ineteen -fifty-seven was the year when Edith Hamilton, a widely read translator of classical literature and ideas, finally achieved the status that had long eluded her—that of bona fide public intellectual. Her book not only sold out its first print run but also received favorable reviews from eminent scholars who had, she felt, previously snubbed her. More meaningful to her by far, the Greek government invited her to Athens that summer for a performance of her translation of Aeschylus's . Onstage at the theater of Herodes Atticus, in the presence of the U.S. ambassador to Greece, Hamilton was made an honorary citizen of Athens by the city's mayor. She gave a short speech, calling the occasion her proudest moment, to a standing ovation as camera bulbs flashed. The next night, Hamilton scrambled up the slope of the Acropolis to see the moonlit Parthenon one last
