Euripides

j«es-s-1ss9¥^^

y^^>rt)"\^iii:.£:^4ta)\<

Digitized by tlie Internet Arcliive

in 2007 witli funding from

IVIicrosoft Corporation

littp://www.arcli ive.org/details/euripidesOOdonniala

Ancient Classics for English Readers

EDITED BY THE

REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A.

EURIPIDES

The Volumes published of this Series contain

HOMER: THE ILIAD, by the Editor.
HOMER: THE ODYSSEY, by the Same.
HERODOTUS, by George C. Swayne, M.A.
C^SAR, BY Anthony Trollope.
VIRGIL, BY THE Editor.
HORACE, BY Theodore Martin.
/ESCHYLUS, BY Reginald S. Copleston, M.A.
XENOPHON, BY Sir Alex. Grant, Bart., LL.D.
CICERO, BY the Editor.
SOPHOCLES, BY Clifton W. Collins, M.A.
PLINY, BY A. Church, M.A., and W. J.

Brodribb, M.A.
EURIPIDES, by William Bodham Donne.
JUVENAL, BY Edward Walford, M.A.
ARISTOPHANES, by the Editor.
HESIOD & THEOGNIS, by James Davies, M.A.
PLAUTUS AND TERENCE, by the Editor.
TACITUS, BY William Bodham Donne.
LUCIAN, BY the Editor.
PLATO, BY Clifton W. Collins.
THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY, by Lord

N EAVES.

ANCIENT CLASSICS

FOR

ENGLISH READERS

EDITED BY THE

" EEV. W. LUCAS C0LLI:N^S, M.A.

EURIPIDES

By WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE

ARISTOPHANES

By EEV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A.

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBUKGH AND LONDON

The subjects in this Series may be had separately, in cloth, price
2S. 6d. ; or two volumes bound in one, in leather back and' marbled
sides and edges, arranged as follows : —

THE ILIAD AND

HESIOD AND THEOGNIS.

ODYSSEY.

ANTHOLOGY.

HERODOTUS.

VIRGIL.

XENOPHON.

HORACE.

EURIPIDES.

JUVENAL.

ARISTOPHANES.

PLAUTUS AND TERENCE.

PLATO.

C^SAR.

LUCIAN.

TACITUS.

iESCHYLUS.

CICERO.

SOPHOCLES.

PLINY.

EURIPIDES

WILLIAM BODHAM DONNE

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS

EDINBURGH AND LONDON

MDCCCLXXVI

/ ■ >j

ADVERTISEMENT.

The writer desires to express his acknowledgmeuts to
Mr Eobert Bro\viiing, for his kind permission to make
use of his ' Balaustion ' in the account given of " Al-
cestis ; " to 'Mis Augusta "Webster, for a similar favour
in the case of the " Medea ; " and to Mr Maurice Pur-
cell Fitzgerald, in that of the " Hippolytus." The
translations which they have respectively allowed him
to use are recorded in footnotes, as well as those which
are taken from the versions of Greek tragic poets by
the late Deans Milman and Alford. Where the trans-
lated passages are not attributed to an author, they are
taken from Potter, in the absence of better render-
ings. He wishes also to commemorate his obligations to
Mr F. A. Paley for the frequent and valuable assistance
afforded by his Prefaces and Notes to the Plays of

Ti ADVERTISEMENT.

Euripides. It may be hoped that, with his edition of
the Athenian poet, a new epoch begins for the estima-
tion of him by classical as well as English readers.
Mr Paley evidently regards Euripides in a very similar
light to that taken of him by Ben Jonson — that " he
is sometimes peccant, as he is most times perfect."

CONTENTS.

PAOB
CJIAP. I. ATHEKS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES, . . 1

II. LIFE OF EURIPIDES 25

III. THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER, . . .. . 51

IV. ALCESTIS. — MEDEA, 76

V. THE TWO IPHIGENIAS, 100

VI. THE BACCHANALS, . . . . ,122

VII. ION. — HIPPOLYTUS, 138

VIII. THE PHCENICIAN WOMAN. — THE SUPPLIANTS. —
THE CHILDREN OF HERCULES. — THE PHRENZT
OF HERCULES, ...... 168

IX. THE TALE OF TROY: HECUBA — THE TROJAN"

WOMEN 172

X. THE CYCLOPS, 189

EURIPIDES.

CHAPTEE I.

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES.

" Behold
Where on the ^gean shore a city stands,
Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil,
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence, native to famous wits
Or hospitable." — Par. Regained.

The greater poets of all times and countries, no less
than historians and philosophers, admit of being con-
templated under a twofold aspect — literary and his-
torical. Under the former, we may mark how they
acted upon their age ; under the latter, how far they
reflected it. Of the form and spirit of their generation,
they are the representatives to later ages — throwing
light on its history, on the state of its language and
cultivation, and in return receiving light from those
sources. Euripides was no exception to this general
law : he materially affected the time he lived in ; he
derived from the circumstances in which his lot was
cast many of the features that distinguish him from
A. c. vol. xii. A

2 EURIPIDES.

.^Eschylus and Sophocles. As a citizen, he differed
from them almost as widely as if he had not been bom
in their days ; and stUl more widely did he stand apart
from them in the practice and theory of dramatic com-
position. Accordingly, a few remarks on Athens in
the time of Euripides may not be an inappropriate
prelude to an account of his life and writings.

The Athens in which the boyhood of Euripides was
spent was little more than an ordinary town, the
capital of a district about the size of an average Eng-
lish county. Pisistratus and his sons had begun to
adorn the city with some temples, and at least erected
a portion of the Dionysiac theatre ; but it is doubtful
whether this commencement, or anticipation of the
structures of Pericles, was not either . destroyed or
seriously injured by the Persian invader. Before that
calamity had aroused the spuit of her citizens, Athens
was indeed little more than a cluster of villages sur-
rounded by a common wall. A wooden rampart was
the only defence of the citadel, l^o fortifications con-
nected the city with its harbours, two of which were
still open roads. Even the Pisistratids appear not to
have ventured on building for themselves stately
mansions, or to have called in the art of painters or
sculptors to adorn Athens itself. They did not possess
the funds that Cimon and Pericles commanded for
great public works. They presided over a jealous peo-
ple by force of arms, and dreaded provoking it by offen-
sive displays either of wealth or power. Not until the
democracy was satisfied with its representatives, and
proud of its land and its capital, was it possible to

ATHENS IN TUB DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 3

indulge in lavish expenditure, or to win for Athens the
titles of " the eye of Greece" and " the violet Queen."

The period that elapsed between the first and second
invasion by the Persians was fraught with too much
anxiety to admit of beautifying the city : all that could
be done was to supply at least one tenable outwork,
and that some miles distant from Athens itself. It
was the wisdom of Themistocles to discern that the
very existence of his country, if it were not to become
a Persian satrapy, depended on ships and not on walls.
To insure the security and efficiency of the fleet, a
fortified harbour was indispensable. The mud-buUt
or wooden cottages, the narrow and crooked streets of
the capital, must be abandoned to the Mede ; and such
treasure as was then available be employed on the port
and docks of Peirseus.

The victories that finally expelled the Persian from
Hellenic ground were consummated in b.c. 466 by
the battles at the Eurymedon, *' when Cimon tri-
umphed both by land and sea." Athens, after the
retreat of Mardonius, was little better than a ruinous
heap. The fire-worshippers had done their worst on
her temples ; had levelled her streets, torn down her
feeble walls, and trampled under foot with their horse-
men and archers the gardens and olive-yards that
environed her. The first care of the Athenians was to
restore the city, after a desolation more complete than
even that with which Brennus visited Rome ; for
the banner of the Gauls never waved over the Capitol,
whereas the wrath of Xerxes was poured especially on
the Athenian Acropolis. Nor was it enough to rebuild

4 EURIPIDES.

the walls : it was necessary to protect the city in futui-e
from enemies near at hand ; from the never-friendly
Thebans ; from the Dorians of Peloponnesus, whose
fears and jealousy had been awakened by the prowess,
so unlooked for by them, of their Ionian ally. The
long walls had to be constructed — the harbours of
Munychium and Phalerus connected with Peirseus,
and riveted by strong links to Athens itself. Before
such works could be finished, there can have been
neither means, motives, nor leisure for embellishing
the capital of Attica. Earlier than 472 B.C., in which
year the common treasury of the Allies was trans-
ferred from Delos to Athens, Polycletus, Phidias,
Zeuxis, and their compeers can hardly have been em-
ployed on their immortal labours. The new Athens
accordingly grew up under his eyes, and that at a
period of life when curiosity is most alert, and memory
most tenacious. It was his privilege to watch the
growth of temple and haU, colonnade and theatre,
gymnasium and court of law, which the people, now a
sovereign one, demanded, and their leaders wUlingly
suppHed. The poet, most susceptible, as his plays
often show him to have been, of the arts allied to his
own, beheld in all the freshness of their youth the
Painted Porch, adorned by Micon, Polygnetus, and
Pantsenus, with cartoons of Athenian triumphs and
heroes — the ivory and gold statue of PaUas Athene, the '
tutelary goddess — the Virgin's House, the Parthenon
— the Portico, a work of Mnesides — the Propylsea,
leading up to " the roof and crown " of Athens — the
AcropoHs — and other sacred and secular monuments for

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 5

which the spoils of the Persian or the tribute of the
Allies furnished, means. Nor were these unrivalled
works, some of which he may have seen on the easel
of Zeuxis or in the studio of Phidias, the only fea-
tures of the time likely to nurture his imagination,
or give it the bias towards an expanding future so
apparent in his writings. For hitn the narroAv and
often gloomy region of legends, national or Achaean,
faded before the bright and picturesque glories of the
hour. In his time the boundaries of the Grecian world
were enlarged. Strangers, attracted to the new centre
of Hellas* by business or pleasure, now flocked to
Athens from Mg&axi islands, from the coasts and cities
of Western Asia and the Euxine, from the Greek
colonies of Sicily, Gyrene, and southern Italy, from
MassiUa on the Celtic border, from Tartessus near the
bourne of the habitable world, from the semi-barbarous
Cyprus, and from the cradles of civilisation, Egypt and
Phoenicia. For now was there room in Athens for all
cunning workers in marble or metal, for those who
dealt in Tyrian pvirple or unguents of Smyrna, or
brought bars of silver and golden ingots from Iberian
mines ; room also for armourers and dockyard men in
Athenian ports, where —

"Boiled
Through wintry months tenacious pitch to smear

* " Hellas," although a word unknown in the time of Euri-
pides, and indeed of much later date, is used, here and else-
where, in these pages, as a convenient and comprehensive term
for Greece and its numerous oflfsets from the Euxine Sea to the
Gulf of Marseilles.

6 EURIPIDES.

Their unsound vessels ; when the inclement time
Seafaring men restrains, and in that while
His hark one builds anew, another stops
The ribs of his that hath made many a voyage.
One hammers at the prow, one at the poop ;
This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,
The mizzen one repairs and mainsail rent." *

Artists, too, who wrought neither with brush nor
chisel, were drawn to Athens by the magnet of public
or private demand — poets eager to celebrate her glories,
and contend for lyric or dramatic prizes ; philosophers
no less eager to broach new theories in morals, or to
teach new devices in rhetoric and logic. It was a new
world in comparison with the severe and simple Mara-
thonian time in which -iEschylus was trained; and,
like most new worlds, it was worse in some things,
better in others — removed further from gods and god-
like heroes, approaching nearer to man, his sorrows and
joys; less awful and august, more humane and civilised.
And the change is visible in the worst no less than in
the best plays of Euripides, and one to be borne in
mind by all who would judge of them fairly.

Pass over a few years of the poet's life, and we come
to a period when this scene of political, artistic, and
social activity is at first clouded over, and in the end
rent and dislinmed. Among other effects of the Pelo-
ponnesian war, one was, that a stop was put to public
buQdings and the costly arts by which they are adorned :
while those that, like the Erectheium, were unfinished

* Dante, 'Divine Comedy,' Cant, xxi., Cary's translation.
The poet is speaking of Venice, but his verses are applicable to
the earlier Queen of the Seas.

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 7

at the outbreak of that war, were left incomplete. But
the drama did not suffer with other branches of art.
Sophocles, Euripides, and a numerous band of competi-
tors, yearly strove for the crown, and the decorations of
the stage were even costlier than ever. The suspension
of public works, however, was a trifle in comparison
with the corruption of morals at Athens — an effect of
the war, and of the great plague especially, which there
is the authority of Thucydides for stating. But our
business now is not with the Athenian people so much
as with the stage in the time of Euripides, particularly
with a view to the character of the audience.

Attica was a land favorable to varieties of labour
and cultivation. At the present moment its light .and
dry soil produces little corn ; but want of capital and
industry, not the soil, is to blame. Cereals, indeed,
were never its principal produce, though small and
well4illed farms, such as are seen in Belgium and
Lombardy, abounded. Bather was it a land of olives
and figs, of vines and honey. Sheep and goats, par-
ticularly the latter, were kept in large flocks on the
mountain slopes : even such delicacies as hams of bear
and wild boar were not inaccessible to the hunter on
Mount Parnes. The seas swarmed with fish, and
inexhaustible were the marble quarries of Mount Pen-
telicus, whUe the silver mines of Laurium supplied
the public treasury with the purest coinage in Greece.
These various products of the soil furnished its
occupiers with as varied occupations; and agaia we
have the testimony of Thucydides, that Athenians in
general were fond of country pursuits, and before the

8 EURIPIDES.

Peloponnesian war preferred their fields, villages, and
small towns to the attractions of the city. The state-
ment of the historian is confirmed by the great comic
poet of the time. Aristophanes, with a wholesome
hatred of unjust and unnecessary wars, frequently sets
before the spectators how much the worse they were
for dwelling within walls, and for leaving their olive-
yards and vineyards, their meadows and cornland,
where informers ceased from troubling, and booted and
bearded soldiers were at rest.

The enforced removal of the country population into
the capital can hardly have failed to produce a change,
and that not a salutary one, in the character of the
Athenians, even if the pestilence had not sapped the
foundations of morals by loosening domestic ties, by
rendering the sick and even the strong reckless of the
morrow, and thousands at once irreligious and super-
stitious. Such levity and despair as were exhibited by
the Parisians under the Reign of Terror, prevailed in
Athens during the worst days of the plague. Even
the general breaking up of homes, and the want of
customary occupations, had evil results for the peasant
turned townsman. For some hundreds of farmers and
labourers the small towns and hill-forts of the country
may have afforded shelter during the almost yearly
inroads of the Peloponnesian host; yet the bulk of
the rural population was compelled to move, with such
goods and chattels as were portable, into the narrow
space of the city — the Long "Walls or the harbours ;
where, if they did not suffer from want of food, they
were indifferently lodged. War is ever " work of waste

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 9

and ruin." If the land were tilled at all, the green
com was taken by the enemy for horse-fodder ; fruit-
trees were cut down for fuel or fencing of camps ;
villages and homesteads, when no longer wanted by
the Dorian invader, were wantonly destroyed. In
place of the rich tillage, woodland, or pasturage which
greeted the eyes of spectators from the waUs or the
citadel, there presented itself a wide and various scene
of desolation. All that an Athenian, during many
weeks in the year, could call his own, was the sea. He
yearned for his bee-hives, his garden, his oH-vats and
wine-press, his fig-trees, his sheep and kine. A sorry-
exchange was it for him, his wife and children ! Even
his recreations were lost to him. He missed the chat
of the market-place and the rural holiday. The city
fountains did not compensate to him for the clear stream
he had left behind ; and his imprisonment was the
more irksome because the hated Dorian was trampling
on the graves of his kindred. Small comfort to him
was such employment as the city supplied or demanded
of him. Hard-handed ploughmen or vine-dressers were
made to stand sentinels on the walls, or clapped on board
a ship of war ; or they sweltered in the law courts as
jurymen, or listened ignorantly or apathetically to
brawling orators in the assembly. He who, until that
annual flight of locusts came to plague the land, had
been a busy man, was now often an idle one ; and
weary is a life of enforced leisure. Possibly also he
and the town-bred Athenians may not always have been
on the best terms. Great mockers, unless they are much
belied, were those town-folks. His clouted shoon and

10 EURIPIDES.

ill-fitting tunic may have cost the peasant, or even the
country gentleman, uncomfortable hours, and perhaps
led him to break the heads of city wits, or to get his
own head broken by them. Town amusements were
never much to his liking. The music, vocal and instru-
mental, which he would hear at the Odeum — the
Athenian opera-house — might be all very fine ; but, for
his part, give him the pipe and tabor, the ballads and
minstrels, of his deserted village. Then as to the play-
house : the performances there were not to his taste.
A farce at a wake, acted on boards and tressels, a well-
known hymn sung to the rural deities, pleased him far
more than comedies of which he did not catch the drift,
or tragedies that scared him by their furies and ghosts,
and perhaps gave him bad dreams. The sudden in-
fusion of a new element into the mass of a people can-
not fail to affect it materially, whether for good or iU ;
and such a wholesale migration as this reacted on the
townsmen themselves. Some civic virtues they might
easily exchange for some rural vices. Cooped as the
Athenians, urban and rustic, were within the walls,
ill-housed, and often idle, with few if any sanitary or
poHce regulations, we need not history to inform us
that Athens came forth from the pestilence the worse
in some respects for its visitation-

And besides these changes from without, others of a
less palpable but more subtle kind were, in the age of
Euripides, afiecting the national character, and with it
also the spirit, and in a measure the form, of the
national drama. " It was a period of great intellectual
activity ; and the simple course of education under

ATHENS IX TEE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 11

which the conquerors of Salamis and Marathon had
been reared no longer satisfied the wants of the noble,
Avealthy, and aspiring part of the Athenian youth.
Their learning had not gone beyond the rudiments of
music, and such a knowledge of their own language as
enabled them to enjoy the works of their writers, and
to express their own tlioughts with ease and propriety ;
and they bestowed at least as much care on the train-
ing of the body as on the cultivation of the mind.
But in the next generation the speculations of the
Ionian and Eleatic schools began to attract attention
at Athens : the presence of several celebrated philoso-
phers, and the example of Pericles, made them familiar
to a gradually widening circle; and they furnished
occasion for the discussion of a variety of questions
intimately connected with subjects of the highest
practical moment."* The latter half of Euripides's life
was passed, as we may judge even from the sober
Xenophon, as well as from the witty Aristophanes,
among a generation of remarkable loquacity, in which
the young aspired to know a little of every subject,
thought themselves fit to hold the state-rudder, and
justified in looking down upon their less learned or
more modest elders. Every young man, indeed, who
aspired to become a statesman, must be an adept in
rhetorical arts, since no one could pretend to pilot the
ship who could not persuade, or at least cajole, his
fellow-citizens. If, on the other hand, he wished to
be a pubKc lecturer — that is to say, a philosopher — plain
Pythagorean rules for the conduct of life, or Solon's
* Bishop Thirlwall's Hist, of Greece, iv. 268.

12 EURIPIDES.

elegiac maxims, no longer sufficed. Such old truisms
would not bring him a single pupil or hearer. He
must be able, and was always ready, to probe the very
foundations of truth and law ; to argue on any subject ;
to change his opinions as often as it suited himself; — in
short, to be supreme in talk, however shallow he might
be in knowledge. To what extent Euripides fell in
■with the new philosophy will be considered in another
chapter.

Let not, however, the English reader suppose that
young Athens had it all its own way ; that the ancient
spirit was quite dead ; or that philosophy was merely
a game of riddles, and ethics Httle better than the
discovery that there is " neither transgression nor sin."
Had it been so, Plato, in the next generation, would
have addressed empty benches in his Academy ; and
at a still later period, Demosthenes have failed to
inspire his hearers with either that deliberate valour or
that spirit of self-sacrifice which they displayed in
their struggles with " the man of Macedon," In spite
of some grave defects or some superficial blemishes,
the Athens that crowned or refused to crown Euri-
pides was the home of a noble and generous people,
easily led astray, but still willing to return to the
right path j not impatient of reproof, and sincere, if
somewhat sudden, in its repentance. Her citizens
were a strange mixture of refinement and coarseness,
of intelligence and ignorance. For intellect and taste,
no city, ancient or modem, has ever made for its
members so varied and sumptuous a provision as
she afforded to her children, her friends, and the

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 13

stranger within her gates. In the days of Euripides,
a resident in Athens might in one week assist at a
solemn religious festival ; at the performance of plays
that for more than two thousand years were unsur-
passed ; might listen in the Odeum to music worthy
of the verse to which it was wedded ; might watch
in the Great Harbour the war-gaUeys making ready
for the next foray on the Lacedaemonian coast, or the
heavy-armed infantry training for their next encounter
with Spartan or Theban phalanx. In the intervals
of these mimic or serious spectacles, he could study
the works of the most consummate artists the earth
has ever produced; gaze in the gymnasium on liv-
ing beauty, grace, and strength ; or, if meditatively
p^ven, could hear Prodicus and Protagoras ia their
iecture-rooms, or Socrates in the market-place, discours-
ing upon " divine philosophy." K he were in any
way remarkable for worth or ability, the saloons of
Pericles, Nicias, or Glaucon were not closed against
him by any idle ceremonies of good introductions,
fine clothes, or long pedigrees. Athens, it is well said
by Milton, was '* native or hospitable to famous wits."
And though he had not " three white luces on his
coat," nor any coat of arms at all, he was " a gentleman
bom." His heraldry was the behef that before a Dorian
set foot in Peloponnesus, or a tribe of Persian moun-
taineers had vanquished the Assyrian or the Mede, his
forefathers had established themselves in Attica, and
taken part in the Trojan war. All other Greek com-
munities, with the single exception of the Arcadians
and Achaeans — poor bucolical folks then, but destined

14 EURIPIDES.

a century later to hold a prominent place in Greece —
were in comparison with the Athenian the creatures of
yesterday. One Attic king had been the friend of
Hercules, and so was coeval with the Argonauts : and
even Theseus had his royal predecessors. And if the
Athenian studied the national chronicles, or listened
by the winter fireside to the stories of old times, he
did not blush for his progenitors. They had ever
been redressers of wrongs, harbourers of the exile,
hospitable to the stranger ; and their virtues supplied
Euripides with themes for several of his plays.

The poet, who had watched the growth of his native
city, witnessed also the rapid extension of its empire.
When Euripides was in his boyhood, Athens was but
a secondary power in Hellas ; — inferior to Corinth in
wealth and commercial enterprise ; to Sparta in war
and the number of its allies. In his twenty-sixth
year — the year in which he exhibited his first play —
Athens had become the head of a league far more
powerful than the confederacy which the " king of men "
led to the siege of Troy. She stepped into the place
Avhich the proud, selfish, and custom-bound Spartan
had abandoned. An active democracy eclipsed a sullen
and ceremonious ohgarchy ; and although the Dorian
in the end prevailed, it was partly o"\ving to Persian
gold that he did so, and partly because the Ionian city
had squandered her strength, as France so often has
done, in unjustifiable and prodigal wars. At all times,
and especially while the " breed of noble blood " flowed
in her veins — ^while to be just as Aristides, chivalrous
as Cimon, temperate in the execution of high office as

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 15

Pericles, continued to be accounted virtues — ^Athens
held, and deserved to hold, her supremacy. Proud,
and justly so, were her sons of their beautiful city.
The tribute paid to her by the allies for protecting
them from the Persian was fairly expended upon the
maintenance of the fleet and the encouragement of art.
Her citizens were, and felt themselves to be, in the van
of Greek cultivation. They hailed with applause the
praises addressed to them by the dramatic poets — and
the praises were no idle flattery. Was it not a truth
that, had it not been for the Athenians, northern Greece
would have given earth and water to the Persian
envoys, and Peloponnesus have selfishly abandoned
the sea to the Phoenician galleys % True also, that but
for the Athenians, " dusk faces with white silken
turbans wreathed " might have been seen in the
citadels of Corinth and Thebes 1 Of a city that had
so well deserved of every state, insular or on the main-
land, where Greek was spoken, the most appropriate
ornaments were the triumphs of the artist. Eightfully
proud were the Athenians of their beautiful city ; as
rightfully employed were the pens of poets in giving
these monuments perpetual fame.

With history, direct or indirect, before us, it may
be possible to describe, or at least divine, the spectacle
presented at the Dionysiac theatre when Sophocles
or Euripides brought out a new play. The audience
consisted of nearly as many elements as, centuries
later, were to crowd and elbow one another in the vast
space of the Roman Colosseum. The lowest and best
seats, those nearest the orchestra, were reserved for

16 EURIPIDES.

men of mark and dignity, for the judges who would
award the prizes, for sage, grave members of the Areo-
pagus, for archons in office, or for those who had already
held office, for soldiers " famoused in fight," for am-
bassadors from Greek or foreign lands, for all who had
some claim to precedence from their rank or their ser-
vices to the commonwealth. Women were admitted to
the tragedies at least, boys as well as men to all per-
formances ; even slaves were permitted to be present.
The women, by Greek usage secluded at home, were
probably assigned a particular apartment in the play-
hoiise ; the boys were perhaps of use, as often as an
unpopular competitor for the crown tried his fortune
once more; and possibly Euripides may have occa-
sionally regretted the presence of these youthful censors.
No registered citizen could plead poverty as a reason
for not witnessing these theatrical contests ; if he had
not money in his purse, the state paid for his ticket
of admission. To foreigners were commonly allotted
the back seats ; but so many mechanical devices were
employed for the conveyance of sound, that unless a
sitter in the gallery were hard of hearing, he could
probably catch every line of the choral chant or the
recitative of the dialogue. l^Tor might short-sighted
people be quite forlorn ; he was pitiable indeed who
could not discern, vast as was the space between him-
self and the stage, the colossal actors mounted on their
high boots, and raised by their tall head-dress above
ordinary mortal stature. A purblind stranger might
perchance regret that he could not distinguish in the
stalls bald-headed Mcias from the lon"-haired Alci-

^ ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 17

blades ; and that although Socrates was certainly in
the house he could not identify him among a batch
of ugly fellows, with whom, he was told, the cele-
brated street-preacher was sitting.

The gallery in which foreigners sat is perhaps the
most interesting feature of the audience to English
readers — interesting, because it represented the various
members of the Athenian empire, as well as of the
Hellenic race. A merchant whose warehouse was
near the PUlars of Hercules, would find himself seated
beside one who had brought a cargo of wheat from
Slnope, on the Euxine Sea. A hybrid — half-Greek,
half-Egyptian — of Canopus, would have on his right
hand a tent-maker from Tarsus, on his left a Thessalian
bullock-drover. The " broad Scotch " of the Greeks —
the Dorian patois — would be spoken by a group of
spectators in front of him ; whUe a softer dialect than
even the Attic, pure Ionic, was used by a party of
islanders behind him. " What gorgeously - attired
personage is that on your left ?" "A Tyrian merchant,
rich enough to buy up any street in Athens — a prince
in his own city, a suitor here. He has come on law
business ; and although at home he struts like any
peacock, here he is obliged to salute any ragged rascal in
the streets who may be a juror when his cause is heard.
To my certain knowledge, the great emerald column in
the temple of Melcarth, at Tyre, is mortgaged to him."
" And who is that queerly-dressed man a little beyond
the Tyrian 1 By his garb and short petticoat I should
take him for a Scythian policeman,* but he has not the
* Scjrthian bowmen were the gendarmes of Athens.

A. C. vol. xii. B

18 EURIPIDES.

yellow hair and Uue eyes of those gentry." " That,
sir, is a Gaul from Massilia; he is on his road to
Bithynia, where the satrap Pharnahazus, I think his
name is, is ofiering good pay to western soldiers — and
where there is gold there also is sure to he a Gaul.
The fellow speaks Greek fairly well, for he was for
some time in a Massilian counting-house, his mother
being a Greek woman." "VVe should tire our readers'
patience long before we exhausted the portraits of
sitters in the strangers' gallery in the Dionysiac theatre ;
and it is only due to the Athenian portion of the
audience to turn for a few moments to them.

Samuel Johnson could not conceive there could be
" livers out of " London ; or that a people ignorant of
printing could be other than barbarous. Had he
been as well acquainted with Greek as he was with
some portions of Latin literature, he might have found
cause for altering his opinion. The Athenians were
not in general book-learned, but such knowledge as
can be obtained by the eye and the ear they possessed
abundantly; and the thirty thousand registered citizens,
to say nothing of resident aliens, were better informed
than an equal number of average Londoners are at
the present time. In the rows of the theatre, as on
the benches of the Pnyx,* might be seen men who,
if judged by their apparel, would have been set
down for paupers, if not street- Arabs ; and yet these
shabby folk were able to correct orators who mis-

* The Pnyx was the place where the people of Athens
assembled to hear political debates — in fact, their House of
Parliament.

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 19

pronounced a word, singers when out of tune, and
actors who tripped in, their delivery of dialogue.
Their moral sense, indeed, was not on a level with
their taste and shrewd understandings : yet we shaU
have to record more than one instance of their calling
Euripides to account for opinions which they deemed
unwholesome, or for innovations which they regarded
as needless departures from established custom. It
may he doubted whether they were a very patient
audience. They seem to have had little scruple in
expressing their approbation or disapprobation, as
well of the poet as the actor ; and their mode of doing
so was sometimes very rough, inasmuch as, besides
hissing and hooting at them strenuously, they pelted
bad or unpopular actors with stones.

The varied appearance of the spectators on the
higher benches did not extend to the lower ones,
which the citizens proper occupied. Fops and dandies
there were in the wealthy classes, and especially among
the immediate followers of Alcibiades, or those who
aped their extravagances. But generally no democrat
brooked in a brother democrat display or singularity.
A house better than ordinary, or fine raiment, were
considered marks of an oligarchic disposition ; and
the owner of such gauds, if he aspired to public
office, was pretty sure to have them cast in his teeth
at the hustings. But sobriety in raiment, in dwell-
ing, or equipage, did not abate the vivacious spirit of
the lonians of the west. When offended or wearied
by a play, they employed all the artillery of dis-
pleasure against the spectators as well as the per-

20 EURIPIDES.

formers. Sometimes au unpopular citizen attracted
notice ; and then the wit at his expense flowed fast
and furious, as it occasionally does now from a Dublin
gallery. Were there a hole in his coat, it was likely
to be mentioned with " additional particulars : " if he
had ever gone through the bankruptcy court, it waa
not forgotten : swindling or perjury were joyfully
commemorated : still more so any current rumours
about poisoning a wife, a rich uncle, troublesome step-
sons, wards, mothers-in-law, and other family incon-
veniences.

Such were the audiences who sat in judgment on
the great drama of the ancient world. It may be
probably conjectured that Euripides found more favour
with the resident aliens and the visitors from foreign
parts than with the bom citizens. To these, his some-
what arbitrary treatment of old legends — his familiar
dealing with, or perhaps humanising of, the Hellenic
deities, his softening of the terrors of destiny, his
modification of the songs and functions of the Chorus,
and other deviations from the ancient severity of
dramatic art — would give little, if any, offence. For
such spectators the dooms hanging over Argive or
Theban royal houses would have but little interest.
Their forefathers had taken no part in the quarrel
between Eteocles and Polynices, cared little for the
authority of the Areopagus, had local deities and
myths of their own, among whom were not reckoned
Pallas Athene, Apollo, or the Virgin Huntress. To
the foreigner, that triumphal song, the " Persians "
of .^chylus, and his "Prometheus," were perhaps

ATHENS IN THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 21

more •welcome than his Orestean trilogy. The
fables of these plays were common and catholic
to the whole Hellenic world. The friend and pro-
tector of mankind, the long-suffering Titan, touched
chords in the heart of a Greek spectator, whether he
drank the water of the Meander or that of the foun-
tain of Arethusa. The flight of Xerxes and the
humiliation of the Mede were the story of his own
deliverance from the dread or oppression of the great
king. Even the tragi-comedy of Euripides might
be more agreeable to him than the sombre gi'an-
deur of .^chylus, or the serene and perfect art of
Sophocles.

But to the purely Athenian portion the innovations
of Euripides were less acceptable. If we are to judge
by the number of prizes he gained, at no period of
his career was he so popular as Sophocles. He was
rather a favourite with a party than with the Athenian
pubUc. In some respects the restless democracy
was very conservative in its taste. The deeds of its
forefathers it associated with Achaean legends : the
gods of the commonwealth, although it laughed
heartily at them when travestied by the comic poets,
still were held to be the rightful tenants of Olympus ;
whereas the Euripidean deities were either ordinary men
and women, or " airy nothings," without any " local
habitation." Marriage- vows, again, were not very
strictly kept by Athenian husbands, yet they did not
approve of questionable connections, and thought that
Euripides abused poetic licence when he made use of
them in his dramas. Moreover, there may have been

22 EURIPIDES.

something in his habits unpalatable to them : he lived
apart ; conversed with few ; cared not for news ; held
strange opinions, as will be seen presently, about
women and slaves, wits and politicians ; was no
" masker or reveller ; " and, in short, took no pains to
make himself publicly or privately agreeable. English-
men are devout worshippers of public opinion, as it is
conveyed through the press. Athenians, without a
press, were quite as subservient to their leaders in
opinion. They liked not eccentricity, or even the
show of pride. In a few cases, indeed, they con-
doned apparent neglect : Pericles, who rarely went
among them imless weighty matters were in hand,
they pardoned for his good services to democracy ;
the grave and tristful visage of Demosthenes, who
was rarely seen to smUe, they overlooked in consider-
ation of his stirring appeals to their patriotic feelings ;
but they could not pardon a man who sought fame, if
not money, by his plays, for being uncivil to play-
goers. And little civility they got from him, beyond
a few compliments to their sires or their city.

A very heterogeneous mass were these tinofficial
judges of dramatic poets. Between twenty and thirty
thousand spectators could be assembled in the theatre
of Bacchus. Beyond the seats occupied by privileged
persons, and below those allotted to strangers, sat the
sovereign people. The war party and the peace party
were not separated by barriers. Aristophanes might
be next to Lamachus, and the tanner Anytus next
to barefooted Socrates. Government contractors, en-
riched by the war, were mixed up with farmers who

ATHENS IJV THE DAYS OF EURIPIDES. 23

were ruined by it. The man who could calculate an
eclipse was wedged in with people who thought that
the sun or moon when obscured was bewitched ; Strep-
siades's pleasure might be spoilt by the near neighbour-
hood of his creditors ; and Euelpides, who dropped on
his knees on seeing a kite, be close to Diagoras the
Melian, who knelt not even to Jupiter.

The social, iuteUectual, and perhaps also the moral
changes, which affected Athenians during the long life
of Euripides, may be partly gathered from the Greek
orators, as well as from the satirical comedians. Iso-
crates, referring to " the good old times " — often, as re-
spects superior virtue or wisdom, a counterpart of the
" oldest inhabitant " — and comparing his own genera-
tion with that of Marathon and Salamis, points out the
causes of backsliding. " Then," says the orator, " our
young men did not waste their days in the gambling-
house, nor with music girls, nor in the assemblies, in
which whole days are now consumed. Then did they
shun the Agora, or if they passed through its haunts, it
was with modest and timorous forbearance ; then to
contradict an elder was a greater offence than nowadays
to offend a parent; then not even a servant would have
been seen to eat or drink within a tavern." It was this
golden or this dreamland age for which Aristophanes
sighs in his comedy of " The Clouds," deploring the de-
generacy of the young men in his time, when sophists
were in the room of statesmen, and the gymnasium was
empty and the law courts were filled. Into the mouth
of old Athens, addressing the young one, are put the
following verses : —

24 EURIPIDES.

" Oh listen to me, and so shall you be stout-hearted and

fresh as a daisy ;
Not ready to chatter on every matter, nor bent over books

till you're hazy :
No splitter of straws, no dab at the laws, making black seem

white so cunning ;
But wandering down outside the town, and over the green

meadow nmning.
Hide, wrestle, and play with your fellows so gay, like so

many birds of a feather.
All breathing of youth, good-hiunour, and truth, in the time

of the jolly spring- weather,
In the jolly spring-time, when the poplar and lime dishevel

their tresses together." *

Such were Athens, its people, and its theatre, when
Euripides was boy and man : we now proceed to in-
quire what manner of person he was himself.

* The extract from the Areopagitic oration of Isocrates is
taken from Bulwer's 'Athens — its Rise and Fall,' vol. ii. ch. 5,
p. 577 ; the translation of Aristophanes from a most wise and
beautiful little book, entitled ' Euphranor, a Dialogue on
Youth' (1851).

CHAPTEE II.

LIFE OP EURIPIDES.

" How about Euripides ?
He that was bom upon the battle-day :
Might you know any of his verses too ?"

— Browning : " Balaustion's Adventure."

The received date of tlie birth of Euripides is the year
480 B.C. He was accorditigly forty-five years junior to
^schylus, and fifteen years younger than Sophocles.
This difference in their respective ages is not unim-
portant as regards their very different views of dramatic
art. His birthplace was the island of Salamis, where
his mother, with other Athenian women, and with
men too old, or children too young, for the defence of
their native city, was taking refuge, and he came into
the world on the day of the great sea-fight that has
immortaHsed its name. Of his father Mnesarchus
little is known; but it may be supposed he was a
person of good station and property, since he could
afford his son a liberal and expensive education,
such as at that time was within reach of only wealthy
famihes. His mother Clito, thanks to the poet's ene-
mies, is better known to us. Probably she was not of

26 EURIPIDES.

the same social grade as her husband ; a " me tic " per-
haps, or half-caste, with pure Athenian blood on one side
only. But that Clito was ever a herb-woman, kept a
greengrocer's stall, or hawked fruit and flowers about
the streets, is doubtless a tale devised by her son's
ill-wishers. Demosthenes, the orator's father, was a
master cutler, and, as his son's suit against his knavish
guardians shows, drove a brisk trade in swords, spear-
heads, knives, and shears ; but it does not therefore fol-
low that either the orator or his sire hammered on the
anvil or blew the bellows themselves.* In democratic
Athens there was at all times a prejudice in favour of
high birth, and one of the most effective arrows in De-
mosthenes's quiver against .^schines was, that his rival
had once been a player, that his father was a low fel-
low, and his mother a dancer, a fortime-teller, and an
altogether disreputable person. Clito and her husband
very possibly owned some garden-ground near Athens,
and its produce may have for a time supplied a con-
venient addition to their income. The Persians can
hardly have been twice quartered on Attic soil without
affecting seriously the rents or dividends of its owners,
and thus the parents of Euripides may have been,
glad to sell their vegetables, t To represent Clito as

* " Bleared with the glowing mass, the luckless sire
From anvils, sledges, bellows, tongs, and fire.
From tempering swords, his own more safe employ,
To study rhetoric sent his hopeful boy."

— Juvenal, Sat. x., Gifford.

t One account reverses the story : according to it, Clito was
" a person of quality," and Mnesarchus not a gentleman but a
shopkeeper, or at least " in business."

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 27

vending her own wares was an irresistible temptation
to comic dramatists, indifferent whom they used for
mirth and laughter, whether it were a Pericles or a
Cleon.

Like many fathers before him and since, Mnesarchus
was puzzled about his son's proper calling in life ; and
so, as modern parents often consult some sound divine
about the choice of a school for their lads, he took
counsel of those who understood what the stars or
birds of the air forebode as to the destiny of mortals.
But either there was a mistake in casting the boy's
nativity, or else the birds lied ; for both they and the
stars advised Mnesarchus to train up his child in the
way of boxing and wrestling. So far this muscular
education was successful ; it enabled the young
Euripides to gain a prize or two in the ring, but at
local matches only, for though entered for the Olym-
pian games, he was not allowed to put on either the
gloves or the belt. There was some informality — he
was too young or too old — and he was struck from the
lists. It is remarkable, in connection with this period
of his life — ^at the time of his rejection by the Olympic
managers he is said to have been about seventeen years
of age — that, in his plays, Euripides has never a good
word for prophets and soothsayers ; while, as for
athletes, he denounces them as the most useless and
brutal of men. His aversion to them may have arisen
from these youthful misadventures. His proper voca-
tion was yet to seek ; and until he found it, he seems
to have been rather devious in his pursuits, since,
among other arts, he studied that of painting, and

28 EURIPIDES.

practised it with some success, a picture by him being,
long after his decease, exhibited at Megara, either as a
creditable performance or a curiosity. The painter
may have been of service to the poet; his dramas,
especially the lyrical portions of them, display much
fondness for words expressing colour. Painting was
perhaps as useful an ally to the Greek poet, as skill in
music was to Milton in the construction of his verse.
The real business of Euripides turned out to be the cul-
tivation of his mind, and not of his muscles. His lines
were set in the (to him) always pleasant places of poetry
and philosophy ; his ^vrestling powers were to be exer-
cised in combats with dramatic rivals, and still more
hostile critics. And this was perhaps what the stars
really said, only the stupid soothsayers did not read
them aright. Such people have more than once brought
those who consult them into trouble, as poor king
Croesus, long before Euripides was bom, found to his
cost. The instructors of Euripides in philosophy were
Anaxagoras for physical and Protagoras for moral science.
Prodicus gave him lectures in rhetoric, and the studies
of his youth were confirmed, expanded, or corrected
in his manhood by the good sense of Socrates, who,
besides being a guide and philosopher, was also his
friend. An education of this kind implies that either
Mnesarchus was a man of fortune, or that his son early
came into one, inasmuch as the Greek sophistical lec-
turers were quite as costly as many English private
tutors are now. We do not know their actual terms,
but we do know that they were beyond the reach
of ordinary incomes. " Think," says Hippias to Soc-

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. ■ 29

rates, " of the sums of money which Protagoras and
Prodicus collected from Greece. If you knew how
much I had made myself, you would he surprised.
From one town, and that a very small one, I carried
off more than 150 minse (£609), which I took home and
gave to my father, to the extreme astonishment of him-
self and his fellow-townsmen." It is also a token of
Eiiripides being well provided with money, that he col-
lected a library — large enough to excite observation at
the time, and to be recorded afterwards. Forming a H-
brary in any age, heathen or Christian, is an expensive
taste ; and, on the whole, printed books are cheaper
than those transcribed by the hand. Grecian sheepskin
or good Egyptian paper (papyrus) was a costly luxury.
In his twenty-sixth year Euripides presented him-
self for the first time among the candidates for the
dramatic crown. In that year (455 B.C.) death re-
moved one formidable rival from his path, since in it
./Eschylus expired. Of the three tragedies produced
by him on this his first trial, one was entitled, " The
Daughters of Pelias," * and a few lines of it which
have been preserved show that it turned upon some

* Among the few fragments preserved of this play are four
lines, apparently indicating that Medea was devising mischief
to somebody — ^perhaps putting on the copper or sharpening a
knife for the behoof of Pelias. Whatever it was, she is asking
advice, and her monitor gives it like a person of good sense : —

" A good device ; yet to my counsel list :
Whilst thou art young, think as becomes thy years :
Maidenly manners maidens best become.
But when some worthy man has thee espoused,
Leave plots to him ; they suit not with thy sex."

30 EURIPIDES.

adventures of Medea — a theme that a few years after
he was to handle with signal success. The third prize
was awarded to him — no mean distinction for a novice.
But not untU Euripides was just forty years old did
he obtain the first prize ; and the name of this suc-
cessful trilogy is not preserved. Prominent as the
" Medea " now stands among his works, the trilogy of
which it formed a part gained only the third prize.
Six years after the production of the " Medea," Aristo-
phanes opened upon its author his double battery of
sarcasm and parody, not indeed against the " Medea,"
but against a companion drama, now lost, the " Phil-
octetes."* It is difficult to perceive any possible link
between the Colchian princess and the possessor of the
bow and arrows of Hercules ; we may therefore infer
that the group to which these two plays belonged
was made up of fables unconnected with each other
— a departure from earlier practice that did not origi-
nate with Euripides, though he is sometimes taxed
with it.

He was twice married ; his first wife was ChoeriUa,
a daughter of the Mnesilochus who appears in Aristo-
phanes's comedy of the " Thesmophoriazusse ; " by
her he had three sons : his second was Melitto.
According to some accounts he was a bigamist; in

* Of this "Philoctetes " there is a very fair account — by no
means a common piece of luck with Euripides — by Dion Chry-
Bostom, Oration lii. Dion compares the " Philoctetes" of ^s-
chylus (lost) and that of Sophocles (extant) with the Emi-
pidean drama; and he shows that each of these pieces has its
several merits.

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 31

Athens, however, bigamy, though uncommon, was not
a punishable offence.* There was some scandal about
one or other or both of these ladies ; probably, if there
were any ground for it, it applied to Melitto, since
Euripides lived for many years with Chcerilla upon,
so far as is known, ordinary connubial terms. Athens,
however, it must be recollected, in justice to both
ladies, was a very gossiping city ; nothing (we have
it on the authority of St Paul, seconded by that of
Demosthenes) pleased them so much as to tell and
to hear news, and any news about Euripides was
certain of welcome to those who had laughed at the
representation of him in the " Acharnians." If it
be fair to draw inferences from the wedded happiness
of " the laureate fraternity of poets," it might appear
that Euripides would have fared better had he remained
a bachelor. Dante complains that Gemma, his wife,
held him in subjection; Shakespeare was not quite
comfortable, it woidd seem, at home ; Milton's start in
married life was unlucky; "Wycherley and Addison
were fearfully henpecked. If Christian husbands

* Hume, in his 19th Essay, writes : — " I have somewhere
read that the republic of Athens, having lost many of its citizens
by war and pestilence, allowed every man to marry two
wives, in order the sooner to repair the waste which had been
made by these calamities. The poet Euripides happened to be
coupled to two noisy vixens, who so plagued him with their
jealousies and quarrels that he became ever after a professed
woman-hater ; and is the only theatrical writer, perhaps the
only poet, that ever entertained an aversion to the sex. " The
"good David," though sceptical enough on some subjects, was
rather credulous on the score of anecdotes of this sort.

32 EURIPIDES.

fared so ill, it may have been worse with a heathen
poet, at a time and in a country where a man's lawful
wife was scarcely more than his cook and house-
keeper.

There is no trace of Euripides having, at any period
of his life, taken part in public affairs. He seems
never to have been archon, or general, as Sophocles was,
or priest, or ambassador, or foreman of a jury. Doubt-
less he paid some rates or taxes in his parish {deme),
Phylae of the Cecropid tribe. He was commonly
accoiinted a morose and sulky fellow ; and since he
shunned general society, he was naturally charged
with keeping low company.* He was indeed — far more
than was usual in his time, and among a people passing
most of their days in public — " a literary man," pre-
ferring solitude and his library to the hubbub of the
market-place, or the crowding and noise of popular
assemblies. According to a story preserved by a Eoman
anecdotist, Euripides pursued his studies in a grim
and gloomy fashion. One PhUochorus professed to
have seen a " grotto shagged with horrid thorn," t in
which he composed his tragedies. He is said never to

* The spirits in Hades, that in *' The Frogs" rejoice in the
rhetorical tricks ascribed to Euripides, are supposed, while on
earth, to have inhabited the bodies of cut-purses, highwaymen,
burglars, and parricides — such "minions of the moon" being,
in Aristophanes's opinion, the pupils of sophistical tutors ; or,
at least, their notions of property and filial piety, he thinks,
were probable results of their education. There was a time
when to be a Hobbist or a Benthamite was thought to tend to
similar aberrations from virtue.

+ Ben Jonson, certainly not an unsocial man (witness the

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 33

have laughed, rarely to have even smiled, and to have
worn hahituaUy a sorrowful visage. If it were so, Euri-
pides was such a man as the vivacious Gratiano dis-
liked, and even suspected : —

" Why should a man whose blood is warm within
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster ?
Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice
By being peevish 1 "

And Caesar perhaps might have thought him danger-
ous, though we have no reason for supposing Euri-
pides •'* lean and hungry," as Cassius was, but, on the
contrary, as wiU appear, a well-favoured, though a
grave and silent man. Perhaps Euripides's horoscope
may have resembled that of the good knight of Nor-
wich : " I was born," says Sir Thomas Browne, " in the
planetary hour of Saturn, and I think I have a piece of
that leaden planet in me. I am no way facetious, nor
disposed for the mirth and galliardise of company."

The * Spectator ' remarks that " a reader seldom per-
uses a book with pleasure till he knows whether the
writer of it be a black or a fair man, of a mild or chol-
eric disposition, married or a bachelor, with other par-
ticulars of the like nature that conduce very much to
the right tmderstanding of an author." There are

things said at the Mermaid, his butt of sack, his * Tribe of Ben'),
describes himself in these lines : —

" 1, that spend hall my nights and all my days
Here in a cell to get a dark pale face.
To come forth worth the ivy and the bays," &c.

Did we know as little of the English as we do of the Greek
poet, here would be ground enough for a legend of a " grotto."
A. C. vol. xiL C

34 EURIPIDES,

means for " gratifying this curiosity, which is so natural
to a reader ;" for, thanks to some scholiast or pains-
taking collector of the curiosities of literature, there
exists a brief life of Euripides containing some accoimt
of his personal appearance. He is said to have worn
a bushy beard, and to have had freckles on his face.
This, indeed, is not much ; yet it is somewhat for us
to learn — a scrap redeemed from the wallet that Time
bears on his back. On the same authority we may
fairly assume, that when a beardless youth, and
perhaps unfreckled, he was noted for fair visage,
and tliat he was "a gentleman bom." He was a
torch-bearer at the festival of Apollo of Zoster, a
village on the coast of Attica.* Now none but hand-
some and well-bom youth were chosen for that
office. It is to be hoped that many of our readers
are acquainted with Charles Lamb's righteous indigna-
tion at the conduct of the "wretched Malone," the
Shakespearian editor and commentator, in covering with
white paint the portrait-bust of Shakespeare at Stratford-
upon-Avon, " which, in rude but lively fashion, depicted
him to the very colour of the cheek, the eye, the eye-
brow, hair, the very dress he used to wear — the only

* The festival was held at Delphi, and probably, therefore,
Euripides was conveyed thither in the galley (paralus) which
annually carried offerings to Apollo's shrine. The young men,
clad in Theraic garments, danced round the altar. May not
this visit to Delphi have been the germ of the poet's beautiful
drama, "Ion" ? In any case the report of it shows that no
ignobility of birth was attached to the name of Euripides by
those who circulated it; and among them was Theophrastus,
who indeed wrote long afterwards, but yet weighed his facts.

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 35

authentic testimony we have, however imperfect, of
these curious parts and parcels of him." If we balance
in each case probable facts against equally probable
traditions, we may conclude Euripides to be known
to us almost as well as Shakespeare, owing to this
good Dryasdust, the Greek biographer, who disdains
not to chronicle even "freckles."

But it is impossible to believe Euripides to have
been a mere recluse. His vocation as a writer for the
stage must have brought him into contact with many
persons connected with the theatre — with the archon
who assigned him a chorus, with the actors, singers,
and musicians who performed in his plays, and with
the judges who awarded the prizes. Yet if we ask
what company he kept, we pause for a reply, and do
not get one. We know that he was a friend of
Socrates, who never missed attending on the "first
night" of a play by Euripides. We know also that
every man's house and many men's tables were open to
the SUenus-like son of Sophroniscus. We can tell the
names of the guests at Plato's and at Xenophon's ban-
quets. Socrates of course is at both, and that of Plato
is held at the house of Agathon, Euripides's intimate
friend. Some kind of acquaintance, perhaps not
exactly friendship, existed between Alcibiades and
Euripides, who once celebrated in verse a chariot-
victory of that brilliant but dangerous citizen's at the
Olympic games. Neither at Plato's nor Xenophon's
feast, however, is Euripides present. Nor is it Hkely
that travelling into foreign parts was among the causes
for his absence on such festive occasions, since, until in

3G EURIPIDES.

his later years he quitted Athens, there is no trace of his
leaving Attica, except the single fact of an inscription
in the island of Icarus ascribed to him. This, how-
ever, is no evidence at all of his being from home, since
a waxen tablet or a snip of papyrus could have con-
veyed the inscription, while Eiiripides remained in his
grotto or his library, wrapt in contemplation on his
next new play, or striving to solve hard sayings of
Prodicus or Protagoras.

Once, indeed, we find him at home. It was in his
house that Protagoras is said to have read one of
the works by which that philosopher incurred a charge
of atheism ; and this worshipful society, once bruited
abroad, was not likely to be overlooked by the pious
writers of comedy. Often, indeed, does Athens, at the
period of the Peloponnesian war, present an image of
Paris in the last century. There the Church was
despised, and yet stanchly supported by men of
notoriously evil life ; in Athens, divinities, whom the
people worshipped superstitiously, if not devoutly,
when the theatre was closed, were butts for the peo-
ple's mirth and laughter when it was open. We
have a record of only the two banquets of this time
already mentioned. Could we have a report of a
"petit souper d' Alcibiades," it might very likely re-
mind us of those symposiums where the head of the
Church, Leo the Tenth, encouraged his parasites and
buffoons to debate on the greatest mysteries of religion ;
or the still better known conversations that took place
at the supper-table of Baron Holbach. Had we any
such report of the petits soupers at Athens, possibly

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 37

some resemblance might be found between Protagoras
and D'Alembert, or between the brilliant, versatile,
and unprincipled Philip of Orleans and Alcibiades.
With Alcibiades there was certainly some party or
friendly relation with Euripides; but it is vain to
speculate on its nature. "Whatever it was, it would
do the tragic poet no good with Aristophanes ; and if
the story be true that Alcibiades and his associates
marred the first and hindered the second representation
of " The Clouds," the baffled and irritated satirist may
have suspected Euripides of having a hand in his
failure, and for that, and perhaps other weightier rea-
sons, have put him down in his blac^ book.

Certain it is that Aristophanes regarded Euripides
with a feeling seemingly compounded of fear and con-
tempt— of contempt for him as a scenic artist, and
fear of him as a corrupter of youth. Yet it is diffi-
cult to detect the cause for such hostility ; political
motives can hardly have been at the root of it. Did
Aristophanes detest the war with Peloponnesus, and
yearn for the return of peace ? so did Euripides. Did
he regard the middle class of citizens as the pith and
marrow of the commonwealth 1 Euripides thought so
too. The husbandman who tilled his little plot of
ground they both set above the shopkeeper, who ap-
plauded the demagogue of the hour, and spent, or
more properly idled away, haK his time on the stone
benches of the Pnyx. Did the comic writer lovo
Athens in his heart of hearts, though he often told
her from the stage that she was a dolt and a dupe? the
tragic -writer loved her no less, and paid her compli-

38 EURIPIDES,

ments sometimes not to the advantage of a play or
a trilogy. Did the one look upon orators with an
unfavourahle eye ? so did the other ; while both
agreed that nohility of birth and depth of purse did
not necessarily constitute the best citizen. Yet, in
spite of so much harmony in their opinions, there
were differences that could not be bridged over; there
was repugnance that defied reconciliation, and views
of Athens as it had been, and Athens as it was then,
which kept them in the compass of one town as far
apart as if rivers and mountains, clime or race, had
sundered them.

The enmity of Aristophanes increased with the
years, and did not relax with the death of Euripides,
The first known attack upon him was made in his
comedy of " The Acharnians " or " The Charcoal-
Bumers." The last was made two years after "sad
Electra's poet " had been struck down by a yet more
"insatiate archer" than Aristophanes himself. Tho
spirit that breathes in "The Acharnians" reappears,
but with increased bitterness, in " The Frogs," and to
sharp censure on Euripidean art is added still sharper
on Euripidean theology. Some modem writers on the
subject of the Greek drama have contemplated Euri-
pides through the eyes of his great satirist. They
might, perhaps, have done better to consider, before
following their witty leader, whether he was guiding
them in the right road ; whether the comic writer's
objections rested on patriotic or moral, or on party
or personal grounds. Aristophanes was a stubborn
reactionist: the men of Marathon and Platsea, of

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 39

Salamis and Mycale, he held to be the type of good
Athenians. The new schools appeared to him in the
same light as Greek philosophy in general appeared to
the sturdy old Sabine Cato — schools of impudence
and lying. Pericles himself he seems never to have
really liked, but set him below Myronides and Thucy-
dides, men of the good old time, for the return of
which, as all reactionists must ever do, he yearned in
vain. Euripides, on the other hand, was a man of the
new time, perhaps a little beyond as well as of it.
More cheerful views of humanity, ampler range of
inquiry, greater freedom of thought, supplanted in his
mind the gloomy superstition or the slavish faith of a
past generation, with whom an eclipse was a token of
the wrath of the gods, and by whom the sun was
thought to be no bigger than a heavy-armed soldier's
buckler. " Between the pass and fell incensed points "
of two such opposites there could be nothing but col-
lision ; and the tragic poet laboured under this serious
disadvantage, that he could not bring his antagonist on
the stage.

Yet the most ardent admirer of Euripides is com-
pelled to allow that this indefatigable writer of plays
and laborious student can hardly be ranked among
successful poets. " It has been observed," says an
eminent judge of Greek literature, " that the success
of Euripides, if it is measured by the prizes which he
is said to have gained, would not seem to have been
very great ; and perhaps there may be reason to sus-
pect that he owed much of the applause which he
obtained in his lifetime to the favour of a party, which

40 EURIPIDES.

was strong rather in rank and fortune than in num-
bers,— the same which is said to have been headed by
Alcibiades," — "It is not quite certain that, even in
the latter part of his career, Euripides was so popular
as Sophocles. In answer to a question of Socrates, in
a conversation with Xenophon, probably heard during
the latter part of the Peloponnesian war, Sophocles is
mentioned as indisputably the most admirable in his
art." * If, according to this very probable suggestion,
Euripides were the poet of the few and not of the
Athenians in general, his frequent failure to win the
ivy wreath may easily be explained. Democracy,
though in all times it delights in clubs, is very jealous
of coteries, especially if composed of men well-to-do
in the world, or of men noted for their learning or
refinement, and particularly jealous would all old-
fashioned Cecropids be of a club in which Alci-
biades was chairman. If, however, the wayward
Phidippidest of the comedy may sometimes have hin-
dered the poet's success in a theatrical contest, he may
as probably have atoned for this grievance at home by
obtaining for him a better reception abroad. " There
were dwellers out of" Attica, without going to the
realm of the Birds to find them. And among the de-
pendencies of Athens, in the tributary islands and
among the Greeks of the Lesser Asia, where Alcibiades
had much influence, he may have been an efficient
patron of the often, at home, mortified dramatist.

* Thirlwall's Hist, of Greece, iv. 273.

+ Phidippides, in "The Clouds " of Aristophanes, is reputed
to be a caricature of Alcibiades.

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 41

An historian, who wrote centuries after Euripides
had passed beyond these and other vexations, cannot
conceal his surprise that one Xenocles shoiild have
been the successful competitor in a contest with the
son of Mnesarchus. He fairly calls the judges and
spectators on the occasion a parcel of fools — dtinder-
heads unworthy to bear the name of Athenian. But
in missing the firet or even the second crown, Euripides
only fared alike with ./Eschylus and Sophocles; and
that, with such samples of the two latter as have come
to our hands, is a much more remarkable circumstance
than the one it puzzled Arrian to account for.*
What dramatic giants must they have been who strove
for the mastery with the old Marathonian soldier,
and with the Shakespeare of the Grecian world I Per-
haps another cause occasionally cost Euripides the
crown. He, like Ben Jonson, was at times perverse
in the choice or in the treatment of his subjects. Even
from the satire of Aristophanes it is plain that he
had an unlucky propensity to tread on debatable,
and even dangerous, ground. By his innovations in
legendary stories, by occasionally tampering Avith crimi-
nal passion, by perhaps carrying to excess his fondness
for mere stage effect, he perplexed or offended his
audience, not inclined to accept as an apology for the
exhibition of wicked characters his plea that in the
end they were all well punished for their sins.t Even
his constant applauder from the benches, Socrates, had,
it is said, once to implore him to cut out from a play
certain offensive lines ; and a story preserved by a
* Various Histories, v. + Valerius Maximus.

42 EURIPIDES.

Roman anecdotist shows that occasionally he was
obliged to come on the stage himself, and crave the
spectators to keep their seats until the end of the per-
formance.* It seems that Euripides could give a tart
reply to his audience when their opinions happened
to differ from his own ; for when the whole house
demanded that an offensive passage or sentiment in a
tragedy should he struck out, he said, " Good people,
it is my business to teach you, and not to be taught
by you." How the "good people" took this curt
rebuff is not recorded ; but if they damned his play,
he at least did not, as Ben Jonson did, sulk for a few
yeai-s and leave the " loathed stage" in dudgeon, after
venting his wrath on the public by an abusive ode
and some stinging epigrams. On the contrary, Euri-
pides went on preparing plays for the greater and
lesser seasons of the theatrical period, imtil he left
Athens and his enemies therein — for ever.

Amid frequent disappointments, and smarting under
the lash of the comic poets — for we may be sure that
where an Aristophanes led the way, others, however
inferior to him, would follow eagerly — Euripides at a
moment of universal dismay perhaps enjoyed some per-
sonal consolation. The mighty host which Athens had
sent to Syracuse had been nearly annihilated. Of forty
thousand citizens or allies that had gone forth, ten
thousand only survived. Of her vast armament — vast
if we bear in mind that her free population fell below
that of many English fourth-rate cities — not a war-
galley, not a transport-ship returned to Peiraeus : of
* Valerius Maximus.

