DOI Seite / Zitierlink:
https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.14144#0511
DIONYSUS AND TYRRHENIAN PIRATES. 475
the city. Such a building of the Corinthian order was erected by
Lysicrates in the archonship of Euamelus for a victory at a festival of
Dionysus, and still stands in its original place. The subject of
the narrow frieze which runs round the top of this monument was
appropriately chosen from the Sixth Homeric Hymn to Dionysus
(fig. 205). The legend is well known. Tyrrhenian robbers seized the
God of wine as he was reclining in youthful beauty on the strand of the
sea, and bore him off in chains to their ship. No sooner, however, had
they set sail than mighty waves of wine washed over the deck, the
masts were entwined with vines, and the God himself, from whom
the fetters had fallen of themselves, assumed the shape of a lion, at
whose angry roar the pirates leaped into the sea, and were changed
into dolphins. The relief could not adhere strictly to the circum-
stances related in the poem. The scene is transferred to the shores
of Naxos, and Dionysus is not alone, as in the hymn, but surrounded
by the familiar train of Satyrs and Sileni, who work his will upon the
robbers. The God himself meanwhile reclines in careless majesty and
ease upon the rock, fondling his favourite panther, and is tended by the
more refined and human of his rude followers, whose graceful forms
attest the influence of the younger Attic school. The whole scene
strongly reminds us of the sudden transformations wrought by the wand
of enchanters of the middle ages. Nor is it wanting in a comic element.
The attendant satyrs, with sticks hastily torn from trees, or with the
torches used in their revels, pursue and chastise the robbers with
a boyish boisterous delight. For the latter there is no escape. Even
those whom the Satyrs cannot overtake are subject to the magic in-
fluence of the God, and we see them, in the process of transformation
into dolphins, leaping with a desperate eagerness into the new element
which is to be their future home. The inevitable serpent too, the
constant attendant at Dionysiac festivals, is biting a terrified pirate in
the shoulder. The composition is admirable, and well worthy of the
school of Scopas and Praxiteles. The execution is very unequal in
merit, and sometimes careless, which can hardly be wondered at when
we remember that the cost of the work was defrayed by a private
citizen.
We may mention in this place, although it properly belongs to the
the city. Such a building of the Corinthian order was erected by
Lysicrates in the archonship of Euamelus for a victory at a festival of
Dionysus, and still stands in its original place. The subject of
the narrow frieze which runs round the top of this monument was
appropriately chosen from the Sixth Homeric Hymn to Dionysus
(fig. 205). The legend is well known. Tyrrhenian robbers seized the
God of wine as he was reclining in youthful beauty on the strand of the
sea, and bore him off in chains to their ship. No sooner, however, had
they set sail than mighty waves of wine washed over the deck, the
masts were entwined with vines, and the God himself, from whom
the fetters had fallen of themselves, assumed the shape of a lion, at
whose angry roar the pirates leaped into the sea, and were changed
into dolphins. The relief could not adhere strictly to the circum-
stances related in the poem. The scene is transferred to the shores
of Naxos, and Dionysus is not alone, as in the hymn, but surrounded
by the familiar train of Satyrs and Sileni, who work his will upon the
robbers. The God himself meanwhile reclines in careless majesty and
ease upon the rock, fondling his favourite panther, and is tended by the
more refined and human of his rude followers, whose graceful forms
attest the influence of the younger Attic school. The whole scene
strongly reminds us of the sudden transformations wrought by the wand
of enchanters of the middle ages. Nor is it wanting in a comic element.
The attendant satyrs, with sticks hastily torn from trees, or with the
torches used in their revels, pursue and chastise the robbers with
a boyish boisterous delight. For the latter there is no escape. Even
those whom the Satyrs cannot overtake are subject to the magic in-
fluence of the God, and we see them, in the process of transformation
into dolphins, leaping with a desperate eagerness into the new element
which is to be their future home. The inevitable serpent too, the
constant attendant at Dionysiac festivals, is biting a terrified pirate in
the shoulder. The composition is admirable, and well worthy of the
school of Scopas and Praxiteles. The execution is very unequal in
merit, and sometimes careless, which can hardly be wondered at when
we remember that the cost of the work was defrayed by a private
citizen.
We may mention in this place, although it properly belongs to the