The epitaphs of the fourth century B.C. are of similar character, but somewhat more abundant and less rigid in type. The following from Oreus in Euboea[255] is decidedly pleasing:
In bloom of youth by praise thy fame was spread,
In blameless ways thy childish days were sped:
In man’s estate, when law and country bade,
Where hostile ranks by Ares were arrayed,
A horseman, thou didst strive with fair renown
Thy fathers and thy fatherland to crown.
This tomb, to mark thy worth, thy sire doth raise,
Thy city decks it with unceasing praise.
An epitaph from Thebes[256] seems to have been erected over a soldier of the Sacred War: ‘When young I cultivated merriment (ε�φ�οσ�νην ἤσκουν) associating with my companions in the gymnasium. I die in war, bearing aid to the Delphic land. My grandfather was Euenoridas, my father Neon.’ In this epigram notes quite unfamiliar to the Christian world are struck. The deceased had fallen on what might have passed as a crusade, an expedition to punish the sacrilegious aggression of the Phocians on the temple of Apollo at Delphi. Yet instead of dwelling on such religious merit, the epitaph speaks of his cheeriness of disposition and his sociability, of his worship of the ‘goddess fair and free, in heaven yclept Euphrosyne.’ In fact no quality is more often mentioned with praise in sepulchral inscriptions than the social habits of the deceased. An inscription of the same age from Athens[257] seems to record the success of a comic actor, who is praised especially for having overcome his natural disqualification for his pursuit: ‘All Hellas admires thee, Euthias, and misses thee in the sacred festivals; nor without cause. For through art, not natural gift, in vine-crowned comedy of gentle mirth thou wast second in rank, but first in art.’ In athletic sports also we learn that the spectators most applauded those who won by science, not mere strength. Another contemporary inscription from Athens[258] is in more poetic form: ‘Divine Modesty, daughter of high-minded Shame, one who valued above all thee and warlike Valour, Cleidemus of Melita son of Cleidemides is here buried.’
It will be observed that all the epigrams hitherto cited are from the graves of men, not women. Indeed, inscriptions from women’s tombs very seldom, at this early time, contain more than the name with that of father or husband. Generally speaking, until the time of Alexander, the women of Greece were content to shine with borrowed light, and to be notable in the home rather than in the city. Of sculptural honour they had, as we have seen, even more than their share; but to praise a woman in public might well seem to her friends to approach indelicacy. In the later age inscriptions recording female worth are frequent. There is no question that as the public life of Greece decayed, women became more and more prominent in the cities.
It is not easy to assign, on epigraphic grounds, an exact date to sepulchral inscriptions of the third and later centuries down to Roman Imperial times. Partly for this reason, and partly because the later epitaphs of Greece really form one class, I prefer to group them rather by subject than by period. Generally speaking, they have more literary pretensions than earlier epitaphs, and their character is more personal and subjective, so that they give us information on many subjects as to which early inscriptions are silent.
An epitaph from Melos[259] of the third century B.C. is set over a wife, but it bears a suspicious appearance of being the composition of the husband: ‘I love even in death my husband, for with no common care he made me a tomb conspicuous to all. And me his wife he made equal to the heroes in veneration in memory of the sweet joys of love.’ As a memorial of a young man who met with some accident on the shore of Leucas[260], the following epigram was graven: ‘Unfavourable weather kept back Telesphorus and loosed his girdle (i.e. delayed the girding of his loins for a journey). The shore proved fatal to him; and destiny would no longer wait. Alas! for his untimely death, and his sad parents!’ We may next cite a couple of Boeotian epitaphs inscribed over literary men. From Larymna[261]: ‘Behold, stranger, here the tomb of departed Philo, who gave himself to the skilled pursuit of polite letters, while to all the citizens of Larymna he showed a nature ever friendly. Early he has quitted his life yet at its prime; and with universal mourning his city weeps his loss.’ Still more detailed is the following, from Orchomenus[262], of the second century B.C., set up over one Philocrates of Sidon: ‘Thou boastedst a maturity, Philocrates, not unworthy of thy earlier life, urged on by the subtle mind. For from early youth, as is right, thou hadst been familiar with the doctrines of Epicurus, easy to understand. Then, obedient to the rudder of Fortune[263], in a wandering life, thou didst preside at the contests of men among the Minyae[264]. Now thou liest close to thy son, thy limbs touching his, without sorrow, having come out of life to join him gone before.’ Sometimes inscriptions of this biographic character contain literary touches. For example, on a public tomb at Thera[265], set up in honour of Admetus, priest of Apollo Carneius, the epitaph ends, ‘leaving to wife and mother heavy grief: yet what wonder? even Thetis had to mourn the loss of the slain Achilles.’