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 43

her soldiers, a handful only found refuge in a friendly
SiciKan town. The last months of autumn in 413
B.C. were months of national consternation and house-
hold grief. Not long since we were reading of the
general aspect of mourning for the slain at Berlin and
other German cities. The mourning in Athens was of
a deeper dye, since it was accompanied hy dismay, if
not despair, for the immediate future. Syracuse had
heen to Athens what Moscow was for Napoleon. Yet
early perhaps in the next year there reached the
" violet Queen " at first rumours, then credible reports,
and at last the glad assurance, that any Athenian
prisoner who could recite scenes or passages from the
dramas of Euripides was taken out of the dreary stone-
quarries of Syracuse, was kindly entreated in Sicilian
homes, was nursed if sick or wounded, and if not
presently restored to freedom (for such self-denial the
captors prized their captives too highly), yet treated
not as a slave, but as a welcome and honoured
guest. Some indeed — how few or how many cannot
be told — were suffered to return to Attica ; and of
these — ^poor gleanings after a bloody reaping — some
can hardly have failed to go to the house of their
deliverer, and with faltering voice and tearful eyes
implored the gods, since they could not, to reward
him. " Little thought we," they may be imagined to
have said to him, " when we saw represented in your
* Trojan Women* the desolation of a hostile city, troops
of warriors dragged in chains to the black ships of the
Achseans, tender and delicate princesses told off to
their allotted owners ; or again, in your * Suppliants,'

44 EURIPIDES.

the wives of the slain weeping for their husbands
denied burial ; or that bloody meadow before the seven-
gated Thebes strewn with the dead in your ' Phoeni-
cians ' — little then thought we that these mimic shows
were but shadows of what we beheld on the banks of
the Asinarus on that dreary October morning, when,
faint and worn by our night-march, and maddened by
thirst, captain and soldier, hoplite and peltast, we
rushed into its stream, careless of the archers that lined
its banks, and hardly recking of the iron sleet that
struck down our best and bravest. By the magic of
your song, though ' sung in a strange land,' we poor
survivors were rescued and redeemed from graves and
the prison-house, from hunger and nakedness, from
the burning sun and the sharp night-frosts of autumn,
and from what was as hard to bear, the scoffs of the
insolent foe gazing do^vn upon us from mom to eve,
and aggravating by brutal taunts and ribald jests the
pains of the living and the terrors of the dying." If
the character of Euripides may be inferred from his
writings, the most pathetic of Greek tragic poets — he
who sympathised with the slave, he who so tenderly
depicted women — wept at such moments with those
who were weeping before him, and was cheered by
these proofs that he had not written or lived in
vain.

The " Orestes " was the last play exhibited at Athens
by Euripides ; and he must have quitted that city
shortly afterwards, if he was in exile for two years.
He was a self-banished man ; at least no cause is as-
signed for his departure. Of the three great dramatic

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 45

poets whose works have in part been preserved, one
only died in his birthplace. ^Eschylus quitted Athens
in dudgeon at a charge of sacrilege, and Euripides ended
his days at a foreign court. After a short sojourn in
Magnesia, he went to Pella, the capital of the then
small, and in the eyes of republican Greeks unimport-
ant, kingdom of Macedonia. He was invited to it by
the reigning sovereign, Archelaus, who in his way was
a sort of Lorenzo de' Medici, attracting to his court
artists, poets, and philosophers, and corresponding with
them when at a distance. Among those whom he
invited was Socrates ; but he, who cared for neither
money nor goods, and who spoke his mind pretty freely
at all times and to all people, declined going to Pella,
thinking perhaps that he would make an indifferent
courtier, and knowing that despots have (as well as
long hands) their caprices. Archelaus — the Macedonian
kings always affected to be zealously Hellenic — estab-
lished a periodical Olympic festival in honour of
Jupiter and the Muses, and perhaps spoke Greek as
his native tongue, and with as good accent as Frederick
the Great is said to have spoken French. At Pella
Euripides met with a reception that may have led him
to regret his not sooner quitting litigious and scurrilous
Athens, where housewives abominated his name and
doubtless pitied Choerilla and Melitto, and where ortho-
dox temple-goers were scandalised by his theological
opinions. Lucian mentions a report that the poet
held some public office in Macedonia, which, seeing
that he never meddled with even parish business at
home, is scarcely probable. As little likely is it that

46 EURIPIDES.

he turned flatterer of kings in his later days. We
can as soon believe that the grim Dante became a
parasite at the court of Can Grande della Scala.
Aristotle, indeed, a more trustworthy authority than
Lucian, tells the following story: — Decamnichus, a
young Macedonian, and a favourite of the king, gave
deep offence to Euripides by remarks on his bad
breath. Complaint being made, the indiscreet youth
was handed over to the incensed poet, with the royal
permission to flog him ; and soundly flogged he seems
to have been, since Decamnichus bore his chastisement
in mind for six years, and then relieved his feelings by
encoxiraging some friends or acquaintances, Euripides
being out of reach, to murder Archelaus.*

At the Macedonian court Euripides was not the only
Athenian guest. His friend Agathon, flying perhaps
from duns, critics, or public informers, found a royal
city a pleasanter residence than a democratic one.
There, was the celebrated musical composer, Timotheus,
whom, when he was liissed at the Odeum some years
before, Euripides is said to have consoled by predict-
ing that "he would soon have the audience at his
feet " — a prophecy that was fully realised. His pre-
sence at PeUa may have been convenient to Euripides,
who was then employed in putting the last touches to,
if not actually composing, two of his finest plays —
" The Bacchanals " and the " Iphigenia at AuHs."
There, too, was ChoerUus, an epic poet, who celebrated
in Homeric verse the wars of the Greeks with Darius
and Xerxes. The society at King Archelaus's table,
* Aristotle, Politics, v. 10, sec. 20.

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 47

SO richly fumislied with celebrities, very probably re-
sembled the better-known assemblages at Sans Souci ;
but we do not read that the Macedonian prince put on
his crown, as Frederick the Great did his cocked-hat,
when his guests, BaccM pleni, were becoming per-
sonal, or trespassing on the royal preserve of politics.

Euripides did not long enjoy " retired leisure." He
died at Pella in the 76th year of his age, in the year
406 B.C., having, as is supposed, quitted Athens in
408. But his enemies, so far as it lay with them, did
not permit him to depart in peace, or even in reput-
able fashion. One report, current indeed long after
his decease, makes him to have been torn to pieces by
mastiffs set upon him by two rival poets, Arrhidseus
and Cratenas ; another, that he was killed by women
when on his way to keep an assignation. This bit of
scandal is probably an echo of his ill-repute at home
as a woman-hater ; and the story of the mastiffs may
be a disguise of the fact that he was "cut up" by
Macedonian theatrical critics. Yet one who had been
handled as he was by Aristophanes and survived, might
well have set at nought all dogs, biped or quadruped :
and as to nocturnal trysts, they are seldom proposed, or
at least kept, by gentlemen over threescore and ten.*

* This story of dogs and angry women is indeed noticed in
some verses ascribed to Sophocles, who, as Schlegel says, uttered
" some cutting sayings against Euripides." To readers inter-
ested in the matter, it may be convenient to be told that it is
mentioned by Athenaeus, book xiii. p. 557. Against Sophocles,
if the gossip collected by Plutarch is accepted, there were
also some "sayings" of a similar kind, iand far less creditable
to him.

48 EURIPIDES.

Far more pleasant is it to know that Sophocles was
deeply affected by his death, and in the next play he
produced forbade the actors to wear crowns or their
usual gorgeous dresses. The Athenians were prone
to unavailing regret. Often they would say in their
haste, " We are betrayed," and banish or put to death
men who had served them well. Socrates had not
been dead many years, before, with " woe that too late
repented," they acknowledged having condemned a
just man, and turned rabidly on his accusers for mis-
leading them. And so, when Euripides was no more,
they sent envoys to Pella to bring home his remains.
But his host Archelaus would not part with them, and
buried them with much pomp and circumstance ; and
his coimtrymen were fain to content themselves with
a cenotaph on the road from Peirseus to the city, and
with a bust or statue of the poet, which they placed in
the Dionysiac theatre. They,

" Slowly wise and meanly just,
• To buried merit raised the tardy bust ; "

and they were not the first, nor will they be the last,
of nations, to imagine posthumous homage compen-
sation for years of detraction. Books or furniture
that had belonged to Euripides were much sought for
and highly prized by their possessors ; and Dionysius
of Syracuse, himself a dramatic poet, and not an un-
successful one, purchased at a high price his tablets
and pen, and dedicated them in the Temple of the
Muses in his own capital. " They kept his bones in
Arqua ; " and there was seemingly, for centuries after

LIFE OF EURIPIDES. 49

he was quietly inurned, a deep interest, and even a
tender sentiment, attached to his tomb. It was situated
near the confluence of two rivers, where there appears
to have been a house or caravansary, at which travellers
refreshed themselves, attracted by the purity of the
air. Of the rivers, one was noted for the unwholesome
character of its water.* From another account it may
be inferred that the tomb was much visited, even if
pilgrimages were not made to it.f

On his cenotaph was graven the following inscrip-
tion : —

" To Hellas* bard all Hellas gives a tomb :
On Macedon's far shores his reUcs sleep :
Athens, the pride of Greece, was erst his home,
Whom now all praise and all in common weep." X

These lines, attributed to Thucydides the historian,
or to Timotheus the musician, are difficult to reconcile
with the caricature-portraits of him by Aristophanes ;
yet are consistent with the opinion that it was the con-
servative party in Athens, and not Athenians generally,
that were hostile to him in life, or to the memory of —

" Our Euripides, the human.

With his droppings of warm tears,
And his touches of things common.
Till they rose to touch the spheres." §

In one thing he was happier than Sophocles — " op-

* Vitruvius, viii. c. 3, 'Mortifera.'
+ Ammianus, xxvii. c. 4.
X Translated by Mr Paley.
§ Browning, ' Balaustion.'
A. c. vol. xiL D

60 EURIPIDES.

portunitate mortis" — in the priority of his death ; since
he lived not, as his great rival did, long eilough to hear
of the sentence passed on the victorious generals at
Arginusae, of the capture of the Athenian fleet at the
Goat River, and of the utter, hopeless, irretrievable
ruin of the city he had celebrated so often in immortal
verse, admonished so wisely, and loved so well.

CHAPTER ni.

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER.

" In all his pieces there is the sweet hiunan voice, the fluttering
human heart." — Kenelm Digby.

"Whether it were devised by friend or foe, the title
of '' Scenic Philosopher " for Euripides was given by
one who had read his writings attentively.* His
early studies, his intercourse with Socrates and other
philosophers of the time, encouraged in so contem-
plative a mind as his habits of speculation on human
and divine nature, and on such physical science as
then existed. And as regarded dramatic composition,
he was the first to bring philosophy on the stage.
The sublime and gloomy genius of ^schylus was
far more active than contemplative. His sentences
are masses of concrete thought, when he descends
from mere passion or imagination. Such inquiries as
occupied Euripides appeared to him, as they did to
Aristophanes, profane, or at the best idle, curiosity.

* It appears as an accepted title in Vitruvius's work on
Architecture, book viii

52 EURIPIDES.

To .(Eschylus, the new rulers of Olympus, and the
Titans they supplanted, were persons as real as Mil-
tiades or Themistocles. To him, Olympus was but a
yet more august court of Areopagus, and Fates and
Furies were dread realities, not metaphysical ab-
stractions. Sophocles lived for art : in his devotion
to it, and in the unruffled calmness of his temper,
he was an Hellenic Goethe ; one, the central fire of
whose genius, while it glowed under all he wrote,
rarely disturbed the equanimity of his spirit. Moral
or theological problems vexed him not. He cared not
for the physics of Anaxagoras. Protagoras's sceptical
disquisitions touched him no nearer than Galileo's
discoveries touched Shakespeare, or Hume's Essays
Samuel Johnson, The Jupiter of Sophocles was the
Jupiter of Phidias ; his Pallas Athene, the living
counterpart of her image on the Acropolis. In ab-
staining from such questions, he and ^schylus were
perhaps wiser than Euripides — considered as an artist
— was in his fondness for them. Had Shakespeare
been deeply versed in Roger Bacon's works, or in
those of Aquinas, his plays would not have been
better, and might have been worse, for such physical
or metaphysical studies. Entertainments of the stage
are meant for the many rather than for the few ; and
subjects that the many, if they listen to them at all,
can scarcely fail to misinterpret, it is safer, as well as
more artistic, to avoid.

There were, however, at the time when Euripides
was "writing for the theatre, especially after he had
passed middle age, changes silently at work in Athens

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 53

tliat rendered contact between poets and philosophers
almost unavoidable. The rapid growth of speculative
and rhetorical studies in the age, and perhaps with the
sanction, of Pericles, has already been noticed. The
understanding, luirdly affected by the simple training
of the young in the ^schylean period, had become,
fifty years later, the primary aim of liberal education.
He who could recite the whole Iliad or Odyssey was
now looked upon, when compared with an acute
rhetorician, as httle better than a busy idler — all very
well, perhaps, for enlivening the guests at a formal
supper, or entertaining a loitering group in the streets.
Even fools have sometimes portentous memories, but
no fool could handle adroitly the weapons of a sound
logician. Man was born to be something better than a
parrot ; he was meant to cultivate and to use "discourse of
reason." To argue logically upon almost any premises, —
to have words at command, to be ready in reply, fertile in
objection, averse from granting propositions, to possess
much general knowledge, were accomplishments wliich
no well-educated young Athenian, aspiring to make a
figure in public, could do without. The imaginative
epoch of .^chylus was departing, the scientific epocli
of Aristotle was approaching, and the analytical stamp
of Euripides's mind, great as its poetical force was,
complied with those tendencies of the time.

In thus reflecting the spirit of the age, Euripides
only did what others before him had done, and what
great poets will ever continue to do : —

" In ancient days the name
Of poet and of prophet was the same : "

54 EURIPIDES.

the genuine poet being always in advance of his
fellow-men, and therefore frequently misunderstood or
undervalued by them. The era of Dante is as deeply
stamped, both on his prose and verse, as if he had
designed to portray it. He belonged partly to a period
that was passing away, and partly to one that, was
near at hand. Trained in the lore of the schoolmen,
he has something in common with Duns Scotus and
the Master of Sentences; while by his homage to
Virgil and Statins, he anticipated in his tastes the
revival of classical literature. Milton, affected by the
influence of Jonson and Metcher, composed in his
youth a masque and songs of Arcady ; in his mature
manhood, the serious and severe Independent is mani-
fest in all he wrote. Schiller is the herald of a revolu-
tionary period, impatient of and discontented with the
present. Pope, in his moral essays and satires, repre-
sents a time when sense and decorum ranked among
the cardinal virtues, and when loftier and more robust
forms of imagination or faith were accounted extrava-
gances. To this general law Euripides was no exception.
He went before them, and so was misinterpreted by
many among whom he lived. Within half a century
after his death, his name stood foremost on the roU of
Greek dramatic poets. If not a deeper, a more genial
spirit — a spirit we constantly meet with in Euripidean
plays — ^had superseded the grim theology of the Mara-
thonian period; stage -poetry was indeed shorn of
some of its grandeur, but it gained, in recompense for
what it lost, profounder human feelings.

That the Athenian theatre was not only a national

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 55

but a religious institution, and to what extent and in
■what particulars it was so, has already heen told in the
volume of this series assigned to -^schylus. There
had been, however, after the Persian had been hum-
bled and Hellas secured and exalted, a silent change in
the faith of the Athenian people, as well as in their
mental training. As years rolled on over their ren-
ovated city, though the forms of their myths and
legends were retained, living belief in them was on
the wane. They were accepted as respectable tradi-
tions, and when they recorded the brave deeds of their
forefathers, were jealously cherished, but no longer
regarded with awe, or exempted from innovation. In
the time of Euripides, there had appeared an historian,
or perhaps more properly a chronicler — a man of much
faith and honest piety, and yet one who scrupled not
to canvass the credibility of tale and tradition, and
sometimes even to find a secular explanation for
spiritual doctrines. Herodotus, as well as Euripides,
was under the influence of the age, though he usually
apologises for his doubts. Yet doubt he did. The
Father of History, no less than the pupil of Anaxa-
goras, disbelieved in the baneful effects of an eclipse,
and had, for his time, very fair notions of geography ;
and if he thought that the gods envy human greatness,
and sooner or later punish the pride of man, his faith,
as contrasted with that of Phrynicus and ^schylus,
was feeble, and his view of Destiny and the Benign
Deities savoured more of habit than earnest conviction.
In such matters the beginning of distrust is the dawn
of a rationalistic epoch. The ancient faith of the

56 EURIPIDES.

Athenians in the names and acts of their founders is
on a par with that in the once accredited tale of Brutus
and other Trojans settling in Britain ; or of Joseph of
Arimathea planting the first shoot of the holy thorn
at Glastonbury. Joseph and Brutus, like Cecrops
and Erectheus, have vanished from history, and no-
thing except the genius of a poet could recall from the
shades and clothe with living interest King Arthur
and the Knights of the Eound Table. Headers will
perhaps pardon a short digression, if it tend to throw
light on the dramatic art of Euripides, when contrasted
with that of ^Eschylus ; or rather, on a change that
took place in the taste of their respective audiences.

The story of Orestes, in the handling of which
.^chylus and Sophocles stand farthest apart from
Euripides, is chosen as perhaps the most striking
instance of the struggle between old faith and new
rationalism, as exhibited in the Athenian drama. To
the elder of these poets the symbolisms of the legend
were perfectly clear. ApoUo, a purifying and aveng-
ing god, prescribes the duty and the mode of retribu-
tion, and protects the avengers of blood. After the
command has been issued to visit the death of Aga-
memnon on his murderers, Pylades, in the legend,
though almost a mute person in the drama, is Apollo's
principal agent in nerving Orestes to the execution of
his dreadful task. Pylades was a Crisean by descent.
Now, from the Homeric hymn to Apollo, it appears
that the original Pythian temple was in the domain of
the town of Crisa. At Crisa Orestes dwelt as an exile ;

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 57

and it is from that town that, accompanied by liis
monitor, the destined avenger set forth on his errand
to Mycenae. The near connection between Pylades
and Apollo is implied also in the belief that he was
the founder of the Amphictyonic Council which was
held at Delphi. In the " Eumenides " he does not ap-
pear ; his function ceased when, in the " Libation
Bearers," Clytemnestra and her paramour had paid
the penalty of their crime : but in the latter play, it is
the reproach of Pylades which screws to the sticking-
point jthe failing courage of Orestes.

Sophocles had studied the same old legend. In his
"Electra," the bearer of the false intelligence that
Orestes has been killed in the chariot -race at the
Pythian games reports himself as sent by Phanoteus,
the Phocian, a friend of Clytemnestra, and so a likely
person to apprise her that she need no longer live in
dread of her son. Now this Phanoteus is no other
than a foe, though a brother, of Crisus, the father of
Strophiiis, and grandfather of Pylades. Like Oros-
manes and Ahriman, the brothers — Strophius and
Phanoteus — dwelt in hostile regions : the former in
the bright and cheerful city of Crisa, where the sun-
god had his first temple ; the latter in another Crisa,
a dark and dreary spot, where Apollo's enemies, giants
or gigantic warriors — Tityus, Autolycus, Phorbas,
and the Phlegyans — had their abode. Agamemnon's
children accordingly look to Strophius for the coming
avenger; .^gisthus and Clytemnestra to Phanoteus
for timely warning of his approach.*

* These remarks on the symbolism in the Orestean legend are

58 EURIPIDES.

It is not necessary to probe further the original
legend. Enough has been shown to prove that
^schylus and Sophocles wove into their Orestean
story portions of it, and therefore thought it suitable
for their tragedies. Euripides, on the contrary, seems
to have quite neglected it. He makes, indeed, Pylades
a Delphian, but by banishing him from his country,
after the work of retribution is complete, he severs the
links of the symbolic story.

Is there any improbability in supposing Euripides, a
man of the new era, to have viewed the grim tjiough
pictiu-esque stories of the old and waning times as
inconsistent with the bright, free, and inteUigent
Athens in which he dwelt ? The pupil of Anaxagoras
and Prodicus might well regard a people as little
beyond the verge of barbarism for whom the priest
was the philosopher, whose heroes yet strove with
wild beasts, who trembled at the phenomena of
nature, and among whom ignorance generally pre-
vailed. And among such a people it was that
the legends were created and cherished. Imagina-
tion was strong, while reason was weak; but did it
therefore follow that men capable of reason should
always remain children? Perhaps some insight into
the feelings of Euripides on theological questions may
be gleaned from the story of Socrates, who, while
scrupulously worshipping the gods of the state, made
no secret that he regarded them as little more than
masks — nay, often as unworthy disguises — of the

taken, greatly abridged, from K. 0. Miiller's "Essay on the
'Eumenides ' of ^Eschylus," p. 131, English translation.

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 59

divine nature. For the opinions of the philosopher,
the reader is referred to the volume of this series in
which the writings of Xenophon are treated of. There
is, however, a remarkable passage in Plato's dialogue
entitled ' Phcedo,' in which Socrates enumerates as
one among the boons death will confer on him, the
privilege he wiU have, when he has shaken off this
mortal coil, of knowing better the great gods, and of
seeing them with a clearness of vision unattainable by
mortals on earth. Euripides, on his side, may have
held it to be part of a poet's high position to hint, if
not to expound formally to his hearers, that the deities
whom the tragedians represented as severe, revengeful,
and relentless beings, were merciful as well as • just,
— that the humanity of Prometheus was at least as
divine as the tyranny of Jupiter, or the feuds and
caprices of Apollo and Artemis. It was, perchance,
among the offences given by Euripides to the comic
poets, that his spiritual and intangible god could not,
like Neptune, Iris, Hercules, or Bacchus, be parodied
by them on the stage. The idols of the temple were
by the vulgar esteemed true portraits of the beings
whom they affected to revere, but at whom they were
always ready to laugh. Neptune and Hercules, in
the comedy of the "Birds" of Aristophanes, might
be bribed by savoury meats, or hide themselves under
an umbrella ; but the " great gods " whom the pious
Socrates yearned to behold were beyond the reach, and
perhaps the comprehension, of the satirist.

We can afford only to hint that the poet's religious
opinions, so far as they can be gathered from his

CO EURIPIDES.

^vritings, may easily have been misconstrued by men
of the time, who appear to have had other motives
also for disliking him. The singularity of his habits
may have been one reason for their distaste of his
opinions. If, as is possible, he belonged to none of
the political factions of his time — neither a Cleonite,
nor a partisan of Nicias, nor a hanger-on of the
gracious-mannered and giddy Alcibiades — here may
have been a rock of offence. " Depend upon it, my
Phidippides, no man of such odd ways as the son
of Mnesarchus can be sound in morals or politics.
Folks that shut themselves up have something in
them wrong requiring seclusion." Perhaps a brief
inquiry into his views on some matters may help to
a better understanding of his opinions generally.
"Was he a bad citizen, as many reputed him to be?
"Was he a woman-hater to the extent he is accused
of being, and beyond the provocation given by his
wives'? What were his notions about the condition
and treatment of slaves 1 Can we discover from his
writings how he thought or voted in politics ? "Was
he an idle dreamer % "Was he a home-bred Diagoras
of Melos, only less respectable, because less courageous,
than that open scoffer 1 Bad taste he may have had,
but it does not foUow that he was therefore a bad
man.

The charge of being a bad citizen scarcely accords with
the political opinions of Euripides, so far as they can
be inferred from his plays. A similar accusation has
been brought against Plato ; and both the one and the
other may have proceeded from similar causes. Neither

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 61

the poet nor the philosopher took part in puhlic affairs,
or held, so far as we know, office under the state. By
the speech-loving Athenians, for whom the law courts
and the assembly of the people were theatres open all
the year round, this was regarded as an odious singJi-
larity, if not a grave neglect of civic duty. Socrates,
meditative as he was, could strike a good blow in the
field when required, and filled an office under the
thirty tyrants with credit to himself. Euripides and
Plato may fairly have thought the public had advisers
enough and to spare — that a good citizen could serve
his country with his pen or his lectures as effectively
as by becoming one of the clamorous demagogues who
grew under every hedge. It will hardly be denied
that the patriarch of the Academy strengthened the
foundations or enlarged the boundaries of moral science.
Is the poet quite disentitled to a similar concession 1
Has any stage-poet, if we except Shakespeare, supplied
moralists and philosophers with more grave or shrewd
maxims than he has done? Has any ancient poet
taken wider or more liberal views of humanity 1

Again, the scenic philosopher was reputed unsound
in his theology ; and this, no doubt, is an offence in
every well - regulated community. Without going
beyond the bounds of England, we find that it was
no want of will on the part of their opponents that
saved Chilling worth, Hobbes, or even John Locke,
from something akin to the cup of hemlock tendered
to Socrates. Many thousands of honest English
householders accounted Milton a heretic, a traitor, and
a man of evil life and conversation. To allow our view

62 EURIPIDES.

of his character to he biassed by a person's opinions
is not a discovery of modem times. It was hy no
means prudent for any one residing in Athens to he
wiser than his neighbours in physical science, or to
speak or write of the gods otherwise than custom
sanctioned. The most orthodox of spectators at the
theatre was justly shocked by being told, that the gods
he had no scruples about laughing at in the " Frogs "
or "Birds" of Aristophanes, were really little more
than men's inventions — caricatures rather than por-
traits of the deity as contemplated by the philosopher.
Why could not these dreamers be content with the gods
that satisfied Solon the wise, or Aristides the justi
And under every class of these offences Euripides seems
to have come. He was neither a useful citizen nor a
sound believer ; he meddled with matters too high for
him ; the heresies he had imbibed in youth from
Anaxagoras clung to him in riper years ; and, like his
tutor, he deserved a decree of exile at least. He was
a proud fellow, and thought himself too clever or too
good for mixed society. He read much — ^he talked
little ; and was that proper conduct in an Athenian ?
In an evil hour came the Sophists to Athens, and it
was with Sophists alone that Euripides delighted to
consort. So reasoned the vulgar, after the wisdom
tliat was in them, and so they wiU reason unto the
end of time. There can, however, be no doubt that
Euripides in his heart despised the popular religion.
He could not accept traditional belief : his masters in
philosophy had trained him to think for himseK ; and
with his strong sympathy for his fellow-men, he strove,

TEE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 63

ineffectually indeed, to deliver them, as he had been
delivered himself, from the bondage of custom, from
apathy or ignorance. Compelled, by the laws that
regulated scenic exhibitions, to deal with the gods as
the state prescribed, or the multitude required, he
could only insinuate, not openly proclaim, his opin-
ions, either on politics or reKgion. Yet if unsocial,
he was not timid, and it is really with extraordinary-
boldness that he attacks soothsayers in his plays.
He puts into the mouth of the ingenuous Achilles
— then a youth whose heart had not been hard-
ened by war — the following attack on Calchas the
seer : —

" His lustral lavers and his salted cakes
With sorrow shall the prophet Calchas hear :
Away ! The prophet ! — what is he ? a man
Who speaks 'mongst many falsehoods but few truths.
Whene'er chance leads him to speak true ; when false,
The prophet is no more."

In the " Electra," Orestes says that he believes
Apollo will justify his oracle, but that he deems lightly
of human — that is, of professional — prophecies.
Perhaps his dislike of prophets may have received
new edge and impulse from the mischief done by them
in encouraging by their idle predictions the Athenians
to undertake the expedition to Sicily. And a time
Was at hand when the dupes of the soothsayers viewed
their pretensions with as small favour as Euripides
himself did. Deep was the wrath in the woe-stricken
city, when the worst reports of the destruction of their
fleet and army at Syracuse were confirmed by eye-

a EURIPIDES.

■witnesses, against the oratoi*s who had advised, and
the oracle-mongers and prophets who had guaranteed,
the success of that disastrous expedition. *

There was, indeed, much in the Homeric theology
that, however well suited to the artist, was intolera-
ble to the philosopher. The gods themselves were
criminals, and Euripides made no secret that he
thought them so. " He could not," says K. 0. Miiller,
" bring his philosophical convictions into harmony
•with the contents of the old legends, nor could he
pass over their incongruities." Yet far advanced as
he was beyond his time, the time itself was not quite
unprogressive. ^schyliis, who belonged to an earlier
generation, and Sophocles, who avoided every disturb-
ing force as perilous to the composure of art, accepted
the Homeric deities as they found them. Nevertheless
faith in them w^as in the sear and yellow leaf, and the re-
verence that should accompany old age was nearly worn
out. The court of Areopagus in Athens was, without
any similar external violence, sharing the fate of our
High Commission Court in the seventeenth centmy.
It no longer took cognisance of every slight offence
against religion ; it consulted its own safety by letting
the gods, in many instances, look after their own
affairs. Euripides was at the most a pantheist. He
believed in the unity of God, in His providence. His
omnipotence. His justice, His care for human beings.
Supreme mind or intelligence was his Jupiter — the
destroyer of the Typhon, unreasoning faith, his
Apollo. Aristophanes, who professed to believe, and
• Thucydides, viii. c. 1.

I

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 65

not Euripides, who professed to doubt, was the real
scoffer.

There is space for only a few samples of the moral
opinions of Euripides. Shakespeare's reputation with
posterity might have fared very scurvily had there
been a great comic poet among his detractors, opposed
to him in theology or politics, or jealous of the company
kept by him at the Mermaid. Only impute to the
author personally the sentiments he ascribes to lago,
lachimo, Eichard of Gloucester, Edmund in " Lear," or
Lady Macbeth, — refer to certain things connected with
his marriage or his poaching, — and the purest in morals
as well as the loftiest in thought of our own scenic poets
would have made as poor a figure as Euripides did in
his time, whether it were on the grounds of his creed,
his civic character, or his private life and conversa-
tion. " Envie," says Chaucer, in his ' Legende of Good
"Women,'

" Is lavender to the court alway,
For she ne parteth neither night ne day
Out of the house of Caesar ; "

and the envy of one generation becomes with the
credulous the fact of another. " In the first place," as
Mr Paley most justly observes, "many of his senti-
ments which may be said to wear an equivocal com-
plexion, as the famous one, —

" If the tongue swore, the heart abides unsworn," —

have been misconstrued as undermining the very foun-
dations of honour and virtue. They are assumed to be
A. c. vol. xii. E

66 EURIPIDES,

general statements, whereas they really have only a
special reference to existing circumstances, or are at
least susceptible of important modifications." The same
may be said of a verse of Euripides that Julius Caesar
was fond of quoting ; —

" If ever to do ill be good, 'tis for a crown ;
For that 'tis lawful to push right aside :
In other things let virtue be the guide."

But the Roman perverted to his own ends a sentiment
well suited to the character — a false and violent one —
of the speaker, Eteocles.*

Some injury has been done to Euripides by the
abundance of fragments from his plays that are pre-
served. Undoubtedly many of these " wear an equi-
vocal complexion," — as, for example —

" What must be done by mortals may be done ; "
or —

" Nor shameful aught imless one deem it so ; "

but we know not the speakers of the words, nor the
circumstances under which they were spoken.

What are the proofs of an often-repeated assertion
that Euripides was a sensual poet ? On the score of
indecency the comic poets are rather damaging wit-
nesses— to themselves. Have the Germans, have we
ourselves, no poets infinitely more culpable in this
respect than Euripides? A very third-rate contri-
butor to the English drama of the seventeenth
and eighteenth centuries would the Greek poet have
been, had he written nothing worse than we find
• Phoenician Women, v. 573.

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 67

in his extant plays or the fragments of his lost
ones. And on this delicate question we have a most
unexceptionable witness in his favour — no less a per-
son than the decent and pious Aristophanes himself !
The "Phsedras" and " Sthenehceas " of Euripides, we
are told by him, were dangerous to morals.* Yet in
another of his comedies he says that in consequence
of Euripides's plays women mended their manners.t
Here, with a vengeance, has " a Daniel come to judg-
ment ! " — the woman-hater, it seems, had been preach-
ing with some success to a female congregation. The
purity of the poet's morals, so far as they can be in-
ferred from his writings, is displayed in his Hippo-
lytus, in the chaste Parthenopagus in the " Suppliant
"Women," in the Achilles of his " Iphigenia," and
above all, in the character of the boy Ion. " Conse-
crated to Apollo, and devoting himself wholly to the
service of the altar, he speaks of his patron god in lan-
guage that would not dishonour a better cause. One
cannot help feeling that the poet must have been at
heart a good man who could make a virtuous asceticism
appear in so amiable a light. "J

" Let me tell you," says Councillor Pleydell, " that
Glossin woiild have made a very pretty lawyer, had he
not been so inclined to the knavish side of his profes-
sion." It cannot be denied that Euripides has some
tendency of the sort. He employs frequently, and
seemingly without much compunction, the arts of
falsehood and deceit. The tricksters in his tragedy

* "Frogs," 1049. t " Thesmoph. " 398.

t Paley, Preface to Euripides.

68 EURIPIDES.

are the forerunners of the tricksters of the New
Comedy — the "fallax servus" of the Menandrian
drama. But as respects truth, in the modem import
of the word, the morality of the ancients was not that
of the modems. The latter profess to abhor a lie ; the
former — more prudently and consistently perhaps —
made no professions at all on the subject. The crafty
Ulysses, rather than the bold Achilles, is the type of
an Achaean; Themistocles, far more than Aristides,
that of an Athenian Greek. Euripides, who represents
men as they are, and not as they ought to be, did not
disdain to employ in his plays this common feature
of his age and nation, but in none of them has he
depicted such a thorough - going scoundrel as the
Sophoclean Ulysses in the " Philoctetes."

In what sense of the word was Euripides a hater of
women — for that he occasionally spoke ill of them is
beyond doubt ? His character is indeed a difficult one
to interpret — on the surface full of inconsistencies ;
and seeing these only, it is easy to understand why
he was less revered than ^Eschylus, less esteemed or
beloved than Sophocles. Below the surface, however,
it is possible to discover a certain unity of purpose
in him, and it is traceable in his sentiments on the
female sex. First, let the position of women among
the Greeks in general be remembered. They lived in
almost Oriental seclusion. What was expected from
a good wife is shown in a very instructive passage of
Xenophon's treatise, ' The Economist or Householder.'

Ischomachus, the principal speaker in the dialogue,
describes how he had " trained his wife, at the time he

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 69

espoused her, an inexperienced girl of fourteen, to the
duties of her position. The account that ensues of the
functions of an Athenian married lady would he appli-
cable, if we except the greater restriction on her per-
sonal liberty, to a hired housekeeper of the present
day. Her business is to nurse her children, to main-
tain discipliae among her slaves ; to be diligent herself
at her web, in the management of her kitchen, larder,
and bakehouse, and in her care of the furniture, ward-
robe, and household property of aU kinds ; to select a
well-qualified stewardess to act under herself, but to
allow no undue confidence in her to interfere with her
own habits of personal superintetidence ; to remain
continually within doors ; she will find abundance of
exercise ia her walks to and from different parts of the
premises, in dusting clothes and carpets, and baking
bread or pastry." " From all this it appears, that what
are now considered essential qualifications in a married
lady of the upper class — presiding at her husband's
table, receiving his guests, or enUvening by her con-
versation his hours of domestic retirement — entered as
little into the philosopher's estimate of a model wife as
into that of his countrymen at large. Like Pericles,
Socrates " — and, we may add, Euripides — " could
appreciate female accomplishments in an Aspasia or a
Theodota," * but hardly looked for them in wives so
trained and employed as was that of Ischomachus.

If Euripides were generally a woman-hater, he was
at least not always consistent in his aversion. No one
of the Athenian stage-poets has written more to the
* Colonel Mure's Hist, of Greek Literature, v. 463.

70 EURIPIDES.

credit of good women, or more delicately or tenderly
delineated female characters. For this assertion it is
sufl&cient to cite Polyxeua in his " Hecuba," Macaria in
"The Children of Hercules," Evadne in "The Suppli-
ant "Women," the sisterly devotion of Electra in his
" Orestes," Iphigenia in both of the plays bearing her
name, and the sublime self-sacrifice of the noble and
loving Alcestis. Even Hecuba and Jocasta are braver
and wiser than the men about them, and these old,
afflicted, and discrowned queens have neither youth
nor personal charms to recommend them. Phaedra he
represents not as a vicious woman, but as the helpless
victim of an irate deity ; while in the " Medea " the
fierce and revengeful heroine has all our sympathy,
while Jason has all our contempt.*

And if Euripides were reprehensible for his opinions
on women, what shall we say of his antagonist Aris-
tophanes? Had the wives and daughters of Athens
no cause of complaint against their caricaturist ? If
the pictures drawn of them in his " Lysistrata " and
" Thesmophoriazusae " be not wholly fenciful, what
woman sketched by Euripides would not be too good
for such profligate companions ? The female characters

* Adol{\li SchoU, the author of an excellent Life of Sopho-
cles, reminds his readers that the very female characters which
Euripides is sometimes taxed with selecting, because they
were particularly wicked, for his themes, were brought on the
stage by Sophocles in dramas now lost — e,9., Phaedra, Sthene-
bcea, Ino, Medea often, ^rope, Althsea, Eriphyle, &c. &c. ; and
he notices also that Euripides, in many of his dramas, atoned,
if there was any occasion to do so, for his portraits of the bad,
by his numerous delineations of good women.

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 71

of Sophocles are perhaps -worthier of admiration than
those of his rival ; hut the pencil that traced Antigone,
Deianara, and Tecmessa, drew ideal heroines : that of
Euripides painted human heings, creatures with strong
passions, yet stronger affections, -with a deep sense of
duty, of reHgion, as in the instances of Theonoe in
his " Helen," of Andromache, and Antigone, — women
who may he esteemed or loved, women who walk
the earth, sharing heroically, sympathising tenderly
with, the sorrows and sufferings of their partners in
affliction. The zealous champion of the gods of the
state was, we have seen, an arch-scoffer at all loftier
forms of hehef ; the satiric pen that wrote down Euri-
pides as a hater of women was held hy the arch-
liheUer of their sex.*

l^or was the humanity of the poet less conspicuous
in his feelings towards slaves. And again we have
to notice something inconsistent with his supposed

* Might not our Fletclier "be fairly taxed with woman-
hating by readers who pick out such passages only as suit their
own views, or ascribe to the author himself the opinions he
puts into the mouths of his dramatis personce ? The Greek poet
has not written anything hajf so injurious to women as the fol-
lowing lines from the " Night-Walker," act ii. so. 4 : —

Oh ! I hate
Their noise, and do abhor the whole sex heartily.
They are all walking devils, harpies. I will study
A week together, how to rail sufficiently
Upon 'em all ; and that I may be fumish't.
Thou shalt buy all the railing books and ballads
That malice has invented against women.
I will study nothing else, and practise 'em,
Till I grow fat with curses."

72 EURIPIDES.

austere disposition. We have no reason for thinking
that the lot of home-bred or purchased slaves was
particularly hard in Athens ; certainly they had there
less rigorous masters than the Spartans or Romans
were. But there can be little doubt of the contempt
with which non-Hellenic races were viewed by Greeks
in general, or of the broad line they drew between
themselves and barbarians. Even in Attica, the hap-
piness or misery of a bondman must have depended
in great measure upon the disposition of his owner.
He might be half starved or cruelly flogged — but no
law protected him : overworked, without comment from
the neighbours; tortured, if his evidence were required
in a court of justice ; cashiered, when his services were
rendered useless by age or infirmity. Euripides, if
his writings be in accordance with his practice, anti-
cipated the humane sentiments of Seneca and the
younger Pliay in his consideration for this, at the best,
unhappy order of men. He did not regard it as the
mark of an unsound mind to look on a slave as a
human being. He introduces him in his plays as a
faithful nurse, or an honest and attached herdsman,
shepherd, or household servant. He endows him with
good abilities, and at times shrewd and ready wit, with
kindly affection to his fellows, and love and loyalty to
his masters. He even goes almost to an extreme in
putting into his mouth saws, maxims, and opinions
meet for a philosopher. He perceived, and he strove
to make others perceive, that servitude does not neces-
sarily extinguish virtue or good sense. He left it to
the comic poets to exhibit the slave as necessarily

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER, 73

a cheating, lying, and sensual varlet. He may have
imbibed from his friend Socrates some of his humane
notions on women or slaves, or he may have forestalled
them ; or, which is quite as possible, have reflected in
his dramas a liberal feature of the time fostered alike
by the poet and the philosopher.

The feelings of slaves towards a kind and gracious
mistress are thus described in the " Alcestis." She,
immediately after bidding the last farewell to her
children, takes leave of her servants : —

" All of the household servants wept as well,
Moved to compassion for their mistress : she
Extended her right hand to all and each,
And there was no one of such low degree
She spoke not to, nor had an answer from." — (B.)

And again, in the same play, the slave appointed to
wait on Hercules thus expresses himself : —

" Neither was it mine
To follow in procession, nor stretch forth
Hand, wave my lady dear a last farewell,
Lamenting who to me and all of us
Domestics was a mother : myriad harms
She used to ward away from every one.
And mollify her husband's ireful mood." — (B.)

The messenger, a slave, in the " Orestes," thus recounts
to Electra his loyalty to her family : —

" Hither I from the country came, and entered
The gates, solicitous to hear the doom
Of thee and of Orestes ; for thy sire
I ever loved, and in thy house was nurtured.

74 EURIPIDES.

True, I am poor, yet not the less am loyal
To those who have been kind to me of yore."

— (Alford.)

Connected perhaps with his sympathy with women
and an oppressed class of men is his practice of bring-
ing on the scene young children. He puts them in
situations that cannot fail to have touched the hearts
of a susceptible people. In the " Iphigenia in Aulis,"
the infant Orestes is employed to work on Agamem-
non's parental love. The little sons of Alcestis add to
the pathos of her parting words. In the " Trojan
"Women," a drama of weeping and lamentation nearly
" all compact," the fate of Astyanax is the most touch-
ing incident. In the " Andromache," the little Molos-
sus is held up by his great-grandsire Peleus in order
that he may loosen the cords by which his mother's
hands are bound. Maternal love adds a human ele-
ment to the wild and whirling passion of Medea.
Eacine, who profoundly studied Euripides, did not
neglect this device for producing emotion. In his
" Andromaque," Astyanax is made to contribute to the
pity of the scene, although the etiquette of the French
stage did not permit of his appearing on it. Did this
innovation — if it were one — take its rise from a prac-
tice not uncommon in the law courts, for defendants
to appeal to the mercy of the jurors by exhibiting their
wives and chUdren ? Whether the courts borrowed it
from the theatre, or the theatre from the courts, such
a display, however foreign to our notions of the
sobriety of justice, indicates a kind, if not an equi-

THE SCENIC PHILOSOPHER. 75

table, feeling in the audience, and one which the
advocate of the slave would share with them.

"We must now dismiss the scenic philosopher, trust-
ing that some of the facts, if not the arguments, adduced
on his behalf, may prevail with English readers so far
as to lead them to take a more favourable view of his cha-
racter than has been given in some ancient or modem
accounts of it. Had he been less philosophic, he
would probably have been more successful at the time,
and less obvious to critical shafts then and afterwards.
Yet that so many of his works should have been pre-
served, can scarcely have been a mere accident. Some
attraction or charm there was in them that touched the
heart of Hellas from its eastern to its western border,
and so held above water a fourth at least of his writings,
when the deluge of barbarism or bigotry swept away so
many thousands of Greek dramas, and among them some
that had borne off the crown from .zEschylus or Sopho-
cles. " Sunt lacrimae rerum, et mentem mortalia tan-
gunt." The very tenderness of Euripides, though
taxed with effeminacy or degradation of art by critics
of the Aristophanic school, may have had its influence
in the salvage of seventeen plays and fragments of
others, exceeding in number the sum of those of both
his extant compeers.

Having passed in review the times, the life, and
other circumstances relating to Euripides, we may noAV
pass on to a survey of his dramas.

CHAPTEE IV.

ALCESTIS. — MEDEA.

" She came forth in her bridal robes arrayed,
And 'midst the graceful statues, round the hall
Shedding the calm of their celestial mien.
Stood, pale, yet proudly beautiful, as they :
Flowers in her bosom, and the star-like gleam
Of jewels trembling from her braided hair.
And death upon her brow."

— Felicia Heuans.

Partly on account of its being the fourth play in the
order of representation, as well as from a supposed comic
vein in the character of Hercules, the " Alcestis " has
been considered as a satiric after-piece, or at least a
substitute for that appendage to the tragic trilogy.
But no reader of this domestic play, whether in the
original or translation, will find mirth or satirical
banter in it. The happy ending may entitle it to be
regarded as a comedy in the modern sense of the term,
although until the very last scene it draws so deeply
on one main element of tragedy, pity. At most, the
*' Alcestis " is what the French term comedie larmoy-
ante. No one of the extant dramas of Euripides, as

ALCESTIS. 77

a whole, is so pathetic. The reader feels now, as the
spectators doubtless felt at its representation, that it is
not because of the rank of the sufferers we sympathise
with them. It is not Admetus the king, but Admetus
the husband, whom we commiserate : that she is a
queen adds nothing to our admiration of the tender
and self-devoting Alcestis. Among the faults found
with this drama is one that sounds strangely to modern
ears. It wrought, say the objectors, upon the feelings of
spectators by an exhibition of woe beneath the dignity
of the sufferers, who are therefore degraded by the
pity excited on their behalf. This seems "hedging
kings " with a most preposterous " divinity," — setting
them apart from common humanity by making them
void of human affections. If to touch an audience
through the medium of household sorrows were a blot
in Greek tragedy, it will scarcely be accounted a
blemish by modern readers.

The story of the " Alcestis" is founded upon some
legend or tradition of northern Greece, probably
brought thither from the East. The Fates have
marked Admetus, king of Pherae, in Thessaly, for
death. Apollo has prevailed upon the grim sisters to
grant him a reprieve on one condition — that he finds
a substitute. In the first instance he applies to his
father and mother, aged people, but they decline being
vicariously sacrificed. His wife Alcestis alone will
give her life for his ransom. Apollo does Admetus
this good turn because he has himself, when condemned
by Jupiter to serve in a mortal's house, been kindly
treated by the Pheraean king. When the play opens,

78 EURIPIDES.

the doom of Alcestis is at hand. She is sick unto
death ; and Death himself, an impersonation similar
to that of Madness in the " Mad Hercules," is at the
palace gate awaiting his prey. The grisly fiend, sus-
pecting that Apollo intends a second time to defraud
him of his dues by interposing for Alcestis as he had
done for Admetus, is in no gracious mood; but the
god assures him that his interest with the Fates is
exhausted. The following scenes are occupied with
the parting of the victim from her husband, her chil-
dren, and her household, and a faithful servant de-
scribes the profound grief of them all. In the midst
of tears and Availings, and just after death has claimed
his own, an unlooked-for guest arrives. Hercules, most
stalwart of mortals, but not yet a demigod, enters. He
is on his road to Thessaly, sent on one more perilous
errand by his enemy Eurystheus. He is struck by
the signs of general woe in the household. He pro-
poses to pass on to another friend of his in Pherae, but
Admetus will not hear of what he regards a breach
of hospitable duties, and gives orders to a servant
to take Hercules to a distant chamber, and there
set meat and drink before him. The guest, much
perplexed by all ho sees, but foOed in his inquiries,
and led to suppose that some female relative of Ad-
metus is dead, goes to his dinner, prepared to enjoy
it, although, under the circumstances, it must be a
solitary meaL Unaware of the real state of things, he
greatly scandalises his attendant by his appetite, and
still more by breaking out into snatches of convivial
songs. " Of all the gormandising and unfeeling ruffians

ALCESTIS. 79

I ever met witli," says the slave in waiting, "this
fellow is the worst. He eats like a half -famished
wolf, drinks in proportion, calls for more than is set
before him, and sings, or rather howls, his ribald songs
out of all tune, —

" ' While we o' the household mourned our mistress —

mourned,
That is to say, in silence — never showed
The eyes, which we kept wetting, to the guest —
For there Admetus was imperative.
And so, here am I helping to make at home
A guest, some fellow ripe for wickedness,
RoTbber or pirate, while she goes her way
Out of her house.

Never yet
Received I worse guest than this present one.' " — (B.)

"Nor content with being voracious and dainty, he
drinks tUl the wine fires his brain."

Hercules marks the rueful visage of his attendant,
and thinking that Admetus has bidden him be as
cheerful as usual, the family affliction being only a
slight one, rates him roundly for his woe-begone looks :

" Hercules. Why look'st so solemn and so thought-ab-
sorbed ?
To guests, a servant should not sour-faced be,
But do the honours with a mind urbane.
WhUst thou, contrariwise, beholding here
Arrive thy master's comrade, hast for him
A churUsh visage, all one beetle-brow —
Having regard to grief that's out of door !
Come hither, and so get to grow more wise.

80 EURIPIDES.

Things mortal — knoVBt the nature that they have ?
No, I imagine ! whence could knowledge spring ?
Give ear to me then ! For all flesh to die
Is nature's due ; nor is there any one
Of mortals with assurance he shall last
The coming morrow." — (B.)

And so on the old but ever-appropriate text, " Thou
knowest that to die is common ; " and the oft-renewed
question, " Why seems it then particular to thee 1" Her-
cules proceeds moralising — " philosophising even in his
drink," as an old scholiast remarks. The pith, indeed,
of Hercules's counsel is " Drink, man, and put a gar-
land on thy head."

When, however, the attendant says —

"Ah ! thou knoVst nought o' the woe within these walls :"

the guest's curiosity is aroused. Can Admetus have
deceived me ? is it, then, not a distant kinswoman
whom they are burying 1 have I been turning a house
of mourning into a house of feasting 1 Tell me, good
fellow, what has really chanced. The servant replies :

" Thou cam'st not at a fit reception-time :
With sorrow here beforehand ; and thou seest
Shorn hair, black robes.

Hercules. But who is it that's dead ?

Some child gone ? or the aged sire, perhaps ?

Servant. Admetus' wife, then, she has perished, guest.

Hercules. How say'st ? and did ye house me all the same ?

Seirvant. Ay : for he had thee in that reverence,
He dared not turn thee from the door away.

Hercules. 0 hapless, and bereft of what a mate !
All of Tis now are dead, not she alone ;

ALCESTIS. 81

Where is he gone to bury her ? where am I
To go and find her ?

Servant. By the road that leads

Straight to Larissa, thou wilt see the tomb
Out of the suburb, a carved sepulchre." — (B.)

But as soon as Hercules extracts from the ser-
vant the real cause of the family grief, all levity de-
parts from him. He is almost wroth with his friend
for such overstrained delicacy, and hurries out to
render him such " yeoman's service " as no one except
the strongest of mankind can perform. Alcestis has
been laid in her grave ; the mourners have aU come
back to the palace ; and Death, easy in his mind as to
Apollo, and secure, as he deems himself, from inter-
ruption, is making ready for a ghoulish feast on her
corpse. But he has reckoned without the guest. He
finds himself in the dilemma of foregoing his prey or
being strangled, and he permits his irresistible antago-
nist to restore the self-devoted Avife to the arms of her
disconsolate and even more astonished husband.*

"With the instinct of a great artist, Euripides cen-
tralises the interest of the action in Alcestis alone;
and in order to show how perfect the sacrifice is, he
endows the victim with every noble, tender, and loving

* Never has rationalising of old-world stories made a bolder
stride than in the case of this play. Late Greek writers ascribe
the decease of Alcestis to her having nursed her husband
through a fever. She takes it herself, and is laid out for dead,
when a phj^sician, sharper-sighted than the rest of the faculty
at the time, discovers that the vital spark is not extinct, and
cheats death of his foe by remedies unluckily not mentioned
for the benefit of posterity.

A. c. vol, xii. F

82 EURIPIDES.

quality of "woman. She stands as far apart from and
above the other characters in the play as Una does in
the first book of the * Faery Queen.' For the Greek
stage she is what Portia and Cordelia are for the
English. K less heroic than Antigone or Electra, she
is more human; the strength which opposition to
harsh laws or thirst for " great revenge " lent to them,
to her is supplied by the might of wifely love. Pos-
sibly it was this sublime tenderness that kept the
memory of Alcestis green through ages in Avhich the
manuscripts of Euripidean dramas were lying among
the roUs of Byzantine libraries, or the dust and
worms of the monasteries of the "West. Chaucer, in
his 'Court of Love,' calls her the "Queue's floure;"
and in his ' Legende of Good Women ' she is " under
Yenus lady and queue : " —

" And from afer came walking in the Made
The God of Love, and in his hand a queue.
And she was clad in real * habit grene :
A fret of golde she hadde next her Iieer,
And upon that a white corowne she here
With floures smale.'

With equally happy art — indeed, after Shakespeare's
manner with his female personages — we are not for-
mally told of her goodness ; but we know from those
around her that the loving wife is also a loving mother,
a kind and liberal mistress. Even the sorrow of the
Chorus is significant : it is composed not of sus-
ceptible women, but of ancient men — past the age in
which the affections are active, and when the lengthen -
* RoyaL

ALCESTIS. 83

ing shadows on the dial often render the old less
sensible of others' ■woe. And this tribute from the
elders of the neighbourhood completes the circle of
grief on the removal of Alcestis from all she had loved
— from the cheering sunlight, the lucid streams, the
green pastures, which from the palace windows had so
often gladdened her eyes.

]!^ext to Alcestis in interest is her deliverer.
Without Hercules the play would, like " The Trojan
"Women," have been too "infected with grief" Al-
most from the moment of his entrance a ray of hope
begins to streak the gloom, and this an Athenian
spectator Avould feel more immediately than an Eng-
lish reader. The theatrical as well as the legendary
Hercules, if not a comic, was at least a cheery, person-
age. On his right arm victory rested. He was no
stranger to the Pheraeans. His deeds were sung at
festivals, and told by the hearth in winter. The very
armour he wore was a trophy : the lion's skin he
had won in fight with a king of beasts : with his club
he had slain the wild boar who had gored other mighty
hunters : he had wrestled with and prevailed over the
giants of the earth : he was as generous and genial as
he was valiant and strong : none but the proud and
cruel fear him : he has ever kind words for women and
children : his presence, when he is off duty, is a holi-
day : he may sing out of tune, yet his laugh is music
to the ear.

The other dramatis personcB are kept, perhaps pur-
posely, in the background. Admetus makes almost
as poor a figure in this play as Jason does in the

84 EURIPIDES.

" Medea." Self-preservation is the leading feature in
his character. He loves Alcestis much, but he loves
himself more. He cannot look his situation in the
face. For some time he has known his wife's promise
to die for him, but, until the hour of its fulfilment is
striking, he is too weak to realise the import of her
pledge. He lays flattering unction on his soul — per-
haps somewhat in this wise : " My wife, as well as
myself, must one day die : perchance the Fates may
not be in haste for either of us — may even, with
Apollo to friend us, renew the bond." When the
inexorable missive comes for her, he is indeed deeply
cast down : yet even then there is not a spark of man-
liness in him. Provided the Fates got one victim,
they might not have been particidar as to which of the
twain was " nominated in the bond." But no — for him
there is a saving clause in it, and he will not forego
the benefit of it. He will do everything but the one
thing it is in his power to do, to prove his conjugal
affection. There shall be no more mirth or feasting
in his dominions ; the sound of tabret and harp shall
never more be heard in his dwelling ; black shall be his
only wear ; no second wife shall occupy the room of his
first ; had he the lute of Orpheus, he would go down to
Pluto's gloomy realm, and bring her to upper air. He
" doth profess too much : " he lacks the heroic spirit
that dwelt in Polyxena, Macaria, and Iphigenia. Some
excuse for one so weak as Admetus may perhaps be
found in the view of death, or life after death, taken
by the Greeks generally. Even their Elysian fields
were inhabited by melancholy spectres. For with

ALCESTIS. 86

them, to die either was to be annihilated or to pass a
monotonous existence without fear but also without
hope. In the one case "Wordsworth's lines are appli-
cable to them as well as to " Lucy :" —

" No motion has she now, no force :
She neither hears nor sees ;
KoUed round in earth's diurnal course.
With rocks and stones and trees."

They held with Claudio that

" The weariest and most loathed worldly life
That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death," *

Or they would say with the great Achilles in the Shades,
when Ulysses congratulated him on being so honoured
among dead heroes : —

" Renowned Ulysses, think not death a theme
Of consolation : I had rather live.
The serAdle hind for hire, and eat the bread
Of some man scantily himself sustained.
Than sovereign empire hold o'er all the Shades." f

There may be an approach to comedy in the scene
between Admetus and his father Pheres. The son
asks his grey-haired sire, who brings gifts to the funeral,
"it he is not ashamed of himself for cumbering the
ground so long ? Why did he not, an old fellow and
a useless, take the place of poor Alcestis 1" Pheres
replies, and with some show of reason, " If you were

* "Measure for Measure." + Odyssey, xi. (Cowper.)

86 EURIPIDES.

SO fond of your late wife as you pretend to bo, why
did you not go when you were summoned 1 for re-
member it was not I but you on whom the citation
of the Fates was originally served. For my part, I
had a great regard for my daughter-in-law — she was
a most exemplary young woman ; but as for tak-
ing her place, I crave to be excused. I am an old
man, it is true; still I am remarkably well for my
years : and as for cumbering the groxmd, I hope to do
so a little while longer. You may have been a tender
husband and a faithful, and I daresay will be a good
father, and not vex the two poor orphans with a
stepmother — at least, just at present : but I must
say your language to myself is very uncivil, not to
say unfilial." The timid or selfish nature of Admetus
is reflected in that of his sire : it is easy to conceive
the son another Pheres, when years shall have grizzled
his beard.

The reluctance of Admetus, in the final scene, to
take Alcestis back again, when " brought to him from
the grave," has been regarded as a comic situation;
but it is by no means certain either that Euripides in-
tended it for one, or that the spectators so interpreted it.
The revived wife is a mute person, and her still discon-
solate husband, who has so lately sworn never again to
marry, believes for a few minutes that Hercules has
indelicately, though with the best intentions, brought
him a new partner. The real drift of this incident de-
pends very much on the view of the deliverer taken
commonly by an Athenian audience. Setting aside the
use made of Hercules by the comic poets, we may

ALCESTIS. 87

inquire how painters represented him. He is delineated
on vases either as doing valiant deeds with his club or
by his fatal arrows, or as indulging himself with the
wine-cup. In one instance his weapons have been
stolen from him by the God of Love, and he himself
is running after a girl who has carried off his pitcher.
The tragedians also do not treat him with much cere-
mony in their dramas : he was only a Boeotian hero,
and so they took liberties with him.

This choral song, the last in the play, comes imme-
diately before the reappearance of Hercules with the
rescued Alcestis : —

" I too have been borne along
Through the airy realms of Bong.
Searched I have historic page,
Yet ne'er foimd in any age
Power that with thine can vie,

Masterless Necessity.
Thee nor Orpheus' mystic scrolls
Graved by him on Thracian pine.
Thee nor Phoebus' art controls,

^sculapian art divine.
Of the Powers thou alone
Altar hast not, image, throne :
Sacrifices wilt thou none. —
Pains too sharp for mortal state
Lay not on me, mighty Fate,
i Jove doth aye thy bests fulfil,

His to work and thine to wUl.
Hardest iron delved from mine
Thou canst break and bend and twine :
Harsh in purpose, heart of stone,
Mercy is to thee unknown.

88 EURIPIDES.

Thee, Admetus, in the bands
Of her stem unyielding hands
Hath she taken ; but resign
Thy life to her — it is not thine
By thy weeping to restore
Those who look on light no more.
Even the bright sons of heaven
To dimness and to death are given.
She was loved when she was here ;
And in death we hold her dear :
Let not her hallowed tomb be past
As where the common dead are cast ;
Let her have honour with the blest
Who dwell above ; her place of rest
When the traveller passeth by,
Let him say, ' Within doth lie
She who dared for love to die.
Thou who now in bliss dost dwell.
Hail, blest soul, and speed us well ! ' " '

HEDEA.

To combine in the same chapter Alcestis with
Medea, may appear like yoking the lamb -with the
lion ; and so it would be, were the Colchian princess
the mere fury for which she is often taken. But
Euripides had too deeply studied human character not
to be aware that in nature there are no monsters —
none at least tit for the ends of dramatic poetry ; and

* Partly translated by the late Dean Alford. Gray, in his
fine ode, " Daughter of Jove, relentless power, " had this choral
song before him, as well as the verses of Horace which he pro-
posed to imitate.

MEDEA. 89

accordingly his Medea, though deeply •vtrronged, is yet
a woman who loved not wisely but too well. Even
Lady Macbeth, though far more criminal than the
heroine of this tragedy, since she had no wrongs to
avenge, but sins for ambition's sake alone, is not en-
tirely devoid of human feeling. With similar truth,
both of art and observation, the Greek poet gives
Medea a woman's heart even in the moments when
she is meditating on her fell purpose.

Aristotle's judgment that Euripides, although he
does not manage everything for the best in his plots or
his representations of life, is the most pathetic of dra-
matic poets, is especially true of this tragedy. The
hold that it has in every age retained upon spectators
as well as readers, is a proof of the subject being chosen
well. It was translated or adapted by Eoman drama-
tists ; it was revived in the early days of the modem
theatre in Europe; it is still, wedded to immortal
music, attractive ; and no one who has seen the part
of Medea performed by Pasta or Grisi will question its
effect on an audience.

On the stage Medea appears under some disadvan-
tage. The worse elements of her nature are there
active; the better appear only now and then. She
is placed in the situation described by Shake-
speare : —

" Between the acting of a dreadful thing
And the first motion, all the interim is
Like a phantasma or a hideous dream :
The genius, and the mortal instruments
Are then in council ; and the state of man,

90 EURIPIDES.

Like to a little kingdom, suffers then
The nature of an insurrection."

— "Julius Caesar."

This is the condition of Medea from her first appear-
ance on the scene to the last ; tlie " little kingdom " of
her being is rent in twain by her injuries, her threat-
ened banishment, her helplessness among strangers
and foes, her jealousy, her contempt for the mean-
spirited Jason, her contempt even for herself. That she,
the wise, the potent enchantress, should have been
caught by his superficial beauty, and not read from the
first his real character — are all elements of the insur-
rection in her nature. "We behold only the deeply-
wronged wife and mother — ^we do not realise her as
she was a few years earlier, before the spoiler came to
Colchis, a timid, trusting, and loving maiden, who set
her life on one cast. Her picture, as drawn by an epic
poet from whom Virgil found much to borrow, may
put before us Medea as she was before the ship Argo —
" built in the eclipse and rigged with curses dark " —
passed between the blue Symplegades, and first broke
the silence of the Hellespontic sea. She is thus de-
scribed after her first interview with Jason : —

" And thus Medea slowly seemed to part,

Love's cares still brooding in her troubled heart ;
. And imaged still before her wondering eyes.
His living, breathing self appears to rise —
His very garb : and thus he spake, thus sate.
Thus, ah, too soon ! he glided from the gate.
Sure ne'er her loving eyes beheld his peer,
And still his honied words are melting on her ear."

MEDEA. 91

A little further on we have this description of her : —

" She said, she rose ;
Her maiden chamber's solitary floor
With trembling steps she trod : she reached the door,
Fain to her sister's neighbouring bower to haste ;
And yet the threshold hardly had she passed,
Sudden her failing feet are checked by shame,
And long she lingered there, then back she came.
Oft as desire would drive her forth again,
So oft does maiden bashfulness restrain.
Thrice she essayed to go, thrice stopped, then prone
In anguish on her couch behold her thrown." *

Such was Medea a few years only — if there be such
a thing as dramatic time — before the tragedy begins.
Her children are very young. Jason and herself ap-
pear to have not been long at Corinth, and so she
must be regarded as stHl in the bloom of her youth
and beauty, and not a hot-tempered lady of uncertain
age. The desertion of her by her husband has accord-
ingly the less excuse.

