Chapter 3

Necessity Suffered and Overcome

As bondage to fate, necessity represents the intrusion of death into life, as in a procession of slaves or a Baudelairean cortège; this is the transgression at work in hysteria. Suffering the bondage and overcoming it, Heracles stands for virtue now gone.

§3.1 Binding necessity: constriction and fixation

Taken by the throat, Baudelaire’s observer experiences the need for air—and speech too, and sustenance—as well as the constraint that denies them. The hand closed about the neck can be regarded as a special case of that “cord or bond fastened upon a man by the powers above” which R. B. Onians identifies as the Homeric conception of fate or “fortune in its different forms.”[1] “From this sense of circumscribing ‘band’ or ‘bond’ to ‘boundary,’ ‘limit,’ the transition is easy,” he says. Thus the Parmenidean Necessity cited in §2.5 which “holds [it] fast in the chains/bonds of a limit, which fences it about” follows the Homeric idea.[2] In language, binding and necessity are associated by the common form δεῖ, at once (i) the impersonal “it is necessary,” “one must,” and (ii) the third singular of δέω, “binds.” Although the etymological relation is uncertain, the connection was not overlooked, e.g. in Plato’s Phaedo: “the good must (δέον [i]) bind together (συν-δεῖν [ii]) and hold together [all things].”[3] Also, in Onians’s view, “The Latin term for that which must be, necesse, would most naturally be related to necto, nexus, with an original reference to binding or being bound”—although others favor a derivation from ne + cedo, either “not yielding or moving” or “from which one cannot draw back”; i.e., either the immovable or the unavoidable. The English idiom “bound to (do something),” suggests Onians, originated from the idea of literal binding.[4]

Like Parmenides’ divinity, binding necessity has several aspects. It is useful to distinguish three of these.

(1) We have already met the ideas of taking by the throat, pinching, the noose, and the like. Necessity means closeness, tightness; it constricts, compresses, strangles. A marriage of political necessity which has united Antony to Caesar’s daughter Octavia is discussed as follows:

Menas. Then is Caesar and he for ever knit together.
Enobarbus. If I were bound to divine of this unity, I would not prophesy so.
Menas. I think the policy of that purpose made more in the marriage than the love of the parties.
Enobarbus. I think so too. But you shall find the band that seems to tie their friendship together will be the very strangler of their amity. Octavia is of a holy, cold, and still conversation.

(Antony and Cleopatra 2.6.117–125)

Corpselike Octavia prefigures the fate that her brother, stern executor of necessity, will bring upon Antony and Cleopatra. In this sense of constriction anankē may be connected to a root slightly different from the one mentioned before (at n. 2.33), ankh, angh-, rather than ank, ang-; it appears in ἄγκι = “near, close,” ἄγχω and Latin ango = “compress, press tight; strangle, choke,” and Latin angustus = “narrow.” His voice choked off, the saltimbanque is mute. —Socrates seems to combine the senses of the two roots when he opines that the necessary or compulsory “is compared to walking through ravines (ἄγκη, ankē) because they are hard to traverse (δύσπορα, duspora), rough, and rugged, and hold you back.” The word “ἀναγκαῖον (necessary) may, then, come from a comparison with passage (πορεία, poreia) through a ravine (ἄγκος)”: the narrow (ankh-) curving (ank-) ravine makes for a difficult way through, poros; which is to say that necessity threatens the aporia characteristic of hysteria.[5]

(2) Necessity ties up and ties down, it fixes in place. “In such a world [as Homer depicts] binding was almost coextensive with fixation or fastening,” writes Onians, “and, when better methods were devised, the term would naturally be extended to cover them”—whence, e.g., the image, in Horace’s ode 1.35 and elsewhere, of “Necessity or Fate … with a nail in her hand.”[6] Accordingly the adamantine nails bind Pindar’s Argonauts (above at n. 2.17); and in the opening scene of Prometheus Bound Hephaestus fastens the hero to the rock, obedient to a necessity which constrains even the divine smith. By Necessity’s nails in ode 3.24 the soul is bound to fear; we may compare Montaigne’s observation that fear sometimes “nails and clogs our feet,” “nous cloüe les pieds et les entrave,” and the experience of Edmond Dantès, who upon sudden imprisonment is immobilized: “An iron hand seemed to have nailed him to the very spot where he had stopped the night before.”[7] Holding fast, in a fixed place, extends to Parmenides’ “bonds of a limit,” to a circle within which one is bound by fate or magic, and to aporia: “In so far as our thought is in aporia, it is in like case with those who are bound; for in either case it is impossible to go forward,” says Aristotle.[8] Bound within the precinct that keeps him from the crowd’s “moving flood,” the saltimbanque is motionless, without a role.[9]