The epitaphs which express a sentiment as to human life are usually of Roman age. I will, however, cite a few of them, in order to complete our survey. An epitaph from Samos[266] ends with the reflection, ‘If due account were made of piety, never would my home have incurred such misfortunes as these.’ One from Tanagra[267] ends, ‘O mortals, turn your thoughts to what is paltry: if you meditate better things, Hades is envious of the good.’ These are feelings which doubtless often touch the minds of relatives and friends in our days, but on this particular point we are more under the dominion of convention than were the Greeks; and the utterances of cynicism or despair are mostly excluded from our graveyards. The following from Thespiae[268] is more in the line of propriety: ‘Who would not weep over the vain hopes of parents, looking at me?’
Many epitaphs of the later period contain some statement as to the destiny of the spirit. Such statements are, however, usually expressed in very conventional form; they have the air rather of poetical amplification than of a real hope beyond the grave. In this respect they contrast markedly with early Christian inscriptions; in which, however rough and inelegant the form may be, there lies an unmistakable air of real feeling. A pagan epitaph of Sparta[269], of the second century A.D., runs: ‘Adorned with every virtue, noble Titanius, son of Paeon, thou possessest the Island of the Blest.’ We can scarcely imagine that at this late period the Island of the Blest lived in popular belief, or that the phrase is anything but a poetical reminiscence. An epitaph, which may have been written beneath the sculptured dog, on the tomb of Diogenes the Cynic[270], runs thus: ‘Lies he here, who dwelt in an earthen cask? Aye, truly; but now that he is dead, he has the stars for his home.’ With this optimistic rhetoric we may compare the cynical and pessimistic rhetoric of another epitaph, ‘Mix the wine, and drink deep with brows crowned with flowers, nor scorn the delights of love: all the rest at death is consumed by earth and fire[271].’ As this epigram accompanied a relief which represented a man reclining at table, the whole seems to have been a cynical travesty of the banqueting reliefs above discussed.
Where, however, mention is made of Hades and Persephone, or where we catch an echo of Orphic phrase, we may suspect a more serious meaning. In the following, for example, from Crommyon[272], the opening phrase seems to belong to Orphism and the Mysteries, ‘I Philostrata have gone back to the source whence I came, leaving the bondage in which nature yoked me. Having filled up the measure of fourteen years, in the fifteenth, a virgin, I quitted the body, childless, unwedded, a maiden. May those to whom life is an object of desire grow old to their hearts’ content.’ The same character attaches to the following, from Megara[273]: ‘The body of Nicocrates rests in the lap of earth; his heart (κÎαÏ�) has fled above to the divine aether. Thanks to thee, Pluto, kindly deity, for this destiny. Gentle and lovable, a favourite with all was the son of Callitychus; now another and a divine light receives him.’
We occasionally find mention made of Hermes in epitaphs as leader and friend of departed spirits. An anonymous epitaph of the Palatine Anthology[274], reads thus: ‘They say that Hermes leads the good on the way that bears to the right from the pyre to Rhadamanthys: by this way Aristonous, the much-mourned son of Chaerestratus, went down to the abode of Hades, who receives all men.’ The phrase ‘bears to the right’ must refer to some known chart or description of the paths of souls, which are described in greater detail in some of the Orphic inscriptions. For example, on a gold tablet found at Petelia in Italy[275], buried doubtless with one who had been initiated in the Orphic Mysteries, we find a sort of guide or way-book for the last journey: ‘Thou shalt find on the left of the abode of Hades a well, and beside it planted a white cypress. And thou shalt find another, cold water flowing from the Lake of Mnemosyne: before it stand guards. Then shalt thou say, “I am a child of earth and starry heaven, but a heavenly race is mine, as ye yourselves know. I am dry and faint with thirst; give me then speedily cold water flowing from the lake of Mnemosyne.�’ The spring on the left, the name of which is not given, is doubtless that of Lethe, or forgetfulness. The soul which wishes to claim its immortal rights must avoid this water, and demand in virtue of its divine nature some of the other water, that of memory, that its individuality may not be lost. This seems to be the path to the right, on which Hermes leads those who have in their lifetime prepared themselves for the journey.