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UNIVERSITY STUDIES

OF THE

UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA

VOLUME XVIII

_ LINCOLN
PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY

1918

hs hE Nanas. IBM o Yah Ral URGIPRESSIORLy aetet ten
met deat ἌΝ _ THE NEW ERA P ING COMPANY
ἢ : τῇ “LANCASTER, PAL

ΟΟΝΤΕΝΊΘ.

KiotscHE—The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides as Illus-

trated in Prayers, Curses, Oaths, Oracles, Prophecies, Dreams,
and Visions

SC eC ST 4, αἱ σ'5. ἀ.0 ο᾽ 6 ,5.5..5 9.0. 5.0] .« 76. «7,9 66 5

Poot, WEAVER AND JEAN—Further Studies in the Ecotone Between
Pranmiewancdy Wioodlan dite neues Ὁ Ὁ σα κα πο me tevepe.ereiciins in cis ον

SwENK—On a New Subspecies of Otter from Nebraska

Viil

Appin 1915 Ν

JI

ᾷ es

UNIVERSITY STUDIES

PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA

COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION

F. M. FLING Ῥ, H. GRUMMANN

P. H. FRYE L. A. SHERMAN

C. A. SKINNER M. G. WYER
CONTENTS

On A NEw SUBSPECIES OF OTTER: FROM NEBRASKA.

ΝΙΝ, ον SWENK 25 One 5b oe ek Ba I

FURTHER STUDIES IN THE ECOTONE BETWEEN PRAIRIE
AND WOODLAND. R. J. Poot, J. E. WEAVER
JN SSTID 7) Rian Gad) VON ee eg el πον ἐν RS TG 7

LINCOLN, NEBRASKA

UNIVERSITY STUDIES

VoL. XVIII JANUARY-APRIL, ro91& Nos. 1-2

PON ANE We SU ΒΞ rebels Oh Omri fhROM
NEBRASKA?

BY MYRON HARMON SWENK

Formerly otters were very common along all of our Nebraska
streams. In the winter of 1819-20 they were found frequently
on the Missouri river and tributary streams near Engineer Can-
tonment (north of Omaha), as reported by Edwin James, the
botanist and geologist of the Major S. H. Long Expedition. At
Fort Kearney, Nebraska, on July 5, 1856, W. S. Wood with
Lieut. F. T. Bryan’s survey party obtained a young female otter
which is now Cat. No. 1877 (skin) and 2575 (skull) of the U. S.
National Museum. Otters were also extensively and persistently
trapped by the early trappers and Indians, and, due to this fact,
they became less and less common year by year until their local
extirpation along the streams in the more settled portions of the
state took place. However, as late as 1880 Aughey stated that
the otter occurred “more or less abundantly” on all of the Ne-
braska rivers.

The last records of their common occurrence in eastern Ne-
braska are in the nineties. A poorly mounted adult with the
skull inaccessible, now in the University Museum, is said to have
been taken on the Missouri river in the early nineties, having
been sent in and mounted by F. J. Brezee. At about the same
time a local trapper secured an otter on Salt Creek at the crossing
of the Rock Island and Missouri Pacific tracks near Sprague,
about fifteen miles south of Lincoln, and a specimen was taken
on the Elkhorn river near West Point, according to Professor L.

1 Publication No. 4 of the Nebraska State Biological Survey.
I

2 Myron Harmon Swenk

Bruner, who further states that in 1891 or 1892 several young
otters were killed by a dog in Holt county, but the old otters were
not seen. In 1897 I learned of an otter being trapped on the
Big Blue river near Beatrice. Reports of otters along the Platte
and Republican rivers in central Nebraska were received subse-
quent to its practical disappearance from the eastern counties.

Since about 1900 the otter has been a rare animal all over the
state. In 1906 the furriers regarded the animal as nearly ex-
tinct in the state, and practically no Nebraska otter skins have
been received at the local fur houses for the past twelve or
fifteen years. In fact, I have heard of only one otter being
taken in the state during that period, and that was along the
Middle Loup river in Thomas county.

In 19087 I referred our Nebraska otters to »~L. c. sonora
(Rhoads), basing this conclusion on the mounted specimen in the
University Museum, because of its large size and pallor, that
being the only Nebraska specimen in any collection in the state
at that time, and, so far as known to me, the only Nebraska speci-
men extant except the young female in the U.S. National Museum
mentioned above. In 1915° I repeated this identification. The
taking of a fine old male otter with a perfect skull in eastern
Nebraska in 1916 reopened the whole question, and a close study
has indicated that the Nebraska animal could not be referred to
sonora because of its short, stout, postorbital processes, nor yet
to typical canadensis because of its larger body size, paleness and
less crowded teeth. I propose, therefore, that the Nebraska otter
be regarded as more or less intermediate, subspecifically distinct
from both under the name

Lutra canadensis interior subsp. nov.

INTERIOR OTTER

Type—tLincoln creek, west of Seward, Seward county, Ne-
braska, June 4, 1916. ¢ old adult. No. 28,728, Collection of
University of California Museum of Vertebrate Zoology.) George
and R. Anderson, collectors. Found deadinthecreek. Very fat.

2A Preliminary Review of the Mammals of Nebraska, Ὁ. 76.
3 Nebraska Blue Book, i, p. 854.

New. Subspecies of Otter from Nebraska 3

| Subspecific Characters—Similar to L. c. canadensis Kerr,* of
northeastern North America, but slightly paler, distinctly larger,
with a proportionately shorter hind foot, proportionately smaller
skull and less crowded teeth; also similar to L. c. lataxina Cuvier,°®
of the central Atlantic coast region, but much larger thruout and
with the inferior webs of the feet more densely haired; also very
close to L. c. sonora Rhoads,® of Arizona, but slightly smaller
and darker, with a much shorter hind foot, and with shorter,
stouter postorbital processes ; paler, especially beneath, with more
densely haired inferior webs, and differing in many cranial char-
acters from L. c. vaga Bangs,’ of Florida and the Gulf Coast
region; larger and differing in important cranial characters from
L. c. pacifica Rhoads,® L. c. periclyzomae Elliot,® and L. c. brevi-
pilosus Grinnell ;#° much larger and with a much stronger and
more ridged skull than L. degener Bangs."

Color—Adult in summer pelage: Above dark reddish brown,
between seal brown and vandyke brown or burnt umber, becom-
ing somewhat paler on the neck because of paler tips to many of
the hairs; under parts paler, the under side of the head below
nostrils, eye and ear, and the under side of the neck below a line
between the ear and the base of the fore leg, wood brown so
heavily overlaid with long, white hairs as to appear whitish, and,
under the ears, white; breast and remainder of under parts
Prout’s brown, decreasingly overlaid with whitish hairs from
breast to belly ; legs and feet above concolorous with upper parts,
below paler, the inferior web of the feet densely haired.

Measurements of Type §—“ Length 53 inches; tail 18 inches ”
(by collector). Measurements of carefully made-up skin: Length,
1270; tail, 488; hind foot, 120; ear, 16.5 (by author).

The general color of L. c. mterior is paler than in typical cana-

4 Linn. An. Kingd., i, p. 173 (1792).

5 Dict. des-Sci. Nat., p. 242 (1823).

6 Bull. Amer. Mus. Nat. Hist., iii, pp. 253-256 (1801).

7 Proc. Bost. Soc. Nat. Hist., xxviii, p. 224 (1808).

8 Trans. Amer. Phil. Soc., xix, pp. 429-431 (1808).

9 Proc. Biol. Soc. Wash., xviii, pp. 80-81 (1905).

10 Univ. California Pubs. Zoology, xii, pp. 306-309 (1914).
11 Proc. Biol. Soc. Wash., xii, p. 35 (1808).

4 Myron Harmon Swenk

densis, being about or nearly as in L. c. lataxina. The upper
parts are nearly vankyke brown, at least anteriorly, instead of
wholly dark seal brown, while the lower parts are Prout’s brown
rather than vankyde brown and the lower head and neck are
much paler, almost white. It is paler than L. c. vaga, also, espe-
cially beneath, agreeing more nearly with the coloration of L. c.
sonora.

L. c. interior 1s one of the larger forms of land otter in general
size, being equaled only by the Arizona subspecies, L. c. sonora,
and the subspecies of Florida and the Gulf Coast, L. c. vaga.
All three of these forms exceed 1,200 mm. in total length in adult
males, a size distinctly larger than the average canadensis, la-
taxina, pacifica and brevipilosus, and much larger than degener
(cf., Rhoads; p. 438). The hind foot is proportionately short,
being no longer, or actually shorter, than in the relatively dis-
tinctly smaller. canadensis. The inferior webs of the feet are
densely haired, as in canadensis and sonora, not thinly haired or
nearly naked as in lataxina, vaga and the Pacific coast forms.

Skull_—Measurements of the type in millimeters: Condylo—
basal length, 112; basilar length of Hensel, 103 ; length from pos-
terior apex of occiput to anterior end of premaxilla, 109; least
width of rostrum, 27 ; zygomatic width, 74.5 ; mastoid width, 66.5 ;
interorbital constriction, 24; expanse of postorbital processes,
35.75 ; postorbital constriction, 21.5; length of postorbital frontal
neck, 14; postpalatal constriction, 13.5; height of brain case at
bullae, 40. :

The skull of the type of L. c. interior corresponds very closely
in size and proportions with the average of New England speci-
mens of L. c. canadensis,” agreeing almost exactly with the meas-
urements of an old adult ¢ skull from Bucksport, Maine, re-
corded by Rhoads (No. 4238, Coll. E. A. and O. Bangs), in spite
of the larger general size of interior, a relation not unlike that
between L. c. brevipilosus and L. c. pacifica. As Rhoads states
for L. c. sonora, the skull is small for the great relative length
of the body. Among the other eastern subspecies, the skull of

12Cf., Allen, Bull. U. S. Geol. and Geog. Surv. Terr., ii, Ὁ. 331, and
Mearns, Bull. Amer. Mus.-Nat. Hist., iii, Ὁ. 253.

New Subspecies of Otter from Nebraska 5

imterior is distinctly larger than that of L. c. lataxina, but smaller
than that of L.c. vaga or L. c. sonora. Of the Pacific coast sub-
species it is smaller than the average L. c. pacifica and L. c. peri-
clygomae and slightly larger than average L. c. brevipilosus.

Aside from its correspondence in size, the skull of interior is
exceedingly like that of typical canadensis in conformation. The
postorbital processes are short and stout as in canadensis and
lataxina, not short and slender as in vaga and degener, nor long
and stout as in pacifica, periclyzomae and brevipilosus, nor long
and slender as in sonora. ‘The audital bullae are large and tumid
as in the several other eastern subspecies, not flattened as in
pacifica and periclyzomae or reduced as in brevipilosus. It dif-
fers from vaga, as do the other forms, in the relatively short and
wide postorbital neck of frontals (which are not suddenly con-
stricted at base), flattish frontal plane and comparatively narrow
mastoid breadth with weakly developed mastoid processes. The
very small, weak, smooth skull of degener differs from imterior
as from typical canadensis. It differs from pacifica and peri-
clyzomae in the much narrower rostrum, as does brevipilosus and
the eastern subspecies. In brief, the skull of interior differs
from that of canadensis only in the somewhat less longitudinally
crowded and less obliquely overlapping teeth, in this respect
agreeing better with the several southern and western subspecies,
except lataxina.

The differences in body and cranial measurements between the
various subspecies of Lutra canadensis may be expressed con-
cretely by the following table of typical measurements of adult
bo (except that the body measurements of brevipilosus are those
of an adult 9).

6 Myron Harmon Swenk
ie Φ | ae
ἘΞ Φ 6 3 -Ξ ΠῚ 3 8 $3 3
aba a eta he Pa ἢ: a
τ Ql Be |) Ses ἘΞ | csi) 2 Sl ἢ see
ΠῚ Og
abe |) Pees) Ss τ - 5 2?
ἘΣ (213 leilez =
a ΕἸ Φ ὦ ral eis 2)
| ©) el fe SS Ξ
L. c. canadensis (E.
A. and O. Bangs,
4188 and 4189) ... 1,168 457 124 112 |76 |69 |26 |38 |22 |Massachusetts
L. c. lataxina (E. A.
and O. Bangs, 3537
and H. H.and C.S.
Brimley, 453)....- 1,I44'445 104 [71 |62 |22 |33 22 |North Carolina
L. c. interior (M. V-
Z. 28728, type)... .|1,270 488|120 ΤΙ2 |74.5|66.5)/24 |35.7\21.5|Nebraska
L. c. sonora (A. M.
N. H. 3712, type). .1,300.472 146 Arizona
L. c. vaga (E. A. and |
O. Bangs, 4998 and
S. N. Rhoads, 1580)|1,285'487/130 ττὸό |79 |76.5|27 |39.5|20.5|Florida ~
L. c. pacifica (S. N.
Rhoads 616, type).| ,117 410 128 |11I5.5 72.5|69 |25 |36.5\20 |Washington
L. c. periclyzomae
(Field Col. Mus.
AG THEY; De) Aaa enn I22 81 40 |20 |British Columbia
L..c. brevipilosus (M.
NENA eOnseraracl
DOT ΣΉ aucun mela ast 1,158447 123.5 100.5. 75.3,67-1|24.9|.. |20 |California
L. degener (E. A. and |
O. Bangs 6965,
CY DE) risen 9981358/115 j101 66 |60 |22 |32.5\19.5|Newfoundland

‘OZIS [PANJVU F[VY-IUO ATIvoU [NYS 9215. [einjeu {Π1π|0Λ9] 9-θ 610. UIY¥S— adc ἢ

ἽῬ 401494 U1 SISUIPDUDI DALWT

Ἵ 31V1d

I] —FURTHER STUDIES IN THE ECOTONE BETWEEN
PRAIRIE AND WOODLAND

BY R. J. POOL, J. HE: WEAVER AND FE. ΟΣ JEAN

A series of intensive investigations of the ecological features of
the tension zone between prairie and woodland in the Mississippi
valley was begun by Weaver and Thiel in 1915. These studies
were continued for two seasons in Minnesota and were also ex-
tended to the prairies of eastern Nebraska in 1916. These inves-
tigations represent the first attempt to attack the prairie-forest
problem on a comprehensive scale by means of the quantitative
methods of modern ecology.

Some of the results secured from these studies have been pub-
lished as the first paper of a series planned to deal with critical
investigations in the ecology of the prairie province. The above
studies were continued and considerably extended in the Ne-
braska area by the authors of the present paper during the year
1017.

The object of the present paper is to record the results and con-
clusions derived from another season’s investigations of some of
the fundamental problems connected with the ecology of the areas
lying within the vegetative borderlands between the prairies and
the woodlands of the Missouri valley in Nebraska. This con-
tribution is a natural sequel to the paper? by Weaver and Thiel
noted in a previous paragraph. : Ἢ

Results are here recorded from our old stations in the prairie
and woodland in the vicinity of Lincoln and also many additional
data and materials are presented from a new series of stations
established in 1917 near Peru, on the Missouri River. It has been
demonstrated that the latter stations exhibit conditions which are

1“ Ecological Studies in the Tension Zone between Prairie and Wood-
land,” J. E. Weaver and A. F. Thiel, The Bot. Surv. Nebr., N. S., No. 1,
1017.

7

2 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

in all cases much more mesophilous than obtain at our correspond-
ing Lincoln stations. Contrasts between the vegetative conditions
characteristic of the two areas are remarkable and ecologically
very significant although the areas are only about 60 miles apart.
These contrasts are clearly shown to be due to striking differences
in both edaphic and climatic factors in the two series of stations.
This paper also contains many experimental data bearing upon
the successional sequence of the various woodland types as com-
monly developed in the region about Peru.

LOCATION OF STATIONS AND DESCRIPTIONS OF PLANT COMMUNITIES

The descriptions of our stations and of the plant communities
prevailing therein have been adequately presented by Weaver and
Thiel in the above publication in so far as they pertain to the
prairie near Lincoln. The situation is quite different, however,
for the woodland habitat at Lincoln and for all of the stations at
Peru. Descriptions of these stations and of the plant communt-
ties concerned are not incorporated in the former paper hence
they must be treated as a portion of the present report. A de-
scription of the woodlands at Lincoln follows immediately, while
that of the various stations at Peru will be found in the latter por-
tion of the paper, which deals in particular with the investiga-
tions in that part of the state.

The station in the woodlands near Lincoln is located in a typical
habitat well within the broad-leaved, fringing forest along Salt
creek about two miles southwest of the city. Salt creek is a
shallow, sluggish stream which drains the broad Lincoln basin,
through which it flows in a generally north or northeasterly direc-
tion until it enters the Platte river near Ashland about 20 miles
northeast of Lincoln.

The soil along the stream is a fine, dark silt-loam, varying in
depth, and in sand and humus content away from the stream
banks to the uplands. There is considerable leaf litter covering
the surface in the higher, denser woods, while in many low-lying
areas practically all surface litter is removed annually during
periods of high water. The surface in such periodically flooded

8

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 3

areas is covered by a layer of very fine silt containing consid-
erable organic matter.

‘The vegetation in general is characteristically that described by
Pound and Clements? under “ The Bur Oak-Elm-Walnut Forma-
tion.” The woodlands in question are, however, not perfectly
typical of this type as the above authors described it for farther
eastward in the state, but they are clearly derived from that “ for-
mation’ as delineated by them. These woodlands exhibit some
of the usual well-known variations of the type as it is seen nearer
the main body of forest along the Missouri river farther to the
eastward. The principal differences most noticeable are a more
open stand and fewer dominant and secondary species as com-
pared with the typical “formation” in its optimum expression.
This vegetation is fairly typical of areas found as tongues of
woods following up the numerous stream courses from the Mis-
souri river in eastern Nebraska. More or less similar communi-
ties may be seen along such streams as Weeping Water creek and
the Nemaha river. Such belts of timber vary from a few rods
in width to a mile or more wide along their easternmost limits
where they merge insensibly into the main body of timber on the
Missouri river bluffs and along the valleys to complete disap-
pearance at the headwaters of the streams far back in the prairies.
Frequently the trees are found only in the immediate proximity
of the streams. Such linear belts of woods are clearly the fin-
gered extensions of the great main broadleaf forest complex
whose center lies in the Ohio valley.

The most striking floristic contrast among the dominant species
of the Salt creek woods as compared with those farther east-
ward in the state, as at Peru, is seen in the absence of Quercus
rubra and Hicoria ovata which Pound and Clements included
among the dominants of their “ Red Oak-Hickory formation” so
well developed in southeastern Nebraska. The red oak-hickory
formation is not represented at all in the woods about Lincoln.
Bur oak, Quercus macrocarpa, and the Bitternut hickory, Hicoria
minima, are the only representatives of those important genera

2 Phytogeography of Nebraska. 1808.
9

4 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

Ficure 1. The location of the woodland station at Lincoln.

which have migrated this far westward from the main body of

broadleaved forest farther southeastward, as about Peru.
Numerous species of eastern trees, shrubs and herbs that are

common a few miles farther east are also missing from the wood-

10

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 5

lands along Salt creek at Lincoln. This fact serves to intensify
the floral contrast all the more as we compare the two areas in-
cluded in these studies. |
Besides the common oaks and hickories the following are
among the more conspicuous ligneous species absent from the
Lincoln woodlands: Amelanchier canadensis, Aesculus glabra,
Asimina triloba, Cercis canadensis, Crataegus mollis, Prunus sero-

Ficure 2. The location of the sumac station at Lincoln.

tina, Tilia americana, Ostrya virginiana, Xanthoxylum amer-
icanum and Corylus americana. The absence of such species as
these means that the woody plants that have succeeded in invad-
ing this more xerophilous area have assumed a more decidedly
dominant rank than is the regular feature of their distribution in
the woodlands along the Missouri. Hence Quercus macrocarpa,
Fraxinus pennsylvanica, Ulmus fulva, Celtis occidentalis, Acer
negundo, Acer saccharinum, and Juglans nigra have become the
decidedly dominant forms along Salt Creek. Associated with
these trees are the infrequent and unusually widely scattered

II

6 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

individuals of Gymnocladus dioicus, Hicoria minima, Juniperus
virginiana, Ulmus americana, Gleditsia triacanthos, and Salix
nigra. The juniper is very rarely noted.

The individuals of the dominant species as well as of the sec-
ondary species range in diameter from four to twenty-four inches
and in height from twenty to forty feet. The trees are usually
much branched and the crowns tend to become bushy and widely
spreading because of the relatively open nature of the woods.
The light intensity beneath the trees as determined by the Clem-
ents actinometer ranges from 0.112 to 0.058, a fact which quite
clearly pictures the relative openness of the stand.

The ground cover is poorly developed in so far as shrubs are
concerned but is rich in perennial herbs. Προς missouriensis
and Symphoricarpos symphoricarpos are the only conspicuous
shrubs although occasional individuals of Cornus asperifolia and
patches of Prunus americana and Sambucus canadensis are seen
in the more open places or along the border of the woods. The
wild grape, Vitis vulpina, Smilax hispida, and Celastrus scandens
are infrequent vines. :

The principal herbaceous species are as follows:

Geum canadense (f£)* Fragaria virginiana (1)
Viola papilionacea (va) Arisaema triphyllum (1)
Elymus virginicus (a) Eupatorium ageratoides (1)
Oxalis corniculata (i) Sanicula marylandica (1)
Erythromum albidum (va) Impatiens biflora (1)

Poa pratensis (va) Teucrium canadense (r)
Ranunculus abortivus (1) Aster salicifolius (1)
Muhlenbergia tenuiflora (a) V erbesina alternifolia (f)
Urtica dioica (1) Urticastrum divaricatum (£)
Eragrostis hypnoides (1) Viola rafinesquii (i)
Agastache nepetoides (1) Parietaria pennsylvanica (f)
Bicuculla cucullaria (τ) Galium aparine (f£)

Characteristic dense communities of Ambrosia trifida, Polyg-
onum pennsylvanmicum and Mentha canadensis are frequently
noted in moist depressions or flattish, more or less marshy areas
close to the stream.

* va very abundant, a=abundant, f=frequent, i=infrequent, r=rare.

12

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 7

SOIL MOISTURE

Soil samples for moisture content determination were taken at
stations in the above woodland area and also in the regular sta-
tions in the prairie and thicket areas as previously described by
Weaver and Thiel. The usual technique was followed in secur-
ing these samples, in drying them in electric ovens and in com-
puting the percentage of moisture present. The samples were
always taken in duplicate, or in triplicate and the average per-
centage obtained in this manner was used as the water content for
each class. The depth classes were 0-6 in., 6-12 in., 12-24 in.,
24-36 in., 36-48 in. and 48-60 in. Samples were taken at these
depths in all of the stations and at frequent intervals, although
the deeper series were taken only at monthly intervals beginning
in April and ending in September. Samples were taken at cer-
tain depths as often as once a week. Weather conditions fre-
quently interrupt any set program for soil sampling routine.

The salient features of soil moisture conditions at the various
depths in the above woodland habitat, in the sumac thicket on the
prairie, and in the typical prairie station at Lincoln (the latter
two stations previously described by Weaver and Thiel) for the
vegetative season of April to September, 1917, may be readily
portrayed by a series of graphs. These graphs indicate at a
glance the fluctuations in water content for each depth and sta-
tion and also the march of soil moisture for the whole season.

Figure 3 shows the moisture conditions of the soil at the wood-
land station for the 0-6 in., 6-12 in., and 12-24 in. depth classes.
The horizontal lines in the figure represent the wilting coef-
ficients for the soil at 0-12 in. and 12-24 in., the lower line being
that for the second foot of soil. It will be noted that the per-
centage of moisture in the second foot of the woodland soil was
considerably lower than that in the first foot throughout the sea-
son of 1917. Also that the wilting coefficient was reached for
only a brief period during the latter part of July and continuing
into the fore part of August for the second foot. This period
coincides fairly closely with the maturation of the greater num-
ber of species whose root systems probably secure water supplies
from the upper two feet of soil. The fluctuations of soil moisture

13

ὃ The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

at this station for the 3-4 ft. and 4-5 ft. classes are not shown in
this figure but it may be stated in general that the water content

JULY _|AUCUST

Ficure 3. Soil moisture at 0-6 in., 6-12 in., and 12-24 in. at the woodland
station, Lincoln, 1917.

at those levels was still lower than that in the second foot as indi-
cated in the graph. For instance, the maximum for the fourth

14

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 9

foot was 15.7 per cent. on June 19 and the minimum at the same
level was 9.8 per cent. on April 2. The percentages of available

ΓΑ ΒΙΕΕΣ τ

SHOWING THE PER CENT. oF AVAILABLE 5011, MoIsTURE IN THE PRAIRIE AND
WoopDLAND STATIONS AT VARIOUS DEPTHS DURING THE SEASON
OF 1917, AT LINCOLN

Wilting Coef...... 13.4 16.6 13.4 16.6 I5.4 13.4 I4.5 12.6 16.1 1τ.4
Sf Pe Be | Soe ee eae
SRAGION, οοῦσο 0c | Ξ oF} 2 Ξ Ξ "eI 3 Ξ 9
a, = δ Ξ a, = a = εἰ Ξ
Depthpeesessenstcs o-6 in 6-12 in 1-2 ft 2-3 ft 3-4 ft
AN rile τ A.3| 19.1 AB) WOs8 || —B0) =U © | — 49) ust || —BO)| Ξ 25
IMIEHY Be sageace 9.4 13.9 6.7| 14.9 2.2] I1.5 |—1.4
{UNS TOs 5 be oo 4.0) τι.4 το.8ὃ eS 8.1 Fol 8.4 4.9 6.1 8.1
AGU by: Cyera esr —1.9 eu 2.0) 10.9
Vik TO. ooo 6 46 —1.7 7.9 0.7 0.8 Boal 25 1.8 0.6
Ἵν 2-0 5 be —3.1 2.5 |—1.7| —1.3
MWK BOs 6 ooav ΘΙ, SOA, | Boal 14 | =4lO], O28
ΠΡ ΞΘ Os 5 oo oo τὸ 16.9 |—1.3 5.0 |—2.0] —1.2
August 13..... 7.0| 19.5 0.5 5.0 |—3.2] 15.1
August 28..... 2.1 Foil 1.7 340) || Boat 3.6 |—1.3| 11.8 |—4.5 3.9
ANB ΞΕ; 2

SHOWING THE ToTAL WATER CONTENT OF THE SOIL IN THE PRAIRIE AND
WooDLAND STATIONS AT VARIOUS DEPTHS IN 1917, AT LINCOLN

Qs Oty iees Oo | (ἢ 2 | ὦ e| 2 Oh
Station = | ὃ Ξ 3) Ξ ° Ξ 3 Ξ 5 Ἑ 3
ee is] Ὁ στ ο Gs} {o) i.) lo} i} ο if fo}

I he - “- ΕΗ -
Αι = a Ξ ev = a ἘΞ ay Ξ a =

ABUL Ds ΠΗ BR ΤΠ UH} |] 128, Γ2 1 || WA)
May 5...|28.8] 40.5 | 20.1] 31.5 | 17.6] 24.9 | 13.3
ΠΕ TO 5) 23.9 BIO 2522, BRC) | BRS) 21 | BHC) Τὴν 222) ΤῸ 5 207) aja
July 92... |15.5| 24.3 τῆ 27.5 |
July Os ΠῚ Bao | WA W/o πΠ UFO. || LOB) wR
Twihy GBs 55 | WO) ΤΟ | wil WRB
Tigh? BOxvrs|| Boil) WOM | wins was ΤΠ, Π2: Ὁ
ANE Ooo | USO! 595 |) woul) BU [15] 19:9
Aug. 13. .|20.4) 36.1 | 13.9) 31.6 | 12.2) 28.3
AND BS o\5 |S ἢ BBP | WHat) BOL |) BB) ΠΟ || Wl) BAA || wee) ἸΡ 59. [las] ΤΟ:

Depth. . o-6 in, 6-12 in. 1-2 ft. 2-3 ft. 3-4 ft. 4-5 ft.
|
|
|

soil moisture for the prairie and woodland sites at all depths are
shown in table τ. The total water contents are shown in table 2.

15

10 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

Considerable fluctuation in water content in the first foot of
soil during July at this station is explained by frequent local
showers. ‘The effect of such precipitation is, however, seldom
felt by the lower soil layers.

DUNE [JULY [AUGUST

Figure 4. Soil moisture at o-6 in, 6-12 in., and 12-24 in. at the sumac
station, Lincoln, 1917.

Figure 4 indicates the soil moisture conditions which prevailed
in the sumac thicket on the prairie during the season of 1917.
The most significant fact revealed by these graphs is that there
was no available moisture in the upper two feet of the soil for
considerable periods during the latter part of the growing season
and that there was considerable fluctuation of the water content

16

Studies in Prairie and Woodland II

of the first foot in July because of local showers. By comparing
this graph with figure 22 of Weaver and Thiel, it will be seen
that the sumac station was characterized by considerably less
available water in the upper layers of soil during the season of
1917 than in 1916. However, there was an abundance of mois-
ture at the lower depths in the sumac thicket throughout the sum-
mer, ranging from a minimum at 4-5 feet of 21.0 per cent. toa
maximum of 27.0 per cent. for the same level. This is a sig-
nificant fact in connection with the possibility of colonization of
such stations by the deeper rooted shrubs and later, by trees. The
ecological position and possibilities of the sumac thicket as com-
pared with adjacent prairie habitats in so far as soil moisture is
concerned is strikingly illustrated by the fact that the water con-
tent of the 4-5 ft. level in the prairie was barely one half that of
the same depth in the sumac. And, furthermore, it was found
that this contrast in the two sites continued throughout the vege-
tative season. These facts are of utmost importance when con-
sidering the possibility of the invasion of the prairie by any but
the most deeply rooted species and consequently also when con-
sidering the successional relations involved.

Figure 5 portrays the march of soil moisture in the prairie
station at depths of 0-6 in., 6-12 in., and 12-24 in. from April to
September, 1917. The horizontal lines represent the wilting co-
efficient, the upper being that for the 12~24 in. layer and the lower
that for the o-12 in. layer.

The rapid depletion of soil moisture from about June 15 until
late in August is the striking feature of the conditions which
this graph represents. Available soil moisture was completely ex-
hausted by late June or early July and the depression of the mois-
ture content continued rapidly until late July. The wilting co-
efficient was not again exceeded until August 7 for the 0-6 in.
level and August 28 for the 6-12 in. level. The moisture content
in the second foot of soil was still below the wilting coefficient at
the close of August. Thus during practically the entire latter
half of the vegetative period very little or no soil moisture was
available for those plants whose root systems are confined to the
upper two feet of the soil. Determinations which are not re-

17

12 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

corded on the graph show also that there was little moisture avail-
able at the 3-4 ft. and 4-5 ft. levels in this prairie station.

On the whole our data indicate that the prairie was a consider-
ably drier habitat, in so far as soil moisture is concerned, during
the summer of 1917 than in 1916. The after-summer period was

Figure 5. Soil moisture at 0-6 in., 6-12 in., 12-24 in. in the prairie station,
Lincoln, 1917.

particularly dry in all three of the stations and this condition was
strikingly indicated by the relatively early maturation of aestival
and serotinal species, especially upon the prairie.

Figure 6 shows the march of soil moisture at the 0-6 in. depth
in all three of the stations for 1917. The wilting coefficients of
the soils for the different stations are indicated by the horizontal
lines. The xerophytism of the prairies is nicely illustrated in this

18

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 13

JULY JAucusT |

Ficur—E 6. The march of soil moisture in the three stations at Lincoln
1917, at 0-6 inches.

᾽

19

14 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

[5995] APRIL J may JUNE JT yuty [AvcusT |

Ficure 7. The march of soil moisture in the three stations at Lincoln,
IQ17, at 6-12 inches.

contrasty graph as compared to the conditions existing in the
woodland habitat and even in the small sumac thicket completely
circumscribed by the prairie.
The march of soil moisture at 6-12 in. for the three stations is
20

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 15

contrasted in figure 7 in which the xerophilous nature of the
prairie soil is again conspicuous.

In figure 8 the range of moisture content for the three stations
at a depth of 12~24 inches indicates that at this depth there is not
so great a divergence as in the shallower levels. Even at this depth,
however, the prairie is still the driest habitat. Determinations at
still lower levels, as 3-4 ft. and 4—5 ft. show that this relation still

of APRIL

Ficure 8. The march of soil moisture in the three stations at Lincoln,
1017, at 12-24 inches.

holds true and that in general there is a more rapidly diminishing
water residue in prairie soils at depths of 4 and 5 ft. than in either
of the two other stations under investigation.

These soil moisture studies, now covering three entire seasons
of vegetational activity, abundantly prove the importance of 591]
moisture as a factor in plant succession as between prairies on
one hand and forest on the other. All of the data from the three
summers’ work are in agreement in that the percentages of avail-

21

16 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

able moisture in the various plant communities vary directly
with the order of those communities in succession. Long periods
during which there is a deficiency of available moisture in the
upper two or three feet of prairie soil are efficient barriers in the
way of a general invasion of prairies by trees in the absence of
the usual intermediary and ameliorating successional stages.
Even an infrequent depletion of soil moisture at the depths from
which trees obtain their water supplies is a factor powerfully op-
posing the success of forest growth in a prairie soil and climate.

The severe winter droughts of 1916-17 and 1917-18 and the
extensive winter killing resulting therefrom throughout the cen-
tral portion of the prairie province are particularly illuminating
in this connection especially in view of the fact that the deep-
rooted perennials so characteristic of our prairie associations
were not noticeably affected by those exceedingly xerophilous
periods. Such extreme limits of environmental factors are likely
to prove peculiarly fatal to vegetation not possessed of the full
complement of anatomical and physiological peculiarities neces-
sary to cope with these extremes.

SOIL TEMPERATURE

Soil temperature is probably an important factor in the develop-
ment of vegetation in the prairies, especially during the earlier
ecesic phenomena. The precise role performed by soil temper-
ature in ecology will not be clearly understood until much more
investigation has been conducted with reference to that par-
ticular factor. However, it is doubtless safe to state that the
temperature of the soil, especially at the surface, is actually the
determining factor in the failure or success of many very young
seedlings, and it may, indeed, inhibit germination itself. This is
particularly true in the case of arid and semi-arid habitats. The
period during which soil temperature extremes may prove fatal
to the establishment of plants in the field, and the relative resist-
ance of species to soil temperature extremes are problems that
should be investigated in connection with all studies of succession.

Soil thermographs were operated continuously at the prairie

22

17

Studies in Prairie and Woodland

ἽΖΙΟΙ 10 wOseas 9111 SUlINp UpOoUIT 18 Ξ511011815
puejpoom pur 911Π|014 oy} ut 59.901 z Jo yydap 8 18 91Π7]8196π|92 [IOS FO 5Ρ1099.1 APYooM pPopIJoG “6 aNNSTY

18 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

and woodland stations throughout the vegetative season of 1917,
beginning early in April and closing in September. Figure 9
shows the weekly march of soil temperature at a depth of 2
inches in the prairie and woodland for selected weeks during the
months of April, May, June, July and August. The depth of
2 inches was selected because it was thought that temperature
conditions within that portion of the soil are particularly impor-
tant and significant as related to germination and ecesis and con-
sequently to the whole problem of succession. Sufficient equip-
ment was not at hand to enable us to secure temperature data for
other depth classes simultaneously with these secured at a depth
of 2 inches.

The curves in figure 9 show a number of interesting facts about
the soil temperature in our two extreme stations. The curves are
direct copies of the graphs traced by the thermograph pens upon
the record sheets for the weeks ending on the dates indicated.
The only change that was allowed in making such transcripts was
a slight rounding-off of the original graphs to make somewhat
smoother curves. This method does not affect the value of the
transposed graphs in any significant manner because those ir-
regularities were merely sharp angular fluctuations with only
slight amplitude, such as may be caused by cloudiness.

The general and gradual rise of temperature in the two stations
is nicely demonstrated by the graphs. The lower graph in all
cases is that from the woodland station, the upper one is from the
prairie. A striking difference in the amplitude of the two curves
is noted after the month of May, the daily extremes being much
farther apart at the prairie station, as might be expected. Dur-
ing the month of April the amplitude of the two curves is prac-
tically the same, even during the last three days of the month
when the sky was generally clouded, but all through the month
the temperature in the woods was approximately ten degrees
lower than that in the prairie. The soil of the prairie warms up
much sooner than that in the woods, but the rate of change is
about the same during this vernal period.

The most nearly coincident range of temperature in the two
habitats is seen in May as illustrated by the curves for the week

24

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 19

ending May 18. The difference between the two curves is slightly
in excess of ten degrees, but the daily fluctuations of the two
curves are practically of the same amplitude, the two being in
general, of course, higher than in April. This interesting corre-
lation is probably due to the fact that at that time the trees and
other species in the woods were not yet leaved out sufficiently to
shade the soil to any great extent. The soil in the woods was
exposed to nearly full insolation during mid-day almost as in the
prairie, but the period of maximum temperature occurs at a
slightly earlier time of day and does not last quite so long as in
the prairie.

The curves for the week ending on June 18 show some very
striking differences as compared for the week in May. In the
first place both curves show the expected elevation, being on the
average about ten degrees higher than the respective curves in
the middle of May. But the June curves exhibit a great dif-
ference in amplitude or fluctuation. The curve from the woods
is almost flat, due to the fact that the soil was completely shaded
and although the temperature is considerably higher the fluc-
tuations from day to day and from day to night are relatively
slight. The curve from the prairie, on the other hand, shows
great diurnal and nocturnal variations. These conditions con-
tinue into July, but with the temperature in the woodland soil
approaching more nearly that of the prairie. During the week
ending July 16 the nocturnal minima shown by the two curves
very nearly coincided, but the maxima were still far apart due to
obvious reasons. The soil temperature at the woodland station
remained about the same in August as it was in July varying
through only about five degrees about 70° from day to day, but
the soil temperature at the prairie station reached a point nearly
ten degrees higher than in July with about the same daily fluc-
tuation.

The most significant features exhibited by the march of soil
temperature at a depth of 2 in. for the entire season in the two
sites are the greater amplitude and the higher extremes of tem-
perature in the prairie station. The graphs clearly portray the
temperature relations surrounding germination or other growth

25

20 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

phenomena in the first two inches of soil in the two habitats. The
high temperature of the soil and its fluctuations coupled with a
relatively high saturation deficit of the air, and these two condi-
tions frequently coincident with a deficiency of soil moisture in
the first 2 inches clearly present a difficult situation for the van-
guard of invaders to solve. A frequently fluctuating soil tem-
perature coupled with occasional, dangerously high extremes are
probably of considerable significance in determining the direction
of succession as has been indicated by Weaver’s investigations in
Washington.’

EVAPORATION

Studies of the evaporating power of the air at the various sta-
tions were also continued in connection with the quantitative
determination of the other environmental factors. It has already
been conclusively shown by Weaver and others that evaporation
plays a very important role in the determination of the course of
succession and in the composition of plant communities. The
data herewith presented still further support and corroborate the
conclusions drawn from earlier investigations in this regard.

The data on evaporation were secured by the now well-known
Livingston porous-cup atmometer method. Standardized cylin-
drical cups were used and these were fitted to containers both
with and without the greatly improved rain-correcting type of
apparatus. Thus the cups were run in duplicate, but everything
surrounding the work pointed conclusively to the greater re-
liability of the data secured from the rain-correcting instruments
and so these are the only data considered in this discussion. The
authors feel that data secured by means of the older type of ap-
paratus without the rain-correcting features are at best poor ap-
proximations of the actual evaporating power of the air in the
habitats in question. The rain-correcting instrument should cer-
tainly be used in all investigative work of this sort. All other
apparatus for the study of evaporation based upon the principle
of the porous-cup should be abandoned for investigative work.

38“ A Study of the Vegetation of Southeastern Washington and Adjacent
Idaho,” J. E. Weaver, Univ. Nebr. Studies, XVII., No. 1, 1917.

26

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 21

Readings were made and the water replenished from time to
time according to the best technique which has now become so
neatly standardized as to require no detailed description here.
Suffice it to say that the data here considered are all from stand-
ardized rain-correcting instruments to which the proper correc-
tions have been applied. The porous cups were run for periods
of 5-6 weeks after which they were replaced by newly stand-
ardized cups and the whole apparatus cleaned and started afresh.

The graphs on evaporation have been drawn by first computing
the average water loss in cubic centimeters per day between the
successive readings and then these data are plotted as the ordi-
nates while the intervals between the readings are indicated by
the abscissae. This method facilitates the comparison of evap-
oration quantities from the various stations and it also depicts in
a graphic manner the march of evaporation for each of the re-
spective stations throughout the season.

Some striking facts are disclosed by a comparison of ite IQ17
evaporation graphs with those for the 1916 season. In the first
place it is seen that the season of 1917 was marked by a very
much higher evaporation rate which began in early spring and
continued practically throughout the summer. The maximum
evaporation in the prairie station in 1916 came during the latter
portion of July and the fore part of August when the extreme of
43 c.c. was reached. The next highest figure was late in May
when the evaporation was slightly above 25 c.c. In comparison
with these figures we see that the highest maximum for the season
of 1917 was 47 c.c. (Fig. 10) and this occurred the latter part of
April. But there were also three other secondary maxima, one of
43 c.c. during May, another in the middle of June of 39 c.c. and
another near the close of July of 35 c.c. All of these are high as
compared with the evaporation rates for the season of 1916.
Correspondingly higher evaporation rates were also recorded for
the thicket and woodland stations in 1917 as is readily noted by
comparing the march of evaporation in those two stations as de-
picted in the two sets of graphs.

Our data concerning the evaporating power of the air thus in-
dicate that aerial conditions in all of our stations were very much

27

The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

22

dy} 101 ujooury 18 511011815 purjpoom pur

‘euins

“L161 JO uoseds

6

atireid 911 Ul woTyerodeAa 10

yoIew jeuosevas 911 ΟΙ aN

09

VW___[| dd vf99

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 23

more xerophilous during the summer of 1917 than in 1916. But
nevertheless they also indicate a close correlation between the
evaporating power of the air and the stage in the succession.
This relation was even more emphatically demonstrated in 1917
than in 1916.

Our data for 1917 also corroborate in an interesting and con-
clusive degree the really quite close approach of the conditions in
the Rhus thicket to the mesophilous conditions of the woodland,
a fact that appeared during our 1916 studies. This is particularly
significant when we remember that the Rhus thicket is but a very
small area on a southwest slope and completely surrounded by
typical prairie, the xerophilous conditions of which have been
already pointed out.

The course of evaporation upon the prairie during the season
of 1917 doubtless indicates some of the peculiarly trying condi-
tions experienced by the propagules of shrubs and trees, and in
fact of whatever plants may have found their way there, in be-
coming established in such a habitat which, at best, is a real test
of the amplitude of physiological response possessed by the plants
in question. The relations of these extreme conditions of the
prairie to the possibility of tree establishment have been investi-
gated by a series of studies conducted in 1917, the results of
which will appear in another paper.

The monthly recurrence of relatively high evaporation maxima
recorded for the season of 1917, especially during the physiolog-
ically important fore-summer, are doubtless of great significance
in the maintenance of the typical xerophily of the prairies. If
such seasons occur in fairly close succession we have much added
light upon the reasons for the very slow invasion of prairie by
woodland species. Such would also go far toward showing why
trees probably never become directly established upon the prairies.
Because of these and other important relations we ought to secure
data to show the march of evaporation for a long period of years
in such stations as we have established.

29

24 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

HUMIDITY AND TEMPERATURE

In the first paper in this series Weaver and Thiel have shown
how relatively low humidities, high temperatures, and high wind
velocities contribute to maintaining the higher evaporating power
of the air in the prairie as compared to that in the thicket and
woodland station.

The general trend of evaporation in the three stations was con-
siderably higher during the season of 1917 than in 1916, as has
already been noted. This difference is significant as to the rela-
tive dryness of the air for the several stations and for the two
seasons because in 1917 the atmometers were run at a lower level
than in 1916. The porous, evaporating surfaces were more or
less protected by the surrounding vegetation from the full effect
of the wind. This was particularly true, of course, for the
prairie station.

An examination of our humidity-temperature records reveals
the fact that the minimum humidities recorded in the prairie are
almost without exception lower than those in the shrub or wood-
land stations. The minimum humidity in the prairie and shrub
communities approached each other rather closely on a number
of days during the early part of the summer, but these were infre-
quent and for only relatively brief periods. These facts are
shown on the graphs for the week of April 25, and they are in
general true only for that period of spring and early summer
before the plants of the shrub habitat have developed their full
foliage density. Other series of records show considerable dif-
ferences in the minimum humidities of the three stations, and
these are to be taken as illustrative of the greater portion of the
growing season. But naturally the relatively low minimum
humidity of the shrub community during the physiologically im-
portant fore-summer may be very significant as contributing to
the difficulties of ecesis therein. A period of low relative humid-
ity of late May, 1917, was reflected in a striking manner by a
great increase in evaporation in all of the stations.

- For a very short period during the driest time of the day the
humidity in the shrub station was occasionally slightly lower than
that for the same day in the prairie, but as in 1916, such minima

30

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 25

were recorded for a considerably shorter period of time in the
sumac thicket than in the prairie. Even under these brief periods
of greatest stress some of the more typical mesophytes in the
thicket were noticeably wilted. The duration of the periods of
stress was so short, however, that no permanent injury resulted
to the vegetation of the thicket. As Weaver and Thiel have al-
ready pointed out it is the humidity-time relation that is critical
here, 1.6., the minimum humidity multiplied by the time of dura-
tion of that minimum. This renders the true physiological cri-
terion for the air-drought of a plant habitat.

The same relations also hold for the temperature conditions in
our series of stations. The mean weekly temperatures computed
upon the weekly maximum and minimum temperatures are un-
safe in yielding a true criterion of temperature as an ecological
factor. The maximum temperature for the shrub community
may be, and actually was, sometimes slightly above that for the
prairie station, but the duration of the maximum temperatures in
the shrub was nearly uniformly less than that in the prairie.
Frequently, even when there was considerable difference in the
maximum temperatures in the prairie and shrub communities, the
prairie maximum was sustained for a considerably longer period.

A point of considerable interest comes from a comparative ex-
amination of all of the hygrothermograph’ records for the three
stations for the entire season. This may not be, probably is not,
significant ecologically, and it may be due to poor technique in
the operation of the instruments, but we speak of it at this point.
The reference is to the fact that our hygrothermographs fre-
‘ quently recorded the highest maximum humidity for certain days
at the station in the high prairie and the lowest maximum in the
woodland. Also during some periods of several days duration
the night air of the prairie was recorded as containing several
per cent. more moisture than was present in the shrub or in the
woodland; or the air in the shrub may be more moist at night
than that of the prairie, but very much more moist than that of
the woods. Rather frequently also the minimum temperature for
corresponding days was lower in the prairie than in the shrub com-
munity. These points are shown in the records for several days.

31

26 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

During the mid-summer weeks the maximum humidities were re-
corded as a rule between 2 o’clock and 4 o’clock a.m.

One would be inclined to interpret such records as these to
mean that upon frequent occasions during the night combined in-
fluences of habitat conditions produce a higher relative humidity
in the habitat that is naturally the most xerophilous. As to the
cause of this interesting feature of our records we can scarcely
guess at present in the absence of extensive data from a careful
investigation of that particular point. Possibly the prairie com-
munity transpires more moisture at night than the shrub or
woodland communities. If that is true then one can readily under-
stand why the hygrometer should read higher in the prairie, espe-
cially during a still night, than in the other habitats. It may be
pointed out in connection with this matter that as a rule there is
usually much more dew in evidence in grassland vegetation than
in forest or shrub vegetation in our climate. However, knowing
full well of the unreliability of the common types of hygrometers
especially with the higher humidities, we are not inclined to place
too much confidence in the value of these particular data unless
perhaps the readings should be checked hourly during the night.
The whole matter may simply represent a trick of the instrument.
Nevertheless there is need for a careful investigation of the whole
problem of the relative water loss from these types of vegetation
and the conditions which determine the same during the night.

STUDIES IN SUBCLIMAX PRAIRIE, SCRUB, AND FOREST NEAR PERU

Considerable quantitative evidence has already been given by
one of us (Weaver, 1919*) to show that the prairies of south-
eastern Nebraska, particularly about Nebraska City and Peru,
are subclimax in nature. This is indicated in a number of
ways. Although the floristic composition in general is very sim-
ilar to the prairies at the stations already described, yet a number
of herbaceous, half-shrubby and shrubby species which are ele-
ments proper to the woodland flora, occur here only or at least
occur much more abundantly than in the prairies westward.
Moreover, the actually more favorable climatic complex for plant

£“The Ecological Relations of Roots,’ Carnegie Inst. Wash. Pub. 286, 1919.

32

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 27

growth at Peru is shown in the much more luxuriant develop-
ment of many of the prairie species growing at both of our prairie
stations. For example, at Peru Andropogon furcatus extends to
the very crests of the steepest ridges where it grows to a height
of 5 or 6 feet, while its roots extend to a depth of over 9 feet into
the moist loess soil. The excellent growth made by other prairie
species even upon the drier ridges indicates conditions very
favorable for chaparral growth, and indeed, thickets of Corylus
americana, Rhus glabra, and Symphoricarpos spp. are very fre-
quent in the grassland. Nor is it uncommon to find the seedlings
of elm and oak near the edges of these thickets. Except for fires,
grazing or other disturbance much of this subclimax grassland
would undoubtedly pass through a scrub stage in succession and
culminate in forest while still other extensive areas would prob-
ably remain covered with chaparral. It will be shown that habitat
conditions are actually much less xerophilous as regards both
moisture of the air and soil than at the Lincoln station. While
the precipitation at Lincoln is only 28 inches, that at Peru is 34
inches.

While the flood plain forest station at Lincoln represents, as
already pointed out, the “bur oak-elm-walnut formation” of
Clements and Pound, the forests about Peru are of the more
mesophytic “red oak-hickory type.” Quercus rubra, Hicoria
ovata, Ulmus americana, Fraxinus lanceolata, Juglans nigra and
Tilia americana are all dominants in the best developed forests,
although many other trees play important roles in the various
stages of succession. Among those occupying the drier soils and
with the chaparral, under favorable conditions gradually en-
croaching upon the prairie, are such species as Quercus macro-
carpa and Quercus velutina. On the other extreme, such species
as Platanus occidentalis, Gleditsia triacanthos and Gymnocladus
dioicus occupy the rich moist soils of the ravines as well as the
slopes of the bluffs. Indeed a large number of eastern trees of
considerable frequence but limited abundance are striking fea-
tures of these rich woodlands. Many of these, having entered the
state from the southeast along the Missouri, soon reach their
westward limit and drop out as one proceeds northward or west-

99

28 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

ward. Even the dominant red oak and shell-bark hickory lose
their importance near the mouth of the Platte and are replaced by
the bur oak-elm-walnut type.

In contrast to the open forest canopy with its development of
layers of vegetation as found at the Salt creek station, the forest
types at Peru in general and in the better developed red oak-
hickory associes or linden consocies in particular, present a very
distinct difference. Here the trees stand closer together with tall
straight trunks and rather narrow compact tops. The crowns
normally touch each other thus giving continuous shade beneath.
Not only are the dominants better developed, reaching greater
heights and much greater trunk diameters than the dominants
along Salt creek at Lincoln, but where the latter occur as sec-
ondary species in the forest about Peru they respond to the more
favorable enyironmental conditions by a much more sturdy
growth. .

Owing to low light intensities the secondary layer of small trees
and shrubs is never well-developed in this woodland. Asimina
triloba, Euonymus atropurpureus, Rhamnus lanceolata, Staphy-
lea trifoliata, Cornus asperifolia with Cercis canadensis are the
most important species. They occur frequently but seldom very
abundantly. In the more open bur oak-black oak forests, and
especially on the forest borders, they find greater expression and
together with certain other species frequently are components of
thickets or extensive bushland. However, the chief components |
of the latter are usually Corylus americana, Xanthoxylum amer-
icanum (both of which are less xerophytic than the following and
consequently do not reach the Lincoln station) Rhus glabra,
Symphoricarpos symphoricarpos, Prunus americana and Prunus
virgimiana. ἢ
_ Thus the woodland proper, whether occupying the lowlands
and steep bluffs along the Missouri river or following one of its
many tributaries far into the prairie region, but always with a
decreasing number of both species and individuals, is usually
separated from the grassland by a bordering fringe or zone of
chaparral. ‘This may be composed almost wholly of a single

34

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 29

species forming a socies or it may be represented by a mictium
of several species.

Certain other species of low shrubs such as Ribes gracile,
Rubus strigosus, and Ribes occidentalis together with various
lianas such as Smilax hispida, Rhus toxicodendron and Clematis
virginiana are more or less regular components of the more open
forests and often occur abundantly in the scrub mictium. How-
ever, it would take us quite beyond the limits of this paper to give
a thorough floristic description of the very interesting and diverse
developmental vegetational complex found in this portion of our
state. Details of the structure of the vegetation at each station
will be shown by means of quadrats and transects. Therefore,
suffice it to say that the mesophytism of these forests and their
approach to the more typical Ohio-Missouri parent complex is
indicated by the growth in the herbaceous layer of such species as
Podophyllum peltatum, Impatiens biflora, Sanguinaria canadensis,
Orchis spectabilis, Trillium nivale, and Claytonia virginica.

LOCATION AND DESCRIPTION OF STATIONS

In the spring of 1917 a station was selected in the prairie about
half way up a rather steep hillside and on a slope somewhat east
of south, figure 11. A second station was located in the Corylus
thicket which occupied the north and west slopes of the same hill.
A third station was chosen on a typically wooded north slope at
a distance of about one and one-half miles from the prairie and
shrub stations. This last station was in the linden forest,
figure 12.

At each station frequent soil moisture determinations were
made, some to a depth of 5 feet, while a continuous record of
the evaporating power of the air was obtained throughout the
growing season. Also certain other factor determinations to-
gether with a careful study of the structure of the vegetation
were made.

The prairie vegetation previous to these investigations had not
been disturbed for several years either by fires, mowing or by
grazing. But early in the spring of 1917 a prairie fire swept over
the hillside burning off the grasses and herbaceous vegetation and

35

30 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

killing back many of the shrubs, especially Rhus glabra which
was encroaching upon the grassland from the shelter of the more
moist ravines and protected slopes. The dominance of Andro-
pogon scoparius and the general structure of the prairie vegeta-
tion is shown in the following list quadrats carefully selected near
the station and listed in September. It is clear that at this time
certain prevernal and vernal blooming species had disappeared.

Quadrat

Species =| Remarks
τ BN gy 1
Andropogon scoparius
Ἱπηιν απ sss oboe cusbo 217 | 73 |213 | 83 | Bunches I to 6 inches in diam.
(DUM NES, co caccacccdvese | aS) 38 | a8) 27
Andropogon furcatus...... | 7
HACIA. 6 oaess0socal 40 Bunches 2 to 4 inches in diam.
JOWINENES. bdcccaccucgods 3 3
Bouteloua curtipendula....| 45
alll, oocuscascce ΤΟ 23 Bunches from 2 to 6 inches in
bunches το τ 4 BM τὴ! diam.
Eragrostis pectinacea
individuals............| 5 {126 |136 |101 | Bunches from 1 to 4 inches in
[LUMENS «co godeueuccos | [τὸ pt ὁ εἴδη
Sorghastrum avenaceum | | |
HOGG s oo Se boces oe 2 | | 3 | 4 Bunches only 1 to 2 inches in
buncheste eee | Wares diam. 5;
Amorpha canescens....... AG ia Ὁ ῷ I
Brauneria pallida......... lo 3 eae |
Ceanothus ovatus pubescens.| 7 Q ||
Euphorbia corollata....... “τ l ahs]
Kuhnia eupatorioides...... | I
Lygodesmia juncea........| | 17
Lespedeza capitata........ | | 4
TEVOLYISS PIN CLOT CR ae 2 I
Petalostemon purpurea..... ᾿ 20 τῷ τ 18
Rosa arkansana.......... 2 | I 3
Ulmus americana (seedling) | Nigra

The shrub station is dominated by Corylus americana and Rhus
glabra. These with Symphoricarpos symphoricarpos, small trees
of Cercis canadensis and Prunus americana form rather dense
thickets from 5 to 8 feet in height. Several woody lianas such
as Celastrus scandens, Vitis vulpina, and Ampelopsis quinque-
folia are present in sufficient numbers to add considerably to the
mass of vegetation. The following list, tabulated in September,
shows the variety and abundance of species of shrubs, small

36

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 31

trees, lianas and herbs occurring in an area of 16 square meters
surrounding the station where the factor readings were made.
The shade cast by the shrubs was so dense that most of the an-
nuals as well as the herbaceous perennials were extremely small.

The vegetation in an area of 16 square meters at the shrub
station :

Woody Plants

Ampelopsis quinquefolia ....... 6 Quercus macrocarpa (seedlings) 2
GAlosinusScandenSinseen nee ΡΠ ἢ ONO AO) ahs Bowie hooaen τ τον 26
Corulus OMericanG 2........-.--. 3234 Symphoricarpos symphoricarpos. 7
Fraxinus lanceolata (seedlings). 6 Ulmus fulva (seedlings) ....... 7
Morus rubra (seedling) ........ Wi ASOD US VEGI a ais bins Boe ors 6
Prunus americana ............. 4
Herbs [
ZAM LIGAGP A σοηιοσα......--..- 29 JETS TNS 3550558600006 2
Amaranthusretroflexus(ruderal) 1 Lactuca scariola (ruderal)...... 9
Ambrosia trifida (ruderal)...... 8 Leptilon canadense (ruderal)...522
Acalypha virginica ............. 16 Melolitus officinale (ruderal)... 1
Andropogon scoparius ......... τῶν WORE δ scioc 5 600 oe o056 26
Aster drummondu } MA MEROEGUG SDs isccoscesscete 14
Aster novae-angliae\’"**""" ᾿ de απ συ 6
CGAL SI Aarne EEE eae 25 Panicum capillare (ruderal).... 2
Carduus altissimus (ruderal)... 8 Setaria viridis (ruderal)........ 3
Chenopodium album (ruderal).. 27 Solanum nigrum .............-. 14
Eragrostis pectinacea .......... 6 Trifolium pratense ............- I
Enmphorbia presiit.....1....0... I Verbena stricta (ruderal)....... 9
Fragoria virginiana ............ Πρ μα fOSCUGHIGLO ss steno ae I
BG CUIMNCONUMEI SUSuE eee ee ΘΟ AUOLORSOLONUC ea ee ae 40
Helianthus lursutus ...:........ 108

The station in the linden wood was located on a north slope in
a growth of virgin forest on the campus of the Peru State Normal
School, figure 12. A good idea of the composition of this forest
together with the dominance of Tilia americana may be gained by
a study of the accompanying belt transect. This extends up from
the dry creek at the base of the slope 34 meters to the station and
thence onward toward the crest of the hill, figure 13. The iron-

37

32 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

wood, Ostrya virginiana, although even much more abundant

than the linden, is a small tree which does not reach the level οἵ.
the general forest canopy and hence plays only a réle of minor
importance. It survives only because of its very great tolerance,
enduring a degree of shading to which many other trees succumb.
Most of the dead or fallen trees in figure 12 are Cercis cana-
densis. Indeed in this community the light values are so low that

Ficure 11. Location of the station in the prairie at Peru. The flood plain
of the Missouri river is shown δὲ the right.

a layer of either well developed shrubs or of herbs is entirely
lacking. Some eke out an existence for a period as relicts, many
trees grow for a time, and with certain tolerant herbs make up
the scant vegetation. But except in favorably lighted places the
moss-covered ground is predominately in evidence. A major
quadrat (4 m. square) made in October, 1917, showed the fol-
lowing plants growing at this forest station:

38

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 33

Woody Species

Ampelopsis quinquefolia .......
Cercis canadensis (seedlings)*..
Gornus asperifolia ..........--.
Fraxinus lanceolata (seedlings).
Hicoria ovata (seedlings).......
Ostrya virginiana (seedlings)...
Prunus serotina (seedlings)....
Quercus rubra (seedling).......

Acalypha Uirgmicd ......0+.6-6-
ALIGHT Siw as aati ome Dae OU Oreos
CORBIS SUN eee ae τοὺς
Chenopodium album (ruderal)..
Circaea lutetiana ......... Seat
Eupatorium ageratoides ........
Gahum tinctorwm ..........-..
CCUM CONADCNSE ..:..........

Ὁ πῆς MLOMIGOM CHALOM ele
7 Tilia americana (τό inches diam.) 1
16 Tilia americana (seedling)...... I
12 Ulmus fulva (seedlings)........ 7
ἢ αὐγήν OULD nom een acale evs oes LO
6 Xanthoxylum americanum (seed-
2 TET a SS) ates Ua renee I Ric
10
Herbs
27 +~Leptilon canadense (ruderal)... 9
I Meibomia grandifiora .......... 46
24 Menispermum canadense....... 27
1 Muhlenbergia racemosa ....... ei
42 Muhlenbergia tenuiflora ........ 26
68 Potentilla monspeliensis ........ 9
an αν IMSPHOI ooncooce 46 et Gara ΚΠ
Ὅν AOLOMS ONO τ ee eee Sees:

* All of the tree seedlings as well as the herbs were of small size and
showed plainly the effects of poor photosynthetic conditions.

Ficure 12. Location of the station in the linden forest at Peru.

39

34 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

Lege nd:

elk lia americana

®= Quercus rubra
O=Ostrya Yirginiana
H=Hiceoria minima

U= Ul mus fulva

hale Morus rubra

CG: 0 ercis canadensis

F = Fraxinus lanceolata
Θ- Quercus mioerocae pel
oF aU: ete.= Dead trees

Large areas of the qround are
covered with moss

Belt transect IGmeters long

in the linden station

Ficure 13. A belt transect 10 meters wide extending up the slope through
the linden station at Peru.

40

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 35

Soil Moisture

Soil moisture determinations were made by means of a Briggs
geotome at somewhat irregular intervals from April 5 to Septem-
ber 22,1917. In taking samples in the shrub and especially in the
forest the practice was followed of removing the leaf mould
or duff before inserting the soil tube. Samples to a depth of 5
feet were taken only four times during the season, those from 2
to 3 feet in depth somewhat oftener, while soil moisture in the
first 2 feet of soil, that portion which shows the greatest variation,
was determined 14 times during the growing season. These data
for prairie, shrub and woodland are shown in the following tables:

TABLE 3

THE AVAILABLE WATER CONTENT OF THE SOIL IN THE PRAIRIE, SHRUB AND
Forest COMMUNITIES AT DEPTHS OF Ο TO 6 AND 6 TO 12 INCHES
AT PERU IN IQI7Z

Wilt- | | | |

| in | | } |
Station | Depth Co. Apr. | May | June) July | July | July | ely | Aug. | Aug. | Aug. | Aug.) Sept. | Sept.
| 246 || e28|

|

cient

Prairie. | 0’—6’” | 11.5|13.4|'13.0| 13.0] 6.5] 9.5. 060, -τ4( 4.0] 8.4 2.3| τῷ 62\=

oe. | 3 15 30 9 | 14 | OS), | a |) 2 |) ag δ. 22)

ΠΡ
Shrub.. μ᾿ I3.7| 21.4] 14.7) 20.8) 3-9] II.5| 4.6 |.—1.7 6.6 12.6] 7.6] 6.4] 10.2|—1.6
Forest . τ 14.7|32.9| 20.3| 21τ-6] 12.1| 13.6] 3.0} 3:0) 700] 14.3|12.6| 4.6) 13.0] 3.0
| | | | |
Prairie. |€/’—12’| 10.5|12.2|12.0| 11.8] 7.3] 7.4) 2.5] 0.4/—0.5| 1I.5| 100} 0.2 |—0.8] —1.7
SUT Desi ee 12.0|18.0/14.1/ 17-1] 7.4 5-1) 3-4/—0.4| 2.6 5.7 1.51.8, 2.4 0.5
Biorest || = * 12.7|26.1|15.0| 20.2| 12.2) 7.9] 5.2 Dosh 50) ἢ esi ππτ 6.0 --ο.3

An examination of table 3 reveals several interesting facts. It
may be seen that the wilting coefficient of the soil at depths of
o-6 and 6-12 inches respectively, increases progressively from
prairie to forest. This is undoubtedly due to the increase in the
humus content of the soil. Further it may be seen that the water
available for plant growth also increases as we go from prairie
through scrub to forest, and this notwithstanding the greater
progressive increase of non-available water. In other words the
water holding capacity of the humus enriched soil is increased
much more rapidly than its corresponding ability to withhold
water from the plant. Comparing the available water of grass-

AI

36 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

land and shrub habitats we find that the latter, with very few ex-
ceptions, has the greater amount. A comparison of that between
shrub and forest further illustrates the law of succession deter-
mined by Fuller in Illinois and Weaver in Washington, Idaho
and Minnesota, that as the xerosere progresses toward the climax
stages there is a continuous increase in the water content of the
soil.

Periods when no water was available for plant growth in the
first six inches of soil occurred twice in the prairie and scrub;
while the non-available point in the second six inch soil layer was
reached three times in the prairie, only once in the scrub, but also
once in the forest.

However, as our knowledge of the greater extent of root sys-
tems of prairie plants grows and we find how even seedlings of
grasses and trees rapidly reach soil depths greater than a foot, we
can more clearly understand why drought in the surface soil
layers even through extended intervals is not necessarily fatal.

The following table shows the total soil moisture at depths of
I to 5 feet. ;

ΤΑΒΙΕ 4

ΤΟΤΑΙ, WaTER CONTENT OF THE SOIL IN THE PRAIRIE, SHRUB AND FOREST
AT DEPTHS OF I TO 2, 2 TO 3, 3 TO 4 AND 4 TO 5 FEET IN THE PRAIRIE,
SHRUB AND Forest AT PERU IN 1017

Wilt-
: ing | Apr. | Ma une ul ul Aug. | Aug. | Sept. | Sept.
Station Depth) Coeffi- 5 ἘΝ oes ey ἜΣ δ ἘΝ 3 s
cient
rainienenece 1’/—2’| 10.4 | 18.9 | 20.8 | 22.7 | 13.5 | 12.6 9.4 | 10.1 | 11.2 | 9.4
SNaClos 6006 ny T2355) 24-0) Paget 259 D565) ΤΠ sek | 24h | ΠΝ ἸΠ
Horestenee Ὁ Ὁ τ DEAD |) ARK) 27:0 722 WOK. |) W/O || UBB |) ΠΟ | 23-7
Prairie... ..||2/—37| 6:9) || 14:0 | 18.0) | 22-5) | £50) | 14-4) | rr.8) | ΤΟ ἘΠῚ Ὁ
ΘΠ ΤῊΝ II.3 | 19.3 27,2 Woes) ||| 1 |) BIS |} WAS, || OLS, || WT
Horestae sa: τ 18.5 De] || Ais |) Woy |} [8.3 175 | WHS | LOS
Prairie......| 3’—4’ 15.9 20.5 5-5 12.2
ἸΞῚ Οὐ τιν Ds oo oce τ 16.6 24.7 4 12.1
Oreste ei
Prainiensas. Ὁ 4-5! 13.0 21.4 16.9 11.0
SMUD, o 5. Ὁ Ὁ Ὁ ἐν 16.1 24.9 16.7 13.0
Bioresteee ee a

Studies m Prairie and Woodland 27)

Even a casual examination of these data reveals a higher water
content of the soil in the thicket than in the prairie, or in the
forest than in the shrub. Although wilting coefficient determina-
tions were not made for all the soils at these depths, it seems
probable that water was available for plant growth at all times in
the forest. In the shrub it was exhausted to a depth of 3 feet in
September, beyond which depth the roots of hazel, sumac, grape
coral berry and other shrubs in this community were found to
extend. No water was available to prairie plants in the 6-24
inch soil stratum on August 6 nor again on August 25, while on
September 26 all available moisture had been used to a depth of
3 feet. Whether prairie vegetation occupying a unit area of soil
surface gives off more water by transpiration than is lost in a
similar manner from woody plants occupying an equal soil area,
or whether the greater water content of forest soils is due entirely
to their greater water-holding capacity and lower soil surface
evaporation remains to be determined. The writers are inclined
strongly toward the view that increased transpiration from grass-
land plays an important role.

A comparison of the soil moisture conditions at Lincoln with
those at Peru may be found interesting. The following table
shows the number of times during the growing season during
which the soil moisture had reached the non-available point at
the various depths.

TABLE 5

A CoMPARISON OF THE PERIODS DURING WHICH WATER wAs NON-AVAILABLE
FOR PLANT GROWTH IN THE PRAIRIES AT LINCOLN AND AT PERU

Soil Depth Lincoln Peru
O60 -. May 6, July 9, 16, 23, 30 July 28
6//-12”” July 23, 30, August 6 August 6
τ' —2/ April 3, July 30, August 28 August 6, 25
2! 3’ ] April 3, May 6, August 28 *

3/ --α’ April 3, August 28 ; τῇ
4’ —5/ | April 3, August 28 πῇ

* Assuming that the wilting coefficients which were not determined at
these depths are no greater than at a depth of I or 2 feet.

43

38 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

An examination of these data shows that plants at Peru grow
under a much more favorable condition of soil moisture.

It has already been pointed out that below a depth of 12 inches
the soil of the linden forest always had water available for plant
growth. That at the Salt Creek station had no available moisture
at depths of 1-4 feet on April 2 and again at 2 feet on July 30
and August 6 respectively. Such differences in the distribution
of soil moisture coupled with corresponding differences in evap-
oration readily account for the variations in the structure of the
vegetation.

EVAPORATION

The evaporating power of the air at the different stations was
measured from June I to September 22, 1917. The atmometers
were placed in duplicate at the various stations and at a height of
about 17 cm. above the soil surface. The data are shown in the
form of graphs in figure 14.

The marked parallelism among the graphs is no more striking
than the differences in the average daily evaporation, the latter
always being least in the forest and highest in the prairie com-
munity.

Wind movement exerts a profound effect in accelerating trans-
piration and evaporation. During the interval from June 29 to
July 28, 3,900 miles of wind, as measured by a standard anemom-
eter, passed over the prairie vegetation at a height of one-half
meter; while only about 6 per cent. as much (250 miles) was
recorded by an anemometer similarly placed in the scrub. Again
from July 28 to September 22, 4,077 miles of wind were recorded
by the instrument in the prairie and only 666 miles (16 per cent.)
in the thicket.

A comparison of the average daily evaporating power of the air
obtained from the readings of the atmometers at Peru, which
were not fitted with the rain correcting device, and similar in-
struments at Lincoln operated beside the rain correctors, gives
the following comparison: in the prairie at Lincoln the average
daily evaporation from June 4 to August 27 was 19.5 c.c. At
Peru it was about 2 c.c. less, 1.6., 17.6 c.c. This reduction in the

44

a9

Studies in Prairie and Woodland

‘ZI6OI Ul Niog 18 ϑι ποιά
pue ‘qnays “sotof ul Ie ay} 10 πολλοῦ Sunesodeas 911 Jo yew yeuoseas 911 Burmoys sydeiy “br ἙἩΣΩΘΤΙ͂

6 Φ

: 8
ae Se ee i ive ἀπ: ee Ne

45

40 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

average daily rate of evaporation is an important factor where
high water losses are concerned.

FURTHER STUDIES IN THE FOREST COMMUNITIES

It has already been pointed out that the different forest dom-
inants, although frequently occurring in apparent mictia, usually
are grouped in more or less distinct communities. Even casual
observation shows the dominance of Tilia americana and Quercus
rubra in the ravines at the bases of the moist slopes; of Quercus
macrocarpa on the drier crests, with Quercus velutina, Hicoria
ovata, and other trees occupying intermediate positions.

Belt transects 10 meters wide were run from the crest to the
foot of several slopes. At intervals of 8 meters cross tapes were
inserted and in the areas thus delimited a census was taken of the
tree population together with their diameter B. H. Each tree was
charted in its relative position in the area. One of these transects
showing the height and slope of the hill, the charted areas and the
plant communities they pass through is shown in figure 15.

This figure is very illuminating and worth careful considera-
tion. The transect at the foot of the chart shows the exact num-
ber, diameter and position of every woody plant (exclusive of
seedlings) growing on the area. The transect at the top of the
chart is merely a summary statement of the corresponding areas
shown below. In every case the dominants have been placed
first. They are preceded by numbers which. indicate their abun-
dance inthe area and are followed by an exponent which gives the
average diameter in inches. Ina similar manner the other trees in
the particular area are summarized. For example, an examina-
tion of the area (10 X ὃ meters) on the extreme right at the foot
of the figure shows that Tilia is dominant, that seven trees of this
species occur in the area and that they have an average diameter
of 7 inches. Also one Quercus rubra with a diameter of 4 inches
occurs here. This is summarized in the corresponding area at
the upper right corner of the figure.

From these summaries it is relatively easy to delimit in a quan-
titative manner and with a considerable degree of accuracy the

46

®M=Quercus yubra 4
@©=Qu evcus velutina ¢
O-Ostrya virginiana

Ficure 15. Transect 1. Belt transec

Quevcus macrocaypa = Quercus velutina Gommuniby

Willie Gommuniby

—— ~~ 77 — -- -- ΕΞ --

=

Quercus ralbra, Coramnunity Tilia Gornmunity .

a

10 ( espe Ὁ ΤΊΤΟΣ @ lot 31 c4 78 ue fut 4 n6lar mel@? ΞΙ͂Σ Ξ
Q q mo -9 τϑ τ 7 «τὲ ΕΑ & . [9] ee ce Fe τὸ BO) @ ee & [οὶ eG | τ : Θ᾽ Ξ @e
2 | @ Σ Un “9 τι] + @3| F5Ut FI τὸ ΤΠ Ἢ OF tire Te w Ο᾽ ut a 2/'C® cs GQ πε 2 0) #1 @
Ὁ a | 9 Was Slee x oun Too] οι Πρό ttl ys us| τὸ oe : a “1.5 3 Θ᾽] πα 3
3 Ϊ Ἶ
ς ᾿ υϑ Θ᾽ Φ' ae τὶ apse Oe ΣΡ ὑπ are ae a Cae F τ Oe Θ᾽ ΓΝ @ @ ae τῦ] Γ᾿ - τ᾿ sre
¢ Tes ΕΊΡΕΙΣ ἢ us | estat Came ' Creek ie ae ἃ ᾿ @® @ ΟΝ Qt Qt pace @ ει εἰ" τϑ ἷ

Ξ = : 5 reek

Leqend:

®=Quercus vubrao (ἢ = Quercus acuminata U=Ulmus fulve H=Hicoria minima

O=Quevcus velutina εὺ = Quercus macrocor po M = Morus rubra F= Fraxinus lanceolata

O-Ostrye virginiana ΤΡ = Tiliaamericana C= Cercis canadensis Ὁ, Ἢ, ete.=Dead Trees
Ἃς - Stations

Ficure 15. Transect 1. Belt transec t 10 meters wide showing the composition of the forest communities at Peru, 1917.

Gi A tat
4 ΩΣ

Gren ot οτὠμΐδρα Siete Ae ὐςῖ,
| ΟΣ Yaak Ube dae
pe EY a γὴν

se sd ee

ERT TW ΠΥ ee a” Une wa

}

mae

Studies in Pratrie and Woodland 41

extent of an area occupied by a certain dominant or by ecolog-
ically equivalent dominants. Thus beginning with the slope on
the extreme left we find the upper portion occupied by a com-
munity in which Quercus macrocarpa and Quercus velutina are
dominant (27 large trees). Two red oaks and three red elms are
also present and with several saplings of red elm, an ironwood
and a mulberry, make up the forest.

On the steeper slopes near the base of the ravine this forest
type gives way abruptly to one dominated by Tilia. Here occur
36 large linden trees, a few red oaks, considerable green ash, a
few elms and a number of the very tolerant ironwoods. It should
be noted that a number of trees, especially black oaks, have died.

Proceeding up the slope we enter the Quercus macrocarpa—
Quercus acuminata community. The entire absence of the linden
here as on the corresponding opposite slope should be noted.
Proceeding once more down the gentle westward slope we pass
through a narrow belt of timber dominated by the red oak; the
transition being one through the black oak stage. The dead bur
and black oaks indicate a rather unsuitable habitat for these
species, probably due to the shading by the red oaks. The ap-
pearance of linden indicates greater mesophytism, and indeed
lower down the slope this species becomes dominant.

From this transect it appears that the bur oak, yellow oak or
black oak communities occupy the higher ridges; that they give
way on the lower slopes to red oak, which is in turn replaced near
the foot of the slopes and in the ravines by a community dom-
inated by linden.

We will next examine a transect starting at the top of a ridge
ΟἹ feet above the ravine and proceeding down a long gentle north-
east slope; figure 16.

The sharp top of this ridge (as is frequently the case on the
bluffs) is clothed with grassland. This gives way, through a
narrow belt of Rhus glabra and Cornus asperifolia, to a mixed
forest community of black, yellow and bur oak. There are a
number of representatives of green ash, red elm (mostly small
trees) and an occasional shag-bark hickory, which has migrated
up from lower down the slope. ᾿

47

42 : The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

The transition to the mixed hickory-oak community is rather
gradual. The community is marked by the presence of a number
of large hickories, by the increasing abundance of red oak in the
lower portion and by the appearance of the ironwood,—trees
entirely absent from the preceding community. However, bur
and especially yellow oak occur throughout, the former disap-
pearing entirely and the latter being much less abundant in the
red oak community.

The red oak community is characterized not only by the abun-
dance of the dominant, but also by the dropping out of the less
mesophytic and less tolerant yellow, bur, and black oaks on the
one hand and the increasing abundance of ironwood on the other.
The red oak gives way lower down the slope to a well developed
linden-ironwood community. Here only an occasional oak is to
be found. These are invariably red oak. A few trees of black
walnut, swamp hickory and a few other species (not found in
this transect ) complete the list.