There is no prologue to this play, for the opening
speech of the nurse — nurses on the Greek stage per-
form very similar functions to those of the indispens-
able confidantes of the classic drama of France — cannot
be considered as such. This old servant does not go
much into family history ; indeed, a barbaric woman —
for such Medea is — was supposed by the pedigree-loving
Greeks to have no ancestors worth mentioning. She
merely lets the audience know the very critical posi-
tion of affairs between Jason and his wife. The nurse

* Dean Milman's * Translations from Valerius Flaccus. '

92 EURIPIDES.

perceives that nothing but evil can come out of this
second marriage — is sure that Medea is plotting some
terrible revenge — and tells an old servant of Jason's her
own terrors and her mistress's sad condition. He, on
his part, brings her news. Medea must quit Corinth
on that very day, and take her two sons with her;
their father has consented to their banishment, and
Creon, king of Corinth, cannot rest until the Colchian
witch is over the border. The fears of the nurse harp
on the children. She bids them go into the house,
and begs Jason's servant, —

" To the utmost, keep them by themselves,
Nor bring them near their sorrow-frenzied mother.
For late I saw her with the roused bull's glare
View them as though she'd at them, and I trow
That she'll not bate her wrath till it have swooped
Upon some prey." ♦

Her just fears are confirmed by the exclamations of
her mistress, speaking from within : —

** Ah me ! ah me !

* I have endured, sad woman, endured

A burden for great laments. Cursed sons
Of a loathed mother, die, ye and your sire.
And let all our house wane away."

The nurse remains on the stage when the Chorus of
Corinthian women enter and comment on the " wild
and whirling words" they have overheard : —

* All the translations are taken from Mrs Augusta Web-
ster's version, poetical as well as " literal," of the •' Medea."

MEDEA. 93

" I heard the voice, nay, heard the shriek

Of the hapless Colchian dame.
Is she not calmed 1 Old matron, speak ;
For through the double portals came

A voice of wail and woe."

The nurse tells them that Medea "in no way is
calmed," and again from within is heard the plaint of
the unhappy and indignant princess : —

" Woe ! woe !
Oh lightning from heaven, dart through my head !
For what is my gain to live any more ? "

The Chorus express their sympathy, but the assur-
ance they give that " Zeus will judge on her side " is
not satisfactory to her perturbed spirit. Yielding to
the wish of these sympathising friends, Medea at length
comes forth from the inner chamber, and, considering
her circumstances, makes a more temperate address to
the Chorus than, after hearing her exclamations behind
the scenes, they might have expected. She expatiates
on the hardship of being a woman, and, after some
remarks on the few prizes and many blanks in the
lottery of marriage, she begs them to befriend her so
far at least as to keep her counsel if she communicates
her purpose at any time to them. This they promise
to do, and tell her that, so far as regards her husband,
she has good right to avenge herself on him — a senti-
ment that, if the Athenian ladies were permitted to
applaud in the theatre, was probably greeted with
much clapping of hands.

King Creon now comes on to tell Medea officially

94 EURIPIDES.

what the old servant has already intimated to the nurse.
" Thou sullen-browed woman," he says,

" Medea, I command that from this realm
Thou go an exile, taking thy two sons ;
And linger not, for mine is the decree.
Nor will I enter in my house again
Tni I have driven thee past the land's last bounds."

This decision of Creon cuts up, root and branch, all
Medea's projects for revenging herself on Jason, his
father-in-law, and his new Avife. " Now," she says,

" My enemies crowd on all sail,
And there is now no haven &om despair."

She speaks softly to the king, even kneels to him,
to turn away his wrath. But Creon is too much in
dread of her devices to revoke his sentence of banish-
ment. All he wUl concede is for her and her sons to
depart to-morrow instead of to-day. That morrow,
Medea may have said to herself, you shall never see.
She has gained time for compassing her revenge.

In her next speech she lets the Chorus into her
secret so far as to make them sure there will be bloody
work in the palace before the sun sets. '* Fool that he
is ! " she says ; " he has left me now only one thing to
find — a city of refuge, a host who will shelter me after
I have done the deed, since in this day three of my
foes shall perish by dagger or by drug, —

" The father and the girl and he my husband.

For never, by my Queen, whom I revere
Beyond all else, and chose unto my aid,

MEDEA. 95

By Hecatfe, who dwells on my hearth's shrine,
Shall any wring my heart and still he glad."

A noble and appropriate chorus follows this magni-
ficent speech of Medea's. There is room only for the
first strophe, in which the women hail the good time
coming : —

" The hallowed rivers backward stream
Against their founts : right crooks awry
With all things else : man's every scheme

Is treachery.
Even with gods faith finds no place.
But fame turns too : our life shall have renown :
Honour shall come to woman's race,
And envious fame no more weigh women down."

Jason now enters : he comes with the intention of re-
monstrating with Medeg, about her indiscreet demeanour
towards Creon and the royal house ; tells her that,
but for her abominable temper and rash tongue, she
might have remained on good terms with himself and
all in Corinth : she has to thank herself alone for
the decree of banishment. For his part, he has done
all in his power to avert her doom; and even now,
though she is for ever calling him "the worst of men,"
he wUl not let her go forth penniless ; she shall have
a handsome provision for herself and children, for. he
adds, —

" Many hardships
Do wait on exUe, and, though thou dost hate me,
I am not able to desire thy harm."

Unless Euripides meant to represent Jason as a fool,

96 EURIPIDES.

as well as base and ungrateful, he could hardly have
devised for him a less discreet or a more irritating speech
than this. Medea now turns from red heat to white ;
recapitulates Jason's obligations to herself, the services
she has done him, the crimes she has committed for
liira, and casts to the winds all his shallow, hypocritical
pretences of having done his best for her and their
sons. Wo imagine that no one will feel any pity for
Jason, or deny that he richly deserved the words that,
like " iron sleet of arrowy shower," fall, in this scene,
upon his head, — terrible, yet just, as the fulminations
hurled against Austria's Duke by Lady Constance in
« King John:"—

" Thou slave, thou wretch, thou coward,
Thou little valiant, great in villany !
Thou ever strong upon the stronger side !
Thou fortune's champion — ^thou art perjured too.
And sooth'st up greatness. Thou cold-blooded slave !"

Jason keeps up, like Joseph Surface, his fair speeches
to the last, and this connubial dialogue closes charac-
teristically on either side : —

"Jason. Then do I call the gods to witness this.
How I desire to serve thee and thy sons ;
Yet thou'lt not like good gifts, but wantonly
Dost spurn thy friends, therefore shalt mourn the more.

Medea. Begone, for longing after thy new bride
Seizes thee, so much tarrying from her home :
Take her, for it is like — ^yea, and possessed
By a god I ^vill declare it — thou dost wed
With such a wedding as thou'lt wish undone."

After a brief but very beautiful song, in which the

MEDEA. 97

Chorus celebrates the power and deprecates the wrath
of Venus, and deplores the exile's lot, the real Deus
ex macliind of this tragedy presents himself — not
hovering in the air, nor gorgeous in apparel, nor a god
or the son of a god, but a rather commonplace, prosy
gentleman, ^geus, king of Athens, on his way home
from Delphi, Of him no more need be said than that,
by promising by his gods to shelter Medea, and yield
her up to none, he removes the one difficulty in her
way which still perplexed her. Now at last she is
armed at all points — she has an assured home and
protector, time to strike down every foe, weapons
they cannot guard against, and means to escape if
pursued.

Her wronged children shall be the instrument of
her vengeance. As to Jason himself, she has changed
her purpose ; he shall not have the privilege of dying,
for she can make life to him more wretched than many
deaths. She summons him again to her presence ; pre-
tends to regret her late hot words ; will even conciliate
Ms new wife with such gifts as none but kings' daugh-
ters can bestow. Her conditions are, that if the robe
and crown be accepted by Glaucfe, the children shall
not quit the realm. Jason, thinking that Medea is
now in her right mind, assents to both proposals, and
goes out to prepare his new wife for the presents. The
Chorus, who are in the secret, apprise the audience
that these gauds are far deadlier than were Bellero-
phon's letters : —

" By the grace and the perfect gleaming won,

She will place the gold- wrought crown on her head ;
A. 0. vol. xii. G

98 £ XTRIPIDES.

She will robe herself in the robe : and anon
She will deck her a bride among the dead."

The gifts are envenomed. Glauc^ and Creon, wrapt
in a sheet of phosphoric flame, expire in torments.
Jason is a widowed bridegroom ; all Corinth is aroused
to take vengeance on the barbaric sorceress. Surely
this must be the end of the tragedy. No; " bad begins,
but worse remains behind." One more blow remains
to be dealt. Jason is wifeless, he shall be childless
too, before Medea speeds in her dragon-bome car — the
chariot of the Sun, her grandsire — ^to hospitable Athens.

Never, perhaps, has a more terrible scene been ex-
hibited on any stage than this final one of Medea. To
it may be applied the words spoken of another spec-
tacle of "woe and wonder :" —

" This quarry cries on havock ! 0, proud death !
What feast is toward in thine eternal cell,
That thou so many princes, at a shot.
So bloodUy hast struck"

— « Hamlet."

Jason, who has been witnessing the charred remains
of Glauc^ and Creon, rushes on the stage ■ to arrest
their murderess. He cries frantically: —

" Hath she gone away in flight ?
For now must she or hide beneath the earth,
' Or lift herself with wings into wide air,
Not to pay forfeit to the royal house."

But "one woe doth tread upon another's heels.'"
" Seeks she to kill me too f he demands of the Chorus.
" Nay," they reply, " you know not the worst : " —

MEDEA. 99

" The boys have perished by their mother's hand :
Open these gates, thou'lt see thy murdered sons.

Jason. Undo the bolt on the instant, servants there ;
Loose the clamps, that I may see my grief and bane,
May see them dead, and guerdon her with death."

He sees them dead, indeed, but may " not kiss the
dear lips of his boys ;" " may not touch his children's
soft flesh." Medea hovers over the palace, taunts him
with her wrongs, mocks at his new-bom love for the
children he had consented to banish, and triumphs
alike over her living and her dead foes : —

" 'Twas not for thee, having spurned my love,
To lead a merry Life, floixting at me.
Nor for the princess ; neither. was it his
Who gave her thee to wed, Creon, unscathed
To cast me out of his realm. And now,
If it so like thee, call me lioness,
And Scylla, dweller on Tursenian plains ;
For as right bade me, have I clutched thy heart."

The story of Medea, imconnected as it is with
any workings of destiny or fatal necessity — such as
humbled the pride of Theban and Argive Houses — has
been taxed with a want of proper tragical grandeur, as
if a picture of human passion were less fit for the
drama than one of the strife between Fate and Free-
wiU.

CHAPTER V

THE TWO IPHIGENIA8.

" I was 'cut off from hope in that sad place,

Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears :
My father held his hand upon his face ;

I, blinded %vith my tears.
Still strove to speak : my voice was thick with sighs.

As in a dream. Dimly I could descry
The stem black-bearded kings with wolfish eyes
Waiting to see me die."

—Tennyson: "A Dream of Fair Women."

About the fate of Iphigenia many stories were current
in Greece, and the version of it adopted by Euripides
is one among several instances of the freedom which
he permitted himself in dealing with old legends,
.^chylus in his " Agamemnon" and S(!tphocles in his
" Electra " make her to have been really sacrificed at
Aulis. Euripides chose a milder and . perhaps later
form of the story ; and if we have the conclusion of
the drama as he wrote it, Diana, at the last moment,
rescues the maiden, and substitutes in her place on the
altar — a fawn. To this change his own humane dis-
position may have led him, although he had in earlier

THE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 101

plays not scrupled to immolate Polyxena and Macaria.
Perhaps in the case of Iphigenia consistency required
of him to save her, since in the play, o:^ -which the
scene is laid at Tauri, the princess is alive twenty
years after her appearance at Aulis. Pausanias, as
diligent a collector of legendary lore as Sir Walter
Scott himself, says that a virgin was offered up at
Aulis to appease the wrath of the divine huntress, and
that her name was Iphigenia. This victim, however,
was not a daughter of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra,
hut of Theseus and Helen, whom her mother, through
fear of Menelaus, did not dare to own. In the Iliad,
that common source of the stage-poets when they dealt
with the tale of Troy, nothing is said ahout suhstitute
or sacrifice, nor about Iphigenia's ministering to Diana
at Taurl On the contrary,* the Homeric Iphianassa
— for that is her epic name — is safe and well with her
mother and sisters at Argos, and ten years after her
supposed death or escape is offered by Agamemnon as
a bride to Achilles.

The " Iphigenia in Aulis," in its relation to the
Grecian world, possessed, we may fairly surmise,
universal interest. For an audience composed, as that
in the Dionysiac theatre was, of Athenians, allies,
and strangers^ there were associations with the first

* " In his house
He hath three daughters : thou may'st home conduct
To Pthia her whom thou shalt most approve.
Chrysothemis shall be thy hride, or else
Laodice, or, if she please thee more,
Iphianassa."

— Iliad, ix. (Cowper.)

102 EURIPIDES.

general armament of the Greeks against foreigners,
with which a modern reader can but imperfectly sym-
pathise. Priam, Paris, Hector, Agamemnon, Achilles,
Helen, and Iphigenia had indeed, centuries before,
vanished into the shadow-land of Hades, and the quiet
sheep fed or the tortoise crawled over the mounds
where Troy once stood. Yet if the city buUt by Gods
now excited neither wrath nor dread in Greece, Persia
and the great King, though no longer objects of alarm,
were not beyond the limits of Hellenic anxiety or
vigilance, and were still able to vex Athens by their
" mines of Ophir," as once they had made her desolate
by their Median archers and the swarthy chivalry of
Susa. To Greece and the islands, the dwellers beyond
Mount Taurus represented the ancient foe whom it
had taken their ancestors ten years to vanquish ; and
scenic reminiscences of their first conflict with an
eastern adversary were still welcome to the third and
fourth generation of spectators, whose sires had fought
beside MUtiades and Cimon.*

The opening scene of the " Iphigenia in Aulis " has,
for picturesqueness, rarely if ever been surpassed. The
centre of the stage is occupied by the tent of Agamem-
non : supposing ourselves among the audience, we see
on the left hand of it the white tents and beyond
them the black ships of the Achaeans ; on the right, the
road to the open country by which Iphigenia and her

• When Agesilaus, king of Sparta, was about to pass into
Asia, as commander of the Greek army, he oflfered sacrifice to
Diana at Aulis, so lively an impression still remained of the
rash TOW of "the king of men."

THE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 103

mother Clytemnestra will soon arrive. The time is
night, the " brave o'erhanging firmament " is studded
with stars. The only sounds audible are the tramp
of sentinels, and the challenge of the watch : the camp
is wrapt in deep slumber : —

" Not the sound
Of birds is heard, nor of the sea ; the winds
Are hushed in silence."

" The king of men " is much agitated by some secret
grief. By the light of a " blazing lamp" he is writing
a letter : —

" The writing he does blot ; then seal,
And open it again ; then on the floor
Casts it in grief ; the warm tear from his eyes
Fast flowing, in his thoughts distracted near,
Even, it may seem, to madness."

The cause for the perturbation of his spirit is this : the
Grecian fleet has been detained at AuHs by thwarting
winds, and Calchas, the seer, has declared that Agamem-
non's daughter must be sacrificed to Diana, irate with
him because he has shot, while hunting, one of her
sacred deer. Unwittingly the Grecian commander has,
in order to conciliate her, vowed that he will offer to her
the most beautiful creature that the year of his child's
birth has produced. He has been persuaded by his
brother Menelaus to summon Iphigenia to Aulis, on
the pretext of giving her in marriage to Achilles.
He has sent a letter to Argos, directing Clytemnestra
to bring the maiden to the camp without delay.
Soon, however, the father recoils from this deceit,

104 EURIPIDES.

and he prepares a second letter, annulling the former
one, and enjoining his wife to remain at home. This
he commits to the hands of an old servant of Clytem-
nestra's, with injunctions to make all speed with it
to Argos ; but just as the messenger is passing the
borders of the camp, he is seized by Menelaus, who
breaks the seal, reads the missive, and hurries to up-
braid his brother with treachery to himself and the
general cause of HeUas. A sharp debate ensues be-
tween the brothers — one twitting the other with bad
faith ; the other taxing the husband of Helen with want
of proper feeling for his niece and himself, and chiding
him for taking such pains to get back that worthless
runaway, his wife. " K I," he says,

" Before ill judging, have with sobered thought
My purpose changed, must I be therefore judged
Reft of my sense ? Thou rather, who hast lost
A wife that brings thee shame, yet dost with warmth
Wish to regain her, may the favouring Gods
Grant thee such luck. But I will not slay
My children.

My nights, my days, would pass away in tears.
Did I with outrage and injustice wrong
Those who derive their life from me."

The brothers part in high dudgeon, Agamemnon
remaining on the stage ; and to him a messenger enters,
bearing the unwelcome tidings that Clytemnestra,
Iphigenia, and the infant Orestes, will soon make
glad his eyes, after their long separation. They are
close to the camp, though they have not yet entered
it, for —

TEE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 105

" Wearied witli this length of way, beside
A beauteous-flowing fountain they repose,
Themselves refreshing, and their steeds unyoked
Crop the fresh herbage of the verdant mead."

" Thou hast my thanks — ^go in," says the now utterly
wretched father to the messenger, and then tells in
soliloquy his woes to the audience. He is caught in
inextricable toils. Shall he cause the assembled host
to rise and mutiny, or shall he keep his rash vow, and
sacrifice his darling to the irate goddess — " what ruin
hath the son of Priam brought on me and my house ! "
It is now early morning, and the camp is astir, and
a murmur, gradually getting louder, is heard. The
chieftains and the soldiers are greeting the queen of
Argos and Mycenae, her fair daughter, and her infant
son. But before they enter, Menelaus has hurried
back, and is reconciled to his royal brother. The
younger king tells his liege lord that speedy repentance
has followed on the heels of his late hasty passion. He
has been moved by the tears of the distracted father :
he yields to the arguments used by him : —

" When from thine eye I saw thee drop the tear,
I pitied thee and wept myself : what I said then
I now unsay, no more unkind to thee.
Now feel I as thou feelest — nay, exhort thee
To spare thy child ; for what hath she to do,
Thy \Trgin daughter, with my erring wife ?
Break up the army, let the troops depart.
Within this breast there beats a loving heart.
Love or ambition shall not us divide.
Though they part brethren oft."

106 EURIPIDES.

A second choral song follows this reconciliation
scene ; and then the chariot that has brought Clytem-
nestra and her young children appears on the right hand
of the royal tent. She is welcomed by the Chorus, and
assisted by them to alight. In Clytemnestra, Euripides
shows how delicately he can delineate female characters,
and how happily he has seized the opportunity for
exhibiting the Lady Macbeth or Lucrezia Borgia of
the Greek stage as a loving wife and mother. The seeds
of evil passions were dormant in her nature, but until
she was deeply wronged they bore not fruit. Cly-
temnestra in this play is a fond mother, a trusting
wife, a very woman, even shy, unpretending, unversed
in courts or camps. To the Chorus, after acknowledg-
ing their "courtesy and gentleness of speech," she
says : —

" I hope that I am come
To happy nuptials, leading her a bride.
But from the chariot take the dowry-gifts,
Brought with me for the virgin : to the house
Bear them with careful hands. My daughter, leave
The chariot now, and place upon the ground
Thy delicate foot. Kind women, in your arms
Receive her — she is tender ; prithee too.
Lend me a hand, that I may leave this seat
In seemly fashion. Some stand by the yoke,
Fronting the horses ; they are quick of eye.
And hard to rule when startled. Now receive
This child, an infant still. Dost sleep, my boy ?
The rolling of the car hath wearied thee :
Yet wake to see thy sister made a bride ;
A noble youth, the bridegroom, Thetis' son.
And he will wed into a noble house."

THE TWO IPHIOENIAS. 107

She enters without pomp or circumstance, with only
an attendant or two. Knowing his name, she displays
no further curiosity about the supposed bridegroom :
whatever her husband has designed must, she thinks,
be good. She, a half-divine princess of the race of Tan-
talus, the sister of Helen and of the great Twin-Breth-
ren, the consort of " the king of men," is nevertheless
an uninstructed Grecian housewife. She knows noth-
ing of the genealogy of AcMlles, at least on the father's
side. She has never heard of the Myrmidons : she
knows not where Pthia may be : she asks what mortal
or what goddess became the wife of Peleus ', and when
told that she is the sea-nymph Thetis, who but for a
warning oracle would have been the spouse of Jupiter,
she wonders where the rites of Hymen were celebrated,
on firm land or in some ocean cave. The childlike
amazement and delight of Iphigenia also are drawn by
a master's hand. Not Thecla, when first entering
Wallenstein's palace and seeing the royal state by
which her father was surrounded ; not Miranda, gaz-
ing for the first time upon "the brave new world,"*
are more delicate creations of poetic fancy than Iphi-
genia.

Bearing in mind what the representation of strong
emotions can be on the modern stage, where the face
and limbs of the actors are free to exhibit the varying
moods of a tragic character, it is most difficult, or

* " Oh wonder !
How many goodly creatures are there here !
How beauteous mankind is ! Oh, brave new world
That has such people in it ! "

— " Tempest," act v. so. 1.

108 EURIPIDES.

rather impossible, to understand how passion or pathos
could be interpreted by men so encumbered as the
actors were on the ancient stage by their masks, their
high boots, and their cumbersome robes. And as the
scene in which Agamemnon receives the newly-arrived
Clytemnestra and his daughter is a mixed one, — joy
simulated, fear and grief suppressed, on his part — hap-
piness in the unlooked-for meeting ^vith a husband
and father, and hope for the approaching nuptials, on
theirs, — it is impossible to conceive how it can have
been adequately represented. The painter who drew
Agamemnon at Diana's altar veiling his face that
he might not look on his victim, had at least an
opportunity for conveying the presence of grief
*' too deep for tears." But how could the father's
emotions in this scene have been imparted to an
audience? The Greek actor differed little from a
statue except in the possession of voice, and in a
certain, though a limited, range of expressive gesture.
That these imperfect mean&, as they appear to us,
sufficed for an intelligent and susceptible audience,
there is no reason to doubt; and we must content
ourselves with the assurance that the performer and
the mechanist supplied all that was then needed for
the full expression of terror and pity.

The character of Achilles is delineated with great
skill and feKcity. The hero of the Iliad is a most dra-
matic portraiture of one who has, in spite of his pride
and wilfulness, many compensating virtues. If his
passions are strong, so are his affections : if he is im-

THE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 109

placable to mailed foes, lie is generous and even tender
to weeping Priam : he knows that he hears a doomed
life if he tarries on Trojan ground, yet though highly-
provoked by Agamemnon, he abides constant to the
oath he had taken as one of the suitors of Helen.
But the Achilles of the " Iphigenia," although a peer-
less soldier, the Paladin of the Achaean host — a Greek
Bayard, " sans peur et sans reproche " — is a modest,
nay, even a shy stripling, blushing like a girl when
he comes suddenly into the presence of liis destined
bride and her mother : not easily moved, yet perplexed
and indignant in the extreme when he discovers that
his name has been used as a lure, and full of pity for,
and prompt to aid, the unhappy victims of a cruel and
unnatural plot. Achilles, indeed, in the hands of
Euripides, is an anticipation of the Knight in the Can-
terbury Tales : —

" And though that he was worthy, he was wys :
And of his port as meke as is a mayde :
He never yit no vilonye ne sayde.
In al his lyf imto no manner wight :
He was a verry perfit gentd knight."

1^0 chance of extricating himself from the dreadful
consequences of his summons to Clytemnestra remains
for Agamemnon, except the very slender one of per-
suading her to return alone to Argos. This she stoutly,
and, in her ignorance of his secret motive, reasonably
refuses to do. A sharp connubial encounter ensues, in
which Agamemnon does not get the best of it. A

110 EURIPIDES.

very short extract only can be afforded to their con-
troversy. After asking sundry pertinent questions
ahout the young bridegroom and the marriage cere-
mony— in which the speakers are at cross -purposes,
Clytemnestra meaning the wedding, while Agamem-
non's replies covertly allude to the sacrifice — he aston-
ishes her by a most unexpected demand upon her obe-
dience ! " Obey you !" she exclaims ; " you have long
trained me to do so, but in what am I now to show my
obedience ? "

" Agam. To Argos go, thy charge the virgins there.
Clyt. And leave my daughter ? Who shall raise the

torch ?
Agam. The light to deck the nuptials I will hold.
Clyt. Custom forbids ; nor wouldst thou deem it

seemly.
Agam. Nor decent that thou mix with banded troops.
Clyt. But decent that the mother give the daughter.
Agam. Let me persuade thee.

Clyt. By the potent Queen,

Goddess of Argos, no. Of things abroad
Take thou the charge : within the house my care
Shall deck the virgin's nuptials, as is meet,"

Agamemnon, now at his wits' end, says he will go
and consult Calchas, and hear from him whether any-
thing can be done to set him right with Diana.

Matters are hurrying to a crisis. Achilles enters,
after the choral song has ceased, thinking to find Aga-
memnon, and then to inform him that the Myrmidons
are on the very edge of mutiny, and that he cannot
hold them in much longer. He says : —

THE TWO IPHIGENJAS. Ill

" With impatient instance oft
They urge me : * Why, Achilles, stay we here ?
What tedious length of time is yet to pass.
To Ilium ere we sail ? Wouldst thou do aught,
Do it, or lead us home : nor here await
The sons of Atreus and their long delays.' "

Instead of his commander-in-chief he finds Clyteni-
nestra, who greatly scandalises him by offering her
hand to her destined son-in-law. She, on her part,
is surprised at a modesty so uncommon in young
men. The old slave, the same whom Menelaus so
roughly handles at the opening of the drama, now
comes forward and unfolds the mystery. Clytemnes-
tra sues to the captain of the Myrmidons for protection
against the cruel " black-bearded kings : " he is highly
incensed at having been made a cat's-paw of by Aga-
memnon, Calchas the seer, and the crafty Ulysses, and
promises to do all in his power to rescue Iphigenia
from her fearful doom, even at any risk to himself from
his impatient soldiers.

Agamemnon now reappears. Ignorant that his wife
is now furnished with all the facts he had withheld, he
is greatly discomfited by her upbraiding him with his
weak and wicked consent to the sacrifice o£ Iphigenia.
After threatening him with her vengeance — a threat she
some years later fulfilled — she descends to entreaties,
and prays him to spare their child. And now comes
the most afiecting scene of the tragedy. Iphigenia,
aware that she is not the destined bride but the chosen
victim, implores her father to change his purpose; and
the more to prevail with him, brings in her arms her

112 ECRIPIDES.

infant brother, Orestes, to move him to spare her. Aga-
memnon, however, declares, he is so compromised with
the Greeks that he cannot recede. His own life will
be in danger from the infuriated host, if he any longer
withholds the appointed victim. Again Achilles rushes
on with the news that his soldiers have sworn to kill
him, if for the sake of a young maiden he any longer
detains them at Aulis. And now the daughter of a
line of heroes shows herself heroic. She will be the
victim whom the goddess demands. Troy shall fall :
Greece shall triumph : in place of marriage and happy
years, she will die for the common weal. Her father
shall be glorious to all ages : she will be content with
the renown of saving Hellas. With much compunc-
tion, and with some hesitation on the part of the chiv-
alrous Achilles, all now accept the stern necessity. In
solemn procession, and with a funeral chant sung by
the victim and the Chorus, she goes to the altar of
Diana. The end of the tragedy, as we have it, is pro-
bably spurious, so far as the substitution of the fa^vn is
concerned. The real conclusion seems to have been
the appearance of the goddess over the tent of Aga-
memnon, to inform the weeping mother that her
daughter is not dead, but borne away to a remote land,
the Tauric Chersonese. They are parted for ever, yet
there may be consolation in knowing Iphigenia has
not descended to the gloomy Hades, " the bourne from
which no traveller returns."

Mr Paley remarks, with his unfailing insight into
the pith and marrow of the Grecian drama, that " Aris-
totle cites the character of Iphigenia at Auhs as an

I

THE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 113

example of want of consistency or uniformity ; since
she first supplicates for life, and afterwards consents to
die. It is difficult to attribute much weight to the
criticism, though it comes with the sanction of a great
name. The part of Iphigenia throughout appears sin-
gularly natural. Her first impulse is to live ; but when
she clearly perceives how much depends on her volun-
tary death, and how Achilles, her champion, is compro-
mised by his dangerous resolve to save her — lastly, how
the Greeks are bent on the expedition, from motives
of national honour — she yields herself up a willing
victim. It would be quite as reasonable to object to
Menelaus's sudden change of purpose, from demanding
the death of the maid, to the refusing to consent to it."

IPHIGENIA AT TAUEI.

Twenty years have passed since the concluding
scene of " Iphigenia in Aulis " before the opening of
this drama. Ten years were spent in the siege of
Troy, another ten in the return of the surviving heroes
to their homes. From the moment when the young
daughter of Agamemnon is borne away from the altar
at Aulis, she has been devoted to the service of Diana
at Tauri — a goddess who, like the ferocious deities of
the Mexicans, delighted in the savour of human blood.
From that moment, also, Iphigenia has remained
ignorant of the great events that have taken place
since her rescue. She knows not that Troy has fal-
len ; that her father has been murdered and avenged ;

A. c. vol. xii. H

lU EURIPIDES.

that her brother Orestes and her sister Electra yet
live, but under the ban of gods and men; or that
Helen, the ** direful spring " of so many woes to
Greece, is once more queen at Sparta. Little chance,
indeed, was there of her getting news of her country
or kindred in the inhospitable country to which she
had been brought. The land where Tauri * stood was
shunned by all Greeks, for the welcome awaiting them
there was death on the altar of the goddess, to whom
men of their race were the most acceptable of victims.
But the end of her long exile and the hour assigned
for her restoration to home and kindred were at hand.
A Greek vessel arrives at this remote and barbarous
region; and two strangers, immediately after the
priestess of Diana has spoken a kind of prologue,
come upon the stage, and cautiously, as persons afraid
of being seen, survey the temple. Though they have
had foul weather and rough seas, they are not ship-
wrecked, but have come with a special object to this
perilous land. That object is apparently of the most
desperate kind, for the strangers are not only Greeks,
but have come, in obedience to an oracle, to carry off
and transport to Attica the tutelary goddess of Tauri.
In the prologue the audience is prepared to recognise
in the two persons on the stage Orestes and his friend
Pylades ; for Iphigenia relates a dream she has had
on the previous night, but which she misinterprets.
She believes it to mean that Orestes, whom she had
left an infant at Aulis, is dead, and proposes to offer

* The action of the play is fixed at the now historic Bala-
clava, in the Crimea.

THE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 115

libations to his shade. Orestes and his friend, having
satisfied themselves that this is the temple whence the
image, by force or fraud, must be taken away, retire
and give place to the Chorus, not indeed without
some misgivings on the part of Orestes as to the pos-
sibility of executing their enjoined task. " The walls
are high," he says — " the doors are barred with brass ;
even if we can cUmb the one and force the other, how
shall we escape the watchful eyes of those who guard
the shrine or dwell in the city ? If detected, we shall
be put to death : —

" Shall we, then, ere we die, by flight regain
The ship, in which we hither ploughed the sea ? "

" Of flight we must not think," rejoins Pylades ;
" the god's command must be obeyed. But we have
seen enough of the temple for the present ; and now
let us retire to some cave where

" We may lie concealed
At distance from oiu" ship, lest some, whose eyes
May note it, bear the tidings to the king.
And we be seized by force."

What Pylades had dreaded happens. The Chorus,
as soon as their song, in which Iphigenia takes a part,
is ended, say to her, —

" Leaving the sea- washed shore an herdsman comes,
Speeding with some fresh tidings."

The herdsman's report of what he has seen is most
strange and exciting to the hearers of it. He opens

116 EURIPIDES.

it with apprising the priestess that she must get all
things ready for a sacrifice, for

" Two youths, swift rowing 'twixt the dashing rocks
Of our wild sea, are landed on the beach,
A grateful oflfering at Diana's shrine.

" At first one of my comrades took them, as they sat in
the cavern, for two deities ; but another said, they are
wrecked mariners : and he was in the right, as soon it
proved ; for one of the twain was suddenly seized with
madness, while the other soothed him in his frenzy,^

" Wiped off the foam, took of his person care.
And spread his fine robe over huu.

** The mad one had assailed our herds, mistaking them,
it seems, for certain Furies that hunt him ; whereupon
we, seeing the havoc he was making, blew our horns,
called the neighbours to our aid, and at last, after a
desperate resistance from these strange visitors, we
captured them both, —

" And bore them to the monarch of this land :
He viewed them, and without delay to thee
Sent them, devoted to the cleansing vase
And to the altar."

Hitherto the hand of Iphigenia is unspotted by the
blood of human victims. The prisoners are the first
Greeks who have landed on this fatal coast. She is
still under the influence of her dream. Her convic-
tion that Orestes is dead, her remembrance of the
wrong done to her at Aulis, combine to harden her

THE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 117

against the prisoners before tlaey are presented to her.
When, however, she has seen and interrogated them
as to their nation and whence they come, her mood
changes. Her ignorance of what has taken place since
she left Argos is now dispersed, ifot only does she
learn that the Greeks have taken Troy and returned
to their homes, but also that Orestes is living. He
evades, indeed, her questions as to himself; he will
not disclose his name and parentage, and is unaware
that Ms sister stands before him. " Argives both are
ye ] " she says, " then one of you shall be spared, and
he shall take a letter from me to my brother." Then
follows the celebrated contest between the pair of
friends as to which of them shall do her commission.
The deeply affecting character of this scene was felt in
aU lands where the tragedy was represented. " What
shouts, what excitement," says Lsehus, " pervaded the
theatre at the representation of my friend Pacuvius's
new play, when the contest took place between Orestes
and Pylades, each claiming the privilege of dying for
the other ! " * Then comes the recognition between
the long-parted brother and sister. Iphigenia will not
trust to mere oral communication. She will write as
well as give a verbal message. She reads the letter to
the captives. She takes this precaution for two rea-
sons : —

" If thou preserve
This letter, that, though silent, wUl declare
My purport ; if it perish in the sea,
Saving thyself my words too shalt thou save."

* Cicero on Friendship, c. 7.

118 EURIPIDES.

Brother and sister are now made manifest to each
other. The priestess is the long-lost Iphigenia : the
stranger is the brother whom she had held an infant
in her arms, and whom she was mourning as dead. The
method by which ^Eschylus and Sophocles bring about
the discovery is consistent with their sublimer genius ;
that which Euripides adopts is equally consonant with
his more human temperament, no less than with his
views of dramatic art.

The deliverance of the friends and the priestess is
still hard to accomplish ; they are begirt with peril.
Iphigenia knows too well the religious rigour of the
Taurian king. Thoas is a devout worshipper of Diana ;
is an inexorable foe to Greeks. His subjects and
his guards are equally hostile towards strangers and
loyal to their goddess. K they cannot escape, the
intruders wiU be immolated, and the priestess be a
third victim on the blood-stained altar. And now
Iphigenia proves that she is Greek to the core. She
can plot craftUy : she will even hazard the wrath of
a deity by a timely fraud. King Thoas, little more
than a simple country gentleman, dividing his time
between field-sports and ceremonies sacred or civil, is
no match for three wily Greeks. "The statue of
Diana," she tells him, " must be taken down to the
beach and purified by the sea ; the two strangers, be-
fore they are sacrificed, must undergo lustration."
" Take the caitiffs by all means," he says, " to the
shore. A guard must attend you, for they are stal-
wart knaves ; one of them has murdered his mother,
and the other prompted and abetted him in that foul

THE TWO IPHIOENIAS. 119

crime." For a while the soldiers are persuaded to leave
Iphigenia alone with the strangers, while she performs
the necessary rites. At length her delay rouses their
suspicion, and they discover that, so far from render-
ing the statue and the prisoners meet for the sacrifice,
they are plotting not only flight, hut theft. One of
them brings the intelligence to Thoas : —

" At length we all resolved
To go, though not permitted, where they were.
There we beheld the Grecian bark with oars
Well furnished, winged for flight ; and at their seats
Grasping their oars were fifty rowers : free
From chains beside the stern the two youths stood.

Debate
Now rose : What mean you, saiUng o'er the seas,
The statue and the priestess from the land
By stealth conveying 1 Whence art thou, and who,
That bear'st her, like a purchased slave, away 1
He said, I am her brother, be of this
Informed, Orestes, son of Agamemnon ;
My sister, so long lost, I bear away.
Recovered here."

Orestes and his crew release Iphigenia from the
guards, and drive them up the rocks, —

" With dreadful marks
Disfigured and bloody bruises : from the heights
We hm-led at them fragments of rock : but vainly.
The bowmen with their arrows drove us thence."

The sea, however, swept back the galley to the
beach, and not even the fifty rowers can propel it out
of harbour.

120 EURIPIDES.

" Haste then, 0 king,
Take chains and gyves with thee ; for if the flood
Subside not to a calm, there is no hope
Of safety for the strangers,"

Thoas needs no prompter. He calls to the people
of Tauri to avenge this insult to their goddess ; —

" Harness your steeds at once : will you not fly
Along the shore, to seize whate'er this ship
Of Greece casts forth, and, for your goddess roused.
Hunt down these impious men ? Will you not launch
Instant your swift-oared barks by seas, on land
To catch them, from the rugged rock to hurl
Their bodies, or impale them on the stake ? "

To the Chorus he hints that, inasmuch as they have
known all along and concealed the dark designs of the
recreant priestess and her two confederates in this sac-
rilegious crime, he will, at more leisure, " devise brave
punishments" for them.

The capture of the fugitives is unavoidable ; and if
they are once more in his grasp, the pious and wrath-
ful king will leave no member of Agamemnon's family
alive except the sad and solitary Electra. Euripides
now settles the matter by his usual device, an inter-
vening deity. Pallas Athene appears above the temple
of Diana, and apprises Thoas that it is her pleasure
that both the priestess and the image shall be carried
to Greece by Orestes, where the worship of the Tauriaii
Artemis, purged of its sanguinary rites, shall be estab-
lished at Halae and Brauron in Attica. Thoas is satis-
fied. Agamemnon's children are free to depart ; and

THE TWO IPHIGENIAS. 121

Pylades, as a reward for his long-enduring friendship,
is to marry Electra.

Should this drama, in virtue of its happy conclu-
sion, be accounted, along with the " Alcestis " and the
" Helen " of Euripides, a tragi-comedy ? In one re-
spect the " Ipliigenia at Tauri " stands apart from these
plays. In the former, there is something approach-
ing to the comic in the person of Hercules ; in the
latter, something even Tisible in the garb of Menelaus,
and m his conversation with the old woman who is
hall-porter in the palace of Theocly menus. The drama,
however, that has now been examined, is from its be-
ginning to its end full of action, excitement, suspense,
dread, and uncertainty. The doom of a race, as well
as individuals, is at stake ; and the prospect of the
principal characters is gloomy in the extreme, until
their rescue by a deity delivers them from further
suifering. Both "Iphigenias" derive much of their
attractions for all times and ages from the deeply
domestic tenor of the story. " How many * Iphi-
genias ' have been written ! " said Goethe. " Yet they
are all different, for each writer manages the subject
after his own fashion."

CHAPTEE VI.

THE BACCHAlfALS.

" Over wide streams and mountains great we went.
And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy-tent.
Onward the tiger and the leopard pants

With Asian elephants :
We follow Bacchus ! Bacchus on the wing,

A-conquering !
Bacchus, young Bacchus ! good or ill betide.
We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide :
C!ome hither, lady fair, and joined be

To our wild minstrelsy."

—Keats : " Endymion,"

This is the only extant Greek tragedy connected with
the wanderings and worship of the wine-god, at whose
festivals the Greek theatres were open, and from song
and 'dance in whose honour the drama of Greece derived
its origin. The subject, when Euripides took it up,
was not new to the stage. Among the dramas ascribed
to Thespis, one was entitled " Pentheus ; " and another
by him, " The Bachelors," may have treated of Lycurgus,
also a vehement opposer of Bacchic rites. .(Eschylus
exhibited two trilogies, in which Pentheus and
Lycurgus were the principal characters. The serene

THE BACCHANALS. 123

muse of Sophocles appears to have avoided such excit-
ing themes.

" The Bacchanals" was not hrought out in the life-
time of Euripides. It was exhibited by a younger
man of the same name, his son or his nephew. If it
were, as it is supposed to have been, the work of one
far advanced in years, it displays no trace of declining
powers, and, in that respect, is on a par with the
Sophoclean " QEdipus at Colonos." From its scenes and
subject it was probably composed after Euripides had
quitted Athens ; and there may have been reasons for
liis writing this tragedy at Pella, as a compliment to
his host and patron Archelaus. The play, indeed, was
well suited to the genius of the land, and the people
before whom it was represented. Northern Greece,
Macedonia, and the adjoining districts, were devout
worshippers of Bacchus, both in faith and practice.
Alexander's " captains and colonels and knights at
arms" astonished the more sober Asiatics by their
capacity for deep potations. The women of Thrace,
Thessaly, and Macedonia, when the purple vintage
was garnered, and the vats overflowed with red juice,
celebrated harvest -home by putting on ivy-chaplets
and tunics made of lion or deer skins, by brandishing
the thyrsus, and by wild and violent dances. Olym-
pias, the mother of Alexander, was a Bacchant^, and
at certain seasons of the year whirled around the altars
of the god, with snakes depending from her girdle
and her hair. In this picturesque, if rather savage
dress, she is said to have won the heart of King Philip,
himself a most loyal subject of the jovial deity.

124 EURIPIDES.

The poet of " The Bacchanals," now a voluntary exile
at Pella, seems to have reinvigorated himself under a
new sky, and to exult in his freedom. He had gone
from a land tamed and domesticated by the hand of
man, to a land in which nature was stUl imperfectly
subdued. In the place of vineyards, oliveyards, and
gardens, forests and mountains greeted his eyes.
Broad rivers were in the room of the narrow and
uncertain streams that watered Attica. The snows
on Mount Fames disappeared when the sun rode
iu Cancer ; but they never departed from the sides
and summits of Ossa and Olympus. There is a Salva-
tor-like grandeur in the scenery described in "The
Bacchanals." The action of the play lies indeed in
Boeotia; but, instead of loamy fields and sluggish
rivers, we are placed among rocks where the eagle
builds her eyrie, or among forests tenanted by the
wolf and bear.

The religious elements in " The Bacchanals " are
worth noticing, since they differ widely from those
commonly found in other plays of its author. The
presiding god is a terrible as well as a powerful being.
He admits of no half-service; he cannot abide sceptics;
he makes short work with opponents. All such free
and easy dealing with the gods as are met with in
"The Phrenzy of Hercules" or the "Electra" disappears.
Perhaps the Macedonians were not sufficiently civilised
to relish tampering "with old beliefs. There may also
have been a change in the feelings of the aged poet
himself. He may have said to himself, " What has it
profited me to have so long striven to make others see

THE BACCHANALS. 125

more clearly 1 Would it not have been wiser to do as
my friend Sophocles has ever done, and view both
gods and social relations with the eyes of the vulgar 1 "
Unimpaired as his mental force must have been for him
to write such a tragedy as " The Bacchanals," his bodily
strength may have been touched by years. We are
not told whether either of his wives accompanied him
to Pella ; if neither of them were with him, there
was the less occasion for philosophy. Whatever the
cause may have been, there is more faith than doubt
or speculation to be found in this tragedy.

The action of " The Bacchanals " is laid in a re-
mote age, and there is an Oriental quite as much as
a Greek savour in the poetry. Cadmus, who has
ceded the Theban sceptre to his grandson Pentheus,
was by birth a Phoenician, not a Boeotian. He lived
before the Greek Argo had rushed through the blue
Symplegades to the Colchian strand. He is beyond
recorded time ; he " antiquates " common " antiquity."
His intercourse with the gods has been intimate but
not happy. Jupiter had taken a fancy to his sister
Europa, and to one of his daughters — and by her,
Semele, he is, though long unaware of it, grandfather
to Bacchus.

When the play opens, all Thebes — its male popula-
tion, at least — is perplexed in the extreme. The women
are all gone mad : they are off to the mountains, and
many of them have taken their children with them ;
for their customary suits they have donned fawn-skins ;
they brandish poles wreathed with ivy : shouting and
singing, dancing and leaping, they scour the plains.

126 EURIPIDES.

climb the hills, and scare the fox and the wild cat
from their holes. From this sudden mania neither age
nor rank is free : sober housewives are themselves doing
what a few days before they would have blushed to
see done by others. Even the Queen Agav^ and her
attendant ladies are swept into the vortex, and prance
like so many peasant girls at a wake.

The cause of this strange and unseemly revel is the
appearance in Boeotia of a young man of handsome
presence, with flowing locks like grape-bunches, and a
delicate yet somewhat ruddy visage. His errand to
Thebes is a strange one. He pretends to be a native
of that city ; he points to a charred mound of earth as
his mother's grave, and, wondrous to relate, since he
first visited it, the blackened turf is covered and
canopied over ■with a luxuriant vine ! He began by
claiming near kinship with the royal house of Cadmus ;
and because the female members scoffed at his pre-
tensions, he drives them insane. His retinue are as
strange as his errand. It is composed of dark-eyed
swarthy women, such as might be seen in the streets
of Tyre and Sidon celebrating the feast of Astarte
with dance and song. The dull, yet by no means
sober, Boeotians cannot tell what to make of these
eccentric visitors. Some think that the magistrates —
the Boeotarchs — should clap them into the town jaU :
but how to catch, and, when caught, how to keep, tliese
wild damsels, is the difficulty ; for they are as slippery
to handle as the eels in Lake Copais, and as fierce as
the lynxes that swarm on Mount Cithaeroru Never
had Thebes, since Amphion had drawn the stones of

THE BACCHANALS. 127

its walls together by his minstrelsy, been in such
perturbation.

Who the young stranger with grape-bunch locks is,
the audience are told by himself in the prologue. He
is what he pretends to be, the son of Jupiter and
Semele. He has travelled far before he came to
Thebes to establish his rites and claim his kindred.
" I have left," he says,

" The golden Lydian shores,
The Phrygian and the Persian sun-seared plains,
And Bactria's walls ; the Medes' wild wintry land
Have passed, and^Araby the blest ; and all
Of Asia that along the salt- sea coast
Lifts up her high-towered cities, where the Greeks,
With the Barbarians mingled, dwell in peace." *

Hitherto, wherever I have come, mankind has ac-
knowledged me a god : the first opposition I have
met with is in this, the first Hellenic town I have
entered : —

" Biit here, where least beseemed, my mother's sisters
Vowed Dionysus was no son of Jove ;
That Semelfe, by mortal paramour won,
Belied great Jove as author of her sin ;
'Twas but old Cadmus' craft : hence Jove in wrath
Struck dead the bold usurper of his bed."

In requital for such usage, he has goaded all the
women of Thebes into frenzy : —

" There's not a woman of old Cadmus' race
But I have maddened from her qiuet house ;

* The translated passages are all taken from Dean Milman's
version of this drama.

128 EURIPIDES.

Unseemly mingled with the sons of Thebes,

On the roofless rocks 'neath the pale pines they sit."

Cadmus the king, and Tiresias the seer, well know-
ing that Bacchus is really what he assumes to be —
after a little hesitation about their novel attire in
fa^vn-skins, their ivy-crown, and thyrsus, determine
to join the Bacchanal rout ; and Tiresias, as the king's
ghostly confessor, preaches to him the following doc-
trine, sound indeed in itself, but uncommon in Euri-
pidean drama : —

" No wile, no paltering with the deities.
The ancestral faith, coeval with our race,
No subtle reasoning, if it soar aloft,
Even to the height of wisdom, can o'erthrow."

Their purpose, however, to speed at once to the
mountains, is stayed by the entrance of Pentheus, who
has been absent from home, but has come back, in hot
haste, on hearing of these strange and evil doings in
his city. He will crush, he will stamp out, this pes-
tilent new religion — a religion having in it quite as
much of Venus as of Bacchus. Gyves and the prison-
house shall be the portion of these wild women; and
as for that wizard from the land of Lydia, —

" If I catch him 'neath this roof, I'll silence
The beatings of his thyrsus, stay his locks'
WUd tossing, from his body severing his head."

As for his grandsire, and the "blind prophet" his com-
panion, he cannot marvel enough at their folly ; nay,
wroth as he is, he can scarcely help laughing at their

THE BACCHANALS. 129

fawn-skin robes, " However," he proceeds, " I know
which of you two fatuous old men is most in. fault, and
I will take such order with him as shall spoil his pro-
phecies for some time to come : —

" Some one go ;
The seats from which he spies the flight of birds,
False augur, with the iron forks o'erthrow,
Scattering in wild confusion all abroad,
And cast his chaplets to the Avinds and storms."

The elders, implore him to cease from his blasphe-
mies : and Cadmus, rather prudently than honestly,
counsels him to profess faith in the new deity, if for
no other reason, yet for the credit of the family : —

" Even if, as thou declar'st, he were no God,
Call thou him. God. It were a splendid falsehood
If Semele be thought t' have borne a God."

But Pentheus spurns this accommodating advice, and
Cadmus and Tiresias wend their way to the Bac-
chanal camp on the mountains. The Chorus takes up
the charge of blasphemy, and hints at the end await-
ing the impious king : —

" Of tongue unbridled, without awe,
Of madness spiuning holy law,
Sorrow is the heaven-doomed close ;
But the life of calm repose,
And modest reverence, holds her state.
Unbroken by disturbing fate ;
And knits whole houses in the tie
Of sweet domestic harmony.
Beyond the range of mortal eyes
'Tis not wisdom to be wise."
A. c. vol. xiL I

130 EURIPIDES.

The wish of Pentheus to have in his power tho
deluder of the Theban women is soon gratified. Bac-
chus, in a comely human form, is brought manacled
before bim. The king, thinking that now he cannot
escape, leisurely contemplates the prisoner, and is
greatly struck by his appearance : —

" There's beauty, stranger ! woman-witching beauty
(Therefore thou art in Thebes) in thy soft form ;
Thy fine bright hair, not coarse like the hard athletes,
Is mantling o'er thy cheek warm with desire ;
And carefully thou hast cherished thy white skin ;
Not in the sim's soft beams, but in cool shade,
Wooing soft Aphrodite with thy loveliness."

Then follows a close examination of the fair-visaged
sorcerer about his race, his orgies, and his purpose in
coming to Thebes, and at the end of it he is sent off
to the " royal stable," —

" That he may sit in midnight gloom profound :
There lead thy dance ! But those thou hast hither led,
Thy guilt's accomplices, we'll sell for slaves ;
.Or, silencing their noise and beating drums,
As handmaids to the distaff set them down."

Bacchus does not long remain in the dark stable.
He appears, " a god-confest," to his worsliippers, who
are prostrate on the ground, alarmed by the destruction
of the palace of Pentheus. They ask how he obtained
his freedom ; he replies : —

" Myself, myseK delivered — with ease and effort slight.
Cho. Thy hands, had he not bound them, in halters
strong and tight ?

THE BACCHANALS. 131

Bac. 'Twas even then I mocked him, he thought me
in his chain ;
He touched me not, nor reached me, his idle thovights
were vain."

Unharmed, unshackled, he again stands before the
incensed king, A messenger now airives — a herds-
man from the mountains — who reports that the Bac-
chanals have broken prison, have defied aU attempts
to recapture them, are again engaged in their revelries,
and have ravaged all the villages and herds that came
in their way from the plain to the hill-country. The
drama now takes a new turn. Pentheus, his madness
fast coming on, admits his late prisoner into his coun-
sels. He will go and witness with his own eyes these
hateful orgies : he cannot trust his officers to deal with
them. "These women," he says, "without force of
arms, I'll bring them in. Give me mine armour."
Bacchus offers to be his guide, but tells him that his
armour wiU betray him to the women. He must
attire himself in Bacchanalian costume : —

" Pen. Lead on and swiftly. Let no time be lost.
Bac. But first enwrap thee in these linen robes.
Pen. What, will he of a man make me a woman ?
Bac. Lest they should kill thee, seeing thee as a man."

Here is the true irony of tragedy. Pentheus, who has
derided his grandsire and the holy prophet for their
unseemly attire and senile folly, — Pentheus, who has
threatened to behead the Lydian wizard, and had im-
prisoned his attendants, is himself persuaded by the
god he so abhors to put on the garb of a Bacchanal,

132 EURIPIDES.

and in that guise to pass through the streets of Thebes.
His eagerness to behold the Bacchantes makes him in-
sensible to the indignity of the situation. He asks —

" What is the second portion of my dress ?

Bac. Robes to thy feet, a bonnet on thy head ;

A fawn-skin and a thyrsus in thy hand.''

He takes for his guide to the mountains the handsome
stranger whom he had so recently ordered to sit in
darkness and prepare for death : he is even obsequious
to him : —

" So let us on : I must go forth in arms,
Or follow the advice thou givest me."

Bacchus caUs to his train, and gives his instructions
to them how to deal with their prey, when they have
him in the toils : —

" "Women ! this man is in our net ; he goes
To find his just doom 'mid the Bacchanals.
Vengeance is ours. Bereave him first of sense ;
Yet be his phrenzy slight. In his right mind
He never had put on a woman's dress ;
But now, thus shaken in his mind, he'll wear it.
A laughing-stock I'll make him for all Thebes,
Led in a woman's dress through the wide city."

The Chorus respond to the summons of their divine
leader in passionate and jubilant strains, and antici-
pate the doom of their persecuting foe : —

" Slow come, but come at length,
In their majestic strength,
Faithful and true, the avenging deities :

THE BACCHANALS. 133

And chastening human folly

And the mad pride unholy,
Of those who to the gods bow not their knees.

For hidden still and mute.

As glides their printless foot,
Th' impious on their winding path they hound, .

For it is ill to know.
Beyond the law's inexorable bound."

Mania now seizes on Pentheus ; two suns he seems to
see : a double Thebes : his guide appears to him a
horned bull : he recognises among the Bacchic revellers
Ino his kinswoman, and Agav^ his mother.

The decorum of the Greek stage, or perhaps its imper-
fect means for representing groups and rapid action, pre-
cluded poets generally from bringing before an audience
the catastrophe of tragic dramas. Accordingly, we do
not see, hut are told, by the usual messenger on such
occasions, of the miserable end of the proud and im-
pious Theban king. When Bacchus and his victim
have climbed one of the spurs of Moimt Cithseron,
they come

" To a rock-walled glen, watered by a streamlet,
And shadowed o'er with pines : the Moenads there
Sat, all their hands busy with pleasant toU.
And some the leafy thyrsus, that its ivy
Had dropped away, were garlanding anew :
Like fillies some, unharnessed from the yoke,
Chanted alternate all the Bacchic hymn."

But Pentheus cannot, from the level on which he has
halted, see the whole Bacchante troop : he desires to
mount on a bank or a tall tree, in order that

" Clearly he may behold their deeds of shame."

134 EURIPIDES.

Then says the messenger, —

" A wonder then I saw that stranger do."

" He bent the stem of a tall ash-tree, and dragged it
to earth till it was bent like a bow. He seated
Pentheus on a bough, and then let it rise up again,
steadily and gently, so that my master should not fall
as it mounted. Raised to this giddy height, 'tis true,
he saw the women, but they too saw him, and speedily
brought him down to the ground on which they were
standing. But before they did so, the stranger had
vanished, and a voice was heard from the heavens pro-
claiming in clear ringing tones : —

« Behold ! I bring,
O maidens, him that you and me, our rites,
Our orgies laughed to scorn. Deal now with him
E'en as you list, and take a full revenge."

The presence of the god, though unseen, was an-
nounced by a column of bright flame reddening the
sky, and an awful stUlness fell on Cithseron and its
dark pine-groves. A second shout proclaimed the
deity, and the daughters of Cadmus sprang to their
feet and rushed forth with the speed of doves on the
wing. Down the torrent's bed, down from crag to
crag they leaped — " mad with the god." Agave led on
her kin, and at first assailed the seat of Pentheus with
idle weapons : —

" First heavy stones they hurled at him.
Climbing a rock in front : the branches of the ash
Darted at some : and some, like javelins.
Sent their sharp thyrsi shrilling through the air,

THE BACCHANALS. 135

Pentheus their mark ; but yet they struck him not,
His height still baffling aU their eager ■wrath."

At length Agav^ cried to her train, "Tear down
the tree, and then we'll grasp the beast" — for her
too had the god made blind — "that rides thereon."
A thousand hands uprooted the tree, and Pentheus
fell to the ground, well knowing that his end was
near. It was his mother's hand that seized him first.
In vain, dashing off his bonnet, he cried, —

" I am thy child, thine own, my mother."

She knew him not, and

" Caught him in her arms, seized his right hand,
And, with her feet set on his shrinking side.
Tore out the shoulder."

"Ino, Autonoe, and all tlie rest dismembered him;
one bore away an arm, one a still sandalled foot : others
rent open his sides : none went without some spoil of
him whom, possessed by Bacchus, they deemed a lion's
cub. "With these bloody trophies of their prey they
are now marching to Thebes : for my part, I fled at
the sight of this dark tragedy."

The procession of the Bacchantes to the "seven-
gated city " is ushered in by a choral song : —

" Dance and sing
In Bacchic ring ;
Shout, shout the fate, the fate of gloom
Of Pentheus, from the dragon bom ;
He the woman's garbjhath worn,
Following the buU, the harbinger that led him to his doom.

136 EURIPIDES.

O ye Theban Bacchanals !
Attune ye now the hymn victorious,
The hymn all-glorious,
To the tear, and to the groan :
0 game of glory !
To bathe the hands besprent and gory
In the blood of her own son."

Believing that she is bringing a lion's head to affix
to the walls of the temple, she bears in her arms that
of Pentheus, and in concert with the Chorus celebrates
in song her ghastly triumph : —

" Agav^. O ye Asian Bacchanals !
Chorus. Who is she on us who calls ?
Agav^. From the mountains, lo ! we bear
To the palace gate
Our new-slain quarry fair.
Chorus. I see, I see, and on thy joy I wait.
Agave. Without a net, without a snare.
The lion's cub, I took him there."

But Cadmus soon undeceives her. He has been to
Cithaeron to collect the remains of his grandson which
the Bacchanals had left behind ; and Agav^, restored to
her senses, discerns in her gory burden the head of
Pentheus her son. At the close of this fearful story-
Bacchus appears and informs Cadmus of his doom : —

" Thou, father of this earth-bom race,
A dragon shalt become ; thy wife shall take
A brutish form at last."

However, after cycles of time have gone by, Cad-
mus and his wife Harmonia shall resume their human
forms, and be borne by Mars to the Isles of the Blest.

THE BACCHANALS. 137

That a tragedy in some respects so un-Hellenic and so
Oriental in its character should have heen weU known
and highly estimated in the East, is not to be wondered
at. Perhaps not th e least memorable application of ' * The
Bacchanals " to new circumstances is that mentioned
by Plutarch in his 'Life of Crassus.' Great joy was
there in the camp of Surenas, the Parthian general,
one summer evening, for Crassus the Roman proconsul
and the greater part of his army had been slain or
taken prisoners, and the residue of the broken legions
was hurrying back to the western bank of the Euphra-
tes. Crassus himself lay a headless corpse. To gratify
his victorious soldiers, Surenas exhibited a burlesque
of a Eoman triumph. Himself and his staff feasted
in the commander's tent. To the door of the banquet-
ing-hall the head of the Roman general was borne by
a Greek actor from Tralles, who introduced it with
some appropriate verses from "The Bacchanals" of
Euripides. The bloody trophy was thrown at the feet
of Surenas and his guests, and the player, seizing it in
his hands, enacted the last scene — the frenzy of Agav^
and the mutilation of Pentheus.

CHAPTEE YII.

ION. H I P P O L Y T U 8.

" ' Sweet is the holiness of youth ' — so felt

Time-honoured Chaucer, when he framed that lay
By which the Prioress beguiled the way.
And many a Pilgrim's rugged heart did melt."

— WOBDSWOBTH.

So long S3 the Athenians were a second-rate power in
Greece they were content with a military adventurer for
the founder of the Ionian race. In a war between
Athens and Eubcea, one Xuthus had done them good
service; his recompense for it was the haud of the
Erectheid princess Creusa, and the issue of the marriage
was Ion, from whom the Athenians claimed, remotely,
to descend. But when, after the decline of Argos, they
had risen to a level withCorinth and Sparta, they aspired
to the honour of a divine ancestry on the spear-side, as
well as that of a royal one on the spindle. A wander-
ing soldier no longer sufficed : the son of Creusa must
not be bom in mortal wedlock, but derive his origin
from a god. And what deity — in this matter the
virgin Pallas Athene was out of the question — ^was so

ION. 139

fitted by his various gifts to be the forefather of so
accomplished a people as the patron of music, poetry,
medicine, and prophecy] To set before his fellow-
citizens, as well as the strangers and allies who sat in
the Dionysiac theatre, the pedigree of the lonians, and
consequently of the Athenians also, Euripides probably
composed his " Ion."

Creusa is the daughter of Erectheus, an old autoch-
thonic king of Athens. She has borne a son to
Apollo, but through fear of her parents was compelled
to leave him, immediately after his birth, in a cave
under the Acropolis. The divine father, however, does
not abandon the infant, but employs Mercury to trans-
port him to Delphi, and to deposit him on the steps
of the temple, where he knows the babe will be
cared for. One of the vestals — apparently even then
middle-aged, since she is old in the _ play — finds Ion,
and fulfils his sire's expectations. She has, indeed,
her own thoughts on the matter, but keeps them
to herself untH a convenient season comes for disclos-
ing them. In the Delphian temple the foundling
receives an education resembling that of the infant
SamueL He thus describes his functions : —

" My task, which from my early infancy
Hath been my charge, is mth these laurel boughs
And sacred wreaths to cleanse the vestibule
Of Phoebus, on the pavements moistening dews
To rain, and with my bow to chase the birds
Which would defile the hallowed ornaments.
A mother's fondness and a father's care
I never knew ; the temple of the god
Claims then my service, for it nnrturerl me "

UO EURIPIDES.