§3.2 Binding necessity: the compulsion to yield

Lastly, (3) Necessity is unbending, immovable; and being also unavoidable, it makes one bend or yield. (This sense corresponds to the second derivation of necesse given above at n. 4.) Comparing the necessary to walking through ravines, Socrates is contrasting it with the yielding (εἶκον): the difference is between rigid and compliant curvature. Horace’s uncus is severus—“strict,” “stern,” as well as “grim”—and “in evil strait” before God Milton’s Adam acknowledges, “[S]trict necessitie / Subdues me, and calamitous constraint.”[10] The hook nicely represents curvature (the root ank) that is inflexible. Necessity imposes shape: our saltimbanque is “voûté, caduc”—“stooped, broken-down.” Compare Hector’s prophecy to Andromache: “Some bronze-clad Achaean will lead you away weeping and rob you of your day of freedom. Then perhaps in Argos will you ply the loom at another woman’s bidding, or carry water from Messeïs or Hypereia, much against your will, and strong necessity will be laid on you.” Here bronze coats necessity, as it were, and necessity or compulsion is laid on like a burden that presses on one and bears one down, as the heavy pails of water bend the back. Helenus has already used a similar phrase of the Trojans in sending Hector off to his wife, and Odysseus will use it again to describe his supposed lot as a beggar. And upon Atlas the sky weighs with the pressure of necessity.[11]

Yielding or bending to necessity is frequent in Greek tragedy and other verse, often with a specification of the “yoke” (ζυγόν or -ός, iugum) of necessity or of slavery, which rests upon the neck of a tamed animal, or a captive or conquered enemy. The Homeric Hymn to Demeter links the yoke of necessity to the fortune sent by the gods: “Though grieved, of necessity we bear the gifts of the gods, mortals that we are; for a yoke is set upon our neck.” Likewise Pindar, speaking of a god who favors now these men, now those, advises: “It helps to bear lightly the yoke one has taken upon one’s neck.”[12] The yoke is a prominent symbol in Aeschylus’s Persians, where it first appears as the “yoke of slavery” to be imposed upon Greece, and later stands for the tyrannical control that keeps people silent.[13] Again, it is upon donning the “yokestrap of necessity” that Agamemnon changes his mind from sorrowful perplexity to harsh resolve; a chorus advises Cassandra, “Yielding to present necessity, try on your new yoke”; Prometheus, although unyielding in the face of evils, knows that “the might of necessity is irresistible” and laments, “In these constraints (or necessities) I am yoked, wretched”; by the pangs and tortures of Fate, which rules Necessity, he is “bent”; and Antigone too is unyielding, whereas rigid Creon, for whom “yielding is terrible (δεινόν),” must give way to circumstances, confessing (after Simonides), “There’s no fighting necessity.” [14]

The “brazen hand” of “fierce Necessity” in Horace’s ode 1.35 has a counterpart in ode 1.33, the “brazen yoke” under which Venus “pleases to put unequal [i.e. ill-mated] shapes and souls [i.e. exteriors and interiors, bodies and souls or hearts], in fierce jest”: Venus, “cui placet impares / formas atque animos sub iuga aënea / saevo mittere cum ioco”; so in ode 4.1 the poet begs “fierce” (saeva) Venus to “bend” (flectere) him to her will no longer.[15] Another inequality is revealed by Fortuna in ode 1.35: when the hostile (inimica) divinity forsakes mighty houses, the hangers-on go too:

at volgus infidum et meretrix retro
periura cedit, diffugiunt cadis
       cum faece siccatis amici,
               ferre iugum pariter dolosi.

But the faithless crowd and the forsworn harlot fall back, friends scatter once the wine-jars are drained dregs and all, (too) treacherous to bear the yoke equally.

The treacherous friends (amici) will not share as yoke-mates the burden of misfortune. They scatter, after the crowd and the harlot “fall back”—that is, yield (cedit) to the pressure of necessity which Fortuna has turned from attractive to repulsive. There results the isolation of the one formerly great: as with our saltimbanque, the crowd no longer reaches his house.