The preceding examples of the community arrangement of tree
dominants are typical for the forest in this portion of the forma-
tion. Grassland is replaced, usually through a chaparral stage,
by forest of the more xerophilous trees,—Quercus macrocarpa
and Q. acuminata followed by Q. velutina. In more mesophytic
situations QO. rubra and Hicoria ovata dominate, while a com-
munity of Tila americana with Ostrya virginiana hold possession
of the more moist and richer slopes and ravines.

Three primary habitat factors are concerned in this tree dis-
tribution. They are soil moisture, atmospheric humidity and
light. The pioneer tree associes invading situations quite too
extreme for their more exacting successors, react upon the habitat
in such a manner as to make it more moist as regards both soil
and air. These reactions, likewise favorable to the early tree oc-
cupants, make possible the invasion of the area by more tolerant
species. For a time the area is covered with a mictium of the
members of the two associes. But gradually, because of the un-
favorable light reaction, the species of the earlier woody com-
munity largely or entirely disappear. Change of dominants in an
area is usually characterized by striking changes in the shrubby

48

Sf.

Tilia Ostvya Community
ew

— 3

Σ pt

O° ot ο᾽ Folie 63

ι | σπιοτιο

o ΞΕ ΤΩΣ

A S a ae Η
Thicket ᾿ @ een
ae | Gry ene! cigs

Ficure réhrub community of a prairie knoll, Peru, 1917.

SSeS Se SSS π΄ Se Se ee SS Se SS OS OS τ

: Shrub Quercus velutina= Q. acuminata -mecrocarpa Gommuniby Mixed Hicovie-Quercus Community

Qvereus rubra Community Ti lia~Ostvyo Communit
λ ᾿ λ Σ

δ᾽ τ

He fof)
of οἱ [π΄ τιοτιο
|

ach Ck A 3 : ἔ Ἵ ὃ ol
Thicker κὰ ΟΣ “ : . 2. a 4 ὸ
|Cz Gt Ce 2 : τ 3

IL egend: -
@= Quercus γυδνα U>UImus fulva ΕΞ Fraxinus lanceolata R2 Rhus glabra
@=-Quercus acuminate O=Ostrya virginiana H5Hicovia ovata G=Cornus eohegiells
Q@: wercus macrocarpa TeTi iQ americana Η =Hicoria minima M= Morus yubra

@= Quercus velutina Jz Juglans nigra ‘Q, ‘Ho, *F, etc.= Dead Trees Ἃ = Stations

Ficure 16. Transect 2. Belt transect 10 meters wide showing the composition of the plant communities from the Tilia-Ostrya combination to the shrub community of a prairie knoll, Peru, 1017.

oath ripe
: come serge

pein θη μοι, as al Oe Sins a ani aon

=

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 43

and herbaceous as well as in the fungus flora, each community
as it becomes temporarily stabilized sorting out the particular
population best adjusted to the particular set of environmental
conditions.

Repeated light determinations at the several stations showed a
diminution in the following sequence: prairie 1.00; bur oak 0.06;
black oak 0.05 ; red oak 0.028; linden 0.02.

SOIL MOISTURE

Typical stations were selected in each of the preceding com-
munities and in that portion of the area included in the transects
as follows:

Prairie station; in the prairie on the knoll shown in figure 2:
bur oak station; at the crest of the hill on the right shown in
figure 1: black oak station; near the top of the slope shown at the
left in figure τ: red oak and linden stations were selected in their
respective communities as shown in figure 2.

At each of these stations soil moisture was determined at the
intervals and to the depths indicated respectively in the following
tables :

TABLE 6

THe AVAILABLE WATER CONTENT TO A DEPTH OF 12 INCHES IN THE SEVERAL
Forest COMMUNITIES AT PERU, I917

Station Depth Ces July το July 3: Aug, 18 | Sept. 5
ButsOakes cs. 4). o/’-6”" 10.5 8.3 2.9 0.9
Bilackwoalkee ae ο΄΄- 6!’ 10.8 3.6 ΤΙ 6.7 2.0
ἘΠΕῚ ὍΔΙς:. τ. τ. ο΄ 67 11.4 II.5 3.4 Ss I.5
HE IMGeM so. 2 o> | 0/6" THO τοῦ 8.8 16.8 8.7
π᾿ Coy kee τς τς 6΄΄ τ ΠΟ 6.0 DD 3.0 0.3
Blackioaksn 5) | Oa” 10.5 Deaf 3.0 1.2 0.5
IReal Calis Goals τ. Oe rity | 9.0 BO | ΠΟ
ΠῚ ΠΟΘΙ τον τς νος 61΄-τ21' 10.8 Ls | 5.8 Xo) || A.7

An examination of these data reveals the fact, that with the
exception of the black oak habitat which is almost throughout
uniformly drier, that in the main there is an increasingly avail-
able soil moisture parallel with the direction of the succession.

49

44 The Botanical Survey of Nebraska

As has been shown conclusively for plains and prairie plants (and
investigation will probably show the same holds true for many
forest trees) root systems are so much more extensive than here-
tofore supposed that too much emphasis should not be placed
upon the water content of the surface layers of soil, and certainly
not to the degree of neglecting the deeper substrata. Soil mois-
ture of the deeper soils is given in the following table.

WABILIS, ἢ

ToTAL WATER CONTENT OF THE SOIL IN THE SEVERAL FoREST COMMUNITIES
AT DEPTHS OF I TO 2, 2 TO 3 AND 3 TO 4 FEET, AT PERU, 1017

Station Depth July τὸ July 32 August 18 Sept. 5
Bur oak..... ΠΟ ΟΣ tee yeas 1/—2’ ,. 18.0 15.8 12.4 14.9
Bilaekeoalkee ayaa tases ποτ 1/2! 14.4 13.6 ἘΠ ἢ. 10.4
Riedioalki nai ae ake comune 1/2! 22.6 16.3 Seon ΤΡ) 7
i Exbaxe levalepreatoreyenaetes sola orarota ene t/—2’ 22.8 18.2 16.0 37)
Buran eee east angen e alee 2/—3' 17.7 I2.9 10.7 12.8
Blackjioalcieu- tienes aaa | Bey 15.6 14.τ ἘΠ 9.6
IRedoalkn ea prem ecncentuaratinn 2/—3' 20.7 16.7 15.9 13.0
ind entiaeeas te Sedaueoak ᾿Ξ 8 ee 23:85: 19.3 16.1 T4.9
July 31
Station
3/-4! 4/-s/
Burtoaked os Mirai itectn coiee hs eee 12.9 | 10.7
Blacksoalksys cane ce eres 15.1 13.4
IRieduoalken icine Ber <n can ae amie 15.4 15.8
Windentey ἡ ΠΟ ΕΣ Ὁ Ἐν ΓΝ 19.9 18.7

At depths of 3 to 5 feet the soil moisture increases gradually
but directly from bur oak to linden forest. Indeed this holds true
throughout every determination and at all depths indicated except
in the case of the black oak at depths of 1 to 3 feet, where the soil
is usually of lower moisture content than in the bur oak forest.
Indeed this may be the prevailing condition, and only further soil
sampling can determine this point. However, from all other evi-
dence the writers feel quite certain that future determination will
show this consocies to conform to the general law of increasing
soil moisture content as succession progresses.

50

45

Studies in Prairie and Woodland

ἽΖΙΟῚ 10 uOoseas
911 SuLINp Niog ye 5941 159101 [819Λλ985 JY} Ul Ie 911 FO ἀϑλλοῦ Suryesrodeas ay} Surmoys sydesr ΖῚ ANNO

51

46 The Botamical Survey of Nebraska

EVAPORATION

A continuous record of the evaporating power of the air was
obtained from July 25 to September 16, in all of the forest sta-
tions and also in the prairie on the knoll shown in the transect,
figure 16. The atmometers were placed as usual at a height of
only 15-17 cm. above the soil surface and in that portion of the
aerial stratum occupied by the leaves of tree seedlings. The data
are shown in figure 17. An examination of these data shows a
remarkable uniformity in the general trend of the graphs which
also point out plainly the decreasing evaporating power of the air
which reaches its minimum in the linden consocies.

SUMMARY

1. This paper contributes data which still further substantiate
the conclusions drawn from previous investigations that evap-
oration rates and soil moisture conditions in the various plant
communities studied vary in general directly with the order of
the communities in succession, the communities nearest the climax
being the most mesophytic in both respects.

2. The prairies and woodlands in the vicinity of Lincoln are
considerably more xerophytic than those in the neighborhood of
Peru. This fact is strikingly revealed in a comparison of the
ecological factor data from the two areas, and it is also strongly
reflected in the composition of the plant communities in the two
places, although the two areas are only about 60 miles apart.
Available soil moisture was exhausted in the prairie station at
various depths in the vicinity of Lincoln on eighteen different
dates in 1917, from May to September, while the same condition
was recorded for only four dates, late in July and August, in the
prairie station at Peru.

3. Ecological conditions are shown to change rapidly as the
forest-prairie ecotone is traversed in Nebraska. Habitats rapidly
become more xerophilous and many of the more mesophytic
species drop out entirely between Peru and Lincoln. It is thus
shown that the natural extension of our native woodlands is
greatly hindered, possibly altogether prevented in so far as any

52

Studies in Prairie and Woodland 47

significant permanent extension is concerned, by the increasing
severity of natural environmental conditions as we move west-
ward away from the woodland types of southeastern Nebraska.

4. The high saturation deficit and the low soil moisture content
(often reaching the non-available point) of the prairie sites in
eastern Nebraska constitute barriers over which forest trees can
scarcely pass. We probably have herein the most ready explana-
tion as to why our natural Nebraska woodlands are confined to
the moist slopes of rather narrow valleys, and also the most prob-
able answer to the oft-repeated question as to the treelessness of
the prairies in general.

5. The common forest types or communities of the region about
Peru in thé order of their place in succession are as follows, be-
ginning with the most mesophytic: The linden-ironwood type,
the red oak type, the black oak-hickory type, the bur oak-yellow
oak type. A bur oak-yellow oak-black oak combination is also
quite common. The common forest type near Lincoln is the bur
oak-hickory type, often mixed with elm and black walnut.

5.3

sped
en

se)

τ

es
are

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CONTENTS

THE SUPERNATURAL IN THE TRAGEDIES OF EURI-
PIDES AS ILLUSTRATED IN PRAYERS, CURSES,
OaTHS, ORACLES, PROPHECIES, DREAMS AND
WISIONS a Pauhin, KOTSCHE lela πο a Sa) ys

LINCOLN, NEBRASKA

ULY-OCTOBER ΠΝ Nos. 8, 4

90

ἐπ

᾿ By
i

inn iy}
Ua

AR
[
yi youd

Ny
i

a

Ν

UNIVERSITY STUDIES

VoL. XVIII OLN OCT ous Nos. 3, 4

THE SURERNATURAL IN THE TRAGEDIES OF
le ODS IUP IBIAS) vas) LIDS ECA ED) TUN) ΠΡΊΝ Δ ΡΠ
CURSES OAM ES ΘΟ ΕἸ, (PRO R=
PCIE Ξ DREAMS AND ViIsSiONsS

BY ERNEST HEINRICH KLOTSCHE

The spirit of the Greek drama is preeminently religious. Not
only in its beginnings, but throughout the most flourishing period
of its history, it was in intimate connection with the supernatural
which entered into its very heart, and constituted one of its essen-
tial elements. The theatrical representations at Athens, even in
the days of Euripides and Aristophanes, were constituent parts
of a great religious celebration.

The presence of the supernatural element in Greek tragedy
involved a definite attitude toward it on the part of each indi-
vidual dramatist. The strength of personality which A‘schylus,
Sophocles, and Euripides possessed made them voice their own
conceptions concerning the supernatural.

Zéschylus, himself profoundly religious, accepted the popular
religion unhesitatingly trying to reconcile it with the more ad-
vanced conceptions of his time, by purifying its grossness and
harmonizing its various inconsistencies, thus imparting to the re-
ligion a new intense vitality. The moral government of all things,
the misery and mystery of sin, the power and mysterious dealings
of the gods, their terrible and inscrutable wrath, their certain ven-
geance upon sinners form the background of his thought. A

55

2 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

sublime imagination lifts him to a region where the great forces
of the universe seem to be close about him. No poet has sur-
passed him in his power of creative imagination, by which he
brings a whole world of mythical figures into being. With amaz-
ing impressiveness he presents the dim borderland between the
material and the spiritual. With dreams and visions he deals
habitually and brings them into his dramatic fabric with con-
summate skill. At times in his reference to the divine power of
Zeus he almost: approaches a stern and sombre monotheism.
“One God above all, who directs all, who is the cause of all”:
CAge 1621485) Ἶ

Sophocles, on the other hand, has no profound interest in the
supernatural, but accepts it as a traditional feature of tragedy.
Though he is by no means unconscious of the discordant elements
in human life and destiny, he firmly believes in the goodness and
the justice of the Gods, not attempting to solve a problem in the-
odicy. His interest is primarily in the conflict of human passions,
set before us in definite characters. Behind the mortal passions,
however, are the gods, and with an original and skilful use of
the supernatural elements he makes them really contribute to the
whole design, without allowing them to overpower the mortal
participants.

A man of a different spirit, and, although contemporary with.
Sophocles, a man of a different world, is Euripides. The old
world was dying, the new world was not yet born. It was an age
of intellectual growth, but of religious decay, when most men
were disengaging themselves from their traditional belief. The
popular religion—the very foundation of tragedy—had been un-
dermined. Scepticism had begun to be busy with the legends
which that religion consecrated. Neither Gods nor heroes com-
manded all the old unquestioning faith, and yet the old religion
still kept a real hold on the minds even of the most thoughtful.
Under these circumstances the duty of the tragic poet was one of
some difficulty, especially as far as the handling of the super-
natural in tragedy was concerned. Sophocles remaining true to
the old faith in the Gods of his age and nation preserves an out-
ward acquiescence in the traditional beliefs, while Euripides, ap-

56

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 3

proaching tradition with the liberal frankness of the new age, is
by no means favorable to the established religion which had served
the two older dramatists so well; and yet in his tragedies super-
natural manifestations play just as important a part as in those
of his predecessors. This fact occasions surprise, indeed, and
certainly demands discussion.

It is peculiarly difficult to estimate correctly the moral and re-
ligious views of Euripides. He is an elusive poet, not easy to
comprehend. Many even of his fellow-countrymen failed to un-
derstand him, and modern critics, since the middle of the eight-
eenth century until a recent period, have generally considered
him not only a bad poet, but a bad man; and yet no other Greek
poet, except Homer, has made so deep and lasting an impression
on ancient and modern literature. Despite the jibes of Aris-
tophanes who declared that Euripides’ poetry died along with
him (Frogs, 869), and vehemently refused him recognition even
in Hades, Euripides after his death was universally regarded as
a great poet. The Greek tragic poets of the succeeding centuries
patterned their plays upon his. At Rome he was early made
known through the translations of Ennius and had a marked in-
fluence upon the Roman drama. Poets in all ages have thought
well of him and he has generally been the favorite with modern
authors and dramatists far more than A‘schylus and Sophocles.
Milton felt and expressed great admiration for him. Racine,
Alfieri, Browning, Goethe, and others were influenced by the
ancient poet and imitated him. He was not only a favorite with
the masses in ancient times, he appeals to the reader of to-day as
well; and this fact is in part doubtless due to his modern treat-
ment of the same human interests that are alive for us to-day.

Concerning the religious sentiments of Euripides the late Dr.
Verrall in his “Euripides the Rationalist,’ “Essays on Four
Plays of Euripides,’ and “The Bacchantes of Euripides” has at
great length and with much subtlety made an ingenious attempt:
to prove that Euripides was a destructive thinker, “a sceptic of
the aggressive type,” who wrote his plays with the intention of
attacking the traditional religion, but in order to avoid posing as
an open enemy to the state religion, attempted to accomplish his.

57.

4 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

ends by handling the supernatural elements as unconvincing or
even ridiculous.

It is true, Euripides often represents the Gods in an unfa-
vorable light, and has no real reverence for them; but how far
the poet speaks in his own name or lets the characters in his
drama speak is sometimes hard to decide; on the other hand, as
for example in the “ Bacche,”’ and, to a certain extent, in the
“Supplices,” he most closely adheres to the method of using the
supernatural adopted by his predecessors. His handling of the
supernatural reveals a spirit of. open-mindedness and vacilla-
tion which makes it difficult to define correctly his religious views.
But he deserves a hearing not only as the poetical interpreter of
the age of the sophists, but especially as one who bears witness
to the religious ideas of his time.

Our search will be conducted in a limited sphere. It does not
treat of the theology of Euripides in general, but of the super-
natural in his tragedies as illustrated in prayers, curses, oaths,
oracles, prophecies, dreams, and visions.

Before proceeding to the collection and study of the various
examples it may be said that our material will be collected from
the eighteen extant plays and remaining fragments of Euripides’
works, excluding the “Rhesus,” which has come down to us
under his name, but is now almost universally recognized as
spurious.

I. THE ALCESTIS

The earliest of the extant plays of Euripides, the “ Alcestis,”
which was brought out in 438 B.C. as the fourth play of a
tetralogy, contributes for our discussion only a few examples of
the poet’s handling of the supernatural element.

The character of Alcestis, the heroine of the piece, her heroic
self-sacrifice, her conjugal love and motherly care are depicted
with overpowering pathos in a fervent prayer offered before the
altar of Hestia, the Goddess of the family-hearth and the home:

Alc. 163-69:
3
δέσποιν᾽, ἔγὼ γὰρ ἔρχομαι κατὰ χϑονός,
πανύστατόν σε προσπίτνουσ᾽ αἰτήσομαι,
τέκν᾽ ὀρφανεῦσαι τἀμά, καὶ τῷ μὲν φίλην

58

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 5

σύζευξον ἄλοχον, TH δὲ γενναῖον πόσιν.
μηδ᾽ ὥσπερ αὐτῶν ἡ τεκοῦσ᾽ ἀπόλλυμαι
ϑανεῖν ἀώρους παῖδας, ἀλλ᾽ εὐδαίμονας
ἐν γῇ πατρῴᾳ τερπνὸν ἐκπλῆσαι βίον.

“Queen, for I pass beneath the earth, I fall
Before thee now, and nevermore, and pray’:—
Be mother to my orphans: mate with him
A loving wife, with her a noble husband.
Nor as their mother dieth, so may they,
My children, die untimely, but with weal
In the home-land fill up a life of bliss.”

It is worth noticing that the poet does not expose Alcestis to
view in the act of prayer, as though the situation were too solemn
to be exhibited before the eyes of the spectators. We learn Al-
cestis’ prayer from her handmaid who describes in most affecting
terms her mistress’s farewell to the beloved home.

A somewhat different mode of handling the supernatural ele-
ment is found in a prayer of the chorus representing the friends
of Admetus:

Alc. 213-25:
24 ~ ees ~ , ~
ἰὼ Zev, Tis ἂν πῶς πόρος πᾷ
γένοιτ᾽ κ. τ. Δ.
ὦναξ ἸΠαιάν,
ἔξευρε μηχανήν τιν᾽ ᾿Αδμήτῳ κακῶν,
πόριζε δὴ πόριζε. καὶ πάρος γὰρ
τοῦδ᾽ ἐφεῦρες, καὶ νῦν
λυτήριος ἐκ ϑανάτου γενοῦ,
γ i 2 cd
φόνιον 6 ἀπόπαυσον Adar.

=

O Zeus, for our lords is there naught but despair?

No path through the tangle of evils, no loosing of chains that
have bound them?

... yet uplift we in prayer

Our hands to the Gods, for that power from the days everlasting
hath crowned them.

O Healer-king,

Find thou for Admetus the balm of relief, for. the captive
deliverance!

Vouchsafe it, vouchsafe it, for heretofore

Hast thou found out a way; even now once more

Pluck back our beloved from Hades’ door,

Strike down Death’s hand red-reeking with gore!”

59

6 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

We should expect that Admetus’ friends having heard of the
predicted fate of Alcestis, instead of praying desperately: “O
Zeus! O Healer-king!” would have acted and hurried to rescue —
the queen from her fate and tell her and Admetus that the “ fatal
day” will bring no further harm whatever. Their way of acting
can be explained only by assuming that they were entirely under
the influence of the traditional belief in oracular prediction.

A notable specimen of vision is found in the following verses
where Alcestis in language exceedingly pathetic describes the
apparition of Charon and Hades:

Alc, 252-63):
ε “3 , ς - ,
ὁρῶ δίκωπον ὁρῶ σκάφος
νεκύων δὲ πορϑμεὺς ,
᾿ Qo) Oty ~ , oe od ~.
ἔχων χέρ᾽ ἐπὶ κοντῷ Χάρων μ΄ ἤδη καλεῖ; x. τ. DV.
ἄγει μ᾽ ἄγει μέτις, οὐχ ὁρᾷς;
νεκύων ἐς αὐλὰν
“
ὑπ᾽ ὀφρύσι κυαναυγέσι βλέπων πτερωτὸς Αιδας
τὶ ῥέξεις; μέϑες. οἵαν
ὁδὸν ἁ δειλαιοτάτα προβαίνω.

I see the boat with the oars twin-sweeping,

And his hand on the pole as in haste aye keeping,

Charon, the Ferryman calleth, “What ho, wilt thou linger and
linger?

Hasten,—’tis thou dost delay me!’ he crieth with beckoning
finger.

One haleth me—haleth me hence to the mansion

Of the dead!—dost thou mark not the darkling expansion

Of the pinions of Hades, the blaze of his eyes ’neath their
caverns out-glaring!

What wouldst thou?r—Unhand me!—In anguish and pain by
what path am 1 faring!”

A “vision” is that which is seen otherwise than by the ordinary
sight; it may be an imaginary, supernatural, or prophetic sight.
In this case it is an imaginary vision. While none of those pres-
ent are aware of the apparition, Alcestis hears the Ferryman call
her and sees winged Hades beckon. Such fancies are nothing
unusual in a woman who is approaching inevitable death and has
gone already through a prolonged series of fatiguing devotions
and harrowing farewells, from weakness to exhaustion, and

60

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 7

finally to hallucination. Dying persons often imagine that they
see flitting forms, and appeal to others whether they are not
equally conscious of their presence, as Alcestis asks: οὐχ ὁρᾷς;
(259). That the poet, however, uses such visions as superna-
tural manifestations may be demanded by the traditional belief
and dramatic propriety. Such supernatural manifestations, which
often recur in connection with tragedy, always appeal to an in-
terest in the unseen deeply rooted in human nature. Even in the
most sceptical lingers a certain respect for such matters.
In the prologue Apollo proclaims an oracle of the Parce:

Ale. 12-14:
“Aédunrov ἅδην τὸν παραυτίκ᾽ ἐκφυγεῖν,

ἄλλον διαλλάξαντα τοῖς κάτω νεκρόν.

“ Admetus shall escape the imminent death
If he for ransom gives another life.”

and making use of his prescience he predicts that Heracles shall
rescue the heroic Alcestis from the grave and the arm of death,
thus revealing the dénouement of the drama:

Alc. 65-69:
ἦ μὴν ov πείσει καίπερ ὠμὸς ὦν ἄγαν"
τοῖος Φέρητος εἶσι πρὸς δόμους ἀνήρ,
Εὐρυσϑέως πέμψαντος ἵππειον μέτα
ὄχημα Θρῃ’κῆης ἐκ τόπων δυσχειμέρων,
ὃς δὴ ξενωϑεὶς τοῖσδ᾽ ἐν ᾿Αδμήτου δόμοις
βίᾳ γυναῖκα τήνδε σ᾽ ἐξαιρήσεται.

“Surely thou shalt forbear, though ruthless thou,
So mighty a man to Pheres’ hall shall come,
Sent of Eurystheus forth, the courser-car
From wintry-dreary lands of Thrace to bring.
Guest-welcomed in Admetus’ palace. here
By force yon woman shall he wrest from thee.”

The fulfillment of this prophecy, namely the return of Alcestis
from death to life is the central theme of the play. But the pre-
diction itself is of religious importance; it appeals to the re-
ligious instinct and offers an assurance that the just are in the
hands of God.

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ὃ Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

2. THe MEDEA

The “ Medea” was acted in 431 B.C. We may grant that the
play is not a faultless one, but even the detractors of Euripides
cannot deny it the excellence of true tragic pathos. The char-
acter of the heroine of the play, her ardent temperament, her
proud and daring spirit are also portrayed in the prayers and
curses which the poet puts into her mouth.

Medea in utter distress imprecates death upon herself:

Med. 144-48:

aiat,

διά μου κεφαλᾶς φλὸξ οὐρανία

Bain τί 6€ μοι ζῆν ἔτι κέρδος;

φεῦ he’ ϑανάτῳ καταλυσαίμαν

βιοτὰν στυγερὰν προλιποῦσα.

“Would God that the flame of lightning from heaven descending,

descending,

Might burn through mine head!—for in living wherein any
more is my gain?

Alas and alas! Would God I might bring to an ending, an
ending,

The life that I loathe, and behind me might cast all its burden
of pain!”

The chorus on comprehending the cause of her distress appeal
to the Gods and speak words of consolation:

Med. 140 ff.:
dues, ὦ Zev καὶ ya καὶ φῶς,
ἀχὰν οἵαν ἃ δύστανος
μέλπει νύμφα; κ. τ. λ.
'“© Zeus, Earth, Light, did ye hear her,
How waileth the woe-laden breath
Of the bride in unhappiest plight? etc.”

Then Medea appeals to Artemis in the matter of her marriage
imprecating destruction and ruin upon Jason, her forsworn
husband :

Med. 160-65:
ὦ μεγάλα Θέμι καὶ πότνϊὶ ΄Αρτεμι,

λεύσσεϑ᾽ ἃ πάσχω, μεγάλοις ὅρκοις
ἐνδησαμένα τόν κατάρατον

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 9

πόσιν; ὅν ποτ᾽ ἔγὼ νύμφαν τ᾽ ἐσίδοιμ᾽

αὐτοῖς μελάϑροις διακναιομένους,

οἵ γ᾽ ἐμὲ πρόσϑεν τολμῶσ᾽ ἀδικεῖν.

“Ὁ Lady of Justice, O Artemis’ Majesty, see it, O see it—

Look on the wrongs I suffer, by oaths everlasting who tied

The soul of mine husband, that never from the curse he might
free it, nor free τὸ

From your vengeance! O may I behold him at last, even him
and his bride, .

Them, and these halls therewithal, all shattered in ruin, in
ruin !—”

Cf. also Med. 332:

Zev, μὴ λάϑοι σε τῶνδ᾽ Os αἴτιος κακῶν.

“Zeus, Zeus, forget not him who is cause of this!”

After a bitter reproach against her husband’s unmanliness ~
Medea expostulates with Zeus:

Med. 516-19:

ὦ Ζεῦ, τί δὴ χρυσοῦ μὲν ὃς KiBdnXos ἢ
τεκμήρὶ, ἀνθρώποισιν ὥπασας σαφῆ,
ἀνδρῶν δ᾽ ὅτῳ χρὴ τὸν κακὸν διειδέναι,
οὐδεὶς χαρακτὴρ ἐμπέφυκε σώματι;

“Ὁ Zeus, ah wherefore hast thou given to men
Plain signs for gold which is but counterfeit,
But no assay-mark nature graven shows
On man’s form, to discern the base withal?”’

The chorus fully aware that the fatal act of Medea’s killing
her own children cannot be prevented by any human interference,
call on the holy Earth which is about to sustain the pollution of
blood, and the Sun, that grandsire of the wretched woman not to
allow her to murder her children:

Med. 1251-60:

ia Ta τε καὶ παμφαὴς

ἀκτὶς ᾿Αελίου, κατίδετ᾽ ἴδετε τὰν

ὀλομέναν γυναῖκα, πρὶν φοινίαν

τέκνοις προσβαλεῖν χέρ᾽ αὐτοκτόνον; κ. τ. X.

“Ὁ Eearth, O all-revealing splendour

Of the Sun, look down on a woman accurst,
Or ever she slake the murder-thirst

Of a mother whose hands would smite the tender

Fruit of her womb.

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ΙΟ Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

“But thou, O heaven-begotten glory,

Restrain her, refrain her: the wretched, the gory
Erinys by demons dogged, we implore thee,
Snatch thou from yon home! ete.”

An earnest and impassioned invocation of the Gods is made by
Jason on account of his children murdered by Medea:

Med. 1405-07:
Zed, τάδ᾽ ἀκούεις ὡς ἀπελαυνόμεϑ᾽,
οἷά τε πάσχομεν ἐκ τῆς μυσαρᾶς
καὶ παιδοφόνου τῆσδε λεαίνης; κ. τ. Δ.

“Ὁ Zeus, dost thou hear it, how spurned I am?—
What outrage I suffer of yonder abhorred
Child-murderess, yonder tigress-dam? etc.”

On Medea he pronounces an wnprecation:

Med. 1327-290:
ἔργον τλᾶσα δυσσεβέστατον. ὄλοιο.

“Thus hast thou wrought...
Now ruin seize thee!”

Med. 1388-90:
ἀλλά σ᾽ ᾿Ερινὺς ὀλέσειε τέκνων φονία τε Δίκη. —
“Now the Fury-avenger of children smite thee,
And Justice that looketh on murder requite thee

1.»

A curse presupposes the supernatural as well as a prayer. A
curse is a wish expressed in words that evil may befall a certain
person. The wish may be expressed by a God or spirit, in which
case it is wish, will, and fact in one; or it may be an appeal to
another supernatural person to execute it. Euripides makes
dramatic use of curses not only because they were survivals from
the past, but also because the supernatural element connected
with imprecations had evidently still a hold upon the popular
imagination.

Wherever reference to oath is made in our play the religious
binding force of the oath is assumed and the perjurer considered
a cursed villain. Medea is amazed at the perjurer Jason:

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides

Med. 402-95:

ὅρκων δὲ φρούδη πίστις, οὐδ ἔχω wader
εἰ ϑεοὺς νομίζεις τοὺς τότ᾽ οὐκ ἄρχειν ἔτι,
ἢ καινὰ κεῖσϑαι ϑέσμι᾽ ἀνϑρώποις τὰ νῦν.
ἐπεὶ σύνοισϑά γ᾽ εἰς ἔμ᾽ οὐκ εὔορκος ὦν.

“But faith of oaths hath vanished. I know not
Whether thou deem’st the olden Gods yet rule,
Or that new laws are now ordained for men.
For thine heart speaks thee unto me forsworn.”

Indignant at Jason’s perfidy the chorus exclaims:
Med. 4309-40:

βέβακε δ᾽ ὅρκων χάρις, οὐδ᾽ ἔτ᾽ αἰδὼς
“Ἑλλάδι τᾷ μεγάλᾳ μένει, αἰϑερία δ᾽ ἀνέπτα.

1

“Disannulled is the spell of the oath: no shame for the broken

troth f

In Hellas the wide doth remain, but heavenward its flight hath .

it taken.”

At the conclusion of the play Medea declares Jason as forsaken
by the Gods, who will not heed his request because he is for-

sworn:

Med. 1391-02:
τίς δὲ κλύει σου ϑεὸς ἢ δαίμων,
τοῦ ψευδόρκου καὶ ξειναπάτου;

“What God or what spirit will heed thy request,
Caitiff forsworn. who betrayest the guest?”

Medea demands an oath of A*geus in order to attain a safe

refuge after having carried her designs into effect:

Med. 731-32:
; ἔσται TAO’; ἀλλὰ πίστις εἰ γένοιτό μοι
τούτων, ἔχοιμ᾽ ἂν πάντα πρὸς σέϑεν καλῶς.
“So be it. Yet, were oath-pledge given for this
To me, then had I all I would of thee.”

Med. 735-36:
3 . τούτοις δ᾽. ὁρκίοισι μὲν ζυγείς,
ἄγουσιν ov μεϑεῖ᾽ ἂν ἐκ γαίας ἐμέ.
“ Oath-bound, thou couldst never yield me
To these, when they drag me from the land.”

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12 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

fégeus takes the oath:

Med. 752-53:

ὄμνυμι Τῆν καὶ λαμπρὸν Ἡλίου φάος
ϑεούς τε πάντας ἐμμενεῖν ἅ σου κλύω.

“By Earth, the Sun’s pure majesty, and all
The Gods, I swear to abide by this thou hast said.”

Medea asks him: What do you imprecate on yourself to suffer
if you do not abide by this oath?

Med. 754:
. τί δ᾽ ὅρκῳ τῷδε μὴ ᾿᾽μμένων πάϑοις:;

“For broken troth what penalty?”
/fgeus answers:

Med. 755:

fy = ; =
ἃ τοῖσι δυσσεβοῦσι γίγνεται βροτῶν.

“The worst that scourgeth God-despising men.”

The oaths of Jason by which Medea was induced to cross from
Asia to Europe are represented as a person or supernatural power
which brought her:

Med. 206-10:

St > L , t
Tov ἐν λέχει προδόταν κακόνυμφον"
ϑεοκλυτεῖ δ᾽ ἄδικα παϑοῦσα
A A ε , Lt
τὰν Zavos ὁρκίαν Θέμιν,
ἅ νιν ἔβασεν Kk. τ. X.

“ce

. .. the traitor to love who with false vows caught her
Who in strength of her wrongs chideth Heaven, assailing
The Oath-queen of Zeus, who with cords all prevailing
Forth haled her, and brought her o’er, etc.”

The “Oath-queen,” 1.6., who watches over the fulfillment of
oaths. ‘Themis caused Medea to cross over, because the latter
believed in the oaths of Jason.

Among the Greeks, as among the ancients generally, the oath,
regarded as a divine institution, had a sacred character. When
the Gods had been called to witness, one’s obligation was abso-
lute. Zeus was called Ζεὺς ὅρκιος (Hipp., 1025), the “guardian
of oaths,” or ταμίας ὅρκω (Med., 170), the “steward of oaths,”

66

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 13

who punishes men who break them. In the βουλευτήριον at
Olympia there was a statue of Ζεὺς ὅρκιος with a thunderbolt in
each hand. (Paus. V, 24, 9). |

As regards the formula of oath sometimes a prayer of a some-
what conventional form constitutes the oath, but besides these in-
stances we find in the tragedies of Euripides as well as in Greek
literature in general numerous examples of well-marked formulas
of oath, which are mostly references to deities, as “by Zeus;”
“1 call Zeus to witness,” val μὰ Δία: πρὸς ϑεῶν: ἴστω Leds: ovp-
μάρτυσι ϑεοῖς. Med. 619: δαίμονας μαρτύρομαι.

Med. 21-22:

βοᾷ μὲν ὅρκους, ἀνακαλεῖ δὲ δεξιᾶς

πίστιν μεγίστην, καὶ ϑεοὺς μαρτύρεται.
βοᾷ ὅρκους implies the calling for the vengeance due to broken oath ;
δεξιᾶς πίστις is used of plighting troth by the hand.

Med. 412-13:

. . . ϑεῶν δ᾽ οὐκέτι πίστις ἄραρε.

ϑεῶν πίστις is the appeal to the Gods as witnesses of a pledge, or
faith plighted in the sight of the Gods.

Sometimes a curse is invoked on himself by the swearer that
he may perish if he fails to keep his oath, as Med. 755. The
Greeks usually swore by a divinity that was in some way con-
nected with the subject of discourse. So Medea (395) swears
by Hekate, the patroness not only of witches, but of all who com-
pounded poisons, philters, etc. Medea figures throughout the
play as a magician and accomplishes her vengeance largely
through the aid of sorcery.

An oracle is mentioned in vv. 666 ff. A*geus has been to Delphi
to inquire how he may be blessed with offspring. He is on his
way to Pittheus to consult him on the meaning of the obscure

_oracle. The God had said:

Med. 679 and 681:

ἀσκοῦ με TOY προύχοντα μὴ λῦσαι πόδα,
- 4
πρὶν ἂν πατρῴαν αὖϑις ἑστίαν μόλω.

“Loose not the wine-skin’s forward-jutting foot,
Till to the hearth ancestral back thou come.”

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14 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

This oracle adds nothing particular to our search, except that it.
is a striking instance of an obscure and ambiguous oracle. Its
real meaning being “to preserve continence till his return
home”; but ἀσκοῦ λῦσαι πόδα also signified “to untie the foot-

3)

skin of a wine-bag.

32. ΤῊΒ ΗἸΡΡΟΙΥΤΟΘΒ

In the “ Hippolytus”” we meet with several remarkable features
of the supernatural element. The subject of the play is the ven-
geance which Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, exacts from the
hero after whom the play is named. The prologue is spoken by
Aphrodite. She tells us that she is wroth against Hippolytus,
because he has slighted her in word and deed; then she goes on
to declare her intention of avenging herself by a plot involving
Pheedra’s destruction as well as his.

“Theseus shall know this thing; all bared shall be:
And him that is my foe his sire shall slay
By curses, whose fulfilment the Sea-king
Poseidon gave to Theseus in this boon—
To ask three things of him, nor pray in vain.
And she shall die—O yea, her name unstained,
Yet Phaedra dies: I will not so regard
Her pain, as not to visit on my foes
Such penalty as is mine honour’s due.
But,—forasmuch as Theseus’ son 1 see
Yonder draw near, forsaking hunting’s toil,
Hippolytus,—forth will I from this place.
Ha, a great press of henchmen following shout
Honouring with songs the Goddess Artemis!
He knows not Hades’ gates wide flung for him,
And this day’s light the last his eyes shall see.”

(42-58. )

By means of this prediction—as is usually the case in the pro-
logues of Euripides—the spectators are made familiar before-
hand with the subject of the play. In the opening scene the hero
of the play enters with attendant huntsmen whom he exhorts to
extol the praise of Artemis. They respond in the lofty strain:

68

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 15

Hipp. 61-72:

πότνια πότνια σεμνοτάτα,

ZLavos γένεϑλον,

χαῖρε χαῖρε μοι, ὦ κόρα κ. τ. Δ.

“Ὁ Majesty, Daughter of Zeus, dread Queen,

I hail thee, Artemis, now,

O Leto’s Daughter, O Zeus’s child,

Loveliest far of the Undefiled!

In that great Home of the Mighty Father,

The palace of Zeus, mid the glory-sheen
Of gold—there dwellest thou.

O fairest, to theeward in greeting I call,

Artemis, fairest of Maidens that gather
In Olympus’ hall!”

Then Hippolytus offers a garland of flowers to Artemis; hence
our play is sometimes called “Stephanephorus,” the “ wreath-
bearer.”

Hipp. 73-87:
\ t A L ΣΦ ΕΣ la
σοὶ τόνδε πλεκτὸν στέφανον ἐξ ἀκηράτου
λειμῶνος, ὦ δέσποινα, κοσμήσας φέρω,
ww > " \ BD fe ΙΣ \
& οὔτε ποιμὴν ἀξιοῖ φέρβειν βοτὰ
οὔτ᾽ HAVE πω σίδηρος, ἀλλ᾽ ἀκήρατον κ. τ. Δ.

For thee this woven garland from a mead
Unsullied have I twined, O Queen, and bring.
There never shepherd dares to feed his flock,
Nor steel of sickle came: only the bee
Roveth the springtide mead undesecrate:
And Reverence watereth it with river-dews.

Now Queen, dear Queen, receive this anadem
From reverent hand to deck thy golden hair ;
For to me sole of men this grace is given,
That I be with thee, converse hold with thee,
Hearing thy voice, yet seeing not thy face.
And may I end life’s race as I began.”

In this beautiful prayer the poet portrays with exquisite skill
the ideal of a chaste and pious character. Hippolytus’ piety is as
untainted as his purity.

The Old Nurse who tries in vain to persuade Hippolytus to
worship Aphrodite steps up to the altar of that Goddess whose

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16 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

statue or symbol, like that of Artemis, was on the stage, and
utters the following prayer:

Hipp. 114-20:
ἡμεῖς δέ, τοὺς νέους γὰρ οὐ μιμητέον,
φρονοῦντες οὕτως ὡς πρέπει δούλοις λέγειν,
προσευξόμεσϑα τοῖσι σοῖς ἀγάλμασι,
δέσποινα κύπρι.
Ἐς ΤΟΝ: Α

“But we—who must not tread in steps οἵ youth—
With whispered humbleness most meet for thralls
Make supplication to thine images,
Queen Cypris. It beseems thee to forgive,
If one that bears through youth a vehement heart
Speak folly. Be as though thou heardest not;
For wiser Gods should be than mortal men.”

The same sentiment of piety and devotion as in the prayer of
Hippolytus in vv. 73-87 is expressed in the words in which he
addresses his favorite Goddess, when he knew that his fate was
sealed :

Hipp. 1092-94:
ὦ φιλτάτη μοι δαιμόνων Λητοῦς κόρη
σύνϑακε συγκύναγε, φευξούμεσϑα δὴ
κλεινὰς ᾿Αϑήνας.

“ Dearest of Gods to me, O Leto’s Child,
Companion, fellow-huntress, I shall flee
Athens the glorious.”

The end soon comes, and the dying Hippolytus is brought
home. In lamentations loud and deep .he calls on Death, the
healer :

Hipp. 1373-76:

Kat μοι Θάνατος ἸΤαιὰν ἔλϑοι.

προσαπόλλυτέ μ᾽ ὄὀλλυτετὸν δυσδαίμον᾽"
ἀμφιτόμου λόγχας ἔραμαι

διαμοιρᾶσαι.

“ Give ye sleep unto me,

Death-salve for my pain,

The sleep of the sword for the wretched—I long, oh I long to
be slain.”

Then suddenly is he aware of the presence of Artemis. A mar-

7O

The Supernatural in the Tragedies cf Euripides ΤΠ

vellous fragrance reveals her presence, and the dying youth mo-
mentarily revives and addresses the Goddess to whom he is faith-
ful unto death:

Hipp. 1391-93:
ὦ ϑεῖον ὀδμῆς πνεῦμα: Kal yap ἐν κακοῖς
ὧν ἡσϑόμην σου κἀνεκουφίσδην δέμας"
ἔστ᾽ ἐν τόποισι τοισίδ᾽ ᾿Αρτεμις ϑεά;
“ Ah, perfume-breath celestial!—mid my pains
I feel thee, and mine anguish is assuaged.
Lo in this place the Goddess Artemis!”

But the same pious, innocent Hippolytus being keenly conscious
of the injustice of his fate pours out his grief to the Gods:

Hipp. 1060-1 :
ὦ ϑεοί, τί δῆτα τοὐμὸν οὐ λύω στόμα,
ὅστις γ᾽ ὑφ᾽ ὑμῶν, οὺς σέβω διόλλυμαι;
“Ὃ Gods, why can I not unlock my lips,
Who am destroyed by you whom I revere?” ’

and cries out as he dies:

Hipp. 1363-60:
Zev Zev, τάδ᾽ ὁρᾷς:
ὅδ᾽ ὁ σεμνὸς ἐγὼ καὶ ϑεοσέπτωρ,
ὅδ᾽ ὁ σωφροσύνῃ πάντας ὑπερσχὼν
προῦπτον ἐς “Αιδην στείχω κατὰ γῆς,
ὀλέσας βίοτον μόχϑους δ᾽ ἄλλως
τῆς εὐσεβίας
εἰς ἀνϑρώπους ἐπόνησα.
“Ah Zeus hast thou seen?
Innocent I, ever fearing the Gods, who was wholly heart-clean
Above all men beside,—
Lo, how I am thrust
Unto Hades, to hide
My life in the dust!
All vainly I revetenced God, and in vain unto man was I just.”

The chorus, too, though confessing they derive consolation
from a belief in the care of the Gods, declare that on looking at
the chances and ‘changes of human life, they fail to get a clear
view of the dealings of providence:

“When faith overfloweth my mind, God’s providence all-embracing
Banisheth griefs: but when doubt whispereth ‘Ah but to know!’

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18 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

No clue through the tangle I find of fate and of life for my
tracing:

There is ever a change and many a change,

And the mutable fortune of men evermore sways to and fro
Over limitless range.

Ah, would the Gods hear prayer! etc.” (Hipp. 1102 ff.)

The prayer which Euripides puts into the mouth of Hippolytus
(1363-69) not only shows lack of consistency in drawing the
character of Hippolytus, but it also illustrates how ready Euripi-
des is to discredit the religion he did not believe in. Here the
question arises: Why, if Artemis so loved Hippolytus, did she
not interfere to save him? In vv. 1327 ff. she explains why she
could not prevent the deed, for there is a law of the Gods not to
Oppose one another :

Hipp. 1325-30:
. ἀλλ᾽ ὅμως
ἔτ᾽ ἔστι σοὶ καὶ τῶνδε συγγνώμης τυχεῖν"
Κύπρις yap ἤϑελ᾽ ὥστε γίγνεσϑαι τάδε,
πληροῦσα ϑυμόν. ϑεοῖσι δ᾽ ὧδ᾽ ἔχει νόμος"
οὐδεὶς ἀπαντᾶν βούλεται προϑυμίᾳ
τῇ τοῦ ϑέλοντος, ἀλλ᾽ ἀφιστάμεσϑ᾽ ἀεί.

This explanation given by Artemis well fits Prof. Jebb’s note-
worthy conception of our play. According to him the whole
action of the play is made to turn on the jealous feud between
Aphrodite, the Goddess of love, and Artemis, the Goddess of
chastity. “The natural agency of human passion is now re-
placed by a supernatural machinery; the slain son and the be-
reaved father are no longer the martys of sin, the tragic wit-
nesses of an inexorable law; rather they and Pheedra are alike
the puppets of a divine caprice, the scapegoat of an Olympian
quarrel in which they have no concern.” (Jebb on Euripides in
Encycl. Britannica.)

Some examples of imprecations or curses occur in our play.
Phedra pronounces a curse on the Nurse who without the queen’s
knowledge and consent has revealed to Hippolytus the whole
situation : ;

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 19

Hipp. 682-86:
ὦ παγκακίστη καὶ φίλων διαφϑορεῦ,
ol εἰργάσω με. Ζεύς σε γεννήτωρ ἐμὸς
πρόρριζον ἐκτρίψειεν οὐτάσας πυρί. κ. τ. Δ.
“Vilest of vile! destroyer of thy friends!
How hast thou ruined me! May Zeus my sire
Smite thee with flame, blast thee to-nothingness !
Did I not tell thee—not divine thy purpose?”

Another example is found in vv. 887 ff., where Hippolytus
charged by Theseus with the crime of having made dishonorable
proposals to Pheedra, is cursed by his father with a fatal curse:

Hipp. 887 ff. :
ἀλλ᾽ ὦ πάτερ Πόσειδον, ἃς ἐμοί ποτε
ἀρὰς ὑπέσχου τρεῖς, μιᾷ κατέργασαι
τούτων ἐμὸν παῖδ᾽, ἡμέραν δὲ μὴ φύγοι
τήνδ᾽, εἴπερ ἡμῖν ὥπασας σαφεῖς ἀράς.
ἢ γὰρ Ποσειδῶν αὐτὸν εἰς ᾿ Αἰδου πύλας
ϑανόντα πέμψει τὰς ἐμὰς ἀρὰς σέβων,
ἢ τῆσδε χώρας ἐκπεσὼν ἀλώμενος
ξένην ἐπ᾽ αἶαν λυπρὸν ἀντλήσει βίον.

“Father Poseidon, thou didst promise me
Three curses once. Do thou with one of these
Destroy my son: may he not escape this day,
If soothfast curses thou hast granted me.

Either Poseidon, reverencing my prayers,

Shall slay and speed him unto Hades’ halls,

Or, banished from this land, a vagabond

On strange shores shall he drain life’s bitter dregs.”

With this passage compare vv. 44 ff., where Aphrodite predicts
this curse:

“And him that is my foe his sire shall slay
By curses, whose fulfillment the Sea-king
Poseidon gave to Theseus in this boon—
To ask three things of him, nor pray in vain.”

and vv. 1173 ff., where the messenger brings the news of the ful-
fillment of the curse.

Hippolytus asserts his innocence imprecating Zeus’ punishment
upon himself in case he is guilty:

73

20 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Hipp. 1191-93:
Zeb, μηκέτ᾽ εἴην, εἰ κακὸς πέφυκ᾽ ἀνήρ"
αἴσϑοιτο δ᾽ ἡμᾶς ὡς ἀτιμάζει πατὴρ
ἤτοι ϑανόντας ἢ φάος δεδορκότας.

“Zeus, may I die if I a villain am!
May my sire know that he is wronging me,
When I am dead, if not while I see light!”

Finally the innocent Hippolytus being deadly wounded cries
out :

Hipp. 1415:

φεῦ ed’ ἦν apatoy δαίμοσιν βροτῶν γένος.

“Ὁ that men’s curses could but strike the Gods!”

The same innocent, pious Hippolytus who according to his own
words had “ever reverenced and feared the Gods,” wishes that
the human race had the power of bringing curses on the Gods!
What greater condemnation of the traditional Gods could there
be than this!

In the well known passage v. 612 Euripides seems to express
doubt as to the sanctity of oath. When the Nurse adjured Hip-
polytus by his oath not to betray her wretched mistress he ex-
claims in his fury:

Hipp. 612:
ἡ γλῶσσ᾽ ὀμώμοχ᾽, ἡ δὲ φρὴν ἀνώμοτος.
“My tongue has sworn: no oath is on my soul.”

Cicero who renders this celebrated line: Juravi lingua, mentem
injuratam gero (De Off. III, 29), defends the sentiment. Aris-
tophanes parodies it in several passages (Arist. Acharn. 398-99 ;
Frogs 102; 1471; and @hesm.) 275-706). The commie pocrwuilxe
many others, misrepresents this line of Euripides, as though he
justified the breach of an uttered oath on the plea of a mental
reservation. This verse is also said to have brought upon Euripi-
des the charge of impiety (Arist. Rhet. III, 15). That the poet
intended to imperil the respect due to oaths, is an unjust and ab-
surd accusation. First of all it is always precarious to judge a
dramatic poet by the excited utterances of his characters; and
then, if this verse is read in its proper place and interpreted in its

74

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 51

context, it is easily explained. Phedra’s nurse before she in-
forms Hippolytus of the passion which Phedra has conceived for
him, makes the young man promise not to reveal the secret she is
about to communicate to him. Having made the promise under
oath Hippolytus declares that if he were not bound by his oath
he would unhesitatingly reveal the whole truth to his father, The-
seus. This shows that the utterance in v. 612 is nothing but a
sudden outburst of self-reproach on the part of a youth of stain-
less purity, indignant at having been entrapped into a verbal oath
of whose true meaning he was at the time utterly ignorant. Paley
considers it uncertain whether Hippolytus spoke these words in
earnest or merely to frighten the Nurse. But whatever may be
said to explain this line, we know that Hippolytus feels himself
bound by the oath:

Hipp. 656-58:
εὖ δ᾽ ἴσϑι, τοὐμόν σ᾽ εὐσεβὲς σώζει, γύναι:
εἰ μὴ γὰρ ὅρκοις θεῶν ἄφρακτος ῃ ἱρέϑην,
οὐκ ἄν ποτ᾽ ἔσχον μὴ οὐ τάδ᾽ ἐξειπεῖψ πατρί.
“Woman, I fear God: know, that saveth thee.
For, had I not by oaths been trapped unawares,
I had ne’er forborne to tell this to my sire,’

and at the conclusion of the play, we find him bearing his father’s
unjust resentment, and even exile and death, rather than violate
this very oath, which he declares in 612 to be no oath at all:

Hipp. 1062-63:
οὐ δῆτα πάντως οὐ πίϑοιμ᾽ ἂν οὕς με δεῖ,
μάτην δ᾽ ἂν ὅρκους συγχέαιμ᾽ ovs ὦὥμοσα.
“No!—whom I need persuade, I should not so,
And all for naught should break the oaths I swore!”

And Artemis bears testimony to Hippolytus’ faithfulness in the
following words:

Hipp. 1306-090:

"ἃ "τὰ 3 vo \ , t
ἣ σῷ Ot ὅρκων παιδὶ σημαίνει νόσον.
a a ou. BY , > 2 ᾿
ὃ δ᾽ ὥσπερ ὧν δίκαιος οὐκ ἐφέσπετο
λόγοισιν, οὐδ᾽ αὖ πρὸς σέϑεν κακούμενος
ὅρκων ἀφεῖλε πίστιν, εὐσεβὴς γεγώς.

its

... her nurse

75

22 . Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Told under oath-seal to thy son her pangs:

He, even as was righteous, would not heed

The tempting; no, nor when sore-wronged of thee
Broke he the oath’s pledge, for he feared the Gods.”

Taken in its context v. 612 may, indeed, be justified; but the
formula itself is objectionable on account of the possible abuse of
its application. When Euripides distinguished between the
tongue that pronounces the formula of the oath and the mind
that does or does not acquiesce in the words pronounced, he did
certainly not intend to express doubt as to the sanctity of oaths
or even justify perjury, but intended to distinguish between valid
and invalid oaths thus attempting to goad people to reflection.
We may, however, well imagine that the Greeks in Euripides’
days, who were nourished on the idea that the formula of oath,
when pronounced, was absolutely binding, were scandalized when
they heard in the theatre that oaths might be discriminated ac-
cording to the circumstances under which they were made.

The following oath of the chorus is important for the sequel
of the play. It prevents the chorus from revealing to Theseus
the truth about the relations of Hippolytus and Phedra and
saving Hippolytus:

Hipp: 713-14:
ὄμνυμι σεμνὴν Αρτεμιν Διὸς κόρην,
μηδὲν κακῶν σῶν εἰς φάος δείξειν ποτέ.

“T swear by reverend Artemis, Zeus’ child,
Never to bare to light of thine ills aught.”

The formula ’’Apreuw Διὸς κόρην was suggested by the statue of
Artemis, which stood on the stage.

Euripides had no regard for the function of soothsayers or
prophets. He evidently considers them as public impostors and
attacks them whenever opportunity offers. Hippolytus driven
from Attica by his father, complains that he has been exiled
without a trial, without proof of the crime of which he is accused,
and without consultation of the soothsayers:

Hipp. 1055-56:
οὐδ᾽ ὅρκον οὐδὲ πίστιν οὐδὲ μάντεων
φήμας ἐλέγξας ἄκριτον ἐκβαλεῖς με γῆς;

76

The Supernatural in the Tragedies a Euripides 22

“Nor oath, nor pledge, nor prophet’s utterance
Wilt test, but cast me forth the land untried?”

and Theseus replies with no respect for the art of ornithomancy:

Hipp. 1057-50:
ἡ δέλτος HOE κλῆρον οὐ δεδεγμένη
κατηγορεῖ cov πιστά: τοὺς δ᾽ ὑπὲρ κάρα
φοιτῶντας ὄρνεις πόλλ᾽ ἐγὼ χαίρειν λέγω.

“This tablet, though it bear no prophet’s sign,
Acuseth thee, not lieth: but the birds
That roam o’erhead—I wave them long farewell.”

NB. In vv. 616 ff. Hippolytus expostulates with Zeus and lays

the blame on him that woman is man’s scourge:
ἢ
“Why hast thou given a home beneath the sun,
Zeus, unto woman, specious curse to man? etc.”

The whole passage is a sally of doubtful sincerity, and since it is
not so much an invective against Zeus as an invective—and per-
haps the most bitter piece of an invective—against women, it is
of little importance in regard to the poet’s handling of the super-
natural element.

4. THE HECUBA

ΕΠ ὉΠ ΟΡ Ὁ (about 425) Bie.) treats vot the) revenge: of
Hecuba, the widowed queen of Priam, of Polymestor, king of
Thrace, who had murdered her youngest son Polydorus, after
her daughter Polyxena had already been sacrificed by the Greeks
to the shade of Achilles. ;

Hecuba appears on the stage and declares that she has been
driven from within her tent in alarm at a vision. The vision was
the ghost of her murdered son, Polydorus, whom she believes to
be safe and well in Thrace. She adds that she also has been
warned by an ominous dream about her daughter Polyxena.
From these apparitions she infers that some misfortune is im-
pending over both her children and.is anxious to consult her
prophetic children, Cassandra and Helenus, as to the purport of
these supernatural manifestations. Besides this vision and this

7/7

24 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

dream a previous appearance of Achilles’ ghost over his tomb had
added to the alarm and confusion.

Hec. 68-78:
ὦ στεροπὰ Διός, ὦ σκοτία νύξ,
τί ποτ᾽ αἴρομαι ἔννυχος οὕτω
δείμασι φάσμασι; ὦ πότνια Χϑών, κ. τ. X.
“Ὁ lightning splendour of Zeus, O mirk of the night,
Why quake I for visions in slumber that haunt me
With terrors with phantoms? O Earth’s majestic might,
Mother of dreams that hover in dusk-winged flight,
I cry to the vision of darkness ‘ Avaunt thee! ’—
The dream of my son who was sent into Thrace to be saved
from the slaughter,
The dream that I saw of Polyxena’s doom,
Which I saw, which I knew, which abideth to daunt me.”

Hee. 90 ff. :
εἶδον yap βαλιὰν ἔλαφον λύκου αἵμονι χαλᾷ
σφαζομέναν, ἀπ᾽ ἐμῶν γονάτων σπασϑεῖσαν ἀνάγκᾳ οἰκτρῶς.

“For a dappled fawn I beheld which a wolf’s red fangs were
tearing,
Which he dragged from my knees, whereto she had clung in
her piteous despairing.”

Hecuba reflects again on the apparition of her son:

Hec. 702-06:
ὦμοι, αἰαῖ, ἔμαϑον ἐνύπνιον ὀμμάτων
ἐμῶν ὄψιν, οὔ με παρέβα φά-
σμα μελανόπτερον,
ἃν ἐσεῖδον ἀμφὶ σ᾽,
ὦ τέκνον, οὐκέτ᾽ ὄντα Διὸς ἐν φάει. i
“Woe’s me, I discern it, the vision that blasted my sight!
Neither flitted unheeded that black-winged phantom of night,

Which I saw, which revealed that my son was no more of the
light.”

Doubtless, Euripides employs such supernatural element of
dreams and visions as a survival of a primitive belief. But the
predominant reason for employing supernatural apparitions and
manifestations in tragedy, especially where a serious effect is
aimed at, is the desire of the poet to arouse terror. The fear of
ghosts and the fear resulting from dreams, is, of course, vague

78

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 25

and hard to define, but the feeling is rooted deeply in the human
soul that there are such supernatural forces and that they are of
doubtful friendliness to man. Hence Euripides calls Earth “the
Mother of dreams” regarding dreams as sent up from the re-
cesses of the earth, 7.e., from Hades; therefore they are “ black-
winged,” 1.6., gloomy and of evil portent.

Different types of prayers occur in the “Hecuba.” In utter
distress Hecuba fervently implores the Gods to spare her children:

Hec. 79-80:
ὦ χθόνιοι ϑεοί, σώσατε παῖδ᾽ ἐμόν,
ὃς μόνος οἴκων ἄγκυρ᾽ ἐμῶν.
“Gods of the Underworld save ye my son,
Mine house’s anchor, its only one.”
Hec. 96-97:
ἀπ᾽ ἐμᾶς οὖν ἀπ᾽ ἐμᾶς τόδε παιδὸς
πέμψατε, δαίμονες, ἱκετεύω.
“Ὁ Gods, I am suppliant before you!—In any wise turn, I im-
plore you,
This fate from the child of my womb!”

Euripides, who sometimes seems to deny or call in question the
existence of the Gods, makes Talthybius moralize on the strange
dispensations of heaven and the caprice of fortune:

Hec. 488-01:
ὦ Zev, τί λέξω; πότερά σ᾽ ἀνθρώπους ὁρᾶν;
ἢ δόξαν ἄλλως τήνδε κεκτῆσϑαι μάτην
ψευδῆ, δοκοῦντας δαιμόνων εἶναι γένος,
τύχην δὲ πάντα τἂν βροτοῖς ἐπισκοπεῖν;
“What shall I say, Zeus?—that thou look’st on men?
Or that this fancy false we vainly hold
For nought, who deem there is a race of Gods,
While chance controlleth all things among men?”

In conformity with this sentiment the poet makes Polymestor
say:

Hec. 958-60:

φρύρουσι δ᾽ αὐτὰ ϑεοὶ πάλιν τε Kal πρόσω
ταραγμὸν ἐντιϑέντες, ὡς ἀγνωσίᾳ
σέβωμεν αὐτούς.

“ All things the Gods confound, hurl this way and that,
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26 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Turmoiling all, that we, foreknowing nought,
May worship them.”

Prayers to the dead are of frequent occurrence in Euripides.
Achilles’ son attempts to propitiate his father’s ghost by sacrifice
and prayer and all the host joined in that prayer:

IGIe@, ΒΩ ΠΣ:
ὦ παῖ Πηλέως, πατὴρ δ᾽ ἐμός,᾿
δέξαι χοάς μου τάσδε κ. τ. X.

“Son of Peleus, father mine,
Accept from me these drops propitiatory,
Ghost-raising. Draw thou nigh to drink pure blood
Dark-welling from a maid. We give it thee,
The host and I. Gracious to us be thou; etc.”

Invocations of the dead presuppose that the departed soul,
though beneath the earth, still has the semblance of existence and
the power of hearing. In this case the spirit of the dead was not
only thought to be propitiated by the sacrifice, but actually to
taste it. |

Polymestor having obtained an oracle from the Thracian seer
Dionysus foretells to Hecuba that she shall die by a fall from a
mast after having been changed into the canine species, and to
Agamemnon that he will die by the hand of his wife:

Hec.: 1261 ff.:

κρύψῃ μὲν οὖν πεσοῦσαν ἐκ καρχησίων κ. τ. Δ.

“Nay, but shall whelm thee fallen from the mast.
Yea—slay him too, upswinging high the axe.”

5. [HE ANDROMACHE

The “Andromache” was not acted at Athens in the author’s
life-time. Its plot belongs to the same division of the Trojan
affairs as the “Hecuba” and the “Troades,” viz., the fortune
of the captives after the destruction of their city. The “An-
dromache”’ is by no means one of the best plays of Euripides. It
also contributes only a few examples to our discussion, but those
few are characteristic of the poet’s handling the supernatural
element.

80

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides »η

Orestes, who prays to his patron God:

Andr. 900:

ὦ Φοῖβ᾽ ἀκέστωρ, πημάτων δοίης λύσιν.

“Ὁ Healer Pheebus, grant from woes release! ”

assumes that the Gods do wrong; in the following verse (901) he
asks Hermione:

“What ails thee? Art thou wronged of Gods or men?”
and Hermione answers in the affirmative:

“Of myself partly, partly of my lord, ©
In part of some God: ruin is everywhere

ἡ»

In the choral ode (1009 ff.) the divine founders of Troy, Apollo
and Poseidon, are upbraided for having abandoned to destruction
their once beloved city:

Andr. 1009-16:

ὦ Φοῖβε πυργώσας

τὸν ἐν ᾿Ιλίῳ εὐτειχῆ πάγον κ. τ. X.

τάλαιναν μεϑεῖτε Τροίαν;

“Ὁ Phoebus, who gavest to Ilium glory

Of diadem-towers on her hights,x—and O Master

Of Sea-depths, whose grey-gleaming steeds o’er the hoary
Surf-ridges speed —to the War-god, The Waster
With spears, for what cause for a spoil did he cast her,
Whom your own hands had fashioned, dishonoured to lie
In wretchedness, wretchedness—her that was Troy?”

In the famous speech which the poet puts into the mouth of
Andromache, and in which he expresses his own dislike of the
Spartans, he pronounces an imprecation on that people:

Andr. 451-53:
ov λέγοντες ἄλλα μὲν
γλώσσῃ, φρονοῦντες δ᾽ ἄλλ᾽ ἐφευρίσκεσδ᾽ ἀεί;
ὄλοισϑε.
“Convicted liars, saying
This with the tongue, while still your hearts mean that,
Now ruin seize ye!”

The oracle-god is portrayed as a pitiless character, who con-
SI

2ὃ Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

demns Neoptolemus to death when engaged in expiating a small
offence thus seeking by prayer and sacrifice to assuage the wrath
of the God:

Andr. 1161-65:

τοιαῦϑ᾽ ὁ τοῖς ἄλλοισι ϑεσπῖζων ἄναξ,
ὁ τῶν δικαίων πᾶσιν ἀνϑρώποις κριτής,
δίκας διδόντα παῖδ᾽ ἔδρασ᾽ ᾿Αχιλλέως.
ἐμνημόνευσε δ᾽ ὥσπερ ἄνϑρωπος κακὸς —
παλαιὰ νείκη" πῶς ἂν οὖν εἴη σοφός;
“Thus he that giveth oracles to the world,
He that is judge to all men of the right,
Hath wreaked revenge upon Achilles’ son,—
Yea, hath remembered, like some evil man,
An old, old feud! How then shall he be wise?”

The satire in these lines so freely reflecting on the alleged
justice, impartiality, and wisdom of Apollo is in keeping with the
poet’s attitude elsewhere; cf. lon 436ff. The poet’s enemies of
old were delighted with the handle which such passages offered
against him. (Arist. Thesm. 450.)

6. Wisc ΤΟΝ

The “Ion’’—chronologically placed somewhere between 424--
421 B.C.—may safely be called one of the most perfect and beau-
tiful of the Greek tragedies. The young Ion is a priest at the
temple of Delphi when Xuthus and his wife Creusa, daughter of
Erechtheus, come to inquire of the God concerning their child-
lessness ; and it is discovered that lon is the son of Creusa by the
God Apollo.

The “Ion” represents the supernatural, and especially the
oracle-god in as unpleasant a light as possible.

In a monody of remarkable beauty, and full of pure-minded
and devout sentiments Ion describes with enthusiasm the pleas-
ure, he takes in the service of Apollo, his patron god, vv. 82-183.
To quote only:

Ton 128-43:
καλόν γε τὸν πόνον, ὦ
Φοῖβε, σοὶ πρὸ δόμων λατρεύω κ. τ. λ.

“°Tis my glory, the service I render

82

a grace in the Old Testament.
God’s deed he breaks forth in this wise:

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides

In thy portals, Ὁ Phceebus, to thee!
I honour thy prophet-shrine.
Proud labour is mine—it is thine!
IT am thrall to the Gods divine:
Not to men, but Immortals, I tender
My bondage; ’tis glorious and free:
Never faintness shall fall upon me
For my father thee, Phcebus, I praise,
Who hast nurtured me all my days:
My begetter, mine help, my defender
This temple’s Phcebus shall be.
O Healer, O Healer-king.
Let blessing on blessing upring
Unto Leto’s Son as I sing!”

Ton 436-51:

νουϑετητέος δέ μοι

Φοιβος, τί πάσχει: παρϑένους βίᾳ γαμῶν
προδίδωσι, K. τ. Δ.

οἰ π|||5 1 plead
With Phcebus—what ails him? He ravisheth
Maids, and forsakes; begetteth babes by stealth,
And heeds not, though they die. Do thou not so!
Being strong, be righteous. For what man soe’er
Transgresseth, the Gods visit this on him.
How were it just then that ye should enact
For men laws, and yourselves work lawlessness ?
For if—it could not be, yet put it so—
Ye should pay mulct to men for lawless lust,
Thou, the Sea-king, and Zeus the Lord of Heaven,
Paying for wrongs should make your temples void.
For, following pleasure past all wisdom’s bounds,
Ye work unrighteousness. Unjust it were
To call men vile, if we but imitate

What Gods deem good :—they are vile who teach us this.”

83

29

There are few things more charming in Greek literature than
the picture of Ion’s childlike innocence and priestly sanctity which
Euripides portrays in these lines.
the boy Samuel whose ministrations are painted with so exquisite
But as soon as Ion hears of the

Ion reminds one strongly of

30 Ernest Heimrich Klotsche

For the-same sentiment cf. Creusa’s words,

vv. 240 ff. :
“ . looking on Apollo’s dwelling place,
I traversed o’er an ancient memory’s track:
Afar my thoughts were, and my body here,
Ah, wrongs of women !—wrongful-reckless deeds
Of Gods! For justice where shall we make suit,
If ’tis our Lord’s injustice crushes us?”

Again she charges Apollo with injustice

Ion 384 ff.:
ὦ Φοῖβε, κἀκεῖ κἀνδάδ᾽ ov δίκαιος εἶ kK. τ. X.
“Ὁ Phoebus, there and here unjust art thou
Unto the absent one whose plea is here.
Thou shouldst have saved thine own, yet didst not save; etc.”

and in the violent invectives vv. 881 ff. she cannot find sufficient
imprecations wherewith to curse before Heaven the “ ravisher-
bridegroom” (911) who has made her mother.

These passages not only show that the poet requires the Gods
to teach by example and not merely by precept in order to furnish
a moral standard for humanity, but these verses also illustrate
how ready Euripides is to bring forward with great force the
grosser side of the Greek legend, and to discredit the religion
with ‘which he is not at all in inner harmony. Toward the end of
the play, however,—as in other tragedies of Euripides, where the
Gods are most severely assailed,—the conduct of the God is vin-
dicated by Athena who speaks for her brother, vv. 1595 ff. “ Well
hath Apollo all things done: εἰς. ; and Creusa finally admits the
justice of Apollo:

“Here me: Phoebus praise I, whom I praised not in mine hour
of grief,
For that whom he set at naught, his child, to me he now re-
stores, etc.”

and the chorus insists at the end that the God’s ways are not our
ways, and that their seeming injustices are made good in due
time :

84

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 3231

Ion 1619-21:
ὦ Διὸς Λητοῦς τ᾿ ᾿Απολλον, χαῖῤ' ὅτῳ δ᾽ ἐλαύνεται κ. τ. Δ.
“ Zeus’ and Leto’s Son Apollo, hail! Let him to powers divine
Render homage undismayed, whose house affliction’s buffets
_ smite:
For the good at last shall overcome, at last attain their right;
But the evil, by their nature’s law, on good shall never light.”

Creusa’s prayer in vv. 410 ff. is characteristic on account of its
ambiguity :
Ion 410-12:
ὦ πότνια Φοίβου μῆτερ, εἰ yap aiciws

ἔλϑοιμεν, ἅ τε νῷν συμβόλαια πρόσϑεν ἦν
ἐς παῖδα τὸν σόν, μεταπέσοι βελτίονα.

“Queen, Phceebus’ mother, grant our home-return
Prosperous: all our dealings heretofore
Touching thy son, to happier issue fall!”

With this prayer Creusa intentionally deceives her husband. She
secretly refers to the relation between herself and Apollo, while
Xuthus is to take νῷν for himself and his wife, the συμβόλαια
being the sacrifices which they two had formerly made to Apollo
for children.

Two other prayers of less importance to our investigation may
be mentioned here. The choral ode in vv. 1048 ff. opens as a
prayer to Hekate, the Goddess of sorcery and secret poisoning.
She is invoked to direct to a favorable issue the stealthy attempt
on Ion’s life:

“Goddess of Highways, Demeter’s Daughter,
Queen of the nightmare darkness-ranger,
Guide thou the hand that for noontide slaughter
Shall fill the chalice, my lady’s avenger, etc.”

The prayer of the chorus in vv. 452 ff. is an invocation to
Athena and Artemis to intercede with their brother in favor of
the ancient royal house of Erechtheus:

“My Queen, at whose birth-tide was given
Of the Lady of Travail-pang
No help, hear, Pallas, my prayer, etc.”

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32 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

The Delphic oracle and the Delphic God are exhibited in a very
unfavorable light in our play. Apollo is represented as a seducer
of women, who attempts to hide his misdeeds by means of fraud-
ulent response:

Ion 365-67:
πῶς ὁ ϑεὸς ὃ λαϑεῖν βούλεται μαντεύσεται;
εἴπερ καϑίζει τρίποδα κοινὸν ᾿Ἑϊλλάδος.
αἰσχύνεται τὸ πρᾶγμα: μὴ ᾿ξέλεγχε νιν.

Ton: “How should the God reveal that he would hide?”
Creusa: “ How not?—his is the nation’s oracle.”
Ton: “His shame the deed is. Question not of him.”

In other words: the God will never reveal in the oracle secrets
against himself. Therefore the seer Trophonius

66

... took not on him to forestall the word
Of Phoebus. This he said—nor thou nor I
Childless shall wend home from the oracle.”

(vv. 407-09.)
The following verses refer to the ambiguity of Apollo’s oracle:

Ton 787-88 :
cla Τὰ 2 ~ A
ὅτῳ ξυναντήσειεν ἐκ ναοῦ συϑεὶς
, ᾿ ᾿ “..» > fa »
πρώτῳ πόσις σός, παῖδ᾽ ἔδωκ᾽ αὐτῷ ϑεός.

“Whomso thy lord should first meet as he passed
From the God’s fane, the God gave him for son.”

According to vv. 537, 775, and 788 the God’s oracle was: δίδωμί
σοι τὸν παῖδα, thus leaving it ambiguous whether the boy was the
son of Xuthus or his own son. Therefore Creusa says:

Ton 1534-36:
πεφυκέναι μὲν οὐχί, δωρεῖται δέ σε
αὑτοῦ γεγῶτα: Kai γὰρ ἂν φίλος φίλῳ
δοίη τὸν αὑτοῦ παῖδα δεσπότην δόμων.
“Nay, not begotten; but his gift art thou,
Sprung from himself,—as friend to friend should give
His own son, that his house might have an heir.”

and Ion asks:
86

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 33

Jon 1537-38:
ὁ ϑεὸς ἀληϑὲς ἢ μάτην μαντεύεται:
ἐμοῦ ταράσσει, μῆτερ, εἰκότως φρένα.

“Ts the God true?—or doeth his oracle lie?
Mother, my soul it troubleth: well it may.”

“TLoxias”’==“ Apollo” was according to the popular deriva-
tion “the God of crooked answers,’ because his oracles were
λόξια “crooked” and so ambiguous.

At the end after Apollo’s plot has been discovered, Athena
comes to speak for her brother, who is ashamed to appear in
person, lest he be reproached for the manner in which he has
managed affairs:

fon 1556-58:

Παλλάς, δρόμῳ σπεύσασ᾽ ᾿Απόλλωνος Tapa,
2 2

Os εἰς μὲν ὄψιν σφῶν μολεῖν οὐκ ἠξίου,

μὴ τῶν πάροιϑε μέμψις εἰς μέσον μόλῃ.

“T Pallas from Apollo speed in haste,
Who deigned not to reveal him to your sight,
Else must he chide you for things overpast.”

Literally translated the last line reads: “lest blame for former
things should. come between” referring to Apollo’s conduct in
the past.

The poet’s usual contempt for the art of divination is expressed
in the following verses :

Ion 374-77:
eis γὰρ τοσοῦτον ἀμαϑίας ἔλϑοιμεν av,
εἰ τοὺς ϑεοὺς ἄκοντας ἐκπονήσομεν
φράζειν ἃ μὴ ϑέλουσιν ἢ προβωμίοις
σφαγαῖσι μήλων ἢ δὶ οἰωνῶν πτεροῖς.
“For, lo what height of folly should we reach
If in the God’s despite we wrest their will,
By sacrifice of sheep on altars, or
By flight of birds, to tell what they would veil.”

7. HE SUPPLICES

b)

The “ Supplices” is almost entirely free from sceptical and ir-
religious sentiments and replete with respect for the Gods. The

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34 Ernest Heimrich Klotsche

short prologue from A¢thra is really an indirect prayer to Demeter
at Eleusis:

Suppl. 1-7:
Δήμητερ ἑστιοῦχ᾽ ᾿Βλευσῖνος χϑονὸς
τῆσδ᾽ κ. τ. Δ.

“Demeter, warder of Eleusis-land

And ye which keep and:serve the Goddess’ fanes,
Grant me and my son Theseus prosperous days,
Grant them to Athens and to Pittheus’ land,
Where in a happy home my sire nursed me,
A&thra, and gave me to Pandion’s son
fEgeus, to wife, by Loxias’ oracle.”

Theseus, who denies the old saying “that evil more abounds
with men than good” (vv. 196-97), expresses his gratitude
toward divine Providence:

“Praise to the God who shaped in order’s mould
Our lives redeemed from chaos and the brute,
First, by implanting reason, giving then
The tongue, world-herald, to interpret speech;
Earth’s fruit for food, for nurturing thereof
Raindrops from heaven, to feed earth’s fosterlings,
And water her green bosom; therewithal
Shelter from storms, and shadow from the heat,
Sea-tracking ships, that traffic might be ours
With fellow-men of that which each land lacks”

(vv. 201-10) ;

and his firm belief in divination:

Suppl. 211-13:
ἃ δ᾽ ἔστ᾽ ἄσημα κοὺ σαφῆ, γιγνώσκομεν
εἰς πῦρ βλέποντες, καὶ κατὰ σπλάγχνων πτυχὰς
μάντεις προσημαίνουσιν οἰωνῶν τ᾽ ἄπο.
“And for invisible things or dimly seen,
Soothsayers watch the flame, the liver’s folds,
Or from the birds divine the things to be.”

Cf. also vv. 155 ff., where Theseus asks Adrastus:

Suppl. 155:
“ Didst seek to seers, and gaze on altar flames?”

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 35

and Adrastus confesses:

“Ah me! thou pressest me where most I erred!” (156.)
In vv. 627 ff. Euripides lets the chorus appeal to Zeus:

Suppl. 627-30:
ἰὼ Zev, Tas παλαιομάτορος
παιδαγόνε πόριος ᾿Ινάχου.
πόλει μοι ξύμμαχος
γενοῦ τᾷδ᾽ εὐμενής.
“Zeus, hear us, whose ‘offspring was born of yore
Of Inachus-daughter, the heifer-maid!
Oh be our champion thou,
To our city be gracious now!”

