the signal for the cars to arrange themselves in order for the race. Besides the statue of Hippodamia, and the table on which were placed the crowns and palm-branches, there were several images and altars in the course, particularly that of the genius Taraxippus, who, as his name imports, was said to inspire the horses with a secret terror, which was increased by the shrill clangour of the trumpets placed near the boundary, and the deafening shouts and outcries of the multitude.

While the chariots were ranged in line ready to start, the horses, whose ardour it was difficult to restrain, attracted all eyes by their beauty, as well as for the victories which some of them had already gained. Pindar speaks of no less than forty chariots engaged at one and the same time. If we recollect that they had to run twelve times the length of the hippodrome in going and returning, and to steer round a pillar or goal erected at each extremity, we may imagine what confusion must have ensued when, upon the signal trumpet being sounded, they started amid a cloud of dust, crossing and jostling each other, and rushing forward with such rapidity that the eye could scarcely follow them. At one of the boundaries a narrow pass was only left for the chariots, which often baffled the skill of the expertest driver; and there were upwards of twenty turnings to make round the two pillars, so that at almost every moment some accident happened, calculated to excite the pity or insulting laughter of the assembly. In such a number of chariots at full speed pushing for precedence in turning round the columns, on which victory often depended, some were sure to be dashed to pieces, covering the course with their fragments, and adding to the dangers of the race. As it was, moreover, exceedingly difficult for the charioteer in his unsteady two-wheeled car to retain his standing attitude, many were thrown out, when the masterless horses plunged wildly about the hippodrome, overturning others who had perhaps previously escaped every danger, and thought themselves sure of winning. To increase the confusion, and thereby afford better opportunities for the display of skill and courage, there is reason to believe that some artifice was employed for the express purpose of frightening the horses when they reached the statue of Taraxippus. So great sometimes was their consternation,

that no longer regarding the rein, the whip, or the voice of
their master, they broke loose, or overturned the chariot and
wounded the driver. Perhaps it would be impossible to
give a more accurate description of a chariot-race in all its
forms than is furnished by the following passage from the
After enu-
Electra of Sophocles, as translated by West.
merating the ten different competitors for the prize, the
author proceeds—

These, when the judges of the games by lot
Had fix'd their order and arranged the cars,
All at the trumpet's signal, all at once,
Burst from the barrier, all together cheer'd
Their fiery steeds, and shook the floating reins.
Soon with the din of rattling cars was fill'd
The sounding hippodrome, and clouds of dust,
Ascending, tainted the fresh breath of morn.
Now mix'd and press'd together, on they drove,
Nor spared the smarting lash, impatient each
To clear his chariot, and outstrip the throng
Of clashing axles, and short-blowing steeds,
That panted on each other's necks, and threw
On each contiguous yoke the milky foam.

But to the pillar as he nearer drew,
Orestes, reining in the nearmost steed,
While in a larger scope with loosen'd reins,
And lash'd up to their speed the others flew,
Turn'd swift around the goal his grazing wheel.
As yet erect upon their whirling orbs
Roll'd every chariot, till the hard-mouthed steeds
That drew the Thracian car unmaster'd broke
With violence away, and turning short

(When o'er the hippodrome, with winged speed,
They had completed now the seventh career),

Dash'd their wild foreheads 'gainst the Libyan car.
From this one luckless chance, a train of ills
Succeeding, rudely on each other fell

Horses and charioteers, and soon was fill'd
With wrecks of shatter'd cars the Phocian plain.
Erect Orestes, and erect his car,

Thro' all the number'd courses now had stood;
But luckless in the last, as round the goal
The wheeling courser turned, the hither rein
Imprudent he relax'd, and on the stone
The shatter'd axle dashing, from the wheel
Fell headlong, hamper'd in the tangling reins.
The frighted mares flew diverse o'er the course.

The throng'd assembly, when they saw their chief
Hurl'd from his chariot, with compassion moved,
His youth deplored, deplored him glorious late
For mighty deeds, now doom'd to mighty woes;
Now dragg'd along the dust, his feet in air;

*

Till, basting to his aid, and scarce at length
The frantic mares restraining, from the reins
The charioteers releas'd him, and convey'd,

With wounds and gore disfigur'd, to his friends.