In a passage from “Ténèbres” of which the end was quoted above (at n. 2.54), Gautier completes the submission to the yoke with coffin nails:

Orgueil, courbe ton front jusque sur tes genoux,
Comme un Scythe captif qui supporte un trophée.

Cesse de te roidir contre le sort jaloux,
Dans l’eau du noir Léthé plonge de bonne grâce,
Et laisse à ton cercueil planter les deniers clous.

Pride, bend your brow right down to your knees,
like a Scythian captive holding up a trophy.

Cease from stiffening yourself against jealous fate,
into black Lethe’s water plunge with a good grace,
and let the last nails be planted in your coffin.[16]

And Baudelaire gives us Andromache bowing beneath the captor’s heavy hand: “Andromaque … sous le main du superbe Pyrrhus, / Auprès d’un tombeau vide en extase courbée” [Andromache … under the hand of arrogant Pyrrhus, / bowed down in ecstasy beside an empty tomb]. Similarly, bending to necessity is explicit in Rousseau, Stendhal (see above at n. 2.5), Dumas, and Maupassant.[17]

§3.3 The slaves to necessity led off

To be subject to anank­ē is to be slave to a master, suggests Odysseus in Euripides’ Hecuba.[18] Schreckenberg, who finds the basic meaning of the term to be fetter, yoke, or yoke-chain, describes a scene familiar to antiquity, and well represented in pictorial art of Egypt and elsewhere: “After victory in battle, captured enemies are led off as slaves in gangs, fettered to one another by nooses or forks about their necks.”[19] This is what the Persians were looking forward to before Marathon, for example, according to Aspasia (reported by Socrates): they expected “to lead off the Athenians yoked under the same necessity as the Eretrians” (ἐν … ἀνάγκηι ζεύξαυτας … ἄγειν).[20] Having yielded to necessity, captives suffer binding to their new station ((2) of §3.1) by pressure on their necks ((1) of §3.1). An extreme analogue is Telemachus’s treatment of the women in his father’s house who consorted with the suitors. These captives are led out (ἐξαγαγόντες) of the hall and penned in a narrow space (στείνει); they reach their final doom quickly, suspended from a ship’s cable tied to a “great pillar”: “the women held their heads in a row, and round the necks of all nooses were laid, that they might die most piteously. And they writhed a little while with their feet, but not long.”[21] The pillar, κίων, kiōn, suggests the “post or pillar fixed fast” which Onians identifies as a Roman image of fate, in the same family as the binding nail; it was a kiōn that was driven through Prometheus, according to Hesiod, and the olive trunk that fixes Odysseus’s bed at the end of his journey is like a kiōn. So too (relates Socrates) is the “straight light,” goal of the souls’ journey to the Fates, that “binds heaven together (σύνδεσμον [cf. above at n. 3]) like the undergirders of triremes,” and “from whose extremities stretches the spindle of Necessity.”[22] Then we may perhaps conceive of Homer’s “dark-prowed ship” that furnished Telemachus with the cable as having brought its passengers to their terminus. It is fitting that our poet should descry the saltimbanque “Au bout, à l’extrême bout de la rangée de baraques, … adossé contre un des poteaux de sa cahute” [At the end, at the extreme end of the row of booths, … leaning against one of the posts of his hut].

As for the suitors themselves, who laughed at necessity and the vision of their own descent (above at n. 1.23), they pass in procession beyond the boundary-post of life, needing no more than the wand of Hermes to bind them.[23] “Ananke, the yoke,” writes Schreckenberg, “fettered in which the captured enemy is led away, the symbol of all slavery and subjection, becomes with the Greeks the word for the omnipotence of fate, from which no one can escape.”[24] Lately animated under the arrows of Odysseus, the suitors now are concluding their danse macabre, “le train de ce monde conduit par la Mort” [the train {moving file} of this world led by Death], as Baudelaire defines it in reference to his poem of that name.[25] It is a curious thing that among Baudelaire’s dancers, standing in fact at the head of the stanza that is most theirs, are “Antinoüs flétris”—faded beauties once like the favorite of Hadrian, but just possibly also like the leader of the suitors, who received the first arrow in his throat.[26]