Adrastus professes that humanity is in close dependence upon
Zeus:

Suppl. 734-36:
ὦ Zev, τί δῆτα τοὺς ταλαιπώρους βροτοὺς
φρονεῖν λέγουσι; σοῦ γὰρ ἐξηρτήμεϑα
δρῶμέν τε τοιαῦϑ᾽ ἃν σὺ τυγχάνῃς ϑέλων.

“Zeus, wherefore do they say that wretched man
Is wise? For lo, we hang upon thy skirts,
And that we do, it is but as thou wilt.”

If things go as Heaven has ordained, no wonder that the same
Adrastus admits that prayer is of no avail. He leaves the sup-
pliant-bough on the altar as a protest that his prayer has been
slighted, and exclaims:

=

Suppl. 260-62:
Veovs τε Kal γῆν τήν TE πυρφόρον ϑεὰν
Δήμητρα ϑέμεναι μάρτυρ᾽ ἡλίου τε φῶς,
ὡς οὐδὲν ἡμῖν ἤρκεσαν λιταὶ ϑεῶν.

“Calling to witness heaven and earth, Demeter,

Fire-bearing Goddess, and the Sun-god’s light,
That naught our prayers unto the Gods availed.”

Athena who comes in ex machina, bids Theseus not to sur-
render the bodies of the seven chieftains without their pledging
themselves ever after to be faithful to Athens, and promising,
under the most solemn imprecations, never to invade the Attic

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26 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

territory. She prescribes the ritual of the oath, vv. 1183-1226.
Theseus as well as the chorus express their willingness to obey:

Theseus:
Suppl. 1227-31:
δέσποιν᾽ ᾿Αϑάνα, πείσομαι λόγοισι Gots:
ἘΣ ΤΑΝ:

“Athena, Queen, thy words will I obey:
Thou guidest me ever that I may not err.
Him will I bind with oaths: only do thou
Still lead me aright; for gracious while thou are
To Athens, shall we ever safely dwell.”

Chorus:
Suppl. 1232-35:
στείχωμεν, Adpacd’, ὅρκια δῶμεν
τῷδ᾽ ἀνδρὶ πόλει τ΄" ἄξια δ᾽ ἡμῖν
προμεμοχϑήκασι σέβεσϑαι.
“On pass we, Adrastus, and take oath-plight
Unto Theseus and Athens. That worship requite

Their travail for us, is meet and right.”

8. THe HERACLEIDE

In the “ Heracleide’’ Demophon, king of Athens, informs
Tolus that they who have charge of ancient oracles declare, one
and all, that success in the pending conflict can only be assured
by sacrificing to Ceres the maiden daughter of an illustrious sire:

Heracl. 403-09:
χρησμῶν δ᾽ ἀοιδοὺς πάντας εἰς ἕν ἁλίσας
ἤλεγξα κ. τ. Δ.
“All prophecy-chanters have I caused to meet,
Into old public oracles have I searched,
And secret, for salvation of this land.
And, mid their manifold diversities,
In one thing. glares the sense of all the same:—
They bid me to Demeter’s Daughter slay
A maiden of a high-born father sprung.”

In compliance with this oracle, Macaria offers herself a willing
victim for the welfare of the state, vv. 500 ff.
Another oracle is proclaimed by the captured Eurystheus who

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 37

foretells the future destiny of those who are now triumphant
over him:

Heracl. 1026-29:
κτεῖν᾽, οὐ παραιτοῦμαί σε: κ. τ. Δ.
χρησμῷ παλαιῷ Λοξίου δωρήσομαι, κ. τ. Δ.

“Slay: I ask not thy grace. But I bestow
On Athens, who hath spared, who shamed to slay me
An ancient oracle of Loxias,
Which in far days shall bless her more than seems.”

His prophecy is accepted by all as a revelation vv. 1053 ff.:

“T also consent. On, henchman-train
March on with the doomed. No blood-guilt stain,
Proceeding of us, on our kings shall remain.”

The words of Alcmena uttered against her divine lover, Zeus,
are in mitigated form a cruel reproach for the past:

Heracl. 869-72:

ὦ Lev, χρόνῳ μὲν τἄμ᾽ ἐπεσκέψω κακά,
χάριν δ᾽ ὅμως σοι τῶν πεπραγμένων ἔχω"
καὶ παῖδα τὸν ἐμὸν πρόσϑεν οὐ δοκοῦσ᾽ ἐγὼ
ϑεοῖς ὁμιλεῖν νῦν ἐπίσταμαι σαφῶς.

“Zeus, late on mine affliction hast thou looked;
Yet thank I thee for all that thou hast wrought.
Now know I of a surety that my son

Dwelleth with Gods :—ere this I thought not so.”
See also her discreet complaints in vv. 718-19:

“Never of me shall ill be said of Zeus;
But is he just to me-ward? Himself knows!”

9. THE HERCULES FURENS

The “Hercules Furens” is, as regards the supernatural ele-
ment in the play, a condemnation through Hera and Zeus of the
whole system of Gods. To the poet’s favorite subject—accusa-
tion of the Gods for their alleged injustice and immorality—is
made allusion in the invocation of the chorus:

ἘΠ 768 ἢ:

ὦ λέκτρων δύο συγγενεῖς
εὐναί, K. τ. X.

ΟΙ

38 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

“Hail to the couch where the spousals divine
With the mortal were blended,
Where for love of the Lady of Perseus’ line
Zeus’ glory descended! etc.”

It finds explicit expression in the characteristic passage in which
Amphitryon expostulates with Zeus on account of his seduction
of Alcmena, and his desertion of Hercules:

ἘΠῚ 50 Ἴ7:

ὦ Ζεῦ, μάτην ἄρ᾽ ὁμόγαμόν σ᾽ ἐκτησάμην,
μάτην δὲ παιδὸς γονέ᾽ ἐμοῦ σ᾽ ἐκλήζομεν
σὺ δ᾽ ἦσϑθ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἧσσον ἢ ᾿δόκεις εἶναι φίλος.
ἀρετῇ σε νικῶ ϑνητὸς ὧν ϑεὸν μέγαν"
παῖδας γὰρ οὐ προύδωκα τοὺς Ἡρακλέους.
σὺ δ᾽ εἰς μὲν εὐνὰς κρύφιος ἠπίστω μολεῖν,
τἀλλότρια λέκτρα δόντος οὐδενὸς λαβών,
σώζειν δὲ τοὺς σοὺς οὐκ ἐπίστασαι φίλους.
ἀμαϑής τις εἶ δεός, εἰ δίκαιος οὐκ ἔφυς.

“Zeus, for my couch-mate gained I thee in vain,
Named thee in vain co-father of my son.
Less than thou seemedst art thou friend to us!
Mortal, in worth thy godhead I outdo:
Hercules’ sons have I abandoned not.
Cunning wast thou to steal unto my couch,—
To filch another’s right none tendered thee,—
Yet know’st not how to save thy dear ones now!
Thine is unwisdom, or injustice thine.”

In the following verses Amphitryon cries to Zeus:

H. F. 497-502:
2 δ Ω 3 A ~ ~ 9 μὰ > X \
ἐγὼ δέ σ΄, ὦ Zev, χεῖρ᾽ ἔς οὐρανὸν δικὼν
> , L ᾽" ro? » -
αὐδώ, τέκνοισιν εἴ τι τοισίδ᾽ ὠφελεῖν
Ua > t
μέλλεις, ἀμύνειν, K. τ. Δ.

“But I, O Zeus, with hand to heaven upcast,
Cry—if for these babes thou hast any help,
Save them; for soon thou nothing shalt avail.
Yet oft hast thou been prayed: in vain I toil;
For now, meseems, we cannot choose but die.”

For the same sentiment see also Ion 436 ff. and Heracl. 718 ff.
and H. F. 212: “If Zeus to us were righteously inclined.”

Nor does Hera command our respect. The poet represents
her as solely responsible for the undeserved sufferings of the
great benefactor of humanity:

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 39

ΗΝ ἘΞ 1127-28:
A: ὦ Ζεῦ, tap’ Ἥρας ἄρ᾽ ὁρᾷς ϑρόνων τάδε;
Η: ἀλλ᾽ ἦ τι κεῖϑεν πολέμιον πεπόνϑαμεν;
A: “Zeus seest thou this bolt from Hera’s throne? ”
H: “Ha; have I suffered mischief of her hate?”

Hera drives Hercules mad and makes him slayer of his own
innocent children, all because of the Goddess’s jealousy of Zeus.
In reference to her fierce resentment the chorus exclaim:

H. F. 888-90:
ἰὼ Zev, τὸ σὸν γένος ἄγονον αὐτίκα
λυσσάδες ὠμοβρῶτες ἀποινόδικοι δίκαι
κακοῖσιν ἐκπετάσουσιν.
“Ah misery! Zeus, mad vengeance ravenous-wild
Straightway, athirst for requital, with evils on evils piled,

Shall trample thy son unto dust, as though he were not thy
child.”

Such a Goddess has no claim on the adoration of men. No

wonder that Hercules when the dreadful truth is brought home
to him, cries:

ΕἸΠΕ τοὺ τὸ:
τοιαύτῃ ϑεῷ

τίς ἂν προσεὐχοιϑ᾽; ἣ «γυναικὸς εἵνεκα
λέκτρων φϑονοῦσα Ζηνὶ τοὺς εὐεργέτας
Ἑλλάδος ἀπώλεσ᾽ οὐδὲν ὄντας αἰτίους.

“ΤῸ such a Goddess
Who shall pray now?—who, for a woman’s sake
Jealous of Zeus, from Hellas hath cut off
Her benefactors, guiltless though they were!”

“Dare not with thine admonitions trammel Hera’s schemes and
mine!” (885)

is Iris’s answer to Lyssa who appeals in vain for mercy:

H.F. 847-54:
“παραινέσαι δέ, πρὶν σφαλεῖσαν εἰσιδεῖν,
Hpa ϑέλω σοί 7’, K. τ. Δ. ᾿
“Fain would I plead with Hera and with thee,
Ere she have erred, if ye will heed my words.
This man, against whose house ye thrust me on,
Nor on the earth is fameless, nor in heaven.

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40 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

The pathless land, the wild sea, hath he tamed,
And the God’s honours hath alone restored,
When these by impious men were overthrown.
Therefore I plead, devise no monstrous wrong.”

That Hercules is the object of divine resentment is also implied
in Iris’ answer to the chorus’ appeal to Pean: :

H. F. 820-21:
ὦναξ Παιάν,
ἀπότροπος γένοιό μοι πημάτων.
“ Healer, to thee,
O King to avert from me yon bane I pray!”

Tris: “Fear not: this is the child of Night ye see,
Madness, grey sires: I, handmaid of the Gods,
Iris. We come not for your city’s hurt;
Only on one man’s house do we make war—
His, whom Zeus’ and Alcmena’s son they call.
For, till he had ended all his bitter toils,

Fate shielded him, and Father Zeus would not

That I, or Hera, wrought him ever harm.

But now he has toiled Eurystheus’ labours through,

Hera will stain him with the blood of kin,

That he shall slay his sons: her will is mine.”
(vv? 822-32.)

If this is the principle on which Clympus is organized we need
not wonder that the Olympians turn a deaf ear to the prayers of
suffering mankind and that things go wrong on earth. This is
the idea which the poet through such passages—intentionally or
unintentionally—suggests.

Hercules who is believed to be in Hades is invoked by Megara
to appear:

H. F. 490-06:
ὦ φίλτατ᾽, εἴ τις φϑόγγος εἰσακούεται
δνητῶν παρ᾽ “Αἰιδῃ, σοὶ τἀδ᾽, Ἡράκλεις, λέγω: kK. τ. Δ.
“Dear love,—if any in Hades of the dead
Can hear,—I cry this to thee, Hercules:
Thy sire, thy sons, are dying; doomed am I,
I, once through thee called blest in all men’s eyes.
Help !—come!—Though as a shadow, yet appear!

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 41

Thy coming as a dream-shape would suffice
To daunt the cravens who would slay thy sons!”

Then Hercules is suddenly seen, and though he has in fact re-
turned bodily from the nether world, he is at first taken for a
spectre who has come at the bidding of Megara; but soon she be-
comes aware that it is no “dream,” but Hercules himself:

“*Tis he who lay, we heard, beneath the earth,
Except in broad day we behold a dream!
What say 1?—see they dreams, these yearning eyes?
This is none other, ancient, than thy son.
Boys, hither!—hang upon your father’s cloak.
Speed ye, unhand him not; for this is he,
Your helper he, no worse than Saviour Zeus.”

(vv. 516-22.)

Megara in invoking Hercules in Hades expresses her belief in
an invisible world, with which mortals have commerce.

10. THE JPHIGENIA IN TAURIS

Iphigenia who had been doomed to die at Aulis for the Greeks
had been snatched from that death by Artemis and had become
priestess of the Goddess at the Tauris shrine where human vic-
tims were immolated. On landing among the Tauri two strangers
were captured by the inhabitants and sentenced to die at the altar
according to custom. Iphigenia discovers in them her brother
Orestes and his friend Pylades. They plan not only escape for
all, but also means of conveying away the statue of the Goddess,
which was the special end of their mission. They are recaptured
and finally delivered by Athena who commands Thoas, king of
the land, to permit their departure.

A god-fearing herdman in Taurica who first notices the two
fugitives, Orestes and Pylades, takes them for Gods, or for the
two Dioscuri, or two of the Neried nymphs, and prays to them:

I, Py 570 7:
ὦ ποτνίας παῖ Λευκοϑέας, νεῶν φύλαξ,
δέσποτα Παλαΐῖμον, ἕλεως ἡμῖν γενοῦ,
εἴτ᾽ οὖν ἐπ᾿ ἀκταῖς ϑάσσετον Διοσκόρω,
ΠῚ t ᾽ » 2 a X ᾽ τ
ἢ Νηρέως ἀγάλμαϑ᾽, ὃς τὸν εὐγενῆ
» A
ἔτικτε πεντήκοντα Nypydwyv χορόν.

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42 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

“Guardian of ships, Sea-queen Leucothea’s son
O Lord Palemon, gracious be to us;
Or ye, Twin Brethren, if ye yonder sit;
Or Nereus’ darlings, born to him of whom
That company of fifty Nereids sprang.”

Here the poet adopts the natural expressions of superstitious
Greek seamen. Leucothea and Paleemon were sea-gods beneficent
to mariners.
Iphigenia pleads with Artemis to rescue her and her two coun-
_trymen or else “ Phoebus’ lips must lose their truth to mortal men,
through thee!”

I. T. 1082-88 :

' @ πότνι᾽, ἥπερ μ᾽ Αὐλίδος κατὰ πτυχὰς
δεινῆς ἔσωσας κ. τ. λ.

“Ὁ Goddess-queen, who erst by Aulis’ clefts
Didst save me from my sire’s dread murderous hand,
Save me now too with these; else Loxias’ words
Through thee shall be no more believed of men.
But graciously come forth this barbarous land
To Athens. It beseems thee not to dwell
Here, when so blest a city may be thine.’

and again she prays to Artemis:

I. T. 1398-1402:
ὦ Λητοῦς κόρη,
σῶσόν με τὴν σὴν ἱερίαν κ. τ. X.

“Leto’s Child, O Maid,
Save me, thy priestess! Bring me unto Greece
From alien land; forgive my theft of thee!
Thy brother, Goddess, dost thou also love:
O then believe that I too love my kin!”

Iphigenia inquires after her enemies, first of all Helen, then
Calchas the seer who had died on his way from Troy, and finally
Odysseus who with others had plotted the immolation of Iphi-
genia. She pronounces a curse on Odysseus: :

I, ls BRS

ὄλοιτο, νόστου μήποτ᾽ εἰς πάτραν τύχων.

“ Now ruin seize him! Never win he home!”

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The Supernatural im the Tragedies of Euripides 43

Iphigenia requests her brother to take her home or

“Else to thine house will 1 become a curse, Orestes.”

Hel 277=78 :
ἢ σοῖς ἀραία δώμασιν γενήσομαι,
᾽Ορέσϑ᾽, κ. τ. X.

alluding to the influence of the vengeful, haunting spirit of a
wronged person.

In the following lines we have a striking example of a prayer
which is used to deceive others. Iphigenia prays to Artemis:

1.1. 1230-33 :
ὦ Διὸς Λητοῦς τ᾿ ἄνασσα παρϑέν᾽, ἢν νίψω φόνον
τῶνδε καὶ ϑύσωμεν odxXpN, καθαρὸν οἰκήσεις δόμον,
>, ~ Janek! -- 2 a »" 2 3 L 2 «
εὐτυχεῖς δ᾽ ἡμεῖς ἐσόμεϑα. τἄλλα δ᾽ οὐ λέγουσ᾽, ὅμως
τοῖς τὰ πλείον᾽ εἰδόσιν ϑεοῖς σοί τε σημαίνω, ϑεά.

“Queen, O child of Zeus and Leto, so the guilt from these I lave,
So I sacrifice where meet is, stainless temple shalt thou have:
Blest withal shall we be—more I say not, yet to Gods who know
All, and Goddess, unto thee, mine heart’s desire I plainly show.”

The ambiguous meaning of this prayer is apparent to the spec-
tator, but not to the party for whose hearing it is intended. King
Thoas, a devout man and zealous for the honor of the Goddess,
is persuaded by Iphigenia that not only the two strangers, but the
image of the Goddess itself requires purification. So he is easily
induced to send the captives to the sea-shore, while Iphigenia fol-
lows with the image to perform, as Thoas supposes, the solemn
rite of lustration, but in reality to take ship and transport the
image to Greece. It is at this occasion that Iphigenia utters the
equivocal prayer in the hearing of the king. The last words of
the prayer “ more I say not, etc.,’ are of course said aside. What
the barbarian king understands of the priestess and her charge,
duly reinstated in the purged temple, means to the spectators of
the scene Athens and the deliverance of Iphigenia.

That the will of Heaven must be carried out is finally admitted
even by Thoas who says:

I. T. 1475-76:

2 Do ~ ~ ~
ἄνασσ᾽ ᾿Αϑάνα, τοῖσι τῶν ϑεῶν λόγοις
ὅστις κλύων ἄπιστος, οὐκ ὀρϑῶς φρονεῖ.

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44 Ernest Heirich Klotsche

“ Athena, Queen, who hears the words of Gods,
And disobeyeth them, is sense-bereft.”

Pylades under a solemn oath promises Iphigenia to present the
document written by Iphigenia, to Orestes, or in case the docu-
ment be lost to deliver the message to Orestes in person; while
Iphigenia promises to send Pylades home unhurt, 735 ff. The
solemn ceremony is concluded with the usual self- “NPT ECan GG in
case of violating the covenant:

I. T. 747-52:

: τίν᾽ οὖν ἐπόμνυς τοισίδ᾽ ὅρκιον ϑεῶν;

Αρτεμιν, ἐν ἧσπερ δώμασιν τιμὰς ἔχω.

: ἐγὼ δ᾽ ἄνακτά ay οὐρανοῦ, σεμνὸν Δία.

> εἰ δ᾽ ἐκλιπὼν τὸν ὅρκον ἀδικοίης ἐμέ;

: ἄνοστος εἴην" τί δὲ σύ, μὴ σώσασά με;

: μήποτε κατ᾽ Apyos ζῶσ᾽ ἴχνος ϑείην ποδός.

: “What God dost take to witness this thine oath?”
: “Artemis, in whose fane I hold mine office.”

: “And I by Heaven’s King, reverend Zeus.”

: “What if thou fail thine oath, and do me wrong?”
: “May I return not. If thou save me not?—”

: “Alive in Argos may I ne’er set foot.”

Hoe waded genes

cf. also Medea 754.

Iphigenia implores the chorus to keep silence about her plan to
save her brother and herself. The chorus, consisting of captured
Greek women who were spared by the Taurians for a life of
servitude, promise under oath:

Il, ν 1OKO-7/77 °

ws ἔκ γ᾽ ἐμοῦ σοι πάντα σιγηϑήσεται,
ἴστω μέγας Ζεὺς, ὧν ἐπισκήπτεις πέρι.

“T will keep silence touching all the things
Whereof thou chargest me: great Zeus be witness.”

Orestes impressed with the danger into which he has come
through Apollo’s oracle upbraids the God for having led him
again into a net, when he had looked for a happy termination of
his toils:

I. T. 77-94:
ὦ Φοιβε, ποῖ μ᾽ αὖ τήνδ᾽ ἐς ἄρκυν ἤγαγες
χρήσας, κ. τ. J.

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 45

“ Pheebus, why is thy word again my snare,
When I have slain my mother, and avenged
My sire? From tired Fiends Fiends take up the chase,
And exiled drive me, outcast from my land,
In many a wild race doubling to and fro.

To thee I came and asked how might I win
My whirling madness’ goal, my troubles’ end,
Wherein I travailed, roving Hellas through.
Thou badst me go unto the Taurian coasts
Where Artemis, thy sister hath her altars,
And take the Goddess’ image, which, men say,
Here fell into this temple out of heaven,
And, winning it by craft or happy chance,

All danger braved, to the Athenians’ land

To give it—nought beyond was bidden me ;—
This done, should I have respite from my toils.
Hither I came, obedient to thy words,

To a strange land and cheerless.”

Orestes had slain his mother in obedience to an oracle of
Apollo. Pursued by the Furies in consequence of this deed, a
second oracle had directed him to Athens to be tried before the
court of Areopagus. The votes for and against were equal, but
though Athena thereby declared him acquitted he did not escape
the continued persecution of the Furies. Again Orestes sought
counsel of Apollo at Delphi. He was bidden to convey to Attica
from the land of the Taurians the image of Artemis worshipped
there, with the promise that his sufferings shall end. He sails
with his faithful friend Pylades to perform this exploit. At their
arrival at Taurica Orestes learns from Pylades that strangers are
sacrificed at the temple of Artemis. He then impressed with the
danger of their position appeals to Artemis, 77 ff.

But Orestes who thus impeached the God is reprimanded by
Pylades not to speak evil of the oracle of the God:

ΙΝ tOs—
τὸν τοῦ ϑεοῦ δὲ χρησμὸν οὐ κακιστέον.

“Nor craven may we be to the oracle.”

Then we hear Orestes say:

29

46 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

ty dy Bas} ΠῚ:
39 αἱ X “2 i 3 wv rr
. . οὐ γὰρ TO τοῦ ϑεοῦ γ᾽ αἴτιον γενήσεται
πεσεῖν ἄκραντον ϑέσφατον: τολμητέον κ. τ. Δ.

“ Best withdraw ourselves
Unto a place where we shall lurk unseen.
For, if his oracle fall unto the ground,
The God’s fault shall it not be. We must dare,
Since for young men toil knoweth no excuse.”

Orestes seems to mean that if we do not all we can, it will be our
own fault if the oracle prove vain. But Orestes invariably comes
around to his sceptical grievances and inveighs against the in-
justice of the oracle-god:

I; We Ati 3
ἡμᾶς δ᾽ ὁ Φοῖβος μάντις ὧν ἐψεύσατο"
τέχνην δὲ ϑέμενος κ. τ. X.

“Me Pheebus, prophet though he be deceived,
And by a cunning shift from Argos drave
Afar, for shame of those his prophecies.

I gave up all to him, obeyed his words,
My mother slew—and perish now myself!”

Orestes calls Apollo “prophet ’= avzis’ which had come to be
an unpopular title at the time our play was written. Then he
charges the God with a stratagem (τέχνην δ᾽. ϑέμενος) to put him
out of the way that the falseness of his oracle might not be
_known, the first oracle commanding matricide having proved a
mistake, cf. 77 ff. Again Orestes declares openly his judgment of
the God:

Uo, G23 ¢
τὰ Φοίβου δ᾽ οὐδὲν ὠφελεῖ μ᾽ ἔπη.

{ς

Phoebus’ words avail me nothing now.”

But despite all the bitter attacks Orestes has made upon the
justice of the oracle-god, towards the end of the play the oracle
is proved right. This is nothing unusual in Euripides. In those
of his tragedies where the Olympians appear in the most unfa-
vorable light, their conduct is generally vindicated in the end. It
seems that in the “Iphigenia in Tauris” the poet intended to
make the spectators feel that ‘the oracle of Apollo, ordaining the

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 47

removal of the statue, ought not to seem fulfilled through strat-
agem and theft. So he represents Orestes no longer as the
despondent sceptic, but makes him argue that if their undertaking
is in harmony with the will of Artemis, it is also in harmony with
the will of Apollo, for a conflict between the will of Apollo and
the will of Artemis is impossible.

I. T. 1012-15:
εἰ πρόσαντες ἦν τόδε
᾿Αρτέμιδι, πῶς ἂν Λοξίας ἐδέσπισε
κομίσαι μ᾽ ἄγαλμα ϑεᾶς πόλισμα Παλλάδος
καὶ σὸν πρόσωπον εἰσιδεῖν.

“Hear mine opinion—if this thing displease
Artemis, how had Loxias bidden me
To bear her statue unto Pallas’ burg—
Yea, see thy face?”

_ This passage presents a difficulty, namely, that the meeting of
the brother and sister (kal σὸν πρόσωπον εἰσιδεῖν) is not intimated
in the words of the God, vv. 77 ff. Palay, Seidler, and others
assume that Apollo had not expressly said that Orestes would see
his sister; he had probably used σύγγονος (v. 86) ambiguously.
The oracle probably was: ἔνϑα obyyovos βωμοὺς ἔχει, thus apply-
ing either to Apollo’s sister Artemis, or to Orestes’ sister Iphi-
genia. Others suppose a lacuna in the text before the words:
καὶ σὸν πρόσωπον εἰσιδεῖν. Verrall sees in the words: καὶ σὸν
πρόσ: x. τ. X. a kind of a pia fraus. Orestes adds them, because
“he naturally feels that, as things turn out, the oracle ought to
have said—then must have said—then did say doubtless—or at
any rate mean, that he was to meet his sister.” This interpreta-
tion does not take into account Athena’s words:

evi 7855

πεπρωμένος γὰρ ϑεσφάτοισι Λοξίου
δεῦῤ HAD’ ᾿Ορέστης, τόν τ᾿ ᾿Βρινύων χόλον
φεύγων ἀδελφῆς τ᾽ Apyos εἰσπέμψων δέμας
ἄγαλμά: τ᾽ ἱερὸν εἰς ἐμὴν ἄξων χϑόνα.

“For foreordained by Loxias’ oracles,
Orestes came, to escape the Erinyes’ wrath,
And lead his sister unto Argos home,
And bear the sacred image to my land,
So to win respite from his present woes.”

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48 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

If we compare these words with v. 1015: καὶ σὸν πρόσωπον εἰσιδεῖν,
it is evident that Orestes somehow or other had learned before-
hand that he would meet his sister in Taurica. He either inferred
this knowledge from the ambiguous σύγγονος or,—as is generally
believed,—a portion of Orestes’ argument has been lost from the
text after v. 1014, by which he explained how he obtained his
knowledge.

The seer Calchas interprets the burnt offerings to which Aga-
memnon had resorted in order to learn the will of Heaven, and
proclaims his prophecy:

1, 0) 10} ΤῸ:
᾿Αγάμεμνον, ov μὴ ναῦς ἀφορμήσῃ xVovos,
πρὶν ἂν κόρην σὴν ᾿Ιφιγένειαν Apreuts
λάβῃ σφαγεῖσαν:"
“ Agamemnon, thou shalt not sail from the land
Ere Artemis receive thy daughter slain,
Iphigenia, .
Whom thou must offer.”

This time the seer safely escapes—strange though it is—the taunts
Euripides always has in store for soothsayers.
From Iphigenia’s lips we hear the recital of her dream-vision:

IL, Wl, AB 1S

ἃ καινὰ δ᾽ ἥκει νὺξ φέρουσα φάσματα,
λέξω πρὸς aidép’, εἴ τ᾽ δὴ τόδ᾽ ἔστ᾽ ἄκος κ. τ. X.

“Now the strange visions that the night has brought
To heaven I tell—if aught of help be there.
In sleep methought I had escaped this land
And dwelt in Argos. In my maiden-bower
1 slept: then with an earthquake shook the ground.
I fled, I stood without, the cornice saw
Of the roof falling,—then, all crashing down,
Turret and basement, hurled was the house to earth.
... Now thus I read this dream of mine:
Dead is Orestes—him I sacrificed ;—etc.”

It was held an effectual method of averting the fulfillment of evil
dreams to come out into the open air and tell them to the sky,
as Iphigenia here does with her sinister dream, λέξω πρὸς ἀιϑέρα.
This dream-vision has convinced her that her brother Orestes

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 49

must be dead; cf. also

ΠΕ T. 348-40 :
νῦν δ᾽ ἐξ ὀνείρων οἷσιν ἠγριώμεϑα,
δοκοῦσ᾽ ᾿Ορέστην punked’ ἥλιον βλέπειν.

“But now, from dreams whereby my heart is steeled,—
Who deem Orestes seéth light no more.’”—

and she has summoned her attendants to assist her in pouring a
libation to him as to a spirit in Hades, vv. 61 ff.

By the knowledge of Iphigenia’s delusion in supposing her
brother dead the spectator is led to think mainly about the fate
of Orestes when the arrival of the two strangers is announced.
A similar device of an ominous dream by which the spectators
are prepared for events to come has been adopted in the “ He-
cuba,” where a vision of a dappled fawn torn from Hecuba’s
knees by a wolf, portends the sacrifice of Polyxena, Hec. go ff.
Iphigenia here makes the mistake of interpreting the dream with
reference to the past, while it was intended as a warning to her of
the coming event. This trust in an ominous dream is ridiculed by
Iphigenia; when she hears that her brother lives, she cries:

1, πόο:

~ 4 ’ b) 22 tt) 3»
ψευδεῖς ὄνειροι, χαίρετ᾽- οὐδὲν AT ἄρα.

“False dreams, avaunt! So then ye were but nought.”

And Orestes who knows nothing of her dreams adapts his words
to hers in a characteristic reflection of his own, at the same time
directing his attack against the Gods especially Apollo whom
he supposes to have deceived him, and the art of divination in
general:

ΠΕ S708
οὐδ᾽ οἱ σοφοί γε δαίμονες κεκλημένοι
πτηνῶν ὀνείρων εἰσὶν ἀψευδέστεροι.

“Ay, and not even Gods, whom men call wise,

Are less deceitful than the fleeting dreams.
Utter confusion is in things divine
And human. Wise men grieve at this alone
When—rashness ?—no, but faith in oracles
Brings ruin—how deep, they that prove it know.’

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50 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Dreams obtained by dream-oracles are described by the poet as
a kind of spurious and deceptive divination sent by Earth in vexa-
tion for her ejected daughter Themis who alone possessed the
power of predicting the truth. In order to punish Apollo for the
deposition of her daughter Themis, Earth instituted a dream-
oracle which was consulted by sleeping upon the ground by the
shrine. Here, Earth sent up dreams, which deluded mankind,
who trusted more to the predictions derived from dreams than to
the oracles themselves.

IL, I, WAS) 168, 8
Θέμιν δ᾽ ἐπεὶ yas ἰὼν
παῖδ᾽ ἀπενάσσατο Λα-
τῷος ἀπὸ ζαϑέων
χρηστηρίων, νύχια κ. τ. Δ.
“But the Child of the Earth did his coming make
Of her birthright dispossessed,
For the oracle-sceptre of Themis he brake:
Wherefore the Earth from her breast,
To make of his pride a derision, sent forth dream-vision on
vision,
Whereby to sons of men the things that had been ere then,
And the things for the God’s decision
Yet waiting beyond our ken,
Through the darkness of slumber she spake, and from
Phoebus—in fierce heart-ache
‘Of jealous wrath for her daughter’s sake—
His honor so did she wrest.”

Thereupon Apollo appeals to Zeus to stop the baneful power of
Earth, 1270 ff. Zeus puts an end to the nightly visions and con-
firms Apollo’s authority:

ID) 1277-83:
παῦσεν νυχίους ὀνείρους,
ἀπὸ δὲ λαθοσύναν
νυκτωπὸν ἐξεῖλεν βροτῶν, κ. τ. Δ.
“ And he made an end to the voices of night;
For he took from mortals the dream-visitations,
Truth’s shadows upfloating from Earth’s dark womb;
And he sealed by an everlasting right
Loxias’ honours, that all men might

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 51

Trust wholly his word, when the thronging nations
Bowed at the throne where he sang fate’s doom.”

This theme is peculiarly in harmony with the plot of the play
which turns on Apollo’s oracle being proved right in the end, and
Iphigenia’s dream wrong. ‘The choral ode vv. 1234 ff. celebrates
the institution of that oracle, and the abolition of the ancient
dream-oracles. The ode closes with a glorification of “ Apollo’s
clear prophetic song” in contrast with “the divination of dark-
ness” at Delphi:

11, 0, TASTES 2
ἔκανες, ὦ Φοῖβε, μαν-
τείων δ᾽ ἐπέβας ζαϑέων, κ. τ. Δ.

“Thou, Phoebus, didst slay him, didst take for thine

The oracle’s lordship, the right divine,

And still on the tripod of gold are keeping
Thy session, dispensing to us, to the race

Of men, revelation of heaven’s design,

From thy throne of truth, from the secret shrine,

By the streams through Castaly’s cleft up-sweeping,
Where the heart of the world is thy dwelling-place.”

11. THE TROADES

The “ Troades” is a vivid picture of the miseries endured by
noble Trojan dames—Hecuba, Andromache, Cassandra—imme-
diately after the capture of Troy. Measured by the usage of the
Stage the piece is not a perfect play, but it is full of tragic scenes,
—less a drama than a pathetic spectacle. The concluding scene,
where the captive women, allotted as slaves to different masters,
leave Troy in flames behind them, and are led towards the ships,
is truly grand. Euripides produced the “Troades” when the
great fleet of the Athenians was getting ready to sail for the con-
quering of Sicily (415), as though he were foreboding this fatal
expedition that brought Athens to her doom. Murray, therefore,
calls the “ Troades” “the work rather of a prophet than a mere
_ artist,’ and we may add: the work of a prophet whose words are
life and truth in our days as well as in the days of Euripides.
Never can a great tragedy seem more real to us, than the “ Tro-

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52 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche
jan Women,” at this moment of the history of the world. To
the people of the present day might the prophetess Cassandra
speak her message just as well as to those nearly three thousand
years ago:

“ Sooth, he were best shun war, whoso is wise:
If war must be, his country’s crown of pride
Is death heroic, craven death her shame.”

(400-02. )

And Poseidon, when mourning over the fall of Troy, has the
same to say of the terrors of war, which we have to say of them
to-day : ,
“Fool, that in sack of towns lays temples waste,
And tombs, the sanctuaries of the dead!
He, sowing desolation, reaps destruction.”
(95-07.).

Euripides generally employs a God, through whom the predic-
tion of the future in the finales of his tragedies is made. In the
“Troades” he uses the more impressive method of a mortal
soothsayer to reveal the future. Cassandra in a state of frenzy
comes on the stage (308), singing a wild strain on her supposed
nuptials with the Argive king. Then she imparts to Hecuba a
long prophecy. She sees the vision of Agamemnon’s body—
murdered by his wife—and other impending events. Talthybius
intervenes and receives a summary of the future wanderings of
Odysseus. Finally she declares that she will come a victress to
Hades after the death of herself and Agamemnon: vv. 353-460.

At times Euripides is openly iconoclastic in dealing with cur-
rent religious practice. Even prayer and sacrifices are sometimes
regarded as of doubtful aid. A striking instance is found in the
prayer which he puts into the mouth of Hecuba:

Tr. 460-71:
ὦ ϑεοί: κακοὺς μὲν ἀνακαλῶ τοὺς συμμάχους,
ὅμως δ᾽ ἔχει τι σχῆμα κικλήσκειν ϑεούς,
ὅταν τις ἡμῶν δυστυχῆ λάβῃ τύχην.
“Ὁ Gods! to sorry helpers I appeal;
Yet to invoke the Gods hath some fair show
When child of man on evil fortune lights.”

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 53

A bold sentiment, indeed, plainly indicating a disbelief in the
popular theology! The same idea recurs in the following verses
where Hecuba says:

Tr. 1280-81:
ἰὼ deol. καὶ τί τοὺς ϑεοὺς καλῶ;
καὶ πρὶν γὰρ οὐκ ἤκουσαν ἀνακαλούμενοι.

“Ὁ ye Gods!—why call I on the Gods?
For called on heretofore they hearkened not!”

and vv. 1240 ff. she says:

“Nought was in Heaven’s design, save woes to me
And Troy, above all cities loathed of them.
In vain we sacrificed! ”

In these passages is expressed the inmost theme of the whole
play, a search for an answer to the question: if the righteous are
not treated better in this life than the wicked, if injustice triumphs
over justice, what must we think of the Gods? “Such Gods are
as a matter of fact the moral inferiors to good men, and Euripides
will never blind his eyes to their inferiority ; and as soon as peo-

ple see that their God is bad, they tend to cease believing in his
- existence at all.” (Murray, Troj. Women.)

The same thought that the Gods turn a deaf ear to the cries of
mankind in distress finds expression in the following choral ode:

Tr. 1060 ff.:
οὕτω δὴ τὸν ἐν ᾿Ιλίῳ
vaov .. . mpovdmkas ... ὦ Zev, . . . avak
οὐράνιον ἕδρανον ἐπιβεβὼς
αἰϑέρα τ᾽ ἐμᾶς πόλεος ὀλομένας, κ. τ. Δ.

“So then thy temple in Troy fair-gleaming,
And thine altar of incense heavenward steaming
Hast thou rendered up to our foes Achzan,

O Zeus, and the flame of our sacrificing, etc... .
Dost thou care, O King, I muse, heart-aching,—
Thou who sittest on high in the far blue heaven
Enthroned,—that my city to ruin is given, etc.”

Long before Euripides Homer had represented Zeus as αἰϑέρι
ναίων, cf. Iliad 11, 412. In vv 1078-79 Euripides shows us Zeus
enthroned on his celestial seat and on ether, while in other pas-

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54 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

sages he confounds the dweller in the ether with his dwelling 50
that ether and Zeus are one, cf. Fragm. 596, 869, 935. |

The curious prayer of Hecuba shows how vacillating Euripides’
view on this subject was: ;

Tr. 884-88: ;
ὦ γῆς ὄχημα κἀπὶ γῆς ἔχων ἕδραν,
ὅστις ποτ᾽ εἶ σύ, δυστόπαστος εἰδέναι,
“Ζεύς, εἴτ᾽ ἀνάγκη φύσεος εἴτε νοῦς βροτῶν,
προσηυξάμην σε: πάντα γὰρ δὶ ἀψόφου
βαίνων κελεύϑου κατὰ δίκην τὰ ϑνήτ᾽ ἄγεις.

“Ὁ Earth’s Upbearer, thou whose throne is Earth,
Whoe’er thou be, O past our finding out,
Zeus, be thou Nature’s law, or Mind of Man,
Thee I invoke; for, treading soundless paths,
To Justice’ goal thou bring’st all mortal things.”

The audience may well have echoed Menelaus’ exclamation:

Tr. 889:
τί δ᾽ ἔστιν; εὐχὰς ὡς ἐκαίνισας ϑεῶν.

“ How now ?—what strange prayer this unto the Gods?”

This' prayer was of a new kind, indeed! Zeus had never heard
its like—What do we find in it? All through the play Hecuba
is a woman of remarkable intellectual power and of fearless
thought. She treats the Olympian Gods as beings that have be-
trayed her, and whose names she scarcely deigns to speak. Zeus,
if there is such a being at all, is either the air, that both sustains
the earth and rests upon it, or the irresistible power of nature to
produce all things after a certain law; or else intellect, or, rather
the directing agency which ordains all things from the first and
which exists in the soul of every man. She is far from denying
the existence of a divine power, and yet in her prayer she rejects
all current polytheism. In the first place we have in this prayer
the poet’s customary identification of Zeus with ether. Here we
notice the influence of Anaximenes and especially of Diogenes of
Apollonia. The theory that the earth is supported by the air is
ascribed by Plutarch (Mor. 896 E) to Anaximenes, and by Aris-
totle (De Celo II, 13) to Anaximenes, Anaxagoras, and De-
mocritus. The following words of Anaximenes imply this view:

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 55

“Even as our soul, which is air, holds us together, so breath
(πνεῦμα) and air encompass the whole universe.” The doctrine
that the supreme Godhead is the Air is ascribed by Cicero in De
Nat. Deor. I, 29, to Diogenes of Apollonia. Diogenes deified air
and spoke of it as omnipresent. It is by virtue of its intelligence,
according to Diogenes, that “the element of Air steers all things
and has power over all things.” Then in line 886 Euripides gives
us a pantheistic interpretation of Zeus. The divine principle,
which the common people in ignorance of its nature call Zeus,
shows itself as intellect in the mind of man (νοῦς βροτῶν), and as
necessary and immutable law in nature (ἀνάγκη φύσεως), of which
he says Alc. 965: that above it there is nothing (κρεῖσσον οὐδὲν
ἀνάγκης); cf. also Helen 514; δεινῆς ἀνάγκης οὐδὲν ἰσχύειν πλέον.
This pantheism finds expression elsewhere in Euripides’ poetry.
In Fragm. 935 he identifies divinity with all embracing ether:

“Seest thou the boundless ether there on high,
' That folds the earth around with dewy arms?
This deem thou Zeus, this reckon one with God.”

Cf. also Fragm. 596. Such utterances explain how Aristophanes
should have accused Euripides of convincing men that there are
no Gods. Finally in the last verse of the prayer the poet charac-
terizes the divine reason as world-ruling Justice. To Euripides
Justice and God are one, cf. also El. 771:

“Gods! All-seeing Justice thou hast come at last!”

Euripides conceives of Justice as a quasi-personal being, the
“Weltgeist” or “Weltvernunft” as the German critic Nestle
calls it in his “ Euripides,” a being not transcendent but immanent
in all things, forming and directing all things to universal har-
mony. This idea which preéminently pervades the dramas of
Sophocles was generally not carried out by Euripides and recon-
ciled with the inequality of the distribution of blessings and evils
among men. So also Hecuba’s prayer breathes discord rather
than harmony. “If there is any explanation, any justice, she will
be content and give worship (προσηυξάμην ce), but it seems that
there is not.”

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56 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

12. THE HELENA

This play is founded on a strange variation of the Helen-legend, |
in which Helen was borne away by Hermes to Egypt and detained
there, while only a wraith of Helen passed to Troy. She lived
‘like a true wife in Egypt until Menelaus rescued her from Theo-
clymenus, king of the land, and brought her safely back to Greece.

The play is not one of the poet’s happier efforts; it furnishes,
however, considerable material of the supernatural element.

Helen’s prayer to Hera and Aphrodite is a fine and impressive
one inspired by the energy of despair:

Hel. 10093 ff.:
ὦ πότνι᾽ ἣ Δίοισιν ἐν λέκτροις
“Hoa, δύ᾽ οἰκτρὼ par’ ἀνάψυξον πόνων,
αἰτούμεϑ᾽ ὀρϑὰς ὠλένας πρὸς οὐρανὸν κ. τ. X.
“Ὁ Queen, who restest on the couch of Zeus,
Hera, to hapless twain grant pause from ills,
We pray, with arms flung upward to the sky,
Thy mansion wrought with arabesque of stars.
And thou, by mine hand winner of beauty’s prize,
Cypris, Dione’s child, destroy me not!
Enough the scathe thou hast done me heretofore,
Lending my name, not me, to alien men:
But let me die, if ’tis thy will to slay,
In homeland, etc.”

Of the same character is Menelaus’ prayer to Poseidon:

Hel. 1584-87:
ὦ ναίων ἅλα
πότνιε ἸΠόσειδον κ. τ. Δ.

©... . © Sea-abider
Poseidon, and ye, Nereus’s daughters pure,
Me bring ye and my wife to Nauplia’s shores,
Safe from this land.”

Menelaus sends another impressive prayer to Zeus, in which he
points out that he had acted toward the Gods the part of a pious
man, yet he adds, as if upbraiding them for their present neglect :
“Not endless ills I merit.”

Hel. 1441-51:
ὦ Ζεῦ, πατήρ τε καὶ σοφὸς κλήζει ϑεός,
. ὀφείλω δ᾽ οὐκ ἀεὶ πράσσειν κακῶς κ. τ. Δ.

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides

“Zeus, Father art thou called, and the Wise God:
Look upon us, and from our woes redeem;
And as we drag our fortunes up the steep,
Lay to thine hand: a finger-touch from thee,
And good-speed’s haven long desired we win.
Suffice our travail heretofore endured.
Oft have ye been invoked, ye Gods, to hear
My joys and griefs: no endless ills I merit,
But in plain paths to tread. Grant this one boon,
And happy shall ye make me all my days.”

The prayer of the chorus tends to the same purport:

Hel. 855-56:
ὦ ϑεοί, γενέσϑω δή ποτ᾽ εὐτυχὲς γένος
τὸ Ταντάλειον καὶ μεταστήτω κακῶν.
“Gods, grant at least fair fortune to the line
Of Tantalus, and rescuing from ills!”

Menelaus prays to his dead father-in-law, and to Hades.

of

He

is well aware that though the dead cannot restore Helen, the re-

quest will not be altogether vain:

Hel. 926 ff. :
ὦ γέρον, Os οἰκεῖς τόνδε λάινον τάφον,
ἀπόδος, ἀπαιτῶ τὴν ἐμὴν δἀμαρτά σε, κ. τ. Δ.

“Ὁ ancient, dweller in this tomb of stone,
Restore thy trust: I claim of thee my wife,
Sent hither of Zeus to thee, to ward for me.
Thou who art dead, canst ne’er restore, I know:
But this thy child will think scorn that her sire,
Glorious of old, from the underworld invoked
Have infamy, etc.

O Hades, on thy championship I call,
. render back my wife.”

The prophetess Theonoeé advises Helen to pray to the Gods, vv.
1024 ff., and to address to her dead father the following prayer:

Hel. 1028-209:
σὺ δ᾽, ὦ ϑανών μοι πάτερ, ὅσον γ᾽ ἔγὼ σϑένω,
οὔποτε κεκλήσει δυσσεβὴς ἀντ᾽ εὐσεβοῦς.

“And thou, dead sire, so far as in me lies,
Impious for righteous ne’er shalt be misnamed.”

11

58 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

It is against the art of soothsaying and those who make it their
business of interpreting the flight of birds and other signs of the
divine will, that the attacks of Euripides are more especially di-
rected, and for the common trust in omens and prophecies he has
only ridicule. At Athens especially prophecies sprang up like
mushrooms. Soothsayers of all sorts plied a lively trade and
were regarded as “ fond of money.” Even Sophocles, who treats
them and their predictions with respect and even with awe, alludes
to this notorious quality of the soothsayers, Antig. 1055, where
Creon says to Teiresias:

A \ \ ~— t L
TO μαντικὸν γὰρ πᾶν φιλάργυρον γένος...

“The race of seers is ever fond of money.”

Euripides defines the μάντ to be “one who speaks few truths,
but many lies” (Iph. A. 957), and his most bitter invective against
the art of divination is contained in our play:

Hel. 744-57:
ἀλλά TOL τὰ μάντεων
ἐσεῖδον ws φαῦλ᾽ ἐστὶ καὶ ψευδῶν πλέα.
οὐκ ἦν ἄρ᾽ ὑγιὲς οὐδὲν ἐμπύρου φλογὸς
οὐδὲ πτερωτῶν φϑέγματ᾽- εὔηϑες δέ τοι
τὸ καὶ δοκεῖν ὄρνιϑας ὠφελεῖν βροτούς.
[5 aro ὅλο
τί δῆτα μαντευόμεϑα; τοῖς ϑεοῖσι χρῆν
ϑύοντας αἰτεῖν ἀγαϑά, μαντείας δ᾽ ἐᾶν"
βίου γὰρ ἄλλως δέλεαρ ηὑρέϑη τόδε,
κοὐδεὶς ἐπλούτησ᾽ ἐμπύροισιν ἀργὸς wv"
γνώμη δ᾽ ἀρίστη μάντις ἣ τ᾽ εὐβουλία.
“π΄ But the lore of seers,

How vain it is I see, how full of lies.

Utterly naught then were the altar-flames,

The voices of winged things! Sheer folly this

Even to dream that birds may help mankind.

Calchas told not, nor gave sign to the host,

Yet saw, when for a cloud’s sake died his friends:

Not Helenus told; but Troy for nought was stormed!

‘Yea, for the Gods forbade,’ thou mightest say.

Why seek ye then to seers? With sacrifice

To Gods, ask blessings: let soothsayings be,

They were but as a bait for greed devised:

No sluggard getteth wealth through divination.

Sound wit, with prudence, is the seer of seers.”

112

The Supernatural in the: Tragedies of Euripides 59

As the tragedy of “ Helen” was played in 412 shortly after the
Sicilian expedition which had ended so disastrously, it is probable
that Euripides directed these invectives against the soothsayers
whom he regarded as mischievous tools in the hands of the war
party, and who as such had especially urged the people to under-
take the expedition. Euripides was not the only one who at-
tacked this “‘ worthless class of idlers”; cf. the scene in Arist.
Birds, 959-991.

Beside this well-known passage where the poet so violently
attacks the art of divination, we have in the same play other pas-
sages regarding the same object, where Euripides follows the
traditional belief and represents Theonoeé, the prophetess. and
sister of Theoclymenus, as a true oracle possessing supernatural
knowledge. Referring to her Helen says:

Hel. 819:
ἔστ᾽ ἔνδον αὐτῷ ξύμμαχος ϑεοῖς ἴση.

“An ally wise as Gods he hath within.”
and Helen again asserts:

Hel. 861-62:
ἀποῦσα yap σε Kal παροῦσ᾽ ἀφιγμένον
δεῦῤ οἶδεν.
“Present or absent still she knows of thee,
How thou art come.”

From the sequel of the play we know that the prophetess con-
trols Destiny ; Theonoé herself declares:

Hel. 887 ff.:
τέλος δ᾽ ἐφ᾽ ἡμῖν, el’ ἃ βούλεται Κύπρις
Rigo to ON

“The issue rests with me—to tell my brother,
As Cypris wills, thy presence, ruining thee,
Or, standing Hera’s ally, save thy life, etc.”

Theonoé chooses to save Menelaus and Helen, and the decision of
the Gods follows that of the prophetess.

Allusion to vision is made when Helen, aware of the unreality
of the Trojan Helen, exclaims: :

113

60 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Hel. 1190:
“Ξ, x , 9 3. 9 -
σκοπεῖτε μὴ δόκησιν εἰχετ᾽ ἐκ ϑεῶν.

“What if he nursed a heaven-sent phantasy? ”
and when Menelaus exclaims:

Hel. 560:
ὦ φωσφόρ᾽ Ἑκάτη, πέμπε φάσματ᾽ εὐμενῆ.

“ Light-bearer Hecate, send gracious visions!”

Menelaus appeals to Hecate, since spectres and phantoms were
regarded as the attendants of that Goddess.
Respect for the word of an oath is expressed by Menelaus:

Hel. 977-79:
ὅρκοις KekAT ued’, ὡς μάϑῃς, K. τ. d.
“Know, maiden, I have bound me by an oath
To dare thy brother, first, unto the fight:
Then he or I must die, my word is passed.”

An example of a curse-oath is contained in

Hel. 835-41:

: ἀλλ᾽ ἁγνὸν ὅρκον σὸν Kapa κατώμοσα

: τί φής; ϑανεῖσϑαι κοὔποτ᾽ ἀλλάξειν λέχη;

: ταὐτῷ ξίφει ye: κείσομαι δὲ σοῦ πέλας.

: ἐπὶ τοῖσδε τοίνυν δεξιᾶς ἐμῆς ϑίγε.

: Ψαύω, ϑανόντος σοῦ τόδ᾽ ἐκλείψειν φάος.

: κἀγὼ στερηϑεὶς σοὺ τελευτήσω βίον.

: “ Nay, by thine head I swear a solemn οδίῃ-- "

: “ How?—Wilt thou die ere thou desert thy lord?”
: “Yea, by thy sword: beside thee will I lie.”

: “Then, for this pledge, lay thou thine hand in mine.”
: “TI clasp—I swear to perish if thou fall.”

: “And I, of thee bereft, to end my life.”

Hee fan} fs oe} ΞΞ fool j fest 5 ΓΞ 4 lee

Helen when swearing invokes the river Eurotas to witness:

Hel. 348 ff.:
σὲ yap ἐκάλεσα, σὲ δὲ κατόμοσα,
τὸν ὑδρόεντα δόνακι χλωρὸν Εὐρώταν, κ. τ. dr.
“Thee I invoke, I swear by thy name,
O river with ripple-washed reed-beds green,
Eurotas !—if true was the word that came
That my lord on the earth is no more seen.”

II4

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 61

13. THE PHE@NISS#&

The subject of the “ Phcenisse” is the same as that of the
Zéschylean play: “The Seven against Thebes,” namely, the war
of succession between Polyneices and Eteocles.

Iocaste who speaks the prologue prays for her two sons, Poly-
neices and Eteocles:

Pheen. 84-87:

ἀλλ᾽ ὦ φαεννὰς οὐρανοῦ ναίων πτυχὰς
Zev, σῶσον ἡμᾶς, δὸς δὲ σύμβασιν τέκνοις.
χρὴ δ᾽, εἰ σοφὸς πέφυκας, οὐκ ἐᾶν βροτὸν
τὸν αὐτὸν ἀεὶ δυστυχῆ καϑεστάναι.

“Ὁ dweller Zeus in heaven’s veiling light,
Save us, grant reconciling to my sons!
Thou oughtest not, so thou be wise, to leave
The same man overcome to be unblest.”

In Antigone’s prayer addressed to Nemesis:

Pheen. 182 ff.:

, A A t ,
Νέμεσι καὶ Διὸς βαρύβρομοι βρονταί,
las ~ 3 t
κεραυνῶν τε φῶς αἰϑαλόεν, σύ ToL
μεγαλαγορίαν ὑπεράνορα κοιμίζεις"

“Ὁ Nemesis, O ye thunders rolling deep
Of Zeus, thou flaming light of his levin,
Overweening vaunts dost thou hush into endless sleep!”

the imprecation is implied: “the haughty boastings of man dost
thou silence; mayest thou silence his!” 1.6., Capaneus’. Then
Antigone appeals to Artemis:

Pheen. 190-92:
μήποτε μήποτε τἀνδ᾽, ὦ πότνια, K. τ. X.,
Ἄρτεμι, δουλοσύναν τλαίην.

“Never, ah, never, O Artemis Queen,
Zeus’ child with tresses of golden sheen,
Bowed under bondage may I be seen!”

The chorus appeal to the Gods to reconcile the two brothers:

Pheen. 586-87:
ὦ ϑεοί, γένοισϑε τῶνδ᾽ ἀπότροποι κακῶν
a ΤΣ ’ > 3. 7 SSF ᾿
καὶ ξύμβασίν τιν᾽ Οἰδίπου τέκνοις δότε.

“Ah Gods, be ye averters of these ills,
And set at one the sons of Cdipus! ”

Tes

62 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Polyneices having resigned and abjured his native Gods, prays
to the Argive Hera, whose votary he had become, to assist him in
slaying his brother:

Pheen. 1365-68:

ὦ πότνι᾽ Ἥρα, σὸς yap εἰμ᾽, ἐπεὶ “γάμοις
ἔζευξ᾽ ᾿Αδράστου παῖδα καὶ ναίω χϑόνα,
δός μοι κτανεῖν ἀδελφόν, ἀντήρη δ᾽ ἐμὴν
καϑαιματῶσαι δεξιὰν νικηφόρον.

“Queen Hera,—for thine am I since I wed
Adrastus’ child, and dwell within thy land,—
Grant me to slay my brother, and to stain
My warring hands with blood of victory!”

Eteocles prays to Pallas:

Pheen. 1373-76:
ὦ Διὸς κόρη,
δὸς ἔγχος ἡμῖν καλλίνικον ἐκ χερὸς
εἰς στέρν᾽ ἀδελφοῦ τῆσδ᾽ ἀπ᾽ ὠλένης βαλεῖν
κτανεῖν & ὃς HAVE πατρίδα πορϑήσων ἐμήν.
“... Daughter of Zeus,
Grant that the conquering spear, of mine hand sped,
Yea, from this arm, may smite my brother’s breast,
And slay him who hath come to waste my land!”

The two brothers met their doom owing to a curse pronounced |
upon them by their father. In a fit of anger C£dipus had pro-
nounced on his sons that they might share the kingdom with the
sword:

Pheen. 67-68:

ἀρὰς ἀρᾶται παισὶν ἀνοσιωτάτας,
ϑηκτῷ σιδήρῳ δῶμα διαλαχεῖν τόδε.

“A curse most impious hurled he at his sons,
That they might share their heritage with the sword.”

They fearing the accomplishment of the curse had agreed to rule
by turns for a year:

“ They terror-stricken lest, if they should dwell
Together, Gods might bring the curse to pass,
Made covenant that Polyneices first,

The younger, self-exiled, should leave the land,

116

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 63

That Eteocles, tarrying wear the crown
One year—then change.” (vv. 69-74.)

See also 474-75; and 624, where the mother locaste admonishes
her sons:

“Flee, O flee your father’s curses!”

See also 765 and 1355. The fate imprecated upon the sons of
Cdipus is inevitable although the two sons fancied they could
outwit the Gods:

“ And C£dipus’ sons, who fain had cloaked it over
With time, as though they could outrun the Gods,
In folly erred” (vv. 872-74).

The chorus exclaim:

Phoeen. 1425-26:
φεῦ φεῦ, κακῶν σῶν, Οἰδίπου, σ᾽ ὅσων στένω"
τὰς σὰς δ᾽ ἀρὰς ἔοικεν ἐκπλῆσαι ϑεός.
“ Alas! I wail thy sore griefs, G¢dipus!
Thy malisons, I wot, hath God fulfilled.”

From these passages we learn that destiny can be aroused by the
human will in a curse, and in this case the curse becomes a part
of destiny and sways the fate of its victims. In. vv. 1595 ff.
Gkdipus speaks of a hereditary transmission of the curse which
works down to the grandchildren and even utterly extirpates a
race:

Pheen. 1608-14:

κτανὼν δ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ πατέρ᾽ ὁ δυσδαίμων ἔγὼ
εἰς μητρὸς ἦλϑον τῆς ταλαιπώρου λέχος,
παῖδάς T ἀδελφοὺς ἔτεκον, οὺς ἀπώλεσα.
ἀρὰς παραλαβὼν Λαΐου καὶ παισὶ δούς. κ. τ. Δ.

“So mine own father did I slay, and came,—
Ah wretch!—unto mine hapless mother’s couch.
Sons I begat, my brethren, and destroyed,
Passing to them the curse of Laius.
For not so witless am I from the birth,
As to devise these things against mine eyes
And my sons’ life, but by the finger of God.”

ity

64 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Cf. also Aisch, Eum. 934 ff. The Greeks modified their theory of
the hereditary transmission of a curse by arguing that each gen-
eration commits new sins.

The poet’s opinion in regard to the importance of dreams is
illustrated by the following simile. The feeble trembling feet of
CEdipus are like a dream in respect of strength:

Pheen. 1721-22:

τᾷδε τᾷδε βαϑί μοι,
τᾷδε τᾷδε πόδα τίϑει κ. τ. X.

“Let thy feet follow hither mine hand,
O strengthless as dream of the night!”

A few examples of oath are found in our play. Polyneices calls
the Gods to witness that it is against his own will to take up arms
against his relation:

Pheen. 433-34:
ϑεοὺς δ᾽ ἐπώμοσ᾽ ws ἀκουσίως
τοῖς φιλτάτοις ἑκοῦσιν ἠράμην δόρυ.
“ And, by the Gods I swear, unwillingly
I lift the spear against my father’s house.”

Polyneices expresses his indignation at his brother Eteocles
who has not kept what he had promised under oath:

Pheen. 481-83:
ὃ δ᾽ αἰνέσας ταῦϑ᾽ ὁρκίους τε δοὺς ϑεούς,
ἔδρασεν οὐδὲν ὧν ὑπέσχετ᾽, κ. τ. Δ.
“ And he consented, in the God’s sight swore,
Yet no whit keepeth troth, but holdeth still
The kingship and mine half the heritage.”

and angrily proceeds:

Phoen. 491-93:

t X ms , ~
μάρτυρας δὲ τῶνδε δαίμονας καλῶ,
ὡς πάντα πράσσων σὺν δίκῃ, δίκης ἄτερ
ἀποστεροῦμαι πατρίδος ἀνοσιώτατα.

‘

‘...I1 call the Gods to witness this—
That, wholly dealing justly, robbed am 1
Of fatherland, unjustly, impiously.”

118

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 65

and again he exclaims:

Pheen. 626-27:

δὶ X L t τ᾿ \ \ i?
τὴν δὲ ϑρέψασάν με γαῖαν καὶ ϑεοὺς μαρτύρομαι
ὡς ἄτιμος οἰκτρὰ πάσχων ἐξελαύνομαι χϑονός, κ. τ. Δ.

“T call to witness earth that nursed me, witness Gods in heaven,
How with shame and piteous usage from the home-land I am
driven, etc.”

For oath in general see vv. 1240-41:

“On these terms made they truce, and in mid-space
The chiefs took oaths whereby they should abide.”

As regards the prophecies and oracles in our play the poet’s
usual vacillation is obvious. On the one hand he treats the sub-
ject in harmony with the popular belief and shows that oracles
are inexorably fulfilled; on the other hand he shows his wonted
contempt for the prophets and their functions. So he makes
CGedipus profess that Phoebus’ oracles inevitably come true:

Pheen. 1595-99:

ἄγονον ᾿Απόλλων Λαΐῳ μ᾽ ἐϑέσπισε κ. τ. Δ.

“Ere from my mother’s womb I came to light,
Pheebus to Laius spake me, yet unborn,
My father’s murderer—etc.”

and Phceen. 1703 and 05:
νῦν χρησμός, ὦ παῖ, Λοξίου περαίνεται.
ἐν ταῖς ᾿Αϑήναις κατϑανεῖν μ᾽ ἀλώμενον.

“Now, child, doth Loxias’ oracle come to pass,
That I, a wanderer, should in Athens die.”

The choral ode vv. 638 ff. relates the fulfillment of the oracle
which enjoined Cadmus to found a city wherever a heifer driven
from a certain herd should throw itself upon the ground:

Pheen. 640-42:

μόσχος ἀδάμαντον πέσημα
δίκε τελεσφόρον διδοῦσα
χρησμόν, οὗ κατοικίσαι κ. τ. Δ.

“That so was accomplished the oracle spoken
When the God for the place of his rest gave token, etc.”

110

66) Ernest Heimrich Klotsche

The oracle contained in vv. 409 ff. is an example that oracles
present an inevitable future in terms that are dim, ambiguous,
equivocal, ironical:

Pheen. 409 and 411:

ἔχρησ᾽ ᾿Αδράστῳ Λοξίας χρησμόν τινα.
κάπρῳ λέοντί δ᾽ ἁρμόσαι παίδων γάμους.

“To Adrastus Loxias spake an oracle:
‘Thy daughters wed to a lion and a boar.’”

Eteocles who formerly had mocked at the seer Teiresias admits
that he cannot dispense with the seer’s advice concerning an im-
portant undertaking:

Pheen. 766:
a 9. 3: Ν χὰ ὩΣ, ᾽ ᾿ ᾽ν L
ἕν δ᾽ ἐστὶν ἡμῖν ἀργόν, εἴ τι ϑέσφατον
οἰωνόμαντις Τειρεσίας ἔχει φράσαι,
τοῦδ᾽ ἐκπυϑέσϑαι Tait’...
> ‘\ \S L X 3 t
ἐγὼ δὲ τέχνην μαντικὴν ἐμεμψάμην κ. τ. Δ.

“One thing abides undone, to ask the seer
Teiresias touching this, if aught he hath
@reoraclesstomtellaesene
But the seer’s art in time past have I mocked

' Unto his face; so he may bear me grudge.”

The aged seer Teiresias led by his daughter enters the stage
saying :

Pheen. 838-40:

κλήρους TE μοι φύλασσε παρϑένῳ χερί, K. τ. Δ.

“Guard in thy maiden hand the augury-lots
Which, when I marked the bodings of the birds,
In the holy seat 1 took, where I divine.” .

The “augury-lots” (κλήρους) are the notes which the seer had
written down after having observed the flight of the birds.

Teiresias claims to have secured through the art of divination
the victory for Athens over Eleusis and displays as his reward a
golden crown, the first-fruits of the spoil:

Pheen. 854-58:

. . καὶ τόνδε χρυσοῦν στέφανον, ws ὁρᾷς, ἔχω
λαβὼν ἀπαρχὰς πολεμίων σκυλευμάτων.

120

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 67

“There too was war, against Eumolpus’ spear,
Where I to Cecrops’ sons gave victory.
This crown of gold, as thou mayst see, have I
As firstfruits of the foemen’s spoil received.”

Then Teiresias being urged to declare the truth, affirms that
the sole hope of the safety of Thebes lies in the sacrifice of
Creon’s only son, Mencecus:

Pheen. 911-14:

ἄκουε δή νυν ϑεσφάτων ἐμῶν ὁδόν:

σφάξαι Μενοικῆ τόνδε δεῖ σ᾽ ὑπὲρ πάτρας

σὸν παῖδ᾽, ἐπειδὴ τὴν τύχην αὐτὸν» καλεῖς.

“Hear then the tenor of mine oracle,

What deed of yours shall save the Thebans town.
Mencecus must thou slay for fatherland,

‘Thy son—since thou thyself demandest fate.”

Teiresias leaves the stage with the following characteristic
words upon his lips:

Pheen. 954-590:
ὅστις δ᾽ ἐμπύρῳ χρῆται τέχνῃ,
μάταιος: ἢν μὲν ἐχϑρὰ σημήνας τύχῃ,
πικρὸς καϑέστηχ᾽ οἷς ἂν οἰωνοσκοπῇ᾽
ψευδῆ δ᾽ ὑπ᾽ οἴκτου τοῖσι χρωμένοις λέγων
ἀδικεῖ τὰ τῶν ϑεῶν. Φοῖβον ἀνϑρώποις μόνον
χρῆν ϑεσπιῳδεῖν, ὃς δέδοικεν οὐδένα.
. .. Who uses the diviner’s art
Is foolish. If he heraldeth ill things,
He is loathed of those to whom he prophecies.
If pitying them that seek to him, he lie,
He wrongs the Gods. Sole prophet unto men
Ought Pheebus to have been, who feareth none.”

Euripides renders his condemnation of the soothsayers most
effective when he makes the aged seer himself confess that sooth-
sayers often do not dare to tell the truth to those that consult
them and therefore are compelled to cheat their clients in order
not to give offence. No wonder that Creon says to his son:

ican O71 :

>
ἀκόλαστ

ἐάσας μάντεων ϑεσπῖσματα.
“ Heed not the reckless words of soothsayers.”

121

68 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

14. THE ELECTRA

The “ Electra,” produced about 413, treats of the same subject
as the “Chcephore” of A*schylus, and the “Electra” of Soph-
ocles, namely the return of Orestes from exile, and his revenge
upon Clytemnestra.

The chorus admonish Electra to worship the Gods and pray to
them:

El. 194-97:

μὴ τιμῶσα ϑεούς, κρατή-

σειν ἐχϑρῶν; οὔτοι στοναχαῖς,

ἀλλ᾽ εὐχαῖσι ϑεοὺς σεβί-

ζουσ᾽ ἕξεις εὐαμερίαν, ὦ παῖ.

“Tf thou give honour not to Gods, shall bring

Thy foes low?—reverencing

The Gods with prayers, not groans, shalt thou obtain
Clear shining after rain.”

but Electra answers:

El. 198-200:
οὐδεὶς ϑεῶν ἐνοπὰς κλύει
τᾶς δυσδαίμονος, οὐ παλαι-
ῶν πατρὸς σφαγιασμῶν.

“ΝΟ God regards a wretch’s cries,
Nor heeds old flames of sacrifice
Once on my father’s altar burning.”

and yet in her distress she prays desperately:

El. 221:

“ὦ n” ~
ὦ Φοῖβ᾽ ᾿Απολλον, προσπίτνω σε μὴ ϑανεῖν.

“Phoebus, I pray thee that I be not slain!”
Electra is exhorted by the Old Man to pray to the Gods:

El. 563 and 565:
ὦ mworvi, εὔχου, Jiyatep ᾿Ηλέκτρα, ϑεοῖς
λαβεῖν φίλον ϑησαυρόν, ὃν φαίνει ϑεός.

“Daughter, Electra—princess!—pray to the Gods—
To win the precious treasure God reveals!”
and she replies:
22

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 69

El. 566:

ἰδού, καλῶ ϑεούς.

“Lo, I invoke them.”

The prayer in vv. 671 ff. which is according to Murray’s ar-
rangement in turn recited by Orestes, Electra, and the Old Man,
contains also an invocation of the dead:

ΕἸ. 671-83:

O. ὦ Ζεῦ πατρῷε καὶ τροπαῖ᾽ ἐχϑρῶν ἐμῶν,

H. οἴκτειρέ δ᾽ ἡμᾶς, οἰκτρὰ γὰρ πεπόνϑαμεν, κ. τ. Δ.
“My father’s God, Zeus, smiter of my foes,”
“Pity us: pitiful our wrongs have been.”
“Yea, pity those whose:lineage is of thee!”
“Queen of Mycene’s altars, Hera, help!”
“Grant to us victory, if we claim the right.”
“Grant for their father vengeance unto these! ”
“Ὁ Earth, O Queen, on whom 1 lay mine hands,”
“Father, by foul wrong dweller ’neath the earth,”
“Help, help them, these thy children best-beloved,”
“Come! bring all those thy battle-helpers slain ”
“All them whose spears with thee laid Phrygians low,”
. “Yea, all which hate defilers impious!”
“ Hear’st thou, O foully-entreated of my mother?”

Ο Ο
ΟΞ MOSOMEOMSHO

Oo

©

This prayer to the dead father presupposes the presence of the
spirit of the dead, his sympathy and co-operation with the sur-
viving kinsmen. Electra asserts (v. 684) :

“Our sire hears all, I know.”

In the following invocation of the Gods Electra identifies the
Gods with world-ruling Justice:

IBIL Gat

ὦ ϑεοί, Δίκη τε πάνϑδ᾽ ὁρῶσ᾽, ἦλϑές ποτε.
5) ρ 3

“Gods! All-seeing Justice thou hast come at last!”

Orestes has come by divine command to avenge his father’s
death :

El. 87-89:
ἀφῖγμαι δ᾽ ἐκ ϑεοῦ χρηστηρίων κ. τ. Δ.
123

70 Ernest Heimrich Klotsche
“... At Phoebus’ oracle-hest I come

To Argos’ soil, none privy thereunto,

To pay my father’s murderers murder-wage.”

Orestes expresses his belief in Apollo’s oracles, but has no re-
gard for the tribe of soothsayers:

El. 399-400:
Λοξίου yap ἔμπεδοι

χρησμοί, βροτῶν δὲ μαντικὴν χαίρειν ἐῶ.

ce

“ΟΡ lWoxdtasmlonacles
Fail not. Of men’s soothsaying will I none.”

In the end of the play the Dioscuri suddenly appear and abuse
Apollo on account of his oracle which has brought about the
dreadful events, but he is their superior and therefore they cannot
speak too plainly:

El. 1206-97:
Φοίβῳ τήνδ᾽ avad-now
πράξιν φονίαν.
“.. for on Pheebus I lay the guilt
Of the blood thou hast spilt, etc.”

Likewise lays Orestes the responsibility for the murder of Cly-
temnestra and its consequences at the door of Apollo:

El. 971 and 073:
ὦ Φοῖβε, πολλήν γ᾽ ἀμαϑίαν ἐϑέσπισας,
ὅστις μ᾽ ἔχρησας μητέῤ᾽, ἣν οὐ χρῇν, κτανεῖν.
“Ὁ Pheebus, folly exceeding was thine hest—
Who against nature bad’st me slay my mother!”

and El. 1190-96:
ἰὼ Φοῖβ᾽, ἀνύμνησας δίκαν, κ. τ. Δ.
“ Pheebus, the deed didst thou commend
Aye whispering ‘Justice. Thou hast bared
The deeds of darkness, and made end,
Through Greece, of lust that murder dared.
But me what land shall shield? What friend,
What righteous man shall bear to see
The slayer of his mother—me? ”

124

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides Wil

15. THE ORESTES

The Orestes was acted in 408. The first part of the play tells
us that after the murder of Aigisthus and Clytemnestra Orestes
was haunted by the Furies. In torment thereof he continued six
days. Then both, Orestes and Electra were condemned to death
by the Argive people. The later portion of the play contains the
intrigues for their rescue and the final achievement for their de-
liverance.

Orestes desires to pray at the grave of his father:

Or. 706-07:
Kal με πρὸς τύμβον πόρευσον πατρός,
ὥς νιν ἱκετεύσω με σῶσαι.
“Even to my father’s grave-mound guide me on.
1 would pray him to deliver.”

Orestes, Electra, and Pylades pray to Agamemnon in Hades:

(1 1255 ὡ-:

O. ὦ δῶμα ναίων νυκτὸς ὀρφναίας πάτερ, κ. τ. X.

H. ὦ πάτερ, ἱκοῦ δητ᾽., εἰ κλύεις εἴσω χϑονὸς
τέκνων καλούντων, οἱ σέϑεν ϑνήσκουσ᾽ ὕπερ.

. ὦ συγγένεια πατρὸς ἐμοῦ. κἀμὰς λιτάς,

᾿Αγάμεμνον, εἰσάκουσον, ἔκσωσον τέκνα.

Ο. “ Father, who dwellest in dark halls of night,
Thy son Orestes bids thee come to help
Those in sore need. For thy sake suffer I
Wrongfully—by thy brother am betrayed,
Though I wrought righteousness. I fain would seize
His wife, and slay: be thou our help therein!”

E. “Come, father, come, if thou in earth’s embrace
Hearest thy children cry, who die for thee! ”

P. “ My father’s kinsman, to my prayers withal,
Agamemnon, hearken; save thy children thou! etc.”

and Pylades adds:

Or. 1240-43:
παύσασϑε, Kal πρὸς ἔργον ἐξορμώμεϑα.
εἴπερ γὰρ εἴσω γῆς ἀκοντίζουσ᾽ ἀραί,
κλύει. σὺ δ᾽, ὦ Ζεῦ πρόγονε καὶ Δίκης σέβας,
δότ᾽ εὐτυχῆσαι τῷδ᾽ ἐμοί τε τῇδέ τε.
“ Cease ye, and let us haste unto the deed;
For if prayers, javelin-like, pierce earth, he hears.

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72 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Forefather Zeus, and Justice’ majesty,
To him, to me, to her, grant happy speed!”

Electra prays:

Or. 1299-1300:
ὦ Διός, ὦ Διὸς ἀέναον κράτος,
ἔλϑ᾽ ἐπίκουρον ἐμοῖσι φίλοισι πάντως.
“Ὁ power of Zeus, of Zeus,—eternal power,
Come, aid my friends in this supremest hour

{»

Electra pronounces a curse on Helen:

Or. 130-31:
Jeol σε μισήσειαν, ὥς μ᾽ ἀπώλεσας
καὶ τόνδε πᾶσάν 3 Ἑλλάδα.

“,, —still the Helen of old!
God’s hate be on thee, who hast ruined me,
My brother, and all Hellas!”

Only one instance of oath is found in our play:

Oke, WENCH 2
O. ὄμοσον, εἰ δὲ μὴ, κτενῶ σε, μὴ λέγειν ἐμὴν χάριν.
@. τὴν ἐμὴν ψυχὴν κατὠώμοσ᾽, ἣν ἂν εὐορκοῖμ᾽ ἐγώ.
O. “Swear—or I will slay thee,—that thou speakest not to
pleasure me.
Phr. By my life I swear—an oath I sure should honour sacredly.”

In the prologue Electra asserts that the oracle-god is guilty of
the most unholy thing, the most abominable deed:

Or. 28-31:
Φοίβου δ᾽ ἀδικίαν μὲν τί δεῖ κατηγορεῖν;
πείϑει δ᾽ ᾿Ορέστην μητέρ᾽ ἣ σφ᾽ ἐγείνατο
κτεῖναι, πρὸς οὐχ ἅπαντας εὔκλειαν φέρον.
ὅμως δ᾽ ἀπέκτειν᾽ οὐκ ἀπειϑήσας ϑεῷ.
“What boots it to lay wrong to Phcebus’ charge,
Who thrust Orestes on to slay the mother
That bare him?—few but cry shame on the deed,
Though in obedience to the God he slew.”

Line 30 means literally translated “a deed that does not bring to
all the idea that this was creditable in a God,” 1.6., “that brings
discredit to him with some.”

126

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 73

That Phoebus was the real author of the deed is admitted by
Helen:

Or. 76:
εἰς Φοῖβον ἀναφέρουσα τὴν ἁμαρτίαν.

“Since upon Pheebus all thy sin I lay, etc.”
Apollo’s oracle is called an unjust one by Electra:

Or. 162-64:
ἄδικος ἄδικα τότ᾽ ἄρ᾽ ἔλακεν ἔλακεν, ἀπό-
govoy ὅτ᾽ ἐπὶ τρίποδι Θέμιδος ἄρ᾽ ἐδίκασε
φόνον ὁ Λοξίας ἐμᾶς ματέρος.
“Wrongful was he who uttered that wrongful rede
When Loxias, thronged on the tripod of Themis, decreed
The death of my mother, a foul unnatural deed!”

