work of ferryman, had gained vogue and supplanted or rather temporarily suppressed the older conception. But this version, it appears, never gained complete mastery of the popular imagination, and to the common-folk of Greece from the Pelasgian era down to this day Charon has ever been more warrior than ferryman, and his equipment an axe or sword or bow rather than a pair of sculls. More is to be learnt of the real Charon of antiquity from modern folk-lore than from all the allusions of classical literature.
§ 7. Aphrodite and Eros.
In the story of S. Demetra communicated to Lenormant at Eleusis and narrated above, we have already had one instance of the preservation of Aphrodite’s name. ‘Since the lady Aphrodite (ἡ κυρὰ ‘φροδίτη) none had been seen so lovely’ as S. Demetra’s daughter. Another story related to Perrot[254] by an Attic peasant in the year 1858 contains both the name of the goddess and some reminiscences of her worship. The gist of it is as follows. There once was a very beautiful queen, by name Aphrodite, who had a castle at Daphni (just half-way on the road from Athens to Eleusis) and also owned the heights of Acro-Corinth; these two places she had caused to be connected by a subterranean way which passed under the sea. Now there were two kings both of whom were smitten with her beauty and sought her hand in marriage. She herself favoured one of them and hated the other; but not wishing to declare her preference and so arouse the anger of the rejected suitor, she announced that she was about to build a palace on the height of Acro-Corinth, and would set her suitors each a task to perform; one should build the fortifications round the summit, the other should sink a well to provide the castle with water[255]; and she promised her hand to the suitor who should first complete his task. Now she supposed the sinking of the well to be the lighter task and therefore assigned it to the suitor whom she favoured; but he met with unforeseen difficulties, and his rival meanwhile made steady progress with the walls. At last they were wellnigh built, and it remained only to put in place the keystone over the main gate. Then Aphrodite, marking the danger, went with winning words and smiles and bade the builder lay aside his tools, for the prize was now safely in his grasp, and led him away to a grassy spot where she beguiled him so long with tender words and caresses, that the other suitor meanwhile redoubling his efforts pierced the rock and found water in plenty.
In this story the character, as well as the name, of the queen is that of the ancient goddess; but there are other points too deserving of notice. Perrot points out that in the neighbourhood of the modern monastery at Daphni there stood in antiquity a temple of Aphrodite[256]; and to this fact Schmidt[257], in commenting on the story, adds that on the summit of Acro-Corinth also there was a sanctuary of the goddess[258], while he accounts for the mention of that place in an Attic story by the fact that Corinth was specially famous for the worship of Aphrodite.
No other vestiges of the actual name, so far as I know, are to be found, save that among certain Maniote settlers in Corsica the corrupt derivative, Ἀφροδήτησσα[259] (which would perhaps be better spelt Ἀφροδίτισσα) was until recent times at any rate applied to an equally corrupt class of women, votaries of Ἀφροδίτη Πάνδημος. In a few stories however from Zacynthos[260] the same goddess is prettily described as ἡ μάνα τοῦ Ἔρωτα[261], ‘the Mother of Love,’ a title competent in itself to establish her identity.