Another Baudelairean cortège infernal is that of the “sept vieillards” [seven old men], each one not “voûté” like the saltimbanque, but “cassé” [broken], as though crushed under weight; stumbling, “s’empêtrant,” in the snow and mud, as if shackled by the feet; hostile, and all alike, as in an Egyptian relief, or as perceived by a foreign conqueror. They drive the poet’s soul to dance.[27] The “petites vieilles” [little old women] of the succeeding poem in the Fleurs du mal, “beings” who once were women, though not in procession form the same kind of unity: once proud, now defeated, also “cassés,” unrecognized, fearful, insulted as they pass. Upon them weighs “God’s frightful talon,” “la griffe effroyable de Dieu.”[28]

§3.4 The mighty hand of Heracles

The might of necessity overcame our poet; with knowledge of its powers we may ask, Is anyone as strong as necessity? It’s a matter of having a mighty hand, and despite the chorus of Alcestis (above at n. 2.10), for that there is a hero who may qualify: Heracles (Hercules). In our prose poem, as also in a sketch of Daumier, he is a companion of the old saltimbanque; moreover, our Herculeses are in maillots, “tights” but also “swaddling clothes,” like infants. Elsewhere Baudelaire observes that modern bodies have been deformed by the god of the Useful, who swaddled them as infants in brazen clothes.[29] They were defenseless against this constriction, but the ancient hero whose might is tough as bronze is another story: Pindar tells how the infant Heracles, in yellow swaddling clothes, when attacked by serpents sent by Hera, “grasping the two snakes by their necks (or throats) in his two inescapable hands,” strangled them. Here the adjective for his hands is the one that Euripides was to apply to the hands of Necessity in the Alcestis chorus; and as we know, Theocritus calls his grasp “necessity’s bond.”[30] So Baudelaire praises Théodore de Banville by first emphasizing his grip (“empoigné … poignet”) and then alluding to the “reptiles / Que le petit Hercule étranglait au berceau” [reptiles which the little Hercules strangled in the cradle].[31] In general, the “renowned hands,” or hands and arms, of Heracles are emphasized everywhere in the stories about him.[32] He strangles the Nemean lion and robber Cacus, squeezes Cerberus, and outwrestles the river Achelous for his bride, saying before the contest, “My hand is better than my tongue,”—in this agreeing with Aias (Ajax), another mighty man; and he wields a tremendous club: Amphitryon, seeing him return from the underworld, cries, “I recognize the bulging muscles, the shoulders, and the famous-for-its-huge-club hand.” Most remarkably, as Euripides has it, he grips Death himself—“I seized him with my hands,” he recounts—forcing him to release dead Alcestis, and by that coercive embrace (above at n. 2.33) in the circle (κύκλον, kuklon, see above at n. 8) of his arms directly refuting the chorus’s claims about Necessity. In Seneca’s Hercules, where “hand” (manus, dext(e)ra) occurs more than seventy times, far from serving Fortuna he declares in his wretchedness: “Let Fortuna be vanquished by my right hand” (“vincatur mea / Fortuna dextra”)—that is, “Let me put an end to my life.” Finally he dies by the poison of the hydra, and by the ruse of the centaur, which were both killed by him—dies by the poison of his own arrow, and so by his own hand.[33]

Then Heracles can be said to be as strong as necessity, or even stronger, because he outdoes it in each of its aspects. As the servant of his inferior (Eurystheus) he overcomes every block, gets out of every tight spot, and throws off the yoke of slavery; meeting the hound of hell (Cerberus) that would seize the throat, or robber Bad (Cacus) who belches choking smoke, or Death himself who stops breath, it is he that does the strangling; and having delivered others from bondage, when caught at last in the toils of the poisoned robe what he suffers is his own doing: only Heracles slays Heracles. Nor does this stop him: from his pyre he ascends to heaven. The strength that accomplishes this is beyond the physical. In the words of Lucian’s Zeus, “By many labors/sufferings (οὐκ ὀλίγων πόνων) he purchased immortality.” As a great sufferer in his works it is right that he freed Prometheus, who had liberated mankind out of pity for their wretched condition only to be “bent by ten thousand pangs and tortures” on his rock. Upon doing so Heracles himself took on a symbolic bond. And as if in exchange for this deed, he is purified by Promethean fire: “He threw off the mortal part of him that came from his mother and flew up to heaven, taking the pure and unpolluted divine part with him, the part that the fire had separated off.”[34] Both of these tragic figures signify the Poet in Romantic conception; and specifically the Baudelairean poet, for each is a self-tormentor as well as a liberator—Heracles in his self-destructive madness and self-poisoned robe, Prometheus tortured by the gods he supported and the metals he revealed. “I devour my heart in deep thought, seeing myself maltreated in this way,” says the latter, recalling Bellerophon (above at n. 2.48) and anticipating a favorite Baudelairean image. Torment and self-torment come with recognition of the higher Necessity, steered by the Fates and Furies, which stands above the cruel art with which Zeus binds the Titan.[35] More than Prometheus, Heracles will come to be regarded as a Christ figure, suffering and triumphant. After his death as before it he holds out the possibility of overcoming all aporia. Thus, for example, Evander’s tale of the strangling of Cacus means to Aeneas the refutation of the serpents that slew Laocoön: the death of Troy will be answered by the birth of Rome. And Heracles the god himself appears in order to arrange the cure and glory (that death of Troy) for Philoctetes, declaring, “You too are destined … out of these labors/sufferings (πόνων ) to make your life glorious.” —In his raggedness and poor shelter, in his misery and isolation, how much Philoctetes resembles our saltimbanque![36] The greatest of Greek heroes was equal to the Necessity that held the archer in his pain; but what can the ape-like carnival strongman of today do for a superannuated clown?