And Orestes exclaims:

Or. 275-76:
τί δῆτα μέλλετ᾽; ἐξακρίζετ᾽ αἰϑέρα
πτεροῖς" τὰ Φοίβου δ᾽ αἰτιᾶσϑε ϑέσφατα.
“Why tarry ye? Soar to the welkin’s height
On wings! There rail on Phcebus’ oracles!”

and he continues:

Or. 285-87:
Λοξίᾳ δὲ μέμφομαι,
ὅστις μ᾽ ἐπάρας ἔργον ἀνοσιώτατον.
τοῖς μὲν λόγοις ηὔφραινε, τοῖς δ᾽ ἔργοισιν οὔ.

{ς

. .. Loxias I blame,
Who to a deed accursed thrust me on,
And cheered me still with words, but not with deeds.”

Orestes, when seized with madness, in his lucid intervals again
and again blames the God for the deed:

Ors 414 fi. :
ἀλλ᾽ ἔστιν ἡμῖν ἀναφορὰ τῆς ξυμφορᾶς
Φοῖβος, κελεύσας μητρὸς ἐκπρᾶξαι φόνον.
ἀμαϑέστερός γ᾽ ὧν τοῦ καλοῦ καὶ τῆς δίκης
δουλεύομεν ϑεοῖς, ὅ τι ToT’ εἰσὶν οἱ ϑεοί.

3 2 S =
κἀτ᾽ οὐκ ἀμύνει Λοξίας τοῖς σοῖς κακοῖς;

μ X 4 3. 65 \ ~ 7
μέλλει: TO ϑεῖον δ΄ ἐστὶ τοιοῦτον φύσει.

O 9508 ©

“Yet can I cast my burden of affliction

127

74 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

On Pheebus, who bade spill my mother’s blood.”
M. “Sore lack was his of justice and of right!”
O. “ The God’s thralls are we—whatsoe’er Gods be.”
M. “And doth not Loxias shield thee in thine ills?”
O. “ He tarrieth long—such is the God’s wont still.”

Or. 501-06:
᾿Απόλλων ὃς μεσομφάλους ἕδρας
ναίων βροτοῖσι στόμα νέμει σαφέστατον,
ᾧ πειϑόμεσϑα πάνϑ᾽ ὅσ᾽ ἂν κεῖνος λέγῃ,
τούτῳ πιϑόμενος τὴν τεκοῦσαν ἔκτανον.
ἐκεῖνον ἡγεῖσϑ᾽ ἀνόσιον καὶ κτείνετε:
ἐκεῖνος ἥμαρτ᾽, οὐκ ἔγώ.
κννος Apollo at earth’s navel-throne
Gives most true revelation unto men,
Whom we obey in whatsoe’er he saith.
Obeying him, my mother did I slay.
Account ye him unholy: yea, slay him!
He sinned, not I.”

After the poet has thoroughly censured the oracle-god for his
injustice the play concludes with the usual justification of Apollo’s
wisdom. Apollo himself appears and gives his oracles as to how
affairs should be managed, vv. 1625-65. Orestes perfectly satis-
fied addresses Apollo:

Or. 1666-67:

ὦ Λοξία μαντεῖε σῶν ϑεσπισμάτων:
οὐ ψευδόμαντις how ἄρ᾽. ἀλλ᾽ ἐτήτυμος.

“Hail, Prophet Loxias, to thine oracles!
No lying prophet wert thou then, but true.”

and Or. 1680-81:

κἀγὼ τοιοῦτος: σπένδομαι δὲ συμφοραῖς.
Μενέλαε, καὶ σοῖς, Λοξία, ϑεσπίσμασιν.

“T am as he to my fate reconciled,
To Menelaus, and thine oracles.”

The prophet Glaucus, from whom Menelaus learned the news
of his brother’s fate, is called the “unerring God”:

Or, 362 fh. :
. . . Νηρέως προφήτης Tradxos ἀψευδὴς eds, κ. τ. X.
its

... from the waves
The shipman’s seer, the unerring God, the son

128

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides * 75

of Nereus, Glaucus, made it known to me:
‘Thy brother, Menelaus, lieth dead, etc.’ ”

The word προφήτης, however, does not necessarily imply the power

of predicting; προφήτης is properly an interpreter or speaker for

another, as Apollo was the prophet of Zeus and Glaucus of

Nereus.
Reference to dreams is made in

(τ 618:
ὀνείρατ᾽ ἀγγέλλουσα τἀγαμέμνονος.

“Telling of dreams from Agamemnon sent.”

This verse is generally considered as spurious. Paley thinks that
the notion was borrowed from dreams of vengeance sent to Cly-
temnestra by Agamemnon as described in the “Chcephori” of
ZEschylus and in Sophocles’ Electra 425; it is not elsewhere al-
luded to by Euripides.

In the extremely fine passage vv. 255 ff., which must have been
truly terrific when impersonated by a good actor, we have the
famous vision of Orestes who sees the Furies by his side:

Omess=s7:

> ~ 3

ὦ μῆτερ, ἱκετεύω σε, μὴ ᾿᾽πίσειξ μοι

τὰς αἱματωποὺς καὶ δρακοντώδεις κόρας.
αὗται γὰρ αὗται πλησίον ϑρώσκουσί μου.

“Mother !—beseech thee, hark not thou on me
Yon maidens gory-eyed and snaky-haired!
Lo there!—lo there! They are nigh, they leap on me!”

At this moment Orestes in his delirium makes a violent effort to
leap from his couch; Therefore Electra, his sister, who sits by his
bed and administers to him with the most tender affection as-
Suages him saying:
Or. 258-50: :

μέν᾽, ὦ ταλαίπωρ᾽, ἀτρέμα σοῖς ἐν δεμνίοις"

ὁρᾷς γὰρ οὐδὲν ὧν δοκεῖς σάφ᾽ εἰδέναι.

“Stay, hapless one, unshuddering on thy couch:
Nought of thy vivid vision seest thou.”

In these lines we have a striking example how Euripides manages

129

FO Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

the supernatural in contrast with /Xschylus. According to the
latter the Furies are real deities, living persons of objective ex-
istence, who even come upon the stage to torture the murderer.
According to Euripides Orestes in his delirium fancies he sees
the forms of the Furies pursuing him, while Electra expresses her
disbelief in the visible presence of them. She admits that a
fancied illness is as afflicting to the patient, as a real one, but
insists that the illness is nothing but a vision that haunts the brain
of a delirious man:

Oke, SUT ¢
ἀλλὰ κλῖνον εἰς εὐνὴν δέμας,
καὶ μὴ τὸ ταρβοῦν κἀκφοβοῦν σ᾽ ἐκ δεμνίων
ἄγαν ἀποδέχου, μένε δ᾽ ἐπὶ στρωτοῦ λέχους.
κἂν μὴ νοσῇς γάρ, ἀλλὰ δοξάζεις νοσεῖν
κάματος βροτοῖσιν ἀπορίατε γίγνεται.

“.. But lay thee down,
And heed not terrors overmuch, that scare
Thee from thy couch, but on thy bed abide.
For, though thy sickness be but of the brain,
This is affliction, this despair, to men.”

16. THE IPHIGENIA AT AULIS

The “Iphigenia at Aulis” was acted after the death of Euripi-
des: Its subject forms a prelude to the “Iphigenia in Tauris.”
Calchas the prophet had proclaimed—and he was backed by
Odysseus and Menelaus—that Artemis claims the sacrifice of
Iphigenia, eldest daughter of Agamemnon, before the adverse
winds can fall. Iphigenia, doomed by her father to die at Aulis,
is miraculously saved by the Goddess and removed to another
land, the Tauric Chersonese.

As in the “ Hippolytus” so also in the “Iphigenia at Aulis,” a
characteristic passage is contained, where Euripides refers to an
oath which is invalid. This is the oath sworn to Tyndareus by
Helen’s suitors :

ΠῚ ΠΟ ΠῚ:
ὥμοσαν τὸν Τυνδάρειον ὅρκον οἱ κακόφρονες
φιλόγαμοι μνηστῆρες .. -
ods λαβὼν orparev’: ἕτοιμοι δ᾽ εἰσὶ μωρίᾳ φρενῶν.

130

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides Tdi

“Those infatuate marriage-craving suitors swore an oath indeed
Unto Tyndareus;..
Lead them thou—-O these are ready in the folly of their soul!”

This oath was invalid because it was extorted on a false pretense:

I. A. 66-67:
ἐπεὶ δ᾽ ἐπιστώϑησαν ἐμπέδως, γέρων
ὑπῆλϑεν αὐτοὺς Τυνδάρεως πυκνῇ φρενί, κ. τ. Δ.

“So when they had pledged them thus, and cunningly
Old Tyndareus had by craft outwitted them, etc.”

The oath was taken under the usual solemn forms of swearing

and an imprecation of harm to him who should fail in his obliga-
tion was added, (ἐπαράσασϑαι):

Hepes 7=O5):
Kal νιν εἰσῆλϑεν τάδε,
ὅρκους συνάψαι δεξιάς τε συμβαλεῖν κ. τ. X.

“ .. and this thing came into his mind,
That each to each the suitors should make oath,
And clasp right hands, and with burnt sacrifice
Should pour drink-offerings, and swear to this :—
Whose wife soever Tyndareus’ child should be,
Him to defend: if any from her home
Stole her and fled, and thrust her lord aside,
To march against him, and to raze his town,
Hellene or alien, with their mailed array.”

The suitors had taken the oath because each hoped to be the hus-
band of Helen; and since they were bound by this oath they had
to take the consequences of their folly and join the Trojan expe-
dition, and so fulfil their oath. In taking such an oath they are
called κακόφρονες “infatuate,”’ vv. 390-91. But Euripides adds
that while men may be in the dark about the validity or invalidity
of oaths the Godhead well knows how to distinguish those which
are valid from those which are not:

I. A. 395-06:
ov yap ἀσύνετον τὸ ϑεῖον, ἀλλ᾽ ἔχει συνιέναι
τοὺς κακῶς παγέντας ὅρκους καὶ κατηναγκασμένους.

“God is not an undiscerning judge; his eyes are keen to try
Oaths exacted by constraint, and troth-plight held unrighteously.”

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78 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Menelaus under a solemn oath by his and Agamemnon’s an-
cestors declares that he no longer desires to possess a bad wife at
the cost of a good brother’s happiness :

IL, ANS ΠΩ ΠΣ:
Πέλοπα κατόμνυμ᾽, ὃς πατὴρ τοὐμοῦ πατρὸς

τοῦ σοῦ T ἐκλήϑη, τὸν τεκόντα τ᾽ ᾿Ατρέα,

ko Ire INo

“T swear by Pelops, of my sire and thine

Named father, and by Atreus our own sire,

That from mine heart’s core I will speak to thee,

To serve no end, but all mine inmost thought, etc.”

Likewise Achilles, when swearing, invokes his ancestor:

I. A. 948-50:
μὰ τὸν δὶ ὑγρῶν κυμάτων τεϑραμμένον
Νηρέα, φυτουργὸν Θέτιδος ἥ μ᾽ ἐγείνατο,
οὐχ ἅψεται ons ϑυγατρὸς ᾿Αγαμέμνων ἄναξ.

“No, by the foster-son of Ocean’s waves,
Nereus, the sire of Thetis who bare me,
King Agamemnon shall not touch thy child.”

The poet’s dislike for seers also finds expression in our play:

TA. 520-27:
5 aie ; Ω ;
TO μαντικὸν πᾶν σπέρμα φιλότιμον κακόν.
κοὐδὲν γ᾽ ἀρεστὸν οὐδὲ χρήσιμον παρόν.

Agam. ‘The whole seer-tribe is an ambitious curse.”
Menel. ‘“ Abominable and useless,—while alive.” ἢ

ΙΕ ἘΠῚ ΠΟ; ΕἸ] ΙΕ: ΜΝ {δ ἘΠ].
Achilles bitterly asks:

I, Av, ὉΞῸΣ
τίς δὲ μάντις ἔστ᾽ ἀνήρ;

“What is a seer?”
and answers his own question :

I. A. 957-58:
ds ὀλίγ᾽ ἀληϑῆ, πολλὰ δὲ ψευδῆ λέγει
τυχών: ὅταν δὲ μὴ τύχῃ, διοίχεται.
“A man who speaks few truths, but many lies,
When his shafts hit, who is ruined if he miss.”

(J.e., he loses all credit when he fails.)
132

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 79

17. THE BAcCcCHA

The “ Bacche” was composed or completed during the resi-
dence of Euripides with Archelaus in Macedonia and in all prob-
ability was the work of his latest years. It brings before us the
conflict between divine power claiming its due recognition (Dion-
ysus), and human arrogance denying that claim (Pentheus).
The play details the miserable end of Pentheus, who stands alone
in obstinate resistance to the worship of Dionysus. A devout
and religious tone is predominant throughout this play. The
splendid choral odes of the “ Bacchanals,” their passionate cries
and wild ecstatic prayers express the one theme of pious devotion
in varying forms following the development of the action.

The chorus in an ecstatic prayer call the Goddess of Sanctity
to listen to the impious language of Pentheus:

Bacch. 370 ff. :
‘Ocia πότνα ϑεῶν,
“Οσία δ᾽ ἃ κατὰ γᾶν
χρυσέαν πτέρυγα φέρεις, κ. τ. DV.
“Ὁ Sanctity, thou who dost bear dominion
Over Gods, yet low as this earthly ground,
Unto usward, stoopest thy golden pinion,—
Hear’st thou the words of the king, and the sound
Of his blast of defiance, of Pentheus assailing
The Clamour-king ?—hear’st thou this blasphemous railing
On Semele’s son, who is foremost found
Of the Blest in the festival beauty-crowned? etc.”

In the spirit of Bacchic frenzy the chorus invoke the God:

Bacch. 414-15:
ἐκεῖσ᾽ ἄγε με, Βρόμιε Βρόμιε, κ. τ. X.
“... Thitherward lead me, O Clamour-king!
O Revel-god, guide where the Graces abide
And Desire,—where danceth, of no man denied,
The Bacchanal ring.”

The chorus call upon the God to come and check the insolence of
the king:

Bacch. 550 ff.:
éoopas Tad’, ὦ Διὸς παῖ
Διόνυσε, σοὺς προφήτας κ. τ. X.

133.

80 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

“ .. Son of Zeus, are his deeds of thine eye unbeholden,
Dionysus ?—thy prophets with tyranny wrestling in struggle and
strain?
Sweep down the slope of Olympus, uptossing thy-thyrsus golden:
Come to us, King, and the murderer’s insolent fury refrain, etc.”

Having called upon the hounds of Madness to arouse the
Menads against Pentheus, the godless intruder into their sacred
rites, the chorus invoke Justice and the presence of the God
himself :

Bacch. 1012-23:
ἴτω δίκα φανερός, ἴτω ξιφηφόρος κ. τ. Δ.
WW, ὦ Βάκχε, x. τ. Δ.
“Justice, draw nigh us, draw nigh, with the sword of avenging

appear:

Slay the unrighteous, the seed of Echion, the earth-born, and
shear

Clean through his throat; for he feareth not God, neither law
doth he fear.”

“© Dionysus, reveal thee!—appear as a bull to behold,
‘Or be thou seen as dragon, a monster of heads manifold,
Or as a lion with splendours of flame round the limbs of him

rolled.

Come to us, Bacchus, and smiling in mockery compass him
around

Now withthe toils of destruction, and so shall the hunter be
bound,

Trapped mid the throng of the Menads, the quarry his questing
hath found.”

Since the “ Bacchz” apparently breathe a more religious spirit
than most of the earlier dramas of Euripides, scholars have often
maintained that the play is a sort of recantation on the part of the
poet, “a reactionary manifesto in favour of orthodoxy.” In the
judgment of G. Murray this is a “ view which hardly merits refu-
tation.” Even in the “ Bacche,” towards the close of the play in
the colloquy between Agave and Dionysus, Euripides does -not
shrink from exposing the imperfections of the legend and repre-
senting the Gods in an obnoxious light:

134

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides δῚ

Bacch. 1344-49:
. Διόνυσε, λισσόμεσϑά σ᾽, ἠδικήκαμεν.
ὄψ᾽ ἐμάϑεϑ᾽ ἡμᾶς, ὅτε δ᾽ ἐχρῆν, οὐκ ἤδετε.
ἐγνώκαμεν ταῦτ᾽ - ἀλλ᾽ ἐπεξέρχει λίαν.
καὶ γὰρ πρὸς ὑμῶν ϑεὸς γεγὼς ὑβριζόμην.
ὀργὰς πρέπει ϑεοὺς οὐχ ὁμοιοῦσϑαι βροτοῖς.
πάλαι τάδε Ζεὺς οὑμὸς ἐπένευσεν πατήρ.
“Dionysus, we beseech thee [-- να have sinned.”
(73 ῳ ”
. “Too late ye know me, who knew not in your hour.
“We know it—but thy vengeance passeth bounds.”
“T am a God: ye did despite to me.”
. “It fits not that in wrath Gods be as men.”
“Long since my father Zeus ordained this so.”

U>UPUD> ΡΡΡΡΡΡ

Dionysus possesses prophetic knowledge and predicts future
events. No doubt, some verses of Dionysus’ speech have been lost
at the end of the play. The portion preserved begins with his
prophecy of the weird transformation of Cadmus:

IBaeClm, i310) 288, 2

δράκων γενήσει μεταβαλών, κ. τ. X.
χρησμὸς ws λέγει Διός, κ. τ. X.

“Thou to a serpent shalt be changed; thy wife, etc.
. .. Zeus’ oracle saith, etc.”

Teiresias, the prophet of Apollo, describes Dionysus as a God
possessed of oracular power and prophetic madness:

Bacch. 298-09:
μάντις δ᾽ ὁ δαίμων ὅδε: τὸ yap βακχεύσιμον
καὶ τὸ μανιῶδες μαντικὴν πολλήν ἔχει.

“A prophet is this God: the Bacchic frenzy
And ecstacy are full-fraught with prophecy.”

cf. also Hec. 1267:

ὁ Θρηξὶ μάντις εἶπε Διόνυσος τἀδε.

Dramatically appropriate in the lips of the aged seer Teiresias
is the conservative tone in which he protests against rationalizing
and speculating about the Gods, as if our reason were capable of
dealing with the question, vv. 200 ff.

“?*Tis not for us to reason touching Gods.
Traditions of our fathers, old as time,

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Soe: Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

We hold: no reasoning shall cast them down,—
No, though of subtlest wit our wisdom spring, etc.”

We cannot, however, unreservedly accept the seer as the spokes-
man of the opinion of the poet, who, as appears from passages in
other plays, had no great love for prophets and soothsayers; and
even a play of such a religious character as the “‘ Bacche”’ con-
tains a strong invective against the diviners: The taunts of venal-
ity which Euripides in vv. 255 ff. allows to be flung at Teiresias
by Pentheus,—taunts which remain unanswered by the seer, may
well make us hesitate in accepting the prophet as the exponent of
the poet’s own opinion in vv. 200ff. Pentheus severely attacks
Teiresias :

Bacch. 255-57:
σὺ ταῦτ᾽ ἔπεισας, Τειρεσία: τόνδ᾽ av ϑέλεις
τὸν δαίμον᾽ ἀνϑρώποισιν εἰσφέρων νέον
σκοπεῖν πτερωτοὺς κἀμπύρων μισϑοὺς φέρειν.

“Thou didst, Teiresias, draw him to this:
’Tis thou wouldst foist this new God upon men
For augury and divination’s wage!”

The service of a new God was pretty sure to bring with it some
new profits from the credulous, especially as Dionysus was an
oracular God. The function of the soothsayer seems to have been
held in small repute among the contemporaries of Euripides, and
passages like these (see also Hipp. 1059; lon 374-8; Hel. 744-57;
ΕἸ 400; Phen 77230) A. 520and! Prem: 702) cellectitaesreclima
of the day. Such censure of false prophets, so common in Euripi-
des, is doubtless due to the conduct of the mendicant soothsayers
and jugglers of the time.
For formula of oath see:

Bacch.. 534-35:
ἔτι val τὰν βοτρυὠδη
Διονύσου χάριν οἴνας.
{{

... Ll swear by the full-clustered
Grace of the vine Dionysian.”

The Greeks usually called a divinity to witness that was connected
with the subject of discourse.

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 83

18. THE CyYCLopPs

The “Cyclops” is the only extant example of a satyric drama.
Although the play brings us into contact with customs and modes
of religious worship of a period long before Euripides, it fur-
nishes very little material for our search of the supernatural.

Odysseus prays to Athena and Zeus:

Cycl. 350-55:

ὦ Παλλάς, ὦ δέσποινα Διογενὲς Vea, κ. τ. λ.
“Ζεῦ ξένι᾽ ὅρα Tad: kK. τ. Δ.

“Ὁ Pallas, Child of Zeus, O Heavenly Queen,
Help, help me now, for never have I been,
Mid all Troy’s travail, in such strait as this!
Oh, this is peril’s bottomless abyss!
O Dweller in the starry Halls of Light,
Zeus, thou Guest-champion, look upon my plight!
Tf thou regard not, vainly we confess
Thy godhead, Zeus, who art mere nothingness! ”

For the same thought see:

Cycl. 375-76:
ὦ Zev, τί λέξω, δείν᾽ ἰδὼν ἄντρων ἔσω
κοὺ πιστά, μύϑοις εἰκότ᾽ οὐδ᾽ ἔργοις βροτῶν;
“O God, that cave !—that mine eyes should behold
Horrors incredible, etc.”

Odysseus also appeals to Hepheestus, the presiding God of Etna
to help him in getting rid of the Cyclops who is a pest to the
island:

Cycl. 599-607 :
Ἡφαιστ᾽ ἄναξ Αἰτναῖε, γείτονος κακοῦ
λαμπρὸν πυρώσας ὄμμ᾽ ἀπαλλάχϑηϑ᾽ ἅπαξ,
ἘΣ ΠΝ:

“Ὁ Fire-god, king of Etna, burn away

_The eye of thy vile neighbour, and for aye
Rid thee of him! O child of black Night, Sleep,
On this god-hated brute in full power leap!
Bring not Odysseus and his crew to naught,
After these glorious toils in Ilium wrought,
Through one who gives to God nor man a thought!

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84. Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

Else must we think that Chance bears rule in heaven,
That lordship over Gods to her is given.”

The drunken Silenus pronounces curses on Odysseus and his
comrades:

Cycl. 261:
κακῶς yap ἐξόλοιο.

¢

*... devil take you!”

Cycl.268-60 :

ἢ κακῶς οὗτοι κακοὶ
οἱ παῖδες ἀπόλοιντο.

“. . . Else—may they go to hell
These bad boys!”

Silenus swears “by all the gods and little fishes” that he has not
sold the lambs of Cyclops:

Cycl. 262 ff. :
μὰ τὸν Ποσειδῶ τὸν τεκόντα σ᾽, ὦ Κύκλωψ,
μὰ τὸν μέγαν Τρίτωνα καὶ τὸν Νηρέα,
μὰ τὴν Καλυψὼ tas τε Νηρέως κόρας,
μὰ & ἱερὰ κύματ᾽ ἰχϑύων τε πᾶν γένος,
ἀπώμοσ᾽, κ. τ. X.
“ By the Sea-god your father, Sir, I vow,
By mighty Triton, Nereus, Lord of Waters,
Calypso, and all Nereus’ pretty daughters,
By every holy wave that swings and swishes—
In short, by all the gods and little fishes
I swear—... etc.”

19. THE FRAGMENTS

In the Fragments of Euripides the following prayers and in-
vocations are contained:

iin, UAB
ὦ ϑεοί, τίν᾽ εἰς γῆν βαρβάρων ἀφίγμεϑα κ. τ. Δ.
“Ὁ Gods, what barbarous land have we reached! etc.”
ΕΠ ΤῊ2:
σὺ δ᾽ ὦ τύραννε ϑεῶν τε κἀνϑρώπων ᾿Ερως, κ. τ. d.
“Eros, thou mistress of the Gods and men, etc.”

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 85

ΠῚ ΤΣ:
ὦ παῖ Διώνης, ὡς ἔφυς μέγας ϑεός,
Διόνυσε, ϑνητοῖς τ᾽ οὐδαμῶς ὑποστατός.

“Ὁ Dionysus, Dione’s son, how great a God hast thou become,
in no wise inferior to mortals!”

fr. 705 contains an invocation addressed to Apollo:
ὦ Φοῖβ᾽ ᾿Απολλον Λύκιε, τί ποτέ μ᾽ ἐργάσει;

fr. 867 one addressed to Ahprodite:
ὦ Κύπρις, ws ἡδεῖα καὶ μοχϑηρὸς et.

The following beautiful fragment contains a praise of the
world-pervading reason or intelligence:

fr. 506:

σὲ τὸν αὐτοφυῆ τὸν ἐν aidepiw

ῥύμβῳ πάντων φύσιν ἐμπλέξανϑ᾽,

ὃν πέρι μὲν φῶς, περὶ δ᾽ ὀρφναία

νὺξ αἰολόχρως, ἄκριτός τ᾽ ἄστρων

ὄχλος ἐνδελεχῶς ἀμφιχορεύει.

“Thee, self-begotten, who, in ether rolled

Ceaselessly round, by mystic links dost blend

The nature of all things, whom veils enfold

Of light, of dark night flecked with gleams of gold.
Of star-hosts dancing round thee without end.”

Cf. also fr. 935:

“Seest thou the boundless ether there on high,
That folds the earth around with dewy arms?
This deem thou Zeus, this reckon one with God.”

and fr. 860:
ἀλλ᾽ αἰϑὴρ τίκτει σε, κόρα,
Ζεὺς ὃς ἀνϑρώποις ὀνομάζεται.

“ Maiden, ’twas Ether gave thee birth,
Who is named Zeus by sons of earth.”

(See also pages 80 ff. on Troad. 884-88.)
In another fragment we read:
fr. 938:

~ ~ « ᾽
καὶ Tata μῆτερ: Ἑστίαν δέ σ᾽ οἱ σοφοὶ
βροτῶν καλοῦσιν ἡμένην ἐν αἰϑέρι.

139

86 Eyiest ἢ τ,

“Ὁ mother Earth, the wise of mortals call thee Hestia whose
seat is in the sky.”

The vague belief of the poet finds expression in the following
prayer:

fr. 904:
σοὶ τῷ πάντων μεδέοντι χοὴν
πέλανόν τε φέρω, Ζεὺς εἴτ᾽ ᾿Αἰδης
ὀνομαζόμενος στέργεις" σὺ δέ μοι
ϑυσίαν ἄπυρον παγκαρπείας
δέξαι πλήρη προχυϑεῖσαν.
σὺ γὰρ ἔν τε ϑεοῖς τοῖς οὐρανίδαις
σκῆπτρον τὸ Διὸς μεταχειρίζων
χϑονίων ὃ᾽ “Αιδῃ μετέχεις ἀρχῆς.
πέμψον δ᾽ ἐς φῶς ψυχὰς ἐνέρων
τοῖς βουλομένοις ἄϑλους προμαϑεῖν κ. τ. Δ.

“To thee, ruler of all things, whether thou choosest to be named Zeus
or Hades, I bring libation and offerings, etc... . thou, who art wielding
the sceptre among the Gods in heaven and rulest among the Gods in Hades
send souls of those beneath the earth up to light to those who are eager
to know the origin of troubles and the source of evils, etc.”

Perhaps line 9 should be read:

πέμψον μὲν φῶς ψυχαῖς ἀνέρων.

“Send light to the souls of men!”

The following two examples are taken from the fragmenta
dubia et spuria of Euripides:
fr. 1104 ascribes to Zeus omniscience and omnipresence:

ὦ Zev πανόπτα καὶ κατόπτα πανταχοῦ.

fr. 1094 contains a prayer addressed to Athena,—“ almost the only
Goddess,” as J: Adam says, “from whom the poet refrains his
sacrilegious hand”:
ὦ τοῦ μεγίστου Ζηνὸς ἄλκιμον τέκος
ἸΠαλλάς, τί δρῶμεν κ. τ. X.
“Ὁ Pallas, thou mighty Child of great Zeus, what shall we do?”

In his “ Danaé” the poet makes one of his characters declaim the
following prayer to gold:

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 87

iim, 550:

ὦ χρυσέ, δεξίωμα κάλλιστον βροτοῖς,
ὡς οὔτε μήτηρ ἡδονὰς τοιάσδ᾽ ἔχει,

9 = > , > , U
ov παῖδες ἀνϑρώποισιν, οὐ φίλος πατήρ,
οἵας σὺ χοὶ σὲ δώμασιν κεκτημένοι.
εἰ δ᾽ ἡ Κύπρις τοιοῦτον ὀφϑαλμοῖς ὁρᾷ,
οὐ ϑαῦμ᾽ ἔρωτας μυρίους αὐτὴν ἔχειν.

“Ὁ Gold, most beautiful delight of mortals! Neither their mother, nor
their children, nor their father enjoy such pleasures as thou and those who
possess thee. If Cypris has such (splendor) in her eyes, no wonder that
she has a thousand lovers!”

This eulogy of gold was undoubtedly meant by the poet to be
ironical. But the Athenian public was scandalized by such an
utterance which seemed opposed to the traditional belief, and, as
Seneca tells us, rose at these words and would have driven the
actor and the play from the stage had Euripides not come out
and announced that the actor was going to be punished for the
godless utterance, he had made. Seneca Epist. 115: .. . totus
populus ad eiciendum et actorem et carmen consurrexit uno im-
petu, donec Euripides in medium ipse prosiluit petens ut expec-
tarent viderentque quem admirator auri exitum faceret.
Although Euripides stood aloof from public life he missed no
opportunity to declare his love for liberty and his hatred of abso-
lute power. Upon tyranny and all those who are in sympathy
with it he pronounces a curse:

lity 27S

Ξ By ΤΣ ᾿ “ ,
κακῶς δ᾽ ὄλοιντο πάντες OL τυρραννίδι
χαίρουσιν ὀλίγῃ τ᾽ ἐν πόλει μοναρχίᾳ.

“Cursed be all those who rejoice to see the city in the hands οἵ a
single man or under the yoke of a few men!”

Prayer to the dead is in vain:

im 530:

~ a ~
δοκεῖς τὸν Αιδην σῶν τι φροντίζειν “γόων
καὶ παῖδ᾽ ἀνήσειν τὸν σόν, εἰ ϑέλοις στένειν;
παῦσαι: κ. τ. λ.

“Do you believe that Hades heeds thy lamentations,
. and sends up thy sons? Be silent! etc.”

For similar thought see fr. 454, where we read about Hercules:
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88 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

“For if he dwelleth in the underworld
Midst those that are no more, he is strengthless all.”

Δηά wie, 526:
“| .. All who have died
Are shadows and dust: nothingness fades to nothingness.”

These passages are striking examples of the contradictions which

are so common in Euripides. For the poet’s opposite view on the

subject οἵ. ΕἸ, O77 th Ηες. 534-41; Ἰτοδά. 1302, 1307.
Reference to oath is made:

fr. 401:
ὄμνυμι δ᾽ ἱερὸν aidép’, οἴκησιν Διός.
“T swear by holy Ether, the dwelling of Zeus.”
and fr. 1030:

συγγνώμονάς τοι τοὺς ϑεοὺς εἶναι δοκεῖς,
ὅταν τις ὅρκῳ ϑάνατον ἐκφυγεῖν ϑέλῃ;

“Dost thou believe the Gods are disposed to pardon, if someone
wishes to escape death by oath?”

Zeus is called the most truthful μάντις among the Gods,

fr. 875:

Ζεὺς ἐν ϑεοῖσι μάντις ἀψευδέστατος

καὶ τέλος αὐτὸς ἔχει.
Melanippe is described as one who proclaimed unerring proph-
ecies :
fr. 485:

ἣ πρῶτα μὲν τὰ Veta προυμαντεύσατο

χρησμοῖσι σαφέσιν ἀστέρων ἐπ᾽ ἀντολαῖς
The following fragments are in keeping with the poet’s usual con-
tempt for soothsayers:

fr. 963:
μάντις δ᾽ ἄριστος ὅστις εἰκάζει καλῶς.
“The best seer is he who guesses well.”
and fr. 793:

τί δῆτα ϑάκοις μαντικοῖς ἐνήμενο!:
σαφῶς διόμνυσϑ᾽ εἰδέναι τὰ δαιμόνων:.

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 89

οὐ τῶνδε χειρώνακτες ἄνϑρωποι λόγων"
ὅστις γὰρ αὐχεῖ ϑεῶν ἐπίστασϑαι πέρι,
οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον οἶδεν ἢ πείϑειν λέγων.

“Why do you, who hold prophetic seats, declare that you have perfect
knowledge of things divine? There are no diviners! For he who pre-
tends to know the will of Heaven only knows how to deceive by his talk.”

SuMMARY RESULT OF THE PRECEDING DISCUSSION

Even after having carefully examined all the available material
on the subject the difficulty still remains to reach tenable conclu-
sions in regard to the poet’s view of the supernatural. For all
his lucidity of language, Euripides is not lucid about his ideas
especially in connection with the supernatural. No wonder that
few subjects connected with Euripides have attracted the atten-
tion of scholars more than his religious views, and that the schol-
ars do not agree among themselves in answering the question:
What position does the poet take up with reference to the super-
natural? “As a thinker,” says Murray, “he is even to this day
treated almost as a personal enemy by scholars of orthodox and
conformist minds; defended, idealized, and sometimes transformed
beyond recognition by various champions of rebellion and the
free intellect.” Schlegel advises: “ We may distinguish in him a
two-fold character, the poet, whose productions were consecrated
to a religious solemnity, who stood under the protection of re-
ligion, and who therefore, on his part, was bound to honor it, and
the sophist with his philosophical dicta, who endeavoured to in-
sinuate his sceptical opinions and doubts into the fabulous mar-
vels of religion from which he derived the subjects of his plays.”
Schlegel’s view is right, if we grant his premises, viz., that the
poet’s insinuating of sceptical opinions and doubts is of set pur-
pose; and even then the question is left to be answered: Where
speaks the poet, and where the sophist >—Donaldson, in his “ The-
atre of the Greeks” briefly describes Euripides as “altogether
devoid of religious feelings,” while Haigh characterizes the poet’s
mind “as essentially of a religious and meditative cast.”—Ac-
cording to the theory lately propounded by Dr. Verrall our poet
is the “sceptic” and “ rationalist’? whose plays are a covert but
intended attack on the popular religion, bearing one meaning to

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90 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

the multitude and another to the “advanced thinkers” of the
day. “The orthodoxy is pretended fiction, a mere theatrical trick,
required in the first instance, and to some extent throughout, by
the peculiar conditions of the tragic stage at Athens, but main-
tained in part out of a natural love for duplicity, ambiguity, irony,
and the play of meaning, which was characteristic of the people
and the time” (Euripides the Rationalist, pp. 231-232). But if
Euripides really was concealing a rationalistic doctrine under the
garb of his drama, we can hardly imagine how this would have
escaped the scrutiny of the most keen-eyed and merciless of
critics, Aristophanes. Nor can we understand that for more than
two thousand years none of all the painstaking students has been
able to penetrate the disguise, which Dr. Verrall has discovered
in the works of Euripides. There can be no doubt that the opin-
ion of modern scholars has been influenced by Aristophanes who
presents Euripides as a proselyting atheist. Yet the comic poet
must not be mistaken for a historian, and his manifest exag-
gerations should have put professional critics on their guard, all
the more as he swung his comic lash over Euripides with special
vigor because of personal feeling.

To do Euripides justice we must first of all realize that he was
the child of a particular age. He lived in a time of general dis-
solution when everything in the moral, religious, and social life
was fluctuating. It was the age of the sophists with their agnos-
ticism on the one hand and their virtual atheism on the other.
Protagoras had been expelled from Athens for his free-thinking.
To quote his own words: “ About the Gods I am unable to affirm
either that they exist or that they do not exist, nor what they are
like.” Prodicus declared that the so-called Gods were only per-
sonifications of those objects which experience had found benefi-
cial to the life of man: Demeter was only the apotheosis of bread,
as Dionysus of wine, Poseidon of water, Hephzstus of fire, and
so forth. With these men Euripides was contemporary, and he
undoubtedly acquainted himself with their thoughts on nature,
man, and God. Then the Peloponnesian War (431-404 B.C.)
in its bearings on religious ideas was also of vital importance. In
time of distress and misfortune, men often begin to reconsider

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides gI

the foundations of their beliefs. One fate appeared for the
righteous and the wicked, for those that sacrificed and for those

that sacrificed not. This bitter experience had shaken the already
weakened joints of the ancestral religious structure, and finally
the old beliefs themselves went by the board.

Euripides is above all others the spokesman of his time, the
poet in whom the spirit of revolt against the older conceptions of
the supernatural appears. How far the dissolution of the tra-
ditional beliefs had proceeded in his time is difficult to say. It is,
however, probable that his attacks on the religion of the masses
were preceded by other attacks. At any rate, people’s minds in
Euripides’ days were prepared to hear, even in the theatre, doubt
cast on what concerned the Gods ; and when Euripides approached
religious tradition with scepticism and liberal frankness he was
supported by the spirit of the time in which he lived.

Here the question arises: If Euripides was so at variance with
the traditional beliefs, why then did he make such frequent use of
the supernatural in his tragedies? It is possible, though not very
probable, that one of his reasons was to counteract the popular
prejudice against his supposed atheism. The main reason, how-
ever, was that he could not put aside the historic atmosphere of
the Attic drama. Tradition and dramatic propriety compelled
him to take his themes from the myths and heroic legends, how-
ever abhorrent many of these must have been to him. No one in
Euripides’ days could have broken free from these traditions ; in
attempting to do so he must have wrecked either his fame or his
art. And above all we must not forget that Euripides was a
dramatic poet and not a theological teacher. His task was rather
to interest than to instruct, not to inculcate certain sceptical views
and theological criticism, but to give to the people the pleasure
which a good tragedy can afford.

We must, moreover, always bear in mind that it will not do to
take, without discrimination, all the views which his characters
maintain for the reflective opinion of the dramatic poet. Fre-
quently these views are contradictory and necessarily vary ac-
cording to the dramatis persone and to the dramatic situation.

But after all due allowances have been made it cannot be

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92 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

denied that Euripides through his characters and choruses, not
only now and then, but throughout his tragedies, expresses views
on the supernatural with evident satisfaction, and in a language
that leaves no doubt that these views are dear to him and reflect
his own thought.

Euripides’ characters often appeal to the Gods in prayer, and
some of their prayers are of the finest type expressing the pro-
found sentiments of a devout and godly soul. But side by side
with this kind of prayers are others of an entirely opposite char-
acter—and these are by no means the exception but the rule. Our
poet often employs prayers which are nothing but expressions of
disbelief in the use and value of prayer. Others are in reality no
prayers at all, but mere expostulations, invectives, maledictions,
and blasphemies hurled against the Gods. That this is the pre-
vailing attitude of the poet towards the Gods of Greek mythology
has sufficiently been illustrated by various examples in the pre-
ceding discussion. But how do we account for this extent of the
poet’s iconoclasm ?

It has been maintained that Euripides was an atheist, hence
his violent attack against the traditional beliefs which he consid-
ered nothing but superstitions and follies. I venture to say that
he was not in any sense an atheist. The often quoted fragment
from the “ Bellerophontes ”:

Ἐπ. 298:

’ - 2.) ἢ > a. ie
φησίν τις εἶναι δῆτ᾽ ἐν οὐρανῷ Veovs;
οὐκ εἰσίν, οὐκ εἰσίν.

“Doth any say that there are Gods in heaven?
Nay there are none!”

does not prove the atheism of Euripides any more than Prome-
theus’ maledictions against Zeus prove the impiety of A%schylus.
Bellerophontes like Prometheus is godless, and for his godless-
ness is blasted by the thunderbolt. We must also take into ac-
count that a radical denial of the Gods would have been impossible
in an Athenian theatre in the days of Euripides.

In denying the Gods of Greek mythology our poet does not deny
the existence of divine powers altogether; but as to what these

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The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 93

divine powers really are he does not make any positive sugges-
tions. He speaks of God and of the Gods promiscuously. The
question whether polytheism or monotheism never roused his in-
terest. At times his conception of the divine being is that of a
pantheist, at times that of anagnostic. But “whoever Zeus may be,”
ὅστις ὁ Ζεύς, H. F. 1263; fr. 483; whether he be Ether, or Neces-
sity, or Mind, or Justice,—“ whatever Gods be,” Or. 418: 6 τι
ποτ᾽ εἰσὶν of deoi—there is but one thing which Euripides de-
mands as an essential quality in a divinity, namely, that it must
be morally blameless and absolutely just. The common people
endowed the Gods with all the human passions. This unreason-
ableness and immorality of popular beliefs was exceedingly re-
pugnant to Euripides. He makes Iphigenia say, I. T. 385 ff.:

“Tt cannot be that. Zeus’ bride Leto bare
Such folly. Nay, I hold unworthy credence
The banquet given of Tantalus to the Gods,—
As though the Gods could savour a child’s flesh!
Even so, this folk, themselves man-murderers,
Charge on their Goddess their own sin, I ween;
For I beheve that none of Gods ts vile!”

and one of the poet’s characters in the “ Bellerophontes” de-
clares:

ἢ 2ΌΜ ἢ:

εἰ ϑεοί τι δρῶσιν αἰσχρόν, οὐκ εἰσὶν ϑεοί.

“Tf the Gods do aught base, then they are not Gods.”

This latter declaration is according to the German scholar, Nestle,
the basic principle of Euripides’ whole attack upon the Gods of
Greek mythology. Over against this verse of Euripides Nestle
sets the following verse of Sophocles:

ir. 226, 4:
αἰσχρὸν μὲν οὐδὲν ὧν ὑφηγοῦνται Veol,

“ Nothing to which the Gods lead men is base,”

and points out what both poets have in common with each other
and in what they differ from one another. Common to both is
the assumption “that God and sin are mutually exclusive terms” ;

147

94 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

but they differ in the conclusion which they draw from this as-
sumption. Sophocles infers: Everything the Gods do is right, no
matter how it may seem to us (“even if they bid thee travel be-
yond the right” (ἔξω δίκης). Euripides draws the opposite con-
clusion: The sinful Gods of mythology are no Gods at all.

Furthermore, Euripides, as contrasted with Sophocles, could
not reconcile the baffling spectacle of injustice triumphing over
justice with a belief in the existence of just beings such as he
held the Gods must be. The cruel inequality of the distribution
of blessings and evils among men leads him sometimes to doubt
the providential government of the world in any sense of the
term.

These conceptions that the popular Gods are devoid of justice,
and that there is no divine justice in the government of the world,
fully explain the poet’s attitude to represent these Gods, when-
ever opportunity offers, in an unfavorable, obnoxious, and shame-
ful light, thus holding forth what a miserable set of deities men
had formed for themselves out of their own imagination.

Euripides makes frequent use of prayers addressed to the dead.
Such prayers presuppose at least the existence and presence of
the spirit of the dead. In this respect Euripides seems, at first
thought, to share the views of the two older dramatists who be-
lieved in immortality and a future life; but in reality his many
reflections on the subject are of such a conflicting and confusing
character that they do not give us any consistent views on the
possibility of a future life. Even the prayer of Megara ad-
dressed to Hercules in Hades begins with a sceptical remark:

“Dear love,—if any in Hades of the dead
Can hear,—I cry this to thee, Hercules!”

See page 60, H. F. 490 ff.; see also page 130, frgg. 336, 454, 536.
Euripides’ reflections on life beyond the grave reveal the same
inconsistent views which we are everywhere to witness in con-
nection with his handling of the supernatural element.

Curses as well as prayers presuppose the existence of some
supernatural power to execute for man his heart’s expressed de-
sire. All three tragic poets furnish examples where destiny is

148

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 95

aroused and set in motion by human will in the curse. The be-
liefs in the intervention of protecting and punishing supernatural
powers, inherited curses, and evil destinies play an important part
in the tragedies of A%schylus, but according to him it is not a
blind fate with which man has to deal; he is only blinded and
hastened to destruction when he has voluntarily made an evil
choice:

Pers. 742:

39 3 ou , \ > La ‘ \ t
ἀλλ΄ ὅταν σπεύδῃ Tis αὐτός, xa ϑεὸς συνάπτεται.

“When the fool to folly hasteth, God shall speed him to his fall.”

According to Sophocles destiny as the mere expression of the will
of the Godhead is just. Cdipus, for example, when informed of |
the evil in store acts “neither seeing nor inquiring” (οὔϑ᾽ ὁρῶν -
οὐδ᾽ ἱστορῶν) in killing his father and marrying his mother. It 18
the shortsightedness of man rather than the deception of God
which brings him to ruin. Most of the curses in the tragedies of
Euripides are imprecations common in the every day life of the
Greeks, and they throw but little light on our question regarding
the supernatural. But where he refers to hereditary or family
curses, as in the “ Hippolytus”’ and the “ Phcenisse,” he makes
them a part of inevitable fate. In conformity with his conception
of the providential government of the world he identifies them
with unknown forces that, past human control, bring man to ruin.

That Euripides did not intend to cast doubt on the sacred char-
acter of oaths has already been stated; for the two examples in
“question see I. A. 394 ff., and Hipp. 612. In reference to the
general outcry against the latter passage Mahaffy with indigna-
tion expresses his doubt “whether any criticism, ancient or mod-
ern, contains among its myriad injustices, whether of negligence,
ignorance, or deliberate malice, a more flagrantly absurd accusa-
tion.” (Classical Greek Literature, Vol. I, page 335.) Euripides
throughout his plays shows a deep regard for the sanctity of
oath, but as a profound and advanced thinker he rejects the
narrow and unintelligent formalism of the herd. It is not the
mere formula of oath which when once pronounced is absolutely
binding, even though one be not able to keep one’s word. In the

149

96 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

opinion of Euripides only that oath is valid and binding that has
been made deliberately and without constraint.

In Greek life oracles and prophecies played a considerable part.
Belief in divination was particularly strong in the hours of politi-
cal crisis and national peril, as e.g., during the Peloponnesian
War where people were so uncertain about the future the Gods
held in store for them. The Greek writers reflect the influence
of divination in various ways. How important a figure it cut in
Greek thought and life is shown especially by the prominence
which A‘schylus assigns to divination in Prometheus 484 ff.

Oracles and Prophecies are also of frequent occurrence in the
tragedies of Euripides and yet the poet has no regard for the art
of divination. Only one of his characters speaks favorably of
soothsaying,—Theseus in the “Supplices” (211 ff.), and he is
certainly not the medium of the poet’s thought. His own thought
on the subject finds expression in nearly all his tragedies. Un-
sparingly he attacks the “ambitious breed” of soothsayers, who
are impostors, and whose art is a lying art. And his attacks
upon oracles and divination are made the more effective by pre-
senting the oracle-god himself in the most shameful light. It is,
however, not only the worthless and doubtful character of the
seers themselves that provokes Euripides to assail the diviners.
The basic principle of his attack must be sought in the poet’s
conception of divination in general. See Hel. 744 ff.; I. A. 957;
fr. 793; 963. The knowledge to read the thoughts of the Gods is
not within the reach of mortals. Those who pretend to possess
this knowledge deceive people by their talk. The inscrutable Ὁ
ways of Heaven are past finding out and therefore divination
cannot reveal them. It is at this point that Euripides is prin-
cipally at variance with his predecessors as far as divination is
concerned.

The same spirit of the free-thinker, in contrast with the two
older dramatists, is revealed in Euripides’ handling of dreams
and visions. The belief in the divine and prophetic character of
dreams and visions is universal throughout Greek literature. In
Homer the sender of dreams is Zeus, Il. I, 4ff. A®schylus

150

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 97

believed that in sleep the human mind is open to influences which
in waking moments are denied:

Eum. 104-5:

εὕδουσα yap φρὴν ὄμμασιν λαμπρύνεται,
ἐν ἡμέρᾳ δὲ μοῖρ᾽ ἀπρόσκοπος βροτῶν.

“For oft in sleep comes light upon the soul,
But in the day their fate is hid from men.”

He also includes the discovery of the rules of oneiromancy among
the important things for which mankind are indebted to Pro-
metheus (485). Euripides following the traditional belief em-
ploys dreams and visions in his dramas. Their usage was too
well established and they were also too convenient to be given up
altogether. He introduces them especially where a pathetic or
serious effect is aimed at in tragedy, but at the same time he
leaves no doubt as to his own opinion about dreams and visions.
In his eyes they belong not to the world of reality, but to the
world of illusion. Whatever warrant of truth they have lies in —
their native power of attraction and in the response which they
call out from unprejudiced feeling. Dreams and visions accord-
ing to Euripides are natural phenomena without any superna-
tural background; see I. T. 569, 570-75; Or. 255; Alc. 252 ff.
All his life Euripides had been deeply perplexed on the subject
of the supernatural, and he found himself no nearer to the truth
at the end than he was at the beginning. It has often been main-
tained that towards the close of his life he has drawn nearer to
the religion of his fathers. The only monument of this alleged
change is that remarkable play, the “ Bacche” which has been
considered a recantation, or at least an attempt on the part of the
poet “to put himself right with the public in matters on which he
had been misunderstood” (J. E. Sandys, The Bacche of Euripi-
des, Introd., p. Ixxxi). That this play written in the home of
Dionysus. whose worship was intimately connected with the
origin and development of the Greek drama, deals predominantly
with religious matters, such as the Dionysiac possession, divine
madness, and enthusiasm, is only natural. But despite the re-
ligious character of the play the handling of the supernatural as

151

98 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

illustrated in prayer and divination in the “ Bacchz” is in keep-
ing with the poet’s general attitude toward the supernatural.
Even if we accept the view held by C. H. Moore and James Adam
that Dionysus in the play “stands for the spirit of enthusiasm
in the ancient Greek meaning of the word,” and “that the prin-
cipal lesson of the drama is to be found in the words: Not with
knowledge is wisdom bought (395), that is, there is something
stronger and greater than reason in the life of man, namely en-
thusiasm, inspiration,’—the indisputable fact still remains that
our poet even in the “ Bacchz” relapses into the old iconoclastic
manner.

Euripides marks a transition-period. He stands between tra-
ditional belief, which still retained its hold over the minds of the
common people, and modern thought, which had already awak-
ened and enlightened the minds of many thinking men. He has
not altogether thrown off the shackles of tradition, nor has he
stepped into the freedom of a new belief. Himself a tragic poet
-and an advanced and philosophical thinker he is at a double dis- Ὁ
advantage. Constrained by the unwritten laws of Greek tragedy
he could not sever all connection with the past. Like his prede-
cessors he had to take the subjects for his plays from the myths
and heroic legends, but in contrast with the two older tragedians
he used his themes as the old forms which he filled with a new
spirit. He had to put new wine into old bottles.

But the new wine bursts the outworn bottles. If we consider
that Euripides for nearly half a century presented, before all
Athens in the theatre, again and again, his modern conceptions
of the supernatural, it is out of question that he helped hurry to
complete overthrow the falling superstition of Olympus and
thus contributed even more than the sophists to the dissolution of
the ancient beliefs. In this negative or destructive aspect of his
teaching Euripides closely resembles the great satirist of the sec-
ond century A.D., Lucian of Samosata, who far more openly than
Euripides professes the scorn of irrational belief and unsparingly
drives the pagan Gods from their thrones in the minds of think-
ing men. But the Church—strange to say !—did not consider him
an ally but an enemy of Christianity, who, according to Suidas, in

152

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 99

the everlasting hell-fire along with Satan shall suffer for the
harm he has done the cause of Christ ; while the destructive teach-
ing of Euripides beguiled some of the Fathers of the Church to
the point of believing that he was a sort of forerunner of Chris-
tianity.

As regards the positive or constructive side of Euripides’ con-
ceptions of the supernatural he offers no decided or settled con-
victions, but “he raises,’ as James Adam says, “nearly all the
fundamental questions which men will always ask and never fully
answer.” He presents problems rather than principles. A®schy-
lus sets forth the operation of great principles. Sophocles por-
trays great characters. Euripides presents great problems. With
a higher type of the supernatural than that of the traditional
mythology constantly in view he calls the attention of his fellow-
men to the imperfections of the customary belief in order to goad
them to reflection.

Euripides is one of the great religious poets of the world, and
it is only right and proper that James Adam in his “ Religious
Teachers of Greece” dedicated an entire chapter to our poet.
He is even more than this: not only a religious poet whose mind,
like a mirror, reflects the religious ideas of his time, but also a
prophet whose message proclaims the morning of a new era.

153

ΓΘῸΘΝ

Ernest H eimrich Klotsche

INDEX OF REFERENCES TO THE PRAYERS, CURSES, OATHS, ORACLES, PROPHE-
cles, DREAMS, AND VISIONS IN THE TRAGEDIES AND
FRAGMENTS OF EURIPIDES

Hecuba....

Curses

Oaths

Oracles

Proph,

42-58

1055-56
1057-59

Dreams

Visions

252-63

68-78
90 ff.

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides

IOI

INDEX OF REFERENCES TO THE PRAYERS, CurSES, OATHS, ORACLES, PROPHE-
cles, DREAMS, AND VISIONS IN THE TRAGEDIES AND
FRAGMENTS OF EURIPIDES

Play

Hecuda....

Page| Prayers Curses
36 FORSO {lnc o acon
ae 96-97

...-| 488-901

37 | 534 ff

SES) Eds ae aay ane | nape hate
SLANT Εν τ ene ALES cue ΤΠ
39 | 900

..../I1009Q—16

AOD |e means 451-53
ὭΣ 125 τῇ

43 | 436-51

44 | 384 ff

45 |1619—2T1

....| 410-12

46 |\1048 ff

sooo AS2 iti
ΠΥ ate Pha A dros eae
TeV eee ἘΣ
A Sailers sw yewae rua eis eis 2
AGN ρου ees SINS Ἢ aes. |
50 1-

Bit || C232O© on esse.
52 | 734-36

coco] BOOROx

ΣΕ OAT Oey allies Ὁ τ
OREN ete cue taact | kocsis
USAR ἘΞ re tai | One ee
55 | 869-72

56 | 798 ff

--++| 339-47

57 | 497-502

ees Le 20

58 | 888-90
....|1307—10

59 | 847-54

ποῦ, S20=—8i

60 | 490-96

ΘΙ ΕΣ ἐκ τς

Oaths

Oracles

1207

I161-65

365-67
407-09
787-88
1534-36
1537-38
1537-38
1556-58

374-77

211-13
155

403-09
1226-29

Dreams

516-18

Visions

702-06

102 Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

INDEX OF REFERENCES TO THE PRAYERS, Curses, OATHS, ORACLES, PROPHE-
cles, DREAMS, AND VISIONS IN THE TRAGEDIES AND
FRAGMENTS OF EURIPIDES

Play Page| Prayers Curses Oaths Oracles | Proph. | Dreams | Visions
πῆ || AOO-On
asl Bees enc 62 | 270-74
63 |1082-88
Pea LsOo— Toe
64 |1230-33 | 535
Bice tena heen 277-78
65 11475-76
OO NF ee easel ohne yaaa 447-52
PS Laliaeeretoaectte cil ΡΣ τος 1076-77
(πὸ ΤΥ Gel bebe 2 ΠΣ ὁ ὁ τς 77-94
OH Sis κυ χε tests} δὲν πο ΡΤ I05
Prob eeeaen cite nee eH Neamecectaneet len eiict ἀντ ΩΝ 118
COX OY Fea aa SA RIO ἐν ἐμ eek ΜΠ ΕΞ ΤΣ
ΠΕΣ ΔΗ Ρ τ ΠΑΡ ΝΕ tae aeeoe artaltonereae Ὁ 723
ΠΟΙ rseone gab ex (Pua ΣΤ ΝΥ τὴν IOI2-15
ili dilin Buse teeta nicl conse Πα τ οὐο 1438-42
PONSA WA. cates AR inet RIAU Al AS peice τ ἢ tee Nara ike τὸ ff. 2 fi. || Aa fe
7 ical Fae e ote cht cere [ase Goll ΠΡ ΤΡ en erc toa ΕΣ τς 348-490
ΕΣ; ΣΎ ΜΕ τ Δ τ Ἔκ, ic δ ὁ 5690
ΔΤ ΤΣ, Νὴ ἘΠΕ ἐπ aaa elke een 570-75,
ΠΟΙ ΕΚ al tgneoreveg a Sal Meese 12509 ff
FAG I Maen esetene Rac ae ies ees SoH ee er cs 1277-83
ΠΣ τ secre cocker lero sence 1251-58
Droades esa Al 7S pee utara eee Το ΑΔ weal peasy eee 353-460 siaiathioeees 353-460
79 | 469-71
+2 ΠΤ 28,0: 81:
80 |1060 ff.
...-| 884-88
81 | 889
elena 84 |1003 ff.
85 |1584-87
τον 1441: Ὶ
86 | 855-56
66 i) COR ite
See LOZ —26
ΘΝ een menage Debs Paar a 744-57 744-57
SOR eee ΤΕ τὰ eceall eceeraasoe cal eeeseettens 819 | 819
Pell aes ΤΟΥ ΒΘ gece abet ietcnienee 861-62 ΘΟ ΞΟ ποις 569
ον: leattctenaneens 887 ff. ϑϑ τ ΠΣ ΤῸ
ΘΟ S%.5 Oooo ooo do eS | 977-719
Pfeil Nee UTR MRO esd area eho 835-41
Bi Heartache Sloat 348 ff
ἘΠΟΘΙ wo ol! Ox 84-87
ἐν lpr ates) al,
190-92

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides

103

INDEX OF REFERENCES TO THE PRAYERS, CURSES, OATHS, ORACLES, PROPHE-
cies, DREAMS, AND VISIONS IN THE TRAGEDIES AND
FRAGMENTS OF EURIPIDES

Play Page| Prayers Curses Oaths Oracles Proph. | Dreams | Visions
Phoen......| 92 586-87
....|1365-68
92 |1373-76
Orie. vance chore tee 67-68
Eadie ex Rint Ae 474-75
SOO. onto 624 |
Bga|iecuee eats 1425-26
QAR ΕΣ ΟΣ 1608-14
OB μος ΤῊ ΤΉ eee 5 ΞΖ ΑΙ ΣΎ ΣΝ see τ ΕΣ ΝΣ 1721--22
ee feral ΣΕ ΤΉ ΡΗΣ ΦΈΣΙ ΓΕ Ἐν tae 48τ--83
ἜΘΥΕ ΓΤ 40τ-ο3'
COWIE Re ate ce | Bases: 626—27|1597-99
et eich ΣΕ Cental MMe ον σε ον 1703, 1705
Oly hel τας sete oral Omens apeieael Paar acne ines 640-42
ΕΣ ΣΡ το cH kets mt meres 409, 411] 766
(ORT iG ere ΡΣ kate oleae ΟΟΙ-14 838-40
ἐς ΣΧ auch Srey ΡΝ 854-58
QOM ieee ol el aires (Ms OA Re asad cies | 954-59
LO OEP eeepc oral Mea ΤΕΥ ee varanasi lia tcnewe τὴν ΕΣ ἢ 971
Blectra..... . IOI | 194-97
I98—200 |
socal) Aan
102 | 563-65
566
τ ἢ 071:--85
ΤΟ τ eel lll teats ke soles veers 87-89
τ || Gace σεν πο eR asic ccd IRR ANE 399-400
OAs ΠΥ πος ΣῊ ΣΙΝ ΚΣ ΣΙ ΧΩ ες ea arorene 1296-97
Ec) oll NAS CRS IER AC ts MPN SHS a LINCS Cee 971-73 a
NELTOO-—OON le rear scslict a sncre: ave I1I9Q0—96
Orestes..... 105 | 796-97
ἘΠῚ: BO tis
106 |1240—43
...-|I1299—-I1300] 130-31 |
HO Jani Ptexerete cet ΡΣ ΝΣ «ΡΣ I516-17| 28-31
πα ΣΎΡΩ τ MRC RCE ion ΤΥ Ἐς 76
ΤΟΣ ἐγ ΞΡ το τ στ πος 162-64
all fasts oker evo pet dys) Ssterte:<cl| ΠΕΡ ΟΝ 275-76
ΕΑ sy eke Δ ΡΟΣ τον ΡΝ ἜΤΗ 414 ff
TOO Ἢ Reperetes scence Wenste ce, ean | εν 591-90
Bice cpl (cs eee EER hee eae Loe A 1666-67
RETO ea eases bites a/R ENN ch chiens || eters Σ 1680-81 362 ff. | 618
ΤΉ ΤΡ. ciel foi ahs See (Bo Eko Os | ame Ne cere belay eee [aca iar 255-57
ἜΣ ἘΠ wa ieee ὦ πο τι ones ner ΡΣ ΣΤΕΥΘΙΕ Suet re chan ae lane tian, eligi το, ea euan 258-59
TAU EU Re perce eed ἐν τς ΠΡ ΣΡ ΤΡ Bre ce 311-15
ΠΑΡ Se NTT em ea ee SS | 390 ff
157

104

Ernest Heinrich Klotsche

INDEX OF REFERENCES TO THE PRAYERS, CURSES, OATHS, ORACLES, PROPHE-
cies, DREAMS, AND VISIONS IN THE TRAGEDIES AND
FRAGMENTS OF EURIPIDES

Bac chcenenee

Cyclops....

IN ραν ς aso ς

Page

114
II5

116

Prayers

1012-23

Curses

Oaths

262 ff.

Oracles

; Proph.

957-58

875
485
963
| 793

Dreams | Visions

The Supernatural in the Tragedies of Euripides 105

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Adam, J. The Religious Teachers of Greece. 1909.

Aristotle’s Poetics.

Bayfield, M. A. The Ion of Euripides. 1880.

Beckwith, I. T. Euripides’ Bacchantes. 1885.

Bergk, T. Griechische Literaturgeschichte. 4 vols., 1872-94.

Bouché-Leclerque, A. Histoire de la divination dans l’antiquité. 4 vols.

Campbell, L. Religion in Greek Literature. 1808.

Cicero. De Natura Deorum.

Cicero. De Divinatione.

Croiset, A. et M. Histoire de la literature grecque. 5 vols., 1887-99.

Decharme, P. Euripide et l’esprit de son theatre. 1893. English trans-
lation by James Loeb. Euripides and the Spirit of his Dramas. 1906.

Donaldson, J. W. The Theatre of the Greeks. 1875.

Encyclopedia Britannica. 11th ed. Articles on Euripides and Greek
Literature.

Earle, M. L. Euripides’ Alcestis. 1894.

England, E. B. The Iphigenia among the Tauri of Euripides. 1883.

Fairbanks. A. Handbook of Greek Religion. 1910.

Farnell, L. R. The Cults of the Greek States. 5 vols., 1896-1907.

Flagg, I. Euripides’ Iphigenia among the Taurians. 18990.

Girard, J. Le sentiment religieux an Gréce. 3d ed., 1887.

Gompez, T. Greichische Denker. 3 vols., 2d ed., 1903-09. English trans-
lation: Greek Thinkers.

Haigh, A. E. The Tragic Drama of the Greeks. 1896.

Haigh, A. E. The Attic Theatre. 2d ed., 1808.

Halliday, W. R. Greek Divination.

Harry, J. E. Euripides Hippolytus. 1890.

Hayley, H. W. The Alcestis of Euripides. 1808.

Heberden, C. B. Euripides’ Medea. 1886.

Hellenica. Edited by E. Abbott. Essays on A%schylus, Sophocles, and
Greek Oracles. 1880.

Hyslop, A. R. F. The Andromache of Euripides. 1900.

Jebb, R. C. Classical Greek Poetry. 1894.

Lectures on Greek Literature. Delivered at Columbia University, 1912.

Mahaffy, J. P. History of Classical Greek Literature. 3d ed., 1801.

Moore, C. H. The Religious Thought of the Greeks. 1016.

Moore. G. F. History of Religions. 1914.

Moulton, R. ἃ. The Ancient Classical Drama. 1890.

Miiller, K. O. Literature of Ancient Greece.

Murray, G. Euripides and his Age.

Murray, G. The Trojan Women of Euripides. 1015.

Nauck, A. Euripides Trageediz. Teubner Series. 2 vols., 1895.

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Nauck, A. Euripides Perditarum Tragceediarum Fragmenta. Teubner |
Series. 1802.

Nestle, W. Euripides der Dichter der griechischen Aufklarung. 1902.

Packard, L. R. Studies in Greek Thought. 1886.

Paley, F. A. Euripides, with an English Commentary. 3 vols., 2d ed.,
1872.

Patin, M. Etude sur les tragiques grecs. 3 vols., 1861.

Plutarch. De Pythio Oraculo, and De Defectu Oraculorum.

Sandys, J. E. The Bacche of Euripides. 1885.

Schlegel, A. W. von. Lectures on Dramatic Art and Lire (Eng-
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Tyrrell. R. Y. The Troades of Euripides. 1897.

Vaschide, N., and Piéron, H. Prophetic Dreams in Greek and Roman
Antiquity. Tr. by T. J. McCormack. (Monist, XI, 161-194.)

Verrall, A. W. Euripides the Rationalist.. 1895. |

Verrall, A. W. Essays on four plays of Euripides. 1905.

Verrall, A. W. The Bacchantes of Euripides. 1908.

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Whitmore, C. E. The Supernatural in Tragedy. 1015.

Whibley, L. A Companion to Greek Studies. 1905.

160

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CONTENTS

LUE WIR] IGTINIS. Selb suondocndecon gob τ cCe SOS en τος αι αὐ ετν τ τήλος τον
SHERMAN—On Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare.........

PoyNTER—Congenital Anomalies of the Heart.....................

pe es :
Pea I
rf Aas i ia ἊΝ
VoL. ΧΙΧ ἡ“' JANUARY-APRIL, 1919 Νοϑβ. 1, 2

UNIVERSITY STUDIES

PUBLISHED BY THE UNIVERSITY OF NEBRASKA

COMMITTEE OF PUBLICATION

F, M. FLING P, H. GRUMMANN

P, Η. FRYE L, A. SHERMAN

C. A. SKINNER M. G. WYER
CONTENTS

CONGENITAL ANOMALIES OF THE HEART. C. W.
ΝΠ ΟΝ ΝΒ MS a aera eS Sa UP I a A Pe I

LINCOLN, NEBRASKA

PUINIVERSITY STUDIES

VoL. XIX JANUARY-APRIL, 1919 No. 1-2

CONGENITAL ANOMALIES OF THE HEART

ἜΝ Cie ieee O NEN EER:

SYNOPSIS

PAGE
Section* ΠΡ ΠΡΟ ΠΟΘ ν, ΠΕ τς see rier Persea ite ee I
Section RES ΠΟΙ Θεὸ ἐπ τ haere ek a ΝΡ τ ay SIC a aaa: 6
Section PILI. (SRA NSerumGaitcionnt) «ise heey aren Wate eae i ceric en rece τη τιν ||} Saas)
Section IW, Anomalies ow tae pericaechinmm s.455000cecs0nd0dao00n 10
Section Nee Misplacenilentsmo arti cme ts ateir tere rnnn erat rents ri
Section WiAteAnomaltessonatiewtecantras: aa wiholeseje: sane ser seer 15
Section - VII. Anomalies of the interventricular septum ........... 16
Section Vill’ Anomalies of the interatrial septum ....:.....:..... 19
Section IX. Abnormalities within the cavities of the heart ....... 23
Section X. Abnormalities of the truncus communis arteriosus ... 2
Section XI. Abnormalities of the pulmonary trunk .............. 34
Section Nie Spnermalitiesmortie: aotta. see ce et ee cere -.-- 37
Section XIII. Abnormalities of the semilunar valves .............. 38
Section XIV. Abnormalities of the atrio-ventricular openings ..... 40
Section XV. Persistent patency of the ductus arteriosus .......... 4I
Section XVI. Anomalies of the veins entering the heart ........... 43
Secon avilian@liimcealaclassmicatiomeorcaseste. st yatioe« sade tence 44
SECHOM OGL, (ποτε παι ΒΕ ΙΣΤ goes. : 2. occe ms ae τὖοΠὺὕὺῊὔὺΡ πὰ ι 53

Section XIX. A list of literature relating to congenital cardiac disease 55

INTRODUCTION

For a number of years I have been studying the abnormalities
of the circulatory system resulting from developmental disturb-

* Note-—The section arrangement above is for the benefit of the study
as a whole and is not meant for the body of the text, which is arranged
under an anatomico-embryological classification, see page 8, or a clinical
classification, see page 44.

2 C3 ie Μ. IRON RE

ances. One paper relating to the aortic arches has already ap-
peared, Poynter (1916), and in this one I shall confine myself
to the anomalies of the heart. There are few subjects which
have attracted more attention among the medical profession than
the irregularities in the development of the heart and great ves-
sels, but in the case of the heart the interest is not so much from
the teratological side as in the case of the arteries; its develop-
mental defects are frequently of such serious consequence to the
life of the individual as to command the attention of the clinician
and pathologist, with the result, that these cases have been studied
as a pathological problem rather than an embryological one.

I had first intended to report the cases I have had the oppor-
tunity of studying, but as my bibliography has grown there has
seemed to be no profit in adding more examples to those already
reported, since I have observed no new conditions or complexes.
In the earlier study it was frequently difficult to find the literature
relating to any specific lesion, consequently I have included a full
literature list so that the cases which appear as a basis for this
study may be readily available to any one desiring to consult
them.

Etiology—tThe etiology of malformations of the heart cannot
be any more definitely stated than that of any other develop-
mental anomaly. Experimental research has taught us that if
the normal developmental conditions are interfered with anoma-
lies will result. Such anomalies are not confined to any anatom-
ical system and vary in degree or extent depending on the time
and intensity of the action and, no doubt, on other factors as well.
Dareste has been able to produce a wide variety of anomalies by
varying the temperature of the incubator during the development
of the chick, and other investigators have been equally successful
with fishes by growing them in various chemical solutions.
Many hybrids develop irregularly and the proper application of
the X-ray will produce growth disturbances. I have produced a
wide variety of the recorded anomalies by incubating chick eggs
then subjecting them to a temperature near freezing for a time
before continuing the incubation. It would seem that the only,
or principal, action of the cold is to inhibit oxidation and so dis-

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 3

turb the growth balance between different parts; this conclusion
is supported by the fact that I have been able to produce the same
results by growing the eggs in an atmosphere low in oxygen.
All of these experiments seem to support the theory presented by
Mall, namely, that faulty implantation or uncongenial environ-
ment of the ovum is responsible for a large part, at least, of the
anomalies, in man, with which we are acquainted.

In the case of the heart anomalies we must consider the inter-
ference with the growth process as a minor one, notwithstanding
the later physiological importance of the resulting irregularity,
for the majority of cases of cardiac defects reported show no
extensive general growth disturbances. It is impossible to say
that the factors which produce cardiac anomalies do or do not
produce other lesions, but we at least know that no other lesion
is always found in conjunction with them. I have shown in a
previous paper (1916) that we must consider variations in devel-
opment of the aortic arches independently of cardiac disturbances
although they’ are frequently found associated in the same case;
and likewise we are forced to conclude that each lesion of the
heart must be studied separately, although it is the rule to find
two or more lesions associated in the same heart. Stated in an-
other way, defective ventricular septum and stenosis of the pul-
monary artery must be considered as separate defects, notwith-
standing that they are frequently in association; it would seem
that even if the same factor produces both lesions its time of
action or intensity must be different for each since each may
appear alone.

From time to time the suggestion has been made that heredity
plays a part in etiology but I see no evidence that these cases be-
long in the group with polydactylism and hemophilia. In the
cases where two or more children in the same family have defect-
ive hearts it seems to me more reasonable, from the experimental
evidence at hand, to look on these cases as due to a diseased
uterine mucosa in the mother rather than a defective germ plasm.

4 (. W. Μ. Poynter

HISTORICAL

Investigators, as well as clinicians, have been interested in car-
diac malformations ever since they were first reported. Their
relationship to other anomalies was early recognized and in 1671
Stenson reported a defect of the inter-ventricular septum asso-
ciated with cleft-palate. Since that time a great many different
types of anomaly have been found in association. Rokitansky
collected twenty-four defective hearts, a third of which cases had
other developmental irregularities. It is impossible to regard the
presence of the other anomalies as a mere coincidence, yet there
is no constant specific type association.

Senac (1749) saw in congenital cardiac disease only a weak-
ening of the formative influence, while Meckel (1812) pointed
out the resemblance of certain of these hearts to those of lower
animals, explaining them as reversions; he classified them as am-
phibian, reptilian, etc., and, although his theory has never been
generally accepted, his insistence that arrest of development was
the primary cause of these anomalies pointed the way to embryo-
logical study which has formed the basis of all modern attempts
at scientific classification and explanation. Lee (1880) saw in
single and associated anomalies the result of baneful influences
acting during the early weeks of pregnancy sometimes selecting
one part and sometimes another.

Kreysig (1817) offered the suggestion that foetal endocarditis
was responsible for congenital cardiac disease. This theory has
been very widely accepted, particularly by pathologists. It has
been considered as affecting not only the early developing heart
but the fully formed heart as well. With a better understanding
of heart development, the modern tendency is to explain the ma-
jority of cardiac irregularities as due to arrest of development
caused perhaps by a variety of factors. There (still remains a
certain proportion of cases in which it is impossible to say that
foetal endocarditis has not been present and has not disturbed the
normal course of development; however, the presence of thick-
ened tissues does not necessarily prove that a defect is due to an
inflammatory process. ‘The final discussion of these cases must

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 5

wait till we have a better understanding of the reaction of em-
bryonal tissues to inflammatory processes.

Rheumatism, tuberculosis and syphilis have all been studied as
possible etiological factors but there is no positive evidence that
they act even in an indirect way.

Frequency.—As early as 1814 Gintrac suggested that cardiac
defects were more frequently to be found in Great Britain than
in France and Germany and that they were quite rare in Italy
and Holland. ‘This observation seems to be true at the present
time with the United States occupying a place of slightly greater
frequency than Italy and Holland.

It is very difficult to secure statistics which will throw light on
the relative frequency, for without postmortem examination very
few cases can be positively identified as congenital defects and
many cases present no symptoms calling attention to the heart
for perhaps years after birth. Pott (1895) found of 30,000 chil-
dren from clinics 95 had heart disease and of these 27 were
under two years old, so might be considered as congenital ; this
is but a rude approximation and, as suggested, takes no account
of the cases presenting no symptoms at the time of examination,
so the number may be greater than this study suggests. Ellis
(1905) found that there were 51 cases of all cardiac defects in
3,875 autopsies at the Pennsylvania hospital, or 1.16 per cent.; of
this number 42 were patent foramen ovale or persistent patency
of the ductus arteriosis.

The question of sex frequency does not seem to be of much
significance; there is, however, a slightly greater preponderance
of males affected, as the following table shows:

Cases Males
Einirae wr oldpre nea ΠΣ 44 63.64%
Mirlede bers, ἘΠ Ms oe nergy eon este 43 67.4470
SHOlkcei: TSG Armee 1 e cauenite ea εν τοις 79 54.00%
ΘΗ Vero Vel ics ΘΟ ase tye δε eee em π ας 110 55-54%
AGE ΤΟΊ OOS. se sees tcc ας ler cies 57 50.14%
ΔΜ BO) E-p πολ ΠΟ οι eee RRS Being ν ἘΤ2 55,340

The present study agrees with the above tables, the percentage
of males being 55.69 per cent.

6 C. W. M. Poynter

811. SYMPTOMS

Cyanosis—One of the subjects inseparably linked with con-
genital cardiac disease is cyanosis congenita or morbus ceruleus.
Its cause has been the subject of debate over a long period.
. Paracelsus (1500) mentioned Icteritia Coelestena and later Cham-
seau (1789) speaks of Ictére violet, but I believe Senac (1749)
was the first to definitely connect cyanosis with anomalies of the
heart.

Morgagni (1761) declared that cyanosis was caused by stasis
of the blood in the venous system. This theory has been ac-
cepted by a large number of investigators, notably, Louis, Bouil-
laud, Farre, Haase, Peacock and Rokitansky. The idea that
cyanosis is due to admixture of arterial and venous blood is
probably older than the theory just mentioned and has been very
generally accepted; even now it seems to be quite firmly estab-
lished, notwithstanding the fact that Stillé (1841) showed that
admixture of blood may occur without cyanosis and that cyanosis
may occur without any admixture. Other theories relating to
changes in the blood and tissues extend beyond the scope of this
paper and may be consulted elsewhere. The question is not as
yet entirely settled ; certainly more than half of the cases of con-
genital cardiac disease do not exhibit cyanosis except for a very
short period pro exitu. It is most frequently associated with
obstruction of the pulmonary circulation but may be absent in
these cases, Mazaroff (1895), and, since it is observed under
other conditions than congenital cardiac disease, it would seem
that the simple circulatory disturbance due to the lack of a normal
functioning heart should not be considered as anything more than
a contributing factor in any case.

Clubbed fingers have been observed in many cases of congenital
cardiac disease, but are by no means a constant finding even in
the cases which have lived past the first decade. The condition
is probably due to congestion and toxemia, Carpenter (1909).

SM (ΟἸΙΙΑΑΘΘΙΕΙΟΑΤΙΟΝ

Classification of congenital cardiac abnormalities presents many
difficulties. A review of the various essays on the subject shows

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 7

that many different arrangements have been employed and none
seem to be entirely free from objections. It would seem that the
ideal arrangement would be one based on the embryological stage
at which the developmental disturbance occurred. I believe the
first attempt at such a classification was made by Friedeberg
(1844), who grouped the anomalies as those belonging to the
first stage of development, the second stage, etc. Peacock fol-
lowed this idea, but added a class of misplacements after the
plan of Breschet (1826). Rokitansky (1875) classified his cases
on the basis of developmental stages as far as they were then
known and Vierordt (18098) followed the same plan. Keith
(1909) carried the same idea somewhat further as the result of
recent research in cardiac development, particularly of the infun-
dibulum. There are still questions of development which must
be cleared up before this plan can be freely applied. There is
also the possibility that, with development fully understood and
etiological factors less obscure than at present, developmental
stages may not seem so important.