He receives the strangers who come to consult the
oracle or to see the wonders of the shrine, and shows
himself, by turns, an expert ritualist or a polite
cicerone. Centuries later, Ion would have had his
place among the youthful ascetics who, by the beauty
of their lives, and sometimes of their persons also,
adorned the church and edified or rebuked the world.
But this early BasU or Gregory of Delphi had other
work destined for him than serving at the altar or
waiting on pilgrims. He will have to go out of "reli-
gion" into the haunts of men : the privilege of celibacy
is denied him ; his ephod he must exchange for a
breastplate, his laurel wreath for a plumed helmet.
The name of Ion is due to an illustrious race.

Of all extant Greek dramas, this beautiful one,
though easy for readers to understand, is the most com-
plex in its action, and possibly may have kept the
original spectators of it, in spite of the information
given by Mercury in the prologue, in suspense up to its
very last scene. In fact, the principal characters are
all at cross-purposes. Creusa has come to Delphi on
the pretext that a friend of hers is anxious to leam
what has becmne of a son whom she has borne to
Apollo — her own story transferred to another. Her
husband Xuthus is there to ask advice from the neigh-
bouring oracle of Trophonius by what means Creusa and
himself may cease to be childless. While he goes on
his errand, his wife encounters Ion in the fore-court of
the temple, and their conversation begins with the
foUowing words : —

ION. 141

" Ion. Lady, whoe'er thou art, that liberal air
Speaks an exalted mind : there is a grace,
A dignity in those of noble bu-th,
That marks their high rank. Yet I marvel much
That from thy closed lids the trickling tear
Watered thy beauteous cheeks, soon as thine eye
Beheld this chaste oracular seat of Phccbus.
What brings this sorrow, lady ? All besides,
Viewing the temple of the god, are struck
With joy ; thy melting eye o'erflows with tears.

Creusa. Not without reason, stranger, art thou seized
With wonder at my tears ; this sacred dome
Wakens the sad remembrance of things past."

In a long dialogue she conimiuiicates to lier unknown
son part of lier own story, and by casting some reflec-
tions on the god for his conduct to her supposed friend,
incurs a rebuke from the fair young acolyte. The
Chorus remarks that mankind are very unlucky — they
rarely get what they wish for : —

" One single blessing
By any one through life is scarcely found."

And Creusa, not at all abashed by Ion's remonstrance,
proceeds to complain of ApoUo's conduct towards her-
self and their son.

Xuthus now returns from the Trophonian crypt with
good news for his wife and himself. Trophonius, in-
deed, being a very subordinate deity, " held it xinmeet
to forestall the answer of a superior one;" " but," says
Xuthus, —

" One thing he told me.

That childless I should not return, nor thou,

Home from the oracle ; "

142 EURIPIDES.

and then goes into the adytum to learn his for-
tune.

Ion again expresses his surprise at the strange lady's
shrewish, and indeed as he thinks it, rather impious,
language ; but says, " What is the daughter of Erec-
theus to me? let me to my task." He admits, however
(infected apparently by Creusa's boldness), that his
patron has acted unhandsomely to some virgin or other:

" Becoming thus
By stealth a father, leaving then his children
To die, regardless of them."

Xuthus reappears, with this command from the
Pythoness : " The first male stranger whom you meet,
address as your son." Of course the stranger is Ion ;
but being greeted with the words, " Health to my
son! " by one whom he has never before set eyes on, he
is far more offended than pleased by this unlooked-for
salutation ; and, not at all unreasonably, all things
considered, he recoils, when Xuthus proceeds to em-
brace him, and asks —

" Art thou, stranger,
"Well in thy wits ; or hath the god's displeasure
Bereft thee of thy reason ?"

He, a minister of the temple, objects to being thus
claimed as so near of kin by a man whose business
there he has yet to learn : he says, " Hands off", friend —
they'll mar the garlands of the god ; " and adds, " If
you keep not your distance, you shall have my arrow
in your heart : " —

" I am not fond of curing wayward strangers
And mad men."

ION. 143

"If you kill me," replies Xuthus, "you will kill
your father." " You my father ! " cries Ion ; " how so ?
It makes me laugh to hear you." A strict examination
of the father by the son ensues ; and at last, neither
of the disputants being very critical, and both very
devout, the sudden relationship is accepted with full
faith by both, and they tenderly embrace each other.
Xuthus then imparts to Ion his purpose of taking him
to Athens, but of concealing their position for a while.
His wife, he argues, may not be greatly pleased at
being so suddenly provided with a ready-made son and
heir. She comes of a royal house, and so is particidar
on the score of "blue blood." The youngster, if
adopted, will inherit her property. The discovery of
him may be all very well for her husband, who, having
once been a wanderer, may, for all she knows, have a
son in many towns, Greek or barbaric. But how will
this treasure-trove remove from herself the reproach of
barrenness ? There is, too, such a thing as ^/e-nuptial
as well as post - nuptial jealousy ; and though so
comely, gracious, and religious a youth cannot fail,
after a time, to ingratiate himself even with a step-
mother, there may be much domestic controversy
before so desirable a consummation is possible.
Xuthus then informs Ion that he intends to celebrate
this .joyful event by a sacrifice to Apollo, and by a
general feast to the Delphians : —

" At my table
Will I receive thee as a welcome guest.
And cheer thee with the banquet, then conduct thee
To Athens with me as a visitant."

144 EURIPIDES.

On leaving the stage he tells the Chorus, who, of
course, have heard the real story, to keep what they
know to themselves. If they let his wife into the
secret they shall surely die; and, inasmuch as they
are Athenian women, Xuthus has the right to threaten,
as well as the means to keep his promise. For one
who has seen so much of the world, it argues much
simplicity in Xuthus to have imagined that even the
fear of death will insure silence in some people.
Creusa is very soon made aware by her female attend-
ants of her husband's scheme for deceiving her, and
she behaves exactly as he had foreseen she would.
She re-enters, accompanied by an aged servant of her
house : when the Chorus enlighten her on every point
except one — the name of Ion's mother; and "the
venerable man " is exactly the instrument needed by
an indignant woman, for

" It is the curse of kings to be attended
By slaves that take their himiours for a warrant
To break within the bloody house of life." *

" "We," says the prompter of evil, " by thy husband
are betrayed." This comes of unequal marriages. Of
bim we know as little as of his new-foimd bantling: —

"Xuthus
Came to the city and thy royal house, •

And wedded thee, all thy inheritance
Receiving. By some other woman now
Discovered to have children privately —
How privately I'll tell thee — ^when he saw

* " King Jolin," act iv. sc. 2.

ION. l^b

Thou hadst no child, it pleased him not to bear
A fate Hke thine ; but by some favourite slave,
His paramour by stealth, he hath a son.
Him to some Delphian gave he, distant far,
To educate, who, to this sacred house
Consigned, as secret here, received his nurture.
He, knowing this, and that his son advanced
To manhood was, urged thee to come hither,
Pleading thy barrenness. 'Twas not the god,
But Xuthus, who deceived thee, and long since
Devised this wily plan to rear his son.
Failing, he could on Phcebus fix the blame.
Succeeding, would adroitly choose the time
To make him ruler of thy rightful land."

The servant — loyal to his mistress as Evan dhu
Maccombich was to Fergus Maclvor, equally ready to
die for her, or to do murder to avenge her imagined
wrongs — devises a plot that would have been quite
successful had not ApoUo been on the watch. Creusa
is in possession of a deadly poison — "two drops of
blood that from the Gorgon fell " — given to her father
Erectheus by Pallas. One heals disease, the other
works certain and swift death. The princess proposes
to poison, her stepson when he is beneath her roof.
" I like not that," says the servant. " There you will
"be the first to be suspected ; a stepdame's hate is pro-
verbial." To this Creusa agrees, and, anticipating the
old vassal's thought, she herself prescribes the mode
of destroying the son of Xuthus : —

" This shalt thou do : this little golden casket
Take from my hand. Bear it beneath thy vest.
Then, supper ended, when they 'gin to pour

A. c. vol. xii K

146 EURIPIDES.

Libations to the gods, do thou infuse
The drop in the youth's goblet. Take good heed
That none observe thee. Drug his cup alone
Who thinks to lord it o'er my house. If once
It pass his lips, his foot shall never reach
Athens' fair city ; death awaits him here."

After a choral ode has been sung, a breathless
attendant rushes in and demands where Creusa is.
The plot has failed ; the old man has been arrested ;
he has confessed the deed ; and the rulers of Delphi
are in hot pursuit of his accomplice, that she may die
overwhelmed with stones. "How were our dark
devices brought to light ? " the Chorus inquires.
Then, as usual on the Greek stage, and also in the
French classical drama, a long narrative instructs the
spectators of what has taken place. Up to a certain
point all went weU. Ion's chalice was drugged fur-
tively. The destined victim poured his libation, and
was just about to drink, when some one chanced to
utter a word of ill omen, and so Ion poured his wine
on the floor, and bade the other guests do the like.
The cups are now replenished ; but in the pause that
ensued between the first and second filling of them, a
troop of doves, such as haunt the dome of the temple,
came fluttering in, and drank from the wine-pook on
the ground. The spilt wine was harmless to all save
one. That one drank of the deadly draught poured
out by Ion : —

" Straight, convulsive shiverings seized
Her beauteous plumes, around in giddy rings
She whirled, and in a strange and mo\imful note

ION. 147

Seemed to lament : amazement seized the guests,
Seeing the poor bird's pangs : her breast heaved thick,
And, stretchiag out her scarlet legs, she died."

Creusa now hurries in : she has been doomed to death
by the Pythian Council, and her executioner is to be
Ion himself: she clasps the altar of Apollo, but that
sanctuary will not avail her, for has she not attempted
the life of one of the god's ministers ? In reply to her
appeals for life. Ion says : —

« The good,
Oppressed by wrongs, should at those hallowed seats
Find refuge ; ill becomes it that th' unjust
And just alike should seek protection there."

But now the old prophetess, who had years before pre-
served the infant Ion, having learnt that he is soon to
leave the Delphian shrine, produces the swaddling-
clothes, the ornaments, and the basket, in which his
mother had clad and laid him in the cave under the
Acropolis. They may help him, she thinks, some day,
to discover the secret of his birth. WhUe her son is
examining these tokens, Creusa sees them too, and
claims them as the work of her own hands. As
Ion unfolds, one by one, the tiny robes, she names,
without first seeing them, the subjects which were em-
broidered on each of them. The recognition is com-
plete. Creusa embraces her long-lost son, and now
hesitates not to acknowledge that Apollo is his father.
If any doubt remained even on the part of Xuthus,
•who indeed is not an eyewitness of the discovery,
it is dispersed by the speech of Minerva, She ex-

148 EURIPIDES.

plains the reasons for concealment hitherto, and the
cause for disclosure now : bids Creusa take her son to
the land of Cecrops, and there seat him on the throne
of his grandsire Erectheus. She concludes with a
prediction of the fortunes of the Ionian race, and of
the Dorians, who are to descend from Dorus, a son
she is to bear to Xuthus. And thus Apollo is absolved
from wrong, and Creusa rejoices in the prospect of
becoming the mother of two Greek nations, and these
the rival leaders of the Hellenic world.

Should this exquisitely beautiful play be ranked
among tragedies or comedies'? Neither title exactly
suits it. Rather is it a melodrama. And but for a
few ceremonies inherent in or necessary to the Greek
stage, might it not be almost accounted the work of a
modem poet 1 The complexity of the fable, the rapid
transitions in the action, the picturesque beauty of the
scenes, and the domestic nature of the emotions it excites,
have a far less classic than romantic stamp. For the
long speech of the attendant who describes the manner
in which the plot against the life of the hero is baffled,
substitute a representation on the stage of the banquet —
cancel the prologue spoken by Mercury, and the wind-
ing-up scene in which Minerva appears — and then, even
without omitting the Chorus, there will remain a mixed
drama which neither Calderon nor Shakespeare might
have disdained to own. Perhaps the modern air that
we attribute to it may have been among the reasons for
the comparative neglect of the " Ion " by the ancient
critics — nay even, it might seem, by those who wit-
nessed the performance of it But neither the date of

niPPOLYTUS. 149

its production nor the trilogy of which, it formed a
part is known. It may be, as regards "its general
composition, more pleasing than powerful." "We agree,
however, entirely with Mr Paley, when he says : " none
of his plays so clearly show the fine mind of Euripides,
or impress us with a more favourahle idea of his virtu-
ous and human character."

HIPP0LTTU8.

The play which has just been surveyed is of a re-
ligious character, and the " Hippolytus " is coupled
with it, because, although dealing with human passion
far more than the " Ion," the principal character in it
is also that of a devotee. However philosophical or
sceptical Euripides may have been in his theological
opinions, no one of the Greek dramatic poets surpassed
him in the delineation of piety and reverence for the
gods ; and he seems to have delighted especially in
portraying the eflfect of such feelings upon pvire and
youtliful minds. If, indeed, fear rather than love of
the gods be essential to devotion, then .^chylus must
be accounted a far more pious writer than Euripides.
The Calvinists of criticism will naturally prefer gloom
and terror, inexorable Fates and all-powerful Furies, to
the humane, benign, and rational sentiments which
consist with the attributes of mercy and justice. "VVe
neither expect nor desire to reconcile these opposite
factions further than may be necessary for a state-
ment of the claims of the younger poet to a fair
hearing.

150 EURIPIDES.

"Ion" and " Hippolytus" are each of them examples
of youthful virtue: the latter has, or at least displays,
the more enthusiastic temperament, which, however, is
drawn out from him by the greater severity of his lot.
Yet we can easily conceive the votary of the chaste
Diana passing through Hfe quite as contentedly in her
service as Ion would have passed his days as a minister
of Apollo. It was the hard destiny of the son of
Theseus to have incurred the heavy displeasure of one
goddess through his earnest devotion to another. The
life-hattle he has to fight is indeed reaUy a contest
between two rival divinities ; and were second titles
possible in Greek plays, this affecting and noble tragedy
might be entitled " Hippolytus, or the Contest between
Venus and Diana."

Aa the plot of the " Hippolytus " is, through the
" Phedre" of Eacine, probably better known to English
readers than the more complicated fable of the " Ion,"
it may be sufficient to state it briefly, and to direct
attention rather to the characters than the story. The
hero is the son of Theseus, king of Athens, by the
Amazonian Hippolyta, whom Shakespeare has sketched
in his " Midsummer Night's Dream." His boyish
years have been passed at Troezen with his grand-
father, the pure-minded Pittheus. While under his
roof, Hippolytus devotes himself to the worship of
Diana : Hke her he delights in the chase ; like her also
he shuns the snares of love or the chains of wedlock.
Excelling in aH manly exercises, and adorned with
every virtue, he unhappily not merely neglects Yenus,
but irritates her by open expressions of contempt for

HIPPOLTTVS. 151

herself and her rites : and he owes to this pride or
exclusive zeal the hideous ruin which engulfs him.
The offended goddess sets forth in the prologue her
determination to destroy Diana's favourite, and givea,
her reasons for it. She says : —

" Those that reverence my powers I favour,
But I confound all who think scorn of me.
For even divinity is fashioned thus —
It joys in mortal honoinrs."

" He may consort with the huntress, he may foUo^v
his swift dogs, he may shun fellowship with men, as
much as he likes — of his tastes I reck not : what I
cannot overlook is his personally offensive conduct to
myself, * a goddess not inglorious,' and accounted by
mortals generally as not the least potent of Olympians.
The means of revenge are not far to seek. Phaedra,
his young and beauteous stepmother, is pining for
love of him, and through her unhappy passion he
shall be struck : " with her I have no quarrel," says
the goddess —

" Yet let her perish :
I have not for her life that tenderness
As not to wreak just vengeance on my foes."

The prologue ended, Venus disappears, and Hip-
polytus and his retinue of himtsmen enter, singing a
hymn to Diana. "When it is finished, he thus addresses
the goddess — an invocation which has been thus beau-
tifully paraphrased : —

" Thou maid of maids, Diana, the goddess whom he fears.
Unto thee Hippolytus tMs flowery chaplet bears ;

152 EURIPIDES.

From meadows where no shepherd his flock a-field e'er

drove,
From where no woodman's hatchet hath woke the echoing

grove,
Where o'er the unshorn meadow the wild "bee passes free,
Where by her river-haunts dwells virgin Modesty ;
Where he who knoweth nothing of the wisdom of the

schools
Beareth in a virgin heart the fairest of all rules ;
To him 'tis given all freely to cull those self-sown flowers,
But evil men must touch not pure Nature's sacred

bowers.
This to his virgin mistress a vii^n hand doth bear —
A wreath of unsoiled flowers to deck her golden hair.
For such alone of mortals can unto her draw nigh,
And with that guardian Goddess hold solemn converse

high.
He ever hears the voice of his own virgin Queen,
He hears what others hear not, and sees her though

unseen ;
He holds his virgin purpose in freedom unbeguiled.
To age and death advancing in innocence a child." *

— (Isaac Williams.)

Hippolytus is warned by his henchman that he is
incurring danger by his total neglect of Venus ; but
he replies only by a rather contumelious remark that " I
salute her from afar ; " " some with this god and some
with that have dealings;" and then the master and
his men depart to a banquet. "We pass onward to
Phaedra's entrance, which is announced by her ancient
nurse, much such an accommodating personage as the

• With this exception, all the translated passages in this
chapter are taken from Mr Maurice Purcell Fitzgerald's admir-
able version of " The Crowned Hippolytus."

HIPPOLYTUS. 153

nurse in " Eomeo and Juliet," although far more mis-
chievous. She describes the strange malady of her
mistress, and her own weary watching by the suf-
ferer's couch. Phaedra breaks out into frenzied
song : —

" Lift up my body,

Straighten my head.
Hold up the hands
And arms of the dead ;
The joints of my limbs are loosened,
The veil on my brow is like lead.
Take it off, take it off, let the clustering curls
On my shoulders be spread."

She pants for cooling streams and the whispering
sound of shadowing poplars, and longs to stretch her
limbs in repose on the verdurous meadow. Next
comes an access of fever, and she breaks forth into
wilder strains : —

" Send me, send me to the mountain : I will wander to

the wood.
Where the dogs amid the pine-copse track and tear the

wild beast's brood ;
I will hang upon his traces where the dappled roebuck

bounds ;
I yearn, by all the gods, I yearn to halloo to the hounds.
To poise the lance of Thessaly above my yellow hair,
And to loose my hand and lightly launch the barbed point

through air,"

After more wild song and as wild speeches to the
nurse, her secret is at length drawn from her; and
that faithful but unscrupulous attendant reveals it,

154 EURIPIDES.

under an oath of secrecy, to Hippolytus. Diana's
worshipper, shocked at the disclosure, discourses on
the profligacy of women in general, and detenninos
to absent himself for a while until Theseus returns to
Troezen, with the intention, as Phaedra and her nurse
believe, of disclosing to his father his wife's infidelity.
Overwhelmed by shame and despair, Phaedra hangs
herself, but suspends from her neck a letter in which
she accuses Hippolytus of makmg dishonourable pro-
posals to her. Theseus, on his return from an oracle
he had been consvdting, finds his wife a lifeless corpse,
and beUeves in his son's guilt. Him he curses as a
base hypocrite, who, affecting to worship the chaste
goddess, has attempted to commit a crime that even
Venus would scarcely sanction. His supposed father
Neptune, in an evil moment, had once given Theseus
three fatal curses, one of which he now hurls at his
innocent son. Hippolytus now turns his back for
ever on his father's house : weeping, and attended by
his weeping friends, he drives slowly and sadly along
the sea-beach. The curse comes upon him in the
form of a monster sent by Iffeptune. A messenger
brings the tidings to Theseus. "There came," he
says, " when we had passed the frontier of this realm
of Troezen, —

" A sound, as if some bolt from Zeus
Made thunder from the bowels of the earth —
A heavy hollow boom, hideous to hear.
A sudden fear fell on our youthful hearts
Whence came this awful voice : till with fixed gaze
Watching the sea-beat ridges, we beheld

UIPPOLTTUS. 155

A mighty billow lifted to the skies ;
And with the billow, at the third great sweep
Of mountain surge, the sea gave up a bull,
Monster of aspect fierce, whose bellowings
FiUed all the earth, that echoed back the roar
In tones that made us shudder."

The terrified horses become unmanageable; and
though

" Our lord, in all their ways long conversant,
Grasped at their reins, and, thro"vving back his weight,
Pulled hard, as pulls a sailor at the oar ;
They, with set jaws gripping the tempered bits,
Whirl along heedless of the master's hand," —

untU Hippolytus is dragged and dashed against the
rocks, and lies a broken and bleeding body from
which the spirit is rapidly fleeting. He is borne into
his father's presence, torn, mangled, and bleeding, to
die. But Theseus, still crediting Phaedra's false letter,
rejoices in his son's fate, although he alone believes
him guilty. The messenger, indeed, bluntly teUs the
king that he is deceived : —

" Yet to one thing I never will give credence.
That this thy son has done a deed of baseness, —
Not should the whole of womankind go hang,
And score the pines of Ida with their letters,
Because I know — I know that he is noble."

Diana, it may seem to the reader, is far from being
a help to her devoted friend and worshipper in his
time of trouble. The cause she assigns for her insr
bdity to save him gives a curious insight into the

156 EURIPIDES.

comity of the ancient gods. She tells Theseus that
his sin is rank, yet not quite unpardonable : —

" For Cypris willed that these things should be so
To glut her rage ; and this with gods is law,
That none against another's will resists
Or offers hindrance, but we stand aloof.
Else be assured, had not the fear of Zeus
Deterred me, I had not so simk in shame
As to let die the dearest unto me
Of mortal men."

She then shows to . Theseus how widely he has
erred. Next follows a most affecting scene of recon-
ciKation between the distracted father and his dying
son. Diana soothes the last moments of Hippolytus
by a promise that he shall be worshipped with highest
honours at Troezen : —

" For girls unwed, before their marriage-day,
Shall offer their shorn tresses at thy shrine,
And dower thee through long ages with rich tears ;
And many a maid shall raise the tuneful hymn
In praise of thee, and ne'er shall Phaedra's love
Perish in silence and be left unsung."

The " Hippolytus " was produced in B.C. 428. In
the previous year Pericles died of the plague, which
for some months longer continued to rage in Athens.
To the pestilence and the death of the greatest of
Attic statesmen there are palpable allusions in this
tragedy, which to contemporary spectators cannot fail
to have been deeply affecting. The nurse of Phaedra
bewails her lot as an attendant on a suffering mis-
tress : —

HIPPOLYTUS. 157

" Alas for mortal woes !
Alas for fell disease !
Better be sick than be the sick one's nurse ;
Sickness is sickness, nothing worse ;
Nursing is sorrow in double kind,
Sorrow of toiling hands, sorrow of troubled mind.
Our troubles know no healing."

And the final stave of the choral song unmistakably
refers to Pericles : —

" Upon aU in the city alike
This sudden sorrow will strike.

There will be much shedding of tears.
Wlien evil assails the great
Many bewail his fate ;

Grief for him grows with the rears."

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PHCENICIAN WOMEN. THE SUPPLIANTS. THE CHIL-
DREN OP HERCULES. THE PHRENZY OP HERCULES.

" Both tugging to be victors, breast to breast,
Yet neither conqueror nor conquered ;
So is the equal poise of this fell war."

— " Henry VI.," 3d Part.

Even did space permit, it is unnecessary to dwell
minutely upon several of the plays of Euripides. The
seven extant dramas of ^schylus and the same num-
ber of those of Sophocles deserved and admitted of
analysis, and already seven pieces of their rival's have
passed under review. Of the ten which remain, some
were occasional plays ; others have apparently no
connection with one another, even did we happen to
know the trilogy to which they belonged. Of these,
some would seem to have been composed for a special
purpose — either local, as complimentary to Athens, or
political, with a view to the affairs of Greece when
they were produced. For English readers they retain
little interest ; yet although their merits as dramas
are slight, they, like all the author's writings, contain

THE PHCENICIAN WOMEN. 159

some admirable poetry, or some effective scenes and
situations.

In the "Phoenician "Women," Euripides displays
some of his greatest defects in the construction of a
tragedy, and some of his most conspicuous beauties as
a pathetic and picturesque writer. As to its plot, it is
cumbrous ; and, what is stiU worse, he competes in it
with the " Antigone " of Sophocles and the " Seven
against Thebes" of ^^chylus. Jocasta, who in
" CEdipus the King " destroys herself, is alive again in
this drama. The brothers, whose rivalry and death by
each other's hand were familiar to all, repeat their duel,
and the devotion of Antigone to her blind father and
her younger brother is brought or rather crammed into
it at the end. "We have, in fact, almost a trilogy
pressed into a single member of it, and in consequence
the " Phoenician "Women " is, with the exception of the
" CEdipus at Colonus," the longest of extant Greek
tragedies. Euripides forgot the sound advice given by
the poetess Corinna to her youthful rival, Pindar. He
had been, she thought, too profuse in his mythological
stories, and therefore advised him for the future " to
sow with the hand and not with the sack."

As the story of the " Phoenician "Women " has in
the main been already told in the volume of this series
devoted to -^schylus, and also as many EngHsh readers
are acquainted with the " Fr^res Ennemis " of Eacine,
it is not perhaps necessary to detail again the tale
of Eteocles and Polynices. It will suffice to present
a portion of one or two scenes, so as to give some
idea of the pure ore that lies embedded in this tragical

160 EURIPIDES.

conglomerate. The scene in which the old servant of
the royal house leads Antigone to a tower whence she
gazes upon the Argive host encamped around Thebes,
even though it is borrowed from that book of the
Iliad in which Helen surveys from the walls of Troy
the Achaean chieftains, exhibits a master's hand. The
servant can point out to his young mistress the leaders
of the Argives, and describe the blazonry of their
shields, because he has been in their camp, when he
took to Polynices the offer of a truce. After carefully
exploring the ground to make sure that no Theban is
in sight, whose gaze might light on the maiden, he
says to her : —

" Come then, ascend this height, let thy foot tread
These stairs of ancient cedar, thence survey
The plains beneath : see what an host of foes
At Dirce's fount encamp, and stretch along
The valley where Ismenus rolls his stream."

Antigone, at her first view from the palace-roof, ex-
claims : —

" Awful Diana, virgra goddess, see
The field all brass glares like the lightning's blaze."

The old man then points out to her the captains of the
numerous host which Polynices has led thither to
assert his rights. ' Among other heroes, he singles out
one as likely to interest his young mistress. " Seest
thou," he says,

" That chief now passing o'er the stream
Of Dirce ?

THE PH(ENICIAN WOMEN. 161

Antig. Different he, of diflferent guise

His arms. Who is the warrior ?
PImt. Tydeus he,

The son of (Eneus.
Antiff. What ! the prince who made

The sister of my brother's bride his choice 1 "

The young and graceful Parthenopseus, the proud
boaster Capaneus, and Hippomedon, that "haughty
king," are pointed out ; but Antigone casts only a pass-
ing glance on these, and yearns to behold her brother.
" "Where is my Polynices, tell me ? " " He is stand-
ing there near the tomb of Niobe," is the reply. " I
see him, but indistinctly," says the princess ; " I see
the semblance of his form : " —

" 0 could I, like a nimble-moving cloud.
Fly through the air, borne on the wingfed winds,
Fly to my brother : I would throw my arms
Round his dear neck, unhappy youth, so long
An exile. Mark him, good old man, O mark
How graceful in his golden arms he stands.
And glitters like the bright sun's orient rays.
Serv. The truce will bring him hither : in this house
His presence soon will fill thy soul with joy."

Although not among the leading characters, Menoeceus,
the son of Creon, Jocasta's brother, is a most inter-
esting one. The prophet Tiresias has declared that
Thebes must be taken by the Seven, unless this youth
will die for the people. In deep distress Creon im-
plores his son to quit this fatal land. MencBceus,
"with an honest fraud," deceiving his father, freely
gives his life. He says : —

A, 0. vol. xii. L

162 EURIPIDES.

" "Were it uot base
While those, whom no compulsion of the gods,
No oracle demands, fight for their country,
Should I betray my father, brother, city,
And like a craven yield to abject fear ?
No — by Jove's throne among the golden stars —
No, by the blood-stained Mars, I'll take my stand
Upon the highest battlement of Thebes,
And from it, as the prophet's voice gave warning,
I'll plunge into the dragon's gloomy cave,
And free this suflfering land."

The interview betvs^een the brothers is too long for
extract, and would be marred by compression. One
of the sentiments, however, expressed by the fierce and
Tinjust Eteocles, is so truly in Shakespeare's vein, that
we cannot pass it over. The usurping Theban king
says : —

" For honour I would mount above the stars,
Above the sun's high course, or sink beneath
Earth's deepest centre, might I so obtain
This idol of my soxil, this worshipt power
Of regal state ; and to another never
Would I resign her ; but myself engross
The splendid honour : it were base indeed
To barter for low rank a kingly crown.
And shame it were that he who comes in arms.
Spreading o'er this brave realm the waste of war,
Should his rude will enjoy ; all Thebes woidd blush
At my dishonour, did I, craven-like,
Shrink from the Argive spear, and to his hand
Resign my rightful sceptre."

Hotspur speaks much in the same strain of "hon-
our : " —

THE PHCENICIAN WOMEN. 1G3

" By heaven, metliinks it were an easy leap
To pluck bright honour from the pale-faced moon ;
Or dive into the bottom of the deep,
Where fathom-line could never touch the ground,
And pluck up drowned honour by the locks ;
So he, that doth redeem her thence, might wear
Without co-rival aU her dignities."

By the voluntary death of Menoeceus victory is on
the Theban side. The description of the battle is
among the most striking of dramatic war-scenes. A
messenger then enters with further tidings. He tells
Jocasta that her sons have agreed to spare further shed-
ding of blood, and to decide their quarrel by single
combat. Here is a new woe added to the many cala-
mities of the house of Laius. Jocasta hurries to pre-
vent this unnatural duel, but arrives too late. A
second messenger then describes the deadly strife in
which the brothers have fallen, and also Jocasta's
death by her own hands. The bodies of the two
fratricides are brought on the stage, and a funeral wail
is sung by Antigone and the Chorus. For her a new
tragedy is commencing. Reft of her mother, her be-
trothed Menoeceus, and her brothers, she is forbidden
by Creon, now become regent of Thebes, to perform
the last functions for her dear Polynices. The tragedy
concludes ' with her declaration that man may make
cruel laws, and forbid the rites of sepulture, but she
will obey a higher law, that of nature, and do meet
honour to the dead. That no circumstance of sorrow
may be wanting to Antigone's lot, blind, old, dis-
crowned CEdipus is sentenced to banishment for

IGi EURIPIDES.

ever from his late kingdom. His sons unrighteously
deposed him ; he rashly cursed them in his ire : the
curse has been fatal to his Avliole house, and now falls
on his own head. He avIio, by baffling the Sphinx,
won a kingdom, goes forth from it a beggar to eat the
bitter bread of exile. "With him goes his daughter,
the one steadfast star left to guide him on his dark way.
The shade of ^ius is at length appeased : the sceptre
has for ever departed from the house of Labdacus.

" The Suppliants " is, as regards the time of action,
a sequel to " The Phoenicians " and " The Seven
against Thebes " of ^schylus. Creon persists in deny-
ing the rites of sepiilture to the fallen Argive chief-
tains. The commander of that disastrous expedition,
Adrastus, now the sole survivor of the seven, hurries
to Eleusis on the Athenian border, accompanied by
the widows and sons of the slain, and takes refuge at
the altar of Demeter. A passage from "The Two
Koble Kinsmen " of Fletcher explains far better than
the prologue of the Greek tragedy does the errand of
the Suppliants : —

" We are six queens, whose sovereigns fell before
The wrath of cruel Creon : who endure
The beaks of ravens, talons of the kites.
And pecks of crows, in the foul fields of Thebes :
He will not suffer us to bum their bones.
To um their ashes, nor to take th' oflfence
Of mortal loathsomeness from the blest eye
Of holy Phoebus, but infects the winds
"With stench of oiir slain lords. Oh, pity, Duke !
Thou purger of the earth, draw thy feared sword
. That does good turns to the world : give us the bones

THE SUPPLIANTS. 165

Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them,
And of thy boundless goodness take some note
That for our crowned heads we have no roof
Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's,
And vault for everything."

Through the mediation of ^thra, mother of Theseus,
king of Athens, the Suppliants are enabled to bring
their wrongs before him. Theseus at first is unwilling
to espouse their cause : to do so ■will embroil Athens
io a war with Thebes. He is by no means a cheerful
giver of aid : revolving in his soul "the various turns
of chance below," he expatiates on the uncertainty of
human greatness, and hints that Adrastus himself is
an instance of the folly of interfering with other
people's business. But ^thra, whose woman's nature
is deeply moved by the tears of the widowed queens,
will hear of no denial; and Theseus at last, though
reluctantly, promises to take up their cause. Just as
he is despatching a herald to Creon to demand the
bodies of the slain, a Theban messenger comes with a
peremptory mandate from Creon that Adrastus and his
companions be delivered up. It must be owned that,
at this juncture, Theseus is rather a proser. Forget-
ting the urgency of the case — that dogs and vultures
may already be preying on the dead — he discourses on
the comparative merits of aristocratic and popular
government, and on the sin of refusing burial even to
enemies. Theseus in the end consents to do what, to
be done well, ought to be done quickly. He sends
back the Theban herald, after rating him soundly,
with a stem response to his master. He follows at

166 EURIPIDES.

the herald's heels, defeats Creon, and brings back to
Eleusis the bodies of the Argive princes. The Chorus
enters in procession, chanting a dirge. Adrastus speaks
the funeral oration. The dead are then placed on a
pyre, and when it is kindled, Evadne, wife of the
boaster Capaneus, leaps on his pile. Finallj', a deity
appears as mediator. Minerva ratifies a treaty be-
tween Argos and Athens, and predicts that, at no
distant day, the now worsted Argos will, in its turn,
humble the pride of Thebes.

In this tragedy there is a monotony of woe, not re-
lieved, as in the case of "The Trojan "Women" of
Euripides, by a series of beautiful choral odes and
picturesque situations. The red flames of the six
funeral pyres, indeed, must have been effective ; and a
second Chorus of youths, the orphaned sons of the
chieftains, have deepened the pathos excited by the
suppliant queens. By it the dramatist employed two
of his favourite modes of touching the spectators — the
aid of women and the introduction of children. Per-
haps he had witnessed that sad and solemn spectacle
at which Pericles pronounced the encomium over the
firstlings of the slain in the Peloponnesian war, and
so transferred to a mimic scene the reality of a people's
mourning.

" The Children of Hercules " need not detain us long,
its drift being very similar to that of the tragedy of
" The Suppliants." Apparently it was written at a
time when Argos was recovering some of her earlier
importance among Dorian states, oAving to the strain
put upon the resources of Sparta by the length of her

THE CHILDREN OF HERCULES. 167

war with Athens. The Argives, it might be feared,
were inclined to throw their weight into the scale of
Thebes and Lacedaeraon, and stood in need of some
timely advice. The children of Hercules, hunted by
their enemies, and driven to take sanctuary at Mara-
thon, where the scene of action is laid, were sheltered
by Athens, and from these fugitives the Argives of the
time of Euripides were supposed to descend. Let Argos
now bear in mind this good service : let her remember
also the many and grievous wrongs done to her by the
cruel and faithless Spartans. If Thebes and the
Argive government enabled Sparta to enfeeble Athens,
and so disturb the balance of power in Greece, who
would be the gainer by such league ? "Who the loser
would be it was not difficidt to foresee. When was
Sparta, in her prosperity, ever faithful to her allies, or
even commonly justi What had Thebes ever done
for Argos to make alliance with her desirable ? Who
had been the real benefactors of the Argive people,
their kinsfolk in blood, or the lonians of Attica ? With
Athens to aid her, she might regain the position she
once held among the Dorian race : but if Athens fell
she would be as the Messenians were now, little more
than an appanage of the kings or ephors of hei power-
ful neighbour.

Passing over this play as historically rather than
dramatically interesting to modern readers, we come
now to " The Phrenzy of Hercules," which for some fine
scenes in it, and some very curious Euripidean theology,
deserves attention. It presents no tokens of having

168 EURIPIDES.

been a hurried or occasional composition. Ampliitryon,
who delivers the prologue, is, with Megara, the Avife of
Hercules, and her sons, cruelly treated by Lycus, king,
or more properly the usurping tyrant, of Thebes. He,
an adventurer from Euboea, had slain Creon, lord of
that city ; and to insure himself on his throne, has or-
dered !Megara, Creon's daughter, and her children by
Hercules, for execution. Her husband is at the time
detained in Hades, whither he has gone on a very
hazardous expedition, and his family despair of his
return. Lycus, his " wish being father to the thought,"
is of the same opinion; but fearing that the young
Heracleids may some day requite him for the murder
of their grandfather Creon, he resolves, like Macbeth,
to put his mind at ease by despatching aJI " Banquo's
issue." But on this point both the tyrant and his
victims are mistaken, for just as Amphitryon, Megara,
and the children, are being led forth to death, Hercules
returns, rescues his family, and delivers Thebes from
its Euboean intruder.

The taint of blood, however, is on the redresser of
wrongs, and from it he must be purified by sacrifice to
the gods. And now a worse foe to Hercules than
Lycus had been assails him. Juno, whose ire against
Jupiter's and Alcmena's son is as unappeasable as her
hatred towards Paris and Troy, is not pleased with the
turn matters are taking. It has been of no avail to
send the object of her spleen to bring up Cerberus from
beloAv. Pluto has not, as she hoped her grimy brother-
in-law woTild have done, clajiped him into prison, nor
Charon refused him homeward passage over the Styx.

THE PHREXZY OF HERCULES. lC9

In the "Alcestis" we have had an impersonation
of Death ; in the drama now before us there is one
of Madness (Lj'ssa), a daughter of Night, who bears
the goddess's instructions to render Hercules a maniac.
For this errand Madness has no relish : she is more
scrupulous than the Queen of Gods. " It is shameful,"
she says, " to persecute one who has served mankind
so well — destroying beasts of prey, and executing justice
on many notorious thieves and cut-throats." But Iris,
one of the Olympian couriers, tells Lyssa, whom she
accompanies, that " Juno is not a person to be trifled
with; that unless mortals in future be permitted to
beard divinities, Hercules must be made to feel the full
weight of celestial wrath. If a god or a goddess be
out of temper, even the best and most valiant of men
must smart." Reluctantly Lyssa complies with the
divine hest. Hercules, while engaged in the expiatory
sacrifice, goes suddenly distraught : conceiving them to
be foes, he murders his wife and their three sons, nar-
rowly misses sending his eartlily father, Amphitryon,
to the Shades, and is exhibited, after an interval filled
up with a Choric song, bound, as a dangerous lunatic,
with cords to a pillar. The bleeding corpses of his
household lie before him. Restored to his right mind,
he is appalled by his own deed. Theseus, whom Her-
cules has just before released from durance in Pluto's
realm, comes on and offers to his deliverer ghostly con-
solation. The pair of friends depart for Athens, where
the maniac shall be purged of his offence to heaven.
Only in the city of the Virgin-goddess can rest and
absolution be accorded to him.

170 EURIPIDES.

Tn " The Suppliants " we have some insight into
the political opinions of its author. In " The Phrenzy
of Hercules " there is a glimpse of his theology. Very
early in this drama are religious sentiments, not,
indeed, of a very consistent nature, introduced. Am-
phitryon, for example, when his prospects are most
gloomy, taxes Jupiter with unfair dealing towards his
copartner in marriage, to his daughter-in-law Megara,
and to his grandsons. But when Lycus has been slain,
then the Chorus proclaims that a signal instance of
divine justice has been shown. When Hercules re-
gains his senses, Theseus labours to put his soul at
ease by the following arguments : —

" This ruin from none other god proceeds
Than from the wife of Jove. Well thou dost know-
To counsel others is an easier task
Than to bear ills : yet none of mortal men
Escape unhurt by fortune ; not the gods.
Unless the stories of the bards be false.
Have they not formed connubial ties, to which
No law assents ? Have they not galled with chains
Their fathers through ambition ? Yet they hold
Their mansions on Olympus, and their wrongs
With patience bear. "What wilt thou say, if thou,
A mortal born, too proudly shouldst contend
'Gainst adverse fortune ?"

To which Hercules replies : —

" Ah me ! all this is foreign to my ills,
I deem not of the gods, as having formed
Connubial ties to which no law assents,
Nor as opprest with chains : disgraceful this
I hold, nor ever will believe that one

THE PIIRENZY OF HERCULES. 171

Lords it o'er others : of no foreign aid
The God, who is indeed a God, hath need :
These are the idle fables of your bards."

However, he consents to go with Theseus to Athens,
and win not add the guilt of suicide to that of homi-
cide.

This play seems at no time to have been a favour-
ite with either spectators or readers. For the former,
this dose of Anaxagorean philosophy may have been
too strong ; for the latter, the piece may have seemed
to follow " a course too bloody." Yet among the
tragic spectacles on the Athenian stage, that of Her-
cules bound to a column, with the remains of his
wife and children before him, and the terror-stricken
looks of Amphitryon and his attendants, was surely
one of the most affecting.

CHAPTEE IX.

THE TALB QF TROY : HECUBA — THE TROJAN WOME?^.

" High barrows, without marble, or a name,
A vast untilled and mountain-skirted plain,
And Ida in the distance, still the same.

And old Scamander (if 'tis he) remain ;
The situation seems still formed for fame —

A hundred thousand men might fight again
With ease ; but where I sought for Dion's walls,
The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls.'

— " Don Juan," Cant. iv.

Ox subjects connected with the Tale of Troy, ten dramas
by Euripides, if the " Rhesus " be counted among them,
are extant, and these represent a small portion only
of the themes he drew from the perennial supply of
the Homeric poems. The ancient epic, like the modern
novel, although widely differing from tragedy in its
form and substance, abounds in dramatic material.
Many plays, indeed, by Euripides and other dramatic
poets of the time, were derived from the Cyclic poets,
who either continued the Iliad, and brought the story
down to the fall of Troy, or took episodes in it as the
groundwork of their dramas. Whether coming from

TEE TALE OF TROY. 173

the main stream or from its branches, the result was
the same ; and the heroes who espoused the cause of
Menelaus were most of them suited for transplanta-
tion to the theatre.

Two of the ten plays which have TrOy for their
subject, directly or indirectly, have been noticed in a
previous chapter ; another, the " Cyclops," wUI be ex-
amined presently. The " Rhesus," being of uncertain
authorship, will be passed over. Of the seven that
remain, only a brief sketch can be given. The Two
Iphigenias, indeed, might alone suffice to show how
well fitted for the genius of their poet was the Lay
of Achilles or the Wanderings of Ulysses.

The fire that consumed Priam's capital is still
smouldering when the action of the " Hecuba " and
the " Trojan Women " begins. The scene of the for-
mer of these two tragedies is placed in the Thracian
Chersonesus — now the Crimea. The Chorus is com-
posed of Trojan captive women, a few days before the
subjects, now the fellow-prisoners, of their queen. In
the centre of the stage stands Agamemnon's tent, in a
compartment of which Hecuba and her attendants are
lodged. The prologue is spoken by her youngest son
Polydorus, whom she supposes to be living, but who
has been foully murdered by his guardian Polymnestor,
the Thracian king. His ghost hovers over the tent,
and after informing the audience of the manner of his
death, he vanishes just as his aged motlier enters on
the stage. One more woe is soon imparted to Hecuba
by the Chorus. The shade of Achilles has appeared
in glittering armour on his tomb, and demanded a

174 EURIPIDES.

victim. Again the Greek ships are delayed ; again a
virgin must be sacrificed before their anchors can be
weighed. The young life of Iphigenia was reqtdred
before the host could leave Aulis ; and now the blood
of Polyxena, Priam's youngest daughter, must be
shed before the Grecian prows can be turned home-
wards.

The sacrifice of the daughter is over, when the fate
of her son is reported to the miserable mother. An old
attendant has been sent to fetch water from the sea,
with which Hecuba will bathe — "not for the bridal bed,
but for the tomb" — the dead body of Polyxena. The
corpse of Polydorus is found by the attendant cast on
the sea-beach by the wave. The sum of her woes is
now complete. Her other sons have fallen in the war ;
no daughter remains to her except the prophetess Cas-
sandra, who is herself the bondwoman of Agamemnon ;
and now her last stay is rudely torn from her — her
youngest bom, her Benjamin, lies dead on the sands.
One hope alone remains for her to cherish — the hope of
revenge on the murderer of her boy ; and it is speedily
gratified. The treacherous guardian comes to the
Grecian camp, is inveigled by Hecuba into the tent,
and thence thrust forth eyeless and with bleeding vis-
age, by the infuriated mother and her attendants. This,
" if not victory, is at least revenge."

The merits of this tragedy have been much canvassed.
The plot has been pronounced monstrous, overcharged
with woe, and, besides, unskilfully split into two uncon-
nected portions. The immolation of Polyxena and
the murder of Polydorus have, it is alleged, no neces-

TUB TALE OF TROY. 175

sary connection with each other. There might have
been two plays made out of this single one — the first
concluding with the death of the daughter, the second
with the vengeance taken for the son. It may be so ;
but was that the view of the story taken by Euripides ?
May he not have said to objectors, the continuity of
my play lies not where you look for it, but in the char-
acter of the person from whom it is named? The
double murder of her children is a mere incident in
the action ; the unity is to be found in her strong Avill,
Old, feeble, and helpless as she is, the mind of the ex-
queen of Troy is never clouded. Suffering even lends
her new force to act ', the deeper her woe the more
clearly she perceives that all help is vain if it come not
from her own dauntless spirit. It is the tragedy of
Hecuba, not of Polyxena or Polydorus.

English readers may find an excuse, if one be needed,
of which ancient objectors could not avail themselves.
For is not the Hecuba of Euripides near of kin, as a
dramatic character, to the Queen Margaret of Shake-
speare ? Her also accumulated woes strengthen even
when they seem to crush. She also is made childless ;
she, like her Greek prototype, is a widow and dis-
crowned. Yet with what vigour and what disdain
does she to the last look down upon her Ulysses, the
crafty Duke of Gloucester, and her Agamemnon, the
voluptuous Edward ! The description of Polyxena's
sacrifice is among the most beautiful and pathetic
pictures in the Athenian drama. The herald reports
to Hecuba how bravely her daughter has met her
doom : —

176 EURIPIDES.

" The assembled host of Greece before the tomb
Stood in full ranks at this sad sacrifice —
Achilles' son, holding the virgin's hand
On the mound's summit : near to him I stood ;
Of chosen youths an honourable train
Were ready there her strugglings to restrain."

When silence has been proclaimed through the host,
and Hbations poured to the shade of Achilles, Pyrrhus
sjioke these words : —

" 0 son of Peleus, O my father,
Accept my ofi"ering, soothing to the dead ;
Drink this pure crimson stream of virgin-blood,
Loose all our cables, fill our sails, and grant
Swift passage homeward to the Grecian host."

The people joined in the prayer : Pyrrhus drew from
its scabbard his golden sword, and

" At his nod
The noble youths stept forth to hold the maiden,
Which she perceiving, mth these words addressed them :
' "Willing I die ; let no hand touch me ; boldly
To the uplifted sword I hold my neck.
You give me to the gods, then give me free.'
Loud the applause, then Agamemnon cried:

* Let no man touch her : ' and the youths drew back.
Soon as she heard the royal words, she clasped

Her robe, and from her shoulder rent it down,
And bared her snow-white bosom, beauteous
Beyond the deftest sculptor's nicest art.
Then bending to the earth her knee, she said —
Ear never yet has heard more mournful words —

* If 'tis thy will, young man, to strike tliis breast.
Strike ; or my throat dost thou prefer, behold

It stretched to meet thy sword.' "

THE TALE OF TROY. 177

Even the " rugged Pyrrhus " is touched with pity,
pauses, and at last reluctantly,

" Deep in her bosom plunged the shining steel.
Her life-blood gushed in streams : yet e'en in death,
Studious of modesty, her beauteous limbs
Slie covered with her robe."

THE TROJAN WOMEN.

The action of this play takes place a few days before
that of the " Hecuba." It is not, properly speaking, a
drama, for it has scarcely any fable. " It is," says
Dean Milman, "a series of pathetic speeches and
exquisite odes on the fall of Troy. What can be
more admirable, in the midst of all these speeches of
woe and sorrow, than the wild outburst of Cassandra
into a bridal song, instead of, as Shakespeare describes
her, 'shrilling her dolours forth' ! "

" A light ! a light ! rise up, be swift :
I seize, I worship, and I lift
The bridal torches' festal rays,
Till all the burning fane's ablaze !
Hymen, Hymenoean king !
Look there ! look there ! what blessings wait
Upon the bridegroom's nuptial state !
And I, how blest, who proudly ride
Through Argos' streets, a queenly bride !
Go thou, my mother ! go !
With many a gushing tear
And frantic shriek of woe.
Wail for thy sire, thy country dear !
A. c. vol. xii. M

178 EURIPIDES.

I the while, in hridal glee
Lift the glowing, glittering fire.

Hymen ! Hymen ! all to thee

Flames the torch and rings the lyre.

Bless, O Hecate, the rite ;

Send thy soff and holy light

To the virgin's nuptial hed.

Lightly lift the airy tread !

Evan ! Evan ! dance along.

Holy are the dance and song ;

Meetest they to celebrate

My father Priam's blissful fate.

Beauteous-vested maids of Troy,

Sing my song of nuptial joy !

Sing the fated husband led

To my virgin bridal bed." *

In another choral song, the rejoicing of Troy, at the
very moment when the Greeks, coming out from their
ambush in the wooden horse, were stealthily creeping
to unbar the gates and admit the host from without, is
described : —

" Shouted all the people loud
On the rock-built height that stood —
' Come,' they sang, as on they prest,
* Come, from all our toil released.
Lead the blest image to the shrine
Of her the Jove-born Trojan maid-divine.

O'er the toil, the triumph, spread
Silent night her curtained shade,
But Lybian fifes still sweetly rang,
And many a Phrygian air they sang.

* Dean Milinan — " Fragments from the Greek Tragedians,'
from which volume the following translations are taken.

THE TALE OF TROY. 179

And maidens danced with liglitsome feet
To the jocund measures sweet,
And every home Avas blazing bright,
As the glowing festal light
Its rich and ruddy splendour streamed,
Where high and full the mantling wine-cup beamed.

All at once the cry of slaughter,

Through the startled city ran ;
The cowering infants on their mother's breasts
Folded their trembling hands within her vests ;
Forth stalked the ambushed Mars, and his fell work began."

" Sad," said the aged Manoali in ' Samson Agon-
istes,' —

" Sad, but thou knowest to Israelites not saddest,
The desolation of a hostile city,' "

and probably Athenians, who had laid waste many
cities, were not displeased by a representation of the
destruction of Troy, With great skill, indeed, Euri-
pides has shown that the victors are scarcely less de-
serving of pity than the vanquished. In every Grecian
state during the ten years' siege — and what was true of
the Trojan was true also of the Peloponnesian war —
many had been made widows and orphans. While the
Achsean kings and heroes were encamped on the Trojan
strand, their wives have been false to them, usurpers
have occupied their thrones, or suitors to their queens
have been faring sumptuously at their cost. The pro-
phecies of Cassandra point to further calamities. A
bloody bath awaits Agamemnon ; some, like Idomeneus
and Diomedes, must take refuge on alien shores ;

180 EURIPIDES.

thwarting winds and stormy seas will keep for many
years from their kingdoms Ulysses and Menelaus ; the
greater Ajax has been struck by mania, and falls by his
own hand ; and Ajax Teucer will soon be transfixed by
a thunderbolt launched by the outraged IMinerva. As
in several Euripidean tragedies, women play an import-
ant part in this one. The daughters of Priam and their
attendants are distributed among the black-bearded
Achaean captains — Cassandra is allotted to the " king
of men ; " Andromache to Pyn-hus, the son of him who
slew her husband ; her son Astyanax, lest he prove a
second Hector, and avenge his father's death on Argos
or Sparta, is hurled from a tower ; and Hecuba is as-
signed to Ulysses, whose wiles, quite as much as his
compeers' weapons, have caused the taking of Troy.
As in the " Suppliant "Women," fire is employed to
render the final scene efiective. All of Troy that
escaped on the night when it was stormed is now given
over to the flames. The tragedy closes with the fall
of column and roof, of temple and palace, into a fiery
abyss, and by the red light of the conflagration the
Trojan women are led off to the Grecian galleys.

Passing over the " Electra," that the Tale of Troy
may not "weary English readers, and also because what
is good and what is bad in it* would require comment
for which there is not room, the "Orestes" comes next in
order in this batch of Euripidean tragedies. "The
scenes of this drama," says one who had good right to

* " Magnse virtutea nee minora vitia " would be an appropri-
ate motto for the " Electra " of Euripides.

THE TALE OF TROY. 181

speak on the subject of Greek Plays,* " afford one of
the most beautiful exhibitions of the domestic affections
which even the dramas of Euripides can furnish. To
the English reader it may be necessary to say, that the
situation at the opening of the drama is that of a brother
attended only by his sister during the demoniacal pos-
session of a suffering conscience (or, in the mj^thology
of the play, haunted by Furies), and in circumstances
of immediate danger from enemies, and of desertion or
cold regard from nominal friends." As to the Furies,
Longinus says that " the poet himself sees them, and
what his imagination conceives, he almost compels his
audience to see also." We do not know how the spec-
tators welcomed this tragedy when it was performed ;
but in later times no one of all the Attic tragedies was
so much approved as this one. It is more frequently
cited than all the plays of .^chylus and Sophocles put
together. The depth of its domestic pathos touched
the Grecian world, however it may have affected a
Dionysiac audience.

As in the " Libation Bearers " of .^chylus, Orestes
has no sooner avenged the most foul and unnatural
murder of his father than mania seizes him. When the
first scene opens, he is lying haggard, blood-besprent,
unshorn, unkempt, and in sordid garments, on a couch,
beside which, for six days and six nights, his sister
Electra has kept watch. During all that time he has
not tasted food : in his lucid intervals he is feeble and
fever-stricken ; at others he sees in pursuit of him
his mother's vengeful Furies. Menelaus, his uncle,
* De Quincey.

182 EURIPIDES.

!has recently returned from Troy, accompanied by his
wife, Helen, and their daughter, Hermione. Hero
for the wretched maniac appears to be a gleam of hope :
for surely one so near of kin cannot fail to aid him
against the citizens of Argos who are calling for his
death, or at least perpetual banishment as a matricide,
taken red-handed. Helen and Electra, after some differ-
ence on the subject, agree that Hermione shall go with
offerings to Clytemnestra's grave. The Chorus, com-
posed of Argive women, sing round the sick man's bed.
Their theme is the alternate ravings and rational moods
of Orestes, nor do they omit to celebrate the awful
power of the Furies. And now !Menelaus enters, but
it soon appears that his nephew will have little help
from him. He discovers that Orestes and Electra are
to be tried on the capital charge of murder on that very
day, by the assembled Argive people. The unhappy
culprit pleads strongly for his sister and himself, and
their just claim for the aid and protection of the Spar-
tan king. A new enemy now appears. Old Tyndareus,
the father of Helen and Clytemnestra, arrives, and by
his arguments against Orestes, decides his wavering
son-in-law to remain neuter in the controversy. By
craft and shifts alone will Menelaus take the part of
the brother and sister. On his part the enraged Tyn-
dareus will do all he can to procure their condemnation.
Pylades, their only friend, urges Orestes to present
himself to the assembly, plead his own cause, and if
possible, by his eloquence, work on the feelings of his
judges. He attends, but fails in obtaining a milder
sentence than death — ^the only concession is, that Elec-

TEE TALE OF TROY. 183

tra and her brother may put themselves to death, and
so avoid the indignity, prince and princess as they are,
of dying by the hands of a public executioner or an in-
furiated mob. The condemned pair take a final farewell,
when Pylades suggests a mode of revenge on Menelaus.
" Helen," he says, " is now within the palace : slay her,
and revenge yourselves on your cold-hearted and selfish
kinsman. Fear not her guards ; they are only a few
cowardly and feeble eunuchs." To this proposal Elec-
tra adds a most practical amendment. " Killing Helen
will avail little : seize Hermione — she is now returning
from Clytemnestra's tomb — and hold her as a hostage.
Sooner than have his daughter and only child perish,
IMenelaus will befriend you." They combine both
plans : Helen shall be slain ; Hermione shall be seized
upon. The former escapes their hands : just as the
sword is at her throat she vanishes into thin air, and,
being of divine origin, henceforth will share the im-
mortality of her brothers. Castor and Pollux. The
palace doors are barred against Menelaus, now returned
from the assembly ; but he beholds Orestes and Pyla-
des, with Hermione between them, on the roof. Her
they will slay, and make the palace itself her and their
funeral pyre. This is indeed a dead lock. But ApoUo
appears with Helen floating in the air. By his man-
date the crime of blood is cancelled : all shall live ; and
the remaining years of Orestes, Electra, and Pylades,
pass unclouded by woe.

In the " Andromache " Orestes appears once more,
but not as a leading character. He might, indeed, were

184 EURIPIDES.

it not for his relatives Menelaus and Hermione, have
been another person so named, since of the hero of so
many Greek dramas there is scarcely a trace left, except
a disposition to do murder. Most people, after shed-
ding so much human blood as he has done, would be
contented with living tlienceforward at peace with all
men — even his rivals in love. But, on the contrary, this
Argive prince contrives in the " Andromache " to put
out of his way I^eoptolemus, the son of AchiUes, for no
better reason than that of coveting Hermione, the
Phthian king's wife, and his own fii*st cousin. We know
not whether ApoUo grew weary of cleansing of crime ;
yet to plot and execute a capital oifence in the god's
own temple at Delphi can hardly have been other than
a severe trial of even divine patience.

As this play appears to have obtained the second
prize at the time of its representation, besides fumish-
iug the modem stage with more than one tragedy on
the subject, it must be credited with a fair amount
of interest for spectators. Yet it may be doubted
whether it be equally attractive to readers. All
that is material to be known of the plot may be
gathered from its representatives — the " Andromaque "
of Eacine, and the "Distrest Mother" of Ambrose
Philips. The following scene, the most effective as
well as touching in this somewhat complicated drama,
may afford a sample — and it is a favourable one — of
the original.

The heroine from whom the play takes its title is in
the power of her enemies, Hermione, wife of Neopto-
lemus, and her father Menelaus. Bound with cords,

THE TALE OF TROT. 185

she is being led off to execution, "when the aged Peleus,
the father of Achilles, and great-grandsire of Andro-
mache's son, the little Molossus, enters and releases
her. In the part of Molossus, as in that of the infant
Orestes in the " Iphigenia at Aulis," we have a specimen
of the manner in which Euripides availed himself of
children in his scenes. Peleus says to the guards who
are in charge of their prisoner : —

" Stand from lier, slaves, that I may know who dares
Oppose me, while I free her hands from chains.
Come hither, child ;
Beneath my arms unbind thy mother's chains ;
In Phthia wiU. I nurture thee.

Go forward, child, beneath my sheltering arms,
And thou, unhappy dame : the raging storm
Escaped, in harbour thou art now secure."

The *' Helen " can scarcely be said to form part of
the dramatic Tale of Troy, even although Menelaus
and his wife are among its dramatis personce. It is a
kind of offshoot from that world-wide legend. Per-
haps Euripides, like the lyric poet Stesichorus, thought
that some apology was due from him to " the fairest
and most loving wife in Greece." In his " Hecuba "
and " Trojan Women " Helen comes in for her full share
of hard words. In the " Orestes " she is represented
as greedy of gain, and making an inventory of the
goods and chattels of Electra and her brother even
before they were condemned to death. In the play
last surveyed, Menelaus is rated for taking her again to
his bosom, instead of cutting her throat. The lovely

186 EURIPIDES.

and liberal matron of the Odyssey, the mistress of all
hearts of the Iliad, had hitherto been scurvily treated
by our poet. His apology to her memory in the play
bearing her name is curious. The purport of it is to
show that there had been a fearful mistake made all
along by the Greeks. The good-for-nothing Helen,
for Avhom they shed so much blood, was a phantasm,
a double, a prank of mischievous deities. The real
Helen never went near Ilion, — never injured any one,
not even her husband, — but passed the score of years
between the visit of Paris to Sparta and the fall of
that city in a respectable grass-widowhood under the
roof of a pious king and a holy prophetess in Egypt.
Here was a delightful discovery ! A great capital had
been sacked and burnt to the ground ; a whole nation
removed from its place ; Greece nearly ruined ; thou-
sands of valiant knights hurried to Hades ; hundreds
of dainty and delicate women told off, Hke so many
sheep, to new OAvners ; the very gods themselves set
together by the ears ; — and all for nothing — for a
shadow that dislimned into thin air the instant it was
no longer wanted for troubling and bewildering man-
kind !

It has been doubted whether there be a comic ele-
ment in the " Alcestis ; " it is far easier to detect one
in the " Helen." Menelaus has lost his ship, and gets
to land by clinging to its keeL He knows not on
what coast he has been wrecked ; but wherever it may
be, he is not fit to present himself to any respectable
person. He says, —

THE TALE OF TROY. 187

" I have nor food nor raiment, proof of this
Are these poor coverings ; all my former robes
The sea has swallowed."

He is scolded by an old woman, the portress of
King Theoclymenus's palace, who, seeing his tattered
garments, takes him for a rogue and vagabond, and
when told by him that he is a Greek, says, " The
worse welcome ; I am charged by my master to let
none of that race approach his door." The trick by
which Helen and himself try to make their escape
from the island of Pharos nearly resembles th.e one we
have already met with, in the "Iphigenia at Tauri,"
— better executed, indeed, and more favoured by Avind
and wave, for in this play the flight is effected. The
Chorus, however, who have been aiding the fugitives
in the plot by secrecy, like the Chorus in the " Iphi-
genia," incur the wrath of the king ; and as for his
sister, the pious and prophetic Theonoe, she has been
the chief abettor, and shall pay for her deceit with her
life. Theoclymenus, indeed, is even more wroth than
the Iphigenian Thoas on a similar occasion, and per-
haps justly; foT whereas the Tauric king was only
incensed because the image of his goddess was stolen,
Theoclymenus is a lover of Helen, whom for years he
had been eager to make his wife. This makes a
material diff'erence between the two cases. It might
have been possible to obtain a new image of Diana,
and induce the goddess to consecrate it properly ; but
in all the world there was only one Helen.