[1] Onians, part 3, chap. 2, especially 314–317, 331 (this last page has the quotations).

[2] Ibid. 317, 332. Schreckenberg points out that “As powers of fate Ananke and Moira are in fact bound together (verbunden)” (78).

[3] Phaedo 99c, Onians 331.

[4] Onians 332–333; Oxford Latin Dictionary (above, n. 2.60), s.v. “necesse”; Watkins (above, n. 2.30), s.v. ked-. “Speak, I am bound to hear,” says Hamlet (1.5.6); Harold Jenkins comments in his Arden Shakespeare edition (London: Methuen, 1982), “Hamlet is ‘bound’ in duty and also by inescapable fate.” OED2 bound, ppl. a.2, 7.c., appears to agree with Jenkins.

[5] Plato, Cratylus 420d–e, trans. after H. N. Fowler, LCL (1939). See the quotation from Timaeus in the text above at n. 1.20.

[6] Onians 371–374.

[7] Montaigne, Essais 1.18, in Œuvres complètes (above, n. 2.3), 75; Monte-Cristo, chap. 8, 1:99.

[8] Onians 450–453; Aristotle, Metaphysics 995a28–33; cf. Nicomachean Ethics 1146a21–27 and Plato, Republic 515c.

[9] The saltimbanque speaks with his eyes alone, like Monte-Cristo’s paralyzed M. Noirtier, “motionless as a corpse”: chap. 59, 2:110.

[10] Paradise Lost 10.125–132 (“strict necessity” is also at 5.528); cf. “grim Necessity” in Shakespeare, Richard II 5.1.21. Cf. Aristotle on justice and equity, Nicomachean Ethics 5.10, especially the compliant “leaden rule” (1137b29–32).

[11] Hector to Andromache: Iliad 6.454–458; the Trojans: 6.83–87; Odysseus: Odyssey 19.72–74; Atlas: Hesiod, Theogony 517; Pindar, Pythians 4.287–290; cf. Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound 425–430. Regarding Hector’s expression “against your will” (ἀεκαζομένη), “The Homeric bards,” writes Chantraine (s.v. ἑκών), “created [the term] ἀεκαζόμενος … on the model of ἀναγκαζόμενος,” which means “compelled,” i.e. “subjected to anankē.” Thus the very form of the unwillingness recalls necessity.

[12] Homeric Hymn to Demeter 216–217; Pindar, Pythians 2.89–94.

[13] Persians 50, 591–594. See the note to line 50 in Hall’s ed. (above, n. 2.14).

[14] Agamemnon: Aeschylus, Agamemnon 217–221; Cassandra: ibid. 1071; Prometheus: Prometheus Bound 322, 104–108, 511–516; Antigone: Sophocles, Antigone 472; Creon: ibid. 1096, 1106. Simonides wrote, “Not even the gods fight with necessity”: Plato, Protagoras 345d; cf. a fragment of Sophocles, no. 256 in Fragments, ed. Hugh Lloyd-Jones, LCL (1996). In the passage discussed above (text at n. 5) Socrates associates ἑκούσιον = “voluntary” (opposite to Hector’s “against your will,” see n. 11) with εἶκον = “yielding.” Necessity is invoked against willing submission to the yoke of slavery in Plato, Laws 770e.