Hershfelder (1913) recognized the difficulty of classifying
these cases, but seemed to think that an anatomical basis was most
satisfactory. Such a purely anatomical arrangement, though
quite complete, does not meet all requirements because among
other things it does not take into consideration the relation of
individual lesions to each other in the same case. It seems evident
that the factors which produce developmental disturbances result-
ing in arrest or delayed development of the different parts of the
heart may bring about very different conditions not only of the
anatomical structure but of function as well, depending on the
embryonal stage in which they are active. A classification based
on the various complexes which are found in the postmortem
room would certainly be most satisfactory from a clinical stand-
point but presents great difficulty in examining and explaining
developmentally. Abbott (1915) suggests, what seems to me the
best solution of the question, a grouping “on mixed principles,”
that is, an embryological anatomical basis. I will follow this
classification with some unimportant modifications and at the
end will give an additional resumé of the cases as they are en-

ὃ (. W. Μ. Poynter

countered clinically, that is, of the different pathological com-
plexes for, as Hershfelder has pointed out, “Since the lesions are
usually produced in groups rather than singly, it is quite as im-
portant from a clinical standpoint to recognize these groups and
understand their effect upon the circulation as to recognize the
individual lesions.”

The group of cases here presented total 886 and are taken as
largely as possible from the individual cases reported in the litera-
ture rather than the studies of museum specimens. After a dis-
cussion of each lesion a list of the cases upon which the conclu-
sions are based is appended. The references are given by using
the reporter’s name and date so, by referring to the literature list
at the end, title and publication may be known.

CLASSIFICATION
I. Malformations about the Heart.
A. Anomalies of the Pericardium.
1. Deficiency.
2. Diverticulum.
B. Misplacements of the Heart.
1. Internal.
a. Within the Chest (Dextrocardia).
b. Within the Abdomen.
c. Diverticulum.
2. External (Ectopia Cordis).
a. Cervical.
b. Pectoral.
c. Abdominal.
II. Anomalies of the Heart as a Whole.
A. Acardia.
B. Bifid Apex.
C. Congenital Hypertrophy.
III. Anomalies of the Cardiac Septa.
A. Interventricular Septum.
1. Absence of Septum.
2. Defective at Base.
a. Below Aorta.
b. Pars Membranacea.
c. Elsewhere than Base.
B. Interatrial Septum.
1. Absence of Septum.
2. Anomalies of Septum Primum.
3. Anomalies of Septum Secundum.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart

a. Persistent Foramen Ovale.
b. Other Anomalies.
TV. Abnormalities Within the Cavities of the Heart.
A. Right Atrium
1. Contracture or Dilatation.
2. Accessory Septa.
B. Left Atrium.
1. Contracture and Dilatation.
2. Accessory Septa.
C. Right Ventricle.
1. Absence or Contracture.
2. Accessory Septa.
D. Left Ventricle.
1. Absence or Contracture.
2. Accessory Septa.
V. Abnormalities of the Truncus Communis Arteriosus.
A. Persistence of the Truncus.
B. Defective Aortic Septum.
C. Deviation of the Aortic Septum (Transposition).
1. Simple Transposition.
2. Transposition in Situs Transversus.
3. Transposition of Ventricular Loop.
D. Aorta Opening from Both Ventricles.
E. Aorta from Right Ventricle Without Transposition.
VI. Abnormalities of the Pulmonary Trunk.
A. Pulmonary Stenosis.
1. Of Orifice.
2. Oe ἘΠ ΙΤΠ
Β. Pulmonary Atresia.
1. Of the Orifice.
2. Of the Trunk.
3. Absence of Trunk.
VII. Abnormalities of the Aorta.
A. Aortic Stenosis.
1. Of Orifice.
2. Of Trunk.
B. Aortic ‘Atresia.
VIII. Anomalies of the Semilunar Valves.
A. Pulmonary Valves.
B. Aortic Valves.
IX. Anomalies of the Atrio-ventricular Openings.
X. Anomalies of the Ductus Arteriosus (Persistent Patency).
XI. Anomalies of the Veins Entering the Heart.
A. Pulmonary Veins.
B. Systemic Veins.

ΙΟ (. W. Μ. Poynter

§ IV.
I. MALFORMATIONS ABOUT THE HEART

A. ANOMALIES OF THE PERICARDIUM

1. Deficiency—Entire absence of the pericardium seems to
be unknown except in cases of extensive developmental disturb-
ances in which the heart is found outside of the thoracic cavity.
More or less complete absence of the parietal pericardium is a
rare anomaly, a slight ridge or fold on the right of the great ves-
sels represents the remains of this layer. In other cases of less
pronounced defect the pericardium covers the right half of .the
heart, while in others the pericardial case is complete except for
a small or large foramen on the left causing a communication
between the pleural cavity of the left side and the pericardial
cavity. The opening is always on the left and, when large, some
of these cases have been referred to as cases in which the heart
is found in the left pleural cavity. The left phrenic nerve is dis-
placed, running down on the inner chest wall parallel to the in-
ternal mammary artery.

The first to suggest an explanation of the anomaly was Keith
(1907), who reported a case of small defect and said: ‘“ This is
clearly a case of patent pleuro-pericardial foramen. Evidently
the condition has been produced by the lung bud growing within
and expanding the communication between the pleura and the
pericardium, for the communication lies immediately ventral to
the point at which the lung bud appears.” McGarry (1914)
points out a difficulty with the above explanation in that the lung
bud does not develop until after the separation of the two cavities
is complete. He calls attention to the other developmental errors
of the ccelom in his case and thinks that the whole is due to some
early disturbance interfering with the development of the pleuro-
pericardial membrane or its anlage.

Haller (1757) did not believe that such abnormality could
occur and Peacock (1856) thought that some, at least, of the
reported cases were not true lack of membrane but universal

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart Ter

adherence of the two layers and that true congenital absence was
of rare occurrence.

Two cases in this group deserve special mention, and, as far
as I am aware, are unique; in one, by Tait (1868) the pleural
cavity was intact while the heart, naked of parietal layer, was
in the normal position between the two pleural sacs; the other
case, by Turner (1870), showed the parietal pericardium normally
developed except that it was not attached to the diaphragm. The
latter condition has been observed as normal for the walrus.

The condition of defective pericardial development is not read-
ily diagnosed and seems to be without clinical interest ; the causes
of death are entirely independent of the condition and the aver-
age age is over forty years. Twice as many males as females are
affected. Cases studied are by:

de Mortel (1700), Baillie (1791), Walter (1805), Otto (1824), Breschet
(1826), Meniere (1826), Wolf (1827), Curling (1839), Baly (1852), Bris-
towe (1855), Peacock (1866), Powell (1869), Tait (1868), Weisbach
(1868), Turner (1870), Bjorsstrom (1871), Lebec (1874), Faber (1878),
Chiari (1880), Hughes (1883), Boxall (1887), Hewson (1895), Bernard
(1898), Gay (1899), Schendewolf (1900), Primrose (1901), Saxer (1902),
Keith (1906) 2 cases, Perna (1909), Versé (1909), Ebstein (1910), Plaut
(1913) 2 cases, Cameron (1914), McGarry (1914). Total 36 cases.

2. Diverticula of the Pericardium.—tThis condition is of little
clinical importance but should be remembered in considering
mediastinal tumors. Out pocketings of the parietal pericardium
occur, sometimes as cysts, and may reach considerable size. The
etiology has not been fully worked out but is probably an arrest
of development of some of the layers of the pericardial wall.
The condition is rarely encountered and is well illustrated by the
following:

Speir (1865), Cuffer (1875), Bandy (1879), Coen (1885), Atyas-Maraty
(1895). Five cases.
S We

Pa Vi SPV ACE MENGES OR TE TART

The heart may be found in the neck or as low as the abdomen;
it may be simply misplaced in the thorax (dextrocardia) or it
may protrude through a fissure in the ventral body wall (ectopia).

12 Cyr Poynter

For the convenience of presentation we will divide the cases,
after Breschet (1826), into internal and external misplacements.

1. Internal Misplacements

(a) Those displacements of the heart in the chest are gener-
ally known as dextrocardia. They are most frequent of all mis-
placements of the heart and consist of a transfer of the heart to
the right side of the chest in a mirror position to that it nor-
mally occupies. When all of the other viscera are also trans-
posed the condition is known as viscerum transversus; this
condition was first reported by Ricolanus in 1649 and is of suffi-
ciently frequent occurrence to need no discussion here. The
transposition of the heart alone is of much rarer occurrence.
When unassociated with other anomalies the condition is without
clinical interest and is only discovered when general examina-
tions are made or at postmortem.

Paltauf (1901) has pointed out that all cases are not alike.
In one group the heart has simply rotated to the right, so that
the dorsal and ventral relations are reversed, the tricuspid ven-
tricle still receiving the venous blood. The other group repre-
sent true transposition and are very rare, χοῦς: (1891)
case being an example.

The cases of congenital dextrocardia must be distinguished
from those cases of misplacement due to some pathological
process as contracture of adhesions or pressure of pleuritic
effusions. A large number of clinical cases have appeared in the
literature in the last two decades since the X-ray has come inte
such general use in study of chest conditions, some of these cases
are no doubt congenital, but none of them are included in this list.
Foggie (1910) has an extensive bibloigraphy of clinical cases.

. (a) Dextrocardia: Otto (1814), Otto (1816), Breschet (1826), Thore
eer Mosler (1866), Falck (1877), Smith (1878), Robinson (1881),
Ghose (1882), Pope (1882), Jacoby (1884), Bamberger (1888), Chabrely
(1888), Grus (1888), Northrup (1888), Grunmach (1890), Sandhop (1890),
Becker (1891), Graanboom (1890), Birmingham (1892), Williams (1892),
Lochte (1804), Auché ἃ Bouyer (1807), Reifschlager (1897), Petit et

Ravant (1898), Dalton (1899), Lowenthal (1900), Paltauf (1901), Baum-
garth (1902),-Lucchi (1902), Wendling (1903), Carletti (1906), Garrod &

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 13

Langmead (1906), Potter (1906), Horaud (1907), Pal (1907), Scandola
(1909), Foggie (1910), Benjamin (1911), Bello-Morales (1912). Forty
Cases.

(0) Heart in the Abdomen.—These cases are frequently classed
with the group of ectopia cordis but I have placed them in this
class because the ventral body is normally closed, and until we:
have a clear idea of the etiology it seems proper to assume that
other factors than those causing the cleft in the body wall are
responsible for the cardiac misplacement. The diaphragm is
defective and the heart is situated in the peritoneal cavity. The
condition is very rare but should not be difficult to recognize and
is apparently not incompatible with long life. The cases re-
ported by Deschamps (1778) and Ramel (1778) had both passed
the thirty-fifth year; Holt’s (1897) case was in a child.

(c) Diverticulum of the Heart.—In these cases the heart is
prolonged as a muscular diverticulum from the left ventricle and
extending into the abdomen through a defect in the diaphragm.
I know of no suggested explanation of the anomaly except that
of Gibert which is to the effect that the condition is a type of
early aneurysm of the tip of the ventricle which prevents the
complete development of the diaphragm. A diverticulum of the
right ventricle, Fennell (1901), but which is well above the dia-
phragm, may possibly belong in this group. Following the work
of Peacock I have placed these cases among misplacements,
although they are probably in no way related etiologically to the
cases of malposition of the whole organ. Cases are from
O’Bryan (1837), Thaden (1868), Gibert (1883), Arnold (1894),
and Kotter-Aeby (1907), Fennell (1901).

2. External Misplacements

These cases are generally described under the title ectopia
cordis. The heart protrudes through a median fissure in the
ventral body wall and comes, in many cases, to lie on the surface
of the body. In a few cases the pericardial sac is complete but
in the majority the parietal layer is lacking ventrally, its borders
being attached to the borders of the body fissure.

The cause of the misplacement is not known; the first theory

14 C. W. M. Poynter

was that the heart developed in an abnormal position and so pre-
vented the closure of the body wall; this is not consistent with
what we know of development. It has been suggested that an
over-distended heart from increased blood pressure prevented
early closing of the sternal bars. Adhesions have been blamed
for this as for many other anomalies. The condition has been
repeatedly produced in experimental teratology in chicks and
seems to have to do with disturbance of the body wall as well as
the heart; probably separate factors affect each part, for cases
are encountered in which the heart is in position and the sternum
is defective.

Breschet recognized three forms: (a) cervical, in which the
heart is beneath the chin; (b) pectoral, in which the heart pro-
trudes through a defect in the sternum; and (c) abdominal, in
which the cleft extends to the abdominal wall and in which ab-
dominal viscera as well as the heart are protruded. The heart
in these cases of ectopia may show maldevelopment intrinsically
or, more rarely, may be normal; the condition is incompatible
with life, the average age for all cases being but a few hours.

Cases of Ectopia Cordis.

(a) Cervical: Vaubonnis (1712), de Torres (1741), Breschet (1826).

(Ὁ) Pectoral: Walter (1745), Bittner (1768), Wiedemann (1794),
Chaussier (1814), Weese (1818) Walter’s case, Haan (1825), Breschet
(1826), Pecchioli (1839), Wittstock (1839), Cruveilhier (1841), Jones
(1854), Brown (1855), Jones (1855), Frickhoffer (1856), Dotzauer (1857),
Gross u. Heim (1859), March (1859), Marchal (1850), Daniel (1860),
Forster (1861), Rezek (1868), Obermeier (1869), Schlesenger, (1870),
Jahn (1875), Déserte (1876), Hodgen (1878), Fischer (1879), Hofmeier
(1880), Charpentier (1883), Grant (1806), Barnado (1897) Grant’s case,
Goode (1904), Ellis (1905), Fox (1909).

(c( Abdominal: Martinez (1723), Prochaska (1734), Schultz (1763),
Wahlbom (1764), Sandifort (1772), Hérold (1787), Fleischmann (1810),
Barret (1835), Becker (1839), Mitchel (1844), Follin (1850), Francois-
Franck (1877). Total 46 cases.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 15
Savile

Il ANOMALIES OF THE HEART AS A WHOLE
A. Acardia

Acardia or hemicardia indicates a pronounced disturbance of
the heart anlage. Stockard (1915) has greatly added to the in-
terest of this subject by his work on Fundulus. He has shown
that the growth of the heart may be entirely arrested by the use
of the proper percentages of alcohols in the water in which they
are hatched.

Of course these cases are not of clinical interest but valuable
in indicating the extreme degree in which factors affecting the
development of the heart may operate. The condition is gener-
ally found in monsters and is naturally incompatible with any
extended period of development. Early cases were reported by
Mery (1720) and Winslow (1740) and others studied by Nacke
_& Benda (1907) and Kehrer (1908).

Multiple hearts are probably due to an early division of the
heart anlage, then cessation of the malignant influences. An in-
teresting case of double heart has been reported by Collomb
(1798) in a human cyclops.

B. Bifid Apex of the Heart

In these cases the apices of both ventricles project below the
interventricular groove.. The condition is usually present in a
heart which is otherwise normal. The first case which I have
found recorded was by Bartholinus (1654), who described it as
“Mucrone non acuto ut fieri solet, sed bifido.” In explaining the
condition Mall (1912) showed that there is a tendency for the
divided apex to remain for some time, as in embryos of 11-25
mm. stage, after the adult form should be assumed; this agrees
with a like observation made by Paget (1831), p. 282. Mall
considered that the bifid apex is due to arrest of development.
The condition is normal for the dugong. The condition is rare,
constituting 2.3 per cent. in Abbott’s series.

Bartholin (1654), Meckel (1805), Parise (1837), Schattuck (1891),
Rolleston (1891), Hare (1902), Carpenter (1908), Mall (1912)

16 (. W. M. Poynter

C. Congenital Hypertrophy

The condition was first suggested by Paget (1831), who said
that the condition is represented by an increase of all of the parts
naturally belonging to the heart. Columnez carnz are sometimes
hypertrophied ; in a case reported by Louis (1823) these had so
much enlarged as to touch and seem a continuous plane. Peacock
does not speak of a congenital hypertrophy although he discusses
the early hypertrophy due to destruction in balance of the cir-
culation as in congenital stenosis of the pulmonary artery. Vir-
chow (1896) said that he had seen several cases that he consid-
ered due to congenital hypertrophy. Simmonds (1899) reported
a case in which the heart at term weighed 44 grams; he sug-
gested that the cause was a growth disturbance in early life.
Other cases have been reported by Effron (1903) and Kalb
(1906).

ὦ ΊΠ

ππι ΑΝ ΘΝ ἰπ Ξ OF π᾿ στ lave
A, INTERVENTRICULAR SEPTUM

1. Absence of Septum

Among the anomalies of the internal structure of the heart,
defective development of the ventricular septum is most fre-
quently met with. The septum may be completely absent, par-
tially developed or defective at the base. In the last the defect
may be of the fleshy or membranous portion.

Schliemann (1831) considered the thin portion of the inter-
ventricular septum near the base as a pathological condition ;
Thurnman (1838) described this portion of the septum as “The
highest part of the septum which occupies the angle between the
posterior and right aortic valves, is in the human subject formed,
not of muscular fibers, but simply of endocardium of the left and
right ventricles and strengthened only by the interposition of a
little fibrous tissue continuous with that of the aorta.” He states
that the structure was well known to anatomists, also that it was
sometimes defective from malformation. I have been unable to
find in the anatomies of the time or those of the previous century

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 17

any description of the heart which revealed an understanding or
recognition of this portion of the septum.

Huschka (1855) described the thin area on the basis of a study
of 300 hearts; he pointed out that it was always present and was
a normal structure. He corrected Schliemann’s error and claimed
that he was the first to discover and describe the structure as
a normal part of the heart.. Peacock (1855) described its pres-
ence normally, designated it as “the undefended space” and so
liable to developmental error. He seemed to think at this time
that this point was the most frequent seat of septal defect, an
error corrected somewhat later. Reinhard (1857) suggested the
name “pars membranacea,’ which has been quite generally ac-
cepted.

Rokitansky (1875) studied the development of the septum and
on this basis divided the base into a posterior muscular portion, a
pars membranacea, and an anterior fleshy portion, the latter being
subdivided into an anterior and posterior portion. Defects occur
most frequently in the posterior part of the anterior septum
(Rokitansky) and less frequently in the pars membranacea
When the defect is in the anterior part of the anterior septum
Keith has shown that it is an anomaly of the bulbar septum. De-
fects of the septum near the apex are extremely rare and may
be multiple.

Septum defect is frequently encountered in conjunction with
stenosis of the pulmonary artery and the question as to which
is the primary lesion has been much discussed. Hunter (1786)
was the first, I believe, to suggest that the obstruction of the
pulmonary circulation prevented the closure of the septum.
“Other theories have been so frequently discussed that they do
not need review here. It must be noted in examining any theory
that many examples have been found of each lesion occurring
without the other. As I interpret the later experimental work
in teratology it reveals a much less interdependence of parts in
development than was formerly supposed and suggests a much
more obscure disturbing factor than simple mechanics.

The total number of septal anomalies is 594; of these 99 or
16.6 per cent. are total absence of septum, listed as follows:

18 (. W. M. Poynter

Schenck (1600), Chemeneau (1699), Wilson (1708), Standert (1805),
Farre (1814), Otto (1814), Fleischmann (1815), Meckel (1815), Hein
(1816), Kreysig (1817), Marx (1820), Tiedemann (1824), Breschet (1826)
two cases, Martin (1826), Mauran (1827), Mayer (1827), Stoltz (1841),
Thore (1842, 1843, 1845), Chevers (1846), Crisp (1846), Ramsbotham
(1846), Foster (1847), Clark (1848), Bednar (1852), Hale (1853), Buhl
(1857), Vernon (1856), Carson (1857), Clar (1858), Bernard (1860),
Devilliers (1860), Gulbert (1860), Almagro (1862), Rauchfuss (1864),
Playfair (1870), Bradley (1873), Elliot (1877), Martin (1877), Chiari
(1879), Pott (1879), Kleinschmidt (1881), Robinson (1881), Bianchi
(1882), Turner (1882), Shattock (1883), Clarke (1884), Jacoby (1884),
Brewer (1885), Bull (1885), Fussell (1888), Northrup (1888), Ziegen-
speck (1888), Revilliod (1889), Sanger (1889), Holt (1890), Preisz (1890), ἡ
Ruge (1801), Williams (1892), Jellett (1897), Reifschlager (1897), Huns-
burger (1898), Keith (1898) 2 cases, Potter (1900), Rudlof (1900), Cautley
(1901), Baumgarth (1902), Champeter (1903), Grosse (1903), Wright (1903),
Bouchacourt (1904), Lefas (1904), Letulle (1904), Emanuel (1906) 2
cases, Konstantinowitsch (1906), Young (1906), Young & Robinson (1907),
Cautley (1908), Paterson (1908), Stokes (1908), Paterson (1909), Wenner
(1909), Girauld (1910), Sokolow (1910), Robertson (1011), Penner
(1911), Fortman (1912), Knope (1912), Pappenheimer (1913), Rive et
Girard (1013), Gladstone ἃ Russmann (1015).

2. Defective at Base

(a) Ventricular Septum Defective Below the Aorta—The
large majority of interventricular septum defects are of the base
and of these the most frequent site of arrested development is
the posterior part of the anterior septum (Rokitansky). It has
been impossible to determine the percentage of defects in either
group because observers so frequently make no report as to the
portion of the base involved. This list and the one immediately
following. represent only a small part of the cases of defective
septum reported; for other cases see the clinical classification of
ventricular defects. .

(a) Ventricular septum defective below aorta: Howship (1813), Cheever
(1821), Cerutti (1827), Lexis (1835), Quain (1856), Loschner & Lambl
(1860) 2 cases, Peacock (1860), (1869), Johnson (1872), Rex (1874),
Buhl (1878), Pott (1878) 2 cases, Babesiu (1879), Pott (1879) 2 cases,
Peacock (1879), O’Sullivan (1880), Cronk (1881), Petit (1881), Revilliod

(1882), Grant (1883), Moutart (1883), Hayward (1884), Ménétrier
(1884), Dumontpallier (1885), Habershon (1888), Mann (1889), Muhr

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 19

(1889), Preisz (1890) 4 cases, Variot et Gampert (1890), Rolleston (1891),
Steven (1892), Geipel (1892), Méslay (1895), Eisenmenger (1807),
(1808), Griffith (1899), Spalverini et Barbieri (1902), Amenville (1905),
Rogers & Fortiscue (1905), Carpenter (1909), Erdmenger (1912), Griffith
1015).

᾿ τ Ventricular septum defective in pars membranacea: Loschner &
Lambl (1860) 2 cases, Crocker (1878) (1879), Stone (1881), Toennies
(1884), Willcocks (1886), Pryor (1889), Stadler (1891), Passow (1894),
Rheiner (1896), Freyberger (1898), Spalverini & Barbieri (1902), Cowan
(1903), Carpenter (1908), Bissell (1913), Heller & Gruber (1914), Morse
(1915), Parrura (1916).

(c) Other Defects of the Interventricular Septum—Defects
in other portions of the septum than the base are very unusual.
The cases are generally of multiple openings and may be at any
point in the body of the septum. The condition no doubt repre-
sents a growth disturbance which was of short duration or suffi-
ciently slight to permit the final normal developmental stages.
Interesting cases have been reported by:

Chiari (1881), Toennies (1884), Griffith (1897), Chessman (1905), and
Robertson (1011).

Ss VIII ANOMALIES OF THE INTERATRIAL SEPTUM

The atrial septum presents, through its complexities of devel-
opment, several problems which must be considered in inter-
preting and classifying anomalies. The cavity of the primitive
atrium is divided to form two chambers by a septum which is
known as the septum primum. This septum grows downward
into the cavity until it unites with the endocardial cushions. Be-
fore this union is complete the lower border of the septum is free
and the atria communicate below it by an opening which is known
as the ostium primum. About the time that the division of the
chambers is complete an opening appears in the septum primum
which is the foramen ovale. A second septum, the septum secun-
dum, grows downward to the right of the septum primum and
some time after birth closes the foramen ovale.

This study indicates that developmental disturbances of the
interatrial septum are slightly more than half as frequent as
those of the interventricular septum. Some defect of the atrial

20 (. W. Μ. Poynter

septum is present in about 36 per cent. of all cases of heart
anomalies. As shown by the number of cases living to an ad-
vanced age the disturbance to the circulation, even from a com-
plete absence of the septum, is readily compensated.

B. INTERATRIAL SEPTUM
1. Atrial Septum Absent

In these cases the growth disturbance has inhibited the devel-
opment of both the septum primum and secundum. I have not
found the condition as an isolated anomaly, but it is frequently
found in conjunction with absence of the interventricular septum.
The condition constitutes 16 per cent. of atrial septum dis-
turbances.

1. Atrial septum absent: Méry (1700), Wilson (1708), Ring (1805),
Standert (1805), Farre (1814), Otto (1814), Meckel (1815), Marx (1820),
Cheever (1821), Martin (1826) 2 cases, Cerutti (1827), Mauran (1827),
Mayer (1827), Thore (1842) (1845), Crisp (1846), Foster (1846), Rams-
botham (1846), Foster (1847), Darrach (1857), Clar (1858), Bernard
(1860), Guibert (1860), Almagro (1860), Cameron (1871), Maier (1876),
Marchand (1881), Robinson (1881), Shattock (1883), Jacoby (1884), Bull
(1885), Northrup (1888), Chapatot (1889), Birmingham (1892), Probyn-
Williams (1894), Cade (1897), Ewald (1808), Hunsberger (1808), Rudlof
(1900), Blondel (1901), Griffith (1902), Champeter (1903), Lefas (1904),
Chartier (1905), Bernstein (1906), Konstantinowitsch (1906), McCrae
(1906), Carpenter (1908), Girauld et Tissier (1910), Metzger (1011),
Knope (1912).

2. Anomalies of the Septum Primum

In these cases two different conditions must be recognized.
When the defect is along the dorsal (venous) wall Ingalls (1907)
has pointed out that it seems to be due to development of the
septum primum too far to the right, so that instead of passing
to the left of the opening of the superior vena cava it passes di-
rectly through it and so creates an opening. When the opening
is in the lower part of the septum, above the ventricles, it may
be explained as a persistence of the ostium primum either through
arrest of development of the septum primum or of the endocar-
dial cushions. The latter cases are characterized by a semi-
lunar opening low down in the septum.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 21

It is sometimes impossible to tell in a given case whether the
defect is of the septum primum or secundum; in general, how-
ever, it may be said that lesions of the septum primum are located
on the lower or posterior part of the atrial septum, while those
of the fossa ovalis and upper part of the septum are defects of
the septum secundum.

Lacroix (1844), Bednar (1852), Smith (1880), Hopkins (1889), Preisz
(1890) 3 cases, Hawkins (1891), Ruge (1891) 2 cases, Burke (1902),
Dhotel (1902), Wright & Drake (1903), Ebbinghaus (1904), Soldner

(1904), Ingalls (1907), Abbott (1910), Morrison (1912), Lusenbacher
_ (1916). Nineteen cases.

3. Anomalies of the Septum Secundum

(a) Open Foramen Ovale——A patent foramen ovale is so fre-
quently encountered that it should not be considered as an anom-
aly. In our dissecting rooms the foramen has been found patent
in 25 per cent. of the subjects if we consider any condition in
which a probe will pass as patency. Bizot (1837) found the
foramen patent in 13 per cent. of cases in adults and Adami in
14.5 per cent of 1,374 autopsies. Peacock (1852) explained the
closure of the foramen showing that the shifting of the cornua
and the drawing up of the valve about the margin of the opening
produces a physiological closure even when the finger can be
thrust through and the valve so displaced. The fact that an ad-
hesion had not formed between the septum and the valve he did
not consider as an anomaly. On the other hand, those cases, so
frequently described, in which the foramen is sufficiently open
to admit a finger, must be considered as anomalous. The condi-
tion of fully open foramen ovale was recognized as an anomaly
by Peneau in 1598.

All degrees of failure of closure of the foramen may be seen,
but this group consists largely of cases in which there is an ab-
sence of the septum ovale. Cases in which the septum contains
so many openings as to be spoken of as “cribiform” are included
in this list. “Twenty per cent. of all cases present no other devel-
opmental defect. The condition represents 70 per cent. of all
atrial septum defects and is encountered in 23 per cent. of all
hearts studied.

52 ae C. W. M. Poynter

(a) Open ovale: Littre (1700), Widmann (1717), Amyand (1736), du
Hamel (1740), Hunter (1783) 2 cases, Moreau (1790), Baillie (1808) 2
cases, Schuler (1810), Langstaff (1811), Dorsay (1812), Jurine (1815) 2
cases, Fleischmann (1815), Gamage (1815), Knox (1815), Meckel (1815),
Hein (1816), Howship (1816), Kreysig (1817), Nasse (1811), Pasqualine
(1827), Basedow (1828), Graves & Houston (1830), Braune (1833), Monet
(1833), Bloxam (1834), Fearn (1834), Lexis (1835), Spittal (1835),
Chassenat (1836), Napper (1840), Stolz (1841), Smith (1841), Douglas
(1842), Mansfeld (1843), Thore (1843), King (1844), Harrison (1845),
Iliff (1845), Shearman (1845), ‘Taylor (1845), Chevers (1846), Hare
(1846) 2 cases, Peacock (1846) 2 cases, Dittrich (1849), Toynbee (1849),
Johnson (1850), Hale (1853), Blin (1854), Keil (1854), Graily-Hewitt
(1856), Quain (1856), Carson (1857), Meyer (1857), Schilling (1857).
Baly (1858), Devilliers (1860), Mallwo (1860), Gubler (1861), Heine
(1861), Hervieux (1861), Ollivier (1861), Gueniot (1862), Mannkopf
(1862), Cocle (1863), Foster (1863), Lebert (1863), Buchanan (1864),
Peacock (1864), Rauchfuss (1864), Kussmaul (1866), Vulpian (1868),
Hunter (1869), Peacock (1869), da Costa (1870), Hunter (1870), Gelan
(1873), Peacock (1873), Landouzy (1874), Lucas (1874), Longhurst
(1874), Rex (1874), Bogler (1875), Barlow (1876), Katz (1877), Saundby
(1877), Caton (1878), Finlay (1878), Heinman (1878), Johnson (1878),
Crocker (1879) 3 cases, Makuna (1879) 2 cases, Pott (1879), Bucquay
(1880), Ballet (1880), Chiari (1880), Crocker (1880), Desnos et Callias
(1880), Gibier (1880), Lees (1880), Luneau (1880), O’Sullivan (1880)
3 cases, Smith (1880), Tirard (1880), Stifel (1880), Peacock & Ashby
(1881), Eskridge (1881), v. Etlinger (1881), Fowler (1882) 2 cases, Liv- '
ingston (1883), Toupet (1883), Barand, Barry (1884), Bury (1884),
Chaffey (1884), Holt (1884), Kruger (1884), Moore (1884), Brewer
(1885), Epstein (1886), Vilon et Léveque (1884), Leo (1886), Harris
(1887), Hendly (1887), Toupet (1887), Gampert' (1889), Klipstein (1890)
2 cases, Mackenzie (1889) 2 cases, Miura (1889), Oliver (1889) 2 cases,
Revilliod (1889), Dorning (1890), Hadden (1890), Haw (1890), Monisset
(1890), Holt (1890), Griffith (1891), Howard (1891), Lewis (1802),
Moore (1891), Turner (1891), Laffitte (1892), Moore (1892), Burgess
(1893), Lépine (1804), Nazaroff (1895), Caillé (1806), Frenkel (1806),
Monod (1806), Packard (1896), Rheiner (1896), Roth (1896), Siredey
(1896), Coyon (1897), Griffith (1806), Jacobson (1897), Hun (1807),
Grothe (1898), Lamouroux (1899), Rolly (1899), Armand (1900), Starck
(1900), Cautley (1901), Andrews (1902), Ardissonne (1902), Bourlot
(1902), Burke (1902) 3 cases, Cautley (1902) 2 cases, Cowan (1903) 3
cases, Delherm et Laignel (1903), Griffith (1903), Gutkind (1903),
Schreiber (1903), Tylecote (1903), Cohn (1904), Minkowski . (1904),
Pritchard (1904), Ellis (1905) 2 cases, Krausse (1905) 2 cases, Rogers
(1905), Emanuel (1906) 2 cases, Lucien & Harter (1907), Ohm (1907),

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 23

Young & Robinson (1907), Carpenter (1908), Paterson (1908), Carpenter
(1909), Gandy et Brulé (1909), Planchu et Gardére (1909), Weiss-Eder
(1909), Wenner (1909) 4 cases, Serverog (1910), Boulach (1910), Bokay
(1911), Robertson (1911), Boxwell (1912), Erdmenger (1912), Keith
Gor), Black (1914), “Gasquet y (1013)),, Hebb’ (1013), Hingar {1012};
Pappenheimer (1913), Morse (1915), Monteiro (1917). Two hundred and
twenty-five cases.

(b) Other Anomalies of the Septum Secundum.—tThe septum
ovalis may be cribiform as in the case of Finlay (1878), Smith
(1880), ‘Oliver (1889) and others. This is a different anomaly
than simple arrest of growth leading to an open foramen ovale,
but I have included it in the group above. The septum secundum
may fail to develop as in the case of Hebb (1889), or may be
defective at other points than in the fossa ovalis. An opening
above and anterior to the fossa ovalis may be considered as a
defect in the development of the septum secundum. The condi-
tion seems to occur with about the same frequency as defect of
the septum primum. They represent 7.5 per cent. of all defects
of the atrial septum.

Kelly (1869), Peacock (1877), Pott (1878) 3 cases, Chiari (1880), Liv-
ingston (1883), Greenfield (1889), Hebb (1889), Sanger (1889), Probyn-
Williams (1894), Prezewoski (1806), Keith (1808), Griffith (1899), Moore

(1903), Thompson. (1903), Carpenter (1908), Wassenbach (1910), Reed
(1911). Twenty cases.

Sine

iN NbN ΘΒ ΝΠ ΠΕ ΠΡ ΡΞ \ViiheEwN ἘΠΕ CAVITIES (ΘΕ
ἼΠΊΗΠΕῚ, leldaURdh

A. RIGHT ATRIUM

1. Contracture or Dilatation

It seems to me that there may be some question of the propriety
of including cases of contracture and dilation among congenital
malformations. Many of these cases are of sufficient age and
the circulation is so disturbed that it is entirely possible that the
cases are simple pathological reactions of the same type with
which we are familiar in other cardiac diseases ; this applies espe-

24 (. 7. M. Poynter

cially to the cases of dilation. Cases of congenital dilation
and contracture have been reported and it is possible that a cham-
ber may over or under develop, due to factors interfering with
growth; however, it seems hardly worth while to burden this
study with a group of borderline cases.

2. Accessory Septa in the Right Atrium

This consists of a network or delicate membrane originating
from the region of the Eustachian or Thebesian valve and ex-
tending across the atrium to attach to some point on the septum.
Chiari (1897) explained the condition as the mal-development
of the valvula venosa sinistra or septum spurium. He was de-
scribing particularly the network; a number of observers have
since called a similar structure the “ Chiari Net or Netz.” Other
cases characterized by a definite band, Ruge (1891) thought may
be a redundant septum primum.

Monet (1833), Thompson (1843), Eskridge (1881), Geffrier (1881),
Moore (1882), Cayla (1884), Leo (1886), Ruge (1801), Lépine (1804),
Chiari (1897), Swan (1898), Le Count (1901), Ebbinghaus (1904), Lesieur
et Froment (1911).

B. ABNORMALITIES OF THE LEFT ATRIUM

1. Contraction and Dilation

The left atrium has been the seat of a congenital contraction
or arrest of development in cases observed by Peacock (1866),
Roach (1880), Packard (1896), and Lamouroux (1899).

I have found no cases in which a dilation suggesting congenital
origin has been described.

2. Accessory Septa in the Left Atrium

This condition does not seem to have been recognized by the
earlier observers. The accessory septum stretches across the
atrium dividing off a right posterior superior chamber into which
the pulmonary veins open. Borst (1906) considers this septum
to be a misplaced septum primum; Griffith (1903a) concludes
that the band is a redundancy of the tissue of the valve of the

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 25

fossa ovalis, “An exaggeration of a state of affairs not usually
recorded as abnormal, viz., the presence of a reticula proceeding
from the margins of the valve of the foramen ovale.” Williams
ἃ Abrekossoff (1911) conclude, “That the muscular portion of
the anomalous septum in its posterior right part is a continuous
portion of the muscular structure of the right posterior portion
of the atrial wall . . . and that the abnormal septum arose from
a separation of the atrial wall and that the splitting had its origin
in the right angle of the wall.”

The following cases have been studied :

Andral (Ref. Paget, 1831), Church (1868), Fowler (1882), Moore
(1882), Rolleston (1896), Papillon (1897), Martin (1809), Griffith (1903)

3 cases, Potter & Ransom (1904), Hosch (1907), Stoeber (1908), William
& Abrekossoff (1911), Sternberg (1913).

C. RIGHT VENTRICLE
1. Contracture of the Right Ventricle

The right heart seems to be especially sensitive to develop-
mental disturbances. The right ventricle is made up of two ele-
ments developmentally ; Keith has shown that the proximal por-
tion of the bulb becomes incorporated in the wall of the right
ventricle to form the conus arteriosus or infundibulum. In many
of the cases of contracture the conus portion of the ventricle has
suffered from arrest of development and in some cases the re-
mainder of the ventricle is also only slightly developed or absent.
The condition is usually accompanied by stenosis or atresia of
the pulmonary artery, particularly the orifice.

Meckel (1815), Jacobson (1849), Loschner & Lambl (1860), Mallwo
(1860), Gubler (1861), Kussmaul (1866), Demange (1874), Jackson
(1875), Crocker (1879), O’Sullivan (1880), Etlinger (1882), Moutart-
Marten (1883), Ménétrier (1884), Kronig (1887), Preisz (1800), Variot
et Gampert' (1890), Barbillon (1886), Howard (1891), Laffitte (1892),
Boquet (1893), Haury (1894), Northrup (1894), Passow (1894), Rheiner
(18096), Siredey (1896), Young (1896), Jacobson (1897), Armand (1900),
Fennell (1901), Spalverine (1902), Cohn (1904), Ellis (1905), Young &
Robinson (1907), Gandy et Brulé (1909), Wassenbach (1910). These
cases relate particularly to arrest of development of the conus while in
the following the entire ventricle is contracted.

Hare (1852), Heinman (1878), Moore (1891), Leo (1886), Potter
(1900), Bernstein (1906), Carpenter (1909).

26 (. W. Μ. Poynter

2. Accessory Septum in Right Ventricle

These cases are characterized by a septum in the upper part of
the ventricle. They are related to the preceding group in that
the developmental disturbance is of the conus, they differ in that
the conus may develop proportionately with the rest of the ven-
tricular wall and a portion of the bulb about the bulbar orifice
fails to drop out. When the conus is large and the bulbar orifice
is small the condition has been referred to as “three ventricles.”

Chassinat (1836), Husson (1836), Pegné (1847), Peacock (1869) 2
cases, Peacock (1876), Crocker (1878) (1879), Mackenzie (1879) 2 cases,
Nixon (1879), Lees (1880), Kleinschmidt (1881), Stone (1881), Toupet
(1883), Mackenzie (1889), Cassell (1891), Ruge (1891), Wendle (1898),
Young & Robinson (1907) 2 cases, Cautley (1908), Black (1914).

D. LEFT VENTRICLE
1. Contracture of the Left Ventricle

There is difficulty in accounting for the stenosis of the left
conus as a simple developmental defect. As already stated the
literature shows that congenital disturbances have a marked predi-
lection for the right half of the heart; Rauchfuss stated that the
relation of lesions between the right and left sides was as 10:1.
Keith thinks that only a small portion of the bulb is incorporated
in the left ventricle, so left contractures are not quite comparable
to those of the right side. If we consider these cases as a simple
arrest of development of the ventricular chamber, as has been
suggested, and as has been accepted for the last of the preceding
group (contracture of right ventricle), then the left chamber
seems to be more prone to mal-development than the right. It
seems to me probable that the following list contains more cases
in which the bulbar element is responsible for the stenosis than
those of arrest of development of the primary ventricular cham-
ber; it seems, however, that this question cannot be settled by
examination of the specimens. Even in the cases of an anular
thickening of the ventricular wall just below the orifice of the
aorta it is difficult to distinguish the congenital cases from those
of stenosis due to endocarditis.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 27

Peacock (1846), Parker (1847), Dittrich (1852), Banks (1857), Hare
(1853), Peacock (1860), Heine (1861), Virchow (1861), Rauchfuss (1864),
Smith (1866), Hallopeau (1869), Allis (1872), Klumpke (1887), Ziegen-
speck (1888), Miura (1889), Preisz (1890), Lamouroux (1899), Lowen-
thal (1900), Schmencka (1907), Cautley (1908), Wienner (1909), Girauld
et Tissier (1910), Gladstone ἃ Russmann (1915).

2. Accessory Septum in the Left Ventricle

Turner (1895) described a “moderator” band which arose
from the anterior septal wall, passed directly across the chamber
and was attached to the posterior wall. It does not seem that
this condition is analogous to the diaphragm encountered in the
right ventricle, more probably it is related to the anomalous corde
tendinee which have been occasionally encountered. These run
across the ventricle in an irregular way and may be attached to
the semilunar valves. In some cases they form a reticular net-
work, suggesting a division of the ventricle into two chambers.
They may represent an over stimulus of the process which leads
to the development of the normal papilli and corde tendine;
they may be the result of a foetal endocarditis as suggested by
Tawara (1906). They are not incompatible with life but may
cause musical murmurs.

Bouillaud (1862), Archer (1878), Bailey (1894), Rohrle (1896), Lewis
(1897), Marckewald (1898), Hamilton (1809), Roéssle (1902), Winkler

(1903), Poscharessky (1904), Gallis (19004), Tawara (1906), Monckeberg
(1908).

§ X.

Ve wwe GUbaki tits IN Tne DEVELOPMENT OF
THE TRUNCUS COMMUNIS ARTERIOSUS

Anomalies in this section are frequently classed with arterial
irregularities, but belong properly with the heart. Early in the
development of the heart there is a slight contracture of the tube
at intervals dividing it into five parts, of which the last two are
the bulbus cordis and the truncus arteriosus. When the heart
assumes an “S” shape the bulbus cordis comes to le in front of
the ventricle the adjacent walls of the bulb and the ventricle fuse,
then disappear and the proximal part of the bulbus becomes in-

28 C. W. M. Poynter

corporated in the ventricular wall. This adjustment brings the
truncus arteriosus against the atrial wall ventrally and its open-
ing over the two ventricles. Later the canal of the bulbus cordis
and truncus arteriosus is divided by a septum, the aortic septum,
which in the truncus arteriosus produces the aorta and pulmonary
artery and in the bulbus grows down to meet the ventricular
septum and helps to complete the separation of the ventricles.

The close association of the development of these structures
with the general development of the heart is indicated by the
frequency with which anomalies of their development are asso-
ciated with other cardiac irregularities, particularly defective
interventricular septum. In this group of cases 20 per cent. of
the hearts which showed complete lack of ventricular septum
also lacked an aortic septum. Approximately 27 per cent. of all
defects of the ventricular septum were associated with irregu-
larities of the aortic septum.

A. Persistent Truncus Communis

As seen above, the aorta and pulmonary artery are developed
by the growth of the aortic septum which begins as two distal
ridge-like thickenings in the lumen of the truncus communis;
these grow out, fuse and so form a septum which normally takes
a spiral course. When the septum fails to develop the embryonal
truncus communis persists; this common trunk is generally con-
sidered as the homologue of the aorta and the case is spoken of
as lacking the pulmonary artery, but this interpretation is incor-
rect. There is a condition of arrest of development of the pul-
monary artery to be spoken of later but it may be distinguished
from persistent truncus by the fact that the two pulmonary
arteries do not spring from the back of the common artery. The
persistent truncus may open from the right ventricle as in the
early embryo or from both ventricles over the defect in the inter-
ventricular septum.

Various degrees of arrest of development less than complete
absence of the aortic septum have been reported, the septum may
begin its normal development then be arrested; in such cases a
truncus communis arises from the heart and in a short distance

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 29

divides into aorta and pulmonary artery as in Clark’s (1885)
case. Rokitansky reported a somewhat more interesting case in
which, in addition to the above condition, a remnant of aortic
septum was present in thecommontrunk. Defects of the septum
spoken of as communication between the aorta and pulmonary
artery no doubt represent minor disturbances in the develop-
mental process.

Persistent truncus communis 1s always associated with defect-
ive development of the ventricular septum and in 70 per cent.
there is also defective atrial septum. There are no characteristic
clinical symptoms belonging to the condition. While the anomaly
adds to the embarrassment of the circulation, it is difficult to say
how much since there are so many other factors to consider. In
cases occurring in single ventricled hearts the average age was
slightly more than two months, while in the cases associated with
simply defective ventricular septum the average was slightly
more than three years; in the first group the maximum age was
ten months, in the latter nineteen years. Cyanosis was present
to a greater or less degree in over one third of the cases. The
following list shows the condition present in 4.8 per cent. of all
hearts studied.

Wilson (1798), Standert (1805), Farre (1814), Meckel (1815), Laurence
(1837), Stoltz (1841), Foster (1846-8), Ramsbotham (1846), Clark (1848),
Toynbee (1849), Hyernaux (1851), Vernon (1856), Clar (1858), Bernard
(1860), Hervieux (1861, Buchanan (1864), Bradley (1873), Pott (1879)
2 cases, Ribinson (1881), Barand, Barry et Rachet (1884), Barbillon
(1886), Clark (1884), Muhr (1889), Preisz (1890), Charrin et LeNoir
(1891), Bellot (1895), Gallois (1896), Cade (1897), Martin (1897), Pet-
schel (1897), Civatte (1900), Cautley (1902), Spalverini et Barbieri
(1902), Wright & Drake (1903), Rispal & Bay (1904), Elsbergen (1905),
Krausse (1905), Hand (1908), Wenner (1909) 2 cases, Knope (1912),
Dickson (1913).

B. Defect of the Aortic Septum

These cases are characterized by a communication between the
aorta and pulmonary artery above the semilunar valves. In
ΟΞ: Haltom thie cases there are other defects ‘of the heart:
The average age is 3 years I month, the maximum age 25 years.
The lesion produces no symptoms (Livingston 1883), and is with-

30 (. W. M. Poynter

out clinical interest. The lesion is present in 1.7 per cent. of the
hearts studied in this group.

Lediberder (1836), Wilks (1860), Fraentzel (1868), da Costa (1870),
Baginsky (1879), Caesar (1880), Chiari (1880), Rickards (1881), Charteris
(1883), Livingston (1883), Cayla (1885), Girarde (1895), Cazin (1807),
Hektoen (1899), case in Guys Hospital Museum.

C. Transposition of Aorta and Pulmonary Artery

Abnormal positions of the great vessels coming from the heart
has generally been discussed under the title of transposition.
This condition results from anomalous rotation of the aortic
septum. The whole subject was clarified by the wonderful work
of Rokitansky (1875), but more recent investigations have sim-
plified his classification and corrected errors which at the time
of his work could not be recognized.

Greil (1903) has shown that the bulbus cordis of more primi-
tive forms is represented in the mammalian heart, first forming
part of the anterior limb and later becoming incorporated in the
wall of the right ventricle and truncus arteriosus. The truncus
arteriosus, as shown above, becomes differentiated into the aorta
and pulmonary artery by the development of the septum which
divides its lumen. Robertson (1913) has shown that, in Lepido-
siren, the septum described a spiral in a clockwise direction from
its distal beginning of 270 degrees. In man this spiral is some-
what less, or about 135 degrees. Distally the septum develops
laterally so that the pulmonary artery is dorsal and the aorta
ventral in position and as they approach the heart the positions
are reversed.

In situs viscerum transversus normal rotation is reversed and
this septum together with other structures of the thorax and
abdomen present a mirror picture of the normal. When the
condition of reversal is limited to the heart it is known as dextro-
cardia. Lochte (1898) suggested that the ventricular loop could
rotate normally or the reverse independently of the remainder of
the heart. Lewis (1915) accepted this theory and by recon-
structing the different developmental stages in reverse rotation
showed that such development is possible. Much experimental

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart © 31

work has been done with the problem of reverse rotation and
while the subject still is obscure in many particulars, there seems
to be no reason why disturbing factors should not produce a
reversal of the ventricular loop without other heart structures
being influenced by them.

The various types of transposition seem to be the result of dis-
turbances of normal rotation of the various parts of the heart.
Rokitansky (1875) believed that if the concavity of the aortic
septum be reversed the relation of the aorta and pulmonary
artery would be reversed. His extensive classification failed to
take into account the possible movement of the ventricular loop,
also he considered a ventricle, even when guarded by a bicuspid
valve, as right when it occupied a position on the right side of
the viscus. It has since been shown by Lochte and others how
important it is to identify the ventricle as tricusped or bicusped.
Keith (1909) suggested that the atrophy of the bulbus cordis
around the pulmonary artery is responsible for the transposition ;
Robertson (1913) has shown that his theory is contrary to fact,
for while he places the aortic orifice on the right and the pul-
monary on the left of the bulbus cordis, exactly the reverse is
true in the dipnoan heart. Robertson concludes from a study of
lower forms that “If the bulbus cordis develops as a short, »
straight tube without any disparity in the length of the walls of
its middle segment, no torsion of the vessels, that is, the aortico-
pulmonary septum, will take place, the middle part of the bulbus
cordis where it should occur being so to speak wiped out.”

A-study of the cases seems to reveal three distinct conditions
which may be classified as follows (Poynter 1916):

1. A failure of rotation of the aortic septum in a heart in
which the ventricular loop has developed normally. The aorta
is in front of the pulmonary artery and opens from a tricusped
ventricle. This is the most frequent form of transposition.

2. A failure of rotation of the aortic septum in a heart which
has developed by rotation in the reverse direction. The aorta is
in front of the pulmonary artery and opens from a tricusped
ventricle. The condition is the mirror picture of the previous
group and may be found in situs viscerum transversus.

32 C. W. M. Poynter

3. The aorta is in front of the pulmonary artery and opens
from a bicusped ventricle. This condition is very difficult to
explain; the most acceptable theory is that there has been a left-
to-right twist of the left around the right ventricle with a corre-
sponding right-to-left deviation of the septum (Lochte).

Clinically the condition presents no special symptoms. It is
usually associated with other congenital lesions of the heart, par-
ticularly defective interventricular septum; however, nine cases
were encountered in this study which presented no other lesion
of importance. The condition was found in 12 per cent. of all
hearts studied and the cases showed an average age of 3 years.
The maximum age was 39 and 75 per cent. of the cases died
under one year.

Class 1: Ring (1805), Baillie (1808), Langstaff (1811), Kreysig (1817),
Nasse (1811), Miller (1822), d’Alton (1824), Tiedemann (1825), Martin
(1826) 2 cases, Martin (1839), Ducrest (1840), Thore (1843), King
(1844), Thore (1845), Beck (1846), Parker (1846), Johnson (1850), Ward
(1851), Keil (1854), Darrach (1857), Meyer (1857), Reynolds (1857),
Cocle (1863), Lebert (1863), de Bary (1864a), Meigs (1867), Arnold
(1868), Frankel (1870), Kelly (1871), Barlow (1876), Maier (1876), Elliot
(1877), Janeway (1877), Martin (1877), Babesiu (1879), Crocker (1879),
Lees (1879), Mackenzie (1879), Mazatti (1879), Peacock & Ashby (1881),
Rickards (1881), Bianchi (1882), v. Etlinger (1882), Holl (1882), Pope
(1882), Scott (1882), Turner (1882), Shattock (1883), Durozier (1885),
Epstein (1886), Harris (1887), Klumpke (1887), Fussell (1888), Gampert
(1889), Mackenzie (1889), Ramm (1889), de Renzie (1889), Revilliod
(1889), Dorning (1890), Preisz (1890), Geipel (1892), Hochsinger (18901),
Lewis (1891), Saunders (1892), Mirinescu (1893), Bonne (1895), Lochte
(1894), Freyberger (1805), Theremin (1895), Caille (1896), Litten
(1896), Monod (1896), Rotch (1896), Coyon (1897) 2 cases, Freyberger
(1898), Rolly (1899), Rudlof (1900), Starck (1900), Meinertz (1901),
Peters (1901), Thiele (1902), Champeter (1903), Cowan (1903), Brain
(1905), Ellis (1905), Apert et Brezaud (1906), Emanuel (1906), Young
(1906), Lucien & Harter (1907), Young & Robinson (1907) 3 cases,
Planchu ἃ Gardére (1909), Wenner (1909) 3 cases, v. BOkay (1911), Lubs
(1911), Robertson (1911), Variot et Moranci (1911), Erdmenger (1912),
Fortmann (1912), Keith (1912), Bissell (1913), Pozdyum (1912), Rivet et
Gerard (1913), Heller ἃ Gruber (1914).

Class 2: Gamage (1815), Hickman (1869), Schrétter (1870), Ogston
(1874), Graanboom (1891), Griffith (1891), Birmingham (1892), McCrae
(1906), Stokes (1909), Wenner (1909).

Class 3: Walsh (1842), Stoltz (1851), Gutwasser (1870), Pye-Smith

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 33

(1872), Rokitansky (1875), Toennies (1884), Klumpke (1887), Wievaea
(1889), Grunmach (1890), Lochte (1898), Thiele (1902), Wenner (1909),
Lubs (1911).

.1). Aorta Opening from Both Ventricles (Rechtslage)

There is still some question as to how this group of cases should
be placed, but, since the theory advanced by Rokitansky basing
their etiology on an irregular development of the aortic septum
is still generally accepted, they are placed in this group. The
aorta is not carried as far to the left as normal and opens over a
defect in the interventricular septum. The condition is gener-
ally associated with pulmonary stenosis or atresia, but there is
no transposition.

Sandifort (1777), Cailliot (1807), Obet (1808), Meckel (1809), Palois
(1809), Howship (1816), Reeland (1818), Cheever (1821), Basedow
(1828), Smith (1841), Peacock (1847), Greig (1852), Sturock (1859),
Mallwo (1860), Peacock (1860), Hervieux (1861), Peacock (1871), Wyss
(1871), Pott (1878), Peacock (1880), Abercrombie (1881), Rickards
(1881), Grant (1883), Toupet (1883), Hayward (1884), Moore (1885),
Vilon (1884), McKee (1887), Murray (1887), Bingham (1889), Hebb
(1889), Pryor (1889), Voelcker (1892), Thomson (1903), Gutkind (1905),
Young & Robinson (1907), Carpenter (1908), Hebb (1913), Morse (1915).

E. Aorta Opening from the Right Ventricle

This group may be considered as due to the same factors which
produced the last condition, carried to a slightly greater degree.
The pulmonary artery is normally placed in relation to the aorta,
but there are some irregularities of the vessels in relation to the
right ventricle which deserve special mention. In Peacock’s
(1856) case the aorta arose from the sinus and the pulmonary
artery from the infundibulum, in Tooth’s (1883) case conditions
were just reversed. van Hall (1825) reported a case in which
the aorta communicated with the right ventricle through a long
canal placed in the muscular wall of the cavity. Hickman (1869)
found the condition in a case of situs viscerum transversus.
The pulmonary is generally contracted.

Méry (1700), Abernethy (1794), van Hall (1825), Babington (1846),
Chevers (1846), Peacock (1846), Peacock (1856), Quain (1856), Meyer

34 (. W. M.-Poynter

(1857), Mallwo (1860), Heine (1861), Hickman (1869), Hunter (1869),
Peacock (1873), Barlow (1876), Pott (1878), Smith (1880), Tooth (1883),
Gevaert (1885), Bury (1887), Habershon (1888), Cadet de Gassecourt
(1890), White (1891), Saunders (1892), Boquet (1893), Bornier (1907),
Hebb (1913).

8 ONL

VI. ABNORMALITIES OF THE PULMONARY ΤΑΌΝΚ

A and B. Pulmonary Stenosis and Atresia

Anomalous development, leading to partial or complete closure
of the pulmonary artery, is of frequent occurrence among con-
genital heart irregularities. In this study it is present in almost
34. per cent. of all cases. A variety of conditions is found; the
artery may simply be smaller than normal or the stenosis may be
confined to the orifice, the semilunar valves may be grown to-
gether so that only a minute opening remains or closed forming
an obstructive diaphragm, the artery may be shrunken to form
a fibrous cord or be entirely wanting.

The presence of this anomaly in conjunction with others of the
heart has long been recognized. Morgagni (1728) considered
the condition congenital and believed that it was responsible for
the persistence of the foramen ovale by the stagnation of blood
in the right ventricle. As already pointed out, Hunter saw a
connection between the stenosed artery and defective ventricular
septum.

Many observers have considered that the condition resulted
from foetal endocarditis and, although this cause is not now gen-
erally accepted, it is impossible to prove that certain cases are not
produced by an early inflammatory reaction. Peacock and Ro-
kitansky looked on the condition as the result of error in devel-
opment of the aortic septum. It seems to me that Keith (1909)
has offered the most satisfactory explanation in his classification
of the cases as partial or complete arrest of developmental expan-
sion of the infundibulum.

Cases of complete obstruction of the pulmonary artery may be
compensated for by defective ventricular septum, open ductus
arteriosus or, more rarely, enlarged bronchial arteries. Cyanosis

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 35

is more frequently found in these cases than any other type of
irregularity, but is by no means constant. There seems to be
no foundation for the statement, which has been frequently made,
that they are particularly subject to pulmonary tuberculosis.

This anomaly has been of more interest clinically than any
other congenital cardiac condition. Various symptoms and phys-
ical signs have been suggested as characteristic for the lesion; it
is, I think, generally admitted that the exact diagnosis of the
other anomalies which so frequently accompany it is impossible.
Its association with other lesions may be seen by reference to the
clinical classification in Section XVII. Many of the statistical
studies of age at death, etc., are of slight value because they do
not take into account the part played by the associated anomalies.

The frequency relationship of stenosis to atresia has been re-
ported as follows:

RCAC @ Cuan nities arn isu «We enters ων sree Moe 90: 29
ΚΘ ΠΟ ΒΒ 1 erie ΣΉ ΡΥ ΤΡ Στ ΝΣ ΤΣ 81: 33
IB) dS Re ee ey eon ον ΑΚ ΚΥΝῚ 30:4

GCIs tra art nena ΒΥ ores τ mesa tis jatarere 64: 26
NIDIBYOE? yas oog ER EE Cpe REMORSE PEACE ER τος 116: 34
δ] πὴ οὐ Πρ τ cy Pavers cl Weta nciey OamNanar areas el Ων: 158: 94

A. Pulmonary.Stenosis

The narrowing of the pulmonary trunk may involve the orifice
or a part or all of the canal or both. Keith thinks that in 90 per
cent. of the cases the right ventricle in its infundibular portion
is also involved. JI am sure that such an estimate is too high if
we are to rely on the published reports in this series. Hyper-
trophy and dilatation of the right ventricle occur in many cases,
but these conditions are by no means constant.

As already pointed out, the position of the aortic opening is
changed in many cases so that it may open from the right ventricle.

The same general statements apply equally to atresia of the
pulmonary artery, consequently a separate discussion for such
cases 1s not called for. Lists of cases for both stenosis and
atresia follow, grouping the cases according to the anatomical
position of the lesion.

26 (. W. M. Poynter

1. Stenosis of the pulmonary orifice: Baillie (1808), Marshall (1830),
Lexis (1835), Escalier (1845), Itiff (1845), Shearman (1845), Peacock
(1846), Denucé (1849), Quain (1856), Hare (1860), Heine (1861), Mann-
koff (1862), Vulpian (1868), Peacock (1869) 2 cases (1871), Deguise
(1872), Johnson (1872), Rex (1874), Peacock (1876), Saundby (1877),
Crocker (1878), Bussey (1880), Féréol (1881), Petit) (1881), Rickards
(1881), Revilliod (1882), Livingston (1883), Bury (1884), Kruger (1884),
Bull (1885), Dumontpallier (1885), Gevaert (1885), Schrotter (1887),
Toupet (1887), Bingham (1888), Luzet (1890), Liegeois (1891), Ruge
(1891), Moore (1892), Steven (1892), Freyberger (1895), Nazaroff
(1895), Rheiner (1896), Coyon (1897), Hun (1897), Keith (1898), Thom-
son (1898), Rudlof (1900), Burke (1902), Krausse (1905), Bissell (1913),
Milland (1914). Total 54 cases.

2. Stenosis of the pulmonary trunk: Chemeneau (1699), Sandifort
(1777), Hunter (1783), Abernathy (1794), Palois (1809), Schuler (1810),
Dorsay (1812), Knox (1815), Hein (1816), Marx (1820), Miller (1822),
Graves & Houston (1830), Bloxam (1834), Napper (1840), Ward &
Parker (1846), Peacock (1846) (1849), Maurice (1853), Quain (1856),
Peacock (1856), Voss (1856), Carson (1857), Meyer (1857), Peacock
(1860), Virchow (1861), Peacock (1870), Wyss (1871), Allis (1872),
Assmus (1877), Buhl (1878), Cossy (1878), Crocker (1879) 2 cases,
Mackenzie (1879), Peaccck (1879), Lees (1880), Peacock (1880), Schantz
(1880), Abercrombie (1881), Eskridge (1881), Cadet de Gassecourt
(1882), Graves & Houston (1883), Toupet (1883), Hayward (1884),
Moore (1884), Durozier (1885), Moore (1885), Sewastianoff (1885),
Vilon et Lévéque (1885), Barbillon (1886), Murray (1887), Schule (1888),
Hebb (1889), Mann (1889), Moore (1889), Cadet de Gassecourt (1890),
Holt (1890), Preisz (1890) 3 cases, Stadler (1890), Variot (1890), Moore
(1891), Renvers (1891), Rolleston (1891), Ruge (1891), Brauner (1802),
Moore (1892), Voelcker (1892), Pic (1893), Boquet (1893), Lépine
(1894), Frenkel (1896), Jacobson (1897), Trepp (1808), Wendle (1808),
Starck (1900), Burke (1902) 2 cases, Cautley (1902), Spalverini et Bar-
bieri (1902) 2 cases, Cowan (1903), Griffith (1903); Peiper (1903),
Schreiber (1903), Letulle (1904), Minkowski (1904), Ellis (1905), Eman-
uel (1906), Ktthne (1906), Carpenter (1908) (1909), Paterson (1909),
Serverog (1910), Wassenbach (1910), Boxwell (1012), Keith (1912),
Black (1914), Hebb (1913) 2 cases, Hinger (1913), Pozdyunm (1012),
Heller & Gruber (1914). Total 104 cases.

B, 1. Atresia of the pulmonary orifice: This list also includes all cases
in which the position of the obliteration is not stated. Fleischmann (1815),
Meckel (1815), Howship (1816), Cheever (1821), van Hall & Vrolik
(1825), Mauran (1827), Fearn (1834), Spittal (1835), Douglas (1842),
Mansfeld (1843), Friedeberg (1844), Shearman (1843), Chambers (1846),
Chevers (1846), Peacock (1846), Bednar (1852), Wallach (1852), Hare

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 37

(1853), Darrach (1857), Graily-Hewitt (1856), Morey (1857), Baly
(1858), Gueniot (1862), Peacock (1864), Rauchfuss (1864), Arnold
(1868), Peacock (1869) 2 cases, Deguisé (1872), Peacock (1873), Lucas
(1874), Heinman (1878), Pott (1878) 2 cases, Raub (1878), Nixon (1879),
Pott (1879), Luneau (1880), Stifel (1880), Cronk (1881), Vilon et
Lévéque (1884), Ashby (1884), Leo (1886), Vincenzi (1886), Bury (1887),
Bingham (1888), Howard (1891) (1802), Burgess (1803), Probyn-
Williams (1894), Hunsberger (1808), Civatte (1900), Potter (1900),
Symington (1900), Thomson (1900), Andrews (1902), Audry (1902),
Bourlot (1902), Bouchacourt et Coudert (1904), Nau (1904), Kuthne
(1906), Bornier (1907), Hand (1908), Wenner (1909) 2 cases, Hebb
(1913), Rivet et Gerard (1913). Total 66 cases.

2. Pulmonary artery a solid cord: Hunter (1783), Basedow (1828),
Chassinat' (1836), Smith (1841), Babington (1846), Crisp (1846), Sturock
(1859), Olliver (1861), Hickman (1869), Hunter (1869), Peacock (1871),
Turner (1882), Brewer (1885), McKee (1887), Habershon (1888), Griffith
(1891), Grothe (1898), McCrae (1906), Young ἃ Robinson (1907), Pap-
penheimer (1913), Morse (1915). Total 21 cases.

3. Entire absence of the pulmonary trunk: Crisp (1846), Almagro
(1862), Hunter (1870), Peacock (1879), Grant (1883), Pryor (1889),
Gutkind (1903), Hebb (1913) 2 cases. Total 9 cases.

exe.

Vilo ABNORMALITIES OF THE- AORTA
A. Aortic Stenosis and Atresia

These cases are not common and are difficult to distinguish
from the results of post-natal endocarditis. It seems reasonable
to suppose that the congenital cases are the result of the same
type of developmental disturbance which produces similar condi-
tions of the pulmonary trunk. Thérémin collected 17 cases, but
it seems probable that a number of these are not of congenital
origin. The condition is associated with defective ventricular
septum and patent ductus arteriosus. The average duration of
life is 2 days. Devillier’s (1860) case was an obliteration of the
orifice, but those reported by Ziegenspeck (1888), Klipstein
(1890), Konstantinowitsch (1906) and Gladstone & Russmann
(1915) showed obliteration of the ascending portion as well.

1. Stenosis of aortic orifice: Dittrich (1852), Blin (1854), Hare (1860),
Allis (1872), Pott (1879), Etlinger (1882) 2 cases. Eppinger (1889).

38 C. W. M. Poynter

2. Stenosis of the ascending trunk: Parker (1847), Dittrich (1849), de
Bary (1846), Maier (1876), Peacock (1877), Geffrier (1881), Holt (1883),
Ziegenspeck (1888), Eppinger (1889), Klipstein (1889), Preisz (1890) 3
cases, Lamouroux (1899), Cautley (1908), Wenner (1909) 3 cases.

B. Atresia of the Aortic Arch

These cases do not belong with a study of the heart, but are
presented here because they are frequently encountered with con-
genital heart disease and act physiologically just as the preceding
group. The condition consists of the complete or partial oblit-
eration of the aorta just above the opening of the ductus arte-
riosus, so that the descending aorta receives its blood from the
pulmonary artery through the persistent ductus.

Two groups of cases must be recognized. In the first the left
subclavian artery arises normally and the anomaly consists of
the obliteration of the dorsal root of the left fourth arch and the
persistence of the left pulmonary arch. In the second group the
left subclavian artery springs from the juncture of the ductus
and the descending aorta, and the anomaly is an obliteration of
the fourth left arch and dorsal root and the persistence of the
left pulmonary arch.

Cases showing a constriction in the region of the fourth arch
and dorsal root have been reported by Valenti & Pisenti (1896),
Lewis (1903) and Pansch (1905). The condition of atresia
may occur without cardiac anomalies, but even so, no case lived
longer than 9 months and dyspnoea and cyanosis were frequently
observed; cases studied as follows:

Gibert (1832), Greig (1852), Schilling (1857), Smith (1860), Cameron
(1871), Barlow (1876), Osler (1880), Potocki (1886), de Renzi (1889).

8 SINE,

Vit ABNOR VEE TE Ξ Oi ΤΉ Sia Mane πὸ
NATE

These conditions, were recognized by the earlier observers, but
attracted very little interest; later, when the development of the
valve became better understood, more attention was given to the
subject.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart | 39

The causative factors are still in debate; Peacock discussed the
possibilities and came to the conclusion that in the cases where
the number of cusps was reduced a large majority were of con-
genital origin but that in certain cases a fusion of the leaflets from
endocarditis might occur after birth and be difficult to recognize.
Abbott quotes Osler as saying that the cases are due to fusion
during fcetal life because: (1) The presence of a low, sometimes
half-obliterated raphe behind one of the cusps; (2) compensa-
tory changes in the cusps so that their free edge becomes equal
to or even shorter than the single segment, and (3) the fusion
of the coronary or right and left segments. Launois et Villaret
(1905) concluded that the cases they studied were congenital
because there was no histological evidence of inflammation or
adhesion. In the cases of supernumerary leaflets there is gen-
erally no question of the congenital origin of the case. A few
cases have been found in which a band stretches across the lumen
of the artery above the valves; Archer (1878) thinks these are
anomalous supernumerary cusps.

The classification is simple, as indicated by the arrangement of
the following cases:

A. Pulmonary Semilunar Valves.

1. No valves: Whittle (1889).

2. One valve: Moore (1802).

3. Two valves: Graves (1841), Ward & Parker (1846), Jackson (1849),
Peacock (1849), Buhl (1857), Peacock (1856), Loschner & Lambl (1860),
Peacock (1866) 4 cases (1871), Deguise (1872), Buhl (1878), Pott (1878)
2 cases, Mackenzie (1879), Peacock (1879), Borresi (1880), Lees (1880),
O’Sullivan (1880), Revilliod (1882), Tooth (1883), Durozier (1885), Vite
(1886), Foot (1888), Hebb (1889), Oliver (1889), Preisz (1890) 2 cases,
Fennell (1891), Delitzin (1802), Saunders (1892), Rheiner (1806), Hebb
(1897), Minkowski (1904), Carpenter (1906), Kuhne (1906), Carpenter
(1908), Girauld et Tissier (1910), Wassenbach (1910), Hebb (1913) 2
cases, Monteiro (10917).

4. Four valves: Tuineau-de Mussy 1836), Loschner & Lambl (1860),
Carter (1873), Wilson (1876), Bernard (1880), Brtininghausen (1880),
Tirard (1880), Martenotti (1886), Vite (1886), Delitzen (1892) 3 cases,
Virchow (1896), Crowder (1897), Griffith (18907), Launois et Villaret
(1905), Reid (1011).

B. Aortic Senulunar Valves.
1. One valve: Martenotti (1886).

40 Ca Μ. Ῥογηίου

2. Two Valves: Spittal (1830), Andral (1838), Blin (1854), Quain &
Sibbald (1856), Hare (1860), Greenfeld (1876), Alezias (1880), Tirard
(1880), Rickards (1881), Sailer (1885), Vite (1886) 2 cases, Foot (1888),
Berger (1800), Preisz (1890) 2 cases, Ucke (1895), Hebb (18097), Rainer
(1897), Barbo (1900), Macaigne et Lucien (1912).

3. Four valves: Lindenberger (1893) 2 cases.

Summary:
Pulmonary Artery Aorta Type Variation
I No valve
I I One valve
44 21 Two valves
17 2 Four valves
§ XIV.

IX. ANOMALIES OF THE ATRIO-VENTRICU-—
τ ΟΝ ΠΕΡΊ ΙΕ Αἰ ΑΙ νι

In the cases on single atrio-ventricular opening the right is
most frequently wanting and the condition generally occurs in
bilocular hearts. No very satisfactory explanation has been
offered for the irregularity. Mauran (1827a) found a single
auricle and ventricle connected by a tricuspid valve, also Keith
(1912) reported an arrest of development of the left heart with
no atrio-ventricular opening on that side. Potter (1906), Rogers
(1905) and Cohn (1904) found the right atrio-ventricular open-
ing lacking in four chambered hearts ; other anomalies were pres-
ent in each case. In cases by Ballet (1880) and Andrews (1902)
there was no connection between the right atrium and ventricle,
but the right atrio-ventricular opening was into the left ven-
tricle. Martin (1877) reported a long canal from the right
atrium opening into the posterior wall of the ventricle and taking
the place of the normal orifice.

It was not thought necessary to collect the cases of stenosis
because all of the cases examined seemed to be of undoubted
inflammatory origin.

Anomalies of the valves are of rare occurrence ; Cordell (1884)
reported a single mitral valve and Geipel (1903) three cases.
Stuhlweissenburg (1912) found a case of double left atrio-
ventricular opening, each guarded by valves. Pisenti (1888)
reported a congenital anomaly of the tricuspid valve.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 41

Following are cases of single atrio-ventricular opening:

Martin (1826), Mauran (1827), Thore (1842) (1843), Vernon (1856),
Martin (1877), Jacoby (1884), Chapatot (1889), Reifschlager (1807),
Turner (1891), Grothe (1898), Grosse (1903), Schreiber (1903), Wright
ἃ Drake (1903), Cohn (1904), Lefas (1904), Rogers (1905), Kihne
(1906), Paterson (1908), Keith (1912).

SE

Me MRE UCARI TIES IN DEVELOPMENT OF Weis
ςτὸ ARE πιο

This structure is a part of the arterial system and is only con-
sidered with cardiac anomalies on physiological grounds. Our
interest is principally in persistent patency which is the only
condition which will be presented here.

The first case of persistent duct was probably not described by
Botallenus, after whom it has been called, but by Galenus, who
seemed to know of the changes which occur after birth. Fallo-
pius and Cardanus both knew of the duct and that it could
remain open after birth. The function seems to have been well
described by Harvey in his Motu Cordis en Sanguinis (1648).

The factors which prevent the normal obliteration are no better
understood than those which cause the right aortic arch to per-
sist in certain cases, or, indeed, bring about any other develop-
mental irregularity; a number of theories have been advanced
which it is not profitable to discuss here.

Persistent patency may occur as an isolated lesion or, more
frequently, in conjunction with other congenital cardiac anoma-
lies. In the isolated lesions Goodman (1910) found that females
are affected more frequently than males in the ratio of 20:11.
The oldest case was 53; death could not be attributed to the open
duct, although 7 were persistently cyanotic and 16 suffered from
dyspnoea. There seems to be no pathognomonic sign or symp-
tom, yet from the symptom complex a clinical diagnosis may be
made. A full review of the clinical diagnosis has been made by
Wells (1908). Vierordt thought that the condition of isolated
frequency constituted about 4 per cent. of all congenital cardiac
disease but Wells thinks the frequency is much greater. The

42 C. W. M. Poynter

condition is not incompatible with a fair duration of life, but few
cases lived beyond 50 years. As one element in maldevelopment
complexes the condition is not of unusual occurrence. In this
study open ductus arteriosus is present in slightly more than 25
per cent. of the hearts studied, making it the third lesion in order |
of frequency; as an isolated lesion it is present in 3.7 per cent.
of cases.

Hunter (1783), Standert (1805), Baillie (1808) 2 cases, Obet (1808),
Meckel (1809), Langstaff (1811), Howship (1813), Jurine (1815), Krey-
sig (1817), Reeland (1818), Cheever (1821), Tiedemann (1825), van Hall
et Vrolik (1825), Martin (1826), Cerutti (1827), Houzelot (1827), Mauran
(1827), Basedow (1828), Graves & Houston (1830), Gibert (1832), Spittal
(1835), Chassinat (1836), Smith (1841), Douglas (1842), Babington
(1846), Peacock (1846), Rees (1848), Bernutz (1849), Denuce (1849),
Peacock (1849), Johnson (1850), Stoltz (1851), Greig (1852), Hare
(1853), Keil (1854), Luys (1855), Graily-Hewett (1856), Peacock (1856),
Willigk (1854), Darrach (1857), Meyer (1857), Morey (1857), Schilling
(1857), Baly (1858), Sturock (1859), Devilliers (1860), Hare (1860),
Saunders (1860), Smith (1860), Heine (1861), Metcalf (1861), Ollivier
(1861), Almagro (1862), Duroziez (1862), Gueniot (1862), de Bary
(1864), Peacock (1864), Arnold (1868), Hickman (1869), Hunter (1869),
Cameron (1871), Peacock (1871), Johston (1872), Fogge (1873), Pea-
cock (1873), Lucas (1874), Barlow (1876), Katz (1877), Walsham (1877),
Francais (1878), Heniman (1878), Pott (1879), Hildrith (1880), Lees
(1880), Malherbe (1880), Osler (1880), Stifel (1880), Tirard (1880), v.
Etlinger (1881) 2 cases, Holl (1882), Scott (1882), Turner (1882), Holt
(1883), Livingston (1883) 2 cases, Ashby (1884), Coupland (1884), Foulis
(1884), Holt (1884), Darier (1885), Epstein (1886), Gilbert (1886), Leo
(1886), Potocki (1886), Vincenzi (1886), Harris (1887), Klumpke (1887),
McKee (1887), Murray (1887), Hopkins (1888), Ziegenspeck (1888), de
Renzi (1889), Klipstein (1889) 2 cases, Miura (1889), Preisz (1890),
Howard (1891), Lewis (1891), Moore (1891), Ruge (1891) 2 cases,
Hochhaus (1892), Moore (1892), Saunders (1892), Laine (1893), Haury
(1894), Probyn-Williams (1894), Stembo (1894), Freyberger (1805),
Monod (1896), Rheiner (1806), Coyon (1897), Drasche (1808), Gerard
(1898), Grothe (1898), Hunsberger (1808), Lamouroux (1899), Lowen-
thal (1900), Potter (1900), Starck (1900), Audry (1902), Bourlot (1902),
Spalverini et Barbieri (1902), Cowan (1903) 3 cases, Gutkind (1903),
Lewis (1903), Moore (1903), Schreiber (1903), Brittauer (1905), Chartier
(1905), Chessman (1905), Ellis (1905) 2 cases, Pansch (1905), Apert et
Brezaud (1906), Konstantinowitsch (1906), Bornier (1907), Lucien et
Harter (1907), Young & Robinson (1907), Carpenter (1908) 2 cases, Caut-
ley (1908), Wells (1908), Carpenter (1909), Wenner (1909) 4 cases,

Congenital Anomalies of the ΠΙσαγὶ 43

Weiss-Eder (1909), Bellubekranz (1910) 2 cases, Mead (1910), Kingsley
(1911), Robertson (1911), Keith (1912) 2 cases, Pappenheimer (1913),
Heller ἃ Gruber (1914), Milland (1914), Morse (1915). Total 183 cases.