The character of the priestess Theono6 bears some

188 EURIPIDES.

resemblance to that of Ion. Like him, she is truly
pure-minded and devout : like him, also, her ministra-
tion at the altar is a labour of love. Deeply religious,
she is also tender and sympathising with another's
woe ; and so soon as she is convinced that the beauti-
ful Greek who has so long taken sanctuary at the
tomb of Proteus is the lawful wife of the shipwrecked
stranger, she favours their escape. She says, —

" To piety my nature and my will
Incline : myself I reverence, nor will stain
My father's glory ; neither will I grant
That to my brother which will mark my name
With infamy : for Justice in my heart
Has raised her ample shrine ; for Nereus
This I hold, and Menelaus will strive to save."

It has already been observed that the " Ion " dis-
plays the sympathy of the poet with virtue and piety
in man : the character of Theonoe shows that the sup-
posed misogjTiist was equally impressed with, as well
as able to delineate, purity and piety in woman.

CHAPTEE X

THE CYCLOPS.

" This is as strange a thing as e'er I looked on.
He is as disproportioned in his manners
As in his shape."

— "Tempest."

We can hardly be grateful enough for the care or
caprice of the grammarian or the collector of old plays
who has preserved for us one sample of the Greek satyric
drama. Some uncertainty still exists about the pre-
cise nature of this curious appendage to the tragic
Trilogy ; but without such aid as we get from the
" Cyclops " of Euripides, we should depend on frag-
ments or guess-work, if not be quite in the dark.
Even with this single plank from the general wreck of
these after-pieces before us, we look at the species
through a veil. The severe and solemn .^chylus is
recorded to have been a successful composer of such
light and cheerful pieces ; but this bit of information
by no means helps to clear up doubts. Sweetness
may have come out of the strong, but of what kind
was .^chylean mirth, or even relaxation from gravity 1

190 EURIPIDES.

The decorous Sophocles is reported to have enacted
the part of Nausicaa, and played at ball with the hand-
maidens of the princess in a satyric story evidently
taken from one of the most beautiful scenes in the
Odyssey. But how the serene and majestic artist
managed to comport himself under such circumstances
we have still to wonder. All we know for certain
about the Greek fourth play is, that it was intended to
soothe and calm down the feelings of the spectators
after they had been strained and agitated by the pro-
phetic swan-song of Cassandra, by the wail of Jason
for his murdered children, by the scene in which
Orestes flies from the Furies, or that wherein the noble
Antigone and the loving Haemon are clasped together
in their death-embrace.

Such relaxation of excited feeling was in the true
spirit of Greek art in its best days, which required even
in the hurricane of tragic passion a moderating element,
and the means of returning to composure. Let not,
however, the English reader imagine that, although the
satyric drama was designed to send home the audience
in a tranquil and even cheerful mood, it bore any re-
semblance to farce, much less to burlesque. Welcome
as parodies of scenes or verses from " the lofty grave
tragedians " were to Athenian ears, skilful as the comic
writers were in such travesties, a Greek audience in
the time of Euripides would have hurled sticks, stones,
and hard-shelled fruit at the buffoons who committed
such profanation, " Hamlet," if performed at Athens,
would not have been followed by " a popular farce " !
Perhaps there is no better definition of the satyric

TEE CYCLOPS. 191

drama than this — and it is one of ancient date — it was
" a sportive tragedy," It was not written by comic, but
always by tragic poets : it was in some measure a per-
formance of " state and ancientry." Seldom, if ever,
was it acted apart from tragedy. It may have been a
shadow or reminiscence of the primeval age of stage-
plays, when the actors were all strollers and the theatre
was a cart. Prone to change in their favour or affection
to their rulers — ostracising or crowning them as the
whim of the moment suggested — the Athenians were
very conservative in their opinions on art, and so may
have chosen to retain a sample of the rude entertain-
ments of Thespis, even in the " most high and palmy
state" of the tragic drama. The satyric dramatis
personce were grave and dignified personages, — demi-
gods and heroes, kings and prophets, councillors and
warriors, — who spoke a dialogue, as Ulysses does in the
'* Cyclops," only a Uttle less grave than that of the
preceding tragedies, perchance a little more ironical
than the buskin woidd have allowed. To make wild
laughter was the function of the comedian ; to excite
cheerfulness rather than mirth was probably the func-
tion of these appendages.

In a city where the Homeric poems were sung or
said in the streets, the story of Ulysses and the Cyclops
was as familiar to the ears of gentle and simple as
" household words." The plot of it and some of the
humour are Homer's. But the one-eyed giant of the
Odyssey is a solitary bachelor, and the Chorus of
Satyrs, indispensable for the piece, was a later inven-
'tion. In Homeric days, Sicily and southern Italy

192 EURIPIDES.

were the wonder-land of the eastern Greeks. Like
Prospero's island, they were thought to harbour very-
strange heasts. In Sicily dwelt a hand of gigantic
brethren, who lived, while they had nothing better to
eat, on the milk, cheese, and mutton supplied by their
flocks, but who were always glad to mend their fare by
devouring strangers unlucky enough to come into their
neighbourhood. This ill luck befell Ulysses and his
ship's crew — sole survivors of the Ithacan flotilla — on
their return from Troy. Contrary winds had driven
them far from their course : want of water compelled
them to land on the Sicilian shore. In quest of spring
or brook, they go to the cavern of the Cyclops. He,
fortunately for them, is not just then at home ; but his
servants, Silenus and the Satyrs, are within, and after a
short parley with their unexpected visitors, they con-
sent to supply their need, and even to sell the Greek
captain some of their master's goods, tempted by the quite
irresistible bribe of a flask of excellent wine. It may
be as well to say at once what had brought such strange
domestics into the Cyclops' country, and thus the reader
will see why they were so glad to taste wine again, and
why they acted dishonestly in selling the lambs and
kids. The Satyrs had lost their lord and master Bac-
chus, who had been carried off by Tyrrhenian pirates.
So they left their homes in Arcadian highland or Thes-
salian woods, and went to sea in quest of him, lovers
of the wine-cask as they were. Probably these hairj-
and unkempt folks were imperfectly versed in naviga-
tion, or they may have had a drunken steersman, or
the winds may have been as perverse as they were to

THE CYCLOPS. 193

Ulysses. In one respect, either their hideousness or
their yeais — Silenus, at least, was advanced in life —
may have befriended them, for Polyphemus does not
eat them raw or broiled on the embers, but keeps
them in his cave for the service of his dairy and his
kine. At last Polyphemus enters ; and now we
can imagine some excitement on the part of the junior
Athenians, sedate smiles on that of their elders, and
even a scream or two from the place where the women
were packed together. !N^o known art or de\'ice, wo
may be sure, was neglected by the managers in making
up the giant for his part. If Ulysses were of the
usual stature of Greek performers, Polyphemus must
have worn far higher soles and loftier head-gear than
the Ithacan king. The monster must have been at
least by " the altitude of a chopine " taller than his
guest. A yawning mask doubtless aggravated the terror
of his visage ; his voice must have been like that of an
irate buU ; and his single eye as big as an ordinary-sized
plate, and red as a live coal. The Satyrs may have
reminded their beholders of the well-known features of
Sociates ; nor could the philosopher have been justly
angry at a resemblance that he himself had pointed
out. Polyphemus is too stupid to be either " witty in
himself or a cause of wit in others ; " accordingly, such
comic business as there is in the piece devolves on
Silenus and his companions, who relieve gigantic dul-
ness by quips and cranks, much as the celebrated Jack
relieves the stolidity of Blunderbore by some friendly
conversation before he rips him up.

The Cyclops had been absent on ^tna, hunting with
A. c. voL xii, N

194 EURIPIDES.

Lis dogs. Like King Lear on his return from the
cliase, he calls out lustily for his dinner, after a pre-
rious. xnq^uiry about his lambs, ewes, and cheese-bas-
kets. He discerns that something unusual has taken
place during his. absence, and threatens to beat Silenus
until he raina tears, unless he anwera promptly. Xext
his eye lights on the strangers, and also on something
still mare irritating to hiui as a grazier : —

" "What is this- erowd I see beside the stalls ?
Outlaws or thieves ?• for near my caveni-liome
I see iny yomij,' lambs coujiled two by two
"\Vitli willow-bunds : mixed with my cheeses lie
Their implements ; and this old fellow here
Has his- bald head brokea with stripes." *

The shrewd but perfidiwis ^enus has inflicted these
stripes on himself in order to make his story of being
robbed credible to his master — a device of a similar
kind to that Trhich Bardolph says caused him to blush.

" Sil. Ah me !

I hare- been beaten: till I bum with fever,
Cy<'- By whom ? who laid his fist upon your head ?
Sil. Those men, because I wwild not suffer them

To steal your goods.
Cyc. Did not the rascals know

I am a god, signing from the race of heaven ?
iiil. I told them so, but they bore off your things,

And ate the cheese in spite of all I said,

And carried out the lambs."

And inasmuch as this capital felony was, he alleged,

* Shelley's translation of the " Cyclops " has been followed in
each extract from the piece.

THE CYCLOPS. 195

accompanied by threats of personal violence to Poly-
phemus himself, he not unreasonably flies into a ter-
rible passion, and hastens to enforce Cyclopian law on
the spoilers of his goods : —

" Cycl. In truth ? nay, haste, and place in order
quickly
^The cooking-knives, and heap upon the hearth,
And kindle it, a great fagot of wood ;
As soon as they are slaughtered they shall fill
My belly, broiling warm from the live coals.
Or boiled and seethed within the bubbling caldron.
I am quite sick of the wild mountain-game,
Of stags and lions I have gorged enough.
And I grow hungry for the flesh of men."

In vain Ulysses assures Polyphemus that he has
never laid hands on Silenus ; that he purchased the
lambs for wine, honestly as he thought, and that the
lying old Satyr's nose will vouch for the exchange and
barter. All was done

" By mutual compact, without force ;
There is no word of truth in all he says,
For slily he was selling all your store."

But as weU might a poacher accused of snaring
hares or trapping foxes have pleaded innocence before
that worshipful justice Squire Western, as Ulysses
expect his plain tale to put down the evidence, con-
firmed by the very hard swearing, of Silenus. The
Chorus, indeed, following, its proper function of
mediator between " contending opposites," assures the
Cyclops that the stranger tells the simple truth,
and that they saw Silenus giving the lambs to him.

196 EURIPIDES.

" You lie ! " exclaims the giant ; " this old fellow is
juster than Ehadamanthus : I believe his story."
^ow, for a few minutes, curiosity prevails over hunger
for the flesh of men, and Polyphemus inquires ahout
the race, adventures, life, and conversation of the in-
truders on his cavern. Ulysses, carefully concealing
his real name, gives the required information. He is
one of the chiefs who have taken Troy : he is on his
return home to Ithaca : not choice, but tempests, have
brought him to this land. " Moreover," he adds, " if
you kill and eat me or my comrades, you will be very
ungrateful We are all pious worshippers of your
'great father' I^eptune. We have bmlt him many
temples in Greece. Much have we endured by war
and land and sea, and it wiU be very hard on us, after
escaping so many perils, to be now roasted or boiled
for a supper to l!J"eptune's son."

The reply of Polyphemus is just what might have
been looked for jfrom such a sensual barbarian. It
is unfilial, and even blasphemous. " A fig," he cries,
"for your temples and their gods. The wise man
knows of nothing worth worshipping except wealth.^

" All other things are a pretence and boast.
What are my father's ocean promontories.
The sacred rocks whereon he dwells, to me ?
Strangers, I laugh to scorn Jove's thunderbolt :
I know not that his strength is more than mine ;
As to the rest I care not."

" Jupiter may send snow or rain or wind as he list. I
have a weather-proof cave, plenty of fuel and milk;

TEE CYCLOPS. 197

my larder is ever provided with a haunch, of lion or a
fat calf ; and so that I have a good crop of grass in
yonder meadows, I and my cattle care alike for your
Jupiter." And then he winds up with a declamtion
of his purpose to have a good dinner : —

" I well know
The wise man's only Jupiter is this,
■, To eat and drink during his little day,
And give himself no care. And as for those
Who complicate with laws the life of man,
I freely give them tears for their reward,
I will not cheat my soul of its delight,
Or hesitate in dining upon you."

Clearly, after heariag these hospitahle intentions,
Ulysses will need all the cunning for which he was
famed. " This," he thinks, " is hy far the worst scrape
I ever was in. Very near was I to death when I
entered Troy town as a spy, and when I cajoled Queen
Hecuha to let me out of it. I just missed being trans-
fixed hy Philoctetes in Lemnos hy one of his poisoned
arrows, when Machaon, that skUful surgeon, was
many leagues away from me, and when, even if he
had been at hand, he could not perhaps have counter-
acted the old centaur's venom. ' About my brain,' I
must not faint, but contrive to foil this brute's de-
signs. If I cannot, better had it been for me to have
died by the hand of the mad Ajax, for then I should
have been decently buried by the Greeks, and Penelope
have known what became of me ; whereas, if I am to
go down this monster's * insatiate maw,' she may go

198 EURIPIDES.

on for ten years more weeping and weaving, and after
all be forced to marry one of her suitors. Now, if
ever, Pallas Athene befriend me."

The stage is cleared, and the Chorus sing appropriate
but not cheerful stanzas, with reference to present cir-
cumstances : —

" The Cyclops ^Etnean is cruel and bold.
He murders the strangers
That sit on his hearth,
And dreads no avengers
To rise from the earth.
He roasts the men before they are cold,
He snatches them broiling from the coal,
And from the caldron pidls them whole.
And minces their flesh and gnaws their bone
With his cursed teeth till all be gone." '

Ulysses re-enters ; he has been surveying the
Cyclopian larder and kitchen, and is as terrified by
the sight of their contents as Fatima was when she
rushed out of Bluebeard's chamber of horrors. He has
seen Polyphemus providing for his own comforts. He
kindles a huge fire, —

" Casting on the broad hearth
The knotty limbs of an enormous oak,
Three waggon-loads at least."

He spreads upon the ground a couch of pine-leaves :
he milks his cows. —

" And fills a bowl
Three cubits wide and four in depth, as much
As would contain three amphorae, and bound it
With ivy."

Till-: CYCLOPS. ,199

He puts on the fire a pot to boil, and makes red-hot
the points of sundry spits, and, -when all is ready, he
seizes tAvo of the Ithacans, —

" And killed them in a measured kind of manner ;
For he flung one against the hrazeu rivets
Of the huge caldron, and caught the other
By the foot's tendon, and knocked out his brains
Upon the sharp edge of the craggy stone."

One he boiled, the other lie roasted, while Ulysses,

" With the tears raining from his eyes,
Stood near the Cyclops, ministering to him."

Eut while waiting at table, a liappy thouglit presents
itself to Ulysses. '' If I can but make him drunk
enough, then I can deal with him." He plies him well
■with Maroniiyi wine at dinner ; but Polyphemus is as
yet "na that fou" to fall into the trap. He is still
sober enough to remember that his brother-giants may
relish a cheerful glass no less than himself. They in-
habit a village on ^tna not far off, and he Avill go and
invite them to share his Bacchic drink. The Chorus
advise Ulysses to walk with him, and j^itch him over
a precipice, as he is somewhat unsteady on his legs.
" That will never do," responds the sagacious Ithacan.
" I have a far more subtle device. I will appeal to
his appetite : tell him how unwise it were to summon
partners for his revelry. Why not prolong his pleasure
by keeping this particular Maronian for his own sole
usel" The Cyclops presently returns, singing —

" Ha ! ha ! I am full of wine,
Heavy with the joy divine,

200 EURIPIDES.

With tjie young feast oversated ;

Like a merchant's vessel freighted

To the water's edge, my crop

Is laden to the gullet's top.

The fresh meadow-grass of spring

Tempts nie forth thus wandering

To my brothers on the mountains,

Who shall share the wine's sweet fountains.

Bring the cask, 0 stranger, bring ! "

He is diverted from his purpose by Ulysses ; and for
once Silenus acts a friendly part to him by asking
his master, " "What need have you of pot-companions ?
stay at home." Indeed the advice proceeds from a
design to filch some of the wine himself — an impossi-
bility if the cask is borne off to the village, where there
will be so many eyes — single ones indeed — upon him.
So it is agreed that the giant - brothers be kept in
the dark, and quaff their bowls of milk, while Poly-
phemus drinks deep potations of Maron alone. The
Greek stranger has now so ingratiated himself with
his savage host, that the latter condescends to ask
his name, and to promise to eat him last, in token
of his gratitude for his drink and good counsel. " My
name," says Ulysses, '* is Nobody." With this infor-
mation the Sicilian Caliban is content ; and with the
exception that Silenus teases him by putting the flagon
out of his reach, with the above-mentioned felonious
intent, all goes merry as a marriage - bell. Ulysses,
now again cup-bearer, plies him so well, that the
" poor monster " sees visions —

" The throne of Jove,
And the clear congregation of the Gods " —

THE CYCLOPS. 201

and in the end drops off into slumber profound as
Christopher Sly's.

!N"ow comes the dramatic retribution. The trunk of
an olive-tree has been sharpened to a point, is heated
in the fire, and thrust by Ulysses and his surviving
companions into the eye of the insensible giant. The
Chorus, indeed, had promised to lend a hand in this
operation, for they are anxious to be off in quest of
their liege-lord Bacchus. But their courage fails them
at the proper moment — some have sprained ankles,
others have dust in their eyes, others weakness of
spine. All they can or wiU do — and this service is
truly operatic in its kind — is to sing a cheerful and
encouraging accompaniment to the boring-out of the
eye:—

" Hasten and thrust,
And parch up to dust,
. The eye of the beast

Who feeds on his guest ;

Burn and blind

The ^tnean hind ;

Scoop and draw,

But beware lest he claw

Your limbs near his maw."

The last scene of the " Cyclops " has to the reader an
appearance of being either imperfectly preserved or
originally hurried over. It may be that, not having
the action before us, we miss some connecting dumb-
show. In the Odyssey the escape of Ulysses and his
crew is effected with much difficulty, and great risk to
their chief : in this satyric play they get out of the

202 EURIPIDES.

cave quickly as well as safely, though its owner sap
that —

" Standing at the outlet,
He'll bar the way and catch them as they pass : "

but either they creep under his huge legs, like so many
Gullivers in Brobdingnag, or he is a very inefficient
doorkeeper — drink and pain seemingly having ren-
dered him as incapable of hearing as of sight. Indeed
Polyphemus, blind and despairing, is the only sufferer
in this flight of the Ithacans. In striking at them he
beats the air, or cracks his skull against the rocky
wall. The Chorus taunt and misguide him. " Are
these villains on my right hand ? " " Ko, on your
left," — Avhereupon he dashes at vacancy, and cries, " 0
woe on woe, I have broken my head ! " " Did you fall
into the fire when drunk ? " ask the mocking Chorus,
Avho had been witnesses of the whole transaction.
" 'Twas !N"obody destroyed me." " Then no one is to
blame." " I tell you, varlets as you are, Xobody
blinded me." " Then you are not blind." " Where
is that accursed Nobody?" " Nowhere, Cyclops.''
But at last the secret comes out. " Detested wretch,
where are you ? " roars the baffled monster. The
Avretch replies : —

" Far from you,
I keep with care this body of Ulysses.

Cycl. What do you say ? You proffer a new name !

Ulys. My father named me so : and I have taken
A full revenge for your unhatural feast :
I should have done ill to bum down Troy,
And not revenged the murder of mv comrades.

THE CYCLOPS. 203

Cycl. Ai, Ai ! the ancient oracle is accomplished ;

It said that I shonld have my eyesight blinded
By you coming from Troy, yet it foretold
That yon should pay the penalty for this,
By Avandering long over the homeless sea."

The humour of this after-piece may not seem to
English readers of the first quality, and the (juibble
on Nohody and Nowhere to be far beneath the level of
the jeu de mots in modern burlesque. But let them
not therefore look down on Ancient Classics. Eome
was not built in a day. Life is short, but the art of
Punning is long. Even Aristophanes came not up to
the mark of Thomas Hood. The world, it must be re-
membered, was comparatively young when Euripides
wrote his " Cyclops " — much younger when Homer
told the tale of Polyphemus and Ulysses. Moreover, a
bucolical monster wa.s not a person to throw away the
cream of jests upon. Probably he never quite com-
prehended the point of Nobody, though in after-hours,
and in the tedium of blindness, disabled from hunting
the lion and the bear of Mount .(Etna, he must have
often pondered on his unlucky encounter with a crafty
Greek. Also it shoxild be borne in mind that the real
fun and frolic of the Athenians was reserved for the
comic drama. There, indeed, it was as extravagant,
satyrical, and even boisterous as we can imagine, or
spectators could desire. Possibly Euripides, grave,
taciturn, and tender in his disposition, was not the best
representative of this species of drama. That there Avas
in him some latent humour, some disposition to slide
out of the tragic into the comic vein, has already been

204 EURIPIDES.

observed in the sketch of his " Alcestis." "With all its
shortcomings, the " Cyclops " is the sole contemporary
clue we have to the nature of the foiirth member of the
usual hatch of plays, and so, with Sancho, we must " be
thankful for it, and not look the gift horse too closely
in the mouth."

END OP EURIPIDES.

yRINTED BT WILLIAM BLACKWOOD ASD SONS, EDIN3UKGH.

Ancient Classics for English Readers

EDITED BY THE

REV. W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A.

AKISTOPHANES

The Volumes published of this Series contain

HOMER: THE ILIAD, BY the Editor.

HOMER : THE ODYSSEY, BY the Same.

HERODOTUS, by George C. Swaynk, M.A.

C.^SAR, BY Anthony Trollope.

VIRGIL, BY the Editor.

HORACE, BY Theodore Martin.

^SCHYLUS, BY Reginald S. Copleston, M.A.

XENOPHON, BY Sir Alex. Grant, Bart., LL.D.

CICERO, BY THE Editor.

SOPHOCLES, BY Clifton W. Collins, M.A.

PLINY, BY A. Church, M.A., and ^V. J. Brodribb, M.A.

EURIPIDES, by William Bodham Donnk.

JUVENAL, BY Edward Walford, M.A.

ARISTOPHANES, by the Editor.

HESIOD and THEOGNIS, by James Davies, M.A.

PLAUTUS AND TERENCE, by the Editor.

TACITUS, BY William Bodham Donne.

LUCIAN, by the Editor.

PLATO, by Clifton W. Collins.

THE GREEK ANTHOLOGY, by Lord Neaves.

SUPPLEMENTARY SERIES.

The Volumes tunu published contain

1. LIVY, BY THE Rev. W. Lucas Collins, M.A.

2. OVID, BY THE Rev. A. Church, M.A.

3. CATULLUS, TIBULLUS, & PROPERTIUS, by the

Rev. James Davies, M.A.

4. DEMOSTHENES, by the Rev. W. J. Brodribb, M.A.

Other Volumes are in preparation.

lEISTOPHANES

BY

REV./W. LUCAS COLLINS, M.A.

AUTHOR OF
' ETONIANA,' ' THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS,' ETC.

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS

EDINBURGH AND LONDON

1872. — REPRINT, 1877

CONTENTS.

PAGK

CilAP. I. INTRODUCTION, 1

I. II. THE KNIGHTS, 14

II III. COMEDIES OF THE WAR : THE ACHARNIANS. —

THE PEACE. — LYSISTRATA, ... 38

II IV. THE CLOUDS, 75

II V. THE WASPS, 101

II VI. THE BIRDS, . 112

II VII. THE FROGS, 125

II VIII. THE women's FESTIVAL. — THE ECCLESIAZUS^, 139
II IX. PLUTUS, 154

NOTE.

In 'The Knights,' 'The Acharnians,' 'The Birds/ and
* The Frogs,' most of the translated extracts are taken,
by permission, from the admirable version of those
comedies by the late Mr Hookham Frere, and are
marked (F.) For all translations not so marked the
present writer is responsible.

ARISTOPHANES.

CHAPTEE I.

INTRODUCTION.

It has been observed already,* in speaking of these
"ancient" classical authors, that some of them, in
their tone and spirit, have much more in common
with modem literature than with their great prede-
cessors who wrote in the same language, and whose
volumes stand ranged upon the same shelves. This
may be remarked with especial truth of these Come-
dies of Aristophanes. A national comedy which has
any pretension at all to literary merit — -which is any-
thing more than mere coarse buffoonery — ^must, in its
very nature, be of later growth than epic or lyric
poetry, tragedy, or historic narrative. It assumes a
fuller intellectual life, a higher civilisation, and a
keener taste in the people who demand it and appre-
ciate it. And Athenian comedy, as we have it repre-
* Introd. to 'Cicero' (A. C.)
A. c. voL xiv. A

/V

2 ARISTOPHANES.

sented in the plays of Aristophanes, implies all these
in a very high degree on the part of the audience to
whom it was presented. It flourished in those glori-
ous days of Athens which not long preceded her po-
litical decline, — when the faculties of her citizens were
strung to full pitch, when there was much wealth and
much leisure, when the arts were highly cultivated
and education widely spread, and the refinements and
the vices which follow such a state of things presented
an ample field for the play of wit and fancy, the bad-
inage of the humorist, or the more trenchant weapons
of satire.

But although this Athenian comedy is, in one
sense, so very modern in its spirit, we must not place
it in comparison with that which we call comedy
now. It was something quite different from that form
of drama which, with its elaborate and artistic plot,
its lively incidents, and briUiant dialogue, has taken
possession under the same name of the modem stage.
It is difficult to compare it to any one form of modern
literature, dramatic or other. It perhaps most resem-
bled what we now call burlesque ; but it had also very
much in it of broad farce and comic opera, and some-
thing also (in the hits at the fashions and follies of
the day with which it abounded) of the modern pan-
tomime. But it was something more, and more im-
portant to the Athenian public, than any or all of
these could have been. Almost always more or less
political, and sometimes intensely personal, and always
with some purpose more or less important underly-
ing its wildest vagaries and coarsest buffooneries, it

INTRODUCTION. 3

supplied tlie place of tlie political journal, the liter-
ary review, the popular caricature, and the party
pamphlet, of our own times. It combined the attrac-
tions and the influence of all these ; for its grotesque
masks and elaborate "spectacle" addressed the eye as
strongly as the author's keenest witticisms did the ear
of his audience. Some weak resemblance of it might
have been found, in modern times, in that curious
outdoor drama, the Policinella of the iN'eapolitans :
something of the same wild buffoonery overlying the
same caustic satire on the prominent events and persons
of the day, and even something of the same popular
influence.* The comic dramatist who produced his
annual budget of lampoon and parody has also been
compared, not inaptly, to the " Terras Filius" of our uni-
versities in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries ;
that curious shadow of the old pagan saturnalia, when
once in the year some clever and reckless graduate
claimed prescriptive right to launch the shafts of his wit
against proctors, doctors, heads of houses, and digni-
ties in general — too often without much more regard
to decency than his Athenian prototype. The Paris
* Charivari ' and the London * Punch,' in their best
days, had perhaps more of the tone of Aristophanes
about them than any other modem literary production ;
for Eabelais, who resembled the Athenian dramatist

* "Here, in his native tongue and among his own countrymen,
Punch is a person of real power : he dresses up and retails all
the drolleries of the day ; he is the channel and sometimes the
source of the passing opinions ; he could gain a mob, or keep
the whole kingdom in good humour." — Forsyth's Italy, ii. 36.

4 ARISTOPHANES.

in many of his worst characteristics as well as his best,
can scarcely be called modern, and has few readers.
The 'Age' and the 'Satirist ' newspapers, to those who
remember them during their brief day of existence,
may well represent Athenian comedy in its worst and
most repulsive features — its scurrilous personalities
and disregard of decency.

It may be remembered by the readers of these
volumes that the dramatic representations at Athens
took place only at the Dionysia, or Great Festivals of
Bacchus, which were held three times a-year, and that
each play was brought out by its author in competi-
tion for the prize of tragedy or comedy which was then
awarded to the successful exhibitors by the public
voice, and which was the object of intense ambition.*
This wUl in some degree account for the character of
Attic comedy. It was an appeal to the audience, —
not only to their appreciation of wit and humour, but
also to their sympathies, social and political, their pas-
sions, and their prejudices. Therefore it was so often
bitterly personal and so hotly political. The public
demand was always for something "sensational" in
these respects, and the authors took care to comply
with it. And therefore, also, we find introduced so
frequently confidential appeals to the audience them-
selves, not only in those addresses (called the para-
hasis) in which the author is allowed to speak in his
own proper person through the mouth of the Chorus,
but also on the part of the individual characters dur-
ing the action of the play. They enlist the spectators
* See 'iEschylus' (A. C), chap. i.

INTRODUCTION. 6

themselves among the dramatis personce, — not a very
artistic proceeding, but no doubt popular and very
tempting. It has been adopted by modem dramatists,
even by so high an authority as Moli^re,* and notori-
ously by farce- writers of more recent date.

But there could be no greater mistake than to sup-
pose that the audience before whom these plays of
Aristophanes were represented were impressible only
by these lower influences. It has just been said that
education at Athens was widely spread. Readers,
indeed, might not be many, when books were neces-
sarily so few ; but the education which was received
by the masses through their constant attendance at the
theatre, the public deliberative assembly, and the
law-courts, was quite as effective in sharpening their
intelligence and their memory. Fully to realise to
ourselves what Greek intellect was in the bright
days of Athens, and to understand how well that
city deserved her claim to be the intellectual "eye
of Greece," we should not appeal to the works of her
great poets, her historians, or her orators, which may
be assumed (though scarcely in the case of the tra-
gedians) to have depended for their due appreciation
upon the finer tastes of the few : we must turn to
these comedies, addressed directly to an audience in
which, although those finer tastes were not unrepre-

* The appeal which Harpagon makes to the audience to help
him to discover the thief who has stolen his money (' L'Avare,'
act iv. sc. 7) is an exact parallel with that of the two slaves in
'The Knights' (see p. 18), and again in 'The Wasps,' when
they come forward and consult them confidentially in their
difficulties.

6 ARISTOPHANES.

sented, the verdict of what we should call the
" masses " was essential to the author's success. There
is abundant evidence in these pieces — it is impressed
upon the reader disagreeably in every one of them —
that, willingly or unwillingly, the writer pandered to
the vulgar taste, and degraded his Muse to the level
of the streets in order to catch this popular favour ;
though not without occasional protests in his own
defence against such perversion of his art — protests
which we must fear were only half sincere. But there
is evidence quite as conclusive that the intellectual
calibre, and even the literary taste, of this audience
was of a far higher character than that of the modern
pit and gallery. The di-amatist not only assumes on
their behalf a familiarity with all the best scenes and
points in the dramas of the great tragedians — which,
in the case of such inveterate play - goers as the
Athenians were, is not so very surprising — and an
acquaintance with the political questions and the
public celebrities of the day which possibly might be
found, in this age when every man is becoming a poli-
tician, amongst a Paris or a London theatrical audi-
tory ; but he also expects to find, and evidently did
find, an acquaintance with, and an appreciation of,
poetry generally, a comprehension of at least the
salient points of different systems of philosophy, and
an ability to seize at once and appropriate all the
finer points of allusion, of parody, and of satire. Aris-
tophanes is quite aware of the weaknesses and the
wilfulness of this many-headed multitude, whom he
satirises so unsparingly to their faces; but he had

INTRODUCTION. 7

good right to say of them, as he does in his * Knights/
that they -were an audience with whom he might
make sure at least of being understood, — "For our
friends here are sharp enough." *

It is to be regretted that the Comedies of Aristo-
phanes are now less read at our universities than they
were some years ago. H one great object of the study
of the classics is to gain an accurate acquaintance with
one of the most brilliant and interesting epochs in the
history of the world, no pages will supply a more im-
portant contribution to this knowledge than those of
the great Athenian humorist. He lays the flesh and
blood, the features and the colouring, upon the skele-
ton which the historian gives us. His portraits of
political and historical celebrities must of course be
accepted with caution, as the works of a professional
caricaturist; but, like all good caricatures, they preserve
some striking characteristics of the men which find no
place in their historical portraits, and they let us know
what was said and thought of them by irreverent con-
temporaries. It is in these comedies that we have the
Athenians at home ; and although modem writers of
Athenian history have laid them largely under contri-
bution in the way of reference and illustration, nothing
wiU fiU in the outline of the Athens of Cleon and
Alcibiades and Socrates so vividly as the careful study
of one of these remarkable dramas in the Greek ori-
ginal. One is inclined to place more faith than is
usually due to anecdotes of the kind in that which is
told of Plato, that when the elder Dionysius, tyrant of
• Tlie Knights, 1. 233.

8 'ARISTOPHANES.

Syracuse, wrote to him to request information as to
the state of things at Athens, the philosopher sent him
a copy of Aristophanes's * Clouds,' as the best and most
trustworthy picture of that marvellous republic.

Of the writers of the " Old " Athenian comedy (so
termed to distinguished it from the " !New," which
was of a different character, and more like our own),
Aristophanes is the only one whose works have come
down to us. He had some elder contemporaries who
were formidable and often successful rivals with him
in the popular favour, but of their plays nothing now
remains but a few titles and fragments of plots pre-
served by other writers. Of one of them, Cratinus,
who died a few years after Aristophanes began to
write for the stage, the younger author makes some
not unkindly mention more than once, though he had
been beaten by him somewhat unexpectedly upon the
old man's last appearance, after some interval of
silence, in the dramatic arena. It is curious to learn
that in this his last production the veteran satirist
found a subject in himself. The critics and the public
had accused him (not unjustly, if we may trust Aristo-
phanes here) of having grown too fond of wine, and of
dulling his faculties by this indulgence. His reply
•was this comedy, which he called 'The Bottle.' He
himself was the hero of the piece, and was represented
as having deserted his lawful wife, the Comic Muse,
for the charms of this new mistress. But in the catas-
trophe he was reformed and reconciled to the worthier
lady ; and the theatrical critics — perhaps out of sym-
pathy with their old favourite — awarded him the first

INTRODUCTION. 9

prize, though Aristophanes had brought forward in the
competition of that year what he esteemed one of liis
masterpieces.*

The extreme licence of personal attack which was
accorded by general consent to the writers of comedy,
so that any man whose character and habits were at all
before the public might find himself at any moment
held up to popular ridicule upon the stage, will be the
subject of remark hereafter. It must have been very
unpleasant and embarrassing, one must suppose, to the
individuals thus marked out ; but the sacredness of
private life and character was something unknown to
an Athenian, and he would not be nearly so sensitive
on these points as ourselves. The very fact that this
licence was allowed to exist so long is some proof that
it was on the whole not unfairly exercised. The
satiric writer must have felt that his popularity de-
pended upon his aiming his blows only where the
popular feeling held them to be well deserved ; and
there are some foUies and vices which this kind of
castigation can best reach, and cases of public shameless-
ness or corruption which, under a lax code of morality,
can only be fitly punished by public ridicule. When,
towards the close of the great struggle between Athens
and Sparta, the executive powers of the State had
been usurped by the oligarchy of the " Four Hun-
dred," a law was passed to prohibit, under strong
penalties, the introduction of real persons into these
satiric dramas : but the check thus put to the right of
popular criticism upon public men and measures was
* The Clouds.

10 ARISTOPHANES,

only a token of the decline of Athenian liberty. The
free speech of comedy was in that commonwealth
what the freedom of the press is in our own ; and, in
hoth cases, the risk of its occasional abuse was not so
dangerous as its suppression.

Something must be said of the personal history of
our author himself, though such biographical account
of him as we have is more or less apocryphal. He was
no doubt a free citizen of Athens, because when the
great popular demagogue Cleon, whom he had so bit-
terly satirised on the stage, took his revenge by an
attempt to prove the contrary in a court of law, he
failed in his purpose. Aristophanes was also probably
a man of some wealth, since he had property, as he
tells us in one of his plays, in the island of -^gina.
In politics and in social questions he was a stanch
Conservative ; proud of the old days of Athenian great-
ness, jealous of the new habits and fashions which he
thought tended to enervate the youth of the state,
and the new systems of philosophy which were sap-
ping the foundations of morality and honesty. His
conservatism tended perhaps to the extreme, or at least
takes that appearance in the exaggeration natural to
the comic satirist ; for he certainly appears occasionally
as the champion of a pre-scientific age, when gymnas-
tics held a higher place in education than philosophy,
and when the stout Athenian who manned the galleys
at Salamis thought he knew enough if he " knew how
to ask for barley-cake, and shout his yo-heave-oh ! " *
He was as much of an aristocrat as a man might be, to
* The Frogs, 1. 1073.

INTRODUCTION. ■ 11

be an Athenian : he hated the moh-orators of his time,
not only for their principles but for their vulgar origin,
■wdth an intensity which he did not care to disguise,
and which, had not his wit and his boldness made
him a popular favourite, rather in spite of his opinions
than because of them, would have brought him into
even more trouble than it actually did. He began to
write for the stage at a very early age — so early, that
he was not allowed by law to produce his two first
pieces (now unfortunately lost) in his own name.
Some of the old commentators would have us believe
that he wrote his first comedy when he was only eight-
een, but this, from internal evidence, seems improbable;
he must have been five or six years older. He supplied
the dramatic festivals with comedies, more or less suc-
cessful, for at least thirty-seven years (from B.c. 427 to
390) ; but of the forty plays which he is known to have
produced we have only eleven, and some of them in a
more or less imperfect form. For the preservation of
these, according to ancient tradition, we are indebted
to one who might have seemed a very unlikely patron
for this kind of pagan literature — no other than St
John Chrysostom. That worthy father of the Church
is said to have slept with a manuscript of Aristophanes
under his pUlow ; it is at least certain that he had
studied his plays and admired them, since he has not un-
frequently imitated their language in his own writings.
Some enthusiastic admirers of Aristophanes would
have us regard him not only as a brilliant humorist,
but as a high moral teacher, concealing a grand design
under the mask of a buffoon. They seem to think

12 ARISTOPHANES.

that he was impelled to write comedy chiefly by a
patriotic zeal for the welfare of Athens, and a desire to
save his countrymen from corrupting influences. This
is surely going too far. His comedies have a political
cast, mainly because at Athens every man was a politi-
cian ; and no doubt the opinions which he advocates
are those which he honestly entertained. But he
Avould probably have been content himself with the
reputation of being what he was, — a brilliant and suc-
cessful writer for the stage ; a vigorous satirist, who
lashed vice by preference, but had also a jest ready
against ungainly virtue ; a professional humorist who
looked upon most things on their ludicrous side ; who
desired to be honest and manly in his vocation, and,
above aU things, not to be dull.

It may be right to say a word here, very briefly, as
to the coarseness of the great comedian. It need not
be said that it will find no place in these pages. He
has been censured and apologised for on this ground,
over and over again. Defended, strictly speaking, he
cannot be. His personal exculpation must always rest
upon the fact, that the wildest licence in which he
indulged was not only recognised as permissible, but
actually enjoined as part of the ceremonial at these
festivals of Bacchus : that it was not only in accord-
ance with public taste, but was consecrated (if terms
may be so abused) as a part of the national religion.
Such was the curse which always accompanied the
nature- worship of Paganism, and infected of necessity
its literature. But the coarseness of Aristophanes is
not corrupting. There is nothing immoral in his

INTRODUCTION. 13

plots, nothing really dangerous in his broadest humour.
Compared with some of our old English dramatists,
he is morality itself. And when we remember the
plots of some French and English plays which now
attract fashionable audiences, and the character of some
modem French and English novels not imfrequently
found upon drawing-room tables, the least that can
be said is, that we had better not cast stones at Aris-
tophanes.

CHAPTER IL

THE KNIGHTS.

The two first comedies which Aristophanes brought
out — * The Eevellers ' and ' The Babylonians ' — are
both unfortunately lost to us. The third was * The
Achamians,' followed in the next year by * The
Knights.' It may be convenient, for some reasons,
to begin our acquaintance with the author in this
latter play, because it is that into which he seems to
have thrown most of his personality as well as the
whole force of his satiric powers. There was a reason
for this. In its composition he had not only in view
his fame as a dramatic writer, or the advocacy of a
political principle, but also a direct personal object.

It is now the eighth year of the Peloponnesian War,
in which all Greece is ranged on the side of the two
great contending powers, Athens and Sparta. The
great Pericles — ^to whose fatal policy, as Aristophanes
held, its long continuance has been due — has been six
years dead. His place in the commonwealth has been
taken by men of inferior mark. And the man who is
now most in popular favour, the head of the demo-

TEE KNIGHTS. 15

cratic interest, now completely in the ascendant, is the
poet's great enemy, Cleon : an able but unscrupulous
man, of low origin, loud and violent, an able speaker
and energetic politician. Historians are at variance
as to his real claim to honesty and patriotism, and it
remains a question never likely to be set at rest. It
would be manifestly unfair to decide it solely on the
evidence of his satirical enemy. He and his poHcy
had been fiercely attacked in the first comedy pro-
duced by Aristophanes — ' The Babylonians,' of which
only the merest fragment has come down to us. But
we know that in it the poet had satirised the abuses
prevalent in the Athenian government, and their in-
solence to their subject -allies, under the disguise of
an imaginary empire, the scene of which he laid in
Babylon. Cleon had revenged himself upon his satirist
by overwhelming him with abuse in the public assem-
bly, and by making a formal accusation against him of
having slandered the state in the presence of foreigners
and aHens, and thus brought ridicule and contempt
upon the commonwealth of Athens. In the drama
now before us, the author is not only satirising the
political weakness of his countrymen ; he is fulfil-
ling the threat which he had held out the year before
in his ' Achamians,' — that he would " cut up Cleon the
tanner into shoe-leather for the Knights," — and concen-
trating the whole force of his wit, in the most unscrupu-
lous and merciless fashion, against his personal enemy.
In this bitterness of spirit the play stands in strong
contrast with the good-humoured burlesque of 'The
Acharnians ' and ' The Peace,' or, indeed, with any

16 ARISTOPHANES.

other of the author's productions which have reached
us.

This play follows the fashion of the Athenian stage in
taking its name from the Chorus, who are in this casa
composed of the Knights — the class of citizens rank-
ing next to the highest at Athens. A more appropri-
ate title, if the title is meant to indicate the subject,
would be that which Mr Mitchell gives it in his trans-
lation— ' The Demagogues.' The principal character
in the piece is " Demus " — i.e., People : an imperson-
ation of that many-headed monster the Commons of
Athens, the classical prototype of Swift's John Bull ;
and the satire is directed against the facility with which
he allows himself to be gulled and managed by those who
are nominally his servants but really his masters — those
noisy and corrupt demagogues (and one in particular,
just at present) who rule him for their own selfish ends.

The characters represented are only five. " People "
is a rich householder — selfish, superstitious, and sen-
sual— ^who employs a kind of major-domo to look after
his business and manage his slaves. He has had several
in succession, from time to time. The present man is
known in the household as " The Paphlagonian," or
sometimes as " The Tanner " — for the poet does not
venture to do more than thus indicate Cleon by names
which refer either to some asserted barbarian blood in
his family, or to the occupation followed by his father.
He is an unprincipled, lying rascal ; a slave himself,
fawning and obsequious to his master, while cheating
him abominably — insolent and bullying towards the
fellow-slaves who are under his command. Two of

THE KNIGHTS. 17

these are Nicias and Demosthenes — the first of them
holding the chief naval command at this time, with De-
mosthenes as one of his vice-admirals. These characters
l)ear the real names in most of the manuscripts, though
tliey are never so addressed in the dialogue ; but they
would be readily known to the audience by the masks
in which the actors performed the parts. But in the
case of Cleon, no artist was found bold enough to risk
his powerful vengeance by caricaturing his features,
and no actor dared to represent him on the stage.
Aristophanes is said to have played the part himself,
with his face, in the absence of a mask, smeared with
wLne-lees, after the primitive fashion, when " comedy "
was nothing more than a village revel in celebration of
the vintage. Such a disguise, moreover, served excel-
lently well, as he declared, to imitate the purple and
bloated visage of the demagogue. The remaining
character is that of "The Black - pudding - Seller,"
whose business in the piece wiU be better under-
stood as it proceeds. The whole action takes place
without change of scene (excepting the final tableau)
in the open air, in front of Demus's house, the entrance
to which is in the centre of the proscenium.

The two slaves, Mcias and Demosthenes, come
out rubbing their shoulders. They have just had a
lashing from the major-domo. After mutual condo-
lences, and complaints of their hard lot, they agree to
sit down together and howl in concert — to the last
new fashionable tune —

« O oh, 0 oh,— 0 oh, O oh,— 0 oh, 0 oh !"
A. c. vol. xiv. B

18 ARISTOPHANES.

Perhaps the burlesque of the two well-known command-
ers bemoaning themselves in this parody of popular
music does not imply more childishness on the part of
an Athenian audience than the nigger choruses and
comic operas of our own day. But, as Demosthenes,
the stronger character of the pair, observes at last —
" crying's no good." They must find some remedy.
And there is one which occurs to him, — an effectual one
— but of which the very name is terrible, and not safely
to be uttered. It lies in a word that may be fatal to a
slave, and is always of ill 6men to Athenian ears. At
last, after a fashion quite untranslatable, they contrive
to say it between them — " Eun away." The idea
seems excellent, and Demosthenes proposes that they
should take the audience into their confidence, which
accordingly they do, — begging them to give some
token of encouragement if the plot and the dialogue
so far please them : —

" Dem. (to the audience.) Well, come now ! I'll tell ye
about it — Here are we,
A couple of servants — with a master at home
Next door to the hustings. He's a man in years,
A kind of a bean-fed,* husky, testy character.
Choleric and brutal at times, and partly deaf.
It's near about a month now, that he went
And bought a slave out of a tanner's yard,
A Paphlagonian bom, and brought him home, —
As wicked a slanderous wretch as ever lived.
This fellow, the Paphlagonian, has found out

* Alluding to the passion of the Athenian citizens for the
law-courts, in which the verdict was given by depositing in the
ballot-boxes a black or white bean or pebble.

TEE KNIGHTS. 19

The "blind side of our master's understanding,

With fawning and wheedling in this kind of way :

* Would not you please go to th« bath, sir ? surely

It's not worth while to attend the courts to-day.'

And — * Would not you please to take a little refreshment ?

And there's that nice hot broth — and here's the threepence

You left behind you — and would not you order supper V

Moreover, when we get things out of compliment

As a present for our master, he contrives

To snatch 'em and serve 'em up before our faces,

I'd made a Spartan cake at Pylos lately,

And mixed and kneaded it well, and watched the baking ;

But he stole round before me and served it up : *

And he never allows us to come near our master

To speak a word ; but stands behind his back

* This affair at Pylos is so repeatedly alluded to in this
comedy, that at the risk of telling what to many readers is a
well-known story, some explanation must be given here. About
six months before this performance took place, a detachment of
four hundred Spartans, who had been landed on the little island
of Sphacteria, which closes in the Bay of Pylos (the modern Na-
varino), had been cut oJBf by an Athenian squadron under Eury-
medon and Demosthenes, and were closely blockaded there, in
the hope of starving them into surrender. The Spartans offered
terms of peace, for the men were all citizens of Sparta itself,
and their loss would have been a calamity to the state. The
proposal was refused by the triumphant Athenians ; but after-
wards the blockade was not maintained effectively, and the
capitulation became doubtful. At this juncture, Cleon came
forward in the Assembly, and boasted loudly that, if the com-
mand were given to him, he would bring the men prisoners to
Athens within twenty days. He was taken at his word ; and
possibly to his own surprise, and certainly to the dismay of his
political opponents, he made his boast good. The constant
sneers at this exploit on the part of Cleon's enemies seem to
prove that it was not the mere piece of good luck which they
represented it.

20 ARISTOPHANES,

At meal times, with a monstrous leathern fly-flap,
Slapping and whisking it round, and rapping us off.

Sometimes the old man falls into moods and fancies,
Searching the prophecies till he gets bewildered.
And then the Paphlagonian pUes him up,
Driving him mad with oracles and predictions.
And that's his harvest. Then he slanders us,
And gets us beaten and lashed, and goes his rounds
Bullying in this way, to squeeze presents from us :
* You saw what a lashing Hylas got just now ;
You'd best make friends with me, if you love your lives.'
Why then, we give him a trifle, or, if we don't.
We pay for it ; for the old fellow knocks us down.
And kicks us on the ground." — (F.)

But, after all, what shall they do 1 — " Die at once,"
says the despondent Nicias — " drink bull's blood, like
Themistocles." " Drink a cup of good wine, rather,"
says his jovial comrade. And he sends K^icias to pur-
loin some, while their hated taskmaster is asleep.
Warming his wits under its influence, Demosthenes is
inspired with new counsels. The oracles which this
Paphlagonian keeps by him, and by means of which
he strengthens his influence over their master, must be
got hold of. And Mcias — the weaker spirit — is again
sent by his comrade upon the perilous service of steal-
ing them from their owner's possession while he is still
snoring.* He succeeds in his errand, and Demosthenes

* " A general feature of human nature, nowhere more observ-
able than among boys at school, where the poor timid soul is
always despatched upon the most perilous expeditions. Nicias
is the fag — Demosthenes the big boy. " — Frere.

The influence of oracles on the public mind at Athens daring
the Peloponnesian War L<» notorious matter of history.

TUB KNIGHTS. 21

(who has paid great attention to the wine-jar mean-
while) takes the scrolls from his hands and proceeds to
unroll and read them, his comrade watching him with
a face of superstitious eagerness. The oracles contain a
prophetic history of Athens under its successive dema-
gogues. First there should rise to power a hemp-seller,
secondly a cattle-jobber, thirdly a dealer in hides —
this Paphlagonian, who now holds rule in Demus's
household. But he is to fall before a greater that is to
come — one who plies a marvellous trade. !Nicias is
all impatience to know who and what this saviour of
society is to be. Demosthenes, in a mysterious whisper,
tells him the coming man is — a Black-pudding-seller !

" Black-pudding-aeller ! marvellous, indeed !

Great Neptune, what an art ! — but ^yhere to find him ? "

Why, most opportunely, here he comes ! He is seen
mounting the steps which are supposed to lead from
the city, with his tray of wares suspended from his
neck. The two slaves make a rush for him, salute
him with the profoundest reverence, take his tray off
carefully, and bid him fall down and thank the gods
for his good fortune.

" Black-P. -Seller. HaUo ! what is it ?

Demosth. 0 thrice blest of mortals !

Who art nought to-day, but shall be first to-morrow !
Hail, Chief that shall be of our glorious Athens !

B.-P.-S. Prithee, good friend, let me go wash my tripes,
And sell my sausages — ^you make a fool of me.

Dem. Tripes, quotha ! tripes ? Ha-ha ! — Look yonder,
man — {pointing to the audience.)
You see these close-packed ranks of heads ?

22 ARISTOPHANES.

B.-P.-S. I see.

Dent. Of all these men you shall he sovereign chief,
Of the Forum, and the Harbours, and the Courts,
Shall trample on the Senate, flout the generals.
Bind, chain, imprison, play what pranks you wilL

B.-P.-S. What,— I?

Dem. Yes — you. But you've not yet seen all ;

Here — mount upon your dresser there — look out !

{Black-Pudding- Sdler gets upon the dresser, from
which he is supposed to see all the dependencies
of Athens, and looks stupidly round him.)
You see the islands all in a circle roimd you ?

B.-P.-S. I see.

Dem. What, all the sea-ports, and the shipping ?

B.-P.-S. I see, I teU ye.

Dem. Then, what luck is yours !

But cast your right eye now towards Caria — there—
And fix your left on Carthage, — hoth at once.

B.-P.-S. Be blest if I shan't squint— if that's good luck."

The Black-pudding-man is modest, and doubts his
own qualifications for all this preferment. Demosthenes
assures him that he is the very man that is wanted.
" A rascal — bred in the forum, — and with plenty of
brass;" what could they wish for more? Still, the
other fears he is " not strong enough for the place."
Demosthenes begins to be alarmed : modesty is a very
tad symptom in a candidate for preferment; he is
afraid, after all, that the man has some hidden good
qualities which wiU disqualify him for high ofiice.
Possibly, he suggests, there is some gentle blood in
the family ? No, the other assures him : all his ances-
tors have been born blackguards like himself, so far as
he knows. But he has had no education — he can but

THE KNIGHTS. 23

barely spell. The only objection, Demosthenes de-
clares, is that he has learnt even so much as that.

" The only harm is, you can spell at all ;
Our leaders of the people are no longer
Your men of education and good fame ;
We choose the illiterate and the blackguards, always."

Demosthenes proceeds to tell him of a prophecy,
found amongst the stolen scrolls, in which, after the
enigmatical fashion of such literature, it is foretold
that the great tanner-eagle shall be overcome by the
cunning serpent that drinks blood. The tanner-eagle
is plainly none other than this Paphlagonian hide-sel-
ler ; and as to his antagonist, what can be plainer ? It
is the resemblance of Macedon to Monmouth. " A
serpent is long, and so is a black-pudding ; and both
drink blood." So Demosthenes crowns the new-found
hero with a garland, and they proceed to finish the
flagon of wine to the health of the conqueror in the
strife that is to come. Nor will allies be wanting : —

" Our Knights — ^good men and true, a thousand strong, —
Who hate the wretch, shall back you in this contest ;
And every citizen of name and fame,
And each kind critic in this goodly audience,
And I myself, and the just gods besides.
Nay, never fear ; you shall not see his features ;
For very cowardice, the mask-makers
Flatly refused to mould them. Ne'ertheless,
He will be known, — our friends have ready wits."

At this moment the dreaded personage comes out
from the house in a fury. The Black-pudding-man
takes to flight at once, leaving his stock-in-trade be-
hind him, but is hauled back by Demosthenes, who

24 ARISTOPITA XE S.

loudly summons the " Kjiights " to come to the rescue,
— and with the usual rhythmical movement, and rapid
chant, the Chorus of Knights sweep up through the
orchestra.

" Close around him and confoimd him, the confounder of

us all !
Pelt him, pummel him, and maul him, — ^rummage, ransack,

overhaul him !
Overbear him, and out-bawl him ; bear him down, and

bring him imder !
Bellow like a burst of thunder — robber, harpy, sink of

plunder !
Rogue and villain ! rogue and cheat ! rogue and villain !

I repeat.
Oftener than I can repeat it has the rogue and villain

cheated.
Close upon him left and right — spit upon him, spurn and

smite ;
Spit upon him as you see : spurn and spit at him, like me."

-(F.)

They surround and hustle the representative of
Cleon, who calls in vain for his partisans to come to
his assistance. The Black-pudding man takes courage,
and comes to the front ; and a duel in the choicest
Athenian Billingsgate takes place, in which the cur-
rent truths or slanders of the day are paraded, no
doubt much to the amusement of an Athenian audience
— hardly so to the English reader. The pew cham-
pion shows himself at least the equal of his antagonist
in this kind of warfare, and the Chorus are delighted.
" There is something hotter, after all, than fire — a
more consummate blackguard has been found than
Cleon ! " From words the battle proceeds to blows,
and the Paphlagonian retires discomfited, threatening

THE K XI GUTS. 25

hia antagonist with future vengeance, and challenging
him to meet him straightway before the Senate.*

The Chorus fill up the interval of the action by an
address to the audience ; in which, speaking on the au-
thor's behalf, they apologise on the ground of modesty
for his not having produced his previous comedies in
his own name and on his own responsibility, and make
a complaint — common to authors in aU ages — of the
ingratitude of the public to its popular favourites of
the hour. Thence the chant passes into an ode to !N"ep-
tune, the tutelary god of a nation of seamen, and to
Pallas Athene, who gives her name to the city. And be-
tween the pauses of the song they rehearse, in a kind
of recitative, the praises of the good old days of Athens.

" Let us praise our famous fathers, let their glory be re-
corded.

On Minerva's mighty mantle consecrated and embroidered.

That with many a naval action, and with infantry by land.

Still contending, never ending, strove for empire and com-
mand.

When they met the foe, disdaining to compute a poor ac-
count

Of the number of their armies, of their muster and amount :

But whene'er at wrestling matches they were worsted in
the fray,

Wiped their shoulders from the dust, denied the fall, and
fought away.

Then the generals never claimed precedence, or a separate
seat.

Like the present mighty captains, or the public wine or
meat.

* The Senate was an elective Upper Chamber, in which all
•' bills " were brought in and discussed, before they were pat
to the vote in the General Assembly.

26 ARISTOPHANES.

As for us, the sole pretension suited to our birth and years,
Is with resolute intention, as determined volunteers,
To defend our fields and altars, as our fathers did before ;
Claiming as a recompense this easy boon, and nothing

more :
When our trials with peace are ended, not to view us with

malignity.
When we're curried, sleek and pampered, prancing in our

pride and dignity." * — (F.)

* This Chorus has been imitated, in the true Aristophanic
vein, by Mr Trevelyan, in his ' Ladies in Parliament :' —

" We much revere oiu" sires, who were a mighty race of men ;

For every glass of port we drink, they nothing thought of ten.

They dwelt above the foulest drains : they breathed the closest air :

They had their yearly twinge of gout, and little seemed to care.

They set those meddling people down for Jacobins or fools.

Who talked of public libraries and grants to normal schools ;

Since common folks who read and write, and like their betters
speak.

Want something more than pipes and beer, and sermons once a- week.

And therefore both by land and sea their match they rarely met,

But made the name of Britain great, and ran her deep in debt.

They seldom stopped to count the foe, nor sum the moneys spent,

But clenched their teeth, and straight ahead with sword and musket
went.

And, though they thought if trade were free that England ne'er
would thrive.

They freely gave their blood for Moore, and Wellington, and Clive.

And though they burned their coal at home, nor fetched their ice
from Wenham,

They played the man before Quebec, and stormed the lines at Blen-
heim.

When sailors lived on mouldy bread, and lumps of rusty pork.

No Frenchman dared his nose to show between the Downs and
Cork ;

But now that Jack gets beef and greens, and next his skin wears
flannel.

The ' Standard ' says, we've not a ship in plight to keep the Chan-
nel."

THE KNIGHTS. 27

From these praises of themselves — the Knights —
they pass on, in pleasant banter, to the praises of their
horses, — who, as the song declares, took a very active
part in the late expedition against Corinth, in which
the cavalry, conveyed in horse-transports, had done
excellent service.

" Let lis sing the mighty deeds of OTir illustrious noble

steeds :
They deserve a celebration for their service heretofore, —
Chaa-ges and attacks, — exploits enacted in the days of yore :
These, however, strike me less, as having been performed

ashore.
But the wonder was to see them, when they fairly went

aboard.
With canteens, and bread, and onions, victualled and com-
pletely stored.
Then they fixed and dipped their oars, beginning all to

shout and neigh,
Jiist the same as human creatures, — * Pull away, boys !

pull away !
Bear a hand there, Roan and Sorrel ! Have a care there.

Black and Bay ! *
Then they leapt ashore at Corinth ; and the lustier younger

sort
Strolled about to pick up litter, for their solace and disport :
And devoured the crabs of Corinth, as a substitute for

clover,
So that a poetic Crabhe * exclaimed in anguish — * All is

over!
What awaits us, mighty Neptune, if we cannot hope to

keep
From pursuit and persecution in the land or in the deep ? ' "

-(F.)
* Karkinos {Crab) was an indifferent tragedian of the day,
some of whose lines are here parodied.

28 ARISTOPHANES.

As the song ends, their champion returns triumph-
ant from his encounter with Cleon in the Senate. The
Knights receive him with enthusiasm, and he tells for
their gratification the story of his victory, which he
ascribes to the influence of the great powers of Hum-
bug and Knavery, Impudence and Bluster, whom he
had piously invoked at the outset. He had distracted
the attention of the senators from his rival's harangue
by announcing to them the arrival of a vast shoal of
anchovies, of which every man was eager to secure
his share. In vain had Cleon tried to create a
diversion in his own favour by the announcement that
a herald had arrived from Sparta to treat of peace.
" Peace, indeed, when anchovies are so cheap ! — never."
Then rushing into the market, he had bought up the
whole stock-in-trade of coriander-seed and vrild onions
— seasoning for the anchovies — and presented them
with a little all round. This won their hearts com-
pletely. " In short," says this practical politician, " I
bought the whole Senate for sixpennyworth of cori-
ander - seed ! " A tolerably severe satire upon the
highest deliberative assembly at Athens.

But Cleon is not conquered yet. Eushing on the
stage in a storm of fury, he vows he will drag his rival
before People hunsel£ There no one will have any
chance against him ; for he knows the old gentleman's
humour exactly, and feeds him with the nice soft pap
which he likes. "Ay," says the other — "and, like
the nurses, you swallow three mouthfuls for every one
you give him." He is perfectly willing to submit

THE KNIGHTS. 29

their respective claims to the master whose steward-
ship they are contending for. So both knock loudly
at Demus's door ; and the impersonation of the great
Athenian Commons comes out — not in very good
case as regards dress and personal comforts, as may
be gathered from the dialogue which follows ; his
majordomo has not taken over -good care of him,
after alL

The rival claimants seize him affectionately by either
arm, and profess their attachment ; while he eyes them
both with a divided favour, like Captain Macheath
in our comic opera. " I love you," says the Paphla-
gonian : " I love you better," says the other. " Re-
member, I brought you the Spartans from Pylos." * *' A
pretty service," says the Black-pudding-man, — " just
like the mess of meat once I stole which another man
had cooked." *' Call a public assembly, and decide
the matter, then," says Cleon. " No — not in the
assembly — not in the Pnyx," begs the other; ** Demus
is an excellent fellow at home, but once set him down
at a public meeting, and he goes wild ! "

To the Pnyx, however, Demus vows they must all
go ; and to that place the scene changes. There the
contest is renewed : but the interest of the political
satire with which it abounds has passed away, in great
measure, with the occasion. Some passages in this bat-
tle of words are more generally intelligible, as depend-
ing less upon local colour, but they are not such good
specimens of the satirist's powers. The new aspirant
* See note, p. 19.

30 ARISTOPHANES.

to office is shocked to find that Demus is left to sit
unprotected on the cold rock (on which the Pnyx was
buUt), and produces a little padded cushion of his o^vn
manufacture — a delicate attention Avith which the old
gentleman is charmed. " What a noble idea ! " he
cries : " Do tell me your name and family — you must
surely come of the patriot stock of Harmodius, the
great deliverer of Athens ! " Then his zealous friend
notices the condition of his feet, wliich are actually
peeping through his sandals, and indignantly de-
nounces the selfishness of his present steward : —

" Tell me whether
You, that pretend yourself his friend, with all your wealth

in leather,
Ever supplied a single hide to mend his reverend, battered
Old buskins ?
Dem. No, not he, by Jove ; look at them, burst and

tattered !
B.-P.-S. That shows the man ! now, spick and span,
behold my noble largess !
A lovely pair, bought for your wear, at my own cost and
charges,
Dem. I see your mind is well inclined, with views and
temper suiting.
To place the state of things — and toes — upon a proper
footing.
B.-P.-S. But there now, see — this winter he might pass
without his clothing ;
The season's cold — he's chilly and old — but still you think

of nothing ;
Whilst I, to show my love, bestow this waistcoat as a pre-
sent.
Comely and new, with sleeves thereto, of flannel, warm and
pleasant.