[15] Contrast Racine’s Hippolyte, whose “noble pride” had “never bent under the yoke of love (fléchi sous le joug amoureux)” (Phèdre 443–444). In this play the word joug is used in the same sense three more times (60, 762, 1303). —As Schreckenberg points out (54), “erotic necessities” (ἔρωτος or ἐρωτικαὶ ἀνάγκαι) occurs in Gorgias (of Helen, fragment 11.19) and Plato (Republic 458d). In the latter place these are said to be “probably more pungent (δριμύτεραι) than those [of geometry] for persuading and drawing the mass of the people.”

[16] “Ténèbres” (above, n. 2.24), lines 104–108.

[17] “Le Cygne,” Œuvres 1:86; “… the harsh yoke which nature imposes upon man, the heavy yoke of necessity under which every finite being must bend”: Rousseau, Émile, Book 2 (above, n. 2.15), 320 (a few lines before the quotation in the text above at n. 2.15); “[T]his head half bent under necessity would have bowed down to it entirely”: Monte-Cristo, chap. 9, 1:108; “Everything that lives is bent … to the harsh necessities of epochs, climates, and matter”: Maupassant, “Clair de Lune.”

[18] Hecuba 396–397.

[19] Schreckenberg 17 (“yoke-chain,” if that is a correct translation, is Jochfessel); 8, with plates.

[20] Plato, Menexenus 240c.

[21] Odyssey 22.458–473.

[22] Onians 375; Hesiod, Theogony 522; Odyssey 23.191; Plato, Republic 616b–c (see text above at n. 2.55).

[23] Odyssey 24.1–14.

[24] Schreckenberg 78.

[25] À Alphonse de Calonne (11 février 1859), Correspondance (above, n. 1.13), 1:547 (the original passage is in italics); quoted, Œuvres 1:1032.

[26] “Danse macabre,” Œuvres 1:98; Odyssey 22.8–20.

[27] “Les Sept Vieillards,” Œuvres 1:87–88. Empêtrer is from medieval Latin pastoria, a hobble for animals (cf. entrave, text above at n. 7). This poem is discussed further in §6.1.

[28] “Les Petites Vieilles,” Œuvres 1:89–91.

[29] Daumier, “La Parade,” no. 169 in Bruce Laughton, Honoré Daumier (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1996), 133; Baudelaire, poem V of Les Fleurs du mal (“J’aime le souvenir…”), Œuvres 1:12.

[30] Heracles’ might: above, n. 2.13; Pindar, Nemeans 1.33–47; Theocritus: text above at n. 2.7. See also Schreckenberg 45.

[31] “À Théodore de Banville,” Œuvres 1:208; the poem also refers to the poisoned robe, with a modification of the myth.

[32] laude … notas manus: Seneca, Hercules 469; Greek χείρ is both “hand” and “arm” (including the hand).

[33] On Heracles and his labors see Apollodorus, The Library, ed. Sir James George Frazier, 2 vols. (LCL, 1921), especially 2.4.8–2.7.7, with the index and notes. Lion: Library 2.5.1; Cacus: Aeneid 8.184–279; Cerberus: Library 2.5.12; melior mihi dextera lingua: Ovid, Metamorphoses 9.29; on Aias see n. 2.9 above; alto nobilem trunco manum: Seneca, Hercules 625; Alcestis 1142, 847; Hercules 1271–1272. The “tumour” of n. 1.22 above, “about the size of ‘your fist,’” though “both hard and obstinate” was “nevertheless compelled to yield” by a doctor thought capable of “bringing people back from the brink of death.”

[34] Lucian, The Assembly of the Gods (Deorum Concilium) 6, cf. Apollodorus, Library (above, n. 33) 2.4.12; freed, bond: Prometheus Bound 871–873, Library 2.5.11 with Frazier’s note 3, pp. 228–229; pity, tortures: Prometheus Bound 233–243, 511–513; Library 2.5.11; flew up: Lucian, Hermotimus 7, trans. K. Kilburn, LCL (1959).

[35] Euripides, Heracles 867–1015; Prometheus Bound 437–440, 500–503; eating one’s heart: “Un fantôme,” Œuvres 1:38, “L’Héautontimorouménos,” 1:79, and several other poems of Les Fleurs du mal; Prometheus Bound 514–518, cf. Seth Benardete, “On Greek Tragedy,” The Great Ideas Today 1980, Encyclopaedia Britannica, Inc. (1980), 121.

[36] Laocoön: Aeneid 2.201–231; Sophocles, Philoctetes 1409–1444.