of which have twenty-two verses beginning with the twenty-two letters of the Hebrew alphabet. The 119th Psalm is a curious specimen of this conceit; it is divided into twenty-two stanzas, and a letter of the alphabet in regular order begins each of them. The initial letters of "The First Altar" of Dosiadas of Rhodes, form four words, and seem to be addressed to some "Olympian," who, the dedicator hopes "may live to offer sacrifice for many years." The altar states that it is not stained with the blood of victims, nor perfumed with frankincense, that it is not made of gold and silver; but formed by the hand of the Graces and the Muses. In the "Second Altar," also usually attributed to Dosiadas of Rhodes, we find not only a fanciful outline formed by long and short verses, but also a studious avoidance of proper names. Not one is mentioned, although thirteen persons are designated. It is evident that this "Altar" was a work of ingenuity, and intended to be enigmatical. Probably the substitutions were also considered to be somewhat playful and amusing, as in Antiphanes—a comic poet, said to have died from an apple falling on his head—we read,
A. Shall I speak of rosy sweat From Bacchic spring? B. I'd rather you'd say wine. A. Or shall I speak of dusky dewy drops? B. No such long periphrasis—say plainly water. A. Or shall I praise the cassia breathing fragrance That scents the air. B. No, call it myrrh.
Another conceit in the form of a Sphinx or Pandean pipe has been attributed to Theocritus—perhaps without good foundation.
In the "Egg" there is not only the form of the lines, which gradually expand and then taper downwards, but there is also a great amount of similitude—the literary egg being compared to a real egg, and the poet to the nightingale that laid it. There is also a remarkable involution in form—the last line succeeding the first, and so on; and this alternation of the verses is compared to the leaping of fawns. The Axe or Hatchet is apparently a sort of double axe, being nearly in the form of wings; and is supposed to be a dedicatory inscription written to Minerva on the axe of Epeus, who made the wooden horse by which Troy was taken.
The ancient riddles seem to have been generally of a descriptive character, and not to have turned upon quibbles of words, like those of the present day. They more corresponded to our enigmas—being emblematic—and in general were small tests of ingenuity, some being very simple, others obscure from requiring special knowledge or from being a mere vague description of things. Of the learned kind were doubtless those hard questions with which the Queen of Sheba proved Solomon, and those with which, on the authority of Dius and Menander, Josephus states Solomon to have contended with Hiram. The riddle of Samson also required special information; and the same characteristics which marked the early riddles of Asia, where the conceit seems to have originated, is also found in those of Greece. Who could have guessed the following "Griphus" from Simonides of Ceos, without local knowledge, or with it, could have failed,
"I say that he who does not like to win
The grasshopper's prize, will give a mighty feast,
To the Panopeiadean Epeus."
This means, we are told, that when Simonides was at Carthea he used to train choruses, and there was an ass to fetch water for them. He called the ass "Epeus," after the water-carrier of the Atridae; and if any member of the chorus was not present to sing, i.e., to win the grasshopper's prize, he was to give a chœnix of barley to the ass. Well might Clearchus say "the investigation of riddles is not unconnected with philosophy, for the ancients used to display their erudition in such things."
Somewhat of the same character is found in the following from Aristophanes.
People. How is a trireme a "dog fox?"
Sausage Seller. Because the trireme and the dog are swift.
People. But why fox?
Sausage Seller. The soldiers are little foxes, for they eat up the grapes in the farms.
The simplicity of some of the ancient riddles may be conjectured from the fact that the same word "griphus" included such conceits as verses beginning and ending with a certain letter or syllable.
An instance of the emblematic character of early riddles is seen in that proposed by the Sphinx to Œdipus. "What is that which goes on four legs in the morning, on two in the middle of the day, and on three in the evening?" And in the riddle of Cleobulus, one of the seven wise men:
"There was a father, and he had twelve daughters; each of his daughters had thirty children; some were white and others black, and though immortal they all taste of death."
Also in the following griphi, which are capable of receiving more than one answer.
The first two are respectively by Eubulus and Alexis—writers of the "New Comedy"—who flourished in the first half of the 4th century, B.C.
"I know a thing, which while it's young is heavy,
But when it's old, though void of wings, can fly,
With lightest motion out of sight of earth.
"It is not mortal or immortal either
But as it were compounded of the two,
So that it neither lives the life of man
Nor yet of god, but is incessantly
New born again, and then again
Of this its present life invisible,
Yet it is known and recognised by all."
From Hermippus:—
"There are two sisters, one of whom brings forth,
The other and in turn becomes her daughter."
Diphilus, in his Theseus, says, there were once three Samian damsels, who on the day of the festival of Adonis delighted themselves with riddles. One of them proposed, "What is the strongest of all things?" Another answered, "Iron, because it is that with which men dig and cut." The third said, "The blacksmith, for he bends and fashions the iron." But the first replied, "Love, for it can subdue the blacksmith himself."
The following is from Theadectes, a pupil of Isocrates, who lived about 300 B.C., and wrote fifty tragedies—none of which survive.
"Nothing which earth or sea produces,
Nought among mortals hath so great increase.
In its first birth the largest it appears,
Small in its prime, and in old age again,
In form and size it far surpasses all."[17]
To make a riddle, that is a real test of ingenuity for all, and which but one answer satisfies, shows an advanced stage of the art. The ancient riddles were almost invariably symbolical, and either too vague or too learned. They seem to us not to have sufficient point to be humorous, but no doubt they were thought so in their day.
It may not be out of place here to advert to those light compositions called Silli, about which we have no clear information, even with regard to the meaning of the name. From the fragments of them extant, we find that they were written in verse, and contained a considerable amount of poetical sentiment; indeed, all that has come down to us of Xenophanes, the first sillographer, is of this character. We are told that he used parody,