THE KNIGHTS. 31

Dem. How strange it is ! Themistocles was reckoned

mighty clever ;
With all his wit he could not hit on such a project ever ;
Such a device ! so warm ! so nice ! ia short it equals

fairly
His famous wall, with port and all, that he contrived so

rarely."— (F.)

Not to be outdone in such attentions, Cleon offers his
cloak, to keep his master from the cold ; but Demus,
who is already turning his fickle affections towards
his new flatterer, rejects it — it stinks so abominably of
leather. " That's it," says the other ; " he wants to
poison you ; he tried it once before ! "

The old gentleman has made up his mind that the
new claimant is his best friend, and desires the Paph-
lagonian to give up his seal of office. The discarded
minister begs that at least his employer will listen to
some new oracles which he has to communicate. They
promise that he shall be sovereign of aU Greece, and
sit crowned with roses. The new man declares that
he has oracles too — plenty of them ; and they promise
that he shall Tule not Greece alone, but Thrace, and
wear a golden crown and robe of spangles. So both
rush off to fetch their documents, while the Chorus
break into a chant of triumph, as they prognosticate
the fall of the great Demagogue before the antagonist
who thus beats him at his own weapons.

The rivals return, laden with rolls of prophecy.
Cleon declares he has a trunkful more at home ; the
Black-pudding-man has a garret and two outhouses
full of them. They proceed to read the most absurd

32 ARISTOPHANES,

parodies on this favourite enigmatical literature. Here
is one which Cleon produces : —

" Son of Erectheus, mark and ponder well
This holy warning from Apollo's cell ;
It bids thee cherish him, the sacred whelp,
Who for thy sake doth bite and bark and yelp."

Demus shakes his head with an air of puzzled wis-
dom; he cannot make it out at all. "What has
Erectheus to do with a whelp?" "That's me," says
Cleon ; " I watch and bark for you. I'm Tear'em, and
you must make much of me." * " Not at aU," says his
rival ; " the whelp has been eating some of that oracle,
as he does everything else. It's a defective copy ; I've
got the complete text here : " —

" Son of Erectheus, 'ware the gap-toothed dog,
The crafty mongrel that purloins thy prog ;
Fawning at meals, and filching scraps away,
The whiles you gape and stare another way;
He prowls by night and pUfers many a prize
Amidst the sculleries and the — colonies." — (F.)

" That's much more inteUigible," remarks the mas-
ter. Cleon produces another, about a lion, who is
to be carefully preserved " with a wooden wall and
iron fortifications : " — " and I'm the lion." " I can
give the interpretation of that," says the other ; " the
Avood and iron are the stocks that you are to put this
fellow in." "That part of the oracle," says Demus,

■* The speech of a late member for Sheffield — much missed in
the House, and whom it would be most unfair to compare with
Cleon — will occur to many readers : " I'm Tear'em."

THE KNIGHTS. 33

" at any rate, is very likely to come true." And again
he declares that his mind is made up ; he shall make
a change in his establishment forthwith. Once more
Cleon begs a respite, until his master sees what nice
messes he will bring him. The other assures him he
has far better viands, all ready hot ; and the sensual
old Demus, licking his lips, will wait until he has
made trial of both. While they are gone to fetch the
dainties, the Chorus rallies him upon his beiug so
open to the practices of his flatterers : —

Chorus.

" Worthy Demus, your estate
Is a glorious thing, we own ;
The haughtiest of the proud and great
Wr.tcli and tremble at your frown ;
Like a sovereign or a chief,
But so easy of belief.
Every fawning rogue and thief
Finds you ready to his hand ;
Flatterers you cannot withstand ;
To them your confidence is lent,
With opinions always bent
To what your last advisers say,
Your noble mind is gone astray.

Demus.

But though you see me dote and dream.

Never think me what I seem ;

For my confidential slave

I prefer a pilfering knave ;

And wlien he's pampered and full-blown,

I snatch him up and dash him down.

A. c. V

ol. xiv.

34 ARISTOPHANES.

Hark me — when I seem to doze,

When my •wearied eyelids close,

Then they think their tricks are hid ;

But beneath the drooping lid

Still I keep a corner left.

Tracing every secret theft :

I shall match them by-and-by.

All the rogues you think so sly." — (F.)

The two candidates for office now run in from
different directions, meeting and nearly upsetting each
other, laden with trays of delicacies to tempt the
master's appetite.

" Bern. Well, truly, indeed, I shall be feasted rarely ;
My courtiers and admirers will quite spoil me.

Cleon. There, I'm the first, ye see, to bring ye a chair.

B.-F.-S. But a table — here, I've brought it first and
foremost.

Cleon. See here, this little half-meal cake from Pylos,
Made from the flour of victory and success.

B.-P.-S. But here's a cake ! see here ! which the heaveidy
goddess
Patted and flatted herself, with her ivory hand.
For your own eating.

Dem. Wonderful, mighty goddess !

What an awfully large hand she must have had ! " — (F.)

Eagouts, pancakes, fritters, wine, rich cake, hare-pie,
are aU tendered him in succession. This last is
brought by Cleon ; but the other cunningly directs his
attention to some foreign envoys, whom he declares
he sees coming with bags of gold ; and while Cleon
runs to pounce upon the money, he gets possession of
the pie, and presents it as his own offering — " Just as
you did the prisoners from Pylos, you know." Demus

THE KNIGHTS. 35

eats in turn of all the good things, and grows quite
bewildered as to his choice between two such admirable
purveyors. He cannot see on which side his best
interests lie, and at last appeals helplessly to the
audience to advise him. The Black-pudding-man
proposes that as a test of the honesty of their
service, he should search the lockers of each of them.
His own proves to be empty; he has given all
he had. But in the Paphlagonian's are found con-
cealed all manner of good things, especially a huge
cake, from which it appears he had cut off but a
miserable slice for his master. This decides the
question : Cleon is peremptorily desired to surrender
his office at once. He makes a last struggle, and a
scene ensues which reads like an antedated parody on
the last meeting of Macbeth and Macduff. He holds an
oracle which forewarns him of the only man who can
overthrow his power. "Where was his antagonist edu-
cated, and how? — "By the cuffs and blows of the
scullions in the kitchen." What did his next master
teach him ! — ** To steal, and then swear he did not."
Cleon's mind misgives him. What is his trade, and
where does he practise it ? And when he leams that
his rival sells black-puddings at the city gates, he knows
that all is over — Birnam Wood is come to Dunsinane.
He wildly tears his hair, and takes his farewell in the
most approved vein of tragedy.

" 0 me ! the oracles of heaven are sped !
Bear me within, unhappy ! O farewell
Mine olive crown ! Against my will I leave thee,
A trophy for another's brow to wear ;

36 ARISTOPHANES.

Perchance to prove more fortunate than me ;
But greater rascal he can never be." *

Here the action of the drama might have ended;
but the dramatist had not yet driven his moral home.
He had to show what Athens might yet be if she
could get rid of the incubus of her demagogues. A
choral ode is introduced — quite independent, as is
so often the case, of the subject of the comedy —
chiefly perhaps, in this case, in order to give oppor-
tunity for what we must conclude was a change of
scene. The doors in the flat, as we should call it, are
thrown open, and disclose to view the citadel of Athens.
There, seated on a throne, no longer in his shabby
clothes, but in a magnificent robe, and glorious in
renewed youth, sits Demus, such as he was in the
days of Miltiades and Aristides. His new minister
has a secret like Medea's, and has boiled him young
again. " The good old times are come again," as he
declares, thanks to his liberator. There shall be no
more ruling by favour and corruption ; right shall be
might, and he will listen to no more flatterers. To crown
the whole, his new minister leads forth Peace — beau-
tiful Peace, in propria persona, hitherto hid away a
close prisoner in the house of the Paphlagonian — and
presents, her to Demus in aU her charms. And with
this grand tableau the drama closes ; it is not difficult

• A parody on the touching farewell of Alcestis to her nuptial
chamber, in the ti-agedy of Euripides : —

" Farewell ! and she who takes ray place— may she
Be happier ! — truer wife she cannot be."

THE KNIGHTS. 37

to imagine, witliout "being an Athenian, amid what
thunders of applause. If the satire had been bitter
and trenchant as to the faults and follies of the pre-
sent— that unfortunate tense of existence, social and
political, which appears never to satisfy men in any
age of the world — this brilliant reminiscence of the
glories of the past, and anticipation of a still more
glorious future, was enough to condone for the poet
the broadest licence which he had taken. Not indeed
that any such apology was required. There was pro-
bably not a man among the audience — not a man in
the state, except Cleon himself — who would not enjoy
the wit far more than he resented its home appli-
cation. That such a masterpiece was awarded the
first prize of comedy by acclamation we should hardly
doubt, even if we were not distinctly so informed.
Those who know the facile temper of the mul-
titude— and it may be said, perhaps, especially of
the Athenian multitude — will understand, almost
equally as a matter of course, that the political result
was simply nothing. As Mr Mitchell briefly but ad-
mirably sums it up — " The piece was applauded in the
most enthusiastic manner, the satire on the sovereign
multitude was forgiven, and — Cleon remained in as
great favour as ever." *

* Preface to The Knights.

CHAPTER III.

COMEDIES OP THE WAR :
THE ACHABNIANS — THE PEACE — LTSISTRATA.

The momentous period in tlie history of Greece during
which Aristophanes hegan to write, forms the ground-
work, more or less, of so many of his Comedies, that it
is impossible to understand them, far less to appreciate
their point, without some acquaintance with its lead-
ing events. All men's thoughts were occupied by
the great contest for supremacy between the rival
states of Athens and Sparta, known as the Pelopon-
nesian War. It is not necessary here to enter into
details ; but the position of the Athenians during the
earher years of the struggle must be briefly described.
Their strength lay chiefly in their fleet ; in the other
arms of war they were confessedly no match for Sparta
and her confederate allies. The heavy-armed Spartan
infantry, like the black Spanish bands of the fifteenth
century, was almost irresistible in the field. Year
after year the invaders marched through the Isthmus
into Attica, or were landed in strong detachments on
different points of the coast, while the powerful Boeo-

COMEDIES OF THE WAR. 39

tian cavalry swept all the champaign, burning the
towns and villages, cutting down the crops, destroying
vines and oHve-groves, — carrying this work of devasta-
tion almost up to the very walls of Athens. For no
serious attempt was made to resist these periodical
invasions. The strategy of the Athenians was much
the same as it had been when the Persian hosts swept
down upon them fifty years before. Again they with-
drew themselves and all their movable property within
the city walls, and allowed the invaders to overrun
the country with impunity. Their flocks and herds
were removed into the islands on the coasts, where, so
long as Athens was mistress of the sea, they would be
in comparative safety. It was a heavy demand upon
their patriotism ; but, as before, they submitted to it,
trusting that the trial would be but brief, and nerved
to it by the stirring words of their great leader
Pericles. The ruinous sacrifice, and even the personal
suffering, involved in this forced migration of a rural
population into a city wholly inadequate to accom-
modate them, may easily be imagined, even if it had
not been forcibly described by the great historian of
those times. Some carried with them the timber
framework of their houses, and set it up in such va-
cant spaces as they could find. Others built for them-
selves little " chambers on the wall," or occupied the
outer courts of the temples, or were content with
booths and tents set up under the Long Walls which
connected the city with the harbour of Piraeus. Some
— if our comic satirist is to be trusted — were even fain to
sleep in tubs and hen-coops. Provisions grew dear and

40 ARISTOPHANES.

scai'ce. Pestilence broke out in the overcrowded city;
and in the second and third years of the war, the Great
Plague carried off, out of their comparatively small
popidation, above 10,000 of all ranks. The lands
were either left unsown, or sown only to be ravaged
before harvest- time by the enemy. No wonder that,
as year after year passed, and brought no respite from
suffering to the harassed citizens, they began to ask
each other how long this was to last, and whether
even national honour was worth purchasing at this
heavy cost. Even the hard-won victories and the
successful blows struck by their admirals at various
points on their enemies' coasts failed to reconcile the
less warlike spirits to the continuance of the struggle.
Popular orators like Cleon, fiery captains like Alcibi-
ades, still carried the majority with them when they
called for new levies and prophesied a triumphant
issue ; but there was a party at Athens, not so loud
but still very audible, who said that such men had
personal ambitions of their OAvn to serve, and who
had begun to sigh for " peace at any price."

But it needed a pressure of calamity far greater than
the present to keep a good citizen of Athens away
from the theatre. If the times were gloomy, so much
the more need of a little honest diversion. And if
the war party were too strong for him to resist in the
public assembly, at least he could have his laugh out
against them when caricatured on the stage. It has
been already shown that the comic di^ama was to the
Athenians what a free prtss is to modern common-
wealths. As the government of France under Louis

COMEDIES OF THE WAR. 41

XIV. was said to have been " a despotism tempered by
epigrams," so the power of the popular leaders over the
democracy of Athens found a wholesome check in the
free speech — not to say the licence — accorded to the
comedian. Sentiments which it might have been
dangerous to express in the public assembly were
enunciated in the most plain-spoken language by the
actor in the new burlesque. The bolder the attack
Avas, and the harder the hitting, the more the audi-
ence were pleased. !Nor was it at all necessary, in
order to the spectator's keen enjoyment of the piece,
that he should agree with its politics. Many an
admirer of the war policy of Lamachus laughed heartily
enough, we may be sure, at his presentment on the
stage in the caricature of military costume in which
the actor dressed the part : just as many a modern
Englishman has enjoyed the political caricatures of
" H. B.," or the cartoons in 'Punch,' not a whit the
less because the satire was pointed against the recog-
nised leaders of his own party. It is probable that
Aristophanes was himself earnestly opposed to the con-
tinuance of the war, and spoke his own sentiments on
this point by the mouth of his characters ; but the pre-
valent disgust at the hardships of this long-continued
siege — for such it practically was — would in any case
be a tempting subject for the professed writer of bur-
lesques ; and the caricature of a leading politician, if
cleverly drawn, is always a success for the author.
To win the verdict of popular applause, which was
the great aim of an Athenian play-writer, he must
above all things hit the popular taste.

42 ARISTOPHANES.

The Peloponnesian War lasted for twenty -nine
years — during most of the time for which our drama-
tist held possession of the stage. Nearly all his come-
dies which have come down to us abound, as we should
naturally expect, in allusions to the one absorbing
interest of the day. But three of them — ' The Achar-
nians,' 'The Peace,' and * Lysistrata,' — are founded
entirely on what was the great public question of the
day — How long was this grinding war to continue?
when should Athens see again the blessings of peace ?
Treated in various grotesque and amusing forms, one
serious and important political moral underlies them all.

THE ACHARNIANS.

* The Achamians ' might indeed have fairly claimed
the first place here, on the ground that it was the earli-
est in date of the eleven comedies of Aristophanes which
have been preserved to us. Independently of its great
literary merits, it would have a special interest of its
own, as being the most ancient specimen of comedy of
any kind which has reached us. It was first acted at
the great Lenaean festival held annually in honour of
Bacchus, in February of the year 425 B.C., when the war
had already lasted between six and seven years. It took
its name from Acharnse, one of the " demes," or country
boroughs of Attica, abouv seven mUes north of Athens ;
and the Chorus in the play is supposed to consist of
old men belonging to the district. Acharnse was the
largest, the most fertile, and the most populous of aU
the demes, supplying a contingent of 3000 heavy-armed
soldiers to the Athenian army. It lay right in the

THE ACHARNIAN8. 43

invader's path in his march from the Spartan frontier
upon the city of Athens : and when, in the first year
of the war, the Spartan forces bivouacked in its corn-
fields and olive-grounds, and set fire to its homesteads,
the smoke of their burning and the camp of the destroy-
ing enemy could be seen from the city walls. The
effect was nearly being that which the Spartan king
Archidamiis had desired. The Athenians — and more
especially the men of Acharnae, now cooped within the
fortifications of the capital — clamoured loudly to be led
out to battle; and it needed aU the influence of Pericles
to restrain them from risking an engagement in which
he knew they would be no match for the invaders.
The Achamians, therefore, had their national hostility
to the Spartans yet more imbittered by their own pri-
vate sufferings. Yet it was not unnatural that a sober-
minded and peaceful yeoman of the district, remember-
ing what his native canton had suffered and was likely
to suffer again, should strongly object to the continu-
ance of a war carried on at such a cost. His zeal for
the national glory of Athens and his indignation
against her enemies might be strong : but the love of
home and property is a large component in most men'g
patriotism. He was an Athenian by all means — but
an Acharnian first.

Such a man is DicseopoHs, the hero of this burlesque.
He has been too long cooped up in Athens, while his
patrimony is being ruined : and in the first scene he
comes up to the Pnyx — the place where the pubHc
assembly was held — grumbling at things in general,
and the war in particular. The members of the Com-
mittee on Public Affairs come, as usual, very late to

44 ARISTOPHANES.

business — every one, in this city life, is so lazy, as the
Achamian declares : but when business does begin, an
incident occurs which interests him very much indeed.
One Amphitheus — a personage who claims to be
immortal by virtue of divine origin — announces that
he has obtained, perhaps on tliat ground, special per-
mission from the gods to negotiate a peace with Sparta.
But there is one serious obstacle ; nothing can be done
in this world, even by demigods, without money, and he
would have the Committee supply him Avith enough
for his long journey. Such an outrageous request is
only answered on the part of the authorities by a call
for " Police !" and the applicant, in spite of the remon-
strances of Dicseopolis at such unworthy treatment of
a public benefactor, is summarily hustled out of court.
Dicseopolis, however, foUows him, and giving him
eight shillings — or thereabouts — to defray his expenses
on the road, bids him haste to Sparta and bring back
with him, if possible, a private treaty of peace — for
himself, his wife and children, and maid- servant.
Meanwhile the " House " is occupied with the recep-
tion of certain High Commissioners who have returned
from different foreign embassies. Some have been
to ask help from Persia, and have brought back
with them "the Great King's Eye, Sham-artabas "
(Dicseopolis is inclined to look upon him as a sham
altogether) — who is, in fact, all eye, as far as the mask-
maker's art can make him so. He talks a jargon
even more unintelligible than modern diplomatic
communications, which the envoys explain to mean
that the king will send the Athenians a sub-

THE ACHARNIANS. 45

sidy of gold, but which Dicjeopolis interprets in
quite a contrary sense. Others have come back from
a mission to Thrace, and have brought with them
a sample of the warlike auxiliaries which Sitalces,
prince of that country (who had a sort of Atheno-
mania), is going to send to their aid — at two shil-
lings a-day; some ragamuflBn tribe whose appearance
on the stage was no doubt highly ludicrous, and whose
character is somewhat like that of Falstaff's recruits,
or Bombastes Furioso's " brave army," since their first
exploit is to steal Dicseopolis's luncheon : a palpable
warning against putting trust in foreign hirelings.

"Within a space of time so brief as to be conceiv-
able upon the stage only, Amphitheus has returned
from Sparta, to the great joy of Dicaeopolis. His
mission has been successful. But he is quite out of
breath ; for the Acharnians, finding out what his
business is, have hunted and pelted him up to the
very walls of Athens. " Peace, indeed ! a pretty
feUow you are, to negotiate a peace with our enemies
after all our vines and corn-fields have been destroyed!"
He has escaped them, however, ,for the present, and
has brought back with him three samples of Treaties
— in three separate wine-skins. The contents are *of
various growth and quality.*

** Die. You've brought the Treaties ?

Amph. Ay, three samples of them ;

This here is a five years' growth — taste it and try.

* Half the joke is irreparably lost in English. The Greet
word for ^'treaty" or *' <yj<ce " meant literally the "libation."
of wine with which the terms were ratified.

46 ARISTOPHANES.

Die. (tastes, and spits it ovt). Don't like it.

Amph. Eh ?

Die. Don't like it — it won't do ;

There's an uncommon ugly twang of pitch,
A touch of naval armament about it.

Amph. Well, here's a ten years' growth may suit you
better.

Die. {tastes again). No, neither of them ; there is a sort
of sourness
Here in this last, — a taste of acid embassies,
And vapid allies turning to vinegar.

Amph. But here's a truce of thirty years entire.
Warranted sound.

Die. {sm/xching his lips and then hugging the Jar). O
Bacchus and the Bacchanals !
This is your sort ! here's nectar and ambrosia !
Here's nothing about providing three days' rations ; *
It says, ' Do what you please, go where you will ;' *

I choose it, and adopt it, and embrace it,
For sacrifice, and for my private drinking.
In spite of all the Achamians, I'm determined
To remove out of the reach of wars and mischief.
And keep the Feast of Bacchus on my farm." — (F.)

He leaves the stage on these festive thoughts intent.
The scene changes to the open country in the district
of Acharnse, and here what we must consider as the
second act of the play begins. The Chorus of ancient
villagers — robust old fellows, " tough as oak, men who
have fought at Marathon " in their day — rush in, in
chase of the negotiators of this hateful treaty. Mov-
ing backwards and forwards with quick step in mea-
sured time across the wide orchestra (which, it must

* Which each soldier was required to take with him on the
march.

TEE ACEARNIANS. 47

"be rememlDered, was their proper domain), they chant
a strain of which the rhythm, at least, is fairly pre-
served in Mr Frere's translation : —

" Follow faster, all together ! search, inquire of every one.
Speak — inform us — have you seen him ? whither is the

rascal run ?
'Tis a point of pubhc service that the traitor should be

caught
In the fact, seized and arrested with the treaties he has

brought."

Then they separate into two bodies, mutually urging
each other to the pursuit, and leave the scene in differ-
ent directions as DicseopoKs reappears. He is come
to hold a private festival on his own account to Bacchus,
in thanksgiving for the Peace which he, at all events,
is to enjoy from henceforward. But he will have
everything done in regular order, so far as his resources
admit, with all the pomp and solemnity of a public
festival. His daughter is to act as " Canephora," or
basket-bearer, carrying the sacred emblems of the god
— a privilege which the fairest and noblest maidens of
Athens were proud to claim — and her mother exhorts
her to move and behave herself like a lady, — if on this
occasion only. Their single slave is to follow behind
with other mystic emblems. But a spectacle is no-
thing, as Dicaeopolis feels, without spectators ; so he
bids his wife go indoors, and mount upon the house-
top to see the procession pass. IN'ext to a caricature of
their great men, an Athenian audience enjoyed a cari-
cature of their religion. They had this much of ex-
cuse, that Paganism was full of tempting themes for

48 ARISTOPHANES.

burlesque, of which their comic dramatists liberally
avaQed themuselves. But in truth there is a tempta-
tion to burlesque and parody presented by all religions,
more or less, on their external side. Eomanism and
Puritanism have met with very similar treatment
amongst ourselves ; and one has only to refer to the
old miracle-plays, and such celebrations as the Fete
d'Ane, to be convinced how closely in such matters
jest and earnest lie side by side.

But the festivities are very soon interrupted. The
Achamians have scented their prey at last, and rush in
upon the celebrant with a shower of stones. Dicae-
opolis begs to know what crime he has committed.
They soon let him know it : he has presumed to sepa-
rate his private interest from the public cause, and to
make a private treaty with the detested Spartans.
They will listen to no explanation : —

" Don't imagine to cajole us with your argument and
fetches !

You confess you've made a peace with these abominable
wretches ?
Die. Well — the very Spartans even — I've my doubts and
scruples whether

They've been totally to blame, in every instance, alto-
gether.
Cho. Not to blame in every instance ? — villain, vaga-
bond ! how dare ye ?

Talking treason to our faces, to suppose that we shall sjiare
ye?
Die. Not so totally to blame ; and I will show that, here
and there,

The treatment they received from us has not been abso-
lutely fair.

THE ACHARNIANS. 49

Cho. "WTiat a scandal ! what an insult ! wiiat an outrage
on the state !
Are ye come to plead before us as the Spartans' advocate ?"

-(F.)

Well, — yes, he is, if they will only listen to him ; and
so confident is he of the justice of his views, that
he imdertakes to plead his cause with liis head laid
upon a chopping-hlock, with full permission to his
opponents to cut it off at once if he fails to convince
them. Even this scanty grace the indignant Achar-
nians are unwilling to allow him, until he fortunately
lays his hand upon an important hostage, whose life
shall, he declares, he forfeited the moment they proceed
to violence. He produces what looks like a cradle, and
might contain a baby. It is really nothing more or
less than a basket of charcoal — the local product anil
staple merchandise of Achamae. " Lo," says he to his
irate antagonists, throwing himself into a tragic atti-
tude and brandishing a dagger — " Lo, I will stab your
darling to the heart ! " The joke seems so very feeble
in itself, that it is necessary to bear in mind that a
Avell-known " situation " in a lost tragedy of Euripides
(Telephus), which would have been fresh in the
memory of an audience of such inveterate play-goers,
is here burlesqued for their amusement. The threat
brings the Achamians to terms at once ; they lay
down their stones, and prepare to listen to argument,
even in apology for the detested Spartans. The chop-
ping-block is brought out; but before Dicseopolis
begins to plead, ho remembers that he is not provided
with one very important requisite for a prisoner on
A. c. vol. xiv. D

60 ARISTOPHANES.

trial for his life. He ought to be clothed in " a most
pathetical and heart-rending dress " — to move the com-
passion of his judges. Will they allow him just to step
over the way and borrow one from that great tragedian
Euripides, who keeps a whole wardrobe of pathetic
costumes for his great characters? They give him
leave ; and as Euripides — most conveniently for dra-
matic purposes — appears to live close by, Dicaeopolis
proceeds at once to knock at the door of his lodging,
and a servant answers from within. The humour of
the scene which foUows must have been irresistible to
an audience who were familiar with every one of the
characters mentioned, and who enjoyed the caricature
none the less because they had, no doubt, applauded
the tragic original.

" Servant Who's there ?

Die. Euripides within ?

Serv. Within, yet not within. You comprehend me ?

Die. Within and not within ! why, what d'ye mean ?

Serv. I speak correctly, old sire ! his outward man
Is in the garret writing tragedy ;
While his essential being is abroad.
Pursuing whimsies in the world of fancy.

Die. 0 happy Euripides, with such a servant,
So clever and accomplished ! — Call him out.

Serv. It's quite impossible.

Die. But it must be done.

Positively and absolutely I must see him ;
Or I must stand here rapping at the door.
Euripides ! Euripides ! come down.
If ever you came down in all your life !
'Tis I — 'tis Dicffiopolis from Chollidse.

Eur. Tm not at leisure to come down.

THE ACHARNIANS. 51

Die. Perliaps —

But here's the scene-shifter can wheel you round.

Eur. It cannot be.

Die. But, however, notwithstanding.

Eur. Well, there then, I'm wheeled round ; for I had
not time
For coming down.

Die. Euripides, I say !

Eur. What say ye ?

Die. Euripides ! Euripides !

Good lawk, you're there ! up-stairs ! you write up-stairs.
Instead of the ground-floor ? always up-stairs ?
Well now, that's odd ! But, dear Euripides,
If you had but a suit of rags that you could lend me !
You're he that brings out cripples in your tragedies,
A'nt ye ? * You're the new Poet, he that writes
Those characters of beggars and blind people ?
Well, dear Euripides, if could you but lend me
A suit of tatters from a cast-off tragedy I
For mercy's sake, for I'm obliged to make
A speech in my own defence before the Chorus,
A long pathetic speech, this very day ;
And if it fails, the doom of death betides me.

Eur. Say, what d'ye seek ? is it the woful garb
In which the wretched aged ^neus acted ?

Die. No, 'twas a wretcheder man than ^neus, much.

Eur. Was it blind Phoenix ?

Die. No, not Phoenix ; no,

A fellow a great deal wretcheder than Phoenix." — (F.)

After some further suggestions on the part of

liuripides of other tragic characters, whose piteous

* Telephus, Philoctetes, Bellerophon, and probably other
tragedy heroes, were all represented by Euripides as lame.
But no one could possibly have made greater capital out of the
physical sufferings of Philoctetes from his lame foot than the
author's favourite Sophocles.

52 ARISTOPHANES.

"get-up" might excite the compassion of audience or
judges, it turns out that the costume on which the appli-
cant has set his heart is that in which Telephus the
Mysian, in the tragedy which bears his name, pleads
before Achilles, to beg that warrior to heal, as his
touch alone could do, the wound which he had made.
The whole scene should be jead, if not in the original,
then in Mr Frere's admirable translation. Dicseopolis
begs Euripides to lend him certain other valuable stage
properties, one after the other : a beggar's staff, — a
little shabby basket, — a broken-lipped pitcher. The
tragedian grows out of patience at last at this whole-
sale plagiarism of his dramatic repertory : —

" Eur. Fellow, you'll plunder me a whole tragedy !
Take it, and go.

Die. Yes ; I forsoqth, I'm going.

But how shall I contrive ? There's something more
That makes or mars my fortune utterly ; •

Yet give them, and bid me go, my dear Euripides ;
A little bundle of leaves to line my basket.

Eur. For mercy's sake ! . . But take them. — There they go !
My tragedies and all ! ruined and robbed !

Die. No more ; I mean to trouble you no more.
Yes, I retire ; in truth I feel myself
Importunate, intruding on the presence
Of chiefs and princes, odious and unwelcome.
But out, alas ! that I should so forget
The very point on which my fortune turns ;
I wish I may be hanged, my dear Euripides,
If ever I trouble you for anything.
Except one little, little, little boon, —
A single lettuce from your mother's stalL" — (F.)

Tliis parting shot at the tragedian's family antecedents

THE ACHARNIANS. 53

(for his motlier was said to have been a herb-woman) is
quite in the style of Athenian wit, which was nothing
if not personal. Euripides very naturally orders the
xioor to be shut in the face of this uncivil intruder,
— who has got all he wanted, however. Clad in the
appropriate costume, he lays his head on the chopping-
block, while one of the Chorus stands over him with an
axe ; and in this ludicrous position makes one of those
addresses to the audience which were usual in these
comedies, in which the poet assumes for the moment
liis own character, and takes the house into his per-
sonal confidence. As he has already told Euripides, —

" For I must wear a beggar's garb to-day.
Yet be myself in spite of my disguise,
That the audience all may know me."

He will venture upon a little plain-speaking to his
fellow-Athenians, upon a very delicate subject, as he
is well aware. But at this January festival, unlike the
greater one in March, no foreigners were likely to be
present, so that all that was said might be considered
as between friends.

" The words I speak are bold, but just and true.
Cleon, at least, cannot accuse me now.
That I defame the city before strangers.
For this is the Lensean festival.
And here we meet, all by ourselves alone ;
No deputies are arrived as yet with tribute,
No strangers or allies ; but here we sit,
A chosen sample, clean as sifted com.
With our own denizens as a kind of chaff.
First, I detest the Spartans most extremely ; ;

And wish that Neptune, the Tsenarian deity,

54 ARISTOPHANES.

Would bury them and their houses with his earthquakes.

For I've had losses — losses, let me tell ye,

Like other people : vines cut down and ruined.

But, among friends (for only friends are here),

Why should we blame the Spartans for all this ?

For people of ours, some people of our o'mi, —

Some people from amongst us here, I mean ;

But not The People — pray remember that —

I never said The People — ^but a pack

Of paltry people, mere pretended citizens,

Base counterfeits, went laying informations,

And making confiscation of the jerkins

Imported here from Megara ; pigs, moreover.

Pumpkins, and pecks of salt, and ropes of onions.

Were voted to be merchandise from Megara,

Denounced, and seized, and sold upon the spot." — (F.)

He goes on to mention other aggressions on the part
of his own countrymen — to wit, the carrying off from
Megara a young woman, no great loss to any com-
munity in point of personal character, but still a
Megarian — aggressions not of much importance in
themselves, but such as he feels sure no high-spirited
nation could be expected to put up with : —

" Just make it your own case ; suppose the Spartans
Had manned a boat, and landed on your islands.
And stolen a pug puppy-dog from Seriphos " —

why, as he says, the whole nation would have flown
to arms at once to avenge the insult.

At this point he is interrupted. One party of the
Acharnians are for making short work with such a
blasphemer. But the other Semi-chorus vow that he
says nothing but the truth, and dare them to lay hands

THE ACHARNIANS. 55

upon him. A struggle ensues, and the war faction call
aloud for Lamachus — the " Great Captain " of the day.
And that general, being ready within call (as every one
is who is required for stage purposes), makes his appear-
ance in grand military costume, with an enormous
crest towering over his helmet, and a gorgon's head of
gigantic dimensions upon his shield. He speaks in
heroics, as befits him : —

" Whence falls that sound of battle on mine ear ?
Who needs my help ? for Lamachus is here !
Whose summons bids me to the field repair,
And wakes my slumbering gorgon from her lair ? "

Dicaeopolis is paralysed at the terrible vision, and
humbly begs pardon of the hero for what he has said.
Ijamachus bids him repeat his words : — -

" Die. I — I can't remember — I'm so terrified.
The terror of that crest quite turned me dizzy :
Do take the hobgoblin away from me, I beseech you.*

Lam. {takes off his helinet.) There then.

Die. Now turn it upside down.

Lam. See, there.

Dk. Now give me one of the feathers." — (F.)

And, to the general's great disgust, he pretends to use
it to tickle his throat. He is so terribly frightened he

* Of course every Athenian would be amused by the imrody
of the well-remembered scene in the Iliad : —

" The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast.
Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled,
And Hector hastened to relieve his child ;
The glittering terrors from his brow unbound,
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground."

56 ARISTOPHANES.

must be sick. Lamachus draws his sword, and makes
at the scoffer; but in the tussle the general (to the
great amusement, no doubt, of the audience) gets tlie
worst of it. He indignantly demands to know who this
vulgar fellow is, who has no respect for dignities : —

" Die. I'll tell ye — an honest man ; that's what I am.
A citizen that has served his time in the army.
As a foot-soldier, fairly ; not Uke you,
Pilfering and drawing pay with a pack of foreigners."

-(F.)

He appeals to his audience — did any of them ever get
sent out as High Commissioners, with large salaries,
like Lamachus? !J^ot one of them. The whole
administration of the Athenian war office is nothing
but rank jobbery. The general, finding the argument
taking a rather personal and unpleasant turn, goes off,
Avith loud threats of what he will do to the Spartans ;
and Dicaeopolis, assuming his own acquittal by the
Acharnians, proclaims, on the strength of his private
treaty of peace, a free and open market on his farm for
^Megarians and Thebans, and all the Peloponnesiau
Greeks.

An interval between what we should call the acts of
the play is filled up by a " Parahasis," as it was termed
— a chant in which the Chorus pleads the author's
cause with the audience. By his comedy of 'The Baby-
lonians,' produced the year before, he had drawn upon
him, as has been already said, the wrath of Cleon and
his party, and they had even gone so far as to bring
an indictment against him for treason against the
state. And he now, by the mouth of the Chorus,

THE ACHARNIANS. 57

makes a kind of half-apology for his former boldness,
and assures the spectators that he has never been
really disloyal to Athens. As to Cleon the tanner —
he will " cut him into shoe-soles for the Knights ; "
and we have already seen how he kept his word.

When the regular action of the comedy is resumed,
DicaeopoUs has opened his free market. The first who
comes to take advantage of it is an unfortunate
Megarian, who has been reduced to poverty by the
war. His native district, lying midway between the
two powerful neighbours, had in its perplexity taken
what they thought the strongest side, had put an
Athenian garrison to the sword, and had suffered
terribly from the vengeance of the Athenians in
consequence. They had been excluded, on pain of
death, from all ports and markets within the Athenian
rule, and twice in every year orders were given to
march into their territory and destroy their crops.
The misery to which the wretched inhabitants were
thus reduced is described with a grim humour. The
Megarian, having nothing else left to dispose of, has
brought his two little daughters to market for sale.

'^Meg. Ah, there's the Athenian market ! heaven bless it,
I say ; the welcomest sight to a Megax'ian.
I've looked for it, and longed for it, like a child
For its own mother. You, my daughters dear,
Disastrous offspring of a dismal sire.
List to my words, and let them sink impressed
Upon your empty stomachs ; now's the time
That you must seek a livelihood for yourselves,
Tlierefore resolve at once, and answer me ;
Will you be sold abroad, or starve at home ?

58 ARISTOPHANES.

Dav/jhters (hath together). Let us be sold, papa ! Let
lis be sold !

Meg. I say so too ; but who do ye think •will purchase
Such useless, mischievous commodities ?
However, I have a notion of my own,
A true Megarian scheme ; I mean to sell ye
Disguised as pigs, with artificial pettitoes.
Here, take them, and put them on. Remember now,
Show yourselves off ; do credit to your breeding.
Like decent pigs ; or else, by Mercury,
If I'm obliged to take you back to lilegara,
There you shall starve, far worse than heretofore.
This pair of masks too — fasten 'em on your faces,
And crawl into the sack there on the ground.
Mind ye, remember — you must squeak and whine." — (F.)

After some jokes upon the subject, not over-refined,
Dicseopolis becomes the purchaser of the pair for a
peck of salt and a rope of onions. He is sending the
Megarian home rejoicing, and wishing that he could
make as good a bargain for his wife and liis mother as
well, when that curse of the Athenian commonwealth,
an informer, comes upon the scene. He at once de-
nounces the pigs as contraband ; but Dicaeopolis calls
the constables to remove him — he will have no in-
formers in his market. The next visitor is a Theban,
a hearty, good-humoured yeoman, but who disgusts
DicseopoUs by bringing with him two or three pipers,
whom the master of the market bids hold their noise
and be off; Boeotian music, we are to understand,
being always excruciating to the fine Athenian ear.
The new-comer has brought with him, to barter for
Athenian produce, fish, wild-fowl, and game of aU
kinds, including grasshoppers, hedgehogs, weasels, and

THE ACHARNIANS. 59

— ^writing-tables. But what attracts the attention of
Dicaeopolis most is some splendid Copaic eels.* He
has not seen their sweet faces, he vows, for six years
or more — never since this cursed war began. He
selects the finest, and calls at once for brazier and
bellows to cook it. The Bceotian naturally asks to be
paid for this pick of his basket ; but Dicaeopolis ex-
plains to him that he takes it by the landlord's right,
as " market-toll." For the rest of the lot, however, he
shall have payment in Athenian wares. " What will
he take ? — sprats 1 crockery ? " Nay, they have plenty
of these things at home, says the Theban ; he would
prefer some sort of article that is plentiful in Attica
and scarce at Thebes. A bright idea strikes Dicaeo-
polis at once : —

" Die. Ah ! now I have it ! take an Informer home with

Pack him like crockery — and tie him fast.

Bceot. By the Twin Gods, I will ! I'll make a show of him
For a tricksy ape. 'Twill pay me well, I warrant."

Apropos to the notion, an informer makes his appear-
ance, and Dicaeopolis stealthily points him out to the
Boeotian. " He's small," remarks the latter, in depreci-
ation. " Yes," replies the Athenian ; " but every inch
of him is thoroughly bad." As the man, intent on his

* Their reputation has continued down to modem days. "I
was able to partake of some fine eels of an extraordinary size,
which had been sent to us by the Greek primates of the city.
They were caught in the Lake Copais, which, as in ancient
times, still supplies the country round with game and wild-
fowl. "—Hughes's Travels in Greece, i. 33. (Note to Walsh's
Aristophanes.)

60 ARISTOPHANES.

vocation, is investigating the stranger's goods, and
calling witnesses to this breach of the law, Dicaeopolis
gives the signal, and in a trice he is seized, tied up
with ropes and straw like a large jar, and after a few
hearty kicks — administered to him just to see whether
he rings sound or not — this choice specimen of Athe-
nian produce is hoisted on the shoulders of a slave,
and carried off as a curiosity to Thebes.

The concluding scene brings out in strong contrast
the delights of peace and the miseries of war. G.eneral
Lamachus has heard of the new market, and cannot
resist the temptation to taste once more some of its now
contraband luxuries. He sends a slave to buy for him a
three-shilling eel. But no eel shall the man of war
get from Dicseopolis — no, not if he would give his
gorgon-faced shield for it ; and the messenger has to
return to his master empty. A farmer who has lost his
oxen in one of the raids made by the enemy, and has
heard of the private supply of Peace which is in the
possession of Dic^opolis, comes to buy a small measure
of it for himself, even if not of the strongest quality —
the " five-years' sort " would do. But he asks in vain.
If ext arrives a messenger from a newly-married bride-
groom, who has a natural dislike under the circum-
stances to go on military service. Woidd Dicseopolis
oblige him with a little of this blessed balsam, so
that he may stay at home this one campaign ?

" Die. Take it away ;

I would not part with a particle of my balsam
For all the world ; not for a thousand drachmas.
But that young woman there — who's she ?

THE ACHARNIANS. 61

Mess. The bridesmaid,

With a particular message from the bride,
Wishing to speak a word in private with you.

Die. Well, what have ye got to say ? let's hear it all.
Come — step this way — no, nearer — in a whisper —
Nearer, I say — Come then, now, tell me about it.

{After listening with comic attention to a
supposed whispe)-.)
O, bless me ! what a capital, comical,
Extraordinary string of female reasons
Tor keeping a young bridegroom safe at home !
Well, we'll indulge her, since she's only a woman ;
She's not obliged to serve ; bring out the balsam ! *

Come, Where's your little vial ? " — (F.)

While Dicaeopolis is continuing his culinary prepara-
tions for the banquet which is to close the festival —
preparations in which the old gentlemen of the Chorus,
in spite of their objections to the truce, take a very
lively interest — a messenger comes in hot haste to sum-
mon Lamachus. The Boeotians are meditating an attack
on the frontier, hoping to take the Athenians at disad-
vantage at this time of national holiday. It is snowing
hard; but the orders of the commanders-in-chief are
imperative, and Lamachus must go to the front. And
at this moment comes another messenger to call Dicse-
opolis to the banquet, which stays only for him. A
long antithetic dialogue follows, pleasant, it must be
supposed, to Athenian ears, who delighted in such
word-fencing, tiresome to English readers. Lamachus
orders out his knapsack; Dicseopolis bids his slave
bring his dinner-service. The general, cursing all
commanders-in-chief, calls for his plume ; the Achar-
nian for roast pigeons. Lamachus calls for his spear ;

62 ARISTOPHANES.

Dicaeopolis for the meat-spit. The hero whirls his
gorgon shield round ; the other mimics the performance
with a large cheese-cake. Losing patience at last,
partly through envy of such good fare, and partly at
the mocking tone of the other, Lamachus threatens him
with his weapon ; Dicaeopolis defends himself with the
spit, like Bailie ]!«ficol Jarvie with his hot poker ; and so,
after this passage of broad farce, the scene closes — the
general shouldering his knapsack and marching off
into the snow-storm, while the other packs up his
contribution to the public supper, at which he hastens
to take his place. •

A brief interval, filled by a choral ode, allows time
enough in dramatic imagination for Lamachus's expe-
dition and for Dicaeopolis's feast. A messenger from
the army rushes in hot haste upon the stage, and
knocks loudly at the door of the former. " Hot-
water, lint, plaister, splints ! " The general has been
wounded. In leaping a ditch he has sprained his
ankle and broken his head ; and here he comes. As
the discomfited warrior limps in on the one side,
groaning and complaining, DicaeopoHs, with a train
of joyous revellers, enters on the other. He does not
spare his jests and mockeries upon the other's mis-
erable condition ; and the piece closes with a tableau
sufficiently suggestive of the advantages of peace over
war — the general, supported by his attendants, hav-
ing his wounds dressed, and roaring with pain, occupy-
ing one side of the stage ; while the Acharnian revellers,
crowned with garlands, shout their joyous drinking-
songs to Bacchus on the other.

THE PEACE. 63

THE PEACE.

* The Peace ' was brought out four years after * The
Acharnians,' when the war had abeady lasted ten years.
This was not long before the conclusion of that treaty
between the two great contending powers which men
hoped was to hold good for fifty years, known as the
Peace of Nicias. The leading idea of the plot is the
same as in the previous comedy ; the intense longing,
on the part of the more domestic and less ambitious
citizens, for relief from the prolonged miseries of the war.

Trygaeus, — whose name suggests the lost merriment
of the vintage, — finding no help in men, has resolved
to undertake an expedition in his own person, to
heaven, to expostulate with Jupiter for allowing
this wretched state of things to go on. With this
object in view (after some previous attempts with a
ladder, which, owing to the want of anything like a
point cPappui, have naturally resulted in some awk-
ward falls), he has fed and trained a dung-beetle,
which is to carry him up to the Olympian throne;
there being an ancient fable to the effect that the
creature had once upon a time made his way there
in pursuit of his enemy the eagle.* It is a burlesque

• The old commentators assign the story to ^sop. The
eagle had eaten the beetle's young ones; the beetle, in revenge,
rolled the eagle's eggs out of her nest : so often, that the latter
made complaint to her patron Jupiter, who gave her leave to
lay her eggs in his bosom. The beetle flew up to heaven, and
buzzed about the god's head, who jumped up in a hurry to
catch his tormentor, quite forgetting his duty as nurse, and so
the eggs fell out and were broken.

64 ARISTOPHANES.

upon the aerial journey of Bellerophon on Pegasus, as
represented in one of the popular tragedies of Euri-
pides ; and Trygaeus addresses his strange steed as his
" little Pegasus" accordingly. Mounted in this strange
fashion, to the great alarm of his two daughters, he
makes his appearance on the stage, and is raised bodily
through the air, with many soothing speeches to the
beetle, and a private " aside " to the machinist of the
theatre to take great care of him, lest like his prede-
cessor Bellerophon he should fall down and break his
leg, and so furnish Euripides with another crippled
hero for a tragedy. By some change of scenery he is
next represented as having reached the door of Jupi-
ter's palace, where Mercury, as the servant in waiting,
comes out to answer his knock.

Mercury (looks round and sniffs). Whaf s this I smell
— a mortal ? {Sees Trygceus on his beetle.) 0,
great Hercules !
What horrible beast is this ?

Tryg. A beetle-horse.

Merc. O you abominable, impudent, shameless beast !
You cursed, cursed, thrice acciu-sed sinner !
How came you up here ? what business have yow. here ?
O you abomination of abominations.
Speak — what's your name ? D'ye hear ?

Tryg. Abomination.

Merc. What place d'ye come from ?

Tryg. From Abomination.

Merc, {ratlier puzzled). Eh ? — what's your father's name ?

Tryg. Abomination.

Merc, {in a fury). Look here now, — by the Earth, you
die this minute,
Unless you tell me your accursed name.

THE PEACE. 65

Tryg. Well — I'm Trygseus of Athinon ; I can prune
A vine with any man — that's all. I'm no informer,
I do assure you ; I hate law like poison.

Merc. And what have you come here for ?

Tryg. {pulling something out of a hag). Well, you see,
I've brought you this beefsteak.

Merc, {softening his tone considerably). Oh, well —
poor fellow !
But how did you come ?

Tryg. Aha, my cunning friend !

I'm not such an abomination, after all !
But come, call Jupiter for me, if you please.

Merc. Ha, ha ! you can't see him, nor any of the gods ;
They're all of them gone from home — went yesterday.

Tryg. Why, where on earth are they gone to ?

Merc. Earth, indeed !

Tr^g. Well, then, but where ?

Merc. They're gone a long way off

Into the furthest corner of the heavens.

Tiryg. And why are you left here, pray, by yourself ?

Merc. Oh, I'm taking care of the pots and pans, and such-
like.

Tiryg. What made them all leave home so suddenly ?

Merc Disgusted with you Greeks. They've given you up
To War, to do exactly what he likes with :
They've left him here to manage all their business,
And gone themselves as far aloft as possible,
That they may no more see you cutting throats,
And may be no more bothered with your prayers.

Tryg. What makes them treat us in this fashion — tell me ?

Merc. Because you would have war, when they so often
Offered you peace. Whenever those fools the Spartans
Met with some small success, then it was always —
" By the Twin Gods, Athens shall catch it now !"
And then, when you Athenians got the best of it.
And Sparta sent proposals for a peace,

A. c. voL xiv. E

66 ARISTOPHANES.

You would say always — " Oh, they're cheating us !
We won't be taken in^ — not we, by Pallas !
No, by great Jupiter ! they'll come again
With better terms, if we keep hold of Pylos."

Tryg. That is uncommonly Uke what we did say.

No doubt it was : Aristophanes is writing history
here with quite as much accuracy as most historians.
Mercury goes on to explain to his visitor that the
Greeks are never likely to see Peace again : War has
cast her into a deep pit (which he points out), and
heaped great stones upon her : and he has now got an
enormous mortar, in which he proposes to pound all
the cities of Greece, if he can only find a pestle big
enough for his purpose. " Eut hark ! " says Mercury
— " I do believe he's coming out ! I must be ofi"."
And while the god escapes, and Trygseus hides himself
in affright from the terrible presence, War, a grim
giant in fuU panoply, and wearing, no doubt, the most
truculent-looking mask which the theatrical artist could
furnish, comes upon the scene, followed by his man
Tumult, who lugs a huge mortar with him. Into this
vessel War proceeds to throw various ingredients, which
represent the several towns and states which were the
principal sufierers in the late campaigns : leeks for
Prasise, garlic for Megara, cheese for Sicily. When
he goes on to add some Attic honey to his olio, Trygseus
can scarcely restrain himseK from giving vent aloud to
the remonstrance which he utters in an " aside" — not
to use so terribly expensive an article. Tumult is
forthwith despatched (with a cuff on the head for his
slowness) to fetch a pestle of sufficient weight for his

THE PEACE. 67

master's purpose. He goes to Athens first; but their
great war-pestle has just been lost — Cleon, the main-
stay of the war party, has been killed in battle at
Amphipolis, in Thrace. The messenger is next de-
spatched to Sparta, but returns with no better success :
the Spartans had lent their pestle to the Thracians,
and Brasidas had fallen, with the Athenian general, in
that same battle at AmphipoUs. Trygseus, who all
this while has been trembling in his hiding-place,
begins to take heart, while "War retires with his slave
to manufacture a new pestle for himsel£ Now, in his
absence, is the great opportunity to rescue Peace from
her imprisonment. Trygaeus shouts to all good Greeks,
especially the farmers, the tradesmen, and the working
classes, to come to his aid ; and a motley Chorus,
equipped with shovels, ropes, and crow-bars, appear in
answer to his call. They give him a good deal of annoy-
ance, however, because, true to their stage business as
Chorus, instead of setting to work at once they will
waste the precious minutes in dancing and singing, — a
most incongruous proceeding, as he observes, when
everything depends upon speed and silence ; an amus-
ing sarcasm from a writer of what we may call operatic
burlesque upon the conventional absurdities which are
even more patent in our modern serious opera than in
Athenian comedy. At last they go to work in earnest,
and succeed in bribing Mercury, who returns when
"War is out of the way, to help them. But to get
Peace out of the pit requires, as Trygaeus tells them,
" a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether."
And first the Boeotians will not puU, and then the

G8 ARISTOPHANES.

Argives, and then tho Megarians ; and Lamachus, tlie
impersonation of the war party at Athens hero as in
' The Acharnians,' gets in the way, and has to bo re-
moved ; until at last the " country party " — the hus-
bandmen— lay hold with a will, and Peace, with her
companions " Plenty" and " Holiday," represented also
by two beautiful women, is drawn up from the pit,
and hailed with great joy by Trygaeus and the Chorus.
But Peace, for a while, stands silent and indignant
in the midst of their congratulations. She will not
open her lips, says Mercury, in the presence of this
audience. She has confided the reason to him in a
whisper — for she never speaks throughout the play :
she is angry at having been thrice rejected by vote
in the Athenian assembly when she offered herself
to them after the affair of Pylos. But she is soon so
far appeased, that with her two fair companions she
accompanies Trygaeus to earth. The beetle remains
behind — having received an appointment to run under
Jupiter's chariot and carry the lightning.

The last act — which, as is commonly the case with
these comedies, is quite supplementary to what we
moderns shotdd call the catastrophe of the piece — takes
place in front of Trygseus's country house, where he cele-
brates his nuptials with the fair Op6ra (Plenty), whom
Mercury has presented to him as the reward of his
good service. The festival held on the occasion is
represented on the stage with a detail which was pro-
bably not tedious to an Athenian audience. AU who
ply peaceful arts and trades are freely welcomed to it ;
while those who make their gain by war — the sooth-

LYSISTRATA. 69

sayer who proirmlgates his warlike oracles to delude
men's minds, the trumpeter, the armourer, and the
singer of war-songs — are aU dismissed by the triumph-
ant vine-dresser with ignominy and contempt.

One little point in this play is worth notice, as a
trait of generous temper on the part of the dramatist.
Cleon, his grekt personal enemy, was now dead. He has
not been able to restrain himself from aiming a blow
at him even now, as one of those whom he looks upon,
justly or unjustly, as the authors of the miseries of
Greece. But he holds his hand half-way. When
Mercury is descanting upon some of these evils which
went near to the ruin of Athens, he is made to say
that "the Tanner" — i.e., Cleon — was the cause of
them. Trygaeus interrupts him, —

Hold — say not so, good master Mercury ;
Let that man rest below, where now he lies.
He is no longer of our world, but yours.

This forbearance towards his dead enemy is turned off,
it is true, with a jest to the effect that anything bad
which Mercury could say of him now would be a re-
proach to that ghostly company of which the god had
especial charge ; but even under the sarcasm we may
willingly think there lies a recognition of the great
principle, that the faults of the dead should be buried
with them.

Ltsistrata.
The comedy of ' Lysistrata,' which was produced
some ten years later, deals Avith the same subject from
quite a different point of view. The war has now

70 ARISTOPHANES.

lasted twenty-one years. The women of Athens have
grown hopeless of any termination of it so long as
the management of affairs is left in the hands of
the men, and impatient of the privations which its
continuance involves. They determine, under the
leading of the clever Lysistrata,* wife to one of the
magistrates, to take the question into their own
hands. They resolve upon a voluntary separation
from their husbands — a practical divorce a meiisa et
thoro — untU peace with Sparta shall be proclaimed.
The meeting of these fair conspirators is called very
early in the morning, while the husbands (at least such
few of them as the campaign has left at home) are in
bed and asleep. By a liberal stage licence, the women
of Sparta (who talk a very broad Doric), of Corinth,
and Boeotia, and, in fact, the female representatives
generally of all Greece, attend the gathering, in spite
of distance and of the existence of the war. All
take an oath to observe" this self-denying ordinance
strictly — not without an amusing amount of reluctance
on the part of some weaker spirits, which is at last
overcome by the firm example of a Spartan lady. It
is resolved that a body of the elder matrons shall seize
the Acropolis, and make themselves masters of the
public treasury. These form one of the two Choruses
in the play, the other being composed of the old men
of Athens. The latter proceed (with a good deal of
comic difficulty, owing to the steepness of the ascent
and their shortness of breath) to attack the Acropolis,

* Her name, like most of those used in these comedies, is
significant. It means, " Dissolver of the Army. "

LYSISTRATA. 71

armed with torches and fagots and pans of charcoal,
■with which they hope to smoke out the occupants.
But the women have provided themselves with buckets
of water, which they empty on the heads of their
assailants, who soon retire discomfited to call the
police. But the police are in their turn repulsed by
these resolute insurgents, whom they do not exactly
know how to deal with. At last a member of the
Public Committee comes forward to parley, and a dia-
logue takes place between him and Lysistrata. Why,
he asks, have they thus taken possession of the
citadel? They have resolved henceforth to manage
the pubHc revenues themselves, is the reply, and not
allow them to be appHed to carrying on this ruinous
war. That is no business for women, argues the
magistrate. "Why not ?" says Lysistrata ; " the wives
have long had the management of the private purses
of the husbands, to the great advantage of both." In
short, the women have made up their minds to have
their voice no longer ignored, as hitherto, in questions
of peace and war. Their remonstrances have always
been met with the taunt that "war is the business of
men;" and to any question they have ventured to
ask their husbands on such points, the answer has
always been the old cry — old as the days of Homer —
" Go spin, you jade, go spin ! " * But they will put
up with it no longer. As they have always had wit

* Horn. Iliad, vi. 490. Hector to Andromache : —

" No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home ;
There guide the spindle and direct the loom."

—Pope.

72 ARISTOPHANES.

enough to clear the tangled threads in their work, so they
have no doubt of settling all these diflficulties and com-
plications in international disputes, if it is left to them.
But what concern, her opponent asks, can women
have with war, who contribute nothing to its dangers
and hardships % ** Contribute, indeed ! " says the lady —
" we contribute the sons who carry it on." And she
throws doAvn to her adversary her hood, her basket,
and her spindle, and bids him "go home and card
wool," — it is aU such old men are fit for ; henceforth
the proverb (of the men's making) shall be reversed, —
" War shall be the care of the women." The magis-
trate retires, not having got the best of it^ very natu-
rally, in an encounter of words ; and the Chorus of
elders raise the cry — well known as a popular partisan-
cry at Athens, and sure to call forth a hearty laugh in
such juxtaposition — that the women are designing to
" set up a Tyranny ! "

But poor Lysistrata soon has her troubles. Her
unworthy recruits are fast deserting her. They are
going off to their husbands in the most sneaking man-
ner— creeping out through the little hole under the
citadel which led to the celebrated cave of Pan, and
letting themselves down from the walls by ropes at
the risk of breaking their necks. Those who are
caught all have excellent excuses. One has some
fleeces of fine Milesian wool at home which miist be
seen to, — she is sure the moths are eating them. An-
other has urgent occasion for the doctor ; a third can-
not sleep alone for fear of the owls — of which, as
every one knows, there were reaUy a great many at

LYSISTRATA. 73

Athens. The husbands, too, are getting uncomfortable
without their housekeepers ; there is no one to cook
their victuals ; and one poor soul conies and humbly
entreats his wife at least to come home to wash and
dress the baby.

It is becoming plain that either the war or the
wives' resolution will soon give way, when there arrives
an embassy from Sparta. They cannot stand this
general strike of the wives. They are agreed already
with their enemies the Athenians on one point — as to
the women — that the old Greek comedian's * proverb,
which we have borrowed and translated freely, is
true, — /

There is no living with 'em — or without 'em.

They are come to offer terms of peace. When two
parties are already of one mind, as Lysistrata observes,
they are not long in coming to an understanding. A
treaty is made on the spot, with remarkably few pre-
liminaries. The Spartan ambassadors are carried off
at once to an entertainment in the Acropolis under
the presidency of Lysistrata ; and the Athenians find,
as is so often the case when those who have been the
bitterest opponents become better acquainted, that
the Spartans are excellent fellows in their cups — nay,
positively entertaining, as one of the plenipotentiaries
who returns from the banquet declares ; which last
would be quite a new characteristic, to the ears of an

* Susarion. So also the Roman censor, Jletellus Numidicus :
" It is not possible to live with them in any comfort — or to
live without them at all." — Aul. Gellius, i. 6.

74 ARISTOPHANES.

Athenian audience, of their slow and steady neigh-
bours. So charmed are the Chorus with the effect of
a little wholesome conviviality upon national temper,
that they deliver it as their decided opinion that in
future all embassies to foreign states should be fairly
drunk before they set out. "When men are sober, they
are critical and suspicious, and put a. wrong interpre-
tation on things, and stand upon their dignity ; but
under the genial influence of good liquor there is a
disposition to make everything pleasant. And so,
with two choric hymns, chanted by Spartans and
Athenians in turn — so bright and graceful that they
would seem out of place in such wild company, but
that we know the poet meant them to herald the joy
with which a real Peace would be welcomed — this
broad extravaganza ends.

For the humour is indeed of the broadest, in some
passages, even for Aristophanes. Eut in spite of
coarse language, it has been justly said by modem
critics in the poet's defence, that the moral of the
piece is honest and true. The longing for that domes-
tic happiness which has been interrupted and shattered
by twenty years of incessant war, is a far more whole-
some sentiment, in its nature and effects, than very
much of modem sentiment which passes under finer
names.

CHAPTEE IV.

THE CLOUDS.

The satire in this, one of the "best-known of Aristo-
phanes's comedies, is directed against the new schools
of philosophy which had heen lately developed in
Athens, and which reckoned among their disciples
not only the more intellectual of the rising genera-
tion, but also a good many idle young men of the
richer classes, who were attracted by the novelty of
tbe tenets which were there propounded, the eloquence
of the teacbers, and the richness of illustration and
brilliant repartee which were remarkable features in
their metliod. There were several reasons which
would make this new learning unpopular, whatever
its real merits might have been. These men contro-
verted popular opinions, and assumed to know more
than other people — which was an offence to the dig-
nity of the great Athenian commons. The lecturers
themselves were nearly all of them foreigners — Thra-
symachus from Chalcedon, Gorgias from Leontini in
Sicily, Protagoras from Abdera in Thrace. These,
with many others of less note, had brought their

76 ARISTOPHANES.

talents to Athens as the great intellectual mart, where
such "vrare was understood, and was sure to find
its price, both in renown and in the grosser and
more literal sense. Besides, they sneered (so it was
said) at the national religion; and the national reli-
gion, especially to the lower ranks of citizens, meant
holidays, and public feasts, and processions, and a good
deal of licence and privilege which was very much
valued. There were reasons, too, why the poet him-
seK should be very willing to exercise his wit at the
expense of the philosophers : to his conservative mind
these outlandish teachers, with their wild speculations
and doctrine of free thought, and generally aggressive
attitude towards the established order of things, were
especially objectionable.

The term " Sophist," though in its original and
wider sense it was applied to the professors of philo-
sophy generally, had come to mean, in the popular
language of Athens, those who, for pay, undertook to
teach a method of rhetoric and argument by which a
man might prove anything whatever. It is against
these public lecturers, who either taught or were com-
monly believed to teach this perversion of the great
science of dialectics, that Aristophanes brings the
whole weight of his biting humour to bear in ' The
Clouds.' This is no place to inquire how far the ac-
cusation brought against them was or was not a fair
one, or whether that abuse of their powers which was
the disgrace of a few may not have been attributed by
unjust clamour to a whole class of public teachers in
which they were but the exceptions. It is possible to

THE CLOUDS. 77

believe not only, with Mr Grote, that the Sophists
" bear the penalty of their name in its modern sense,"
but also that in their own day they bore the penalty
of superior ability and intelligence in becoming the
objects of dislike, and therefore of misrepresentation,
and yet to understand how they may have afforded
very fair material for the professional satirist. The
art of public speaking, which these professors taught,
is a powerful engine, which in unscrupulous hands
may do as much to mislead as to instruct. That the
love of disputation and the consciousness of power
will tempt a clever man to maintain a paradox, and
discomfit an opponent by what he knows to be a
fallacy — that a keen intellect will delight in ques-
tioning an established belief — and that the shallow
self-sufficiency of younger disciples will push any
doctrine to its wildest extremes, — are moral facts for
whose confirmation we have no need to go to ancient
history. And we are not to suppose that either the
poet or his audience intended the fun of the piece to
be taken as serious evidence either of the opinions or
the practice of any school whatever.