Savile

Ma IRREGUUARIDIBS Of Th VEINS ENTERING
Wels ΕΠ ΠΤ

An exact study οἵ the venous variations will appear later, but
since these anomalies are frequently encountered in connection
with congenital cardiac disease, I have included the following
references for those who may be interested in such irregularities.

A. Pulmonary Veins.—Of the pulmonary veins those on the
left more frequently unite to form a common trunk before en-
tering the atrium. ‘This condition is probably brought about by
the absorption of the original single common trunk into the atrial
wall, so that each comes to open separately; this is hardly
anomalous.

The upper vein on the right may open into the superior vena
cava as in cases by Wilson (1798), Breschet (1826), Otto (1830),
Meckel (1820), Gruber (1876), and Ingalls (1907).

According to Federow (1910) the pulmonary veins develop as
buds of the sinus venosus after the heart and other vessels have
been established; hence these may form irregular connections by
union with aberrant branches of vessels already developed. Brown
(1913) found an early vascular plexus, splanchnic plexus, in the
cat, which is carried down as the lung bud develops and early
connects with the sinus venosus and the post cava. By persist-
ence of the post caval tap he explains the case of Park (1912)
in which the right pulmonary vein pierces the diaphragm and
connects with the post cava. Harrison (1844) reports a case of
the pulmonary veins opening into the vena azygos major and
Schattock (1883) a case in which they opened into the systemic
veins.

The following reports are of the pulmonary veins entering the
right atrium: Lacroix (1844), Taylor (1845), Chiari (1880), v.
Etlinger (1881), Epstein (1886), Hepburn (1887), and Hick-

44 C. W. Μ. Poynter

man (1869) ; and Crocker (1879) the homologous condition in
situs viscerum transversus.

Duchek (1862) reported a very interesting condition in which
the right pulmonary veins opened into the right ventricle.

B. Systemic Veins—Occasionally two superior ven cave are
encountered. In these cases the right opens into the right atrium
in the normal way, while the left enters the right atrium through
the coronary sinus. This is a case of persistence of the left duct
of Cuvier and part of the anterior cardinal vein; cases are not
infrequent.

Longhurst (1874) reported the inferior vena cava entering the
ieft atrium and Crocker (1879) and Miura (1889) observed the
superior vena cava entering the same chamber. Cases in which
both superior and inferior venze cave entered the left atrium
were reported by Jacoby (1884) and Lucien & Harter (1907).
Barbo (1900) saw the superior and inferior venz cavee open into
the right atrium in a case of situs viscerum transversus.

ὃ στ,

CHEUNG NES Cle ΘΕ ΚΘ ΕΊΚΟΝΙ

In discussing the difficulties of classification I have already
pointed out that to properly understand the congenital heart
anomalies it is necessary to study each lesion independently of all
others which may be present. The first section of this study has
been taken up with the examination of each anomaly which this
collection of hearts has furnished, and considering each without
regard to any other irregularity which may be, occasionally or
frequently, found in association with it.

In this section the cases are regrouped according to the differ-
ent lesion complexes which they present. I have used the defects
of the cardiac septa as the leading lesions simply because they
are of frequent occurrence, any other scheme would lead to the
same results. Many simple conditions which have been fully
treated in the first part are omitted here to avoid repetition. The
more exact distinctions in lesions, as the position of a defect of
the interventricular septum or of pulmonary stenosis are not at-

Congemtal Anomalies of the Heart 45

tempted, but by a critical comparison of any of the following lists
with those in the various previous sections such information can
be readily gained.

I. Cases of Single Ventricle
(No Other Lesion)

No symptoms seem to be characteristic ; one case had cyanosis
and one was dyspneeic. The average age was slightly more than
10 months if we exclude Kleinschmidt’s case which lived to be 64.

Schenck (1600), Playfair (1870), Chiari (1879), Kleinschmidt (1881),

Jellett (1897), Baumgarth (1902), Cautley (1908), Sokolow (1910), Pen-
ner (1911), Gladstone ἃ Russmann (1015).

(a) With Defective Atrial Septum.

Average age 2% months, excluding one case which lived to be
24 years, persistent cyanosis slightly more frequent than in the
preceding.

Otto (1814), Mackel (1815), Tiedemann (1825), Mayer (1827), Thore
(1842), Hale (1853), Guibert (1860), Jacoby (1884), Sanger (1889), Preisz

(1890), Keith (1898), Rudlof (1900), Cautley (1901), Grosse (1903),
Paterson (1908), Girauld et Tissier (1910).

(0) With Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Only two cases by Ziegenspeck (1888) and Letulle (1904) ;
the first was complicated by an atresia of the aorta which is not
receiving separate recognition in this group, lived 15 days; the
second may perhaps have had a congenital stenosis of the pul-

monary artery, although I have not so interpreted it; case lived
16 years and died of tuberculosis.

(c) With Atrial Septum Defective and Ductus Arteriosus Per-
sistent.

Case by Kreysig (1817) lived 22 years; that of Devilliers
(1860) and Konstantinowitsch (1906) less than one week, each
of the latter had atresia of the aorta.

(d) With Pulmonary Stenosis.

Chemeneau (1699), Buhl (1857), Emanuel (1906) ; latter was
cyanotic and lived for 7 years, others were foetuses.

46 C. W. Μ. Poynter

(6) With Pulmonary Stenosis and Open Ovale.

Meckel (1815), Hein (1816), Marx (1820), Carson (1857), Bull (1885),
Holt (1890), Paterson (1909).

(f) With Pulmonary Stenosis, Open Ovale and Ductus Arte-
riosus Persistent.

Fleischmann (1815), Chevers (1846), Crisp (1846), Bednar (1852),
Almagro (1862), Rauchfuss (1864), Brewer (1885), Northrup (1888),
Ruge (1891), Williams (1892), Hunsburger (1808), Potter (1900),
Bouchacourt et Coudert (1904).

Average age I year ὃ months, maximum 12 years.

(g) With Transposition of Aorta and Pulmonary Artery.

Elliot (1877), Martin (1877), Bianchi (1882), Fussell (1888), Boucha-
court et Coudert (1904), Emanuel (1906), Young (1906), Young & Robin-
son (1907), Stokes (1908), Fortman (1912), Rivet et Gerard (1913).

Average age about 10 years 3 months.

(h) With Transposition and Open Ovale.

Breschet (1826) 2 cases, Martin (1826), Mauran (1827), Thore (1843)
(1845), Arnold (1868), Turner (1882), Shattock (1883), Revilliod (1889),
Reifschlager (1897), Champeter de Ribes (1903), Robertson (1911), Pap-
penheimer (1913).

The following cases of the two preceding groups had in addi-
tion an atresia of the pulmonary artery: Mauran, Arnold, Turner,
Pappenheimer, and Rivet; it is to be noted in Arnold’s case that
the ovale was closed but the ductus arteriosus was patent.

(7) With Truncus Communis Arteriosus.

Wilson (1798), Standert (1805), Farre (1814), Stoltz (1841), Rams-
botham (1846), Foster (1847), Clark (1848), Vernon (1856), Clar (1858),
Bernard (1860), Bradley (1873), Pott (1879), Robinson (1881), Clarke
(1884), Keith (1898), Wright & Drake (1903), Lefas (1904), Wenner
(1909), Knope (1912).

The average for this group is 2 months 10 days; all of the
cases show a defective atrial septum and in the majority the
septum is entirely wanting, see group immediately following
which is abstracted from all the preceding cases to cover the
title bilocular heart.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 47

Il. Single Ventricle and Single Atrium (Cor biloculare)

This group contains, in addition to the common irregularities
of septum, pulmonary stenosis and atresia, transposition and per-
sistent truncus.

Wilson (1798), Standert (1805), Otto (1814), Meckel (1815), Breschet
(1826), Martin (1826), Mauran (1827), Mayer (1827), Thore (1842)
(1845), Crisp (1846), Foster (1846), Ramsbotham (1846), Clar (1858),
Bernard (1860), Guibert (1860), Almagro (1862), Elliot (1877), Robinson
(1881), Schattock (1884), Jacoby (1884), Bull (1885), Turner (1882),
Northrup (1888), Hunsburger (1898), Rudlof (1900), Champetier (1903),
Grosse (1903), Lefas (1904), Girauld (1910), Knope’ (1912).

By removing Hunsberger’s case aged 12 years and Bull’s aged
5 years the average age of the remainder of the group is only
50 days.

Ill. Ventricular Septum Present but Defective
(No Other Lesion)

The average for this group is 10 years 94 months, the maxi-
mum age 65, of a case reported by Meyer.

Cailliot (1807), Meckel (1809), Howship (1816), Pulteney (1818), Louis
(1823), Wittcke (1828), Husson (1836), Ktrschner (1837), Parker (1847),
Peacock (1847), Hare (1846), Greig (1852), Pellizzari (1858), Loschner
& Lamb! (1860), Hillier (1861), Bouillaud (1862), Vulpian (1868), Kelly
(1869), Guillon (1873), Boissel (1875), Palaillon (1876), Descaisne (1877),
Coupland (1878), Crocker (1878), Huart (1879), Pott (1879), Bernobie
(1881), Chiari (1881), Duret (1881), Grandi (1881), Hadden (1881),
Rickards (1881), Orth (1881), Stone (1881), Tooth (1883), Haywood
(1884), Chaffey (1885), Barbillon (1886), Willcocks (1886), Foot (1887),
Hebb (1889), Audry et Lecroix (1890), Macaigne (1890), Preisz (1890),
Dupré (1891), Rolleston (1801), Renvers (1801), White (1801), Tate
(1891), Wilbouschewitch (1891), Geipel (1892), Guttmann (1892), Bir-
mingham (1893), Bennetz (1895), Meslay (1895), Railton (1895), Eisen-
menger (1897), Gordon (1897), Hebb (1807), Keim (1897), Broesmer
(1898), Eisenmenger (1898), Lowenthal (1900), Vinay (1900), Andrews
(1902), Audry (1902), Durante (1902), Cowan (1903), Apert (1904),
Delepine & Borse (1904), Ferraro (1904), Aneille (1905), Carpenter
(1906), Petit (1906), Valz (1907), Carpenter (1909), Norris (1911),
Bartels (1913), Black (1914), Hebb (1913), Meyer (1913), Griffith (1915),
Gladstone & Russmann (1915), Parrura (1916).

48 C. W. M. Poynter

(a) With Defective Atrial Septum.

Mery (1700), Cerutti (1827), Hare (1846), Mallwo (1860), Mackenzie
(1889), Gelan (1873), Laine (1893), da Costa (1870), Bullet’ (1880),
O’Sullivan (1880), Smith (1880), Geffrier (1881), Marchand (1881),
Barand ἃ Barry (1884), Chaffey (1884), Epstein (1886), Chapatot (1889),
Preisz (1890), Ruge (1891), Turner (1891), Packard (1806), Griffith
(1897) (1902), Blondel (1904), Pritchard (1904), Rogers & Fortiscue
(1905), Boulach (1910), Foggie (1910), Erdmenger (1912).

(b) With Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Obet (1808), Meckel (1809), Greig (1852), Hildrith (1880), Osler
(1880), Coupland (1884), Potocki (1886), de Renzi (1889), Haury (1804),
Bellubekranz (1900), Chessman (1905), Cautley (1908), Carpenter (1909),
Keith (1912).

(c) With Open Ovale and Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Reeland & Freiderich (1818), Cameron (1871), Barlow (1876), Lees
(1880), Tirard (1880), Klipstein (1889), Lamouroux (1899), Moore
(1903), Chartier (1905), Carpenter (1908), Wenner (1909).

(d) With Pulmonary Artery Stenosed.

The average age for this group is 9% years, maximum 36
years, or roughly there died in the first decade 66 per cent., in
the second 15 per cent., in the third 17 per cent. and in the fourth
iE PeEcentt:

Sandifort (1777), Abernethy (1794), Palois (1809), Marshall (1830),
Escalier (1845), Peacock (1846), Ward ἃ Parker (1846), Jackson (1849),
Maurice (1853), Peacock (1856), Voss (1856), Meyer (1857), Quain &
Sibbold (1856), Hare (1860), Loschner & Lambl (1860), Mallwo (1860),
Peacock (1860) (1869) (1870) (1871), Wyss (1871), Deguise (1872),
Demange (1874), Jackson (1875), Peacock (1876), Assmus (1877), Buhl
(1878), Cossy (1878), Crocker (1878) (1879), Mackenzie (1879), Pea-
cock (1879), Borresi (1880), Bussey (1880), Lees (1880), Peacock (1880),
Schantz (1880), Abercrombie (1881), Orth (1881), Féréol (1881), Petit
(1881), Rickards (1881), Stone (1881), Cadet de Gassecourt (1882), Re-
villiod (1882), Moutart-Marten (1883), Hayward (1884), Menetrier
(1884), Dumontpallier (1885), Gevaert (1885), Moore (1885), Sewastia-
noff (1885), Barbillon (1886), Murray (1887), Schrotter (1887), Schule
(1888), Bingham (1888), Hebb (1889), Moore (1889), Oliver (1889),
Cadet de Gassecourt (1890), Preisz (1890), Stadler (1890), Variot et
Gampert (1890), Liegeois (1891), Renvers (1891), Rolleston (1891),
Braunner (1892), Steven (1892), Voelcker (1892), Boquet (1893), Haury
(1894), Northrup (1894), Passow (1894), Rheiner (1896), Young (1806),

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 49

Keith (1808), Wendle (1808), Trepp (1898), Fennell (1901), Cautley
(1902), Spalverini (1902), Peiper (1903), Ellis (1905), Young (1907),
Thomson (1908), Norris (1911), Keith (1912), Bissell (1913), Hebb
(1913), Henger (1913).

(e) With Pulmonary Stenosis and Open Ovale.

Average age at death 9% years, maximum 23 years; 32 per
cent. of this group showed marked cyanosis as against 25 per
cent: in the preceding group.

Hunter (1783), Dorsay (1812), Knox (1815), Bloxam (1834), Lexis
(1835), Napper (1840), Itiff (1845), Denucé (1849), Quain (1856), Gubler
(1861), Kussmaul (1866), Rex (1874), Crocker (1878) (1879), O’Sullivan
(1880), Toupet (1883), Moore (1884), Vilon et Lévéque (1885), Toupet
(1887), Lépine (1894), Nazaroff (1895), Siredey (1806), Jacobson (1807),
Armand-Delille (1900), Andrews (1902), Burke (1902), Cohn (1904),
Krausse (1905), Gandy (1909), Serverog (1910), Black (1914), Hinger
(1913), Minkowski (1914).

(f) With Pulmonary Stenosis and Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Graves & Houston (1830), Peacock (1849) (1856), Johnson (1872),
Spalverini et Barbieri (1902), Carpenter (1908), Milland (1914).
(g) With Pulmonary Stenosis, Open Ovale and Patent Ductus
Arteriosus.

Graily-Hewitt (1856), Baly (1858), Heine (1861), Rheiner (1806),
Starck (1900), Cowan (1903), Schreiber (1903), Ellis (1905).

(h) With Pulmonary Atresia.

Nevin (1789), Lediberder (1836), Chambers (1846), Crisp (1846), Wal-
lach (1852), Peacock (1869), Pott (1878), Nixon (1879), Cronk (1881),
Grant (1883), Bury (1887), Habershon (1888), Bingham (1889), Pryor
(1889), Howard (1892), Civatte (1900), Symington (1900), Thomson
(1900), Kiihne (1906), Hand (1908), Hebb (1913).

(j) With Pulmonary Atresia and Open Ovale.

Mansfeld (1843), Shearman (1845), Chevers (1846), Hervieux (1861),
Makuma (1879), Luneau (1880), Vilon et Lévéque (1884), Probyn-
Williams (1894), Gutkind (1903), Wassenbach (1910), Hebb (1913).

(k) With Pulmonary Atresia and Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Howship (1813), van Hall (1825), Chaissinat (1836), Friedeberg (1844),
Babington (1847), Peacock (1846), Morey (1857), Sturock (1859), Pea-
cock (1869) (1871), Hickman (1869), Peacock (1879), Pott (1879),
Vincenzi (1886), McKee (1887), Moore (1892), Lowenthal (1900), Audry
(1902).

50 (. W. M. Poynter

(1) With Pulmonary Atresia, Open Ovale and Patent Ductus
Arteriosus.

Cheever (1821), Basedow (1828), Graves and Houston (1830), Spittal
(1835), Chassinat (1836), Smith (1841), Douglas (1842), Hunter (1869)
(1870), Lucas (1874), Stifel (1880), Burgess (1893), Grothe (1808),
Bourlot (1902), Bornier (1907), Morse (1015).

The average age at death for this group is I year and 9 months.
It is interesting to compare the groups of defective ventricular
septum, open ovale, patent ductus and stenosis of the pulmonary
with the same first three defects and atresia of the pulmonary;
in the first, that is, with stenosis, the average age is 7 years 7
months, in the atresia the age is 5 years 4 months.

(m) With Transposition of Aorta and Pulmonary Artery.

Martin (1839), Parker (1846), de Bary (1864), Babesiu (1879), Toen-

nies (1884), de Renzie (1889), Preisz (1890), Geipel (1892), Saunders
(1892), Coyon (1897), Freyberger (1808), Wenner (1000), Bissell (1913).

(n) With Transposition and Atrial Septum Defective.

Gammage (1815), Nasse (1811), King (1844), Lebert (1863), Maier
(1876), Crocker (1880), Peacock & Ashby (1881), Gampert (1889), Mac-
kenzie (1889), Birmingham (1892), Preisz (1890), Rotch (1896), Starck
(1900), Thiel (1902), Carpenter (1909), Planchu et! Garderé (1909), Keith
(1912).

(0) With Transposition and Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Walshe (1842), Lees (1879), Scott (1882), Saunders (1892), Monod
(1896), Apert et Brezaud (1906), Keith (1912).

With Transposition, Defective Atrial Septum and Patent Ductus.
Martin (1826), Monod (1806), Wenner (1909), Robertson (1011).
(p) With Transposition and Pulmonary Stenosis.

Durozier (1885), Mann (1889), Grunmach (1890), Meinertz (1001),
Pozdyunm (1913).

(q) With Transposition, Pulmonary Stenosis and Open Ovale.

Ring (1805), Mueller (1822), Kussmaul (1866), Stadler (1890), Bir-
mingham (1892), Griffith (1899), Rolly (1899), Rudlof (1900).

(r) With Transposition, Pulmonary Stenosis, Patent Ductus Art.

Etlinger (1882), Freyberger (1904), Heller & Gruber (1914).

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 51

(5) With Transposition and Pulmonary Atresia.
Griffith (1891).

(4) With Transposition, Pulmonary Atresia and Defective Atrial
Sept.

Fearn (1834), McCrae (1905).

(4) With Transposition, Atresia, Defective Atrial Sept. and
Patent Ductus.

Darrach (1857), Young & Robinson (1907).

(v) With Persistent Truncus Communis Arteriosus.

Tonybee (1849), Hyernaux (1851), Pott (1879), Barbillon (1886),.
Preisz (1890), Charrin et LeNoir (1891), Bellot (1895), Gallois (1806),
Petschel (1897), Spalverini et Barbieri (1902), Rispal & Bay (1904),
Elsbergen (1905), Dickson & Fraser (1913).

(w) With Persistent Truncus and Defective Atrial Septum.

Laurence (1837), Buchanan (1864), Barand, Bary (1884), Cade (1897),
Martin (1897), Cautley (1902), Krausse (1906), Wenner (1909).

IV. Foramen Ovale Open

(With No Other Lesion)

Littre (1700), Widmann (1717), Amyaud (1736), du Hamel (1740),
Moreau (1790), Jurine (1815), Pasqualini (1827), Braune (1833), Moret
(1833), Ecker (1839), Harrison (1844), Dittrich (1849), Blin (1854),
Foster (1863), Landouzy (1874), Longhurst (1874), Bogler (1875), Fin-
lay (1878), Caton (1878), Johnson (1878), Makune (1879), Bucquay
(1880), Chiari (1880), Desnos et Callias (1880), Gibier (1880), Smith
(1880), Fowler (1882), Hendly (1887), Oliver (1889), Hadden (1890),
Haw (1890), Monisset (1890), Ruge (1891), Ardissone (1902), Cautley
(1902), Cowan (1903), Delhern (1903), Tylecote (1903), Ohm (1907),
Gasquet (1913).

The average age for this group is 28 years, with a maximum
age of 70 years.
(a) With Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Jurine (1815), Katz (1877), v. Etlinger (1881), Livingston (1883), Holt
(1884), Klipstein (1889), Miura (1889), Hektoen (1899), Carpenter
(1908), Weiss-Eder (1909).

52 (. W. M. Poynter

(b) With Transposition of Aorta and Pulmonary Artery.

d’Alton . (1824), Schilling (1857), Cocle (1863), Dorning (1890),
Caillé (1896), Emanuel (1906), Bokay (1911).

(c) With Transposition and Patent Ductus Arteriosus.

Baillie (1808), Langstaff (1811), Tiedemann (1825), Johnson (1850),
Keil (1854), Meyer (1857), Holl (1882), Epstein (1886), Harris (1887),
Lewis (1891), Coyon (1897), Cowan (1903), Ellis (1905), Lucien et Har-
ter (1907), Wenner (1909).

(d) With Pulmonary Stenosis.

Tacconi (1783), Schuler (1810), Craigie (1843), Peacock (1846), Mann-
kopf (1862), Vulpian (1868), Peacock (1869), Saundby (1877), Bury
(1884), Kruger (1884), Laffitte (1892), Moore (1892), Frenkel (1806),
Hun (1897), Burke (1902), Griffith (1903), Boxwell (1912).

(e) With Pulmonary Stenosis and Patent Ductus Arteriosus.
Moore (1801).
(f) With Atresia of Pulmonary Artery and Patent Ductus
Arteriosus.

Hunter (1783), Howship (1816), Ollivier (1861), Gueniot (1862), Pea-
cock (1864) (1873), Heinman (1878), Livingston (1883), Leo (1886),
Howard (18901).

V. Atrial Septum Defective (not Ovale)

(No Other Lesion)

Lacroix (1844), Taylor (1845), Kelly (1869), Peacock (1877), Hep-
burn (1887), Hopkins (1889), Greenfield (1889), Hebb (1889), Hawkins
(1891), Ruge (i891), Ewald (1808), Henry (1808), Griffith (1809),
Dhotel (1902), Thomson (1903), Ebbinghaus (1904), Soldner (1904),
Ingalls (1907), Carpenter (1908) (1909), Abbott (1910), Metzger (1911),
Reed (1911), Morrison (1912), Lusenbacher (1916).

(a) With Pulmonary Stenosis or Atresia.

Probyn-Williams (1894), Burke (1902), Bernstein (1906).

VI. Transposition of Aorta and Pulmonary Artery

(No Other Lesion)

Beck (1846), Ward (1851), Hickman (1869), Kelly (1871), Ogston
(1874), Pye-Smith (1872), Lees (1880), Ramm (1889), Bonne (1895),

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 53

Peters (1904), Lubs (1911). The average age is 2 months 4 days if
Hickman’s case which lived for 28 years is excluded.

VII. Patent Ductus Arteriosus

(No Other Lesion)

Houzelot (1827), Gibert (1832), Rees (1848), Bernutz (1849), Luys
(1855), Willigk (1854), Hare (1860), Saunders (1860), Smith (1860),
Metcalf (1861), Duroziez (1862), de Bary (1864b), Fogge (1873), Wal-
sham (1877), Francais-Franck (1878), Malherbe (1880), Holt (1883),
Livingston (1883), Foulis (1884), Darier (1885), Gilbert (1886), Murray
(1887), Hochhaus (1892), Stembo (1894), Drasche (1898), Gerard (1808),
Wagner (1903), Brittauer (1905), Pansch (1905), Wells (1908), Good-
man (1910), Mead (1910), Kingsley (1911).

(a) With Pulmonary Stenosis.
Hare (1853), v. Etlinger (1882), Ashby (1884).

(b) With Transposition of Aorta and Pulmonary Artery.
Stoltz (1851), Klumpke (1887).

VIII. Trilocular Heart, Two Ventricles and One Atrium

This group is an abstract from the preceding cases in sections
of defective ventricular and atrial septa for the benefit of the
clinical reports on “ Trilocular Heart.”

Mery (1700), Ring (1805), Cheever (1821), Martin (1826), Cerutti
(1827), Darrach (1857), Almagro (1862), Cameron (1871), Maier (1876),
Marchand (1881), Chapatot (1889), Birmingham (1892), Probyn-Williams
(1894), Cade (1897), Ewald (1808), Rudlof (1900), Blondel (1001),
Griffith (1902), Chartier (1905), Bernstein (1906), McCrae (1906), Car-
penter (1908) (1909), Metzger (1011).

§ XVIII. GENERAL SUMMARY

The preceding study was undertaken as a part of the work of
examining the developmental anomalies of the circulatory sys-
tem ; in this relation it does not appear that the heart is any more
susceptible to growth disturbances than other parts of the system.
The importance which heart anomalies have gained is due to
their effect on longevity and individual well being.

Factors disturbing the orderly development of different parts

54 C. W. M. Poynter

of the heart may act independently of, and without disturbing
the normal processes of, the remainder of the body. When the
physiological function of the circulatory system is seriously inter-
fered with by this anomalous development of some portion or
portions of the heart it appears that a compensation through
arrest or over development of normal parts is attempted in some
instances, but with our present knowledge it is not possible to
distinguish between primary lesions and secondary effects.

As has been found in the arteries, factors disturbing develop-
ment of the heart apparently act at a very early age and on very
restricted areas. A sufficient number of isolated lesions have
been encountered to make it a comparatively easy problem to
break up any complex into its individual elements for the pur-
poses of analysis.

Weare able to interpret many anomalies in their relation to the
orderly course of development, but the actual factors producing
them are not revealed or even suggested by this method of study.
Prenatal inflammations and endocarditis can be apparently disre-
garded as primary disturbing factors.

Near 40 per cent. of the hearts presented but a single lesion,
while the total number of separate lesions encountered in the
886 hearts was 1,978, or 3% lesions for each heart showing more
than one. Certain complexes were more frequent than others,
but no associated lesions were so constant as to be in any way
instructive. Other bodily anomalies were occasionally found in
association with those of the heart, but none constantly or in any
way suggestive of a relation to any specific cardiac lesion.

The statement has frequently been made that the right side
of the heart is more susceptible to developmental disturbances
than the left ; this would certainly seem to be true if we consider
only the aortic and pulmonary trunks, but if we consider all
anomalies as revealed by this study such a claim cannot be sub-
stantiated.

There are no particular diseases to which cases suffering with
congenital cardiac lesions are especially susceptible. There are
no pathognomic symptoms surely indicating the condition of
anomaly. Congenital cyanosis is not a common symptom, in-
deed it is not present in one third of the cases.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 55

It is impossible to arrive at the frequency of congenital cardiac
disease, but it appears certain that the cases are of more fre-
quent occurrence in England and France than in this country.

It is evident that many congenital cardiac lesions and com-
plexes very much interfere with the normal physiological func-
tions, but it is apparent from the examination of longevity in
any group of cases that such lesions are only one of several fac-
tors in early curtailment of life.

The following list of figures shows the relative frequency of
the lesions encountered in this study. These can have no value
as general statistics except as this particular group of cases may
be representative of the total distribution of such lesions.

Per Cent.
ANTOMMAIES Git ὑπὸ eRiCamGlKG 55 45ccncccn00000n005 4.65
Wisplacements: Or ἘΠῸ πε erin ese oe enia ns 10.0
FAHOmaAllesmOhtienlteatiaasnanwihlOlemee ie asenieacleaicte 2
Anomalies of the ventricular septum ............. 61.0
AMomaAnessOnmLlematitallmsepitiinmeeeisceie eecisiee 35.6
Irregularities in development of the truncus ...... 28.5
Abnormalities of the pulmonary artery ........... 28.5
ANDMOMGAINTOS OF WMS BORE, ooococccobodacccoudoon0 2.9
Irregularities of the pulmonary valves ............ 7.0
Ilrreeollarrinies Or wae BORHC WINES ssccaccccccdbscoc 2.6
Persistent patency of the ductus arteriosus ....... 20.6

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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 63

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64 C. W. M. Poynter

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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 65

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— 1878-9. Idem. Ibid., vol. 30, p. 273.

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Cronk, H. G. 1881. A malformed heart. Trans. Obstet. Soc., Lond.,
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66 ς΄ Ὁ, W. M. Poynter

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CRUVEILHIER. 1832. Bull. Soc. anat., Année 7, p. 133.

—— 1860. Anomalie cardiaque. Ibid., Année 35, p. 55.

— ET Monop. 1841. Note sur les mouvements et sur les bruits du
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CuFFER. 1875. Diverticulum du péricarde. Bull. Soc. anat., Année 50,
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Curtinc, ΤΌ B. 1839. Case of congenital absence of the pericardium.
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Danie, E. 1860. Case of ectopia cordis. Brit. Med. Jour., 2, p. 776.

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DELHERM ET LAIGNEL-LAVASTINE. 1903. Persistance du trou de Botalli;
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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 67

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68 C. W. M. Poynter

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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 69

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70 C. W. M. Poynter

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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 71

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GEFFRIER. I881 Malformation congénitale du cceur; absence de cloison
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GerpeL, P. 1892-3. Weiter Beitrage zum Situs transversus zur Lehre
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— 1903. Missbildungen der Tricuspedalis. Virchow Arch., Bd. 171,
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Geran, L. 1873. Ein Fall von Offenbleiben des Septum ventriculare
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GELPKE, L. 1883. Seltener Fall von angeborenen Herzfehler. Diss., Basel.

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GERHARDT, C. 1867. Persistenze des ductus arteriosus. Jenaische Zeitschr.
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2 (. W. Μ. Poynter

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Gipson. 1876. Persistenz des Ductus arteriosus. Jena Zeitschr., Bd. 3.

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GIRAULD ET TisstER. 1910. Malformation cardiaque. Bull. Soc. Obstet.,
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GrAANBOOM. 1891. Ein Fall von Dextrocardia mit Transposition von
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Granpr, E. 1881. Un nuovo caso di vizio di prima formazione del cuore.
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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 73

Graves & Houston. 1830. Cardiac malformation. Dublin Hosp. Repts.,
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GreENHow, E. H. 1869. Heart with four pulmonary valves. Trans.
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GREENFIELD. 1876. Malformation of the aortic valves. Brit. Med. Jour.,
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—— 1876. Double mitral valve. Trans. Path. Soc., Lond., vol. 27, Ὁ. 128.

— 1880-00. Case of malformation of the heart with large deficiency
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Greic, D. 1852. A case of malformation of the heart and blood vessels
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GrirFiTtH, J. P.C. 18099. A case of transposition of the viscera and great
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GriFFITH, T. W. 1891-2. A case of transposition of the thoracic and
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—— 1808. Example of a large opening between the auricles. Ibid., vol.
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—— 1806-7. Heart with imperfection of the septum of the ventricles.
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—— 1903. An example of peculiar malformation of the tricuspid valves.
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— 1902-3. A case of almost complete absence of the auricular septum
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— 1903. Note on a second case of a division of the cavity of the
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— 1915. Remarks on a communication between the two ventricles of
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GrossE, A. 1903. Anomalie cardiaque chez un nouveau-né atteint cya-
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GroTHE, C. 1808. Ein Fall von Situs viscerum inversus totalis mit
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GruBer, W. 1876. Ein Fall von Einmtindung der vena pulmonalis dextra
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GRUNFELD, E. 1889. Ein Fall von Dextrocardie. Prag. med. Wochenschr.,

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GruNMacH, FE. 1890. Ueber angeborene Dextrocardia Verbunden mit
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GuBLEeR. 1861. Cceur d’adulte avec persistance du trou de Botal et com-
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74 C. W. Μ. Poynter

GuENioT. 1862. Bull. Soc. anat., Année 37, p. 150.

GuiBerT. 1860. Anomalie cardiaque. Ibid., Année 35, p. 55.

Guitton, P. F. 1873. De la cyanose dans la perforation de la cloison
interventriculaire. Thésé, Paris.

GunzpurG, I. 1913. Inversion du cceur. Ann. d. med. phys., Anvers.,
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GussMANN, E. L. 1903. Ein Fall von angeborenen Herzfehler. Diss.,
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Gutxinp, A. 1903. Ein Fall von angebornen Herzfehler. Minch. med.
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GuTTMANN, P. 1892. Congenitalen Defekt im Septum ventriculorum.
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GUTWASSER. 1870. Ueber angeborene Krankheiten des Herzens. Diss.,
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Haan. 1825. De ectopia cordis. Diss., Bonn.

Haase. 1813. Dissertatio de morbo ceeruleo. Diss., Lipsiz. }

HaspersHon, 5. H. 1888. Congenital malformation of the heart and kid-
ΠΕΥ5, εἰς. Ἴγαηβ. Ῥδίῃ. ὅος., 1,.οπά., νοΐ. 30, Ρ. 71.

Happen, W. Β. 1881-2. A case of congenital cardiac disease. Ibid., vol.
33, P. 50.

— 1890-1. Patent foramen ovale. Ibid., vol. 42, p. 65.

HALBEeRTSMA. 1864. Arch. f. Holland, Beitrag., Bd. 3, p. 388.

Hate. 1850. Bilocular heart. Lancet, Lond., vol. 4.

Hare, R. J. 1853. Case of heart with single ventricle. Trans. Path.
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VAN HALu ET VRALIK. 1825. Vice de conformation du cceur. Practisch-
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Hauer, A: 1757. Elementa Physiologie. Vol. 1, Libr. 4, p. 280.

HALLopeau. 1869. Rétrécissement ventriculo-aortique. Gaz. méd., Paris,
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Hawnp, A., Jr. 1908. Report of a case of congenital heart disease. Trans.
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— 1909. Idem. Arch. Pedr., vol. 26, p. 5.

Hare. 1846. Aperture in the septum ventriculorum. Trans. Path. Soc.,
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Hare, C, J. 1852-3. Malformation of the heart. Ibid., vol. 4, p. 81.

— 1860. Two cases of malformation of the heart. Ibid., vol. 11, p. 45.

Hare, H. A. 1902-3. Adult heart with bifid apex. Proc. Path. Soc.,
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Harris, T. 1887. Congenital abnormalities of the heart. Brit. Med.
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Harrison. 1844. Cyanosis. Reading Path. Soc. Proc.

Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 75

Haury. 1844. Cyanose, rétrécissement de l’infundibulum de l’aorta pul-
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HauscHkKa. 1855. Ueber Durchbruch des Septum ventriculorum. Wien.
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HAUSHALTER ET FRAISSE. I915. Un cas interessant de maladie bleue.
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— ET RicHon. 1903. Malformation cardiaque. Rev. mens. de mal de
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70 C. W. M. Poynter

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— 1882. Zur Lehre tiber die Transposition der aus dem Herzen tre-
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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 7

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78 C. W. M. Poynter

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— 1852-3. Three specimens of malformation by excess of the pul-
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—1852-3. Malformation of aortic valves. Ibid., p. 206.

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—— 1906-7. Partial deficiency of the pericardium. Ibid., p. 6.

—— 1909. Malformations of the heart, Hunterian lectures. Lancet, ~
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— 1912. Six specimens of abnormal hearts. Jour. Anat. and Physiol.,
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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 79

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80 (. W. M. Poynter

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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 8I

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LEPINE, R. 1869. Ibid., p. 205.

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82 C. W. M. Poynter

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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 83

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— ET LUCIEN. 1012. Orifice aortique bivalve. Ibid., 86, p. 282.

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—— 1847. Case of malformation of the heart, etc. Lond. Med. Gaz.,
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Congenital Anomalies of the Heart 89

— 1849. Malformation of the heart, etc. Ibid., p. 200.

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— 1860. Malformation of the heart and irregular course of the aorta.
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—— 1861. Heart with an open ductus arteriosus. Lancet, Lond., p. 475.

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— 1870. Malformation of the heart, contraction of the pulmonary
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—— 1870. Idem, Ibid., p. 79, p. 83.

—— 1874. Malformation of the heart, atresia of the pulmonary artery.
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— 1876. Malformation of the heart, stenosis of the commencement of
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—— 1877. Malformation of the heart. Ibid., p. 43.

— ἃ Reep, W.C. 1879. Malformation of the heart, aineence of the pul-
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—— ἃ Bartow. 1880. Malformation of the heart, stenosis of the pul-
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— 1880. Case of malformation of the heart. Lancet, Lond., 2, p. 530.

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—— ἃ AsHpy. 1881. Transposition of the aorta and pulmonary artery.
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WELLts, H. G. 1908. Persistent patency of the ductus arteriosus. Am.
Jour. Med. Sci., p. 136.

WENDLE, B. C. A. 1808. Congenital malformation of the heart. Jour.
Anat. and Physiol., vol. 32, p. 1.

WENDLING, L. 1903. Ein Fall von angeborener Dextrocardie. Med. Blat.,
Wien, Bd. 26, p. 563.

WENELER. 1903. Endocarditis fcetalis. Verhand. d. path. Gesellsch.,
Kassel, p. 247.

WENNER, O. 109009. Beitrag zur Lehre des Herzenmissbildungen. Vir-
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Wuitr, W. H. 1891-2. A case of patent ventricular septum. Trans.
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WuirtLe. 1889. Congenital malformation of the heart. Brit. Med. Jour.,
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WipMANN, J. G. 1717. Foramen cordis ovale in juvene 20 annoram
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WIEDEMANN. 1794. Ueber fehlende Brustbein. Brunswick.

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Wiks, S. 1858-9. Malformation of the pulmonary valves. Trans. Path.
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—— 1860-1. Communication between the pulmonary artery and aorta.
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WiiiAMs. 1834. Cyclopedia of practical medicine, vol. 3, p. 65.

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102 (. 7. Μ. Ῥογηίογ

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From ANATOMY DEPARTMENT, COLLEGE oF MEDICINE,
Omaua, NEpr.

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CONTENTS

On CERTAIN NEw ELUCIDATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE.
RNG pe STIR INEAN) ἡ δὴ ιν RE Sy otic μον Ὁ 103

ROVGINE: | PROSSER ELALT.) MRVE) fal co Mme δ τς ἐν 173

LINCOLN, NEBRASKA

WNIVERSITY STUDIES

VoL. XIX TUE —O CRO BIER rono Nos. 3-4

ΟΝ ΟΕ AN NEW ἘΠῚ UeIDATIONS Or
SHAKESPEARE

’ BY L. A. SHERMAN

The title of Quiller-Couch’s recent volume,t would seem to
promise a fresh discussion of the dramaturgic method and excel-
lencies of this author. No promise or prospect could have been
more welcome. The technic of organizing a play is a matter of
no slight concern. All the dramatic world is waiting for some
satisfying if not final word. There are critics and scholars who
affirm that there is no such thing as dramatic construction. They
would even add that there are no principles whatever which suc-
cessful plays illustrate. Every playwright works out his own
salvation, and is a respective and independent law unto himself.
On the other hand, there are critics of perhaps superior insight
and authority who insist that there are indeed laws of dramatic
technic, and that no sort of play can be constructed without con-
forming, in essential features, to them.

Mr. Quiller-Couch furnishes no enlightenment, in the present
volume, on this fundamental question. He leaves it in fact wholly
unconsidered. Here and there he crosses the boundaries of
dramatic technic, but for the most part deals only with the psy-
chology of its effects. His work is thus in substance only another
contribution to aesthetic criticism. This is greatly to be re-
gretted. We have long had too little help, in attempts at resolv-
ing the riddle of Shakespeare’s craftsmanship, from minds expert
in the creation and management of personality. It is fair to

1 Notes on Shakespeare's Workmanship. By Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch,
M. A. New York: Henry Holt and Company.

I

2 L. A. Sherman

assume that every successful novelist, as well as playwright,
might supply at least some ray towards illuminating the supreme
mystery of literature. As a study in interpretation, on the other
hand, the book surpasses expectation. Its criticisms are almost
everywhere constructive. One finds throughout the several
chapters, keen discrimination, fresh common-sense judgments,
along with flashes of insight, and more than occasional intima-
tions of this writer’s creative powers. And the whole is langu-
aged in an easy and suggestive rather than a literary or dis-
tinguished vein.

The work consists of lectures, slightly altered, which were
originally “spoken before an audience in the University of Cam-
bridge.” They evince the informal and catchy character incident
to such a purpose, and are as slightly academic as could be looked
for from a novelist, who is also a professor of English literature
and fellow of a college. Quite evidently this author is no spe-
cialist in the lore of Shakespeare. Many of his observations
would have been impossible to an inquirer working with a shorter
focus. On the other hand, some of his conclusions, as will prob-
ably appear, could hardly have been reached by one with less ex
itinere motivation and approach.

Without better justification than might be claimed from neces-
sitated and prolonged ponderings on vexed matters of Shake-
spe€are exegesis, the writer of this appreciation proposes to
examine some of the notions propounded in the pages here. He
has nothing to match against the author’s prestige and brilliancy
except repudiations and revisions of many favorite ideas. For-
tunately, Quiller-Couch’s work is largely selective, and nowhere
attempts the systematic or complete analysis of any single play.
His plan has been mainly to consider such isolated examples of
Shakespeare’s art as appeal to the intuitive rather than the
reflective powers of the mind.

The author bases his studies, as might have been expected, upon
the workmanship of Macbeth. Shakespeare’s dramatic instincts
work nowhere else so openly. Very agreeably Quiller-Couch
explains why he is thus drawn aside from the purposes usually
pursued by critics:

104

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 3

There are of course many other aspects from which so unchallengeable
a masterpiece deserves to be studied. We may seek, for example, to fix
its date and define its place in order of time among Shakespeare’s writings;
but that has been done for us, nearly enough. Or may we search for light
on Shakespeare, the man himself, and on his history—so obscure in the
main, though here and there lit up by flashes of evidence, contemporary
and convincing so far as they go. For my part, while admitting such
curiosity to be human, and suffering myself now and again to be intrigued
by it, I could never believe in it as a pursuit that really mattered. All
literature must be personal: yet the artist—the great artist—dies into his
work, and in that survives. .. . “ Men are we,’ and must needs wonder, a
little wistfully, concerning our forerunners, our kinsmen who, having
achieved certain things we despair to improve or even to rival, have gone
their way, leaving so much to be guessed. ‘“‘ How splendid,” we say, “to
have known them! Let us delve back and discover all we can about
them ! ”

“ Brave lads in olden musical centuries
Sang, night by night, adorable choruses,
Sat late by alehouse doors in April,
Chaunting in joy as the moon was rising.

“Moon-seen and merry, under the trellises,
Flush-faced they played with old polysyllables;
Spring scents inspired, old wine diluted,
Love and Apollo were there to chorus.

“Now these, the songs remain to eternity,
Those, only those, the bountiful choristers
Gone—those are gone, those unremembered
Sleep and are are silent in earth forever.”

No: it is no ignoble quarrel we hold with Time over these men. But after
all, the moral is summed up in a set of verses ascribed to Homer, in which
he addresses the Delian women. “Farewell to you all,” he says, “and re-
member me in time to come: and when any one of men on earth, a stranger
from far, shall enquire of you, ‘O maidens, who is the sweetest of min-
strels here about? and in whom do you most delight?’ then make answer
modestly, “Sir, it is a blind man, and he lives in steep Chios.’”

But the shutters are up at The Mermaid: and, after all, it is the master- |
piece that matters—the Sphinx herself, the Jliad, the Parthenon, the Per-
seus, the song of the old Héaulmiéres, Tartufe, Macbeth.

Lastly, I shall not attempt a general criticism of Macbeth, because that
work has been done, exquisitely and (I think) perdurably, by Dr. Bradley,
in his published Lectures on Shakespearian Tragedy ...a book which I
hold to belong to the first order of criticism, to be a true ornament of
our times. Here and there, to be sure, I cannot accept Dr. Bradley’s judg-

105

4 L. A. Sherman

ment: but it would profit my readers little to be taken point by point
through these smaller questions at issue, and (what is more) I have not
the necessary self-confidence. ἢ

If, however, we spend a little while in considering Macbeth as a piece of
workmanship (or artistry, if you prefer it), we shall be following a new
road which seems worth a trial—perhaps better worth a trial just because
it lies off the trodden way; and whether it happen or not to lead us out
upon some fresh and lively view of this particular drama, it will at least
help us by the way to clear our thoughts upon dramatic writing and its
method: while I shall not be false to my belief in the virtue of starting
upon any chosen work of literature absolutely, with minds intent on dis-
covering just that upon which the author’s mind was intent.

The first of Quiller-Couch’s eighteen lectures is thus frankly
discursive and general. We have quoted here at length from its
opening paragraphs as perhaps the most suggestive and character-
istic part of the whole work. Having explained and justified his
special purpose in the series, the author proceeds to treat of the
‘conditions’ under which Shakespeare wrought out his plays.
He touches upon features of the Globe theater, the quality of its
patrons, and its handicap in having its female parts sustained by
boys. Then, quoting the four passages from Holinshed which
Shakespeare used as the raw material for Macbeth, the author
propounds suggestively the first of his many theses in this form:

Tragedy demands some sympathy with the fortunes of its hero: but
where is there room for sympathy in the fortunes of a disloyal, self-
seeking murderer ?

This syllogism, on the instant, gives us pause. There is a flaw
in the reasoning somewhere. It is not in the major premise, for
of course no play can be a tragedy unless there is sympathy with
the hero.. But we all have sympathy, and a good deal of it, with
the hero of Macbeth. Clearly, then, it is the implied minor
premise—later formally affirmed as the subject of the second
lecture—that is unsound. Macbeth to us, except constructively
and with qualifications, is no disloyal, self-seeking murderer.

Thus the fault in the logic is due to an ‘ambiguous middle
term.’ If Macbeth were regarded at the beginning as an absolute
traitor, an unmitigated self-seeker, a malicious and unrelenting
murderer, there could have been no play. Historically, Macbeth

Ι 106

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 5

has equal rights in the crown with his cousin Duncan, who is of
age no greater. But Shakespeare ignores this fact, which might,
as Quiller-Couch observes, have helped his purpose, and makes
Duncan much older, though perhaps not feebler, than his original.
Duncan has proved a worthless guardian of Scotland. Sedition
and violence are rife. Foreign banners flout the sky, and fan
the people cold. Macbeth and Banquo are the hope and main-
stay of the kingdom. Duncan can match their bravery only with
his cowardice. His rebellious subjects, as averred by Holinshed,
look upon him as “a faint-hearted milkesop, more meet to
gouerne a sort of idle monks in some cloister, than to haue the
rule of such valiant and hardie men of warre as the Scots were.”
Shakespeare accepts and presents him unmistakably as of this
character. The second scene of Macbeth shows him withdrawn
from even sight of the battle that is to fix his fate. Macbeth
almost single-handed wins the fight which his subjects have pre-
cipitated against him, and sets back, without conditions, his
throne beneath him. He has thus been making Duncan’s king-
ship possible, we are to understand, from the beginning of the
“seditious commotions’ that have vexed the state. To do this
does not argue unqualified disloyalty; self-seeking, or assas-
sination.

But a general who sustains an incapable monarch is likely to
have moments of impatience and disaffection. Macbeth is the
de facto master of the country, and he knows it. Doubtless he
sometimes cries out in anguish of spirit, “When shall Scotland be
saved from this helpless, doddering misrule? I am tired of pre-
tendine te Tespect imbecillity. Curse the fate that gave the
crown to Duncan, and left me the stultifying duty of trying to
keep it on his head. Who ever heard of a king that cannot
personally lead his forces against an enemy, or pose as at least a
figurehead before his army?’

Can any one pretend that he is not in sympathy, in circum-
stances of this kind, with the party of the second part? Is not
all the world agreed that any man, incapable and yet responsible
for the public safety, if he will not give place to a better, is a
criminal? <A pilot at the wheel, who sees that his course must be

107

6 L. A. Sherman

altered to escape breakers, but, lacking strength to turn the rudder
sharply, refuses to let another take the ship, is practically if not
consciously a murderer. On his head be the blood of those who
perish. How much less is Duncan chargeable for the lives of
those who fall in wars to keep Scotland in his hands?

So there is nothing mysterious about our sympathy with Mac-
beth. Shakespeare simply appeals to our sense of his deserts as
against the King’s and Malcolm’s presumption. Can he intensify
this sympathy to the point of making us consent to unseat
Duncan?

To Shakespeare’s insight, the means lies ready, in the narrative
of Holinshed, to his hand. Where there are possibilities of
evil, the tempter will be present to transfigure them to fancy.
His agents are already posted on the road from victory, to meet
with and greet Macbeth. What easier than to accost the fittest
to rule with the prophecy that rule he must and shall? Does
Macbeth receive the word with feelings of pride and satisfaction?
On the contrary, he starts and seems to fear. We are in no doubt
of what he is afraid. Duncan is king, and will consent to remain
king as long as Macbeth is willing to hold him in that office. No
one else can keep him there. This prophecy postulates that even
he, Macbeth, is destined to cease this role. That will mean
giving over the devotion of which he is so proud. That will.
mean having something to regret——presumably, inevitably, a
wound to loyalty and conscience. He has long realized that he
has the power to unseat Duncan, and become another Mac-
Donwald. But to contemplate it as an actuality dismays him.

Also the mystery of this prophecy, our certitude—from the
first scene—that supernatural forces are at work, appeals to us
strongly. We are aware that there is something uncanny and
unrighteous on the inside of this business, but we go consentingly
in the line of Macbeth’s temptation. The romantic appentencies
in us outstrip the justice of Macbeth’s cause, and we side with
the witches. Macbeth has made the rebellious Scotsmen take to
their heels. He has brought the proud Sweno to terms, as we
have heard Ross report to Duncan. The promise is that Scot-
land shall have a king who will do yet grander deeds than the

108

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 7.

bleeding sergeant forgets his hurts and almost swoons to tell.
This lure is potent with us. We hear Macheth’s decision to play
a passive part, and let chance crown him, with disapproval.
Face it as we may our sympathy is such that we crave to have
Macbeth act in his own behalf, though he be himself unwilling.
This, the technicians tell us, is the first step in involving the plot.

The second step follows hard upon. Duncan, now withdrawing
to his castle, sends Ross back to greet Macbeth as thane of
Cawdor.? Macbeth and Banquo, not sent for, have in the mean-
time set out to seek the king at Forres. What can he offer his
deliverer? What reward were fit? He will of course fall upon
his kinsman’s neck, and weep tears of gratitude. He does not,
but reserves that effusive distinction for Banquo. To Macbeth
he says officially and formally what any one of us would have.

tried to say,— 5
O worthiest cousin!
The sin of my ingratitude even now
Was heavy on me....
More is thy due than more than all can pay.

But after that we should hardly have withheld something more
personally apropos. Could it have been less than this?

Once again hast thou shown thy mastery for Scotland. It is our weak-
ness that we still wish to keep the crown. But thou shalt at least succeed
us. We shall not always impose on thy loyalty and strength.

Indeed, have the bystanders, from the king’s last sentence, under-
stood him to mean much less? But he goes on to say instead that

*We note that Ross, on finding Macbeth, pronounces (I. iii. 89-100)
some dozen lines of appreciation and praise that Duncan has not author-
ized. Angus adds, with even greater liberty,—

We are sent
To give thee from our royal master thanks—

Only to herald thee into his sight,
Not pay thee.

Then Ross amazingly takes upon himself to preface the message of the
king with this,—

And, for an earnest of a greater honor!
It is clear how these and probably the other loyal thanes expect Macbeth
will be rewarded.

109

8 L. A. Shermcn

he has begun to plant Macbeth, and will labor to make him full .
-of growing. Then he caps the climax of absurdity by embracing
Banquo and asserting, though no proof of such merit® has come
to him, that this man’s desert is no whit less.

This would be unaccountable enough if it were all. But im-
mediately, asserting his divine right, and assuming security for all
the future through Macheth’s continued homage, Duncan serves
notice upon his kinsman and all the company that he fixes the
succession upon Malcolm. This is the prince who has just been
saved, by the ‘bleeding sergeant,’ from becoming captive and
hostage to Macdonwald. ‘Macbeth,’ says Holinshed, ‘was sore
troubled herewith, for that he saw by this means his hope sore
hindered.’ What his hope was is evident. Why indeed has
Duncan chosen this of all times, since he 1s not expecting to be
soon cut off from life, to fix the succession? Northern and other
thrones were often filled by election. Evidently he designs to
inhibit Macbeth from any thought of candidacy. Is it not wholly
an insult to Macbeth, not wholly a surrender of noblesse oblige?
Is it not that he holds a weak supposal of Macbeth’s worth, and
assumes that he has not manhood enough.to care? Is it above
imbecillity to expect that Macbeth and Scotland will allow Dun-
can to perpetuate misrule in the person of this callow and un-
manly son? |

Shall such a king be humored? If we could have our way, we
should wish to see him led off the stage of the world by the ear.
But the author does not trust the antipathy, which he has aroused
in us, at its present pitch. Moreover, he has presumably not yet
won all his audience over to the needs of the plot. He delays
a little, in order to call out our ‘sympathy’ for Macbeth in a dif-
ferent way. He shows his hero, instead of goaded to despera-
tion at the wilful ingratitude of the king, more moved for the
moment with humiliation at being estopped from reward, in the
flush of victory, by a future unmartial master:

3 We have perhaps noted Duncan’s attempt to manufacture such evi-
dence (1. 11. 33, 34) out of the sergeant’s testimony:

Dismay’d not this
Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

110

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 9

The Prince of Cumberland! That is a step
On which I must fall down, or else o’er leap,
For in my way it lies. Stars, hide your fires!

He begins to harbor black designs against this defective stripling,
whom Shakespeare has brought back here for us to see. Does not
the contrast, thus forced upon us breed deadly disgust for the
whole family, father and sons alike? But people in a theater are
often slow as a whole to react to such appeals. Shakespeare will
aid his purpose now with an expedient, tried repeatedly in earlier
days,* which will carry us and everybody over—even princes of
the blood and James himself, when they shall see this play—into
murderous consent® against King Duncan’s life.

Macbeth seems unable to hold Duncan, his playmate in youth
perhaps, as well as comrade in later years, as altogether respon-
sible for his career or conduct. Not so his wife, the Lady
Gruach. Macbeth is not unwilling that she should indulge her
impatience against his doddering, helpless cousin. Duncan is
none of hers, and she has a wife’s contempt of her husband’s
rival. She has always worshipped the kingly possibilities in Mac-
beth, and her faith, her enthusiasm, have been sweet to him. So
he has written her what the witches prophesy—some critics say,
to arouse her. No, not to arouse her. She has afflicted him
enough already with her arousals. But the prediction will bring
her a new and unlooked for satisfaction. So he has sent, at the
earliest moment possible, the news of his victory and of the
greeting. Holinshed says it was Lady Macbeth’s ambition to be
a queen. Weare not so sure but that it was rather that Macbeth
should be king.

Glamis thou art, and Cawdor, and shalt be
What thou art promised.

4 Compare his use of Portia’s enthusiasm, in Il. iv of Julius Caesar, for
her husband’s purpose, as aid to ensure assent to the taking off of the title
character. What women like Portia desire, the audience will desire with
them.

5 Consent, which is at least dramatic, but not necessarily immoral. We
may entertain for the instant romantic and imaginative impulses for which
we are not in the slightest danger of becoming de facto chargeable. Shake-
speare must enforce such consent from his audience here, or the play will
stop.

111

ΤΟ L. A. Sherman

It is not her future that she sees in her mind’s eye, but her hus-
band’s. The affection of this wife has long had the will, and
shall perhaps now find the way to achieve the sole sway and
masterdom that he has so long believed his due. He 15 too fond
of his wife’s idealizing confidence to resist her now. At least,
he will play for time.

And of what sort is this Lady Macbeth, this importunate, com-
pelling genius of the play? Perhaps it is not strange that
actresses and critics have conceived her as at heart a monster, a
Borgia, unsexed, inhuman. But would a woman, inhuman and
unsexed indeed, have prayed to the ministers of murder to make
her denatured, bloodthirsty? Such a creature would have felt
the course conceived a normal procedure, and gloried in the
chance. But Lady Macbeth finds herself incapable, and cries
out to the powers of evil to take her milk for gall, to turn her
motherly instincts deadly, lest her purpose fail. Thanks to
Shakespeare’s mind and art, her prayer will remain unanswered.
Shakespeare has made her crave, for her husband’s sake, that
the supremely evil deed be brought to pass. But he has also left
her powerless to effect it. By creating her of such a nature that
she will thus wish, and quail, he has made us votaries of her
cause, and of his purpose.

The author has now involved the plot a second time, and in a
larger, or ‘major’, way. Malcolm as crown prince, by the word
of Duncan, blocks Macbeth’s career. We would not have it so,
and are willing ‘dramatically’, that either, or both of these ob-
structions shall be eliminated. The first involvement or obstruc-
tion, as we remember, lies in Macbeth’s resolve to remain inactive.
He has said,—

If chance may have me king, why, chance may crown me
Without my stir,—
and he has not yet changed his mind. We would have him
change it. And he will change it, resolving thus this ‘minor,’ or
first obstruction. He will consent to be the means himself of
6 Differently from other dramatists, Shakespeare uses but two obstruc-

‘tions, to involve the plot. The minor one as here is subjective, consisting
merely of a state of mind, either in the title character or some other prin-

112

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare ΤΙ

fulfilling the witches’ prophecy. But how can Shakespeare make
him thus consent without destroying all worthiness in his hero?

Shakespeare will extort the consent which the play needs, and
will achieve it without destroying the worth in Macbeth that we
have recognized. Rather will he in a sense increase it. We have
just heard Lady Macbeth pray fruitlessly for help to execute a
deed against which her feminine and maternal being utterly
revolts. No strength comes to her even for the nonce. No
demoniac influences neutralize her womanhood. She is over-
whelmingly conscious of the abnormalness of the end desired.
‘So much is clear for her. Shall now Macbeth suffer the diabol-
ism which he has not invoked and which his wife is spared? Is
he to lose all sense of right and justice? Can he jeer at honor,
and gloat over the chance of mischief?

Our author thinks so. The only way, he says, by which
Shakespeare can make a hero (p. 23) out of a criminal [sic]
is to have him exchange “ Moral Order, Righteousness, the will
of God (call it what you will) for something directly epposed to
it... assigning the soul to Satan’s terrible resolve, ‘ Evil, be
thou my good.”

This is in many ways surprising. Particularly is it such be-
cause it contravenes the principles that Quiller-Couch has laid
down, in the opening chapter (pp. 15, 16), from Aristotle.
These he presents there in the following form:

(1) A Tragedy must not be the spectacle of a perfectly good man
brought from prosperity to adversity. For this merely shocks us.

(2) Nor, of course must it be that of a bad man passing from adversity
to prosperity: for that is not tragedy at all, but the perversion of tragedy,
and revolts the moral sense.

(3) Nor, again, should it exhibit the downfall of an utter villain: since
pity is aroused by undeserved misfortunes, terror by misfortunes betalling
a man like ourselves.

(4) There remains, then, as the only proper subject for Tragedy, the
spectacle of a man not absolutely or eminently good or wise who is
brought to disaster not by sheer depravity but by some error or frailty.

(5) Lastly, this man must be highly renowned and prosperous—an
(Edipus, a Thyestes, or some other illustrious person.

cipal personage. The major of the two obstacles is again as here some
objective or material hindrance, often a rival to the title figure.

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12 L. A. Sherman

Of course, the play in hand can be associated with none of
these propositions except the fourth. With this judgment our
author substantially agrees. But he makes Macbeth to have
been brought to disaster through ‘error’, greatly intensified by
suggestion." He concedes that Shakespeare does not allow his
hero to become bewitched unconsciously, against his will. The
fact is merely that he has lost his moral bearings, and takes evil
for its opposite.

The author is not very clear in this part of his contention, and
is not convincing. The text of the play nowhere bears out the
notion that Macbeth mistakes evil for good. His moral sense is
neither atrophied nor addled. This is shown, it would seem in-
dubitably, when, leaving Duncan to his wife’s attentions, he goes
aside (I. vii) from the banquet to think out the problem that has
been forced upon him. Instead of coveting the chance to do the
devil service while advantaging himself, he voices the verdict of
the ages against the deed which Lady Macbeth has proposed for
herself but which he knows will be left for him to carry through:
“In cases of making away with princes, judgment always over-
takes the perpetrators here, in this life, so that acts of this kind
amount to nothing more than lessons in murdering. When these
lessons have been taught by experiments upon others, even:
handed justice presents the cup of poison that we have made them
drink to our own lips.’ In other words, there is a Moral Order
in the universe, and crime punishes itself. Then, as if to nail the
argument against diabolism, Shakespeare makes this man endorse
the obligations of blood, of honor, of hospitality—and, lo, even
(11. 16-20) the claims of personal goodness. ‘Scotland cannot
tolerate,’ he finishes by saying, “the man who abuses virtues even
as valueless to the country as Duncan’s. Such pity for his fate
as one feels for an unsuccored new-born babe will ride like the
cherubim of the Almighty upon the unseen couriers of the air

τ Quiller-Couch’s formulating statement is “... the sight and remem-
brance of the Witches, with the strange fulfillment of the Second Witch’s
prophecy, constantly impose the hallucination upon him— Fair is foul,

and foul is fair.’ ‘Evil, be thou my good.”

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,. Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 13

blowing the horror of the deed in the eyes of all the people so that
their tears and wailing shall outcry the howlings of the storm.’*
No. Macbeth has not forfeited his free agency, nor his moral
sense. :

But, it may be fairly urged, has not Macbeth shown himself
willing (ll. 1-7), so far as the ethics of the case avails at all—
provided the blow might speed—to jump the life to come?’ In-
dubitably. But let us consider the language and implications of
this soliloquy more closely. We must first realize that Macbeth
is under strong temptation. What man of us is willing to be
judged, for good and all, by his attitude in such a moment? If
to hear the voice of Apollyon is tantamount to compliance, what
is the chance of saintship for anybody? (Then, too, are victims
of diabolism ever tempted? But let us have done with that.).
Does Macbeth’s thought rank below the pragmatic morality of
present times, or of human history, when the lure of power or
pelf entices? |

But let us look at the text again. We find that Macbeth is
merely saying, ‘/f the assassination and all its consequences could
be consolidated in one physical act, we might let the future take
care of itself. But—but,—but,—crime used as a means defeats
the end.” So the present forces in this man are not moving in the
line of Lady Macbeth’s terrible resolve. And how has Shake-
speare made us feel, dramatically, about these counter forces that
are having the right of way? Had we control at this moment of
Macbeth’s will, would we intensify or slacken the motivation that
controls it?

It thus seems clear that the tragedy in hand is not founded upon
any such ‘error’ as Quiller-Couch suggests. Macbeth has not

8 Do we realize how exactly Shakespeare has made his hero, in this
prophecy, forecast the effect of the murder upon the sensibilities of the
nation? Does he mean to intimate that moral or other prevision can
reverse the motivation of a mind, a soul that the powers of evil have
overmastered ?

9 This reasoning concerns the first part of the situationn—Lady Mac-
beth’s insistence that Duncan shall be got rid of immediately, this very
night. We note that then Macbeth goes on to the vital question, whether
Duncan shall be meddled with at all, and rules as master of his house
against it.

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14 L. A. Sherman

lost the use of his moral faculties, he has not forfeited even his
common sense. No such hallucination obsesses him as could
prompt him to accept as a confession of faith, “Fair is foul, and
foul is fair.’ It is the witches who have said that, and perhaps
feel that. Yet is he not, as our author has said, practically if
not utterly a self-seeker, and a murderer?

Shakespeare’s answer would be,“ No. No. I have taken pains
to show Macbeth as just a man, like you and me. I have made
him loyal when most of my audience would have had him disloyal.
I have made him shrink from lifting hand against Duncan, while
most of my readers have been crying out, in the dramatic spirit,
“Away with him.’ When he has for his part determined to
thwart the purpose of his wife, I bring her away from Duncan
(1. 28) to control him. Macbeth, with decision in his voice,

-anticipates her censure:

We will proceed no further in this business.
He hath honor’d me of late, and I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people.

“He has at least lately shown a disposition to reward me. I
have won the respect and confidence of every rank in Scotland,
and 1 am in no mood to cast all that away.” This means that
he rules against the project, not only for to-night, but for good
and all. He has dallied with the idea, or rather he has set
Lady Macbeth at dallying with the idea, of being rid of Dun-
can. But at no moment since the opening of the play has he
been in thought consentingly an assassin. At the words of the
Third Witch, he started and showed signs of fear, not of king-
ship, but—since Duncan is securely enthroned again—of implied
measures, on his part, essentially foreign to his nature and his
will. Again, when at return he finds Lady Macbeth ablaze with
determination to destroy King Duncan almost at sight, he shows
(I. v. 63, 64) such signs of fright as make his wife ask and ex-
pect only (ll. 72, 74) that he clear them from his face. Were he
a murderer indeed, requiring merely less dangerous conditions,
she would have set him a task far easier, and less absurd. No.
I have really intended that Macbeth shall be the man that Lady
Macbeth (1. v. 17-23) declares:

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 15

Yet do I fear thy nature.
It is too full οὐ th’ milk of human kindness
To catch the nearest way. Thou wouldst be great,
Art not without ambition, but without
The illness should attend it. What thou wouldst highly,
That wouldst thou holily; wouldst not play false,
And yet wouldst wrongly win.

Macbeth, in other words, is a scrupulous self-seeker. He is not
so scrupulous as to eschew wrong-doing altogether. But he will
stop short of crime. He is thus wholly in character when he
interdicts further action against the life of Duncan.

‘And yet, I make Macbeth, after winning the moral credit of
this opposition, recede from his decision. I bring in forces that
thrust the motives just now so potent into the background.
Woman rules society continuously by her conservatism, but home
and husband occasionally by her radical insistences. It is in the
nature of compensation that the weaker sex, under certain condi-
tions, should outwill the stronger. So here, in spite of what
policy dictates, and loyalty, and pride, and self-respect, and the
sense of honor, and of duty to a kinsman and a guest, together
with the certain prospect of Scotland’s commending the poisoned
chalice to his own lips,—against all his better judgment and in full
assurance of perdition, Macbeth yields to his wife’s frenzied
resolution. He jumps the life to come, not because he dreads the
scorn and pain and discord that else must follow, but because
he loves. |

“Of course there must be steps in the procedure. I but let
Lady Macbeth use first her woman’s logic, by which she would
make her darling hero out a coward. He knows it is not her .
conviction, for he has heard her,—scores of time has heard her,
praise his daring. He realizes that she employs her taunts only
for present victory, yet he lets them rouse him. He should in-
stead have found them humorous, amusing,—he should have
seemed at least imperturbable. But I have made Macbeth too
fond of his wife to essay strategy, or make light of even her half-
meant gibes. There can be no recourse or evasion now. When
a husband takes an issue like this seriously, but two ways lie
open,—compliance, or brutal, violent denial. But brutal, violent

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.
denial this man has never exercised, nor indeed can exercise, of
his wife’s demands.

“So his defeat is sure. Lady Macbeth I make in fairness inno-
cent of the first proposal that Duncan should be sacrificed. It
was a reckless thought, bred of the king’s unbearable worthless-
ness and presumption, and one that Macbeth could never have
executed of himself. After it was “broken” to his wife, Mac-
beth must surely have been the victim of cumulative importunity.
At some moment, goaded as now by the reproach that he is lily-
livered, Macbeth has sworn to her that, at the convenient time, he
will assert himself. 1 am not sure, though, that he ever did quite
this. Lady Macbeth is capable, in her present mood, of exagger-
ation. But she needs some further and more telling advantage
over her husband, and I create it for her. She has but to affirm
to him that, in a case like this, she for her part would have dashed
out her baby’s brains as earnest of her fierce sincerity. Macbeth
knows that she could have done nothing of the kind, being power-
less even now to lift hand against Duncan, whom she hates. Yet
he will not ridicule, or gainsay. He lets her have her triumph,
though it means damnation to both her and him. So I keep the
sympathy of my audience with Macbeth, and make the play a
tragedy of devotion.’

10 How fine it is that Macbeth does not here taunt his wife for having
promised to bring the deed to pass herself (1. v. 68-71),—while now she
naively presumes to shift the task to him! How fine also it is later, when
the apples of Sodom have been tasted, that he permits himself no syllable
of reproach to her!

The author has thus of course consummated the enabling act of his
tragedy on the domestic rather than the epic plane. The gain has been
that he brings it home to the lowest comprehension. Every-day examples
bear out the history. The wife who, for social eminence, demands that
her husband find means, any sort of means, of doubling his income, is a
Lady Macbeth in kind. She is vaguely aware that the course proposed
will mar his credit, and his peace of mind. He for his part knows that
it will immure him finally in a felon’s cell. But he jumps the immediate
life to come, and obeys her wish.

As to the imagined truculency of Lady Macbeth’s disposition, observa-

tion of outside incidents will restore perspectives. Once while trying,
rather ineffectually, to explain to a class of students why it was not neces-

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 17

So we are in fine confirmed in the belief that Quiller-Couch
has erred in making Macbeth the victim of moral error. Rather
has Shakespeare built his play on what Aristotle, in our author’s
summary, would call ‘ Frailty. And it is not common human
frailty, but frailty that proceeds from love, a ‘love that covereth
all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all
things.’ Macbeth’s devotion is indeed in this case frailty, mortal
frailty, but frailty that may become a man.

We note that, on Macbeth’s formal renunciation of his purpose
(1. iii. 143, 144) to remain inactive, neutral,—

1 am settled, and bend up
Each corporal agent’to this terrible feat,—

the First Act ends, almost upon the instant. It is Shakespeare’s
principle that the resolution of the minor obstruction should thus
bring the close of first acts severally, in both tragedy and comedy.
His major obstructions are ‘resolved,’ either positively or nega-
tively, in the second scene of the Second Act. We remember
that, technically, the greater or major obstacle to Macbeth’s rise
to kingship is Malcolm, as named by Duncan the Prince of Cum-
berland. This obstruction is lifted from the path of the plot, at
the point just designated, by the assassination.

ΠΗ

Passing over Quiller-Couch’s observations concerning the
knocking on the gate, and the Porter’s humor, which are acute
and satisfying, we find ourselves moved to review his judgment
of minor characters. We quote from pp. 46 and 48:

sary to postulate a Borgia nature as the origin of a deed like this which
Lady Macbeth forces upon her husband, I was reminded of a mademoiselle
Macbeth who had made history, not long before, almost in our very circle.
A girl friend had stolen away by machinations her affianced lover, and
she had reacted murderously against the traitor. She was high-bred, re-
fined, religious, and had always lived a sheltered life. But the peculiarly
maddening intensity of her wrong stung her to the act of poisoning—as it
proved not fatally—her rival. Was this to be accounted less than Lady
Macbeth’s intended deed, which reached no farther than a purpose, being
found by trial impossible to carry through? The students, as I found,
adjudged neither of these unfortunates essentially abnormal, except as
peculiarly liable by temperament to violent temptation.

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18 L. A. Sherman

Let us now return to Shakespeare’s clever—as it seems to me, his im-—
mensely clever—flattening of the virtuous characters in this play. I have
suggested the word for them—for your Rosses and Lennoxes. They are
ordinary, and of purpose ordinary. ...

Further, this flattening of the virtuous characters gives Macbeth (already
Greek in its simplicity of plot) just that conviction of Doom, avenging
and inexorable, which is often attributed to the Greek tragedians as their
last, and lost, secret. I reiterate that nobody can care more than a farthing
for Macduff on his own account. He had, to be sure, an unusual start in
the world; but he has not quite lived up to it. Huis escape, which leaves
his wife and children at Macbeth’s mercy, is (to say the least) unheroic.
By effecting Macbeth’s discomfiture through such a man of straw, Shake-
speare impresses on us the conviction—or, rather, he leaves us no room
for anything but the conviction—that Heaven is at the work of avenging,
and the process of retribution is made the more imposing as its agents are
seen in themselves to be naught.

These remarks are in general happy, but seem wholly inap-
plicable to Macduff. This man’s daring, in the amazing situation
developed after the discovery (II. iii) of Duncan’s murder, is
sublime.

Macbeth, after Macduff reports that he was appointed to wake
the King, proposes to bring him to the presence. But he fails to
knock, or to usher his guest—as would be expected—across the
threshold. He merely points out the door. When presently
Macduff dashes out, crying

O horror, horror, horror! Tongue nor heart
Cannot conceive nor name thee,
Macbeth does not rush into the apartment, pretendingly to learn
what has happened to the man committed to his tutelage and re-
sponsibility, but stands moveless, stolid, impassive. At Mac-
duff’s instance, he goes with Lennox, into the chamber. At the
summons of the castle bell, Lady Macbeth, somewhat too quickly,
but with well-affected surprise and challenge, comes in. Banquo,
unsurprised, as we note, appears, and discourses with his hostess
and Macduff in a vein quite out of keeping with the excitement of
the moment. He cannot have had time to dress, and seems not
to have been unprepared for what has happened. Malcolm and
Donalbain, with other thanes unnamed and servants,1 come in

11 Lady Macbeth is borne out (1. 132) by unnamed persons. No one of

the thanes mentioned here offers to assist.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 19

to fill up the scene-—for what? To furnish audience for things
now to be said. Macbeth has returned from the place of death.
All eyes are fastened on him. He must now meet the test. His
nature is sensitive and sympathetic, and no situation could be
more trying. He begins well, though not quite naturally:
Had I but died an hour before this chance,
I had lived a blessed time; for from this instant
There’s nothing serious in mortality.
All is but toys. Renown and grace is dead.
The wine of life is drawn, and the mere lees
Is left this vault to brag of.
It is not so hard to talk in sublime generals. But when the
question comes, Who did it, the case is changed. Macbeth is
silent, and Lennox answers,—
Those of his chamber, as it seem’d, had done it.
Their hands and faces were all badg’d with blood.
So were their daggers, which unwip’d we found
Upon their pillows.
Is there then a pause, each looking to his fellow? Those victims
have been struck down, half-awake, with no chance to speak, and
Lennox attempts to gloss over the ugly fact. ‘They stared,’ he
says, ‘and were distracted. No man’s life was to be trusted
with them.’ Do the company think so? Macbeth, looking into
their faces, seems to read dark imaginings. At any rate, he
spoils his part by a colossal blunder. Feeling that he must noi
delay longer an avowal of his act, he tries fatally to explain and
at the same time deprecate and excuse,—
I yet do I repent me of my fury,
That I did kill them.
If, taking his cue from Lennox’s last remark, he had said, ‘I killed
them at sight, and would fain have made them die ten thousand
deaths,’ he would have passed this crisis of his trial perhaps suc-
cessfully. But he is hopelessly unmanned, and his unaccountable,
almost imbecile remark, that he ‘repents him’ of his ‘fury’ can
have but one effect upon the company. There is one man onlv
among them all whose soul reacts naturally and utterly and
worthily. Macduff, as with the voice of doom, turns on him,—
Wherefore did you so?

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20 | L. A. Sherman

Our sympathies are with Macbeth even in his failure, but we
kindle at this righteous challenge, “Wherefore?’** “ Nobody can
care more than a farthing for Macduff on his own account”?
Macduff is the man of the play, and from this hour is master of
the outcome. At his challenge, Macbeth goes to pieces, tries to
justify the ‘fury’ that he has repented of, and makes a fright-
ful mess of it:

Who can be wise, temperate, and furious,
Loyal and neutral, in a moment? No man.
The expedition of my violent love .
Outrun the pauser, Reason. ... Who could refrain
That had a heart to love, and in that heart
Courage to make’s love known?

Now wonder Lady Macbeth swoons, either feigningly or genu-
inely. She might well swoon from this sudden vision of where,
in the eyes of Scotland, she and her husband have brought them-
selves. (But people who swoon, we remember, do not anticipate
the fit and call for help.) Macduff, the new master of the
household, does not stir to aid, but bids whoever will—and it
is not Macbeth who wills—‘look to the lady.’ Surely there can
be no mistaking Shakespeare’s meaning or purpose here. This
man who is in present revolt is the only thane of Scotland who
will refuse to lend himself to the mockery of Macbeth’s corona-
tion. He alone will disdain to appear at the feast designed to test
the devotion of the lords. He is the only one of all who will
make it his business to inaugurate rebellion, and seek help from
outside the kingdom. And he is the appointed figure to execute
the vengeance of the Almighty and of Scotland at the close.
Shakespeare’s plays are distinguished from other dramas gen-
erally in that they are provided thus with a Finalizing Factor.
12QOne cannot but fancy that Quiller-Couch himself, under the same
conditions, would have said that word, and become the protagonist of the
play. It required more manhood certainly to defy the power thus of
Macbeth, alone, than to oppose and then succumb (1. vii) to the evil genius
of King Duncan. Who of us would have cared to be the hero of the play,
at this moment, if we could have confronted that hero with such sublime,

uncalculating loyalty to Scotland? Who of us could have joined himself,
after that Wherefore, with the craven followers of Macbeth?