On the last day of the festival, the conquerors, being summoned by proclamation to the tribunal within the sacred grove, received the honour of public coronation, a ceremony preceded by pompous sacrifices. Encircled with the olivewreath, gathered from the sacred tree behind the temple of Jupiter, the victors, dressed in rich habits, bearing palmbranches in their hands and almost intoxicated with joy, proceeded in grand procession to the theatre, marching to the sound of flutes, and surrounded by an immense multitude who made the air ring with their acclamations. The winners in the horse and chariot-races formed a part of the pomp their stately coursers bedecked with flowers, seeming as they paced proudly along, to be conscious participators of the triumph. When they reached the theatre, the choruses saluted them with the ancient hymn, composed by the poet Archilochus, to exalt the glory of the victors, the surrounding multitude joining their voices to those of the musicians. This being concluded, the trumpet sounded, the herald proclaimed the name and country of the victor, as well as the nature of his prize, the acclamations of the people within and without the building were redoubled, and flowers and garlands were showered from all sides upon the happy conqueror, who at this moment was thought to have attained the loftiest pinnacle of human glory and felicity. Diagoras of Rhodes, himself an Olympic victor, brought two of his sons to the games, who, on receiving the crown they had won, placed it on the head of their father, lifted him on their shoulders and bore him in triumph along the stadium. The spectators threw flowers upon him, exclaiming, "Die, Diagoras! for thou hast nothing more to wish,"-a complimentary exclamation which was unfortunately fulfilled; for the old man, overcome by his happiness, expired in sight of the assembly, and in the arms of his children, who bathed him with their tears.

*This trifling reward was supposed to be in memory of the labours of Hercules, which were accomplished for the public good, and for which the hero claimed no other distinction than the consciousness of having been the friend of mankind.

The last duty performed by the conquerors at Olympia was sacrificing to the twelve gods, which was sometimes done upon so magnificent a scale as to entertain the whole multitude who came to witness the solemnity. Their names were then enrolled in the archives of the Eleans, and they were sumptuously feasted in the banqueting-hall of the prytaneum. On the following days they themselves gave entertainments, the pleasure of which was heightened by music and dancing; or they were banqueted by their friends, who, as we learn from the following story in Plutarch, vied with one another for that honour, and thought no expense too great for the occasion. Phocus, having obtained a victory in the Panathenean games, and being invited by several of his friends to accept of an entertainment, at length pitched upon one to whom he thought that preference was due. But when Phocion, his father, came to the feast, and saw, among other extravagances, large vessels filled with wine and spices set before the guests when they came in to wash their feet, he said to his son, "Phocus! why do you not make your friend desist from dishonouring your victory."

At these festivities, whether public or private, were frequently sung by a chorus, accompanied with instrumental music, such odes as were composed in honour of the conqueror; but it was not the good fortune of every victor to have a poet for his friend, or to be able to pay the price of an ode, which was sometimes considerable, as we learn from the scholiast upon Pindar. The friends of one Pytheas, a conqueror in the Nemean games, came to Pindar to bespeak an ode, for which he demanded so large a sum that they declined his offer, saying "they could erect a statue of brass for less money.' Some time after, having changed their opinion, they returned and paid the price required by Pindar, who, in allusion to this transaction, begins his ode with setting forth" that he was no statuary, no maker of images that could not stir from their pedestals, and consequently were to be seen only by those who would give themselves the trouble to go to the place where they were erected; but he could make a poem which should fly over the whole earth, and publish in every place that Pytheas had gained the crown in the Nemean games."*

* West's Pindar, vol. iii. p. 185.

Already loaded with honours at the scene of action, the victors returned to their own country with all the pageantry of triumph, preceded and followed by a numerous train, and sometimes entered their native city through a breach made in the walls, to denote that the place which could produce such strong and valiant men had little need of stone bulwarks. "In certain places, the victors had a competent subsistence furnished to them from the public treasury; in others they were exempt from all taxes; at Lacedæmon, where every distinction was of a warlike nature, they had the honour to combat near the king; almost every where they had precedency at the local games; and the title of Olympic victor added to their names ensured them an attentive respect, which constituted the happiness of their future lives."t

To perpetuate their glory after death, the conquerors themselves, their friends, or their country, generally set up their statues in the sacred grove of the Olympian Jupiter, which contained an almost incredible number of these figures. A long list of the most remarkable may be found in the sixth book of Pausanias. The statue of Ladas, an eminent racer, was so animated, not only in point of attitude, but in the lively expression of assured victory in the countenance, that "it is going this moment," says an epigram in the Anthology, "to leap from the pedestal and seize the crown."

To form a correct notion of the appearance of Olympia and its neighbourhood at the period of the games, it must be recollected that the whole open country, and more especially the banks of the Alpheus, bore the semblance of a vast encampment, from the great number of tents set up to accommodate the visiters; and that as business and traffic were combined with pleasure in this national festival, the great fair, with its dealers, showmen, mountebanks, and exhibiters of all sorts, occupied every moment not engrossed by the games. River and sea were covered with innumerable vessels; the shore with carriages and horses; spectators were thronging from all quarters of the earth, and in every possible variety of costume, some conducting victims for the Olympian Jupiter, some deputed to publish edicts,

* Anacharsis, cap. 38.