But the question which has, with much more reason, .
exercised the ingenuity of able critics, is the choice
which Aristophanes has made of Socrates as the re-
presentative of this sophistical philosophy, and his
motive in holding him up to ridicule, as he here does,
by name. For Socrates, it is generally allowed, was
the opponent of these Sophists, or at least of those
objectionable doctrines which they were said to teach.
But there were some very important points — and those

78 ARISTOPHANES.

such as would come most under public observation —
in which he, as a philosophical teacher, bore a broad
resemblance to them. The whole character of this
new intellectual movement in Greece was negative
and critical, professing to aim rather at detecting error
than establishing certainty. To this the method of
Socrates formed no exception. His favourite assertion,
that he himself knew nothing for certain, expressed
this in the strongest form. And if the reproach
brought against the Sophists was that they loved
argument too much for argument's sake, and thought
more of confounding an opponent than of demonstrat-
ing a truth, we have only to read some of the dia-
logues in which Socrates bears a part, as we have
them recorded by his friends and pupils, to see that
he at least supplied abundant ground to an ordinary
hearer to say the same of him. He could scarcely
have realised to the public of his own day the defini-
tion which Schiller gives of the true philosopher —
" One who loves truth better than his system," Xeno-
phon tells us that in argument he did what he liked
with his opponents ; and Plato has compared bim to
the mythical giant Antaeus, who insisted that every
stranger whom he met should try a fall with him.

It is of the very essence, again, of caricature to take
gravity and wisdom for its subject. And caricature
on the Athenian stage knew no limits in this. Nothing
was sacred for the comic dramatist and his Chorus. The
national gods, the great religious mysteries, the mighty
Athenian people itself, were all made to put on the
comic mask, and figure in the wild procession. Why

THE CLOUDS. 79

shoiild the philosophers escape ? The higher the
ground upon which Socrates stood, the more tempting
mark did he present. Lucian understood perfectly the
kind of taste to which a writer of comedy must appeal
at Athens, when, in his own defence for having made
sport of the philosophers, he says : " For such is the
temper of the multitude, they delight in listening to
banter and abuse, especially when what is solemn and
dignified is made the subject of it." *

But besides this, the author who was to write a
new burlesque for the Athenians, and had resolved to
take as his theme these modern vagaries of speculative
philosophy, wanted a central figure for his piece. So
in * The Acharnians ' he takes Lamachus, a well-known
general of the day, to represent the passion for war
which he there holds up to ridicule, and dresses him
up with gorgon-faced shield and tremendous crest, in
parody of military splendour : though we have no
reason whatever to suppose that he had any private
grudge against the man, or that Lamachus was more
responsible for the war than others. Here the repre-
sentative figure must be a philosopher, and well
known. Whether his opinions were very accii-
rately represented or not, probably neither the
dramatist nor his audience would very much care.
"Who so convenient for his purpose as the well-known
and remarkable teacher whose grotesque person must
have struck every passer-by in the public streets,
whose face, with its flat nose, lobster-hke eyes, and
thick lips, seemed a ready-made comic mask, and
* Lucian, Dial. 'Piscator.'

80 ARISTOPHANES.

whose round and protuberant body made his very
friends liken him to the figures of Silenus, — who went
about barefooted, unwashed, and in shabby clothes,
and would sometimes stand for half an hour in a pub-
lic thoroughfare as it were wrapt in a dream ? There
is surely no need to imagine that the comic dramatist
had any personal grudge against the philosopher, or
any special horror of his particular teaching. Such
an artist could hardly have helped caricaturing him,
if he had been his personal friend. . •

The opening scene in this comedy is an interior. It
represents a room in the house of Strepsiades, a well-
to-do citizen, in which he and his son Pheidippides are
discovered occupying two pallet-beds. The household
slaves are supposed to be sleeping in an outer room,
the door of which is open. So much of the antecedents
of the drama as is required to be known in order to its
ready comprehension come out at once in the soliloquy
of the anxious father.

Str. {yawning in his bed). 0 — h !
Great Jove, how terribly long the nights are now !
Interminable ! will it never be day, I wonder ?
I'm sure I heard the cock crow long ago.
These slaves are snoring still, the rascals. Ah !
It was not so in the old times of peace.
Curse the war, I say, both for other reasons,
And specially that I daren't punish my own slaves.*
And there's that hopeful son of mine can sleep
Sound as a top, the whole night long, rolled up
Like a great sausage there, in five thick blankets.
Well — I suppose I'd as well put my head

* For fear lest they should desert at once to the enemy.

THE CLOUDS. 81

Under the clothes, and try to get a snooze. —

I can't — I cavJt get to sleep ! There are things biting

me —
I mean the bills, the stable expenses, and the debts
Run up for me by that precious son of mine.
And he — oh, he lives like a gentleman,
Keeps liis fine horses, drives his curricle —
Is dreaming of them now, no doubt — while I lie vexing,
Knowing next month those notes of hand come due.
With interest mounting up. {Galls to his slave wthout.)

Boy ! light a lamp ;
Bring me my pocket-book, that I may see
How my accounts stand, and just cast them up.

{Slave hHngs a lamp, and holds it while Strepsi-
ades sits up and looks over his account-book.)
Let's see now. First, here's Prasias, fifty pounds.
Now, what's that for ? When did I borrow that ?
Ah ! when I bought that grey. Oh dear, oh dear !
I shall grow grey enough, if this goes on.

Fh. {talking in his sleep). That's not fair, Philo ! keep
your own side of the course !

Str. Ay, there he goes ! that's what is ruining me ;
He's always racing, even in his dreams.

Ph. {still asleep). How many times round do the war-
chariots go ?

Str. You make your old father's head go round, you do.
But let me see — what stands here next to Prasias 1 —
Twelve pounds to Amynias, — for a car and wheels.

Ph. There — ^give that horse a roll, and take him home.

)Str. You'll roll me out of house and home, young man !
I've judgment debts against me, and the rest of them
Swear they'll proceed.

Ph. {awaking). Good heavens ! my dear father.

What makes you groan and toss so all night long 1

Str. There's a sheriffs officer at me — in the bed-clothes.

Ph. Lie quiet, sir, do pray, and let me sleep.
A. c. vol. xiv. F

82 ARISTOPHANES.

IStr. Sleep, if you like ; but these debts, I can tell you,
WUl fall on your own head some day, young man.
Heugh ! may those match-makers come to an evil end
Who drew me into marrying your good mother !
There I was living a quiet life in the country, —
Shaved once a-week, may-be, wore my old clothes —
Full of my sheep, and goats, and bees, and vineyards,
And I must marry the fine niece of Megacles.
The son of Megacles ! an awkward coimtry fellow
Marry a fine town belle, all airs and graces !
A pretty pair we were to come together —
I smelling of the vineyard and the sheep-shearing,
She with her scents, and essences, and cosmetics.
And all the devilries of modem fashion.
Xot a bad housekeeper though — I will say that —
For she kept open house. " Madam," said I,
Showing her one day my old coat with a hole in't.
By way of parable, — " this can't last long."

Slave (examining the lamp, which is going out). This
lamp has got no oil in it.

Sir. Deuce take you,

"Why did you light that thirsty beast of a lamp ?
Come here, and you shall catch it.

Slave. Catch it, — ^why ?

Str. (poxes his ears). For putting such a thick wick in,
to be sure. —
Well, — ^in due time this boy of ours was bom
To me and my grand lady. First of all,
We got to loggerheads about his name ;
She would have something that had got a Jwrse in it, —
Xanthippus — or Charippus — or Philippides ; *
I was for his grandfather's name — Pheidonides.
Well, for some time we squabbled ; then at last

* Names thus compounded with * ippos' {' horse ') were much
affected by the Athenian aristocracy. ' PJieidon,' on the other
hand, in the proposed name Pheidonides, means 'economicaL'

THE CLOUDS. 83

We came to a compromise upon Pheid — ippides.

This boy — she'd take him in her lap and fondle him,

And say, " Ah ! when it grows up to be a man,

It shall drive horses, like its imcle Megacles,

And wear a red cloak, it shall." Then I would say,

" He shall wear a good sheep-skin coat, like his owa.

father.
And drive his goats to market from the farm."
But there — ^he never would listen to me for a moment ;
He's had a horse-fever always — to my ruin.

He has thought of a scheme, however, if he can but
get his son to fall in with it, by which they may both
be relieved from the pressure of these debts. So he
awakes young Pheidippides, and takes him into his
counsels. They both walk to the front ; the scene
shuts, and they are outside the house. The father
points to another building at the wing.

That's the great Thinking-School of our new philosophers ;

There live the men who teach that heaven around us

Is a vast oven, and we the charcoal in it.*

And they teach too — for a consideration, mind —

To plead a cause and win it, right or wrong.

Ph. (carelessly). Who are these feUows ?

Str. ' I don't quite remember

The name they call themselves, it's such a long one ;
Very hard thinkers — but they're first-rate men.

Ph. Faugh ! vulgar feUows — I know 'em. Dirty vaga-
bonds,
Like Socrates there and Chcerephon — a low set.

Str. Pray hold your tongue — don't show your ignorance.
But, if you care at all for your old father.
Be one of them, now, do, and cut the turf.

* A caricature of the doctrine of Heraclitus, that Heat was
the great principle of all tilings.

84 ARISTOPHANES.

Ph. Not I, by Bacchus ! not if you would give me
That team of Arabs that Leogoras drives.

Str. {coaxingly). Do, my dear boy, I beg you — go and
be taught.

Ph. And what shall I learn there ?

Str. Leam ? {Confidentially.) Why, they do say

That these men have the secret of both Arguments,
The honest Argument (if there be such a thing) and the

other ;
Now this last — this false Argument, you understand —
Will make the veriest rascal win his cause.
So, if you'll go and leam for us this glorious art.
The debts I owe for you wiU all be cleared ;
For I shan't pay a single man a farthing.

Ph. {after a little liedtation). No — I can't do it. Study-
ing hard, you see.
Spoils the complexion. How could I show my face
Among the Knights, looking a beast, like those fellows ?

iStr. Then, sir, henceforth I swear, so help me Ceres,
I won't maintain you — you, nor your bays, nor your

chestnuts.
Go to the dogs — or anywhere — out of my house !

Ph. Well, sir, I'm going. I know my imcle Megacles
Won't see me without a horse — so I don't mind.

Indignant as he is vfith. his son, the father is deter-
mined not to lose the chance which this new science
offers him of getting rid of his creditors. If his son
will not learn, he will take lessons himself, old as he
is ; and with this resolve he knocks at the door c^f this
" Thinking - School," the house of Socrates. One of
the students comes to answer his summons — in no
very good humour, for the loudness and suddenness of
Strepsiades's knock has destroyed in embryo a thought
which he was breeding. Still, as the old gentleman

TEE CLOUDS. 85

seems an earnest disciple, he condescends to expatiate to
him on the subject of some of the great master's subtle
speculations ; subtle in the extreme, not to say child-
ish, but yet not very unfair caricatures of some which
we find attributed to Socrates in the * Dialogues ' of
Plato. Charmed with what he hears, the new scholar
begs to be at once introduced. The back scene opens,
and discovers the students engaged in their various
investigations, with" Socrates himself suspended in a
kind of basket, deeply engaged in thought. The ex-
traordinary attitude of one class of learners arrests the
attention of the visitor especially : —

Str. What are those doing — stooping so very oddlj' 1

Student. They probe the secrets that lie deep as Tartarus.

Str. But why — excuse me, but — their hinder quarters —
Why are they stuck so oddly up in the air ?

Stud. The other end is studying astronomy
Quite independently. {To the students, whose attention is,
of course, diverted to the visitor.) Go in, if you please !
Suppose HE comes, and catches us all idling !

But Strepsiades begs to ask a few more questions.
These mathematical instruments, — ^what are they for 1

Stud. Oh, that's geometry.

Str. And what's the use of it ?

Stud. For measuring the Earth.

Str. You mean the grants

We make in the colonies to Athenian citizens ?

Stud. No — all the Earth.

Str. A capital idea !

Divide it all ? — I call that true democracy.

Stud. See, here's an outline-map of the whole world ;
And here lies Athens.

86 ARISTOPHANES..

Str. Athens ! nay, go to —

It cannot be — I see no law-courts sitting.

Stud. 'Tis Attica, I assure you, none the less.

Str. And where's niy parish, then — and my fellow-
townsmen ?

Stud. Oh, they're all there. — And here's Euhoea, you see,
That long strip there, stretched out along the coast.

Str. Ay — we and Pericles stretched that — pretty tight.*
But where's Lacedsemon, now ?

St^ld. Why, there, of course.

Str. How close to Athens ! Pray, with all your thinking,
Can't ye contrive to get it further off 1

Stud, (shaking his head). That we can't do, by Jove !

Str. Then worse luck for ye. —

But who hangs dangling in the basket yonder ?

Stud. Himself.

Str. And who's Himself?

Stud. Why, Socrates.

Str. Ho, Socrates ! — Call him, you fellow — call loud.

Stud. Call him yourself — I've got no time for calling.

(£ocit indoors.')

Str. Ho, Socrates ! sweet, darling Socrates !

Soc. Why callest thou me, poor creature of a day ?

Str. First tell me, pray, what are you doing up there 1

Soc. I walk in air, and contemplate the sun.

Str. Oh, that's the way that you despise the gods —
You get so near them on your perch there — eh ?

Soc. I never could have found out things divine,
Had I not hung my mind up thus, and mixed
My subtle intellect with its kindred air.
Had I regarded such things from below,

* Euboea had revolted from its allegiance to Athens some
years before this war. Pericles had swept the island with an
overwhelming force, banished the chiefs of the oligarchical
party, and distributed their lands amongst colonists from
Athens.

THE CLOUDS. 87

I had learnt notliing. For the earth absorbs
Into itself the moisture of the brain. —
It is the very same case with water-cresses,

Str. Dear me ! so water-cresses grow by thinking !

He begs Socrates to come down and help him in his
difficulties. He is very anxious to learn this new
Argument — that " which pays no bills." Socrates
offers to introduce him to the Clouds, the new goddesses
of philosophers — " great divinities to idle men ; " and
Strepsiades — first begging to be allowed to wrap his
cloak round his head for fear of rain, having left home
in his hurry without a hat — sits doAvn to await their

arrival

(Socrates cJmnts.)

Come, holy Clouds, whom the wise revere,

Descend in the sight of your votaries here !
Whether ye rest on the heights of Olympus,

whereon the sacred snow lies ever.
Or in coral groves of your father Ocean

ye weave with the Nymphs the dance together.
Or draw aloft in your golden vessels

the holy waters of ancient Nile,
Or haunt the banks of the lake Mseotis,

or clothe the Mimas' steeps the while, —
Hear our prayer, 0 gentle goddesses,

take the gifts 5'our suppliants bring,
Smile propitious on these our offerings,

list to the mystic chant we sing !

It is not very easy to comprehend the mode in which
the succeeding scene was managed, but the appliances of
the Athenian stage were no doubt quite equal to present-
ing it very effectively. The vast amphitheatre in which
these performances took place, open to the sky, and

88 ARISTOPHANES.

from which actors and audience commanded a view of
the hills round Athens, and of the "illimitable air"
and " cloudless heaven " which Socrates apostrophises
in his invocation to the goddesses, would add greatly
to the effect of the beautiful choric songs which follow.
But, on the other hand, it presents difficulties to any
arrangement for the actual descent of the Clouds upon
the stage. Probably their first chorus is sung behind
the scenes, and they are invisible, — present to the ima-
gination only of the audience, until they enter the
orchestra in palpable human shape. Theories and
guesses on these points are, after all, but waste of
ingenuity. The beauty of the lines which herald their
entrance (which can receive but scant justice in a
translation) is one of the many instances in which the
poet rises above the satirist.

(Chorus of Clouds, in the distance, accompanied
by the low rolling of thunder.*)
Eternal clouds !
Rise we to mortal view.
Embodied in bright shapes of dewy sheen,
Leaving the depths serene
Where our loud-sounding Father Ocean dwells,
For the wood-crowned summits of the hills :

Thence shall our glance command
The beetling crags which sentinel the land,

* The Greek commentators inform us very particularly by
what appliances thunder was imitated on the Athenian stage ;
either " by rolling leather bags full of pebbles down sheets of
brass," or by "pouring them into a huge brazen caldron."
(See note to Walsh's Aristoph., p. 302.) But Greek commen-
tators are not to be depended upon in such matters.

THE CLOUDS. 89

The teeming earth,

The crops we bring to birth ;
Thence shall we hear
The music of the ever-flowing streams,
The low deep thunders of the booming sea.

Lo, the bright Eye of Day unwearied beams I

Shedding our veil of storms

From our immortal forms,
We scan with keen-eyed gaze this nether sphere.

Socrates falls to the ground in adoration of his be-
loved deities ; and Strepsiades follows his example, in
great terror at the thunder, with aU the buffoonish
exaggeration which would delight an Athenian
audience.

(Chorus of Clouds, nearer.)

Sisters who bring the showers,

Let us arise and greet
This glorious land, for Pallas' dwelling meet,
Eich in brave men, beloved of Cecrops old ;

Where Faith and Reverence reign,

AVhere comes no foot profane,
When for the mystic rites the Holy Doors unfold.

There gifts are duly paid
To the great gods, and pious prayers are said ;
Tall temples rise, and statues heavenly fair.

There, at each holy tide.
With coronals and song.
The glad processions to the altars throng ;

There, in the jocund spring.

Great Bacchus, festive king.
With dance and tuneful flute his Chorus leads along.

And now, while Socrates directs the attention .of his
pupil towards Mount Pames, from whose heights he

90 ARISTOPHANES.

sees (and the imagination of the audience is not slow
to follow him) the ethereal goddesses descending
towards the earth, the Chorus in bodily form enter
the orchestra, to the sound of slow music — four-and-
twenty nymphs in hght cloud-like drapery. They
promise, at the request of their great worshipper
Socrates, to instruct his pupil in the mysterious science
which is to free him from the importunity of his
creditors. For these, says the philosopher, are your
only true deities — Chaos, and the Clouds, and the
Tongue. As to Jupiter, whom Strepsiades just ven-
tures to mention, he is quite an exploded idea in these
modern times ; the great ruler of the universe is Vor-
tex.* The machinery of the world goes on by a per-
petual whirl. Socrates wUl, with the help of the
Clouds, instruct him in all these new tenets. There is
one point, however, upon which he wishes first to be
satisfied — has he a good memory 1

Sir. 'Tis of two sorts, by Jove ! remarkably good,
If a man owes me anything ; of my own debts,
I'm shocked to say, I'm terribly forgetful.
Soc. Have you good natural gifts in the way of speak-
ing? •
Str. Speaking, — not much ; cheating's my strongest
point.

He appears to the philosopher not so very unprom-
ising a pupil, and the pair retire into the " Thinking-
shop," to begin their studies, whUe the Chorus make
their usual address to the audience in the poet's name,

* A doctrine taught by the philosopher Anaxagoras, whose
lectures Socrates is said to have attended.

TRE CLOUDS. 91

toucliing chiefly upon topics of the day which have
lost their interest for ns modems.

But the next act of the comedy brings in Socrates,
swearing by all his new divinities that he never met
with so utterly hopeless a pupil, in the whole course of
his experience, as this very late learner, who has no one
qualification for a sophist except his want of honesty.
He puts him through a quibbling catechism on the stage
about measures, and rhythms, and grammar, all which
he declares are necessary preliminaries to the grand
science which Strepsiades desires to learn, although the
latter very naively remonstrates against this superfluous
education : he wants to learn neither music nor gram-
mar, but simply how to defeat his creditors. At last
his instructor gets out of patience, and kicks him off"
the philosophical premises as a hopeless dimce. By
the advice of the Clouds the rejected candidate goes in
search of his son, to attempt once more to persuade
him to enter the schools, and learn the art which has
proved too difficult for his father's duUer faculties.

One step, indeed, the old gentleman has made in his
education ; he swears no more by Jupiter, and rebukes
his son, when he does so, for entertaining such very
old-world superstitions ; somewhat to the astonishment
of that elegant yoimg gentleman, whose opinions (if he
has any on such subjects) are not so far advanced in
the way of scepticism. The latter is, however, at last
persuaded to become his father's substitute as the pupil
of Socrates, though not without a warning on the
young man's part that he may one day come to rue
it. On this head the father has no misgivings, but

92 ARISTOPHANES.

introduces him to the philosopher triumphantly as a
scholar who is sure to do him credit — he was always
a remarkable child : —

He was so very clever always, naturally ;

When he was but so high, now, he'd build mud houses,

Cut out a boat, make a cart of an old shoe.

And frogs out of pomegranate-stones — quite wonderful I *

And Socrates, after a sneer at the young gentleman's
fashionable lisp, admits him as a pupil, and xindertakes
to instruct him in this " new way of paying old debts."
The choral ode which must have divided this scene
from the next is lost. The dialogue which follows,
somewhat abruptly as we now have the plaj', is but
another version of the well-known "Choice of Hercules"
between Virtue and Vice, by the sophist Prodicus —
known probably to the audience of the day as well as
to ourselves. The Two Arguments, the Just and the
Unjust, now appear upon the stage in character ; one in
the grave dress of an elder citizen, the other as a young
philosopher of the day.t It is very probable that they
wore masks which would be recognised by the audience
as caricatures of real persons; it has been suggested,

* A hit, no doubt, at theories of education which were in
fashion then, and which have been revived in modem days.
Plato, in his treatise on Legislation, advises that the child who
is intended for an architect should be encouraged to build toy-
houses, the future farmer to make little gardens, &c. — (De Leg.,
i. 643.)

+ Some of the old commentators say that the disputants were
brought upon the stage in the guise of game-cocks ; but there
are no allusions in the dialogue to justify such an interpretation
of the scene.

THE CLOUDS. 93

of ^^cliylus and Euripides, or of Tlirasymachus the
sophist, and of Aristophanes himself. What is certain
is, that they represent the old and new style of training
and education : and they set forth the claims of their
respective systems in a long discussion, in which eadh
abuses the other with the utmost licence of Athenian
comedy. Yet there are passages of great simplicity and
beauty here and there, in the speeches of the worthier
claimant. The Unjust Argument, confident in the popu-
larity of his system and his powers of argument, permits
his rival to set his claims before the audience first. He
proceeds to speak of the days when justice, temperance,
and modesty were in fashion; when the Athenian
youth were a hardy and a healthy race, not languid and
efieminate as now ; and he calls upon young Pheidip-
pides to choose for himself the principles and the
training which " had made the men of Marathon : " —

Cast in thy lot, 0 youth, with me, and choose the better

paths —
So shalt thou hate the Forum's prate, and shun the lazy

baths ;
Be shamed for what is truly shame, and blush when shame

is said.
And rise up from thy seat in hall before the hoary head ;
Be duteous to thy parents, to no base act inclined,
But keep fair Honour's image deep within thine heart

enshrined ;
And speak no rude irreverent word against the father's

years,
Whose strong hand led thine infant steps, and dried thy

childhood's tears.

But the arguments of the evil counsellor are many and

94 ARISTOPHANES.

plausible. What good, he argues, have men ever gained
by justice, continence, and moderation 1 For one poor
instance which his opponent can adduce of virtue being
rewarded upon earth, the fluent sophist quotes a dozen
against him of those who have made their gain by the
opposite qualities. Honesty is not the best policy
among mortals ; and most assuredly the moral virtues
receive no countenance from the example of the
gods. Sophistical as the argument is, and utterly
unfair as we know it to be if intended to represent the
real teaching of Socrates, the satirist seems to have been
fully justified in his representation so far as some of
the popular lecturers of the day were concerned. The
arguments which Plato, in his 'Eepublic,' has put
into the mouth of the sophist Thrasymachus — that
justice is really only the good of others, while injustice
is more profitable to a man's self — that those who abuse
injustice do so " from the fear of suffering it, not from
the fear of doing it " — that justice is merely " an obedi-
ence yielded by the weak to the orders of the strong," —
do but express in grave philosophical language the same
principles which Aristophanes here exaggerates in the
person of his devil's advocate.* This latter winds up
the controversy by plying his antagonist with a few
categorical questions, quite in the style of Socrates : —

* See Pkto's Republic, Book I. Of course it must be re-
membered that we have here only the representation of Thrasym-
achus's teaching as given by an opponent. As Mr Grote fairly
remarks : "How far the real Thrasymachus may have argued in
the slashing and offensive style here described, we have no means
of deciding. " — Grote's Plato, i. 145.

THE CLOUDS. 95

Unjust A. Come now, — from what class do our lawyers

Bpring ?
JvM A. "Well — from the blackguards.
Unj. A. I believe you. Tell me

Again, what are our tragic poets ?

Just A. Blackguards.

Unj. A. Good ; and our public orators ?
Just A. Blackguards alL

Unj. A. D'ye see now, how absurd and utterly worthless
Your arguments have been ? And now look round —

(turning to the audience)
Which class amongst our friends here seems most numerous ?
Just A. I'm looking.

Unj. A. "Well ; — now tell me what you see.

Ju^. A. (after gravely and attentively examining the
rows of spectators). The blackguards have it, by a
lai^e majority.
There's one, I know — and yonder there's another —
And there, again, that fellow with long hair.

And amidst the roars of delighted laughter with which
the Athenian " gallery " would be sure to receive this
sally of bufFoonery, the advocate of justice and morality
declares that he throws up his brief, and joins the ranks
of the dissolute majority.

The creditors of Strepsiades have not been qiuescent
meanwhile. "We find him, in the next scene, calculat-
ing with dismay that it wants but five days to the end
of the month, when debts and interest must be paid,
or legal proceedings will be taken. He is come to the
School, to inquire how his son gets on with his studies.
Socrates assures him that his education is quite com-
plete ; that he is now furnished with a mode of argu-
ment which will win any lawsuit, and get him off

96 ARISTOPHANES.

scot-free of all liabilities, even in the teeth of a
thousand witnesses who could prove the debt. He
presents the youth to his father, who is channed at
first sight with the change in his complexion, whicli
has now the genuine disputatious tint. He looks, as
Strepsiades declares, "aU negations and contradictions,"
and has the true Attic expression in his face. The
father takes him home rejoicing, and awaits confidently
the summons of his creditors.

The devices with which the claimants are put oif by
the new learning of Pheidippides, turn so entirely on
the technical expressions of Athenian law, that they
have little interest for an English reader. Sufiice it to
say that the unfortunate tradesmen with whom this
young gentleman has run up bills for his horses and
chariots do not seem likely to get their money. But
the training which he has received in the " Thinking-
shop" has some other domestic results which the father
did not anticipate. He proceeds, on some slight
quarrel (principally because he will quote Euripides,
whom his father abominates), to cudgel the old gentle-
man, and further undertakes to justify his conduct on
the plea that when he was a cliild his father had often
cudgelled Mm.

Strep. Ay. but I did it for your good.

Fheid. No doubt ;

And pray am I not also right to show
Goodmll to you — if beating means goodwUl ?
Why should your back escape the rod, 1 ask you.
Any more than mine did ? was not I, forsooth.
Bom like yourself a free Athenian ?

THE CLOUDS. 97

Perhaps you will say, beatiug's the rule for children ;

I answer, that an old man's twice a child ;

And it is fair the old should have to howl

More than poor children, when they get into mischief.

Because there's ten times less excuse for the old ones.

Strep. There never was a law to beat one's father.

PJieid. Law ? pray who made the law ? a man, I suppose,
Like you or me, and so persuaded others :
Why have not I as good a right as he had
To start a law for future generations
That sons should beat their fathers in return ?
We shall be liberal, too, if all the stripes
You laid upon us before the law was made
We make you a present of, and don't repay them.
Look at young cocks, and all the other creatures, —
They fight their fathers ; and what difference is there
'Twixt them and us — save that they don't make laws 1

The unlucky father finds himself quite unprepared
•with any reply to these ingenious arguments. Too
late he begins to see that this new liberal education
has its inconvenient side. He protests it would have
been better for him to allow his son to go on driving
four-in-hand to his heart's content, than to become so
subtle a philosopher. The only comfort which the
young student offers him is the assurance that he is
quite as ready to beat his mother, if occasion should
arise ; but it is much to the credit of domestic relations
at Athens that, although the old gentleman has com-
plained of his wife, in the earlier part of the play, as
having been the cause of all his present difficulties, he
shows no desire to accept this kind of consolation. He
curses Socrates, and appeals to the Clouds, who, he
complains, have terribly misled him. The Chorus

A. c. vol. xiv. G

98 ARISTOPHANES.

reply with truth that the fault was his own ; he had
sought to be instructed in the school of Injustice, and
the teaching has recoiled deservedly on his own head.
But he has his revenge. Summoning his slaves, he
bids them bring ladders and mattocks, and storm the
stronghold of these charlatans and atheists. He mounts
the roof himself, torch in hand, and proceeds to set
fire to the timbers. When the students rush to the
window in dismay to ask what he means by it, he tells
them mockingly he is only

Holding a subtle disputation with the rafters.

Socrates is at length aroused from his lucubrations,
and inquires what he is doing up there. Strepsiades
retorts upon him his own explanation of his position
in the hanging basket —

I walk in air, and contemplate the sun.

And the piece concludes with a grand tableau of the
Thinking-school in flames, and Socrates and his pupils
shrieking half-smothered from the windows.

The comedy, as has been said above,* was not so far
successful as to obtain for its author either the first or
second place in the award of the judges; Cratinus being
placed first with his comedy of ' The Bottle ' — the child
of his old age — and Ameipsias second. It has been
thought necessary to account for this on other grounds
than the respective merits of the three pieces ; though,
as we are not in possession of the text of either of the
others, we have no means of ascertaining how far the

* See p. 8.

THE CLOUDS. 99

award was or was not an honest one. It has been
suggested by some critics, that 'The Clouds' was
too clever for the audience, who preferred a coarser
article; and indeed (unless the two gamecocks were
produced upon the stage) the jests are more intellectual
than practical, and the comic " business " has little of
that uproarious fun with which some of the other plays
abound. The author himself, as would appear from
some expressions put into the mouth of the Chorus in
his subsequent comedy of * The Wasps,' was of opinion
that his finer fancies had been in this case thrown
away upon an unsympathetic public. Another ex-
planation which has been given is, that the glaring
injustice with which the character of Socrates is
treated was resented by the audience — a supposition
which carries with it a compliment to their principles
which it is very doubtful whether they deserved, and
which the author himself would have been very slow
to pay them. There is a story that the result was
brought about by the influence of Alcibiades, who had
been already severely satirised in the poet's comedy
of * The Eevellers,' and who felt that the character of
Pheidippides — his extravagance and love of horses,
his connection by his mother's side with the great
house of Megacles, his relation to Socrates as pupU,
and even the lisping pronunciation which his teacher
notices * — were all intended to be caricatures of him-
self, which seems by no means improbable ; and that
he and friends accordingly exerted themselves to pre-
vent the poet's success.

* See p. 92.

100 ARISTOPHANES.

It is not probable that the broader caricature of the
great philosopher, any more than that of Cleon in ' The
Knights,' had any special effect upon the popularity
of its object. The story told by ^Elian, that the sub-
sequent condemnation of Socrates was due in great
measure to the prejudice raised against him by this
comedy, has been long refuted by the observation that
it at least did not take place until more than twenty
years after the performance. A traditionary anecdote
of a very different kind, though resting upon not much
better authority, has more of probability about it, —
that the philosopher himself, having been made aware
of what was in store for him, took his place among the
audience at the representation, and laughed as heartily
as any of them : nay, that he even rose and mounted
upon a bench, in order that the strangers in the
house to whom his person was previously unknown
might see how admirable a counterpart the stage
Socrates was of the original.

CHAPTER V.

THE WASPS.

This comedy, wliich was produced by its author the year
after the performance of * The Clouds,' may be taken as
in some sort a companion picture to that piece. Here
the satire is directed against the passion of the Athen-
ians for the excitement of the law-courts, as in the
former its object Avas the new philosophy. And as
the younger generation — the modern school of thought
— were there the subjects of the caricature, so here the
older citizens, who took their seats in court as jurymen
day by day, to the neglect of their private affairs
and the encouragement of' a litigious disposition,
appear in their turn in the mirror which the satirist
holds up. It is calculated that in the ten courts at
Athens, when all were open, there might sometimes be
required as many as six thousand jurymen, and there
was never any difficulty in obtaining them. It was not
the mere temptation of the " threepence," more or less,
to which each juryman was entitled as compensation
for his loss of time, which drew so many to the courts,
however convenient it might be for the purposes of

102 ARISTOPHANES.

burlesque to assume that it was so. No doubt the
pay was an object to some of the poorer citizens ; and
so far the influence of such a regulation was bad, inas-
much as it led to the juries being too often struck
from an inferior class, less independent and less intelli-
gent. Nor need we be so uncharitable as the historian
Mitford, and calculate that " besides the pay, which
was small, there was the hope of bribes, which might
be large." It is not probable that bribery could often
be apphed to so numerous a body. But the sense of
dignity and personal importance which attaches to the
right of giving a judicial decision, and the interest and
excitement which are aroused by legal or criminal
questions, especially in those who have to investigate
them, are feelings perfectly well understood in oxir days,
as well as in those of Aristophanes. Such feelings are
not only natural, but have their use, more especially
when the cause to be decided is, as it so often was at
Athens, of a public character. Plato considered that
a citizen who took no interest in these duties made
himself a kind of alien in the state, and we English-
men hold very much the same doctrine. But the
passion for hearing and deciding questions, judicial or
political, was carried to great excess among the Athen-
ians at this date. Their own historians and orators
are fuU of references to this national peculiarity, and
Aristophanes is not the only satirist who has taken
advantage of it. Lucian, in one of his very amusing
dialogues, represents Menippus as looking down from
the moon upon the earth below, and watching the
various pursuits of the inhabitants. The northern

THE WASPS, 103

hordes are fighting, the Egyptian is ploughing, the
Phoenician is carrying his merchandise over the sea,
the Spartan is undergoing corporal discipline, and the
Athenian is " sitting in the jury-box." *

This is perhaps the least amusing of all Aristophanes's
productions to a modem reader, although it was
adopted by Eacine as the basis of his only comedy,
"Les Plaideurs." There are but two characters in
it of any importance to the action, a father and son.
Philocleon,t the father, is strongly possessed with this
mania for the courts. His family cannot keep him at
home. He neglects his person, hardly sleeps at night
for thinking of his duties in the courts, and is ofl"
before dayhght in the morning to secure a good seat ;
he even declares the cock must have been bribed, by
some profligates who have reason to dread the terrors
of the law, not to crow loud enough to awake him.
He keeps in his house " a whole beach " of little
round pebbles, that he may always have one ready for
giving his vote ; and goes about holding his three fingers
pinched together as if he had got one between them
ready to slip into the baUot-box. In vain has his son
remonstrated, and had him washed and dressed, and
sent for the physicians, and even the priests, to try to
rid him of his malady. And now, as a last resource,
they have been obliged to lock him up, and set a

* Dialog. Icaro-Menippus.

+ The names in the Greek are significant. "PhUocleon"
means " friend of Cleon " (who represents litigation, as he does
most other things which are bad, in the view of Aristophanes) ;
" Bdelycleon," the name of the son, means " hater of Cleon."

104 ARISTOPHANES.

watch upon the house. His contrivances to escape
are in the very wildest vein of extravaganza. He
tries to get out through the chimney, and pretends he's
"only the smoke;" and they aU rush to put a cover
on the chimney-top, and a great stone on it. He
escapes through a hole in the tUes and sits on the
roof, pretending to be "only a sparrow;" and they
have to set a net to catch him. His son — a young
gentleman of the more modem school — and the two
slaves who are set to watch him day and night, have
a very trying time of it.

The second scene introduces the Chorus of the play,
consisting of Philocleon's fellow-jurymen. The time is
early daybreak, and they are already on their way to
the courts, preceded by two or three boys with torches.
Their appearance is of the strangest, — they are the
" Wasps " who give the name to the piece. A mask
resembling a wasp's head, a black and yellow body,
and some comic appendage in their rear to represent a
sting, — were, we may presume, the costume provided
by the stage manager. The poet probably intended to
represent the acrimonious temper which delighted in
the prosecution of individuals without much reference
to their actual guilt, and the malevolence which often
instigated the accusation. But he allows them to give,
on their own behalf, another and more honourable ex-
planation of their name, which, though it occurs later
in the play, may find its place here. It is the old
story, which the dramatist knew his audience were
never tired of hearing : —

THE WASPS. 105

If any of this good company should note our strange

array —
The wasp-like waists and cross-barred suits that we have

donned to-day —
And if he asks what means this sting we brandish, as you

see,
Him ^vill we undertake to teach, dull scholar though he be
All we who wear this tail-piece claim true Athenian birth
The rightful Aborigines, sole sons of Mother earth j *
A lusty race, who struck good blows for Athens in the fight,
What time as the Barbarian came on us like the night.
With torch and brand the Persian horde swept on from

east to west.
To storm the hives that we had stored, and smoke us from

our nest :
Then we laid our hand to spear and targe, and met him on

his path ;
Shoulder to shoulder, close we stood, and bit our lips for

wrath.
So fast and thick the arrows flew, that none might see the

heaven.
But the gods were on our side that day, and we bore them

back at even.
High o'er our heads, an omen good, we saw the owlet wheel.
And the Persian trousers in their backs felt the good Attic

steel.
Still as they fled we followed close, a swarm of vengeful

foes,
And stung them where we chanced to light, on cheek, and

lip, and nose.
So to this day, barbarians say, when whispered far or near.
More than all else the Attic Wasp is still a name of fear.

* The Athenians affected to wear a golden grasshopper in
their hair, as being "sprung from the soil."

106 ARISTOPHANES.

The party are come, as usual, to summon their
trusty comrade Philocleon. to go with them to the
courts. What makes him so late this morning? He
was never wont to be the last on these occasions. They
knock at the door, and call him loudly by name. He
puts his head out of the window, and begging them
not to make such a noise for fear they should awake
his guard, explains to them his xinfortunate case. He
will try to let himself down to the street by a rope, if
they will catch him, — and if he should fall and break
his neck, they must promise to bury him with all pro-
fessional honours "within the bar." But he is dis-
covered in the attempt by one of the watchful slaves,
and thrust back again.

Then the leader of the Chorus, a veteran Wasp
who has seen service, cheers on his troops to the attack
of the fortress in which their comrade is so unjustifiably
confined. He reminds them of the exploits of their
youth : —

Forward, good friends — advance ! Quick march ! — Now,
Comias, why so slow, man ?

There was a day when I may say you and I gave way to
no man ;

Then you were as tough as dog's hide — now Charinades
moves faster !

Ha ! Strymodorus ! in the Courts 'twere hard to find your
master !

Where's Chabes ? and Euergides ? — do any of ye know ? —

Alack ! alack ! for the young blood that warmed us long
ago!

Dost mind when at Byzantium we two kept watch together.

And walked our rounds at rdght, old boy, in that tre-
mendous weather 1

THE WASPS. 107

And how we stole the kneading-trough from that old

baker's wife,
Split it, and fried our rations with it ? — Ha, ha ! — Ay,

tlwjt was life !

Shakspeare had assuredly never read * The Wasps ; '
but the mixture of the farcical with the pathetic which
always accompanies the gamalous reminiscences of old
age, and which Aristophanes introduces frequently in
his comedies, is common to both these keen observers.
In the comrades of the old Athenian's youth we seem
to recognise Master Shallow's quondam contemporaries :
" There was I, and little John Doit of Staffordshire,
and black George Barr, and Francis Pickbone, and Will
Squele, a Cotswold man, — you had not four such
swinge-bucklers in all the Inns of Court again. . . .
0 the mad days that I have spent ! and to see how
many of my old acquaintance are dead ! " *

A battle-royal takes place on the stage; the Wasps,
■with their formidable stings, trying to storm the house,
while the son and his retainers defend their position
with clubs and other weapons, and especially by rais-
ing a dense smoke, which is known to be very effec-
tive against such an enemy.

The Wasps are driven back, and the old gentleman
and his son agree upon a compromise. Bdelycleon
promises, on condition that his father will no longer
attend the pubKc trials, to establish a little private
tribunal for him at home. He shall there take cognis-
ance of all domestic offences ; with this great advantage,
that if it rains or snows he can hold his courts with-
• K, Henry IV., Pt. ii., act iii. sc. 2.

108 ARISTOPHANES.

out "being obliged to turn out of doors. And — a point
on wliich the old gentleman makes very particular in-
quiries— bis fee shall be paid him every day as usual.
On these terms, with the approval of the Chorus, the
domestic truce is concluded.

It seems doubtful, however, whether the household
wUl supply sufficient business for the court. They are
thinking of beginning with an unlucky Thracian slave-
girl who has burnt a sauce-pan, when most opportunely
one of the other slaves rushes on the stage in hot pur-
suit of the house-dog Labes, who has run off with a
piece of Sicilian cheese.* The son determines to
bring this as the first case before his father, and a
mock trial ensues, in which all the appliances and
forms of a regular court of justice are absurdly tra-
vestied. Another dog appears in the character of pro-
secutor, and he is allowed to bring the accusation
forward through Xanthias, one of the slaves. The
indictment is drawn in due form, and the counsel for
the prosecution urges in aggravation that the prisoner
had refused to give the other dog, his client, a share of
it. Philocleon, with a contempt for the ordinary
formalities of law which would greatly shock the
modern profession, is very much disposed to convict
the delinquent Labes at once, on the evidence of his
own senses : he stinks of cheese disgustingly, in the
very nostrils of the court, at this present moment.
But his son recalls him to a sense of the proprieties,

* There is a political allusion here to the conduct of Laches,
(whose name is slightly modified), an Athenian admiral accused
at the time of taking bribes in Sicily.

THE WASPS. 109

and undertakes to be counsel for the defence. He
calls as witnesses the cheesegrater, the brazier, and
other utensils, to prove that a good deal of the said
cheese had been used in tha kitchen. He lays stress
also on poor Labes's previous good character as a house-
dog ; and pleads that, even if he has pilfered in this
instance, it is entirely owing to "a defective education,"
The whole scene reads very much like a chapter out
of one of those modern volumes of clever nursery tales,
which are almost too clever for the children for whom
they are professedly intended. The Athenian audience
did in fact resemble children in many points — only
children of the cleverest kind. The advocate winds up
with one of those visible appeals ad misericordiam
which were common at the Athenian as subsequently
at the Roman bar, and which even Cicero did not dis-
dain to make use of — the production of the unhappy
family of the prisoner. The puppies are brought into
court, and set up such a lamentable yelping that Philo-
cleon desires they may be removed at once.* He
shows, as his son thinks, some tokens of relenting to-
wards the prisoner. He moves towards the ballot-
boxes, and asks which is the one for the condemning

* This scene has been borrowed by Racine (Les Plaideurs,
act ill. sc. 3. ) The French dramatist has added, as to the be-
haviour of the puppies in court, a touch of his own which is
very Aristophanic indeed. Ben Jonson has also adapted the
idea in his play of * The Staple of News ' (act v. sc. 2), where
he makes the miser Pennyboy sit in judgment on his two dogs.
It is somewhat surprising that two such authors should have
considered an incident which, after all, is not so very humor-
ous, worth making prize of.

110 ARISTOPHANES.

votes. The son shows him the wrong one, and into
that he drops his vote. He has acquitted the dog by
mistake, and faints away when he finds out what he
has done — he has never given a vote for acquittal
before in his life, and cannot forgive himself. And
with this double stroke at the bitter spirit of an
Athenian jury and at the ballot-box, the action of the
comedy, according to our notions of dramatic fitness,
might very properly end.

So strongly does one of the ablest English writers
upon Aristophanes, Mr Mitchell, feel this, that in his
translation he here divides the comedy, and places the
remaining portion in a sequel, to which he gives the
title of " The Dicast turned Gentleman." Philocleon
has been persuaded by his son to renounce his old
habits of life, and to become more fashionable in his
dress and conversation ; but the new pursuits to which
he betakes himself are scarcely so respectable as his old
ones. His son, after a few lessons on modem con-
versation and deportment, takes him out to a dinner-
party, where he insults the guests, beats the servants,
and from which he returns in the last scene very far
from sober, and not in the best possible company. He
is followed by some half-dozen complainants, male and
female, whom he has cudgelled in the streets on his
way home ; and when they threaten to " take the law"
of him, he laughs uproariously at the old-fashioned
notion. Law-courts, he assures them, are quite obso-
lete. In vain his son remonstrates with him upon
his outrageous proceedings ; he bids the " old lawyer,"
as he calls him, get out of his way. So that we have

THE WASPS. Ill

here the counterpart to the conclusion of ' The Clouds :'
as, in the former play, young Pheidippides gives up the
turf, at his father's request, only to become a word-
splitting philosopher and an undutiful son; so here the
father is weaned from the law-courts, and persuaded to
mix in more refined society, only to turn out a " grey
iniquity " like Falstaff. The moral, if there be one, is
somewhat hard to find. It may possibly be contained
in a few words of the Chorus, which speak of the difii-
culty and the danger of a sudden change in aU the
habits of a man's life. Or is it necessary always for
the writer of burlesques, any more than for the poet,
to supply his audience with any moral at all ? Might
it not be quite enough to have raised a laugh at the
absurd termination of the son's attempt to reform the
father, and the tendency of all new converts to run
into extremes %

CHAPTER VI.

THE BIRDS.

* The Birds ' of Aristoplianes, though one of the longest
of his comedies, and one which evidently stood high in
the estimation of the author himself, has comparatively
little interest for a modern reader. Either the bur-
lesque reads to us, as most modern burlesques assuredly
would, comparatively poor and spiritless without the
important adjuncts of music, scenery, dresses, and what
we call the " spectacle" generally, which we know to
have been in this instance on the most magnificent
scale ; or the points in the satire are so entirely
Athenian, and directed to the passing topics of the
day, that the wit of the allusions is now lost to us.
Probably there is also a deeper political meaning
under what appears otherAvise a mere fantastical
trifling; and this is the opinion of some of the best
modem critics. It may be, as Siivem thinks, that
the great Sicilian expedition, and the ambitious pro-
ject of Alcibiades for extending the Athenian em-
pire, form the real point of the play ; easily enough
apprehended by contemporaries, but become obscure

THE BIRDS. 113

to us. This is no place to discuss a question upon
which even professed scholars are not agreed ; but all
these causes may contribute to make us incompetent
judges of the effect of the play upon those who saw it
acted. It failed, however, to secure the first prize that
year: the author was again beaten by Ameipsias — a spe-
cimen of whose f omedies one would much like to see.

Two citizens of Athens, Peisthetserus and Euelpidea
— names which we may, perhaps, imperfectly translate
into " Plausible " and " Hopeful " — disgusted at the
state of things in Athens both poHtically and socially,
have set out in search of some hitherto undiscovered
country where there shall be no lawsuits and no in-
formers. They have hired as guides a raven and a jack-
daw— who give a good deal of trouble on the road by
biting and scratching — and are at last led by them
to the palace of the King of the Birds, formerly
King Tereus of Thrace, but changed, according to the
mythologists, into the Hoopoe, whose magnificent
crest is a very fit emblem of his royalty. His wife is
Procne — " the Nightingale " — daughter of a mythical
king of Attica, so that, in fact, he may be considered
as a national kinsman. The royal porter, the Tro-
chilus, is not very willing to admit the visitors, looking
upon them as no better than a couple of bird-catchers;
but the Bird-king himself receives them, when in-
formed of their errand, with great courtesy, though he
does not see how he can help them. But can they
possibly want a finer city than Athens? No — but
some place more quiet and comfortable. But why, he
asks, should they apply to him %

A. c. vol. xiv. H

114 ARISTOPHANES.

^' Because you were a man, the same as us ;
And found yourself in debt, the same as us ;
And did not like to pay, the same as us ;
And after that you changed into a bird,
And ever since have flown and wandered far
Over the land and seas, and have acquired
All knowledge that a bird or man can learn." — (F.)

The adventurers do not learn much, however, from
the Hoopoe. Eut an original idea strikes Peisthetserus
— ^why not build a city up here, in the region of the
Birds, the mid atmosphere between earth and heaven 1
If the Hoopoe and his subjects will but follow his
advice, they will thus hold the balance of power in
the universe.

" From that position you'll command mankind,
And keep them in utter thorough subjugation, —
Just as you do the grasshoppers and locusts ;
And if the gods offend you, you'll blockade them.
And starve them to surrender." — (F.)

The king summons a public meeting of his subjects
to consider the proposal of their human visitors ; and
no doubt the appearance of the Chorus in their gro-
tesque masks and elaborate costumes, representing
twenty-four birds of various species, from the flamingo
to the woodpecker, would be hailed with great delight
by an Athenian audience, who in these matters were
very much like grown-up children. The music appears
to have been of a very original character, and more elabo-
rate than usual ; and the part of the ^Nightingale, with
solos on the flute behind the scenes, is said to have
been taken by a female performer of great ability, a

THE BIRDS. 115

public favourite who had just returned to Athens after
a long absence. But the mere words of a comic ex-
travaganza, wliether Greek or English, without the
accompanLments, on which so much depends, are
little better than the dry skeleton of the piece, and
can convey but a very inadequate idea of its attrac-
tions when fittingly " mounted " on the stage. This
is notably the case with this production of our author,
which, from its whole character, must have depended
very much upon the completeness of such accessories
for its success.

The Birds are at first inclined to receive their
human visitors as hereditary and notorious enemies.
" Men were deceivers ever," is their song, in so many
words ; and it requires all the king's influence to keep
them from attacking them and killing tliem at once.
At length they agree to a parley, and Peisthetaerus
begins by paying some ingenious compliments to the
high respectability and antiquity of the feathered race.
Was not the cock once king of the Persians ? is he not
still called the "Persian bird'"? and stiU even to this
day, the moment he crows, do not all men everywhere
jump out of bed and go to their work? And was
not the cuckoo king of Egypt ; and still when they
hear him cry " cuckoo ! " do not all the Egyptians go
into the harvest-fields ? Do not kings bear eagles and
doves now on their sceptres, in token of the true
sovereignty of the Birds 1 Is not Jupiter represented
always with his eagle, Minerva with her owl, Apollo
with his hawk ? But now, — he goes on to say — " men
hunt you, and trap you, and set you out for sale, and,

116 ARISTOPHANES.

not content with simply roasting you, they actually
pour scalding sauce over you, — oil, and vinegar, and
grated cheese, — spoiling your naturally exquisite fla-
vour." But, if they wiU be advised by him, they will
bear it no longer. K men will still prefer the gods to
the birds, then let the rooks and sparrows flock down
and eat up all the seed-wheat — and let fooUsh mortals
see what Ceres can then do for them in the way of sup-
plies. And let the crows peck out the eyes of the
sheep and oxen ; and let them see whether ApoUo
(who calls himself a physician, and takes care to get
his fees as such) will be able to heal them. [Euelpides
here puts in a word — he hopes they will allow him
first to sell a pair of oxen he has at home,] And in-
deed the Birds wiH make much better gods, and more
economical : there will be no need of costly marble
temples, and expensive journeys to such places as
Ammon and Delphi; an oak-tree or an olive-grove
will answer all purposes of bird-worship.

He then propounds his great scheme for building
a bird- city in mid-air. The idea is favourably en-
tertained, and the two featherless bipeds are equipped
(by means of some potent herb known to the Bird-
king) with a pair of wings apiece, to make them
presentable in society, before they are introduced
at the royal table. The metamorphosis causes some
amusement, and the two human travellers are not
complimentary as to each other's appearance in these
new appendages ; Peisthetserus declaring that his friend
reminds him of nothing so much as " a goose on a

THE BIRDS. 117

cheap sign-board," while the other retorts by compar-
ing him to " a plucked blackbird." *

The Choral song that follows is one of the gems of
that elegance of fancy and diction which, here and
there, in the plays of Aristophanes, almost startle us
by contrast with the broad farce which forms their
staple, and show that the author possessed the
powers of a true poet as well as of a clever satirist.

" Ye children of man ! whose life is a span,
Protracted with sorrow from day to day,
Naked and featherless,- feeble and querulous,
Sickly calamitous creatures of clay !
Attend to the words of the sovereign birds.
Immortal, illustrious lords of the air.
Who survey from on high, with a merciful eye,
Your struggles of misery, labour, and care.
Whence you may learn and clearly discern
Such truths as attract yovir inquisitive turn ;
Which is busied of late with a mighty debate,

* If the reader would like to see how thoroughly this kind of
humour is in the spirit of modern burlesque, he cannot do better
than glance at Mr Planch^'s " Birds of Aristophanes," produced
at the Haymarket in 1846. This is his fnse version of the pas-
sage just noticed — ('Tomostyleron' and ' Jackanoxides' are the
two adventurers of the Greek comedy) : —

"King of Birds. And what bird will you be — a popinjay !
Tom. No, no ; they pop at him. {To Jack.) What lund would

you be ?
King (aside). The bird you're most akin to is a booby.
Jack. For fear of accidents, some fowl I'd be,
That folks don't shoot or eat.

Tom. Humph ! I't nie see —

There may be one I never heard the name -^f
King (aside). You can't be anything they won't make^nt« of."

118 ARISTOPHANES.

A profound Bpeculation about the creation,

And organical life, and cliaotical strife.

With various notions of heavenly motions.

And rivers and oceans, and valleys and mountiuns.

And sources of fountains, and meteors on high,

And stars in the sky. . . . We propose by-and-by

(If you'll listen and hear) to make it all clear." — (F.)

There follows here some fantastical cosmogony, show-
ing how all things had their origin from a mystic egg,
laid by Mght, from which sprang the golden-winged
Eros — Love, the great principle of life, whose oflf-
spring were the Birds.

" Our antiquity proved, it remains to be shown
That Love is our author and master alone ;
Like him we can ramble and gambol and fly
O'er ocean and earth, and aloft to the sky :
And all the world over, we're friends to the lover,
And where other means fail, we are found to prevail.
When a peacock or pheasant is sent as a present.

All lessons of primary daily concern
You have learnt from the birds, and continue to leam.
Your best benefactors and early instructors ;
We give you the warning of seasons returning ;
When the cranes are arranged, and muster afloat
In the middle air, with a creaking note,
Steering away to the Lybian sands,
Then careful farmers sow their lands ;
The crazy vessel is hauled ashore,
The sail, the ropes, the rudder, and oar
Are all unshipped, and housed in store.
Tlie shepherd is warned, by the kite reappearing,
To muster his flock, and be ready for shearing.
You quit your old cloak at the swallow's behest,
In assurance of summer, and purchase a vest

THE BIRDS. 119

For Delphi, for Ammon, Dodona, in fine
For every oracular temple and shrine,
The birds are a substitute equal and fair,
For on us you depend, and to us you repair
For counsel and aid when a marriage is made,
A purchase, a bargain, a venture in trade :
Unlucky or lucky, whatever has struck ye —
An ox or an ass that may happen to pass,
A voice in the street, or a slave that you meet,
A name or a word by chance overheard —
If you deem it an omen, you call it a bird;
And if birds are your omens, it clearly will follow
That birds are a proper prophetic Apollo." — (F.)

The Birds proceed at once to build their new city.
Peisthetoerus prefers helping with liis head rather than
his hands, but he orders off his simple-minded com-
panion to assist them in the work.

Peis. Come now, go aloft, my boy, and tend the
masons ;
Find them good stones ; strip to it, like a man.
And mix the mortar ; carry up the hod —
And tumble down the ladder, for a change.
Set guards over the wall ; take care of fire ;
Go your rounds with the bell as city Avatchman —
And go to sleep on your post — as I know you will.

Uuelp. {sulkily). And you stay here and be hanged, if

you like — there, now !
Peis. {winking at the King). Go ! there's a good fellow,
go ! upon my word,
They couldn't possibly get on without you.

The building is completed, by the joint exertions of
the Birds, in a shorter time than even the enthusiastic
speculations of Peisthetaerus had calculated : —

120 ARISTOPHANES.

"Messenger. There came a body' of thirty thousand
cranes
(I won't be positive, there might be more)
With stones from Africa in their craws and gizzards.
Which the stone-curlews and stone-chatterers
Worked into shape and finished. The sand-martins
And mudlarks too were busy in their department,
Mixing the mortar ; while the water-birds.
As fast as it was wanted, brought the water,
To temper and work it.

Feis. {in a fidget). But who served the masons ?
Who did you get to carry it ?

Mess. To carry it ?

Of course the carrion, crows and carrier-pigeons." * — (F.)

The geese with their jflat feet trod the mortar, and the
pelicans with their saw-bills were the carpenters. The
name fixed upon for this new metropolis is " Cloud-
Cuckoo-Town " — the first recorded " castle in the air."
It must be the place, Euelpides thinks, where some of
those great estates lie which he has heard certain friends
of his in Athens boast of. It appears to be indeed a
very unsubstantial kind of settlement ; for Iris, the
messenger of the Immortals, who has been despatched
from heaven to inquire after the arrears of sacrifice,
quite unaware of its existence and its purpose, dashes
through the airy blockade immediately after its build-
ing. She is pursued, however, by a detachment of
light cavalry — hawks, falcons, and eagles — and brought
upon the stage as prisoner, in a state of great wrath at

* The play on the names is, of course, not the same in the
Greek as in the English. Mr Frere has perhaps managed it as
well as it could be done.

THE BIRDS. 121

the indignity put upon her, — wrath which is by no
means mollified by the sarcasms of Peisthetaerus on the
flaunting style and very pronounced colours of her
costume as goddess of the Eainbow.

The men seem well inclined to the n«w ruling powers,
and many apply at once to be furnished with Avings.
But the state of things in the celestial regions soon
gets so intolerable, owing to the stoppage of all com-
munication with earth and its good things, that certain
barbarian deities, the gods of Thrace, who are — as
an Athenian audience would readily understand — of
a very carnal and ill-mannered type, break out into
open rebellion, and threaten mutiny against the supre-
macy of Jupiter, unless he can come to some tenns
with this new intermediate power. Information of
this movement is brought by Prometheus — here, as in
the tragedians, the friend of man and the enemy of
Jupiter — who comes secretly to Peisthetaerus (getting
under an umbrella, that Jupiter may not see him)
and advises him on no account to come to any terms
with that potentate which do not include the transfer
into his possession of the fair Basileia (sovereignty),
who rules the household of Olympus, and is the im-
personation of all good things that can be desired. In
due time an embassy from the gods in general arrives
at the new city, sent to treat with the Birds. The Com-
missioners are three : Neptune, Hercules (whose appe-
tite for good things was notorious, and who would be a
principal sufferer by the cutting off the supplies), and a
Thracian god — a Triballian — who talks very bad Greek
indeed, and who has succeeded in some way in getting

122 ARISTOPHANES.

himself named on the embassy, to the considerable
disgust of Neptune, who has much trouble in making
him look at aU respectable and presentable.

" Nep. There's Nephelococcugia ! that's the town,
The point we're bound to ^vith our embassy.

{Tumiiig to the Triballian.)
But you ! what a figure have ye made yourself !
What a way to wear a mantle ! slouching off
From the left shoulder ! Hitch it round, I tell ye,
On the right side. For shame — come — so ; that's better ;
These folds, too, bimdled up ; there, throw them round
Even and easy, — so. Why, you're a savage,
A natural-bom savage. — Oh, democracy !
What will it bring us to, when such a ruffian
Is voted into an embassy !

Trib. {to Neptune,who is pulling his dress about). Come,
hands off,
Hands off !

Nep. Keep quiet, I tell ye, and hold your tongue.
For a very beast ! La all my life in heaven,
I never saw such another. Hercules,
I say, what shall we do ? What should you think?

Her. What would I do ? what do I think ? I've told
you
Already — I think to throttle him — the fellow.
Whoever he is, that's keeping us blockaded.

Nep. Yes, my good friend ; but we were sent, you know.
To treat for a peace. Our embassy is for peace.

Her. That makes no difference ; or if it does.
It makes me long to throttle him all the more." — (F.)

Hercules, i-avenous as he always is, and having been
kept for some time on very short commons, is won
over by the rich odour of some cookery in which he

THE BIRDS. 123

finds Peisthetaerus, now governor of the new state, em-
ployed on their arrival. He is surprised to discover
that the roti consists of birds, until it is explained to
him that they are aristocrat birds, who have, in modern
phrase, been guilty of conspiring against democracy.
This brief but bitter satire upon this Bird-Utopia is
tlirown in as it were by the way, quite casually ; but
one wonders how the audience received it. Hercules
determines to make peace on any terms ; and when
K eptune seems incHned to stand upon the dignity of
his order, and taunts his brother god with being too
ready to sacrifice his father's rights, he draws the
Triballian aside,- and threatens him roundly with a
good thrashing if he does not give his vote the right
way. Having secured his majority of votes by this
powerful argument — a kind of argument by no means
peculiar to aerial controversies, but familiar alike to
despots and demagogues in all times — Hercules con-
cludes on behalf of the gods the truce with the Birds.
Jupiter agrees to resign his sceptre to them, on condition
that there is no further embargo on the sacrifices, and
to give up to Peisthetserus the beautiful Basileia ; and
in the closing scene she appears in person, decked as
a bride, riding in procession by the side of Peisthetserus,
while the Chorus chant a half-burlesque epithalamium.
"Plausible" has won the sovereignty, but of a very
unsubstantial kingdom — if that be the moral of the

play-

Silvern contends, in his very ingenious Essay on
this comedy, that the fantastic project in which the
Birds are persuaded by Peisthetaerus to engage is in-

124 ARISTOPHANES.

tended to represent the ultimate designs of Alcibiades
in urging the expedition of the Athenians to Sicily,
— no less than the subjugation of Italy, Carthage, and
Libya, and obtaining the sovereignty of the Mediter-
ranean : by which the Spartans (the gods of the
comedy) would be cut ofif from intercourse with the
smaller states, here represented by the men. He con-
siders that in Peisthetaerus we have Alcibiades, com-
pounded with some traits of the sophist Gorgias, whose
pupil he is said to have been. Iris's threat of the
wrath of her father Jupiter — which certainly is more
seriously worded than the general tone of the play —
he takes to be a prognostication of the unhappy ter-
mination of the expedition, a feeling shared by many
at Athens ; while in the transfer of Basileia — aU the
real power — to Peisthetserus, and not to the Birds, he
foreshadows the probable results of the personal am-
bition of Alcibiades. Such an explanation receives
support from many other passages in the comedy,
and is worked out by the writer with great pains and
ability.