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 21

This Factor is a member of the cast who appears early in the
action, and supplies the means or forces necessary for winding
up the plot. Macduff furnishes this element in Macbeth. Shake-
speare does not permit the personage fulfilling this part to come
into competition with the title character. Neither does he bring
in such factor as an alien element, or withhold him as a deus ex
machina unil the play must end. In other plays as in this one,
we care more than’a farthing’s worth for his function. This
finalizing factor in Hamlet is Laertes. In Othello it is lago.
We find him in Aufidius as we analyze the play of Coriolanus,
we see him in Kent as we read King Lear. Bellarius supplies the
part in Cymbeline, and Paulina in The Winter's Tale. We find
the same feature in the greater comedies, as Puck in Midsummer
Night's Dream, Sebastian in Twelfth Night, and Duke Frederick
in As You Like It. In no one of the thirty-seven plays credited
to Shakespeare in this expedient of his more exploited or exalted
than in Macbeth.

It seems hardly worth while to quote the opinions of our
author on the character and role of Banquo. We may more
speedily finish with the topic by reviewing the evidence in the
text. We have called attention, a few paragraphs back, to the
fact that Banquo shows no surprise, on joining the company in
the great hall, after servants, at Macduff’s order, have rung the
great bell of the castle. We might ponder a little at the quickness
with which he enters, just after Lady Macbeth, who has been
waiting for a cue. Malcolm and Donalbain, having taken time to
dress, have evidently been awaked from sleep. Was Banquo
awake already? Had he slept at all? We may infer from his
aside (II. 7-9) ,—

Merciful powers,

Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose,—

that he was in fear, at retiring, lest he should mutter of ‘cursed
thoughts’ and so compromise himself to some hearing ear. Has
he not then divined, from the constrained manner of Macbeth,

13 Tt is interesting to compare Victor Hugo’s parallel or perhaps imitated
expedient, in Hernam, of the horn.

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22 L. A. Sherman

and from the suppressed excitement of Lady Macbeth—and in-
deed since from the veiled overtures (II. i. 21-24, 25, 26) of
Macbeth himself, what the night holds for Scotland and her king?
What should we, in Banquo’s place, have thought? He is as
loyal in his answer (ll. 26-29) —

So I lose none [1.6. honor]
In seeking to augment it, but still keep
My bosom enfranchis’d and allegiance clear,
I shall be counsell’d,—

as he has seemed before. But is he as loyal in his heart? If he
has sensed nothing disloyal, why does he qualify his language?
After giving over his sword (i. 4) to Fleance, why, on seeing a
torch and hearing steps does he ask for it again? Is he not ina
friendly castle, shut in from all confederates of Macdonwald?
Does he think Duncan safer than himself? Why does he seem
or wish to bespeak something for the King through mention of
‘unusual pleasure’ and ‘measureless content’??4 May not the
lord of the realm be trusted to make his own acknowledgments ?
Does it not occur to Banquo that Duncan should have guard, some
thane like himself, with grooms or soldiers, at the door of his
chamber? When he declares to the company, after the dis-
covery,—
In the great hand of God I stand, and thence

Against the undivulg’d pretence I fight
Of treasonous malice,—

does he mean to imply that he is devoid of conviction concerning
the authors of the deed? He can affirm truly that he has himself
done nothing. Can he say, before God, that he has left nothing
undone?

Shakespeare has touched but lightly (1. ii. 33-41) on Banquo’s
part in the great battles. Duncan forces mention of the latter’s
partnership with Macbeth into the sergeant’s story. Later (iv.
29-32) he makes Banquo’s desert and glory equal to Macbeth’s.

14 Why should Shakespeare mock us even here with a fresh instance of
his control over our sympathies? How indeed can he so polarize this

goodness of Duncan’s nature as to hold us resolutely indifferent to his
inhuman fate?

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 23

His daring and effectiveness have clearly not been equal with
Macbeth’s. Why has Duncan tried to make them so? Macbeth
feels no jealousy, and conceives no fear till after the assassina-
tion. But Duncan’s praise has put warrant under the witches’
prophecy (111. 65-68) that greatness shall come at least to Ban-
quo’s descendants. That makes him Macbeth’s rival, if the vic-
tory does not.

Macbeth knows that his thanes are not wholehearted in their
acceptance of his rule. Macduff has declined to witness his
coronation. What is Banquo’s state of mind? Macbeth does
not need to recall the vision of consequences that filled his soul
when Lady Macbeth (I. vii) came out to him from the banquet.
He has taught Banquo bloody instructions. Shakespeare needs
but to have Banquo betray to us a little of his jealousy, at the
opening of Act III,? and behave mysteriously. The intimation
that he may possibly meddle with Macbeth puts him on the wrong
side of our sympathies. We are willing that Macbeth shall make
his throne secure.

Professor Quiller-Couch is at variance, it would seem, with the
evidence here summarized. He holds that Banquo furnishes the
Point of Rest for the whole play, standing beside the hero, lke
Horatio beside Hamlet, as the Ordinary Man. “To Banquo as
to Macbeth the witches’ predictions are offered. Macbeth shall
be King of Scotland: Banquo shall beget kings. But whereas
Macbeth, taking evil for good and under persuasion of his wife
as well as of the supernatural, grasps at the immediate means to
the end, Banquo, like an ordinary, well-meaning, sensible fellow,
doesn't do it, and therefore on the fatal night can go like an
honest man to his dreams. . . . from the moment Macbeth yields
and apparently succeeds, Banquo, who has not yielded, becomes a

15 Shakespeare’s clear dramatic vision admits, as we have seen, but two
obstructions. ‘to involve the plot.’ Other playwrights allow a greater
number, sometimes as many as four, thus dividing the attention and in-
terest of the audience or reader. The Second Act finishes with the major
involvement, and adjusts the plot to the situation thus inaugurated. Shake-
speare’s third acts introduce new forces and new action. Here these forces

are Banquo’s ambition and jealousy, and Macbeth’s suspicion, which last
furnishes the motive for a fresh assassination.

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24 L. A. Sherman

living reproach to him. He is the shadowiest of dangers, but a
very actual reproach: and therefore Macbeth’s first instinct is, by
removing Banquo, to obliterate the standard of decency, of
loyalty—if that loyaity were partial only, why, then, the more
credit for obeying it !—which survives to accuse him. So Banquo
becomes naturally the first sacrifice to be paid to a guilty con-
science, and Banquo is murdered.” This is the gist of our
author’s six pages of discussion.

Shakespeare will use the consequences of this murder to pre-
cipitate the plot. But to appreciate fully this turn in the story,
which has no warrant in Holinshed, we must consider briefly the
use which Shakespeare has made of the supernatural in the play
at large.

The part played by the Witches seems to the present writer but
imperfectly recognized by Professor Quiller-Couch, as by critics
generally. Shakespeare was presumably unacquainted with the
Hierarchy of Dionysius and the mediaeval notion of dualism be-
tween good and evil angels of the various orders. Baconians
might find some color for their theory in the fact that the witch-
masters in this play appear to be evil Principalities of that
scheme, and concerned with fomenting calamity and woe for the
nations of the earth.‘*. The Witches here are openly obedient to

16 Just as in the Sphere of the Moon—which was nearest to the earth—
each child at birth came under the influence of a good angel and an evil
genius or angel, always in contention for control, so in the Sphere of
Venus, each nation was under tutelage of beneficent Principalities, with
whom malignant spirits of the same order were incessantly at war, trying
to afflict and destroy. Clear, bright days were due to the temporary pre-
vailment of the former, storms and foul weather, to recurrent triumphs of
the evil Lucifers. Macbeth rehearses (IV. i. 50-60) modes of deviltry that
the Witches, through their master, might set in motion. The play opens
in ‘thunder, lightning and in rain’ which, because of the fog and filthy
air—not usually attendant upon electric storms—were perhaps intended to
suggest diabolism. The commotions in nature on the night (II. iii. 59-66)
of the assassination are not doubtfully of this origin. And is Shake-
_speare’s thought that the Third Witch, who has apparently been hovering
over the scene of battle while her sisters execute distant commissions, has
had to do with the discomfiture of Macdonald, by making him helpless

against (I. ii. 16-23) the strangely hazardous lunge and lift of Macbeth’s
sword? Any tyro should have fended the thrust successfully.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 25

these masters, who intend further mischief for Scotland, in spite
of the issue of the battle, in which the good angels seem to have
prevailed. Or perhaps we are to infer that the evil angels, having
used Macdonwald, connive finally at his defeat and death. They
purpose now to.draw Macbeth over to their side. They cannot
or at least do not bewitch this hero of the hour, nor even Lady
Macbeth, but will manage to effect their will by way of both.
Even the apparition of the air-drawn dagger, which will lead
Macbeth to Duncan’s chamber, will only lead the way he is to go
by his own resolve.

However we may conclude concerning Shakespeare’s use and
knowledge of mediaeval dualism, there is indubitably a consistent
and governing conception concerning the Witches’ function in his
thought. Their masters are the cause of the new tribulations
that are in store for Scotland. Their animus and power are
apparent in each of the first four acts. They foreknow the out-
come of the battle, and commission their agents, before the first
scene opens, to meet with and greet Macbeth. They pronounce
to him, on the road to Forres, a prediction that he shall himself
fulfill. In the Second Act, they wait upon his stroke, and hold
carnival (II. 11. 590-66) over the consummation of the murder.
In the Third Act they provide a climax for the plot. In the
Fourth, they lure on their victim by false promises to his doom,
which is to involve, not another rebellion like Macdonwald’s, but
civil war, with intermeddling from an outside power, the most
dangerous and determined enemy of the country.

The Witch-masters furnish, in the Third Act, not only a climax
for the plot, but the chief sensation of the whole history.17 Here
is the place in the play where the author’s art is most pronounced
and daring. Ignoring ten prosperous years of Macbeth’s rule,
he seizes upon Holinshed’s mention of a banquet, ordered for
compassing Banquo’s murder, as the means of precipitating the

17 The present writer accepts the stage tradition confirmed by Dr. For-
man’s testimony, that the ghost of Banquo must be shown before the
physical eye, not only of Macbeth, but of the audience. He is also of the
opinion that the guests, who have not yet had time to digest the circum-

stances of Banquo’s failure to return, infer that it is an apparition of the
murdered Duncan that unmans their host.

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26 L. A. Sherman

plot. The Witch-masters trump up an apparition of the muti-
lated victim, install it in the royal seat, and so horrify Macbeth
that he forgets to guard his murderous secret. Lady Macbeth pre-
cipitously orders out the guests, supperless, from fear lest Mac-
beth pronounce before them the very name of the form he sees.
These thanes were called together to ensure committal to Mac-
beth’s cause. As each canters forth, with his grooms, in the dead
of night, towards his castle, he feels himself absolved from the
expected obligation, and not wholly disinclined to a future com-
mittal of quite a different sort.1* Thus has Shakespeare inspired
the leaders of the people, against the eventual overthrow of
the usurper, with a personal as well as a political animus or
motivation. ὶ

This imaginative anticipation of the outcome is the construc-
tive center of the play. There is ‘descending action’ from the
moment of the unsuccessful banquet till the end of the history.
We are convinced that Macbeth is doomed, and we visualize the
defeat and punishment with which his career will end. Because
of the vision in which the conviction comes to us, we may call this
crowning part of the construction the Subjective Climax. We
create for ourselves a conclusion without waiting for enabling
or compelling facts. The Objective Climax is reached at the vital
moment when the anticipated issue becomes actual. All the

18 To those who have not regarded the presence of Banquo’s ghost as
counterfeited, a summary of the suggestions in the text may be of interest.
The figures that make up the ‘show of eight kings, in the first scene of
the Fourth Act, are incontestably creations of the Witch-masters, or of
diabolism. Macbeth recognizes the ‘blood-boltered Banquo’ as the same
apparition that unnerved him at the banquet, the night before, except that
it now smiles on him in triumph. Evidently again this is not, in Shake-
speare’s thought, a veritable disembodied spirit, since such, by the notions
of the age, were permitted to visit the earth only, like the ghost of the
elder Hamlet, by high authority, and not by petition of evil powers, and
not in the day time. Macbeth, we remember, proposed to seek the Weird
Sisters (III. iv. 132, 133) ‘betimes,’ “to-morrow. This understanding
of Macbeth’s purpose is confirmed by the author—whoever he was—of
Hecate’s censure (cf. ll. 14-17) of the Witches in the next scene. Also

messengers follow Macbeth to the Witches’ cavern, to report Macduft’s
flight, as in regular course of the day’s activities.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare Dal

tragedies of Shakespeare are provided, at the middle of the Third
Act, with an anticipative climax of this kind. This occurs in
Hamlet at the point, in the intercalated play, when the king rises.
Iago inaugurates it in Othello by snatching Desdemona’s hand-
kerchief from Emilia. Brutus supplies it for Julius Caesar
through consenting that Antony address the populace. Other
dramatists contrive a constructive climax, but do not force upon
audience or reader imaginative inferences concerning respective
outcomes. Shakespeare retains in general the same typical fea-
ture in the construction of his comedies.

The drama of Macbeth ends in a manner opposite to. what we
had wished and hoped. This however does not make the work
a tragedy. That which finally happens is out of keeping with the
moral desert of the hero at the moment when we conceive for
him his future and crave to see it realized. His failure to make
his destiny square with his aims and possibilities is distressing to
us, and this reaction in our sympathies is thought of and spoken
of as ‘tragic’ or ‘tragical.’ The substance and the effect of such
a history are alike called Tragedy.

Shakespeare differs from other dramatists in forcing his audi-
ences and readers to conceive and covet a definite consummation,
as here in Macbeth, as early as the second scene or situation in the
First Act. In work from other hands, the consummation is often
not signified till near the end of the First Act, or is left shadowy
altogether. After hearing from Ross and the ‘ bleeding sergeant,’
in the present play, of Macbeth’s amazing victory, we find our-
selves possessed by the desire that this master may achieve a
great career, and that Scotland, through him, may win a worthy
place among the nations. We are caught also by the prospect
that we ourselves may witness later some of the assured exploits
of this Bellona’s bridegroom.

In other tragedies of Shakespeare, the prefigured consumma-
tion is wholly ethical, and fails of fulfillment in a manner not in-
consistent with the earlier conditions of the plot. Our minds
experience a normal katharsis of anxiety and pity. In Hamlet
we nowhere repent our enthusiasm for the title character.
Othello does not deserve his fate, nor does Brutus, nor Antony,

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28 1,. A. Sherman

nor Lear, and we feel the same sympathy with them at the end
as at the middle or the beginning. But in Macbeth we are con-
scious of having been dealt with unfairly. We find ourselves at
the close in the plight of naughty children who have repeated a
moral experiment, and learn once more that connivance in wrong-
doing must end in regret and shame. Macbeth is thus, of all
Shakespeare’s work, an immoral play. We have been forced,
through the author’s knowledge of our minds, to commit our-
selves to a cause and course that we finally repudiate. One
grows hospitable to the notion, after this experience, that Shake-
speare wrote the play to order,—perhaps to gratify a Stuart's
pride in a prophesied kingship and origin.

1Π|

Quiller-Couch again, in his lecture (pp. 72 ff.) on A Midsum-
mer-Night's Dream, formulates the purpose of this volume:

I do suggest that we can immensely increase our delight in Shakespeare
and strengthen our understanding of him if, as we read him again and
again, we keep asking ourselves how the thing was done. JI am sure that—
hopeless as complete success must be—by this method we get far nearer
to the τὸ τί ἣν εἶναι of a given play than by searching among ‘ sources’ and
“origins, by debating how much Shakespeare took from Chaucer’s Knight's
Tale, or how much he borrowed from Golding’s Ovid, or how much
Latin he learned at Stratford Grammar School, or how far he anticipated
modern scientific discoveries, or why he gave the names “ Pease-blossom,”
“ Cobweb,” “ Moth,” “ Mustard-Seed” to his fairies.

This is a noble and sufficient motive. The common sense of
scholars is coming to recognize that the question of where the
hair and feathers and spears of grass come from with which the
robin weaves her nest, is of minor moment. The nest’s the
thing,—how it is made fast from the beginning to the double fork
of a tree, how rounded into symmetry, and made soft and warm
for new-hatched young. If we cannot go back to the art, the
instinct that guides the making of the marvel, let us not flatter
ourselves into the belief that identifying materials is identifying
the processes that use them. ‘Workmanship,’ let us remember,
does not begin until processes begin, and processes involve art.
The greatest thing in literature is the art of Shakespeare. It is

130

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 29

perhaps no less an instinct than the gift of constructing a per-
fectly rounded and artistic nest. But it is an instinct that is not,
like the robin’s or the wren’s, inscrutable. The psychology and
the processes of Shakespeare’s art can be analyzed and known.
It is gratifying to find this truth so plainly postulated.

But this excellent promise of the author falls considerably short
of fulfillment in the present lecture. It opens with sensible ob-
servations on the development of Shakespeare’s notion of what a
play should be, and what his chief expedients were. The first is
“the trick of a woman disguised in man’s apparel.’ Another
works the plot upon a shipwreck, shown or reported. “The
Comedy of Errors and Pericles are pivoted upon shipwreck; by
shipwreck Perdita in The Wuinter’s Tale is abandoned on the
magical seacoast of Bohemia. Twelfth Night takes its intrigue
from shipwreck, and, for acting purposes, opens with Viola’s
casting ashore. ... The Tempest opens in the midst of ship-
wreck. In The Comedy of Errors and Twelfth Night shipwreck
leads on to another trick—that of mistaken identity, as it is
called. In The Comedy of Errors (again) and Pericles it leads
on to the trick of a long-lost mother, supposed to have perished
in shipwreck, revealed as living yet and loving. . . . One might
make a long list of these favorite themes; from Shakespeare’s
pet one of the jealous husband or lover and the woman foully
misjudged (Hero, Desdemona, Hermione), . . . to the trick of
the commanded murderer whose heart softens (Hubert, Pisanio),”
—only Pisanio never intended to harm Imogen.”

And then, “ All young artists in drama are preoccupied with
plot or ‘construction.’ ‘@haracter’ comes later. The plot of
Love's Labour's Lost turns on ‘confusion of identity,’ the
Princess and her ladies masking themselves to the perplexity of
their masked lovers. . . . The Comedy of Errors is an experi-
ment on a different model; not Lyly now, but Plautus, and Plau-
tus out-Plautus’d. Again we have confusion of identity for the
motive, but here confusion of identity does not merely turn on

19 If he did so purpose, why should he bring along a page’s doublet, hat,

and hose to the place of execution? Were they to serve as burial clothes
for Imogen?

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20 L. A. Sherman

the plot, as in Love’s Labour's Lost; it means all the play, and the
play means nothing else. Where Plautus had one pair of twin
brothers so featured that they could not be told apart, Shake-
speare adds another pair, and the fun is drawn out with astonish-
ing dexterity. Let three things, however, be observed: (1) The
feat is achieved at a total loss of character—and indeed he who
starts out to confuse identity must, consciously or not, set him-
self the task of obliterating character. (2) Unless a convention ~
of pasteboard be accepted as substitute for flesh and blood, the
events are incredible. (3) On the stage of Plautus the conven-
tion of two men being like enough in feature to deceive even their
wives might pass. It was actually a convention of pasteboard,
since the players wore masks. Paint two masks alike, and (since
masks muffle voices) the trick is done. But (4) Shakespeare,
dispensing with the masks, doubled the confusion by tacking a
pair of Dromios on to a pair of Antipholuses; and to double one
situation so improbable is to multiply its improbability by the
hundred.

“Tt is all done, to be sure, with such amazing resource that,
were ingenuity of stagecraft the test of great drama, we might
say, Here is a man who has little or nothing to learn. But
ingenuity of stagecraft is not the test of great drama; and in fact
Shakespeare had more than a vast deal to learn. He had a vast
deal to unlearn.

“A dramatic author must start by mastering certain stage-
mechanics. Having mastered them, he must—to be great—un-
learn reliance on them, learn to cut them away as he grows to
perceive that the secret of his art resides in playing human beings
against human beings, man against woman, character against
character, will against will—not in devising ‘situations’ or ‘cur-
tains’ and operating his puppets to produce these. His art
touches climax when his ‘situations’ and curtains so befall that
we tell ourselves, ‘It is wonderful—yet what else could have
happened?’ Othello is one of the cleverest stage plays ever
written. What does it leave us to say but, in an awe of pity,
‘This is most terrible, but it must have happened so’? In great
art, as in life, character makes the bed it lies on or dies on.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 21

“So in the next play, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, we find
Shakespeare learning and, perhaps even more deliberately, un-
learning. The Two Gentlemen of Verona is not a great play:
but it is a curious one, and a very wardrobe of ‘effects’ in which
Shakespeare afterwards dressed himself to better advantage.

“In The Two Gentlemen of Verona Shakespeare is feeling for
character, for real men and women. Tricks no longer satisfy
him. Yet the old tricks haunt him. He must have again, as in
The Comedy of Errors, two gentlemen with a servant apiece—
though the opposition is discriminated and more cunningly bal-
anced. For stage effect Proteus (supposed a friend and a gentle-
man) must suddenly behave with incredible baseness. For stage
effect Valentine must surrender his true love to his false friend
with a mawkish generosity that deserves nothing so much as a
kicking :

All that was mine in Silvia I give thee.
And what about Silvia?- Where does Silvia come in? That
devasting sentence may help the curtain, but it blows all character
to the winds. There are now no gentlemen in Verona.”

This is of course edifying and quite what 15 to be expected of a
mind acute in character distinctions. No one can so well be
trusted to discuss the growth of an artist’s powers as he who has
himself experienced that growth. Who else can know of the
chasm that lies between vision and expression? “All art is see-
” It is mot easy always to observe. Yet it is
sometimes easy to see, but impossible to say. Trollope speaks,
we remember, almost dolorously of an author’s limitations:

ing and saying.

It is to be regretted that no mental method of daguerreotype or photog-
raphy has yet been discovered by which the characters of men can be
reduced_to writing and put into grammatical language with an unerring
precision of truthful description. How often does the novelist feel, ay,
and the historian also and the biographer, that he has conceived within his
mind and accurately depicted on the tablet of his brain the full character
and personage of a man, and that nevertheless, when he flies to pen and
ink to perpetuate the portrait, his words forsake, elude, disappoint and
play the deuce with him, till at the end of a dozen pages the man described
has no more resemblance to the man conceived than the sign-board at the
corner of the street has to the Duke of Cambridge——Barchester Towers
ΠΠ 212.

133

20 ! L. A. Sherman

Evidently, in Trollope’s case, the chasm between a vision of
character and the portrayal of it was a yawning one. Quiller-
Couch implies that Shakespeare did not at first see character well,
but had to feel for it, if haply he might sense or catch it in some
feature. We fear that our author is grievously wrong in this.
It would not be harder to show that Shakespeare from the first
saw character whole and drew it whole when needed than that he
developed these capabilities play by play. To be sure he did not
always exploit personality in the Comedies. But Romeo and
Juliet is as complete in both aspects as Othello or King Lear, and
might be held more vivid and telling in character distinctions than
Cymbeline, The Tempest, or The Wimter’s Tale, which we re-
member were his latest plays. Shakespeare of course is Shake-
speare for nothing besides so much as for bridging the chasm
between seeing and saying as no man else has ever bridged it.
He was surely alive to character differences even in the Errors,
though, as Quiller-Couch has shown, he might not use them.
And he had his bridge-making technic with him all the while, as
the next drama in the series of Comedies proves. Let us follow
Quiller-Couch a little further:

We come to 4A Midsummer-Night’s Dream; and, with the three earlier
comedies to guide us, shall attempt to conjecture how the young play-
wright would face this new piece of work.

First we shall ask, “ What had he to do?”

Nobody knows precisely when, or precisely where, or precisely how, 4
Midsummer-Night’s Dream was first produced. But it is evident to me
that, like Love’s Labour’s Lost, it was written for performance at court;
and that its particular occasion, like the occasion of The Tempest, was a
court wedding. It has all the stigmata οἵ" ἃ court play. Like Love’s
Labour’s Lost and The Tempest, it contains an interlude; and that inter-
lude—Bully Bottom’s Pyramus and Thisbe—is designed, rehearsed, enacted
for a wedding. Can any one read the opening scene or the closing speech
of Theseus and doubt that the occasion was a wedding? Be it remem-
bered, moreover, how the fairies dominate this play; and how constantly
and intimately fairies are associated with weddings in Elizabethan poetry,
their genial favours invoked, their malign caprices prayed against. I take
a stanza from Spenser’s great Epithalamuon:

Let no deluding dreames, nor dreadfull sights
Make sudden sad affrights ;
Ne let house-fyres, nor lightnings helpelesse harmes,

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 55

Ne let the Pouke nor other evill sprights,
Ne let mischivous witches with theyr charmes,
Ne let hob-Goblins, names whose sense we see not,
Fray us with things that be not:
Let not the shriech Oule nor the Storke be heard,
Nor the night Raven that still deadly yels,
Nor damnéd ghosts cald up with mighty .spels,
Nor griesly Vultures, make us once afeard,
Ne let th’unpleasant Quyre of Frogs still croking
Make us to wish the’r choking.
Let none of these theyr drery accent's sing;
Ne let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho ring.
And I compare this with the fairies’ last pattering ditty in our play:
Now the wasted brands do glow,
Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud,
Puts the wretch that lies in woe
In remembrance of a shroud.
Now it is the time of night
That the graves, all gaping wide,
Every one lets forth his sprit,
In the church-way paths to glide:
And we fairies, that do run
By the triple Hecate’s team,
From the presence of the sun,
Following darkness like a dream,
Now are frolic; not a mouse
Shall disturb this hallow’d house;
I am sent with broom, before,
To sweep the dust behind the door.

To ihe best beideibed all we,
Which by us shall blessed be... .

And each several chamber bless,
Through this palace, with sweet peace.

Can any one set these two passages together and doubt 4A Midsummer-
Night's Dream to be intended for a merry κάθαρσις, a pretty purgation, of
those same goblin terrors which Spenser would exorcise from the bridal
chamber? For my part, I make little doubt that Shakespeare had Spen-
ser’s very words in mind as he wrote.

Here, then, we have a young playwright commissioned to write a wed-
ding play—a play to be presented at court. He is taturally anxious to
shine; and, moreover, though his fellow-playwrights already pay him the
compliment of being a little jealous, he still has his spurs to win. .

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24 1,. A. Sherman

Indeed! Indeed! What sort of conclusion might one not
establish, if one were allowed to make up major and minor
premises, after this fashion, as one goes along? Quiller-Couch
as good as admits that there is no proof at all, nothing beyond
this shadowy suggestion of a ‘purgation,’ that this is a wedding
play, or that Shakespeare was ‘commissioned’ to write one to be
shown at court. To be sure, there is a marriage in prospect, as
the piece opens, which same marriage is still to be consummated
at the close. That is the only difference distinguishing it as a
‘wedding’ play from As You Like It, or The Merchant of Venice,
or Twelfth Night, in which matrimonial felicity is in prospect
only at the end. We cannot thus beg the question, at the very
start, if we are to inquire profitably ‘how the thing was done.’
And, as has been said already, the upshot of the lecture, which
the author has based upon these remarkable assumptions, does
not fulfill the promise or the purpose of bringing to light Shake-
speare’s artistic method or procedures. Quiller-Couch gets no
farther than a supposed soliloquy of his author, in which he
imagines how the strangely incongruous elements,—the twigs and
feathers and horsehair, chanced to be discerned as proper ma-
terials with which to build. But how they were wreathed into
marvellous unity, the τὸ τί ἦν εἶναι of the play as art, is not reached
at all.

So we are thrown back upon our old ignorance of the occasion
and the inspiration of A Midsummer-Night’s Dream. We can
be sure of nothing save that Shakespeare had to make or chose
to make, at some uncertain moment, another play to meet the
needs of the company with which he was associated. When he
at that or some earlier moment ran through the group of possible
subjects in his mind, he came upon the idea of utilizing the lore
of elves and fairies. If he had liked Lyly’s way well enough, or
had inclined to what later became Ben Jonson’s way, he would
have constructed a masque showing Oberon and Titania and
Puck meddling importantly in the affairs of mortals. The com-
mon folk believed in that sort of meddling as steadfastly as they
believed in the doctrines of grace and perdition. The more in-
tellectual sort of theater-goers were not as yet weaned wholly

136

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 35

away from interest in the old racial superstitions. Knowing that
nothing would take better than a spectacle revealing the antics of
these tricksy children of the air, it is not strange at all that Shake-
speare should decide to make it the basis of the play proposed.

Now Shakespeare had an idea, different considerably from
modern literary and dramatic notions, that it is often well to do
vital things incidentally rather than openly and directly. We
find it hard to imagine him even tempted to make up solid action
with an Oberon as hero and a Titania as heroine of a proper plot.
We may expect him to keep these elvish figures, with Puck, as
the age conceived them, fairly behind the scenes, and apart from
human sympathy. We remember that when he wishes to show
the helplessness of strong natures, as Benedict and Beatrice, in
relation to their own psychology, he does not write a Much Ado
with these as leading parts. He trumps up a pair of lovers,
Claudio and Hero, and starts the play off on the beaten track.
Later, when Beatrice has made Benedict vow, with a lover’s
absurd subjectivity, to kill Claudio, he inscribes upon these
natures the lesson of the play. But, we must mark, he holds us
from the first and throughout, according to his rule of dramatic
construction, with the conceived and coveted ‘ consummation,’ that
Claudio and Hero wed,—that Jack shall have his Gill. Again,
wishing to exploit the story of ‘the Jew of Venice,’ he fixes up a
plot that makes the part in seeming incidental, while subordinat-
ing the progress of the drama to it. In other words, The Mer-
chant of Venice means fundamentally and vitally Shylock, though
the dramatic construction makes of his evil purpose only a ‘ minor
obstruction’ to the ‘consummation’ which we prefigure and de-
sire, and which is of course the union of Bassanio and Portia.
So here, in the play which Shapespeare has now in hand, he pro-
ceeds similarly, and will unfold certain occult concerns and doings
of the fairies on a background of real people and real life.

And who shall be the people? What real life shall be enacted?
Shakespeare’s audiences, at this stage of his popularity, would
answer, “Why, of course, the highest. Deal for us again with
kings, and queens, and great folk, and affairs above our own
narrow and insipid range.” We must not forget that it was a

137

36 L. A. Sherman

romantic age. The popular fancy craved and expected unex-
ampled things. And, somehow, we cannot imagine Shakespeare
taking a low aim here. At any rate, it is clear that he turned to
classic myths. Theseus is more. than a kingly figure. North’s
Plutarch has it that the Athenians honored him as a demigod at
the end. Thus Shakespeare removes the theater of his fairy
operations far from all suggestions of allegoric or local reference.
And the story of Hippolyta and her Amazons seems to have ap-
pealed to Shakespeare,—even if no author since has bethought
him of its dramatic possibilities. And the marriage of these
super-mortals can be turned to rich account. Royal weddings
always set the world agog.

‘Then, too, Shakespeare from first to last has an eye to con-
trasts. He delights to bring prince and grave-digger, thane and
gate-warder, into the lists of intellectual combat, and not always
to the discomfiture of the humbler wit. The wide-mouthed
“countryman” presumes to jest with Cleopatra over the asps that
she has sent for. Dogberry and Verges are fetched from England
to save Hero from the plot of Borachio and Don John. To fill
up the other end of the social scale, between which and our epic
pair the shadowy forms of Puck and Oberon shall ply their trade,
Bottom and his fellow mechanicals shall flit back from British to
Athenian shops, through twenty-five centuries of Aryan history.

Here, then, are the incongruous materials, the gross and the
gossamer, the romantic and the vulgar elements. By what
manipulations of art can Shakespeare wreathe them into poetic
and dramatic unity? How shall it be possible to relate the un-
speakable Bottom, and Quince, and Flute, and Snout, to the
redoubtable Theseus and the irresistible Hippolyta? How is
either party to be dealt with by the fairy personages? Of course,
it will not do to bring the bridal figures, nor indeed—soberly and
vitally—the coarse mechanicals, into subservience to the fairy
parts. So it will be necessary to supply other characters, not of
the highest nor of the lowest order, for Oberon and Puck to dis-
port themselves, incidentally to their own concerns, with and upon.
This is the sum of the task, the problem on which Shakespeare has
set his thought.

138:

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 277

We will watch Shakespeare set the scene. Overhead is the
massive and sumptuous palace of Theseus, kinsman of Hercules,
who slew the Minotaur.. There are shining pillars, and marvel-
lous hangings, and two thrones perhaps of gold. And note the
speech of these affianced sovereigns :?°

Hippolyta appeals to us especially in this strange alien home.
She has been queen of the revolt against a man-ruled world. But
she feels a woman’s poetic anticipation of joy in the solemnities,
the formalities of her bridal, though it must be solemnized far
from the scenes, the associations, and the companions of her
serious years. We share in this idealization, and ‘conceive and
covet’ that all her expectations may be fully realized. This is
the slender but sufficient ‘consummation’ of the play, promised
to prove a comedy, in hand.

Philostrate is commissioned upon the moment to stir up the
Athenian youth to merriments, and thus supply the pomp and
revelling that shall make up the celebrative part of the solemni-
ties. ‘Athenian youth,’ mark you, unsupported by any women
from the camp or household of the bride, or by any maids or
matrons of the court or from the city. But Theseus, ‘just like
a man,’ does not appreciate that a stag-entertainment, under the
conditions, might not be accordant with Hippolyta’s mood or
wishes. We react to the blunder, and fear that the solemnities

20 And note, especially, the run-on lines. According to the verse-diviners,
this proportion of 2 to 1 should rank the text with Cymbeline and Winter's
Tale, Shakespeare’s latest work. Yet Midsummer-Night’s Dream can
hardly have been written more than two’years later than Love’s Labour's
Lost.

Theseus. Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour

Draws on apace: four happy days bring in

Another moon. But oh, methinks, how slow

This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,

Like to a step-dame or a dowager

Long withering out a young man’s revenue.

Hippolyta. Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;

And then the moon, like to a silver bow

New-bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

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38 L. A. Sherman

may not harmonize, even outwardly, with the feelings she has
cherished. This purpose or order of Duke Theseus is of course
the first or “minor’ obstruction to the ‘consummation’ which
motivates us to watch the play.

The ‘major’ obstruction or involvement follows hard upon.
While Theseus sits upon the throne of state, not alone as ruler,
and lawgiver, but also as supreme judge, a group of subjects seeks
admission to the presence. Egeus, an Athenian householder, con-
ducts his daughter, Hermia, and her two suitors, one Demetrius,
chosen of her father, and Lysander, approved by her, before the
judgment seat. And thus Hippolyta, queen of protest against
the injustices of man, who lifts baby daughters from the arms
of helpless mothers to cast out upon the wilds, and who, when
any such are suffered to be nourished and brought up, forces them
te wed unloved husbands,—this Hippolyta, protagonist of the
rights of woman, first suffragette of the centuries, must even now
foretaste the institutional subjection of her sex in all the days
before her. The appeal of Egeus, invoking the power of the
state to coerce his daughter, is affirmed. There is no hesitancy
or pity in the doom: .

Hermia. But I beseech your grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

Theseus. Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.

We are concerned, and deeply—as deeply as Shakespeare
allows to happen in a comedy—both for Hippolyta’s peace of
mind, and for her nuptials. Hermia, we are sure, will not submit,
and four days will bring the issue. If the sentence is carried
out, will not this bride revolt? ‘The author has made the case
as harsh as possible. Does Theseus think to enhance, by his
manner of dealing with it, the merriment and revelling? He has
at any rate set up a paramount hindrance, a major obstruction to
the outcome that we desire. If this obstruction is not lifted
from the plot, the comedy will prove a tragedy. Theseus is
blind as well as heartless. But evidently (1.1. 122) he can read
a face:

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 39

Come, my Hippolyta,—what cheer, my love?
‘How is it with you? What is the matter?’

Here Shakespeare’s wreathing of the parts begins. He makes
Lysander and Hermia resolve to flee, and they arrive, for the first
stage, no farther than the haunting grounds of the fairies. It is
a clever but not an astonishing stroke to let Puck blunder, and
pour the idealizing juice on the wrong eyes, which will prove right
ones for the relief of Hippolyta’s trepidation. Helena is brought
into the scene, we suspect, as the appointed match for Demetrius.
At any rate, Hermia will not be punished for marrying Demetrius,
or for further trying to elope with him. So our major obstruc-
tion is dismissed from the plot, and in the second scene of the
Second Act, just where it should be by the rule.

We return to the construction of the First Act. The Athenian
youth have responded to the call of Philostrate. One club or
circle are at work upon The Battle with the Centaurs, shaping it
into ballad form, to be rendered by a trained singer to the harp.
A group of lusty fellows are for reviving an old performance,
The Riot of the Tipsy Bacchanals, who rend a Thracian singer
in their frenzy. A more literary or refined company are prepar-
ing The Thrice Three Muses Mourning for the Death of Learn-
ing. Probably other intellectuals are busied similarly, for Athens
is no small city, nor is it barren in resources. Then, also, hard-
handed working men would do honor to their Duke, and select a
cast just like their betters for a play. That Shakespeare makes
us look in upon these only, while they in conceit and loutishness
discuss their parts, is sufficient intimation that he means to bring
out their work. So when we think of Hippolyta and her general
dislike of men, even when not redolent of garlic, we are per-
suaded that Theseus’s idea was stupid, and that the ‘feast in
great solemnity,’ after the formal wedding, will not be worthily
carried through. Thus the minor obstruction, subjective again
as in Macbeth but not lifted as in that play from the plot, with
its resolvement ends the act.”*

21 The construction strikes one as lumbering and heavy for so light a

comedy. But Shakespeare seems unable to draft a play except upon this
general plan. By it, either or neither of the obstructions may be removed

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40 L. A. Sherman

It is a delightful medley, and almost as intricate in point of
plot as Cymbeline. The domestic affairs of Titania and Oberon
constitute a transcendental comedy, ingeniously developed as a
sort of interlude in the Second Act. The finest poetry in the
play is centered here, and compliment to Elizabeth is contrived
by use of an incident, as told by Oberon, too sublimated to be —
witnessed by mortals, or even the eyes of Puck. With this,
along with the story of Titania’s changeling, the occult harrying
of farmer folk, and the jealousy of Oberon, the business of the
play seems shifted bodily to the plane of the supernatural. Thus
the author prepares us for his meddling, through fairy influence,
with the destinies of the middle figures—the pairs of Athenian
lovers—as also with the prepusterous rehearsal of the mechan-
icals, in the next act.

The Third Act begins, typically, with new action,—here with
the stampede of Quince and Snug and Flute and Snout and
Starveling, as led on by Puck, ‘through bog, through bush, .
through brake, through brier;’ and with the exquisite doting of
Titania upon Bottom. Now follows the harrying of the misfit
couples,—Helena, big of frame, begging to be shielded from the
nails of petite Hermia, and bewildered the while by the insistent
wooing of both Demetrius and Lysander, who presently exhaust
themselves trying to hunt each other out for mortal combat. The
human and the elvish are most veritably brought together, philis-
tine mortals, less and greater, are delivered into the hand of
Shakespeare’s unseen and unsuspected ministers. And at this
point, as the swains pant from following the simulated challenges
of Puck, the ‘subjective climax’ of the play is reached. This
prevision of the outcome is effected through Oberon’s order (III.
11. 366-369) to restore to Lysander’s eyes their wonted admira-
tion of Hermia’s charms. The reform of Demetrius’s vision, as
may happen from magical anointing even outside the boundaries
of fairyland, is lasting.
from plots. Both are eliminated in Macbeth, Othello, Twelfth Night,
Merchant of Venice, and other plays. Both obstacles stay and become

integral parts of the piece in Lear, Cymbeline, As You Like It, Much Ado,
and The Winter's Tale.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 41

The Fourth Act is properly, and in Shakespeare always, a pre-
paring-time. Titania resigns her changeling, and is restored to
sanity, and the fairies break up their game at dawn. Horns
sound, and Theseus and Hippolyta, who have somehow kept
Egeus for three days with them, come upon and annex the middle
party. These two couples, from the wonder of their fortunes,
are invited to the temple, where, not much after sunrise, the
triple weddings are dispatched. Thus are all preliminaries com-
* pleted, and the ‘solemnities, on which our consummation is
based, and by which Hippolyta sets such store, put in prospect
for the concluding act.

The scene is set again, as at opening, in the palace. Theseus
and Hippolyta, on their thrones of state, are still discussing the
adventures told by their partners of the wedding ceremony, and
how Demetrius’s ‘love to Hermia melted as the snow.’ No-
where else does Shakespeare exalt a character through endow-
ments of thought and speech as he exalts Theseus now:

Hippolyta. Ὕ is strange, my Theseus, that these lovers speak of,
Theseus. More strange than true. I never may believe
These antique fables, nor these fairy toys.

Lovers and madmen have such seething brains,

Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend

More than cool reason ever comprehends.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet

Are of imagination all compact.

One sees more devils than vast heli can hold;

That is the madman. The lover, all as frantic,

Sees Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt.

The poet’s eye in a fine frenzy rolling,

Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth

The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen

Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing

A local habitation and a name.

This, if not the language of the gods, is couched and phrased in
the dialect at least of demigods. These superior beings were
perhaps strangers to the promptings of gallantry. This may be
the reason why Theseus, as in full character of master and lord
he scans the report of Philostrate to select the opening sports,

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42 L. A. Sherman

does not consult Hippolyta. But, as she will later learn, her
preferences and opinings are not to weigh greatly in court affairs.
The title, 4 Tedious Brief Scene of Young Pyramus and His
Love Thisbe, catches the eye of Theseus. Warned as to its char-
acters, he replies,—

I will hear that play!
Hippolyta (ll. 85, 88) demurs, and (ll. 212, 255, 323) is plainly
bored throughout. Theseus, not unaccordant with Ruskin’s
pleasing conception (Praeterita, paragraphs 4 and 5 at opening)
of a King, consoles, persuades, excuses, and ordains. Thus is the
‘consummation’ that we conceived for the issue of our play not
greatly defeated—as it must not be in a comedy—after all.

Is there need to summarize? The “crew of patches, rude
mechanicals that work for bread,’ have been brought into rela-
tions with the great, and by a splendid charity, have been credited
with success. They have withdrawn in conscious pride as having
furnished artistic entertainment to the court. The Athenian
lovers, because of their miraculous deliverance from outlawry
and despair, are lodged, even as the royal bridegroom and Hip-
polyta, in great rooms of the palace. And the fairies, who
have wrought blessing without bane or mishap, keep sentinel
through the night watches in the halls and chambers. So the
play, out of jarring and incongruous and seemingly impossible
materials, has been made into a consummate unity, with the
fairies holding throughout and closingly protagonistic roles.

IV

Professor Quiller-Couch next discusses The Merchant of
Venice, and not unsatisfyingly. The organization of this play is
not so intricate, by Shakespeare’s scheme, as A Midsummer-
Night's Dream, though the problem of interlacing its two main
threads is by no means simple. It has been observed (p. 35)
already that the part of Shylock is principal, but treated, in the
construction, as secondary and incidental. Shakespeare, for the
first thing, sets about supplying the need of some one to put in
Shylock’s power, and furnishing a reason and an occasion for
the step. He feels that he cannot do better than present two

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 43

prospective lovers, whom the lack of ready money, on the part
of the intending wooer, keeps asunder.*? We naturally fall into
sympathy with Bassanio and Portia as hero and heroine of the
story to be told, and are thus provided with the ‘consummation’
necessary to hold us to the plot. We desire and expect that the
lovers shall have their will.?* Shylock’s hesitancy in coming to

22 Many critics, among whom Quiller-Couch seems to enroll himself,
fall afoul of Bassanio as a fortune hunter. But manifestly, were Shake-
speare to make his hero a man ‘of independent means,’ he could not bring
Shylock into the plot. Nor could he use a ‘poor but honest’ suitor, from
outside Portia’s class. So he needs must provide some person whose
estate is ‘involved,’ but not beyond repair. And finally, we must not
forget that a bride, in Shakespeare’s age, from royalty down was expected
to bring to the compact something besides herself, as an earnest of her
. worth,—namely, a respectable dot, which as a matter of course was to be
placed in her husband’s hands as his or for his use.

23 Tf we have not discerned the fact already, we shall perhaps be inter-
ested to find that Shakespeare’s dramatic scheme holds good typically of
the modern novel. At some point, within the early chapters, correspondent
to the second scene or situation in a play of Shakespeare, the reader sights
and desires a specific consummation as the outcome of the forces and con-
ditions introduced. The vision and desire of this conclusion will spur the
reader on through four or five hundred pages of happenings till the end is
reached. Generally, in a standard example, as Scott’s Quentin Durward
or Meredith’s Evan Harrington, the whole number of pages divided by
five will designate parts roughly answering to acts in a play of Shake-
speare. The consummation, in the second of these novels, is sighted and
desired in Chapter IV. The minor and subjective obstruction, which is the
refusal of the hero to aspire to Rose, is resolved against our wishes when
Evan hurries off, at the end of Chapter IX, to learn tailoring in London.
This, we remember, should mark the close of a First Act, and comes here
almost exactly at the point where the first fifth of the book concludes.
The greater obstacle, which is the presumably final separation of the pair,
is resolved according to our wishes when Evan is trapped and: brought to
Beckley Court. The subjective climax, at which we prefigure the issue, is
reached at the close of Chapter XXIII. The Fourth Act of this comedy,
by the author’s explicit notification, ends with Chapter XXXVII. Mere-
dith seems to have divined Shakespeare’s idea of form.

In play or novel, some incentive, some allurement, is needed to arouse
and sustain interest in audience or reader. Shakespeare’s plan is only a
fully developed form of Aristotle’s postulate of ‘a beginning, a middle,
and an end.’ Shakespeare’s fellow dramatists and some moderns follow
close upon this trail. But they often delay the consummation, they multi-

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44 L. A. Sherman

terms with Antonio, Bassanio’s bondsman, is the first or sub-
jective hindrance to our desire, but is happily removed from the
plot at the end of the First Act. The major obstacle in Shake-
speare’s dramas, and others generally that are based on the for-
tunes of a pair of lovers, is some rival of either one. Here it is
of course the rivals of Bassanio. These are finished with—there
are no divisions of the play into scenes in the Folios nor into acts
or scenes in the Quartos—in the Second Act. .

To construct a character capable of subscribing to Shylock’s
terms calls for qualities unusual in degree. The qualities with
which the author has endowed Antonio strike us at first as im-
possible in kind. Some of ourselves would perhaps go round the
block to avoid meeting the man who has lightly borrowed, or is
thought of as likely to ask again. But this Antonio begs the
chance, the case standing ‘ within the eye of honor,’ to save his
friend from ruin. ‘This, says the world, is not unselfishness, but
imbecility.

Antonio is of a class, increasingly numerous in our age, who
persist in commercial ventures, not from the love of money, but
from the fascination of the quest. Each of us has probably
known men of affairs who would indulge a friend, especially
liked, beyond the bounds of business reason. Many Antonios
can be prodigally extravagant towards their families. This An-
tonio can be prodigaliy, and chooses to be prodigally extravagant
towards a friend. There were like generous spirits, even under
Shakespeare’s eye, in.England, and there were doubtless more
such spirits in Italy. Tradition has it that Shakespeare had re-
ceived from Southampton, before the date of this play, not the
loan but the gift of a thousand pounds. The author had only to
make Antonio a Southampton to this Bassanio, but seems to have
conceived him as something more. In spite of his behavior
towards Shylock, whose greed is loathsome to him, he is one of
ply obstructions, they fail of the visualizing climax in the middle of the
play. Ibsen’s earlier work, including The Doll’s House, conforms mate-
rially. Victor Hugo imitates consciously, but ramblingly. Schiller keeps
to the pattern better. In sum, Shakespeare has rediscovered, amplified,

and perfected the Greek model. All dramas since more or less gropingly
and variously suggest the type.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare ᾿ 45

the finest characters in Elizabethan or any literature. He is
hardly an ‘inert,’ a ‘static’ figure, as Quiller-Couch insists.
Goodness is not inert, as the world has learned, but a living
force.** How Antonio is led to agree to the conditions—and
Shylock did not at first conceive anything so deadly, but was
stung into the terms he made—is exquisitely detailed. Nor are
the other Venetians ‘ wasters’ or ‘rotters’ in spite of their past-
mastery in small talk, nor do they impress us as more ‘ cold-
hearted’ than hangers-on in other ‘high-life’ circles. Shake-
speare needed to set them going, at the opening of the play, to
avoid precipitating the proper business of the scene. And, for
plausibility, one is to remember that there are always men in
plenty who, with moderate incomes and much leisure, manage
to club and dine with folk of Antonio’s sort.

After finding fault with the play variously for more than a
dozen pages, Quiller-Couch makes what he calls a personal con-
fession. This, which seems to the present writer the most valu-
able part of the whole lecture, is summed up thus:

Some four or five years ago I had to stage-manage The Merchant of
Venice. This meant that for two good months I lived in it and thought
of little else. Having once achieved the difficult but necessary feat of

getting the Trial Scene back into focus, I found a sense of the workman-
ship growing in me, and increasing to something like amazement.

There we have it. The difficulties of dramatic technic must be
dealt with from the stage side, as well as the author’s point of
view. When the illusion of actuality is set up, unrealities and
absurdities disappear. It is useless to explain away what seem
logical inconsistencies by academic argument. The author
finishes the discussion with this paragraph:

“This a play,’ wrote Hazlitt, “that in spite of the change of manners |

still holds undisputed possession of the stage.” It does yet; and yet on
the stage, sophisticated by actors, it had always vexed me, until, coming to

24 Quiller-Couch quotes the lines (II. viii. 35-49) which complete the
portraiture, but seems not to react fully to their purport. The Christ-
nature might conceivably be spoken of as ‘ static,’ since inoperative except
by influence. Antonio’s refinement and delicacy, as well as nobility of
disposition, are undeniable. The play is conditioned upon the transcendent
qualities in this man.

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46 L. A. Sherman

live with an acting version, I came to track the marvellous stage-cleverness
of it all; when, in revulsion, I grew impatient with all judgments of Shake-
speare passed on the mere reading of him. This had happened to me
before with The Taming of the Shrew—a play noisier in the study than
on the stage; strident, setting the teeth on edge; odious till acted; when
it straightway becomes not only tolerable, but pleasant, and not only
pleasant, but straightforwardly effective. In particular, I had to own of
The Merchant of Venice that the lines which really told on the stage
were lines the reader passes by casually, not pausing to take their im-
pression. It fairly surprised me, for an example, that Lorenzo’s famous
speech in the last Act—about the music and the moonlight and the stars—
though well delivered, carried less weight than four little words of Portia’s. -

It is pleasing to find our author thus recognizing the significance
of the Fifth Act, which supplies the objective and artistic climax
of the whole. Certain critics assure us that Shakespeare really
finished the play with the Fourth Act, but didn’t know it, and so
going about to add the conventional fifth part, ended the piece
with a moon-lit anticlimax. Shakespeare’s rules of construction
require that the felicity of Bassanio and Portia, which as the
unifying and controlling consummation has been on our minds
from the beginning, should be ‘featured’ at the close either for
realization or defeat. Since this is not a tragedy, the issue will be
fulfillment and not defeat, and must be as dramatic or spectacular
as possible. As the pair are wedded—Portia was not to rescue
her lover’s surety single—but separated, no fit conclusion can
proceed except with or after their home-coming. And evidently
they must not arrive before the gates of Belmont Park together.

Excellent is the ‘composition,’ as the artists say, of the scene
before us. First the beauty of the night, then the beauty of the
grounds that front the palace. Then the happiness of the proxy-
lovers, who hold the home open for those who come. Then the
messenger, announcing that the mistress approaches, not hasting,
but anxiously and slow. Then the servant who reports that the
groom will arrive—ere morning. The night advances, and wait-
ing 15 beguiled with poetic thoughts and music. And on the
background of this beauty of sight and sentiment and sound,
Portia and Nerissa approach. Very properly and positively
Portia asserts herself as mistress of the whole:

That light we see is burning in my hall.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare ; 47

But this is not to belittle the bridegroom.. Presently under the
dim light of the stars, for the moon has set, the trumpet of
Bassanio and his train will sound out its answering challenge. As
Jessica and Lorenzo fall into the background, while the dawn
reddens, we discern the relation these have sustained to the chief
figures. Portia has just been saying,—

A substitute shines brightly as a king

Until a king be by: and then his state

Empties itself, as doth an inland brook

Into the main of waters.
This is the key to the chief expedient here. Lorenzo and Jessica,
surrounded by everything that could enhance their joy, seemed
favored enough to be the principals in the piece. But the signifi-
cance of. the satellites is absorbed when the Queen and King
assume their station.2” Also, Lorenzo and Jessica are devised to
bridge the chasm between the races, before the trial scene, and to
soften afterwards the harshness of Shylock’s future in our
subconscious forecast.

It seems to the present writer that Quiller-Couch, continuing
his personal confession, goes wrong in the last section of his re-
port. It became plain to him, he says, that the author did not
discover how to draft this ‘most delightful act of the play’ at
first approach:

That Shakespeare tried other ways is made evident by one line. Upon
Lorenzo’s and Jessica’s lovely duet there breaks a footfall. Lorenzo,
startled by it, demands—

Who comes so fast in the silence of the night?
V otce. A friend.
Lorenzo. Α friend? What friend? Your name, I pray you,
“Friend.” (Stephano enters.)
Stephano. Stephano is my name; and 1 bring word
My mistress will before the break of day
Be here at Belmont. She doth stray about
By holy crosses, where she kneels and prays
For happy wedlock hours.

Lorenzo. Who comes with her?

25 Perhaps the writer may refer to his attempt (Publications of the Mod.
Lang. Association, vol. x, p. 106) to indicate the spiritual a fortiore here,
by which the marital fortunes of Bassanio and Portia are exalted in our
fancy.

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48 L. A. Sherman

Stephano. None but a holy hermit, and her maid... .

Nothing loose in literature—in play or in poem—ever caught Dr. John-
son napping. ‘I do not perceive,’ says Johnson, in his unfaltering accent,
‘the use of this hermit, of whom nothing is seen or heard afterwards.
The Poet had first planned his fable some other way, and inadvertently,
when he had changed his scheme, retained something of the original design.’

By the way, why does our author make Lorenzo and Jessica
furnish the ‘duet’ they idealize? The Folio directs (1. 68) Play
musicke; and Nerissa recognizes (1. 98) the performers,—

It is your music madam, of the house,—

as players (or singers?) belonging to the menage. They stop (1.
109) at Portia’s order. And Lorenzo, we remember (1. 53), has
bidden Stephano

bring your music out into the air.

Possibly Shakespeare, who never blotted a line, discarded at
times whole first drafts of acts and scenes. But the evidence
here hardly helps to prove it. And Johnson after all is nothing
if not one of the expounders with whom (p. 46) Quiller-Couch
has grown impatient.

Wiellh letmtisssee: sine question (1 52).

Who comes with her,—

is clearly used, after the stage manner, to bring out that Portia
and Nerissa are attended. And if, finally, the attendant were not
needed, could such a specific intimation have been ‘ inadvertently ἡ
allowed to stand? When Portia committed to Lorenzo (IV. iv.
24, 25) the ‘husbandry and manage’ of her home, it was done,
she said, that she might take up her abode at a near-by monastery
till Bassanio’s return. Presumably, then, she and Nerissa resort
there as the first stage on their way to the ‘tranect, the common
ferry which trades to Venice.’ It is some distance to this ferry,
since Portia shall reach it only a little before Balthasar’s arrival,
with notes and garments, from Bellario. It is not likely that
Portia and Nerissa set out from the monastery unattended. A
hermit may well have been the escort and protector forth to the
tranect, back from it to the monastery, and then for much or most
(III. iv. 31) of the remaining two miles hither. What could

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare . 49

Portia, one might ask, or’ Shakespeare have done with a hermit
brought all the way to this Belmont company ?

.Perhaps, then, the hermit was needed, after all, in the last
draft of this play. As Shakespeare has partly saved his heroine
from unsexment at the trial by making her merely the proxy of
Bellario, so will he now fully soften her brash and confident and
mannish spirit to the womanly sweetness shown at the beginning,
and climaxed to us after Bassanio (III. ii. 150-176) opens the
leaden casket. The modiste or milliner appends corrective
touches when some shade or stiffness calls for relief. Shake-
speare uses not unlike expedients now. If others ask, as others
may, Why not a knight, a carrier, or Balthasar, to bring her on
the way, we may hold the doubting question to be self-answered.
We for our part wonder,—while we watch in fancy that slender
figure, perplexed, demure, timorous of her future and of herself,
lingering apart from the hermit and Nerissa on her knees at the
holy crosses,—whether it be indeed the Portia who, before the
Doge in Venice, saved Antonio. We cannot, from reading mere
words and lines of text, be sure. We must trust the Master, as
Quiller-Couch for all his discoveries does not, to persuade us by
the witchcraft of rendition. Also mention of a ‘hermit’ de-
carnalizes thought, as suits well with the ending of the piece,—so
opposite in contrast with the close of A Midsummer-Night’s
Dream.

And what in fine of Shylock, whom some think Shakespeare set
out to hold up to the world for execration? Did this character,
as Quiller-Couch suggests, ‘take charge of his creator’? Here is
something beyond stage magic, could one but know. Brabantio,
patrician, upright, noble, loses his daughter, and dies of a broken
heart. His fate does not appeal to us. Shylock, sordid, vindic-
tive, bloody, loses his daughter and half his fortune. His plight
appeals to us. We cannot explain fully, in either case, Shake-
' speare’s method of control. We may be moved to some attempt
at philosophizing when we come to the paradox of Falstaff.

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50 L. A. Sherman

ν

The next lecture in this volume takes up As You Like It for
discussion. The author speaks of sources, and of plot, then
in a third division contributes something substantial concerning
this most unsubstantial play:

Some years ago, in hope to get a better understanding of Shakespeare,
a friend and I tracked the Warwickshire Avon together, from its source
on Naseby battlefield down to Tewkesbury, where, by a yet more ancient
battlefield, it is gathered to the greater Severn. From Naseby, where we
found its source among the “ good cabbage” of an inn-garden, we followed
it afoot through “ wide-skirted meads,” past “poor pelting villages, sheep-
cotes and farms,’ to Rugby, ... At Rugby we took ship: that is to say,
we launched a canoe...

On the second day, after much pulling through reed beds and following
for many miles Avon’s always leisurely meanders, we ported over Bubben-
hall weir, fetched northeast, then southeast, and came to the upper bridge
of Stoneleigh Deer Park.

A line of swinging deer-fences hung from the arches of the bridge, the
river trailing through their bars. We, having permission, pushed cau-
tiously under these—which in a canoe is not easy. Beyond the barrier we
looked to right and left, amazed. We had passed from a sluggish brook,
twisting among water-plants and willows, to a pleasant river, expanding
down between wide lawns, by slopes of bracken, by the roots of gigantic
trees—oaks, Spanish oaks, wych-elms, stately firs, sweet chestnuts, backed
by filmy larch coppices.

This was Arden, the forest of Arden, nominally to-day ‘ Stoneleigh-in-
Arden, and, of old, Shakespeare’s very Arden.

As we rested on our paddles, down to a shallow ahead—their accustomed
ford, no doubt—a herd of deer came daintily and charged across, splash-
ing; first the bucks, in single file, then the does in a body. The very bed
of Avon changes just here: the river now brawling by a shallow, now
sliding over slabs of sandstone. . .

Now, in Stoneleigh Deer Park in Arden I saw the whole thing, as
though Corin’s crook moved above the ferns and Orlando’s ballads flut-
tered on the boles. There was the very oak beneath which Jaques moral-
ized on the deer—a monster oak, thirty-nine feet around (for I measured
it)—not far above the ford across which the herd had splashed, its “ an-
tique roots” writhing over the red sandstone rock down to the water’s
brim. And I saw the whole thing for what the four important Acts of it
really are—not as a drama, but as a dream, or rather a dreamy delicious
fantasy, and especially a fantasy in colour.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 51

This, with Grant White’s running comments on As You Like
Tt, in Studies in Shakespeare, seems to the writer the most edify-
ing part of all the literature—so far as known to him—that has
grown up about the play. Quiller-Couch does not much con-
cern himself in this lecture with how the thing was done. That
inquiry might well be postponed until some of the more serious
dramas have been considered. The dramatic scheme in this one
is as bald as might be expected in a children’s novel. The
author returns, in his last division (p. 111), to the matter of
Shakespeare’s borrowings, and the extent to which he has im-
proved upon his originals:

The play is—as you like it—a woodland play treated courtly-wise, or a
‘courtly play treated woodland-wise. It plainly derives, through Love’s
Labour’s Lost, from John Lyly; whose polite comedies, highly artificial,
but in one way or another a wonderful artistic advance, held the ear of
Court and of City at the moment when Shakespeare set up as a play-
wright. ...if we would understand Shakespeare’s workmanship in the
early comedies,.and trace how Love’s Labour’s Lost grew into As You
Like It, we must study Lyly’s Campaspe, his Endymion, and his Galatea.
The main point to grasp is that ds You Like It, however much improved
by genius, belongs to the Lyly line of descent and to the order of the
court-pastoral.

The “pastoral” being granted, we may recognize excellent workmanship
in the Silvius and Phebe episode. To have garbed Rosalind as a boy with-
out making a girl fall in love with him would have been to miss a plain
opportunity—as plain a one as the sight of the bloody cloth at which
Rosalind faints. It doubles the intrigue, and it provides with due irony
one of the most charming quarters in all Comedy:

Phebe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what ’t is to love.
Silvius. It is to be all made of sighs and tears:
And so am I for Phebe.
Phebe. And I for Ganymede.
Orlando. And I for Rosalind.
Rosalind. And I for no woman.

and so on, and so on. The genre and the convention of it granted, nothing
could be prettier than the inter-chime and the counter-chime. It is Lyly
carried to the nth power.

Quiller-Couch ends his chapter on As You Like Jt with this
paragraph:

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52 L. A. Sherman

Having said this in praise of a piece of good workmanship, I must in
fairness mention a piece of sheer botchwork. I mean the introduction of
Hymen in the last Act. To explain away this botch as an imposition upon
Shakespeare by another hand—to conjecture it as some hasty alternative
to satisfy the public censor, who objected to Church rites of marrriage on
the stage—would be as easy as it were accordant with the nice distinctions
of critical hypocrisy, were it not that Shakespeare, almost if not quite to
the end of his days, was capable of similar ineptitudes, such as the vision
of Posthumus, and the scroll dropped into his lap. You can explain away
one such lapse by an accident; but two scarcely, and three or four not at
all. That kind of artistic improbability runs almost in harmonical pro-
gression. Hymen in As You Like It is worse than Hecate in Macbeth.

No, no, not worse. Hecate in Macbeth mars sublimity.
Hymen in As You Like It does nothing worse than offend good
taste. Yet one wonders how far one may revise sixteenth cen-
tury values by twentieth century standards. In Renaissance
times, Renaissance ideas and accessories were not yet staled.
There is reason for belief that Shakespeare’s audiences liked to
see mythologic figures staged, just as readers of that day and
later liked classical quotations. Also, the vogue of personifica-
tion, as developed in the Moralities, was not yet denatured in the
general mind. Moreover, our mentor seems not to realize that
Shakespeare might convict him of inconsistency in his present
strictures. In another lecture, he holds The Tempest as the
greatest work of the Master, or even of literary genius for all
time. Yet in this play of The Tempest, which stands forever
without ‘botch’ or blot, we see Iris and Ceres and Juno ‘ enter’
upon the stage, and hear Ceres and Juno simg?® antiphonal bless-
ings upon Ferdinand and Miranda, and are barely saved from

26 Had Shakespeare perhaps read Virgil’s lines,—

Ast ego qui divom incedo regina Jovisque

Et soror et conjunx,—
in the Grammar School of Stratford? There were certainly men in the
audiences of 1611 and later who remembered them, and were sensible of
the humor or enormity of setting these deities at the business of ‘ favor-
ing’ Globe Theater patrons with specimens of their celestial skill. Did
Juno, we wonder, sing in alto or soprano falsetto? In Ben Jonson’s
elaborate masque of Chloridia, rendered at Shrovetide, in 1630, Juno and
Iris sing being shown, among clouds and ‘airy spirits, in the opened
heavens. But all these parts were taken by ladies of the court.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 53

another visit of the misprized and distressing Hymen. One could,
we think, sit through the phantasmagoria of Posthumus’s vision,
in Cymbeline, after that. And, for banality, one suspects that
Shakespeare would himself admit that this Epilogue, spoken by
the stately Prospero, his superman, had no ‘fellow’ in all his
works besides.

V

It is far from pleasant to be reminded continually, as one reads,
of the name an author has given to his work. But we have come
to a vital chapter, ‘The Story of Falstaff,’ in Quiller-Couch’s
volume, and it gives us pause at the very opening. From the
promise of the title-page, and the example of fulfillment with
Macbeth, we have warrant to expect a study of the workmanship
in the handling of the character now reached, the most extraordi-
nary of all Shakespeare’s creations.

But the manner of this lecture, as in fact of the three lectures
which precede this one, differs radically from the method fol-
lowed in Macbeth. There the purpose was to discover ‘ How it
could lie within the compass even of Shakespeare, master-work-
man though he was and lord of all noble persuasive language, to
make a tragic hero of this Macbeth—traitor to his king, mur-
derer of his sleeping guest, breaker of most sacred trust, in-
grate, self-seeker, false kinsman, perjured soldier. And the
purpose was consistently and fairly carried out. If in this lec-
ture the intent were similarly formulated, it would run, How
could it lie in the compass even of Shakespeare to present a
“rotter,’ a coward, a debauchee, a criminal in such a light as to
make us condone, have sympathy with, and in an indeterminate
degree, approve and like?

Shakespeare’s discomfiture of our prejudices and capture of
our favor in the two ‘ Parts’ of Henry IV that deal with Falstaff
make up the crowning psychological feat of his career. A Fal-
staff in real life would not perhaps have seemed an altogether
repulsive figure to sixteenth century folk. Life was harsh and
coarse and cruel. But that this same ‘tun of man’ should have
been so conceived and presented three hundred years ago as not
to offend the best refinement and delicacy of modern days is the

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54 L. A. Sherman

top of marvel. We can in the main understand how Shakespeare
made Cleopatra, one of the notorious women of history, come out
from the company of Semiramis, Thais, Catherine I], and be-
come acceptable among reputable literary subjects. “Sover-
eignty of nature,’ quantum of personality, explains many riddles,
both in books and in real life. But Falstaff can lay claim to
no such exemption. Shakespeare would have had to be at pains,
under modern distinctions, to keep him from being entered in
_the class of degenerates or defectives. He is as revolting to the
physical as to the spiritual eye, he cumbers the ground even of
sensuality. He robs on the king’s highway, is in everything but
fact a murderer, is insensible to every sort of obligation. As if
all this were not enough, Shakespeare assails our sense of decency
and shows him to us with his harlot upon his knee.

Quiller-Couch naively evades and even begs the question at the
beginning of his seventh section:

In this short study I shall not indulge in any panegyric upon Falstaff;
and J ask the reader to credit this to a Roman fortitude, since they say
that all who write about Falstaff, loving him, write well. The perform-
ance I like best is Dr. Johnson’s singular outburst beginning, “But Fal-
staff—unimitated, inimitable Falstaff—how shall I describe thee? ”—be-
cause it breaks from the heart of a moralist who, being human, could not
help himself.

Exactly. But why could not this stern moralist, intolerant even
to common human frailties, ‘help himself’? Talk of Shake-
speare’s workmanship on this play that does not first or finally
answer that, seems to the writer beside the mark. Our author
discourses suggestively on the necessity of inventing ‘ protagonist’
characters, such as this one, for plays or novels dealing with his-
toric figures. Also, he propounds a theory of the Interlude, to
which type, he would hold, the “Second Part’ of Henry IV be-
longs. All this of course can count only as means to an end—an
end not in sight—namely, how Shakespeare has made Falstaff
inimitable, being a nature that one does not at all wish imitated or
for one’s own part to imitate. Society—that association of men
and women that has for its object the standardization of human
values—is at work trying to be rid of Falstaffs, and to prevent so
far as possible more Falstaffs from being born.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 55

But this, it may be urged, is taking comedy matters too seri-
ously. It is an observation altogether warranted, to say that,
although it proves too much. We insist always on judging
comedies as well as tragedies by comparison with real life. If
one is to theorize how Shakespeare came to create such a char-
acter, one need not go back into the history of the Elizabethan
theater. Our suspicion would be that Falstaff was brought into
dramatic being, not for his own sake, but to help lift Prince Hal
from traditional disesteem. The object of the two halves of
Henry IV and the play of Henry V was in part to enable English
playgoers to realize how the madcap Prince, who scandalized his
father’s court, became not only a glorious chieftain and hero, but
also a good king and a good man. Falstaff takes over from the
Prince, and Poins, his proper companion, the curse of lawless-
ness and self-indulgence, and leaves the pair, not accessories or
abettors so much as boyish, or as we say now-a-days, ‘ adolescent’
applauders, machinators, putters-on. Shakespeare in fact, after
having the Prince draw the line (First Part, I. ii. 153, 162) at
thieving, makes him declare, awkwardly enough, to be sure, in
(11. 218, 219) an aside—lest we should miss the point—his real
attitude towards Poins and Falstaff and the rest.

And what can be said of means by which Shakespeare controls
our feelings concerning Falstaff? For the first thing, we may
venture this—he takes us with him into the consciousness of
the man. He snares us by the frankness with which he has en-
dowed the character. There is implanted in each of us the
appetency to know people, to find Man out thoroughly, to know
the modes of being, high and low. There could never else have
been novels, or plays, and Shakespeare could not otherwise have
been discovered. ‘Whom we know wholly we cannot hate.’ The
man who opens his personal self to us, ‘like a little child,’ wins us
in our own despite. Rousseau was not a personage that we could
wish imitated, or that we should wish to imitate. But he har-
bored no reserves. He was great enough to trust us with his
faults and follies, and we like him. But the man who hides his
limitations, and poses—like a Nation reviewer of early days till
his anonymity was lifted—as a superintellect, a pharisee, we de-

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56 L. A. Sherman

spise. We have perhaps often noted how men in fraternities and
lodges condone faults in comrades whom they have learned to
know, hating the sin, but loving, like Infinite Charity, the sinner.
There are potential qualities, could we but probe to them, in
abandoned men, good impulses that urge at times towards better
things." Falstaff is at point, and especially when his chance (1
Henry IV. V. iv. 169) seems to have come, to slough his skin, to
repudiate his falser, his ironic self.

Again, it seems safe to say that, when Shakespeare has won us
with a froward or untoward nature, he keeps us from taking the
frowardness or untowardness in that nature seriously. We are
clearly rescued, in this case of Falstaff, from the consciousness
that we could not have the fellow by us, that by no sufferance
could we neighbor with him. Shakespeare’s resources in this
kind are infinite. When, as in tragedy, he cannot help our taking
some character, in itself worthy, seriously, he finds expedients to
prevent the effect he does not want.2® We do not take the

27 This seems the essence of the meaning summarized, at the close,
from The Ring and the Book. Τί we could send Osbornes into jails, to
companion with alleged criminals, we should find out the truth without
confessions or the third degree. We should both ‘see and say,’ to inquir-
ing justice, and bring art to the help of blundering and ineffctual tribunals.

28 We are not permitted, for instance, to discern Brabantio in his essen-
tial character. Here is a refined true man, doubtless a son of the Renais-
sance, whose elegant palace abounds in classic curios, Greek manuscripts,
and choice products of the Aldine press. He is a member of the Signory,
but admits men of parts, without reference to birth or race, to his circle
of associates and friends. But Shakespeare, for dramatic reasons, must
mask all his accomplishments and worth from us. He is made to appear
before us, directly from his bed, unclad, and receive rebuke, in which we
are fain to join. In the recoil of pride, he ventures the slander of the
drugs, of whose quality and action he admits he has no knowledge. He
indicts Othello, whose integrity and greatness of soul we have been made
to feel, and finds his case, with us as with his peers, thrown out of court.
He asserts a father’s advantage over Desdemona, and is vanquished grace-
fully, with our applause. He resigns her ignobly to Othello, with a warn-
ing which we resent. These and other dynamic measures put the man
forever out of the reach of sympathy.

But Shakespeare could have reversed all this, had the case demanded.
Expedients of the opposite effect lay beneath his hand in Brabantio’s na-
ture. Antony is one conception in Julius Caesar, and quite another in

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 57

worser part of Falstaff’s nature seriously, because his author
keeps him from taking himself in any aspect seriously. His wit
is vagrant, his impudence is shifty, his insight—the real substance
in the man—is shadowy. When hé does his best, he seems hardly
to have assayed at all. When he thinks to compel recognition
from the Prince, as-he comes with his train from the coronation,
he must needs capitalize his expectation:

Stand here by me, Master Robert Shallow. I will make the king do you

grace. I will leer upon him as a’ comes by; and do you but mark the
countenance he will give me.
But the king bids the Lord Chief-Justice, who once ‘committed’
him, reprimand the challenger. This is not according to the code
of the ‘gang,’ and Quiller-Couch scores King ‘Hal’ for it. We
have a notion that Quiller-Couch would have done the same
thing in King Hal’s place. But should not Falstaff have known
better than to suppose Hal would not vindicate the honor of his
office? Would not a month or two of ‘managing’ the play make
the part approvable?

Then there is an obsession on us that Falstaff is in a sense the
rehabilitation of a one-time potentiality in ourselves. We have
some awareness of what the plight of self-neglect is like, when
one has ceased to feel that it pays to take pains with one’s self.
In this consciousness there is an element of sympathy, of pity
towards the man. Yet, when the needle turns to the pole, when
the moral orientation, as it at some point must in Shakespeare,
reveals itself, this phase of sympathy merges in another. When
‘tear-sheet’ Doll, stroking Falstaff’s beard, deprecates in his
behalf the issue of it all—

Antony and Cleopatra. Yet there is nothing inconsistent in either with
the other. Shylock is handled, fundamentally, with the same strategy as
Antony in the latter play, and as Falstaff. We are taken into the inmost
consciousness of each. Is not frankness the basis of all manifestations of
Shylock’s mind ?
I had forgot. You told me so.

Sovereignty, again, commandingness of nature. Shylock is the only great
personality in the cast, big even in his hate, which he makes us justify.
There is a rareness in him, Jew or no Jew, which stifles prejudice and
exacts regard.

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58 L. A. Sherman

when wilt thou leave fighting οὐ days, and foining οὐ nights, and begin to
patch up thine old body for heaven,

we are with Falstaff for the moment, rather than with this voice
of the eternal witness. Is it original depravity, or is it only the
backward glance of the racial self, after it has learned

By the means of Evil that Good is best,

over years when the Tree of Knowledge was yet untasted?
Whatever the fellow element in us, Shakespeare plays upon it,
and we are helpless in his hands.

And still the story of Falstaff remains half told. The paradox
of his personality is still unriddled. We face again the fact that
folk sensitive to every sort of sin and coarseness fail to react to
the flagrancies of his life and nature. Hazlitt, who is far from
tender of human frailties, and whom Quiller-Couch quotes ap-
provingly, pronounces him ‘always a better man than Henry.’
This is neither moral anaesthesia nor hypnotism. It is only art,
and art consists in finding means to stir the senses and forces in
the soul. Shakespeare so knew the secret of these senses and
proclivities that he could make his audiences desire anything he
wished, and repudiate everything which, for dramatic or other
reasons, needed to be repudiated. ‘This is the technical side of his
control. On the side of expedients and means, all human quali-
ties seem to have lain within his grasp and ken. He has made
Shylock and Falstaff surpassingly human, because, like in kind
Another, he knew what was in man. There was good in Judas of
which we have no knowledge, and which ensured to him his
chance. There was good in Falstaff which we cannot analyze,
and which did not ensure to him his chance. We can only say,
like the sailor preacher, There, but for the grace of God, go we.
No man else ever knew so well as Shakespeare that there are
graceless souls.

Vv

Of the remaining chapters in Quiller-Couch’s volume, those

dealing with ‘Shakespeare’s Later Workmanship,’ ‘ Pericles and

Henry VIII, ‘Cymbeline, and “The Winter's Tale; will be

passed over. The present writer once worked fatiguingly, at the
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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 59

request of publishers, on a popular handbook, What Is Shake-
speare, based on the last two dramas. He once gave considerable
study also to The Tempest, but, having changed his judgment, is
not now minded to review Quiller-Couch’s praises: We shall
consider further only the three lectures of this author on the play
of Hamlet.

Very informally and pointedly, not at all like a professor’s
deliverances, the series opens. The refreshing thing in Quiller-
Couch’s criticism is the absence of ex cathedra confidence, of the
academic consciousness. Nowhere in the volume does this
author address himself to his work with more singleness of vision
and common-sense directness of attack:

So much has been written upon Hamlet, that one can hardly descry the
play through the rolling cloud of witness. The critical guns detonate with
such uproar, and, exploding, diffuse such quantities of gas, as to impose
on us that moral stupor which I understand to be one of the calculated
effects of heavy artillery warfare. ... This loud authority confuses us
all. It starts us thinking of Hamlet not as an acted play but as a mystery,
a psychological study, an effort ‘of genius so grandiose, vast, amorphous,
nebulous, that men of admitted genius—even such men as Coleridge and
Goethe,—tracking it, have lost their way in the profound obscure.

Now, with all the courage of humility, I say that this is, nine-tenths of
it, rubbish.

I insist that we take Shakespeare first, and before any of these imposing
fellows. At all events he wrote the play, and they did not.

Moreover, he wrote it as a play—to be acted on a stage before an
audience.

Moreover, he wrote it, not for an audience of Goethes and Coleridges,
but for an audience of ordinary men and women.