CHAPTER VIL

THE FROGS.

The point of the satire in this comedy is chiefly critical,
and directed against the tragedian Euripides, upon
whom Aristophanes is never weary of showering his
ridicule. There must have been something more in
this than the mere desire to raise a laugh by a bur-
lesque of a popular tragedian, or the satisfaction of a
purely literary dislike. It is probable, as has been
suggested, that our conservative and aristocratic author
looked upon Euripides as a dangerous innovator in
philosophy as well as in literature ; one of the " new
school " at Athens, whom he was so fond of contrast-
ing with the " men of Marathon."

Bacchus, the patron of the drama, has become dis-
gusted with its present state. He finds worse writers
now in possession of the stage than Euripides ; and he
has resolved upon undertaking a journey to Tartarus,
to bring him back to earth again. He would prefer
Sophocles ; but to get away from the dominions of
Pluto requires a good deal of scheming and stratagem :
and Sophocles is such a good easy man that he is pro-

126 ARISTOPHANES.

bably contented where he is, while the other is such a
clever, contriving fellow, that he will be sure to find
some plan for his own escape. Remembering the suc-
cess of Hercules on a similar expedition to the lower
regions, Bacchus has determined to adopt the club and
the lion's skin, in order to be taken for that hero.
Followed by his slave Xanthias — who comes in riding
upon an ass (a kind of classical Sancho Panza), and
carrying his master's luggage — he calls upon Hercules
on his way, in order to gather from him some informa-
tion as to his route, — which is the best road to take,
what there is worth seeing there, and especially what
inns he can recommend, where the beds are reasonably
clean, and free from those disagreeable bedfellows
with which the Athenians of old seem to have been
quite as weU acquainted as any modem Londoner.

Hercules laughs to himself at the figure wliich his
brother deity cuts in a costume so unsuited to his habits
and character, and answers him in a tone of banter.
Bacchus wants to know the shortest and most conve-
nient road to the regions of the dead.

" Her. Well, — which shall I tell ye first, now ? Let me
see —
There's a good convenient road by the Rope and Noose —
The Hanging Road.

Bac. No, that's too close and stifling.

Her. Then there's an easy, fair, well-beaten track.
As you go by the Pestle and Mortar.

Bac. What, the Hemlock 1

Her. To be sure.

Bac. That's much too cold, — it will never do.

They tell me it strikes a chill to the legs and feet.

THE FROGS. 127

Her. Should yoix like a speedy, rapid, downhill road ?

Bac. Indeed I should, for I'm a sorry traveller.

Her. Go to the Keraiuicus, then.

£ac. What then ?

Her. Get up to the very top of the tower —

£ac. What then?

Her. Stand there and watch when the Race of the Torch
begins ;
And mind, when you hear the people cry * Start, start ! '
Then start at once with 'em.

Bac. Me? Start? Where from ?

Her. From the top of the tower to the bottom.

Bac. No, not I.

It's enough to dash my brains out ! I'll not go
Such a road upon any account." — (F.)

Bacclms gets the needful information at last, and
sets out on his journey — not without some remon-
strance from his slave as to the weight of the luggage
he has to carry. Surely, Xanthias says, there must he
some dead people going that way on their own account,
in a conveyance, who would carry it for a trifle 1 His
master gives him leave to make such an arrangement
if he can — and as a bier is borne across the stage,
Xanthias stops it, and tries to make a bargain with
the occupant. The dead man asks eighteenpence ;
Xanthias offers him a shilling ; the other replies that
he "would rather come to life again," and bids his
bearers " move on."

There must have been some kind of change of scene,
to enable the travellers to arrive at the passage of the
Styx, where Charon's ferry-boat is in waiting. He
plies his trade exactly after the fashion of a modem
omnibus-conductor. "Any one for Lethe, Taenarus,

128 ARISTOPHANES.

the Dogs, or No-man's-Land 1 " " You're sure you're
going straight to Hell 1 " asks the cautious traveller.
" Certainly — to oblige you." So Bacchus steps into
the boat, begging Charon to be very careful, for it
seems very small and crank, as Hercules had warned
him. But Charon carries no slaves — Xanthias must
run round and meet them on the other side. The
god takes his place at the oar, at the ferryman's
bidding (but in very awkward " form," as a modern
oarsman would term it), to work his passage across :
and an invisible Chorus of Frogs, who give their name
to the piece — the " Swans of the Marsh," as Charon
calls them — chant their discordant music, in which,
nevertheless, occur some very graceful lines, to the
time of the stroke. It must be remembered that the
oldest temple of Bacchus — the Lenaean — was known
as that " In the Marsh," and it was there that the
festival was held at which this piece was brought
forward.

The chant of the Frogs dies away in the distance,
and the scene changes to the other side of the infernal
lake, where Xanthias was to await the arrival of his
master. It does not seem likely that any means could
have been adopted for darkening a stage which was
nearly five hundred feet broad, and open to the sky : but
it is plain that much of the humour of the following
scene depends upon its being supposed to take place
more or less in the dark. Probably the darkness was
conventional, and only by grace of the audience — as
indeed must be the case to some extent even in a
modern theatre.

THE FROGS. 129

[Enter BacchtLs, on one side of the stage."]
B. Hoy! Xanthias !— Where's Xanthias?— I say, Xan-
thias !

[Enter Xanthias, on the other side.]
X. HaUo!

B. Come here, sir, — quick !

^- Here I am, master !

B. What kind of a place is it, out yonder ?
X. Dirt and darkness.

B. Did you see any of those perjurers and assassins
He told us of?

X. Aye, — lots. {LooTdng round at the avdience.)

I see 'em now — don't you ?
B. {looking round). To be sure I do, by Neptune ! now
I see 'em ! —
What shall we do ?

X. Go forward, I should say ;

This is the place where lie those evil beasts —
The monsters that he talked of.

B. Oh ! confound him !

He was romancing — trying to frighten me,
Knowing how bold I was — jealous, that's the fact :
Never was such a braggart as that Hercules !
I only wish I could fall in with something —
Some brave adventxire, worthy of my visit.
X. Stop ! — there ! — by Jove, I heard a roar out yonder !
B. {nervously). Where, where ?
X. Behind us.

B. {jmshing himself in front of Xanthias). Go behind,

sir, will you ?
X. No — ^it's in front.
B. {getting behind Xanthias again). Why don't you go

in front, then ?
X. Great Jupiter ! I see an awful beast !
B. What like ?

X. Oh — ^horrible ! like everything !

A. c. vol. xiv. I

130 ARISTOPHANES.

Now if 8 a bull — and now a stag — and now
A beautiful woman !
B. (Jumping from, behind X., and pushing him hack).

Where ? — Let me go first !
X. It's not a woman now — it's a great dog !
B. {j.n great terror, getting behind X. again). Oh ! — if s

the Empusa ! ♦
X. {getting frightened). It's got eyes like fire,
And its face all of a blaze !
B. And one brass leg ?

X. Lawk-a-mercy, yes ! — and a cloven foot on the other
— It has indeed !
B. {looking round in terror). Where can I get to — tell

me?
X. Where can / go ? {runt into a comer.)

B. {makes as if he would run into the arrns of the Priest
of Bacchus, who had a seat of honour in the front
row.)
Good priest, protect me ! — ^take me home to supper ! f
X. {from his comer). We're lost — we're lost ! 0 Her-
cules, dear master !
B. {in a frightened whisper). Don't call me by that name,

you fool— don't, don't !
X. Well, — ^Bacchus, must I say ?
B. No-o ! — that's worse still !

X. {to something in the distance). Avaunt, there! go

thy ways ! {Joyfully.) Here, master ! here !
B. What is it ?

X. Hurrah ! take heart ! we've had the great-

est luck —
We can say now, in our great poef s words, —

* A sort of Night-hag belonging to Hecate, which assumed
various shapes to terrify belated travellers at cross-roads.

+ The priests of Bacchus had probably (and very naturally)
a reputation as h<ms vivarUs. At all events, they gave a sump-
tuous official entertainment at these dramatic festivals.

THE FROGS. 131

"After a storm there comes a calm." — It's gone!
£. Upon your oath ?
X. Upon my oath.

B. You swear it ?

X. I swear it

B. Swear again.

X. I swear— by Jupiter.

But now the sound of flutes is heard in the distance,
and with, music and torches, a festive procession enters
the orchestra. A parody of the great Eleusinian mys-
teries (for even these weje lawful game to the comedy-
writer) introduces the true Chorus of this play, consist-
ing of the * Initiated,' who chant an ode, half serious
half burlesque, in honour of Bacchus and Ceres.
They direct the travellers to the gates of Pluto's
palace, which are close at hand. Bacchus eyes the
awful portal for some time before he ventures to lift
the knocker, and is very anxious to announce himself
in the most polite fashion. " How do people knock at
doors in these parts, I wonder?"

" ^ac. {from within, toith the voice of a royal and infer-
nal porter). Who's there ?
Bac. {vnth a forced voice). "lis I, — the valiant Her-
cules,
^ac. {coming out). Thou brutal, abominable, detest-
able,
Vile, viUanous, infamous, nefarious scoundrel !
How durst thou, villain as thou wert, to seize
Our watchdog Cerberus, whom I kept and tended.
Hurrying him oflf half-strangled in your grasp ?
But now, be sure, we have you safe and fast.
Miscreant and villain ! Thee the Stygian clLfis
With stem adamantine durance, and the rocks

132 ARISTOPHANES.

Of inaccessible Acheron, red with gore,
Environ and beleaguer, and the watch
And swift pursuit of the hideous hounds of hell.
And the horrible Hydra with her hundred heads,
Whose furious ravening fangs shall rend and tear thee."

-(F.)

Before the terrible porter has ended his threats,
Bacchus has dropped to the ground from sheer terror.
" Hallo ! " says Xanthias, " what's the matter 1 " « I've
had an accident," says his master, recovering himself
when he sees that -lEacus is gone. But finding that the
rdle of Hercules has so many unforeseen responsibilities,
he begs Xanthias to change dresses and characters, — to
relieve him of the club and lion's skin, while he takes
his turn with the bundles. No sooner has the change
heen effected, than a waiting-woman of Queen Proser-
pine makes her appearance — she has been sent to invite
Hercules to supper. She addresses herself, of course,
to Xanthias : —

" Dear Hercules ! so you're come at last ! come in !
For the goddess, as soon as she heard of it, set to work
Baking peck-loaves, and frying stacks of pancakes,
And making messes of frumenty ; there's an ox.
Besides, she has roasted whole, with a relishing stufl&ng."

-(F.)

There is the best of wine, besides, awaiting him — and
such lovely singers and dancers !

Xanthias, after some modest refusals, allows him-
self to be persuaded, and prepares to follow his fair
guide, bidding his master look after the luggage. But
Bacchus prefers on this occasion to play the part of
Hercules himself, and insists on each resuming their

THE FROGS. 133

original characters, — the slave warning him that he
may come to rue it yet. The "warning soon comes true.
Before he can get to the palace, he is seized upon by a
brace of infernal landladies, at whose establishments
Hercules, on his previous visit, has left some little
biUs unpaid. " HaUo ! " says one lady, " here's the
fellow that ate me up sixteen loaves ! " " And me a
score of fried cutlets at three-halfpence apiece," says
the other, " And all my garlic ! " " And my pickled
fish, and the new cream-cheeses, which he swallowed
rush-baskets and all ! and then, when I asked for pay-
ment, he only grinned and roared at me like a bull,
and threatened me with his sword." " Just like him ! "
says Xanthias. After abusing poor Bacchus, and
shaking their fists in his face, they go off to fetch some
of the infernal lawyers ; and Bacchus once more begs
Xanthias to stand his friend, and play Hercules again,
— he shall really be Hercules for the future, — the part
suits him infinitely better. The slave consents, and
again they change dresses, when iElacus comes in with
the Plutonian police. He points out to them the
representative of Hercules — " Handcuff me this fellow
that stole the dog ! " But Xanthias is not easily
handcuffed ; he stands on his defence j protests that
"he wishes he may die if he was ever that way
before ;" — ^he " never touched a hair of the dog's tail."
If M&cwa won't believe him, there stands his slave —
he may take and torture him, after the usual fashion,
and see whether he can extract any evidence of guilt.
This seems so fair a proposal that .^cus at once
agrees to it.

134 ARISTOPHANES.

"jEoc. (to £ac.) Come, you — put down your bundles,
and make ready.
And mind — let me hear no lies.

£ac. m tell you what —

I'd advise people not to torture me ;
I give you notice — I'm a deity ;
So mind now — you'll have nobody to blame
But your own self.

jEac. What's that you're saying there ?

Bac. Why, that Tm. Bacchus, Jupiter's own son ;
That fellow there's a slave (pointing to Xanthias).

jEoc. (to Xanthias). Do you hear ?

Xan, I hear him :

A reason the more to give him a good beating ;
If he's immortal, he need never mind it." — (F.)

.^Eacns proceeds to test their divinity, by adminis-
tering a lash to each of them in txim ; but they endure
the ordeal so successfully, that at last he gives it
up in despair.

" By the Holy Goddess, I'm completely puzzled !
I must take you before Proserpine and Pluto —
Being gods themselves, they're likeliest to know.

Bac. Why, that's a lucky thought ! — I only wish
It had happened to occur before you beat us," — (F.)

There is an interval of choral song, with a political
bearing, during which we are to suppose that Bacchus
is being entertained at the infernal court, while Xan-
thias improves his acquaintance with .^Eacus in the
servants' haU, or whatever might be the equivalent in
Pluto's establishment. The conversation between the
two is highly confidential. " Your master seems quit-e
the gentleman," says .^Eacus. " Oh ! quite," says Xan-

THE FROGS. 135

thias " — ^he does nothing bnt game and drinL" They
find that life " below stairs " is very much the same
in Tartarus as it is in the upper regions; and both
agree that what they enjoy most is listening at the
door, and discussing their masters' secrets with their
own friends afterwards. While the two retainers are
engaged in this interesting conversation, a noise out-
side attracts the new-comer's attention. " Oh," says
.(Eacus, " it's only .^chylus and Euripides quarrelling.
There's a tremendous rivalry going on just now
among these dead people." He explains to his guest
that special rank and precedence, with a seat at the
royal table, is accorded in the Shades to the artist or
professor who stands first in his own line. jEschy-
lus had held the chair of tragedy untU Euripides ap-
peared below : but now this latter has made a party
in his own favour — " chiefly of rogues and vaga-
bonds " — and has laid claim to the chair, .^chylus
has his friends among the respectable men; but re-
spectable men are as scarce in the Shades — " as they
are in this present company," observes .^Eacus, with a
wave of his hand towards the audience.* So Pluto
(who appears a veiy affable and good-humoured mon-
arch) has determined that there shall be a public

• We find something of this professional badinage to the
audience in Shakspeare's "Hamlet" (act v. sc. i.) : —

Ham. Many, why was he sent into England ?

1st Grave-d. Why, because he was mad ; he shall recover his
wits there ; or if he do not, 'tis no great matter there.

Ham. Why?

\U Or. 'Twill not be seen in him there— there the men are as
mad as he.

136 ARISTOPHANES.

trial and discussion of their respective merits. Sopho-
cles has put in no claim on his own behalf. The
tribute which his brother dramatist here pays him is
very graceful : " The first moment that he came, he
went up straight to .^chylus and saluted him, and
kissed his cheek, and took his hand quite kindly,
and .^chylus edged a little from his seat, to give
him room."

But — if Euripides is elected against -^schylus, Sopho-
cles will challenge his right. The difficulty is to find
competent judges. iEschylus has declined to leave
the decision to the Athenians — he has no confidence
in their honesty or their taste. [A bold stroke of per-
sonal satire, we might think, from a candidate for the
dramatic crown of the festival, as against those whose
verdict he was awaiting ; the author was perhaps still
smarting (as Brunck suggests) from the reception his
" Clouds " had met with : but he knew his public —
it was just the thing an Athenian audience would
enjoy.] It had been already proposed to get Bacchus,
as the great patron of the drama, to sit as judge in
this controversy, so that his present visit has been
most opportune ; and whichever of the rival poets he
.places first, Pluto promises to allow his guest to take
back to earth with him.

The contest between the rival dramatists takes place
upon the stage, in full court, with Bacchus presiding,
and the Chorus encouraging the competitors. It is
extended to some length, but must have been full of
interest to a play-loving audience, thoroughly familiar
■with the tragedies of both authors. Some of the points

THE FROGS. 137

we can even now quite appreciate. .^Eschylus, in the
hands of Aristophanes, does not spare his competitor.

" A wretch that has corrupted everything—
Our music with his melodies from Crete,
Our morals with incestuous tragedies.

I wish the place of trial had heen elsewhere —
I stand at disadvantage here.

Bac. As how ?

JE's. Because my poems live on earth ahove,
And his died with him, and descended here.
And are at hand as ready witnesses." — (T.)

Euripides retorts upon his rival the use of " break-
neck words, which it is not easy to find the meaning
of" — a charge which some modem schoolboys would
be quite ready to support. The two poets proceed, at
the request of the arbitrator, each to recite passages
from their tragedies for the other to criticise : and if
we suppose, as we have every right to do, that the
voice and gestures of some well-known popular tragedian
were cleverly mimicked at the same time, we should
then have an entertainment of a very similar kind to
that which Foote and Matthews, and in later days Eob-
son, afforded to an English audience by their remark-
able imitations.

After various trials of skill, a huge pair of scales
is produced, and the verses of each candidate
are weighed, as a test of their comparative value.
Still Bacchus cannot decide. At last he puts to
each a political question — perhaps the question of
the day — ^which has formed the subject of pointed
allusion more than once in the course of the play.

138 ARISTOPHANES.

Alcibiades, long the poptilar favourite, has recently
been banished, and is now living privately in Thxace ;
— shall he be recalled ? Both answer enigmati-
cally ; but the advice of the elder poet plainly tends
to the policy of recall, which was no doubt the pre-
vailing inclination of the Athenians. In vain does
Euripides remind Bacchus that he had come there pur-
posely to bring bim back, and had pledged his word
to do so. The god quotes against him a well-known
verse from his own tragedy of ' Hippolytus,' with the
sophistry of which his critics were never tired of
taunting him —

It was my iongiie that swore.

And iEschylus, crowned by his decision as the First of
Tragedians, is led off in triumphal procession in the
suite of the god of the drama, with Pluto's hearty
approbation. He leaves his chair in the Shades to
Sophocles, — ^with strict injunctions to keep Euripides
out of it.

This very lively comedy, the humour of which is
still so intelligible, seems to have supplied the original
idea for those modem burlesques upon the Olympian
and Tartarian deities which were at one time so popu-
lar. For some reason it was not brought out in the
author's own name ; but it gained the first prize, and
was acted a second time, probably in the same year —
an honour, strange to say, very unusual at Athens.

CHAPTER Vm

THE women's festival. — THE ECCLESIAZUSiE.

The * Thesmophoriazusae,' as tliis piece is called in the
Greek, is a comedy in which, as in the * Lysistrata,'
the fair sex play the chief part, although its whole point
lies in a satire (though scarcely so severe as that in
* The Frogs ') upon Euripides, whom our author was
never tired of holding up to ridicule. The secret history
of this literary quarrel we shaU never know; if indeed
there was really any quarrel which could have a his-
tory, and if the unceasing jests which Aristophanes
dealt out in this and other comedies against his
brother dramatist were not mainly prompted by the
fact that his tragedies were highly popular, universally
known and quoted, and therefore an excellent subject
for the caricature and parody which were the essence
of this style of comedy. It has been remarked that the
conservative principles of the comic author are supposed
to have been scandalised by the new-fashioned ideas
of the tragedian : but the shafts of his ridicule are
directed much more frequently against the plots and

UO ARISTOPHANES.

versification of Enripides's plays tlian against his
philosophy.*

The * Thesmophoria,' or great feast of Ceres and Pro-
serpine, from which this comedy takes its name, was
exclusively a women's festival, and none of the other
sex were allowed to he present at its celehration.
Euripides had the reputation among his contempora-
ries of heing a woman-hater, and he had undoubtedly
said bitter things of them in many of his tragedies. t
But to those who remember his characters of Iphi-
genia, and Theonoe, and the incomparable Alcestis, tho
reproach may well seem much too generaL However,
in this comedy the women of Athens are supposed to
have resolved upon his condign punishment ; and at
this next festival they are to sit in solemn conclave, to
determine the mode in which it is to be carried out.
Euripides has heard of it, and is in great dismay. He
goes, in the opening scene, accompanied by his father-
in-law Mnesilochus, to his friend and fellow-dramatist
Agathon, to beg him to go to the festival disguised in
woman's clothes, and there plead his cause for him.
He would do it himself, but that he is so well known,
and has such a huge rough beard, while Agathon is

* See, however, on this question, 'Euripides' (Anc. Cl.)» p.
37, &c.

+ Perhaps his most hitter words are those addressed to Pha-
drahy Bellerophon, in the lost tragedy of that name, —

" 0 thou most vile ! thou — wmnan I — For what word
That lips could frame could carry more reproach ? "

But we must not forget Shakspeare's — " Frailty, thy name is
woman ! " or judge the poet too harshly by a passionate expres-
sion put into the mouth of one of his characters.

THE WOMEN'S FESTIVAL. 141

really very lady -like in appearance. In fact, he is
used to the thing ; for he always wears female attire
when he has to write the female parts in his tragedies
— ^it assists the imagination : as Eichardson is said not
to have felt equal to the composition of a letter to one
of his lady-correspondents unless he sat down in full
dress. Agathon contents himself, by way of reply,
with asking his petitioner whether he ever wrote this
line in a certain tragedy, in which a son requests his
father to be so good as to suffer death in his stead —
Thou lovest thy life, — ^why not thy father too 1

And when Euripides cannot deny the quotation from
his * Alcestis,' his friend recommends him not to ex-
pect other people to run risks to get him out of trouble.

Upon this, Mnesilochus takes pity upon his son-in-
law, and consents to undertake the necessary disguise,
though it will require very close shaving — an operation
which Euripides immediately sets to work to perform
upon the stage, while Agathon supplies him with the
necessary garments. Euripides promises that, should
his advocate get into any difficulties, he will do his
best to extricate him by some of those subtle devices
for which his tragedies are so celebrated. He offers
to pledge himself by an oath to this effect; but
Mnesilochus begs it may be a mental oath only —
reminding him of that unfortunate line of his which
we have already found Bacchus quoting against him in
' The Frogs '—

It was my tongue that swore, and not my mind.

The scene is changed to the temple of Ceres, where

142 ARISTOPHANES.

the women hold solemn debate upon the crimes of the
poet. He has vilely slandered the sex, and made
them objects of ridicule and suspicion. One of their
number puts in a claim of special damages against him ;
she had maintained herself and "five small children"
by making wreaths for the temples, until this Euripides
began to teach people that " there were no gods," and
so ruined her trade. The disguised Mnesilochus rises
to defend his relative. But the apology which the
author puts into his mouth is conceived in the bitter-
est spirit of satire. He shows that the tragedian, far
&om having slandered the ladies, has really dealt with
them most leniently. True, he has said some severe
things of them, but nothing to what he might have
said. And he proceeds to relate some very scurrilous
anecdotes, to show that the sex is really much worse
than the poet has represented it. He is repeatedly
interrupted, in spite of his protests in behalf of that
freedom of speech which is the admitted right of every
Athenian woman. How was it, asks one of the audi-
ence, that Euripides never once took the good Pene-
lope as the subject of a tragedy, when he was always
so ready to paint characters like Helen and Phaedra 1
Mnesilochus answers that it was because there are no
wives like Penelope nowadays, but plenty of wives
like Phsedra.

His audience are naturally astonished and indignant
at this unexpected attack from one of their own num-
ber. Who is this audacious woman, this traitress to
her sex ? No one knows her, of course : and it is
whispered that there is a man among them in disguise.

THE WOMEN'S FESTIVAL. 143

There is a terrible uproar in the meeting, and the in-
truder, after a sharp cross-examination by a shrewish
dame, is soon detected. To save himself from the
vengeance of the exasperated women, he flies for refuge
to the altar, snatching a baby from one of their number,
and (like DicseopoKs in 'The Acharnians') * threatens
to kiU it at once unless they let him go. But the
women who have no babies display a good deal of
indiiference to his threats, and vow they will bum
him, then and there, whatever happens to the unfortu-
nate hostage. I^InesiLochus proceeds to strip it, when,
lo ! it turns out to be nothing more or less than a wine-
skin in baby's clothes. He will cut its throat, never-
theless. The foster-mother is almost as much distressed
as if it were a real chili

Woman. Hold, I beseech you ! Never be so cruel !
Do what you will with me, but spare my darling,

Mnes. I know you love it — it's a woman's weakness —
But, none the less, its blood must flow to-day.

Worn. O my poor child ! — ^Bring us a bowl, dear Mania !
If it must die, do let us catch its blood.

Mries. Well— hold it imder. I'll oblige you. (Slits tlie
vdne-skin, and drinks off the contents) There !
And here's the skin of the victim — for the priestess.

Mnesilochus is detained in custody until the con-
stables can be sent for. In this strait he naturally
looks to Euripides, on whose account he has got into

* The " situation " seems to have been a favourite one. It
may be remembered in Kotzebue's play, which Sheridan turned
into 'Pizarro,' in the scene where Eolla carries off Cora's
child.

144 ARISTOPHANES.

trouble, to come and help him according to promise.
And from this point the whole action of the piece
becomes the broadest burlesque upon the tragedies of
that author, which only an Athenian audience, to
whom every scene and almost every line was familiar,
could fully appreciate. Indeed no comedy of Aristo-
phanes illustrates so strongly what the character of
this audience was, and how, with all their love for
coarseness and buffoonery, the poet saw in the masses
who filled that vast amphitheatre a Hterary " public "
the like of which was never seen before or since.

How then is the prisoner to communicate his situa-
tion to Euripides ? He will do what that poet makes
his own " Palamedes " do in the tragedy — write a mes-
sage containing his sad story upon the oars, and throw
them out. But there are no oars likely to be found
in the temple. He substitutes some little images of
the gods, which are at hand, and throws them off the
stage — a double blow at the alleged profanity of the
tragedian and at his far-fetched devices.

The interval is filled up by a song from the Chorus
of "Women, the first part of which is light and playful
enough, and so thoroughly modem in its tone that' it
does not lose much in a free translation : —
They're always abusing the women.

As a terrible plague to men :
They say we're the root of all evil,

And repeat it again and again ;
Of war, and quarrels, and bloodshed,

All mischief, be what it may :
And pray, then, why do you marry us,

If we're all the plagues you say ?

THE WOMEN'S FESTIVAL. 145

And why do you take snch care of us,

And keep us so safe at home.
And are never easy a moment.

If ever we chance to roam ?
When you ought to be thanking heaven

That your Plague is out of the way —
You all keep fussing and fretting —

"Where is my Plague to-day ?"
If a Plague peeps out of the window,

Up go the eyes of the men ;
If she hides, then they all keep staring

Until she looks out again.

But Euripides, supposed (with a good deal of the-
atrical licence) to have been summoned by the mes-
sage so oddly despatched, does not appear to his rescue.
" It must be because he is so ashamed of his Pala-
medes," says Muesilochus — " I'U try some device from
another of his tragedies — I'U be Helen, that's his last
— I've got the woman's dress on, aU ready." And he
proceeds to quote, from the tragedy of that name, her
invocation to her husband Menelaus to come to ber
aid. This second appeal is successful ; the poet enters,
dressed in that character ; and a long dialogue takes
place between the two, partly in quotation and partly
in parody of the words of the play, — to the consider-
able mystij&cation of the assembled women. But it is
in vain that the representative of Menelaus tries to
take bis Helen " back with him to Sparta." The police
arrive, and Mnesilochus is put in the stocks. And
there he remains, though various devices from other
tragedies, "which give occasion for abundant parody, are
tried to rescue him : forming a scene which, supposing

A. 0. voL xiv. K

146 ARISTOPHANES.

again that the peculiar style of well-known actors was
cleverly imitated, must lose nearly all its humour when
read instead of being heard and seen. But the Athen-
ian police show themselves as insensible to theatrical
appeals and poetic quotations as their London represen-
tatives would probably be. At last Euripides offers
terms of peace to the offended ladies : he will never
abuse them in future, if they will only let his friend
off now. They agree, so far as they are concerned ;
but the prisoner is now in the hands of the law, and
Euripides must deal with the law's representatives for
his release. It is effected by the commonplace ex-
pedient of bribing the constable on duty ; and so the
burlesque ends, — somewhat feebly, according to our
modern requirements.

THE ECCLESIAZUSiB.

"The Female Parliament," as the name of this
comedy may be freely rendered, was not produced until
nineteen years after the play last noticed, but may be
classed with it as being also in great measure levelled
against the sex. It is a broad but very amusing satire
upon those ideal republics, founded upon commun-
istic principles, of which Plato's weU-known trea-
tise is the best example. His 'EepubHc' had been
written, and probably delivered in the form of oral
lectures at Athens, only two or three years before, and
had no doubt excited a considerable sensation. But
many of its most startling principles had long ago been
ventilated in the Schools j and their authorship has been

THE ECCLESIAZVSjE. 147

commonly attributed, as was also the art of " making
the worse cause appear the better," with very much
besides of the sophistical teaching of the day, to
Protagoras of Abdera.

The women have determined, under the leadership
of a clever lady named Praxagora, to reform the con-
stitution of Athens. For this purpose they wiU dress
like men — ^beards included — and occupy the seats in
the Pnyx, so as to be able to command a majority of
votes in the next public Assembly, the parliament of
Athens. Praxagora is strongly of opinion, with the
modem Mrs Poyser, that on the point of speaking, at
all events, the women have great natural advantages
over the men ; that " when they have anything to say,
they can mostly find words to say it in." They hold
a midnight meeting for the purpose of rehearsing their
intended speeches, and getting accustomed to their new
clothes. Two or three of the most ambitious orators
unfortunately break down at the very outset, much
to their leader's disgust, by addressing the Assembly as
" ladies," and swearing female oaths, and using many
other unparliamentary expressions quite unbefitting their
masculine attire. Praxagora herself, however, makes
a speech which is very generally admired. She com-
plains of the mismanagement hitherto of public affairs,
and asserts that the only hope of salvation for the state
is to put the government into the hands of the women;
arguing, like Lysistrata in the other comedy, that those
who have so long managed the domestic estabhshment
successfully are best fitted to undertake the same
duties On a larger scale. The women,. too, are shown

148 ARISTOPHANES.

by their advocate to be bighly conservative, and there-
fore safe guardians of the public interests : —

They roast and boil after the good old fashion,
They keep the holidays that were kept of old.
They make their cheesecakes by the old receipts,
They keep a private bottle, like their mothers.
They plague their husbands — as they always did.

Even in the management of a campaign, they will be
found more prudent and more competent than the
men : —

Being mothers, they'll be chary of the blood
Of their own sons, our soldiers ; being mothers,
They wiU take care their children do not starve
When they're on service ; and, for ways and means,
Trust us, there's nothing cleverer than a woman.
And as for diplomacy, they'll be hard indeed
To cheat — they know too many tricks themselves.

Her speech is unanimously applauded; she is elected
lady-president on the spot, by public acclamation, and
the Chorus of ladies march off towards the Pnyx to
secure their places, like the old gentleman in 'The
Wasps,' ready for daybreak.

In the next scene, two of the husbands enter in
great perplexity, one wrapped in his wife's dressing-
gown, and the other with only his \mder-garment on,
and without his shoes. They both want to go to the
Assembly, but cannot find their clothes. While they
are wondering what in the world their wives can have
done with them, and what is become of the ladies them-
selves, a third neighbour, Chremes, comes in. He has

THE ECCLESIAZUSJE. 149

been to the Assembly ; but even he was too late to get
the threepence which was allowed out of the public
treasury to all who took their seat in good time, and
which all Athenian citizens, if we may trust their
satirist, were so ludicrously eager to secure. The place
was quite fuU already, and of strange faces too. And
a handsome fair-faced youth (Praxagora in disguise, we
are to understand) had got up, and amid the loud
cheers of those unknown voters had proposed and
carried a resolution, that the government of the state
should be placed in the hands of a committee of ladies, —
an experiment which had found favour also with others,
chiefly because it was " the only change which had not
as yet been tried at Athens." His two neighbours are
somewhat confounded at his news, but congratulate
themselves on the fact that the wives wiU now, at all
events, have to see to the maintenance of the children,
and that " the gods sometimes bring good out of evil."
The women return, and get home as quickly as they
can to change their costimie, so that the trick by which
the passing of this new decree has been secured may
not be detected. Praxagora succeeds in persuading
her husband that she had been sent for in a hurry to
attend a sick neighbour, and only borrowed his coat
to put on " because the night was so cold," and his
strong shoes and staff, in order that any evil-disposed
person might take her for a man as she tramped along,
and so not interfere with her. She at first affects not to
have heard of the reform which has been just carried,
but when her husband explains it, declares it will make
Athens a paradise. Then she confesses to him that

150 ARISTOPHANES.

she haa hersell been chosen, in full assembly, " Gene-
ralissima of the state." She puts the question, how-
ever, just as we have all seen it put by a modem
actress, — " Will this house agree to it 1 " And if
Praxagora was at all attractively got up, we may be
sure it Xvas carried by acclamation in the affirmative.
Then, in the first place, there shall be no more poverty;
there shall be community of goods, and so there shall
be no lawsuits, and no gambling, and no informers.
Moreover, there shall be community of wives, — and
all the ugly women shall have the first choice of hus-
bands. So she goes off to her public duties, to see
that these resolutions are carried out forthwith; the
good citizen begging leave to follow close at her side,
so that all who see him may say, " What a fine fellow
is our Generalissima's husband ! "

The scene changes to another street in Athens,
where the citizens are bringing out all their property,
to be carried into the market-place and inventoried for
the common stock. Citizen A. dances with delight as
he marshals his dilapidated chattels into a mock pro-
cession— ^from the meal-sieve, which he kisses, it looks
so pretty with its powdered hair, to the iron pot which
looks as black " asif Lysimachus" (some well-known fop
of the day, possibly present among the audience) " had
been boUing his hair-dye in it," This patriot, at least,
has not much to lose, and hopes he may have some-
thing to gain, under these female communists. But his
neighboiu", who is better off, is in no such hurry.
The Athenians, as he remarks, are always making
new laws and abrogating them ; what has been passed

THE ECCLESIAZVSjE. 151

to-day very likely will be repealed to-morrow. Besides,
it is a good old national habit to take, not to give. He
will wait a while before he gives in any inventory of
his possessions.

But at this point comes the city-beadle (an appoint-
ment now held, of course, by a lady) with a summons
to a banquet provided for all citizens out of the public
funds : and amongst the items in the bill of fare is one
f^iaH whose name is composed of seventy-seven syllables
— ^which Aristophanes gives us, but which the reader
shall be spared. Citizen B. at once delivers it as his
opinion that " every man of proper feeling should sup-
port the constitution to the utmost of his ability," and
hurries to take his place at the feast. There are some
difficulties caused, very naturally, by the new commun-
istic regulations as to providing for the old and ugly
women, but with these we need not deaL The piece
ends with an invitation, issued by direction of Praxa-
gora through her lady-chamberlain, to the public gene-
rally, spectators included, to join the national banquet
which is to inaugurate the new order of things. The
"tag," as we should call it in our modem theatrical
slang, spoken from what in a Greek theatre was equi-
valent to the footlights in a London one, by the leader
of the Chorus of ladies, neatly requests, on the author's
behalf, the favourable decision of judges and spec-
tators : —

One little hint to our good critics here
I humbly offer ; to the wise among you,
Eemember the wise lessons of our play.
And choose me for my wisdom. You, again,

152 ARISTOPHANES.

Who love to laugh, think of our merry jests,
And choose me for my wit. And so, an't please you,
I bid you all to choose me for the crown.
And let not this be coimted to my loss —
That 'twas my lot to be presented first :
But judge me by my merits, and your oaths ;
And do not take those vile coquettes for tutors.
Who keep their best smiles for their latest suitors.

It is plain from the whole character of this play, as
well as from the'Lysistrata' and the 'Women's Festival,'
that whatever reason the Athenian women might have
had for complaining of their treatment at the hands of
Euripides, they had little cause to congratulate them-
selves upon such an ally as Aristophanes. The whip
of the tragic poet was as balm compared with the scor-
pions of the satirist. But it must be borne in mind,
in estimating these unsparing jests upon the sex which
we find in his comedies, as well as the coarseness which
too often disfigures them — though it is but a poor
apology for either — that it is very doubtful whether
it was the habit for women to attend the dramatic
performances. Their presence was certainly excep-
tional, and confined probably under any circumstances
to the less public festivals, and to the exhibitions of
tragedy. But women had few acknowledged rights
among the polished Athenians. They laughed to
scorn the notion of the ruder but more chivahic
Spartan, who saluted his wife as his "lady," and
their great philosopher Aristotle reproached the nation
who could use such a term as being no better than
" women - servers." These "women's rights" have

THE ECCLESIAZUS^. 153

been a fertile source of jest and satire in all times,
our own included ; but tbere is a wide interval in tone
and feeling between the Athenian poet's Choruses of
women, and the graceful picture, satire though it be,
drawn by the English Laureate, of the

" Six hundred maidens clad in purest white
Before two streams of light from wall to wall." *

* Tennyson's ' Princess.'

CHAPTER IS.

PLUTUS.

The comedy which takes its name from the god of
riches is a lively satire on the avarice and corruption
which was a notorious feature of Athenian society, as
it has been of other states, modem as well as ancient,
when luxury and self-indulgence have created those
artificial wants which are the danger of civilisation. The
literal points of the satire are, of course, distinctly
Athenian; but the moral is of no exclusive date or
locality.

Chremylus — a country gentleman, or rather yeoman,
living somewhere close to the city of Athens — ^has
found, in his experience of life, that mere virtue and
honesty are not the best policy ; at any rate, not the
policy which pays. He has made a visit, therefore, to
the oracle of Apollo, to consult that authority as to
how he shall bring up his only son ; whether he shall
train him in the honest and simple courses which
were those of his forefathers, or have him initiated in
the wicked but more profitable ways of the world, as
the world is now. He is, in fact, the Strepsiades of

PLUTUS. 155

* The Clouds,* only that he is a more unwilling disciple
in the new school of unrighteousness. The answer
given him by the god is, that he must accost the first
person he meets on quitting the temple, and persuade
or compel him to accompany him home to his house.

Chremylus appears on the stage accompanied by his
slave Cario, — a clever rascal, the earliest classical type
which has come down to us of the Davus with whom
we become so familiar in Eoman comedy, and the
Leporello and Scapin, and their numerous progeny of
lying valets and sharp servants, impudent but useful,
who occupy the modern stage. They have encoun-
tered the stranger, and are following him; he is in
rags, and he turns out to be blind. With some diffi-
culty, and not without threats of beating, they get him
to disclose his name : it is Plutus, the god of wealth
himself. But how, then, in the name of wonder,
does he appear in this wretched plight ? He has just
escaped, he tells them, from the house of a miser (who
is satirised by name, with all the liberty of a satirist to
whom actions for libel were unknown), where he has
had a miserable time of it. And how, they ask, came
he to be bHnd ?

PL Jove wrought me this, out of ill-will to men.
For in my younger days I threatened still
T would betake me to the good and wise
And upright only ; so he made me blind,
That I should not discern them from the knaves.
Such grudge bears he to worth and honesty.

Chr. Yet surely 'tis the worthy and the honest
Alone who pay him sacrifice ?

PI. I know 'tis so.

156 ARISTOPHANES.

Chr. Go to, now, friend : suppose you had your sight
As heretofore — say, wouldst thenceforth avoid
All knaves and rascals ?

PI. Yea, I swear I would.

Chr. And seek the honest ?

PL Ay, and gladly too,

For 'tis a long time since I saw their faces.

Chr. No marvel — I have eyes, and cannot see them.

Plutus is very unwilling to accompany his new
jEriend home, though Chremylus assures him that he
is a man of unusual probity. " All men say that," is
the god's reply ; " but the moment they get hold of
me, their probity goes to the winds." Besides, he is
afraid of Jove. Chremylus cries out against him for
a coward. Would the sovereignty of Jove be worth
three farthings' purchase, but for him ? What do men
offer prayer and sacrifice to Jove himself for, but
for money? Money is the true ruler, alike of gods
and men. "I myself," puts in Cario, "should not
now be another gentleman's property, as I am, but for
the fact of my master here having a little more
money than I had." All arts and handicrafts, all in-
ventions good or evil, have this one source — ^both mas-
ter and man (for Cario is very forward in giving his
opinion) agree in protesting ; whUe the god listens to
what he declares is, to his simpler mind, a new
revelation : —

Car. Is't not your fault the Persian grows so proud ?

Chr. Do not men go to Parliament through you ?

Car. Who swells the navy estimates, but you ?

Chr. Who subsidises foreigners, but you ?

Car. For want of you our friend there goes to jaiL

PLVTUS. 157

Chr. Why are bad novels written, but for you 1

Car. That league with Egypt, was it not through you ?

Chr. And Lais loves that lout^and all for you !

Car. And our new admiral's tower —

Chr. {impatiently to Cario). May fall, I trust.

Upon your noisy head ! — But in brief, my friend,
Are not all things that are done done for you ?
For, good or bad, you are alone the cause.
Ay, and in war, that side is safe to win
Into whose scale you throw the golden weight

PI. Am I indeed so potent as all this ?

Chr. Yea, by great heaven, and very much more than this.
Since none hath ever had his fill of you :
Of all things else there comes satiety ;
We tire of Love —

Car.

Of loaves-*-

Chr.

Of music-

-

Car.

Sweetmeats —

Chr.

Of honour-

—

Car.

Cheesecakes —

Chr.

Valour-

-

Car.

Of dried figs —

Chr.

Ambition-

-

Car.

Biscuit —

Chr,

High command —

Car.

Pea-soup.

Chr. Of you alone is no man filled too f uU.

Still Plutus follows his guides unwillingly. His ex-
periences as the guest of men have not hitherto been
pleasant : —

PI. If I perchance took lodging with a miser,
He digs me a hole i' the earth, and buries me ;
And if some honest friend shall come to him,
And ask the loan of me, by way of help,

158 ARISTOPHANES.

He swears him out he never saw my face.
Or, if I quarter with your man of pleasure.
He wastes me on his dice and courtesans,
And forthwith turns me naked on the street.

Chr. Because you never had the luck, as yet,
To Ught upon a moderate man — like me.
I love economy, look ye — ^no man more ;
Then again, I know how to spend, in season.
But let's indoors : I long to introduce
My wife, and only son, whom I do love
Best in this world — ^next to yourself, I should say.

So Plutus goes home with his new host, and Cario
is forthwith sent to call together the friends and
acquaintances of his master from the neighbouring
fia,rms to rejoice with them at the arrival of this blessed
guest. These form the Chorus of the comedy. They
enter with dance and song, and are welcomed heartily
by Chremylus, with some apology for taking them
away from their business, — but the occasion is excep-
tionah They protest against any apology being re-
quired. If they can bear the crush and wrangle of the
law-courts, day after day, for their poor dole of three-
pence as jurymen, they are not going to let Plutus
slip through their hands for a trifle. Following more
leisurely in the rear of the common rush, — perhaps as
a person of more importance, — comes in a neighbour,
Blepsidemus, whose name and character is something
equivalent to that of " Mr Facing-both-ways " in Bun-
yan's allegory. He has heard that Chremylus has
become suddenly rich, and is most of all surprised that
in such an event he should think of sending for his
old friends, — a very unusual proceeding, as he observes,

PLUTU3. 159

in modern society. Chremylus, however, informs his
friend that the report is true ; at least, that he is in a
fair way to become rich, but that there is, as yet, some
little risk in the matter : —

If all go right, I'm a made man for ever ;

But, — if we slip — we're ruined past redemption.

Blepsidemus thinks he sees the state of the case.
This sudden wealth, this fear of possible disaster, — the
man has robbed a temple, or something of that kind,
it is evident; and he tells him so. In vain does
Chremylus protest his innocence. Blepsidemus will
not believe him, and regards him with pious horror : —

Alack ! that in this world there is no honesty,
But every man is a mere slave to pelf !

Chr. Heaven help the man ! — has he gone mad on a
sudden ?

BL (looking at Chremylus, and half aside). What a sad
change from his old honest ways !

Chr. You've lost your wits, sirrah, by all that's good !

JBl. And his eyes quail — ^he dares not meet my look^
For damning guilt stands written in his face !

Chr. Ha ! now I see ! you take me for a thief,
And would go shares, then, would ye ?

£1. {eagerly). Shares ? in what 1

Chr. Stuff ! don't be a fool ! 'tis quite another matter.

Bl. (tn a whisper). Not a mere larceny then, but — rob-
bery ?

Chr. {getting angry). I say, no.

Bl. {confidentially). Hark ye, old friend — ^for a mera
trifle, look you,
111 undertake, before this gets abroad,
To hush it up, — I'U bribe the prosecutors.

Chremylus has great difficulty in making his con-

160 ARISTOPHANES.

scientioua friend understand the real position — that
he has "Wealth in person come to be his guest, and
means to keep him, if possible. But the god is blind
at present, and the first thing to be done is to get him
restored to sight. " Blind ! is he really 1 " says Blep-
sidemus ; " then no wonder he never found his way to
my house ! " They agree that the best means to effect
a cure is to n:iake him pass the night in the temple of
.(Esculapius ; and this they are proceeding to arrange,
when they are interrupted by the appearance of a very
ill-looking lady. It is Poverty, who comes to put a
stop, if it may be, to a revolution which threatens to
banish her altogether from Athens. Chremylus fails
to recognise her, in spite of a long practical acquaint-
anceship. Blepsidemus at first thinks she must be
one of the Furies out of the tragedy repertory, by her
grim visage and squalid habit. But the moment he
learns who his friend's visitor really is, he takes to
flight at once — as is the way of the world — scared
at her very appearance. He is persuaded, however, to
return and listen to what the goddess has to say. She
proceeds to explain the great mistake that wiU be
made for the true interest of the citizens, if she be
really banished from the city. For she it is who is
their real benefactor, as she assures them, and not
Wealth. All the real blessings of mankind come from
the hand of Poverty. This Chremylus will by no
means admit. It is possible that "Wealth may have
done some harm heretofore by inadvertence; but if
this blessed guest can once recover his sight, then will
he for the future visit only the upright and the virtu-

PLUTUS. 161

ous ; and so will all men — as soon as virtue and hon-
esty become the only introduction to Wealth — be very
sure to practise them. Poverty continues to argue the
point in the presence of the Chorus of rustic neigh-
boiurs, who now come on the stage, and naturally take
a very warm interest in the question. She contends
that were it not for the stimulus which she continually
applies, the work of the world would stand still. No
man would learn or exercise any trade or calling.
There would be neither smith, nor shipwright, nor
tailor, nor shoemaker, nor wheelwright — nay, there
would be none either to plough or sow, if all alike
were rich. " Nonsense," interposes Chremylus, " the
slaves would do it." But there would be no slaves, the
goddess reminds him, if there were no Poverty. It is
Wealth, on the other hand, that gives men the gout,
makes them corpulent and thick-legged, wheezy and
pursy ; " while I," says Poverty, " make them strong
and wiry, with waists like wasps — ay, and with stings
for their enemies." " Look at your popular leaders "
(for the satirist never spares the demagogues) — "so
long as they continue poor, they are honest enough ;
but when once they have grown rich at the public ex-
pense, they betray the public interest." Chremylus con-
fesses that here, at least, she speaks no more than the
truth. But if such are the advantages which Poverty
brings, he has a very natural question to ask —

How comes it then that all men flee thy face ?
Pov. Because I make men better.

But her pleading is in vain. " Away with your
A. c. vol. xiv. L

162 ARISTOPHANES.

rhetoric," says Ghremylus; "our ears are deaf to
all such arguments." He uses almost the very
words of Sir Hudibras —

" He who complies against his will,
Is of his own opinion still." *

And an unanimous sentence of expulsion is passed
against the unpopular deity, while Plutus is sent,
under the escort of Cario, with bed and bedding,
to take up his quarters for the night in the temple of
^sculapius, there to invoke the healing power which
can restore his sight.

An interval of time unusually long for the Athenian
drama is supposed to elapse between this and what
we may call the second act of the comedy — the break
in the action having been most probably marked by a
chant from the Chorus, which has not, however, come
down to us in the manuscripts. The scene reopens
with the return of Cario from the temple on the
morning following.

The resort to ^sculapius has been entirely sue
cessful. But Aristophanes does not miss the oppor-
tunity of sharp satire upon the gross materialities of
the popular creed and the tricks of priestcraft. Cario
informs his mistress and the Chorus, who come to
inquire the result, that the god has performed the
cure in person — going round the beds of the patients,
who lay there awaiting his visit, for aU the world like
a modern hospital surgeon, making his diagnosis of each

* "I'll not be convinced, even if you convince me," are
his words.

PLVTUS. 163

case, with an assistant following him with pestle and
mortar and portable medicine- chest. Plutus had heen
cured almost instantaneously — quicker, as the narrator
impudently tells his mistress, than she could toss off
half-a-dozen glasses of wine. But one Neoclides, who
had come there on the same errand (though, blind as
he was, observes Cario, not the sharpest-sighted of them
all could match him in stealing), fares very differently
at the hands of the god of medicine ; for .^^culapius
applies to his eyes a lotion of garlic and vinegar, which
makes him roar with pain, and leaves him blinder than
ever. Another secret of the temple, too, the cunning
varlet has seen, while he was pretending to be asleep
like the rest. He saw the priests go round quietly,
after the lamps were put out, and eat all the cakes and
fruit brought by the patients as offerings to the god.
He took the liberty, he says — " thinking it must be a
very holy practice " — of following their example, and
so got possession of a pudding which an old lady, one
of the patients, had placed carefully by her bedside
for her supper, and on which he had set his heart
when first he saw it. His mistress is shocked at
such profanity.

Unhallowed varlet ! didst not fear the god ?

Cario. Marry did I, and sorely — lest his godship
Should get the start of me, and grab the dish.
But the old lady, when she heard me coming,
Put her hand out ; and so I gave a hiss,
And bit her gently ; 'twas the Holy Snake,
She thought, and pulled her hand in, and lay still.

But the mistress of the house is too delighted with

164 ARISTOPHANES.

the good news which Carlo has brought to chide
him very severely for his irreverence. She orders her
maids at once to prepare a banquet for the return
of this blessed guest, who presently reappears, attended
by Chremylus and a troop of friends. Plutus salutes
his new home in a burlesque of the high vein of
tragedy : —

All haU ! thou first, 0 bright and blessed sun.

And thou, fair plain, where awful Pallas dwells.

And this Cecropian land, henceforth mine home !

I blush to mind me of my past estate —

Of the vile herd with whom I long consorted ;

While those who had been worthy of my friendship

I, poor blind wretch ! unwittingly passed by.

But now the wrong I did wiU I undo,

And show henceforth to all mankind, that sore

Against my will I kept bad company.

[Enter Chremylus, surrounded and followed by a
crowd of congratulating friends, whom he thrusts aside
right and left.]

Chr. To the devil with you all — d'ye hear, good people !
^^Tiy, what a plague friends are on these occasions .'
One hatches them in swarms, when one gets money.
They nudge my sides, and pat me on the back,
And smother me with tokens of affection ;
Men bow to me I never saw before ;
And aU the pompous dawdlers m the Square
Find me the A'^ery centre of attraction !

Even his wife is unusually affectionate ; and the wel-
come guest is ushered into the house with choral dance
and song — ^highly burlesque, no doubt; but both are lost
to us, and such losses are not always to be regretted.

PLUTUS. 165

The scene which follows introduces Cario in a state
of great contentment with the new order of things. It
is possible that, as in ' The Knights,' there was an entire
change of scenery as well as of dresses at this point
of the performance ; that the ancient country grange
has been transmuted into a grand modern mansion,
with all the appliances of wealth and luxury. At all
events, Cario (who from a rustic slave has now hecome
quite a " gentleman's gentleman ") informs the Chorus,
who listen to him open-mouthed, that such has been
the result of entertaining Plutus.

Cario {stroking himself). Oh what a blessed thing, good
friends, is riches !
And with no toil or trouble of our own !
Lo, there is store of all good things within,
Yea, heaped upon us — yet. we've cheated no one !
Our meal-chest's brimming with the finest boltings.
The cellar's stocked with wine — of such a bouquet !
And every pot and pan in the house is heaped
With gold and silver — it's a sight to see !
The well runs oil — the very mustard-pot
Has nothing but myrrh in it, and you can't get up
Into the garret, it's so fidl of tigs.
The crockery's bronze, the wooden bowls are silver,
And the oven's made of ivory. In the kitchen,
We play at pitch-and-toss with golden pieces ;
And scent ourselves (so delicate are we grown) with — garlic*

* This is a good instance of those jokes " contrary to expec-
tation " (as the Greek term has it) which are very common in
these comedies, but which can very seldom be reproduced, for
more reasons than one, in an English version. Of course the
audience were led to expect something more fragrant than
'* garlic." We are accustomed to something of the same kind
in the puns which frequently conclude a line in our modern

166 ARISTOPHANES.

As to my master, he's withm there, sacrificing
A hog and a goat and a rain, full drest, good soul !
But the smoke drove me out — {affectedly) — I c&nnot stand it.
I'm rather sensitive, and smoke hurts my eyelids.

The happy results of the new administration are
further shown in the cases of some other characters who
now come upon the scene. An Honest Man, who has
spent his fortune on his friends and met with nothing
but ingratitude in return, now finds his wealth sud-
denly restored to him, and comes to dedicate to the
god who has been his benefactor the threadbare cloak
and worn-out shoes which he had been lately reduced
to wear. A public Informer — that hateful character
whom the comic dramatist was never tired of holding
up to the execration of his audience — has now found
his business fail him, and threatens that, if there
be any law or justice left in Athens, this god who
leaves the poor knaves to starve shall be made blind
again. Cario — quite in the spirit of the clown in a
modem pantomime — strips him of his fine clothes, puts
the honest man's ragged cloak on him instead, hangs the
old shoes round his neck, and kicks him off the stage,
howling out that he will surely " lay an information."
An old lady who has lost her young lover, as soon as
under the new dispensation she lost the charms of her
money, in vain appeals to Chremylus, as having influence
with this reformed government, to obtain her some

burlesques. In neither case, perhaps, is the wit of the highest
order.

!Mr "Walsh, in the preface to his 'Aristophanes' (p. viii),
iUustrates not inaptly this style of jest by a comparison with
Goldsmith's " Elegy on the Glory of her sex, Mrs Mary Blaize.'

pLUTzrs. 167

measure of justice. Not only the world of men, but
the world of gods, is out of joint. In the last scene,
Mercury knocks at the door of Chremylus. He has
brought a terrible message from Jupiter. He orders
Carlo to bring out the whole family — "master, mistress,
children, slaves — and the dog — and himself— and the
pig," and the rest of the brutes, that they may all be
thrown together into the Barathrum — the punishment
inflicted on malefactors of the deepest dye. Carlo
answers the Olympian messenger with a courtesy as
scant as his own ; under the new regime, he and his
master are become very independent of Jupiter.
" You'd be none the worse for a slice off your tongue,
young fellow," says the mortal servant to him of
Olympus J " why, what's the matter ? " " Matter
enough," answers Mercury : —

Why, ye have wrought the very vilest deed ;
Since Plutus yonder got his sight again.
No man doth o£fer frankincense or bays,
Or honey-cake or victim or aught else,
To us poor gods.

Car. Nay, nor wUl oflfer, now ;

Ye took poor care of us when we were pious.

Mer. As for the other gods, I care not much ;
But 'tis myself I pity.

Car. You're right there.

Mer. Why, in the good old times, from every shop
I got good things, — rich wine-cakes, honey, figs,
Fit for a god like Mercury to eat ;
But now I lie and sleep to cheat my hunger.

Car. It serves you right ; you never did much good.

Mer. Oh for those noble cheesecakes, rich and brown !

Car. 'Tis no use calling — cheesecakes an't in season.

168 ARISTOPHANES.

Mer. O those brave gammons that I once enjoyed !
Car. Don't gammon me — be off with you to — heaven !

Mercury begs him at last, for old acquaintance' sake,
and in remembrance of the many little scrapes ■which
his pilfering propensities would have brought him into
^vith his master, but that he, the god of craft, helped
him out of them, — to have a little fellow-feeling for a
servant out of place and thrown upon his own finding.
Is there no place for him in Chremylus's household ?
What 1 says Carlo ; would he leave Olympus and take
service with mortals ? Certainly he would — the living
and the perquisites are so much better. Would he
turn deserter 1 asks the other (deserter being a word of
abomination to Greek ears). The god replies in words
which seem to be a quotation or a parody from some
of the tragic poets —

That soil is fatherland which feeds us best.

The dialogue which foUoAvs is an amusing play upon
the various offices assigned to Mercury, who was a
veritable Jack-of-aU-trades in the popular theology.
The humour is very much lost in any English version,
however free : —

Car. What place would suit you, now, suppose we hired

you?

Mer. I'll turn my hand to anything you please ;
You know I'm called the " Turner."

Car. Yes, but now

Luck's on our side, we want no turns at present.

Mer. I'll make your bargains for you.

Car. Thankye, no—

Now we've grown rich, we don't much care for bargains.

PLUTUS. 169

Mer. But I can cheat —

Car. On no account — for shame I

We well-to-do folks all go in for honesty.

Mer. Let me be Guide, then.

Gar. Nay, our godship here

Has got his sight again, and needs no guiding.

Mer. Well, Master of the revels 1 don't say no —
Wealth must have pleasures, — music, and all that.

Car. {ironically turning to the audience). Why, what a
lucky thing it is to be Jack-of-all-trades !
Here's a young man, now, who's sure to make a living !
{To Mercury) WeU — go and wash these tripes, — be quick —

let's see
What sort of training servants get in heaven.

If the gods are suffering from this social revolution
in the world below, still more lamentable are its effects
upon the staff of officials maintained in their temples.
The priest of Jupiter the Protector — one of the most
important ecclesiastical functionaries in Athens — enters
in great distress.

Priest. Be good enough to tell me, where is Chremylus ?

Chr. {coming out). What is it, my good sir 1

Priest. What is it ? — ruin !

Why, since this Plutus has begun to see,
I'm dying of starvation. Positively,
I haven't a crust to eat ! I, my dear sir.
The Priest of the Protector ! think of that !

Chr. Dear me ! and what's the reason, may I ask ?

Priest. Why, because everybody now is rich :
Before, if times were bad, there stUl would come
Some merchant-captain home from time to time.
And bring us thank-offerings for escape from wreck ;
Some lucky rogue, perhaps, who had got a verdict ;
Or some good man held a family sacrifice,

170 ARISTOPHANES.

And asked the priest, of course. But now no soul

Pays either vows or sacrifice, or comes

To the temple — save to shoot their rubbish there.

Car. {half aside). You take your tithe of that, I warrant
me.

Cliremylus, whose good fortune in entertaining such
a desirable guest has put him into good-humour with
all the world, comforts the despairing ofiiciaL The
true Father Protector — the deity whom all men ac-
knowledge— is here, he tells him, in the house. They
mean to set him up permanently at Athens, in his
proper place — the Public Treasury. And he shall be
the minister of the new worship, if he likes to quit the
service of Jupiter. The priest gladly consents, and
an extempore procession is at once formed upon the
stage, into which the old lady who has lost her lover
is pressed, and persuaded to carry a slop-pail upon her
head, to represent the maidens who, on such occasions,
bore the lustral waters for the inauguration. Cario
and the Chorus bring up the rear in an antic dance,
and they proceed to establish at Athens, with all due
formalities, the worship of Wealth alone.

This play, as we now have it (for it had been
brought out in a different form twenty years before),
shows evident signs of a transition in the character of
Athenian comedy. It is less extravagant, and more
domestic, and so far approaches more nearly to what is
called the " ^ew " Comedy, of which we know little
except from a few fragmentary remains and from its
Eoman adapters, but of which our modern drama is
the result. Possibly, now that the great war was over,

PLUTUS. 171

and the spirit as well as the power of Athens was
somewhat broken, Aristophanes no longer felt that
deep personal interest in politics which has left such
a mark on aU his earlier pieces. Another reason for
the change, independent of the public taste, seems to
have been the growing parsimony in the expenditure
of public money on such performances. Critics have
detected, in the character of the Chorus of ' The Ecclesi-
azusae,* exhibited five years previously, in which the
masks and dresses for a body of old women could
have involved but little expense in comparison with
the elaborate mounting of such plays as ' The Birds'
and * Wasps,' an accommodation to this new spirit of
economy ; and the same remark has been made as to
the poverty of the musical portion of the play. The
same may be said of the Chorus of rustics in this
latter drama. ' Plutus' was the last comedy put upon
the stage by Aristophanes himself, though two pieces
which he had composed, of which we know little more
than the titles, were exhibited in his name, after his
death, by his son. They appear to have approached
still more nearly, in their plot and general character,
to our modem notions of a comedy than even * Plutus.*
Whether the author made any important alterations
in this second edition of the play is not known ; but
in its present state, the piece seems to want something
of his old dash and vigour. He was getting an old
man ; and probably some young aspirants to dramatic
fame remarked upon his failing powers in somewhat
the same terms as those in which, thirty-seven years
before, he had spoken of his elder rival Cratinus —

172 ARISTOPHANES.

" The keys work loose, the strings are slack, the melodies
a jar." *

If so, Aristophanes never challenged and won the
dramatic croAvn again, as Cratinus had done, to con-
found his younger critics. The curtain was soon
about to fall for him altogether. He died a year or
two afterwards.

• The Knights, 1. 532.

END OF ARISTOPHANES.

PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDISBDEOH. "^

AfiSr.

2^

UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FA^

A nnn 940 867 5