And yet further, if pressed, I am ready to maintain that any work of
art which is shapeless, nebulous; any work of art which misses its artistic
purpose to be the prey of pedants and philosophers, is to that extent a bad
piece of art. And I hope to demonstrate that Hamlet is no such thing,
but a masterpiece.

The chief points in the author’s demonstration that this is no
closet play, written for private dissection, come from the stage
side:

To this day a travelling company of actors, thrown upon their beam-

ends for lack of money, having acted this or that to empty houses, always
as a last resort advertise Hamlet. It can be counted on, above any other

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60 L. A. Sherman

play, to fill the treasury. Again, when an actor takes a benefit, what is
the piece most commonly chosen?—Hamlet. Why? ‘Because,’ it may be
answered, “Hamlet himself is notoriously a “star” part, with plenty of
soliloquies, with plenty of what I believe is called “fat” in the Pro-
fession; and moreover because the part has become consecrated somehow,
invested by tradition with a certain aura of greatness and crowned as
with a halo.” ... We all know that to play Hamlet, and play him success-
fully, is the crown of every young actor’s ambition. But here comes in
another mystery—which yet is not mystery at all, unless the critics have
fogged us. When he comes to it, he always plays it successfully. ...

It is the fashion, and was the fashion before we were born, so that we
may call it the custom—it is the custom to talk of So-and-so’s Hamlet:
of Garrick’s Hamlet, Kemble’s Hamlet, Kean’s Hamlet; Macready’s, Sal-
vini’s, Booth’s, Phelp’s, Irving’s Hamlets; Tree’s Hamlet, Forbes-Robert-
son’s Hamlet. This custom of speech, if it mean anything, would seem to
imply that each of these gifted interpreters has given to the world a dif-
ferent interpretation of that mystery; and that each has made an indi-
vidual success of it: which, when we come to think of it, approaches the
miraculous, if not the absurd. By various paths they all arrive at the
core of the great secret: and yet there would seem to be some mystery
about a mystery which turns out to be a different one every time it is
explained.

Now I suggest that all these fine fellows in their turn have made a
success in Hamlet simply because it was there all the time: ready-made by
a man who had been beforehand with them, and, having a capital interest
in the play, had unconsciously taken care that their self-conscious displays
should never attain to spoiling it. I suggest that all those critics, too
(Coleridge, Goethe, Klein, Werder, and the rest), have been plucking
different hearts out of the mystery and exhibiting them, simply because
there was never any mystery in Hamlet, and consequently no secret heart
to pluck out.

We quote Quiller-Couch, again, upon a point which critics and
many readers accept as proof of Hamlet’s irresolution:

The commentators want to know why Hamlet, having discovered his
uncle’s guilt, did not make an end of him at once. It appears that this is
what they would have done. ...So, you see, one never knows. One
meets them going to the University Sermon or shuffling along upon some
other blameless errand, and—can we believe it?—any one of these Harry
Hotspurs will have killed his some six or seven dozen Scot's at a breakfast,
washed his hands, and said to his wife, ‘Fie upon this quiet life! I want
work.’ Oh yes; and that is the sort of men they indeed are, if only you
believe what they write just now to the newspapers!

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 61

That’s delicious. The world has waited half-a-dozen genera-
tions to hear that said in just that way. Nothing is harder than
to distinguish imagined conditions of heroism, normalized to us
by way of Robinson Crusoe and stories of Indian wars, from
what one faces in the predicaments and restrictions of real life.
This paragraph, taken to heart, should alter the whole course of
Hamlet criticism.

Following now the running analysis of the play, which Quiller-
Couch presently begins, we are stopped by an observation of his
on the second scene. Quoting Il. 3-14, in which Claudius at-
tempts to shed an atmosphere of commonplace over his accession,
and his hurried marriage with the widowed queen, the author
comments thus:

[What he does not explain, by the way—and what the commentators
conspire with him and with Shakespeare to overlook—is the small diffi-
culty that, Hamlet’s father deceased, Hamlet should ipso facto have inher-
ited the throne. From the commentators, discreetly silent over this hitch
in the workmanship, I turn to Charles Lamb, who, of course, noted it, but
slides it over; telling us in his tale of the play merely that Claudius took
the crown ‘to the exclusion of young Hamlet, the son of the buried
king and lawful successor to the throne.’ But this will not quite do.
Hamlet is not “young Hamlet’: for in the gravyard scene his age is accu-
rately made out to be thirty. Unless some strange law of succession be
hinted at in the line describing Hamlet’s mother as

The imperial jointress of this warlike state,

there is a flaw of construction here.]
But, Shakespeare overlooking this trifle, Hamlet does not seem to mind
or indeed to think about it first or last.

Of course, if the throne of Denmark had been actually usurped,
Hamlet young or not would have thought very much about it, and
Shakespeare’s Tudor-Stuart audiences would have expected him
not only to think, but to take measures of some sort concerning
it. In fact, if Hamlet had been veritably robbed of the crown,
the play must perforce have taken an altered shape, and a dif-
ferent or at least another motive, besides revenge, have been
woven into the plot.

It might be enough to say, concerning the ‘flaw of construc-
tion,’ that Shakespeare is merely following here the Hystorie of

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62 L. A. Sherman

Hamblet, in.which Fengon slays prince Horvendile his brother,
Hamblet’s father, and succeeds him. But Shakespeare did not
write in ignorance of Danish matters, regal, geographical, or
other. In ancient Scandinavia, according to the sagas, kings
were chosen by thanes and warriors in open Thing, and the prac-
tice continued in later times. The rule indeed was followed in
a case connected with our own Anglo-Saxon history:

When the Danish king Svend, or Sweyn, died at Gainsborough in the
year 1014, he left another son, Harald, who was younger than Knud
Canute, and was chosen to be king by the Danes as soon as they heard of
Svend’s death. Knud wanted his brother to give him some share in the
government of the kingdom of Denmark; but Harald refused, telling him
if he wished to be a king he must go back and gain England for himself,
in which case, he should have a few ships and men to help him... .
Harald died in 1018, and then the Danes chose Knud for their king,
which proved of great importance to Denmark.—E. C. Otté: Scandinavian
History, Ὁ. 51.79

But we are not through with this business of the succession.
It leads us deeply and directly into the ‘workmanship’ of the
play. The first question which the prepared student of Hamlet
is likely to ask himself concerns the place of action. Why, if the
scene is to be laid at Elsinore, is it not set at the Marienlyst
palace, instead of Kronberg castle? ‘The time is summer,®? when

29 Other examples occur in later chapters of this work. As is well
established, the Lombards in Italy, following the tribal custom, were per-
mitted to choose their kings. At the coronation of Justin, in the Eastern
Empire, after the death of Justinian, ‘four robust youths (Gibbon, 11.
xlv) exalted him on a shield,’ after the Northern manner. Also, in the
last words of Hamlet himself, in (V. ii. 366, 367) the present play, he
speaks of the election that is to be had to determine who shall rule.

30 Quiller-Couch says (p. 145) of the opening situation, ‘It is night—
midnight—and freezing hard.’ But, two months earlier, the late king was
murdered while sleeping in his orchard. Twomonths later, Ophelia brings
in pansies and rosemary to the Queen, and speaks of violets as ‘ with-
ered ’—out of season. If we suspect the flowers she proffers are only
imaginary, we know from the circumstances (IV. vii. 167-170) of her
death that it is still summer. The time of the opening scene, two months
after the murder, could not have been much earlier than mid-June. The
temperature at that season, in northern Denmark, might fall as low as 40°
Fahrenheit.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 63

the court would naturally be away from the capital, but hardly
imprisoned in a fortress. Kronberg would be safer against an
uprising than the Rosenberg palace in Copenhagen. But this, on
the other hand, would be more removed and secure from foreign
attack, as by Fortinbras from Norway. There would seem to
be some further reason why the court has removed to Elsinore,
and locks itself up o’nights behind parapets and cannon.*+

What then, more fully, was Shakespeare’s thought? He will
use, from the Hystorie, under altered names, the ghost of Hor-
vendile, the murdered governor—made over into an elder Hamlet
and late king of Denmark—against Fengon, now Claudius, his
brother. Claudius, by manipulation of the older nobility, gets
himself elected to the throne. Hamlet, the late king’s son, con-
veniently away from Denmark, is naturally preferred by many.
Hamlet’s mother, seduced by Claudius as a part of his scheme
before the assassination, is thus withdrawn from support of
Hamlet’s claims, and is advertised, for effect, as imperial joint-
ress—partner in the government or empire. The new king, partly
perhaps from prescience of future hostilities with Norway but
mainly for safety from disaffection, moves the court, after the
funeral of Hamlet’s father, to the new fortress of Kronberg, the
chief stronghold of the kingdom.

The ghost of the dead king seeks, after the manner of foster
brotherhood in the North, vengeance for the murder. Who shall
execute it? The king’s son Hamlet. How shall the ghost be

81 Editors generally seem not be clear upon this point. For example,
following Rowe (1709), they assign the first scene of Act II to ‘an apart-
ment (or a ‘room’) in Polonius’s House.’ But could Polonius have had
a “house’ in Elsinore, which, as should be realized, was somewhat distant
from the fortifications embracing Kronberg? The condition in which
Hamlet, hatless, with doublet unbraced, ungartered, and down-gyved to
his ankles, appears before Ophelia, does not argue a ‘trip’ over to Elsi-
nore from the castle. For Hamlet was unquestionably quartered within
the walls. Moreover, Polonius, as, taking Ophelia by the arm, he starts
forth to seek the king, does not appear to have stopped to get his hat.

Of course, these matters are far from vital. And Shakespeare is some-
times inconsistent, especially in the comedies. But in the great tragedies
he thinks things out with surprising definiteness and detail. It pays always
to reconstruct, so far as possible, what was in his mind.

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64 L. A. Sherman

brought to Hamlet? In the most spectacular and effective way.
He should appear on the platform before the castle, against the
background of the sea. Whom shall the ghost accost? Warders,
now first placed on guard, because of the threatened invasion,
fronting the approach from Norway. What warders, how dis-
posed towards the new king, in relation to the late king whom
he has displaced?

This is the intimate and vital matter. It would be natural for
the sentinels to mention and discuss, with anybody and every-
body, the visit of the dead king’s ghost. News of it would
spread quickly throughout the castle and the town. But the king
must not know, no one belonging to the party of the king is to
be told. What party then may know? The party of course of
Hamlet, who is to avenge. But how shall the sentries be plaus-
ibly of Hamlet’s ‘party,’ and not of the king’s? Because the
proper guardsmen of the castle are to be, not Danes, but Switzers.
How are the ghost and Hamlet to be brought together? Through
Horatio, school friend of Hamlet’s, of whose arrival Hamlet
does not yet know. Why does Hamlet not yet know? Because
he is mewed up with his grief. Where are the ghost and Hamlet
to hold their secret conference? In the vacant space, among
the rocks, in the rear of the castle.*? |

The construction of the play is now clearly indicated. Going
over from the stage side to the audience, we can forecast the
plan. In the second scene of the First Act, we are to discern
the tremendous personality of the hero, and to conceive and
desire that he come to his own and his best, and that Denmark
have the future that his princely daring promises. This ‘con- ~
summation’ grapples us to the story with hoops of steel.

The minor involvement of the plot is managed more brilliantly
than in any other of Shakespeare’s plays. It is progressive. At
the very opening we are made to feel that some wish or will from
the unseen world is in exercise towards some inmate of Kron-
berg castle. At the end of the First Act, this vague feeling

82 Shakespeare’s knowledge of Kronberg, as of Elsinore, seems personal,

and somewhat bears out the supposition that he was of a company of actors
that stopped to play in Denmark on their way to Germany.

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Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 65

merges in the conviction that the person endeavored against is
the title character of the play. Then that wish or will reveals
itself, in the fifth scene, as Hamlet’s father’s ghost’s demand for
vengeance. That must work havoc, we fear, with Hamlet’s
fortunes. The resolution of this obstruction is ‘tragic,’ and is
reached when, at the close of the First Act, Hamlet accepts the
fate that he foresees. The major involvement is personal, being
no less than the king himself. We look on him as Hamlet’s
probable destroyer, because of Hamlet’s undisguised insolence
and contempt. The resolution of it comes in the second scene
of the Second Act, where we are relieved to find that the king
will not proceed at once against the life of Hamlet, or not perhaps
at all unless persuaded, through Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
that Hamlet is actuated from knowledge of his secret. The
imaginative climax occurs at the point where, at the middle of the
play, the king ‘rises’ self-convicted and self-condemned.
These appear to be the chief points, not considered by our
author, in the workmanship of Hamlet, most popular of all stage
plays. Why it has appealed so equally to the popular and the
pundit mind is a question that can in part be answered. It is
great literature not less than superb acting drama. The hero 15 ἃ
princely nature, and is transfigured at the beginning with sublime
dignity of thought and utterance.** His problem has been made
so unjust and absolute as to engage us with him much as if it
were also ours. We are agog over Hamlet’s strategy, and thrill
with him as he opens the crime of the king to the public of all
Denmark. We thrill again when he sets right finally, in triumph,

83 The Folios show no division into acts and scenes after the opening of
the second scene of the Second Act. This seems most consonant with the
notion that the first form of the play, like some other tragedies of Shake-
speare, may have been undivided, and that revision was begun, but was
suspended after some three hundred lines of the scene just named. ‘There
is a palpable falling off in the quality of the diction, especially Hamlet’s,
and there are certain crudities, all of which tend to impress us that the
residue of the text has not shared in the vitalization effected in the first six
scenes. One notes also the inconsistency between conceptions of the title
figure. The Hamlet of the First Act carries no suggestion of a thirty-
years’ maturity, nor do we anywhere envisage the student from Witten-
berg as either fat or scant of breath.

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66 L. A. Sherman

the time that was out of joint. Moreover, above all and under
all is the subconsciousness that we have been called in to witness
the operations of genius at the topmost level of human insight and
expression.

The acme of literary achievement is attained when an author
has made his scenes and experiences undistinguishable, in the
mind of his reader, from remembered actuals of his own exist-
ence. When we reread the play of Hamlet, we seem to be re-
viewing matters in which we have in some way figured. The
people of the cast take rank with folk once or now belonging to
our circle. A page of text, like a page of Hawthorne, seems
taken from the journal, the memory, of former days.

One dissents here and there from observations of our author
on minor points of workmanship. He holds to the not uncommon
view that the soliloquy,

To be or not to be—

is evidence that Hamlet contemplated suicide as an escape from
the execution of his promise. But does Quiller-Couch imagine
Hamlet thought to face his father in the underworld with the
racial blood-vengeance unsatisfied? Is not this soliloquy in
effect a key to the psychology of the whole interval of waiting?
The ghost has pointedly and precisely charged him,

Howsoever thou pursu’st this act,

Taint not thy mind.
So, were the vengeance to serve as means of putting Hamlet on
the throne of his father, not only would his name be wounded,
but also his conscience and his honor. Was not that what he
felt was under the horizon when he accepted the terrible
commission ?

The time is out of joint. O cursed spite

That ever I was born to set it right.
Otherwise he must have welcomed the ordered vengeance as his
opportunity. By no other means can he now expect to acquire
his rights. But noblesse oblige blocks the path that way. Not
from the act of assassinating their king, even as the murderer of
Hamlet’s father, may he expect the thanes of Denmark to vote

168

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 67

him worthy to sit in his father’s seat. So we are led to con-
clude that Hamlet will resort to suicide, if he resort to suicide,
not before, or instead of, the deed of retribution, but after. Even
when he has destroyed the king in an unmasked attack upon him-
self, he dies (V. ii. 355, 356) in dismay lest the court and nation
misconceive his motive.**

The notion of Hamlet’s moral inertia, and lack of decision, dis-
solves as we see him awe the court, and the king’s guardsmen, in
the last scene. He faces here a king, crowned and in state,
flanked by the surviving Polonius-group of ‘tedious old fools,’
thanes of the realm, with Osric and his fellow unbred parvenus,
whom the king has made, presumably since his coronation, lords.
And the Switzers, with their halberds, stand by the throne. Is
not the king, in his double plot, secure? Yes. The victim, lone,
suspicious but submissive, only watches, waiting. But when the
queen, falling forward from her throne, reaches her arms out to
him, as her only hope, the Hamlet of the First Act comes back:

O villainy! Ho! Let the doors be lock’d!

Treachery! Seek it out!
Hamlet is not alone. The doors are locked, but by men who are
not followers of the king, and who, at point to act further, pause
as Laertes makes all search unneeded. Then Hamlet, realizing
that at last his hands are free, administers his father’s thrust.

34 This was of course suggested to Shakespeare, for altered treatment,
by the mention, in Chapter VI of the Hystorie,

How Hamlet, having slaine his uncle, and burnt his palace, made an
Oration to the Danes to shew them what he done;
and by this statement, in the last paragraph of the chapter, of the outcome:

This oration of the young prince so mooved the harts of the Danes, and
wan the affections of the nobility, that some wept for joy, to see the
wisedome, and gallant spirit of Hamlet; and having made an and of their
sorrow, al with one consent proclaimed him king of Jutie and Chersonnese,
at this present the proper country of Denmarke.

In the fact that the brother whom Fengon slew was not king of Den-
mark, but only co-governor of a province, we get hint’ of a reason why
Shakespeare had proceeded gingerly in the manner of Claudius’s taking
off, making him doubly forfeit his right to live. The business of assassi-
nating an anointed sovereign, even if usurper, ‘in jest, upon the stage,
was less innocuous in Tudor days than now.

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68 L. A. Sherman

The king calls out for help, but Hamlet, no one stirring, gags
him with the last dregs of the cup. No audience could have
endured the sight of vengeance exacted—as when the king was
praying—under less permissive conditions. The commentators
to a man, and many actors, seem not to recognize the tremendous
moral force, and terrible power of will that here palsy all protest
and opposition.

No. Hamlet is not alone, and has not been alone, in his inac-
tivity. It was not in Shakespeare’s mind that he should assay a
‘bluff.’ He did not shout to the king’s servants to lock the doors
or seek out treachery. Shakespeare’s thought is, rather, When
a king comes to a throne in Claudius’s way, there is always a
Macduff or Hamlet that will be the protagonist of waiting. Is
there not an undertow of implication throughout the play that
the rule of Claudius is an experiment, that the strength of the
kingdom rests in unseen hands? Horatio talks of duty (I. 1.
173; il. 222), prompting report of the ghost to Hamlet, and the
officers with him convince us that the same sentiment governs
them. ‘These men are evidently not solitary figures in the army
and at court. Real ‘duty’ should have led them, with their
story, to the king, who is naturally the first personage in all Den-
mark to be told of any disturbing facts or forces.*°

35 Ts it worth the time to follow the line of suggestion farther? When
Hamlet proposes to rid the court of his insolent and defiant presence, the
king insists on keeping him (1. 11. 116) ‘in the cheer and comfort of his
eye’; signifying to us almost pointedly that Cladius does not dare have
him out of sight. When it is determined that Hamlet shall be sent to
England, he learns of the order, of the sealed letters, and of the com-
panions chosen, from within the royal circle. He will dig one yard, he
says, below their mines—he will meet their secret plotting with secret
plotting. But how? Of course by proxy. The summary action of the
king—fearing perhaps that the daring exposure of his crime was the pre-
lude to some coup—in ‘shipping’ Hamlet forth at dawn, is baldly sug-
gestive. It at least delays the counter explosion. As to the matter of
the pirate rescue, Shakespeare needs but to get Hamlet back to Kronberg,
and avoids confusing his audience with details. But again, there is little
question what was in his mind. Pirates do not turn outlaws to get pris-
oners—they do not take any—hbut treasure. They cut throats, to obtain
it, and scuttle ships, and avoid appearing with their loot at open moorings.
But these ‘sailors,’ these ‘good fellows,’ land at Elsinore, and indeed come

170

Certain New Elucidations of Shakespeare 69

One word of Ophelia, misjudged and misprized Ophelia.
Quiller-Couch says (p. 151) that she was not present in the room
of state when Hamlet threw down the gauntlet of scorn (1. 11)
to the new sovereign and his court. Shakespeare, we might have
been sure, would not have had Ophelia miss that. It is only the
modern editors who have considered her unworthy. The Folios
allow her to enter the scene with her father and Laertes. ‘She
is colorless, insipid, characterless.’ Well, could Portia have ans-
wered Laertes (I. ili. 45-51) with such consummate and feminine
finality? That she should disally herself with Hamlet at her
father’s order—Hamlet having made himself the king’s enemy in
the last scene—argues no lack of will or personality. She is
typically the high-born maid of the Northland, she is the Ingeborg
of the sagas, who refuses to break from loyalty to her home and
family. Tegnér has faithfully expanded her devotion thus:

Frithiof. Art thou not free if thou but will? Thy father
No longer liveth.
Ingeborg. Helge is my father,
Now stands in place of father, and my hand
Waits his award. King Bele’s daughter never
Will steal her joy, however near it lie.
What, pray, were woman, should she free herself
From bonds wherewith Allfather has made fast
Unto the strong her being’s helplessness!
The snow-white water lily is like her.
It rises with the waves, with waves it sinks,

over to Kronberg to get into communication with the king. Why are they
not hanged on sight? Quite evidently the king is chary of measures
against those who thwart his will.

One would be glad to see, in a volume like this one, a corrective para-
graph on stage abuses in the rendition of important parts. Nothing could
sooner make Shakespeare’s ghost haunt the greenroom, than a manager’s
causing or allowing Gertrude, for cheap effect, to leave the stage at the
end of Act III sobbing, and be heard in hysterics along the corridors of
the castle. No part of the drama is more touching than the perfect sym-
pathy and understanding with which Hamlet and his mother, after he has
entrusted her with his secret, are prepared for their last meeting. Once
more, to cause or allow the actor taking the part of Hamlet to creep in
the very article of death to the foot of the throne and with his last energy
writhe himself into it—as if this were the sum total of all his mortal aspi-
rations—is the acme of outrage to his nature and to Shakespeare’s thought.

FAL

70 “L. A. Sherman

And skippers’ keels shall go straight over it.
And never mark that they have cut its stalk.
It is that lily’s destiny. But still,

As long as in the sand its root holds fast,

The plant shall have its worth, and borrow hue
From sister-stars which glitter pale above,—
A star itself upon the blue expanse.

But if it struggle free, it only drifts

A wither’d leaf around the desert waters.3¢

Can one omit mention, on taking leave of Quiller-Couch’s
fervent tribute, that this was the work which won recognition of
Shakespeare’s genius from the dons and scholars of the day? Is
it not affirmed of Hamlet, on the title page of the First, and ap-
parently pirated Quarto, text,— ;

As it hath been diuerse times acted by his Highnesse
seruants in the Cittie of London; as also in the two
Vniuersities of Cambridge and Oxford, and else-where?

‘And elsewhere.’ Where ‘elsewhere, we wonder. At Bristol,
at Norwich, possibly. At Elsinore palace, at Kronberg? . And
how did Shakespeare’s fame reach the Isis and the Cam? Did
Shakespeare himself, at some first rendition of Hamlet, manage
the cast? Was he his own ghost eitherwhere? The archives,
perhaps, in one or the other university will show. Might not the
Edward-Seventh Professor of English Literature at Cambridge
institute, like our Professor Wallace at the Public ecard Office,
an inquiry?

36 Ksaias Tegner: Frithiof's Saga, Canto VIII, 1]. 267-284.

172

RACINE
BY PROSSER HALL FRYE

I

When Racine began his career as a dramatist, he found the gen-
eral definition of French tragedy already formulated by Corneille.
However the latter had come by his conception—whether freely .
and of his own instance, or in yielding to the pressure of official
criticism, or what is even more likely, in attempting to effect a
compromise between these two influences—the upshot of his labour
was, to all intents and purposes, the doctrine of the three unities.
All that remained for Racine was to adapt himself to these pre-
scriptions. Nor should the difficulty of the task be underrated.
It was one which Corneille himself had failed to accomplish.
Classic by method and finally, perhaps, by conviction, he was in-
curably romantic by temperament and inspiration and was never
wholly successful in conceiving an action thoroughly ‘agreeable
with his own formule. There is something bungling and un-
handy in his efforts to cage a broad and rambling plot within the
narrow limits required by his theory ; something cramped and un-
graceful about the result. In a word, it would hardly be unjust
to say, whatever praise he may deserve for its discovery, that he
never understood the practical working of his own invention; he
never altogether grasped the principles of congruous simplicity
characteristic of the classic drama.

To illustrate this statement I need only refer to Rodogune.*
The Cid would be an even better example, though scarcely so fair
an one, since it was written while Corneille was still serving his
apprenticeship. But to the citation of Rodogune for such a pur-
pose it is impossible to take exception since Corneille himself
expresses a decided preference for it over all his preceding per-
formances including both the Cid and Cinna. And the significant
matter is the reason he assigns for his favouritism. Abstractly,

1 Examen de Rodogune.
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2 Prosser Hall Frye

the framework is of the utmost severity, such as is ideally pre-
scribed by the unities of time and place, as Corneille insists that
he is practising them. But what he congratulates himself upon is
anything but the harmonious accommodation of material to plan.
Rather, he justifies his fondness for the play by “the surprising
incidents,” which, he assures us, are purely of his own ἡ
tion” and “have never before been seen on the stage.” To be
sure, he acknowledges that his “tenderness” for this particular
drama may be in the nature of parental partiality—it contains so
_much of himself; but the very fact that he feels it at all, is pretty
good evidence that he never quite realized the obligations which
his own profession of the unities imposed upon him, particularly
with reference to the selection of congruous subject-matter. And
to this charge he pleads guilty in so many words in the Discours
de la Tragédie.?

“Tt is so unlikely that there should occur, either in imagina-
tion or history, a quantity of transactions illustrious and worthy
of tragedy, whose deliberations and effects can possibly be made
to happen in one place and in one day without doing some little
violence to the common order of things, that I can not believe
this sort of violence altogether reprehensible, provided it does
not become quite impossible. There are admirable subjects
where it is impossible to avoid some such violence; and a
scrupulous author would deprive himself of an excellent chance
of glory and the public of a good deal of satisfaction, if he were
too timid to stage subjects of this sort for fear of being forced
to make them pass more quickly than probability permits. In
such a case I should advise him to prefix no time to his piece or
any determinate place for the action. The imagination of the
audience will be freer to follow the current of the action, if it is
not fixed by these marks, and it will never perceive the precipi-
tancy of events unless it is reminded and made to take notice of
them expressly.”

Here, then, is his confession. Do the best you can to crowd

“inven-

2JIn quoting Corneille and Racine I use the spelling and accentuation of
' Fournel’s edition (Librairie des Bibliophiles) based on the last editions
published during the authors’ lives.

174

Racine 3

the incidents of your play into the compass of a single day and
dodge circumspectly anything that may call the attention of the
audience to the passage of dramatic time in the hope that they
may not notice the imposture. Every Corneillean tragedy con-
forms more or less closely to this general rule. I can not think
of one in which there is not some embarrassment in supposing
- that the whole action elapses within twenty-four hours.

On this account it is not quite fair to represent Racine as merely
taking over Corneille’s model. To the formal theory and criti-
cism of French tragedy, it may be, the former contributed little.
But if drama is a craft in any sense of the word, then the man
who took up tragedy at the point to which Corneille had brought
it and carried it on to the point where Racine left it, can hardly be
said to have added little or nothing to it. And the misconception
arises, I believe, from a persistent confusion with regard to one
of the unities—to wit, the unity of action.

However it may be with the unities of time and place, we are
commonly assured that all drama, the romantic not excepted, has
one unity in common, the unity of action; for such unity, it is
speciously added, is indispensable to a dramatic work of any kind.
That the statement is true in one sense, may be granted; most
statements are so in some sense or other. But that the romantic
drama possesses unity of action in the same sense as the classic
drama—or even anything that would have been recognized as a
unity by Aristotle—such a position can hardly be maintained with
any great show of plausibility. Indeed, so great is the difference
in kind that the use of the same term with reference to the two
dramas is misleading and bewildering in the extreme. As well
say that romantic tragedy possesses unity of time and place be-
cause each individual scene is within itself continuous and sta-
tionary. .

The fact is that the romantic and the classic action are con-
ceived in two quite different manners and produce two quite dis-
tinct impressions. While the latter, as everybody acknowledges,
is concerned only for the upshot or issue of a certain business or
transaction ; the former is concerned equally for its inception and
development—for the soil in which the tragic seed is planted and

178

4 Prosser Hall Frye
᾿

the climate in which it is ripened even more than for the fruit
which it finally bears. It is as though the romantic playwright
were absorbed in demonstrating how such a result was brought
about by successive steps; while the classic playwright is inter-
ested only in the nature and symptoms of the disease itself.
Scrupulous as is Sophocles in general, he is, to all appearance,
quite indifferent to the antecedent improbabilities of his Gdipus
Tyrannus; evidently he recognizes no obligation to account for
his tragic consequences. In the romantic action this tragic matter
is anatomized or parcelled out into its various constituent inci-
dents, circumstances, and details, the which are all set forth sev-
erally and serially in such a manner that the spectator gains his
notion of the tragedy as a whole by a retrospective and discursive
act of the imagination. In the classic form the tragic affair is
caught at its culmination or crisis in such a way that it is made to
yield all it contains of human significance and purport. The
former is historical, the latter moral. The one views its subject
as a process or a becoming; the other as a state or a being. If I
were not afraid of being misleading in my turn, I should insist
upon this distinction and assert for the sake of contrast that in
the matter of procedure the one is dynamic or kinetic, the other
static—not that nothing happens in the latter but that what
does happen, happens inside the situation. At all events, as far
as names are concerned, the romantic drama, from the point of
view of method, may safely be described as analytic, the classic
as synthetic.

That these two ways of handling plot are, in reality, so diverse
as to merit different names, and that the unities of time and place
are thoroughly incompatible with the romantic conception, no
modern reader with a sense for Shakespeare and Sophocles can
deny, when actually put to it. On the very surface of things it is
impossible to think of a moral fatality of tragic magnitude his-
torically as originating, developing, and terminating all in the
course of a single day—even a more or less elastic stage day—or
to treat it historically as confined to such a period: the prepara-
tion alone would be prohibitive. In Othello Shakespeare has in-
deed tried something of the sort; but even here he has taken pains

176

Racine 5

to truncate his action uncommonly, beginning much farther in
than is usual with him.* And still in this case the result, as far as
it is not purely romantic, is Corneillean—the action, where it 15
not extended, is merely compressed and makes no pretense to the
congruous simplicity demanded by the unities. In a word, it is
still analytic, no matter what artifice has been used to make it ap-
pear foreshortened. And it is just Racine’s distinction to have
recognized this fact—of the essential incompatibility of such an
action with the unities of time and place, a fact to which Corneille
was totally blind—and to have succeeded in working out a gen-
uine unity of action in the strict sense of the word—a synthetic
action, that is—which would be conformable with the other uni-
ties—though, indeed, it is a distinction that is usually overlooked
or misesteemed.

As a matter of fact, the notorious rivalry between the two great
poets, amounting to little less than open hostility, ought to be
quite enough in itself to discredit the commonplace that Racine
was a mere successor or continuator to Corneille. In reality,
Racine, while accepting Corneille’s definition of the drama in
general terms, censures expressly his management of at least two
unities, those of time and action, with severity. As Corneille was
in the habit of handling it, the unity of time was by his own con-
fession nothing but a barefaced trick or deception—barefaced to
the reader, however it might appear to the spectator. It con-
sisted, as he himself explains, in ignoring the actual duration of
events in favour of an hypothetical stage-day of twenty-four
hours or thereabouts. Upon his choice and organization of ma-
terial it exerted little or no influence. For the playwright who is
embarrassed by the extent of his subject or by a plethora of inci-
dent\he has no better advice, as has been seen, than to refrain
from mentioning the topic on the off chance that the audience may
fail to notice the congestion of the action. In short, for all his
floundering Corneille never succeeded in imagining, much less in
defining, a unity of action commensurate with his ideal unities of
time and place. The nearest he comes to doing so is in his “ unity

51 am referring, of course, to the so called “double time” of Othello.

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6 Prosser Hall Frye

of peril” ;* and how unsatisfactory that was he was himself the
first to acknowledge. To all intents and purposes his action re-
mains of the same-dimensions as that of the Spanish commedia ;
it is as diffuse and protracted, as wanting in concision and con-
centration :—his efforts are directed solely toward disguising its
character. Apparently it never occurred to him that the solution
of the whole problem consisted in such an ordonnance of his plot
that the unities of time and place should be involved in the nature
of the action itself and should result from it, instead of being
imposed upon it as a durance or constraint. As a matter of fact,
the unities of time and place, as far as they are valid at all, are
only functions of the unity of action.

At all events, it is directly against this method of dramatic
composition that Racine directs his satire in replying to the de-
tractors of his Britannicus:

“What can be done,’ he asks, “to satisfy such rigorous
judges”’ as these umbrageous Corneilleans. And he answers:
“ Nothing is easier in defiance of good sense. All you have to do is
to abandon naturalness for extravagance. Instead of a simple
action [italics mine] made up of a modest amount of material,
which takes place in a single day and advances gradually to a con-
clusion sustained only by the interests, sentiments, and passions
of the characters, you must cram this same action with a great
quantity of incidents which could not possibly come to pass in
less than a month, with a vast amount of stage clap-trap the more
amazing the more unlikely it is, with a multitude of declamations
wherein the actors are made to say just the contrary of what they
should.”

And to the same effect in-a familiar passage of the preface to
Bérénice he insists upon this pertinent simplicity of action :—

“Nothing matters much in tragedy save likelihood ; and’ what
is the likelihood that there should happen in a single day a multi-
tude of things which could hardly happen in several weeks?
Some there are who think that this simplicity is a sign of small
invention. They fail to notice that on the contrary all invention
consists in making something out of nothing and that all this

4 Examen d Horace.

178

Racine 7

great mass of incident has ever been the recourse of those poets
who have felt their genius too frail and scanty to hold their audi-
ence for five acts by a simple action [italics mine, again] sup-
ported by the violence of the passions, the beauty of the senti-
ments, and the elegance of the expression.” As compared with
Corneille’s confessed weakness for “surprising incidents,” the
like of which had never before been seen on the stage, these ex-
pressions would seem to be sufficiently explicit. It is not the mul-
titude or variety of incident which is to furnish forth the perfect
tragedy ; it is passion, sentiment, expression, which, so far from
disagreeing with simplicity of action, in reality concur with it;
for here as everywhere it is upon this significant simplicity of
action that the whole weight and force of Racine’s authority is
brought to bear.

As for the unity of place—it is in itself a minor matter any-
way. That is to say, the unity of place offers no such difficulty in
the problem of verisimilitude as does the unity of time. There
is no prohibitive improbability that an action of any extent, pro-
vided it be confined to the linear dimension, should not occur in a
single place. One may be born, wed, and die in the same room,
as far as that goes—though it is impossible to imagine all these
events as taking place on the same day. It is for this reason,
perhaps, that Racine nominally conforms to Corneille’s receipt in
setting all his dramas for a single room or apartment—with the
exception of Phédre, which is set, in accordance with an earlier
recommendation of the same authority, fora single “site.” Never-
theless his own practice implies a kind of criticism of Corneille’s.
With the latter the single room or cabinet which served as the
local habitation of his drama was a stage fiction no less truly than
his dramatic day. Conventionally—though as a matter of fact it
often shifts from one spot to another—it was feigned to adjoin
the apartments of the principal characters and to represent a kind
of indifferent or neutral ground where all parties to the action
were equally at home, and where etiquette and precedence were
suspended in the article of entrances and exits. Actually, it was
a mere theatrical spot, non-committally furnished and decorated,
where the actors met regardless of verisimilitude, whenever the

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8 Prosser Hall Frye

playwright needed them, for the purpose of carrying on the play.
In the hands of Racine, however, this convention becomes more
or less of a dramatic reality. There is some difficulty, to be sure,
in actualizing the “locations” of Phédre ; but as a general thing,
his action does take place in the chamber where it is cast, whether
the harem of a sultan or the anteroom of an emperor, the appear-
ance of his characters in that particular spot is reasonable, and a
violation of etiquette, if there is one, is always excused by the
logic of the situation.

Now, all this was possible—Racine was able to make the unities
of time and place a dramatic reality instead of a theatrical fiction
by means of his own contribution to French tragedy—a contribu-
tion which I have spoken of, properly or not, as the discovery of a
genuine unity of action. But no matter for the name; his origi-
nality consisted in seeing—what is fairly obvious at present but
what at the time escaped the eye of the grand Corneille—that a
drama as a whole is determined by the plot and that in order to
have a certain kind of tragedy it is necessary to begin with a cer-
tain kind of action. Unlike Corneille he was sufficiently in sym-
pathy with the Greek spirit to perceive the artificiality of the
Corneillean tragedy with its arbitrary limitations of the plot as
contrasted with the intimate connection between the action and
what vitually amounted to the unities of time and place in the
best Athenian tragedy, and to recognize that the success of the
same unities in French and the perfection of the type to which
they belonged hinged likewise upon the conception of an action
which should reduce the dimensions of tragedy to the proportions
of a crise or paroxysm. As Lemaitre pcints out, he begins
Britannicus twenty-four hours before Nero’s first crime; Bérénice
twenty-four hours before the heroine leaves Rome; and Andro-
magque twenty-four hours before Pyrrhus decides in favour of
his captive. Only so was it possible to confine the drama to a
single room or even site and to a single revolution of the sun.
Tragedies do occur in rooms and they occur of a sudden, no
doubt; but they are tragedies of emotion, not of incident. They
are affective tragedies—tragedies in which much is felt and some-
thing is said, but in which comparatively little is done. They are

180

Racine 9

tragedies in which the characters suffer their fate—in a single
word, they are tragedies of passion and the characters are
patients.

And this is, 1 fancy, the explanation of that Christian passivity
ascribed to Racine’s drama and referred by Sainte-Beuve to his
Jansenist education.’ While Corneille, it has been pointed out,
remains a pagan to the end, Racine manifests, as the saying is, a
genius naturally Christian. As compared with the softness and
infirmity of Racine’s characters, there is about Corneille’s some-
thing a little extravagant and demonic, even Titanic—

Οὐ joigne a ses efforts le secours des enfers,

Je suis maistre de moy comme de l’univers.®
t

It is as though the former were concerned to point in them the
moral of original sin and efficient grace. In themselves they are
powerless for virtue—puppets of temptation like Phedre, re-
cipients of evil suggestion, possedés—without force or initiation
of their own. That such is the effect of his drama I have said
myself; nor would I deny that his schooling at Port Royal may
have inclined his mind to such an interpretation of life and
humanity. But 1 would insist that such an interpretation con-
forms also to the formal obligations of his tragedy and is not so
very different after all from the tragic vision of the Greeks.
Whether they were naturally Jansenist is a question I should
hardly care to raise. But granted Racine’s problem, he could
scarcely have found another solution of it so happy as that af-
forded him by this tragedy of pathos and infirmity.

Nor is it without significance that so many of his dramas bear
the name of women—Andromaque, Bérénice, Iphigénie, Phedre,
to say nothing of Esther and Athalie, which lie outside of my
cadre, as do also Alexandre and Les Freres Ennemis. Of the ex-
ceptions—in Mithridate alone does an heroic figure dominate the
stage, though even he is in his period of défaillance and eclipse.
As for Bajazget it had much better been called after Roxane;
while Britannicus too is something of a misnomer for a play that

5 Port-Royal, t. VI, p. 131.
6 Cinna, V, ii1.

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10 Prosser Hall Frye

centres upon the adolescent Nero. The truth is that as a tragedy
of passion the nature of Racine’s drama—like the depravity of
Nero himself with its long suppression and gestation, its violent
spasm and its quick collapse—is essentially feminine.

Obviously, such a drama is not without its incidental technical
advantages over and above its simplifications of the unities. Its
preparation, for instance, is immaterial and subjective: it is all
internal and mental, dependent upon the state of mind of the
characters; and hence it requires little exposition save what is
involved in the psychology of the situation itself and developed
pari passu with the progress of the play. On the contrary, it is
noteworthy that one of the best evidences to the artificiality of
Corneille’s dramatic construction is furnished by the inherent dif-
ficulty of his exposition—he complains of it himself—which
makes pretty nearly every one of his entrances into the matter a
tour de force. At the same time the Racinean outbreak or dé-
nouement has the corresponding merit of being as sudden and
violent, like an explosion or convulsion of nature. All that is
necessary is to apply a match to the train—to invent the one little
contingency capable of precipitating the catastrophe. Consider
how simple is the machinery of Andromaque in comparison with
that of Lear or Hamlet; it is a mere release or trigger. There is
no difficulty in imagining such a tragedy as occurring in a single
day and in a single chamber wherever the combustible happens
to be stored. And it was to his conception of a tragedy of this
sort—as an eruption of the most vehement of human passions—
that Racine, I repeat, owed his invention of a modern action per-
fectly in keeping with the unities of time and place.

In this connection it would be unpardonable to omit a reference
to what is after all the great superiority of the classic drama.
The supreme merit of the simplified or synthetic plot which is the
determining feature of that drama, whether in the hands of the
Greeks or of Racine, consists in the fact that it allows the dram-
atist time and opportunity for the conception and development of
a definite and deliberate theme. “Le premier mérite d’une ceuvre
dramatique,” declares Vinet, “c’est qu'une idée s’en dégage nette-
ment et vivement, c’est qu’on ptisse, comme un discours oratoire,

182

Racine II

la réduire a une proposition.”” The great weakness of the
romantic drama has always and everywhere been its lack of
theme. And particularly is this statement true of the Spanish
commedia as practised by Calderon, Lope de Vega, and Tirso de
Molina. With the exception of a play or two like La Vida es
Sueno, Spanish tragedy is almost themeless—unless for the tire-
some pundonor, and that is a motive rather than a theme. Or if
a romantic tragedy has happened to catch a momentary glimpse
of something that might have served it for a theme, the pressure
of incident has been so irresistible as to jostle it out of sight forth-
with. In the best of instances it remains rudimentary and in-
choate, hardly rising above the suggestion of a motive. There is
no place or leisure for it in the serried procession of events,
marching hurriedly by numerous degrees from a distant incep-
tion to a remote issue. The interest is distributed so impartially
over the series that little or no attention is left with which to ex-
haust the sense of a single situation. As far as I can remember,
there is nothing in romantic tragedy, for example, to parallel the
discussion over the corpse of Ajax—the soliloquies of Hamlet,
perhaps, excepted; and even they seem strangely clouded in com-
parison. As for Corneille, he does marvellously well in this re-
spect for all his disadvantages, as witness Pompée and Cinna.
But naturally enough, under the circumstances, it is in Racine,
whose characters of passion have little more to do than just to
exhaust the sense of their situation, that the theme attains its
fullest development. And it is one of his aptitudes that this
treatment should suit so well with the particular passion that he
picked as the lever of his tragedy.

That, as compared with the Greeks, his conception of passion
was limited must be conceded.

C’est Venus toute entiere a sa proye attachée.®

It would be idle to deny that his exclusive preoccupation with
one master passion—this virtual identification, for dramatic pur-
poses, of passion with sexual desire, gives his drama as a whole
7 Les Poetes du Siécle de Louis XIV.
8 Phédre, I, iii.
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12 Prosser Hall Frye

an air of one-sidedness. But whether the theatre be dedicated
to Cypris or Dionysus makes little difference; the point is that
though the Greeks used other motives, they reached the same
destination by the same route. Their action is viewed in the
same manner, synthetically, as a spasm or fit of emotion; it 1s by
madness, fatuity, or some other brief and violent distraction that
the Greek dénouement is brought to pass. With them the tragic
motive is a passion too—a something suffered or endured,—éere
τά y Epya μου πεπονθότ᾽ ἐστὶ μάλλον ἢ dedpaxora.** And like Racine -
again they were obliged to think of their hero’s fatality as a kind
of distemper or malady. It was not at random that Boileau with
Racine in mind enjoined the tragic poet,

Et que l’amour, souvent de remors combattu,
Paroisse une foiblesse et non une vertu.?

Such a treatment is involved in the notion of the type, as the
Greeks with their usual penetration had not failed to discern.

Ibsen, too, in reviving the type—the synthetic, as perhaps I
may now be permitted to call it from my description of the action
—has been forced to adopt the same dramatic tactics. Like
Racine’s his is, in its own way, the tragedy of an apartment and
an obsession. Upon differences of tone and atmosphere it is
needless to dwell; one has only to recall those ill-ventilated, stove-
choked rooms of his, with their frost-blistered windows over-
looking the snow-bound and sea-haunted moors and firths of the
inclement north. But to all intents and purposes the mechanism
is of the same sort—for all its moral confusion the action is sub-
ject to the same simplification and the motive is conceived as an
infirmity.

To return to Racine, one-sided as his partiality for love may
seem in the bulk, it still gives his single pieces a wonderful inten-
sity and power; for after all there is no other human passion
quite so impetuous and headlong. And what it lacks of itself in
virulence it acquires by association with its accomplice passion,
jealousy. Hence his constant employment of this second and

8a dipus Coloneus, 266-7. =

9L’Art Poétique, Chant III.

184

- Racine 13

subordinate motive as a prick or goad to the former. The per-
fection of his drama, therefore, consists in the complication of
these two motives—love and jealousy. Hence while Bérénice
serves well enough as a kind of outline of his tragedy, its fulfil-
ment is represented by Phédre.

To take Bérénice, for all its slenderness, as an example of his
bare idea, is, I suppose, fair enough, since he himself in the
preface seems to offer it as such. In the words of Vinet, whose
comments on all this literature are uncommonly pertinent, “ Béré-
nice n’est pas le chef d’oeuvre de Racine; mais c’est ce qu’il a fait
de plus racinien.”? That the plot is meagre to the point of ema-
ciation, may be granted; but for that reason the scheme itself is
only the more salient. It consists obviously, in the author’s own
words, of “a simple action”—hardly more, to be exact, than a
situation. It is a posture and a precarious one, terminating in a
single expressive gesture of renunciation and regret:

|

Tout est prest. On m’attend. Ne suivez point mes pas.
Pour la derniere fois, adieu, Seigneur.
Helas !11

The development, then, will consist of three parts: first an ex-
planation or “exposition” of the relations of the parties in con-
frontation; second, a demonstration of the emotional tensions
and their potency; and third, an exhibition of their release and
an indication of the outcome. All that is necessary for a repre-
sentation of this sort is that the personages should meet and
speak together; and this they may do as well in one room as in
the universe at large. As a matter of fact, I am not sure that
the impression is not intensified by the sense of confinement and
constraint so produced, as it might be with an explosion in a nar-
row space, and as it is also to my mind by the absence of blood-
letting at the close. “It is unnecessary,” says Racine, “that a
tragedy should be glutted with blood and death. It is enough
that the action should be noble, the actors heroic, the passions
excited ; and that the entire piece should be redolent of that ma-

ὸ
10 Poétes du Sitécle de Louis XIV.
11 Bérénice, V, vii.

185

14 7 Prosser Hall Frye

jestic grief which makes the pleasure of tragedy.’’2 And there
is, indeed, about the play a sort of appalling tightness or constric-
tion—binding the characters like a fatal ligature—to which an
act of violence would be a relaxation and to which the piece is
indebted for its individuality as compared with the other dramas
of Racine. It may not rise to the highest effect of which tragedy
is capable; but at its acme, when Bérénice fancies that Titus is
slipping from her, it does rise to a very high pitch of poetry.

Pour jamais! Ah! Seigneur, songez-vous en vous méme

Combien ce mot cruel est affreux quand on aime?

Dans un mois, dans un an, comment souffrirons-nous,

Seigneur, que tant de mers separent me de vous,

Que le jour recommence et que le jour finisse

Sans que jamais Titus puisse voir Berenice,
Sans que de tout le jour je puisse voir Titus.13

Nevertheless, its merits and demerits aside, I am proposing
Bérénice only as an illustration of the author’s bare idea. For
the elaboration of the sketch it is necessary to turn to Phédre.
If one were considering the “art” of Phédre without reference
to any particular thesis, it would be difficult to know where to
begin or end. Certainly, one could hardly refrain from expati-
ating upon the delicacy and firmness of drawing in the charac-

terization of the heroine, ὃ

La fille de Minos et de Pasiphaé;14

the subtlety with which from the first she insinuates herself, with
all the morbid fascination of her moral distemper and personal
disorder, into the blood and senses of the audience. The début
of ali Racine’s heroines is tremendously effective—Monime’s is
a good instance; but Phedre’s is, in especial, insidious:

N’allons point plus avant, demeurons, chere C£none.

Je ne me sotttiens plus, ma force m’abandonne;

Mes yeux sont ébloués du jour que je revoy,

Et mes genoux tremblans se dérobent sous moy .. .
Que ces vains ornemens, que ces voiles me pesent!

12 Bérénice, Préface.
13 TV, v.
14 Phédre I, 1,

186

Racine 15

Quelle importune main, en formant tous ces noeuds,

A pris soin sur mon front d’assembler mes cheveux ?

Tout m’afflige et me nuit, et conspire ἃ me nuire .

Noble et brillant auteur d’une triste famille,

Toy dont ma mere osoit se vanter d’estre fille,

Qui peut-estre rougis du trouble ott tu me vois,

Soleil, je te viens voir pour la derniere fois [1
Nor would a critic at large be likely to overlook the knowingness
of Hippolyte’s “‘ psychology” or the propriety of his preferences
—only a novice in love would have had eyes for Aricie when
Phéedre was by—nor would begrudge a word or two for Aricie
herself, “la belle raisonneuse” of the salons, who takes love to
be some kind of syllogism.1* But such matters and others like
them deserve more than passing mention; and in view of my
immediate subject I can dwell only upon what is indicative of
Racine’s fundamental reduction of the tragic motive to a passion
in the primary sense of the word. From this point of view it 15
Phedre’s passivity, her incapability of self-determination that is
significant both for this one play and for Racine’s entire theatre
in general. It is this impotence which has won her the doubtful
distinction, already mentioned, of being cited as an illustration
of Augustinian theology. But, however that may be, the char-
acteristic trait of Racinean tragedy is unmistakable in this, its
extreme instance. Pheédre is not merely a sufferer and a patient ;
hers is the debility of innate depravity, and invalided and grace-
less as she is, her hapless soul is the prey of the whole passionate
intrigue to which she is exposed. Hence her drama is the pend-
ant and complement to that of the more limited and stubborn
Bérénice, whose Hebraism stands her in good stead at her hour
of trial.

In harmony with this difference of character the motive of
Bérénice is simple and uncomplicated; it is the Racinean interpre-
tation, sponsored by Boileau, of love as a passion or infirmity. By
this one malady alone all the characters in common are afflicted ;
Antiochus himself is no more than a backing or foil to Titus and
Bérénice. The intensity of interest is due, not to a conflict or

15], 11].

16 See her last speech in Act II, Scene i.

187

16 Prosser Hall Frye

conspiracy of passions, but to the strangulation of this one pas-
sion by circumstances. The play consists wholly of the fluctua-
tions of this same passion between hope and disappointment and
its final settlement upon resignation. In Phédre, on the other
hand, this single passion, while it is still agitated by its fluctua-
tions and before it has settled down either to resignation or to
despair, is exasperated by the goadings of jealousy—a motive vir-.
tually absent from Bérémice, if we except a brief impersonal re-
sentment at the meddling of circumstances, for jealousy as such
is not in Bérenice’s character or in Titus’ situation—there is too
much of the prude in the former, too much of the grand seigneur
in the latter ; while Antiochus is too tame to be subject to it. But
in Phédre, if love is the emotional protagonist of the drama,
jealousy is the deuteragonist. Nor is this all; there is a tritago- -
nist also. In Phedre’s situation love is not merely an infirmity,
it is a crime and an impiety. And in the devastation of her in-
effectual spirit the outrages of love and jealousy are fatally
abetted by remorse. Such is the complicity of passions which
instigates the emotional transport of the tragedy—one of the
finest I believe in dramatic literature, as Phedre is baited alter-
nately by the taunts of one and another.

PHEDRE

Ils s’aiment! Par quel charme ont-ils trompe mes yeux?
Comment se sont-ils veus? depuis quand? dans quels lieux?
Tu le scavois; pourquoy me lassois-tu seduire?

De leur furtive ardeur ne pouvois-tu m/instuire?

Les a-t-on veu souvent se parler, se chercher?

Dans le fond des forests alloient-ils se cacher?

Helas! ils se voyoient avec pleine license:

Le Ciel de leurs sotipirs approuvoit l’innocence ;

Ils suivoient sans remords leur penchant amoureux ;

Tous les jours se levoient clairs et sereins pour eux!

Et moy, triste rebut de la nature entiere,

Je me cachois au jour, je fuyois la lumiere.. .

CENONE

Quel fruit recevront-ils de leurs vaines amours?
Ils ne se verront plus.

188

Racine 17

PHEDRE

Ils s’aimeront totijours....
Miserable! Et je vis! et je sotitiens le veué
De ce sacré Soleil dont je suis descendué !
J’ay pour ayeul le pere et le maistre des dieux;
Le ciel, tout l’univers est plein de mes ayeux:
Ou me cacher? Fuyons dans la nuit infernale.
Mais que dis-je? Mon pere y tient l’urne fatale;
Le Sort, dit-on, l’a mise en ses severes mains.
Minos juge aux enfers tous les pales humains.17

This is the kind of thing that Racine is really capable οἵ : it is not
only great tragedy, it is great poetry ; and it needs no commentary
of mine by way of reinforcement.

In conclusion, I would not be understood to imply that Racine’s
entire drama squares in every respect with the lines of Bérénice
and Phédre. Of these two plays the one is too schematic, the
other too consummate to be thoroughly representative. One does
not repeat a Phedre or a Bérénice—though for quite different
reasons. But for all that, they define the type. They exhibit—
all the more distinctly, if anything, for being exceptional in de-
tail—the characteristic originality which I have been trying to
vindicate for their author. They declare that simple or syn-
thetic action, the discovery or invention of which converted the
serious drama of Louis XIV from an artifice and made a modern
classic tragedy possible for once. And they reveal the means
whereby Racine accomplished this result by treating the plot as
a crise of passion—typically, of love and jealousy—of which the
characters were patients or sufferers, so harmonizing his action
with the “unities”’ of time and place, which the criticism of the
Academy and the example of Corneille had fastened upon his
stage.

To be sure, his technical procedure was not that of the Greeks.
The latter, by the force of circumstances of which the choric
origin of their tragedy was undoubtedly the most influential, had
developed out of the natural limitations of their action a con-
gruous simplicity of treatment, from which the pragmatic crit-

LGV aval
189

18 Prosser Hall Frye

icism of the Renaissance had formulated the unities of time and
place. Racine, in the presence of these canons, had found him-
self confronted with the problem of restoring, to a literature
tumid with romantic elements, the simplicity in which it was
wanting, by disengaging from the miscellaneous mass a unity of
action to correspond with the conventions of his time. This was
his contribution. And I have no hesitation in calling it original,
and the drama to which he successfully appropriated it classic,
though to that tragedy I shall have certain moral reservations to
make a little later.

In the meanwhile it will not be amiss to devote a few words
to the subject of his versification—or more exactly, his dramatic
style, for as a foreigner I do not feel myself competent to criti-
cize the facture of his verses. And here, again, though his orig-
inality may not be so vital and important as in the case of his
innovations upon the dramatic structure of his immediate prede-
cessor, still it is not to be overlooked or neglected. Now, dramatic
poetry, naturally, is confined to the business of drama. And
drama, as far as it expreses itself in language—that is, as far as
it is a matter of poetry at all—expresses itself in dialogue—or
exceptionally, in soliloquy. But dialogue, while always seeking
something of the illusion of speech, will draw its individuality
from the situation which calls it forth. Typically, the Corneil-
lean situation in its significant scenes was essentially a disputa-
tion, wherein each character represented his own thesis and
strove to convince or argue down his respondent or respondents,
as may be seen by the scenario of Polyeucte. Hence the char-
acteristic temper of Corneille’s dramatic style is oratorical and
its most elevated note is that of eloquence. As a matter of
course, no tragedy in its serious moments—and Racine’s is na-
turally no exception—can afford to be less than eloquent at the
least, or it would sink to ordinary conversation and prose. But
the peculiarity of Corneille is that he is so exclusively eloquent
in his loftiest reaches, so seldom or never anything else. His
political orations are concededly the best things he does. How
greatly they were admired, how compelling their vogue is shown
by the fact that Racine has executed one of the most prominent

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Racine 19

scenes of his Mithridate1® in the same taste. And while such
passages are not those that stick most tenaciously in my memory,
even those that do are in the same vein:

La vie est peu de chose; et tot ou tard quimporte

Qu’un traitre me l’arrache, ou que l’age |’importe?

Nous mourons a toute heure; et dans le plus doux sort

Chaque instant de la vie est un pas vers la mort.19
Good lines; but their excellence is the excellence of eloquence.
Like all Corneille’s best they are perceptibly declamatory :

NERINE

Forcez l’aveuglement dont vous étes séduite,
Pour voir en quel état le sort vous a réduite.
Vostre pais vous hait, vostre époux est sans foy,
Dans un si grand revers, que vous reste-t’il?

Μερέε
: Moy.?°

Conceivably, however, there is room for something else even
in the most serious drama, as we who are the heirs of Shake-
speare need hardly be told. Not that Shakespeare himself de-
spised the embellishments of elocution. Such commonplaces as
Antony’s harangue over the body of Czsar and Portia’s apos-
trophe to mercy witness clearly enough to the contrary. But
then Shakespeare had no prejudices against doggerel or balder-
dash either. Everything was grist that came to his mill with the
result that he had the widest range of expression that ever was,
so that pretty nearly every variety of dramatic style may be illus-
trated by his example.. And while Racine’s scale is much more
limited than his, as it is bound to be in many cases by the dif-
ferent logic of their genres so that comparison is illegitimate;
still Racine’s reach is much more comprehensive than Corneille’s
and demonstrates much more favourably, just as does the for-
mer’s conception of the action, the possibilities of the types with
which the two were dealing.

ITN ae

19 Tite et Berenice, V, I.

2 jileGlee,, I ya.

IQI

20 Prosser Hall Frye

If now we place eloquence at one pole of the genuinely poetic
tragedy, then at the other terminal we must as obviously set up
lyricism, a lyricism adapted—paradoxical as it may seem at first
sight—to the uses of the drama and adjusted to the nature of the
situation. The word lyricism, I should perhaps add, I use in its
fundamental sense to denote the essential quality of lyric poetry
and without recognition of the rather derogatory connotation it
has acquired recently from reactionary French criticism. But
lyric expression is the result of intense personal absorption ; hence
it would appear wholly incompatible with the gregariousness of
drama, except for the more or less anomalous soliloquy. From
the nature of the case, then, it can occur in non-choric tragedy
only at those rarer intervals when a character is rapt beyond the
consciousness of his neighbours and his immediate surroundings
either by recollection or by extreme excitement. And for the
sake of clearness I will illustrate both of these cases by Shake-
speare. Of the former variety Marcellus’ speech in Hamlet
after the disappearance of the ghost is a good instance:

It faded on the crowing of the cock.

Some say that ever ’gainst that season comes
Wherein our Saviour’s birth is celebrated,

The bird of dawning singeth all night long:

And then, they say, no spirit dares walk abroad;
The nights are wholesome; then no planets strike,

No fairy takes, nor witch hath power to charm,
So hallow’d and so gracious is the time.21

This is a lovely example of the dramatic lyricism of recollec-
tion. While the speech of Claudio, in Measure for Measure, on
what he fancies to be the eve of his execution, though in another
key altogether, is an equally good example of the dramatic
lyricism of extreme excitement:

Ay, but to die, and go we know not where;
To lie in cold obstruction and to rot;

This visible warm motion to become

A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit

To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside
In thrilling regions of thick ribbed ice;

210 οἴ

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Racine 21

To be imprisoned in the viewless winds,

And blown with restless violence round about
The pendant world; or to be—worse. than worst—
Of those that lawless and incertain thought
Imagine howling.22

Such is a fair sample of the kind of lyricism produced and legiti-
matized dramatically by a sudden or violent excitement—in this
case the dread of death.

Now, the characteristics of these two influences—of recollec-
tion and excitement both, the one induced by reaction, the other
by shock—coalesce and run together inseparably in passion of
the Racinean type—which with one and the same motion pro-
vokes the spirit of the patient and throws it back upon itself.
Just as the expression of elevated ambition is naturally ora-
torical, that of love is naturally lyrical. For this reason the
“Tyric cry,’ which is almost wholly absent from Corneille, 15
audible again and again on the lips of Racine’s characters, espe-
cially his heroines. It is possible that verses as picturesque as
the following may be matched elsewhere in French tragedy of
the time, though I do not happen to recall any:

Et la Crete fumant du sang du Minotaure,??
or this:
Ariane aux rocher contant ses injustices.?4

But in the passages that I have already quoted from Bérénice
and Phedre the novelty is undeniable:

Ils suivoient sans remords leur penchant amoureux ;
Tous les jours se levoient, clairs et sereins pour eux!
Et moy, triste rebut de la nature entiere,

Je me cachois au jour, je fuyois la lumiere.2®

And it seems to me that there is a new note in Monime’s appeal
to Xipharés at her début in the second scene of Mithridate :

22 TIT, 1.

23 Phédre, I, i.

24 Phédre, I, τ.

25 Phedre, IV, vi.

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22 Prosser Hall Frye

Seigneur, je viens ἃ vous. Car enfin aujourd’hui
Si vous m’abandonney, quel sera mon appuy?
Sans parens, sans amis, desolée et craintive,

Reine long-temps de nom, mais en effet captive,
Et veuve maintenant sans avoir eu d’espoux,
Seigneur, de mes malheurs ce sont la les plus doux.

It is not a purely lyric note, perhaps, and yet its plaintive sim-
plicity has very much the effect of lyricism—at least of the ap-
plied lyricism of the drama. But I can not hope to detect all
Racine’s inflections, much less to illustrate them. I am satisfied
to show that in introducing a certain lyric strain into his tragedy
he has provided it with something of the dramatic relief of which |
the Greeks were possessed by virtue of their chorus and of which
modern French tragedy was destitute until he supplied it.

II

Such, it appears to me, are Racine’s principal services toward
the revival of a classic tragedy in modern times ;—the discovery
of a congruous simplicity of treatment by the segregation of a
synthetic or unitary action, and what is less momentous, the res-
toration of dramatic relief by the application of lyricism to tragic
dialogue. With these subsidies neo-classic tragedy reached its
highest point of perfection. That it staggered presently and de-
clined is no detraction to its momentary excellence; in that re-
spect it was but equal in fate with its Attic prototype. As for its
most powerful supporter, Racine, aside from his well-known in-
timacy with Euripides, it would be absurd, in view of the merits
that I have just mentioned, to deny that his sense for Greek
drama was far finer than Corneille’s, who, as a matter of fact,
was never completely successful in shaking himself free of Span-
ish and romantic influence. And yet eager and sensitive though
this taste of Racine’s was, there are certain aspects of the Greek
genius to which he is partially or wholly blind. That any one °
with even a tincture of the great Athenian tradition should find
the invention of Eriphile or Aricie a happy one, seems incredible
—though much may be forgiven Aricie as the mover of Phedre’s
jealousy. In particular, however, he seems never to have fath-

194

Racine 23

omed the profound moral significance of the great Attic trage-
dians. Perhaps he was misled by his very devotion to Euri-
pides, who is generally disdainful, if not oblivious, of the import
of the material out of which A‘schylus and Sophocles made so
much. With Euripides, for example, Racine can see no sense in
such a theme as the sacrifice of Iphigenia. ‘‘ How shocking,” he
exclaims, “if I had stained the stage with the murder of a per-
son so amiable and virtuous!’?°—a sentiment that corresponds
perfectly with the opinion of Euripides’ heroine,

μαίνεται δ΄ ὃς εὔχεται
θανεῖν. Κακῶς ζῆν κρεῖσσον ἤ καλῶς θανεῖν.3 1

But even on those rare occasions when Euripides turns out to be
a capable guide, Racine is not always equal to following him, as
is conspicuously the case with Hippolytus.

In all Euripides’ extant work, however, Hippolytus is excep-
tional in being conceived most nearly in the moral sense of his
great predecessor, “the mellow glory of the Attic stage.” To be
sure, Racine owes a little something in this case to Seneca also;
but his debt to the latter is merely that of one craftsman to an-
other, and touches the ordonnance rather than the inspiration of
the drama, which derives from Euripides direct. A comparison,
therefore, of Phédre and Hippolytus should be a fair test of the
particulars in which Racine was insensible, as 1 have affirmed,
to the deeper significance of the original classics. How thor-
oughly he—and not he alone but others before him—misunder-
stood the tragic logic of his original, he confesses naively in his
preface:

“As regards Hippolytus,” he says, “I had noticed among the
ancients that Euripides was reproached with having represented
him as a philosopher exempt from every imperfection—a cir-
cumstance which made the death of this young prince a subject
of indignation rather than of pity. I have thought it necessary
to give him some infirmity which would make him slightly cul-
pable toward his father without impairing the magnanimity with

26 [phigénie, Préface.

27 Iplugenia in Aulis, 1251-1252.

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24 Prosser Hall Frye

which he spares the honour of Phédre and allows himself to be
abused without accusing her. I call an infirmity the passion
which he suffers, in spite of himself, for Aricie, the daughter and
sister of his father’s mortal enemies.”

Need I call attention, in passing, to the use of the terms im-
firmity and passion as confirming in themselves that view of the
Racinean tragedy which I have been developing, a view which
in so far I think to be consistent with the Greek? But this matter
apart, it is well nigh impossible to misinterpret Euripides’ inten-
tion more egregiously than does this quotation. Huippolytus, “a
philosopher exempt from every imperfection”! His own maker
would never recognize him. For if one thing is certain, from a
study not merely of Greek tragedy but of Greek thought in gen-
eral, it is that Euripides and every member of his audience must
have recognized the protagonist of Hippolytus as criminal—not
in the old elemental A*schylean sense, or yet in the majestic,
civic Sophoclean wise, but criminal, nevertheless, with respect to
one of the most fundamental laws for private man, τῷ περὶ av-
θρώπους νόμιμα, one grave enough to be inscribed above the tem-
ple af the god at Delphi, the law of μηδὲν ἄγαν or temperance,
which seems almost to cover and include the two other great
inaxims of Greek wisdom, γνῶθι σαυτόν and κατ᾽ ἄνθρωπον
φρονεῖ, Know thyself and Think as a mortal. A philosopher
without σωφροσύνη or prudence. What Greek would have called
such a mere mortal blameless?

Now, this difference of sentiment is decisive, not only for the
two plays under discussion, but also for the ancient and modern
point of view at large. And the difference involves a double
change of feeling—one with regard to personal responsibility in
general and the other with regard to the virtue of temperance
more particularly. The fact is that the moderns have pretty
well lost the sense for the moral qualities of acts as such. Super-
ficially it seems curious that with our brutal Hegelian worship
of the fait accompli it should be so. But this is the very point.
If we are willing to forgive success its most heinous crimes, it 15
so because the deed itself appears to us without decisive moral

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Racine 25

character of its own. And if we are reluctant, on the contrary,
to condemn the well-meaning mischief-maker, it is so for much
the same reason. The attitude may be due wholly or in part to
our sentimentality. Our interest has come to be ethic rather
than moral; it has come to centre in the characters, tempers, and
dispositions of men and in conventions for accommodating and
reconciling them, rather than in the great fundamental principles
of humanity—the ἄγραπτα κἀσφαλῆ θεῶν vopima.?"* With this
shift of attention to the ethic as distinguished from the moral
our final verdict is swayed by the intention, for which alone we
hold ourselves answerable, while we have ceased to acknowledge
a like responsibility for our actions. With Pilate we wash our
hands and protest the purity of our conscience. Our sympathies,
like Racine’s, are with the well intentioned; and we excuse the
deed readily enough on the strength of the motive. Of course,
this is nothing but casuistry pure and simple; it is nothing but a
modern variation of the Jesuitical “direction of the intention,”
whereby a man might be absolved of the murder of his father
provided only he killed him not with the idea of committing
assassination but merely of securing his inheritance. But such
is our modern emotional reaction; and it has already begun to
affect our administration of justice so called, which a sane in-
stinct of self-preservation has hitherto counselled us to leave
intact. And since literature and especially tragedy is appreciated
emotionally, it is in such manner that we apply ourselves now-
adays to the appreciation of this kind of subject.

For the Greek, on the other hand, the act as such was neither
indifferent nor negligible—on the contrary it had a distinct moral
quality in itself. It was right or wrong, independently of inten-
tion, as it did good or harm—that is, as it respected or violated
the institution of the supreme human polity, the ἄγραπτα νόμιμα ;?5
and as such its initiator was responsible for it—he was wicked
as it was evil ,innocent as it was just. His intention was his own

27a Sophocles, Antigone, 454-455.

28 For this conception of a moral constitution superior to the conventions

of social ethics, an idea we appear to have lost, see Xenophon’s Memo-
rabiltia, LV, iv.

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26 Prosser Hall Frye

private affair—though it might serve to wheedle the pity of the
spectators or bystanders or even the commiseration of the gods,
as its theatrical representation did in the case of the spectators.

Now, in a good many cases, it must be acknowledged, there is
a practical difficulty in deciding just what is the moral quality of
an act as such, regardless of motive. But it seemed fairly safe
to assume that those acts might be reckoned good which brought
happiness in their train, and contrariwise. At least such a belief
appears to be one of the natural tenets of conscience. To be
happy is so evidently to have done well in life. “To ded ζῆν καὶ
TO εὖ πράττειν ταὐτὸν ὑπολαμβάνουσι τῷ Evdatmoveiv. 84 Here is
the whole story, with the exception of Plato’s wise thinking. To
be sure, the standard of happiness or well-being was likely to be
low with the vulgar—hardly more than worldly prosperity, which
is not much of a criterion either in ancient Attica or modern
America. And perhaps it was this baseness of ideal which led
Euripides to criticize and even condemn ‘the old moral standard
altogether, with its identification of righteousness and well-being,
of wickedness and adversity, which constitutes Sophocles’ con-
stant thesis—just as it was the general degeneracy of public
opinion on the same subject which inspired Plato in his attempt
to raise the ideal by disassociating happiness from all material
accompaniments whatever and by confining it to the contempla-
tion of. the supreme good—an attempt which ultimately drove
him to his doctrine of suprasensible ideas as the sole means of
rescuing the eudemonistic truism from the dissolving criticism
of a Callicles or a Thrasymachus as well as of a Euripides.

In the Hippolytus, however, Euripides does for the nonce re-
main fairly loyal to the traditional belief in the moral quality of
actions as a determinant of prosperity and misery. It is Hippo-
lytus’ conduct, not his motive, which renders him obnoxious to
divine as well as to poetic justice. The offense which he has
committed unthinkingly (with Racine we shauld probably acquit
him of ill doing) consists in his exclusive and hence excessive
cult of Artemis to the neglect and disparagement of Aphrodite.

28a Aristotle’s Ethica Nicomachea, I, 4, 2.

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Racine Del

Not that his devotion to Artemis is blameworthy in itself; but
Aphrodite has her claims also. And it was the Greek notion, not
that a man might acquire merit and plead exemption for the
others by satisfying this or that claim, but that he should satisfy
all claims in their due and proper propagtion. In Aéschylean and
Sophoclean tragedy this conception is axiomatic. The tragedy
arises from the protagonist’s inability or unwillingness to satisfy
all just claims—in the great tragedies from his inability to do so,
as in Electra, Antigone, and Cédipus. Naturally, the more
august the claims and the more conflicting and irreconcilable, the
more stupendous the tragedy. While the lesser tragedies, if I
may speak of degrees of tragedy, turn, not so much on the fatal
contrarieties in the nature of things, like traps to break the soul,
as on those inconsistencies of character in which the protagonist
seems less unable than unwilling to pay all his debts, like Ajax
by reason of hybris or like Hippolytus himself by reason of
ἀκολασία or intemperance. And if nowadays we fail to recog-
nize Hippolytus’ fault, it is because the obligation of sophrosyne
or moderation has lost its authority either wholly or in part, just
as is so often the case with one or another of the conflicting
claims of Greek tragedy—the law of talion, for instance, which
disputes with filial piety the Electra and the Coephoroe.

Nor is even the idea of sophrosyne an easy one for the mod-.
ern; even Plato devotes an entire dialogue to the discussion of it
—inconclusively, according to the critics. In this respect, how-
ever, I can not agree with them, since the positions which Plato
pre-empts in the Charmides are those which he finally occupies
in the Republic. The only reason for their temporary relinquish-
ment in the former dialogue is the circumstance that the discus-
sion has involved certain. assumptions—principally that of the
equivalence of happiness and meeting your obligations—which
he will not at the time consent to have taken for granted, though
he justifies them later. Hence it is that I can not look upon
Plato’s attempt at a definition as a failure. At least I can give
no better account of the matter; and what that account implies
is, in sum, that sophrosyne consists in taking one’s own measure
as a man and conforming to it—the virtue to know the measure

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28 Prosser Hall Frye

and to be moderate. Wherefor my earlier remark that the
maxim, μηδὲν ἄγαν, or Nothing too much, by which the Greek
aphoristically translated the idea, virtually absorbs the other two
gnomes in which Greek wisdom is epitomized, γνῶθι σαυτόν and
κατ᾽ ἄνθρωπον dpovec—Know thyself and Think as a mortal. In
short, sophrosyne was much as I have been expressing it, the
recognition and satisfaction of all just claims. And this virtue,
in which Hippolytus was so sadly to seek, was the polar virtue
to the Greek. Mere mortification, asceticism, even the excess
or exaggeration of a single duty he would not have understood
as righteousness. Saintliness in the sense of austerity is an ori-
ental, not a Greek, ideal. Such a character, if the latter could
have comprehended it at all, would have struck him as unnatural,
even monstrous. ‘’OU yap ἀνθρωπική ἐστιν ἡ τοιαύτη ἀναισθη-
aia,” so says Aristotle.2? And he would have expected to see
it draw the lightning, just as Euripides has represented it as
doing. For it is this immoderation on the part of Hippolytus in
slighting the natural human affinities or inclinations and in un-
settling the balance of satisfactions by discharging one set of
duties exclusively to the prejudice of all the others—it is this par-
tiality which is adjudged a criminal arrogance or hybris. About
his very chastity there is designedly something farouche and
savage like that of his tutelary divinity, the harrier of Acton.
And it is this partiality which brings him within the scope of
Pheedra’s baleful influence. In this way is vindicated the inflex-
ible justice presiding over the great tragedy of the Greeks—for
which reason I have said that however it may be with Euripides
in general, Hippolytus at least is in the great tradition.

All this is so clear that the wonder is how Racine could have
missed it. And yet little or nothing of it appears in his Phédre.
The compromise whereby he seeks to excuse his hero’s entangle-
ment in the coils of a penal process by endowing him with a fancy
for Aricie, is too trifling to take seriously. It is Phedre’s passion
that inflames the play; and any mere affection is bound to show
pale and ineffectual in the blaze of such a conflagration. At

29 Ethica Nicomachea, III, xi, 7.
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Racine 20

best, Hippolytus’ attachment for Aricie may be a motive as re-
gards Phedre, who is sensitive in just that particular spot; but
it is no term in his own sequence of dramatic liabilities, his τὸ
δίάλληλα, as Aristotle would call it,2° for it does not appear
that there is any mesh, in the ancient sense, between his fate and
his tenderness for the daughter of a hostile house. This is not
the issue; and he is never called to account on this score. On the
contrary, so far has Racine missed the point, that this very senti-
ment for another woman—any woman would do—which Racine
imputes to him, does, as a matter of fact, clear him altogether of
the charge on which he should by rights be sentenced and actu-
ally is sentenced in the original version. The Hippolytus of
Racine has already paid his tribute to Venus and no longer stands
within her danger. Whether he is guilty of filial impiety on the
score of Aricie’s ancestry and descent is another question than
the one Racine has discussed. His injection of such a motive
into his preface is simply misleading. As things are, the appre-
hension of Hippolytus by the fatal snare is fortuitous and unin-
telligible.** In a word, Hippolytus is not responsible for the
plight in which he finds himself. As a result his tragedy is har-
rowing but not edifying. This is not to say that his character or
his conduct is without its interest or its lesson, but merely that
the drama lacks the severe determinism which Euripides has
known how to impart to this one subject at least.

But the Phédre, it may be objected, is not Hippolytus’ tragedy
at all; and its author has given us to understand as much by the
change of title. Granted. Racine’s theatre is for the most part
a tragédie des femmes; and it is not Phédre which is the excep-
tion. But this concession only makes the predicament worse.
With Phédre in the leading réle it is without a problem, as with
Hippolytus in that part it is without a solution. I am still trying
to occupy the Greek point of view. That I myself am no esthete
or esthetician must be abundantly evident by this time; a prob-
lem has no terrors for me—nor yet a thesis or a theme. I am

30 Poetics, 1X, 11.
31 Compare Arnauld’s ejaculation, “ Mais pourpoui a-t-:1 fait Hippolytus
amoureux?” Sainte-Beuve, Port-Royal, t. VI, p. 130.

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30 Prosser Hall Frye

even abandoned enough to believe that literature is all the better
for something of the sort, provided it is humane and not eco-
nomic or sociological or anthropological. And so I have thee
effrontery to repeat that with the substitution of Phedre for Hip-
polytus in the principal part the play is destitute of problem, and
being without a problem, is destitute of thesis likewise. To be
sure, there is a kind of justice in Phedre’s fate; but it is that
obvious, anticipated, matter-of-fact sort of justice to which the
conscience does not have to be reconciled. Her guilt is as sensible
as her sentence. She is a sinner—the fascinating and sympa-
thetic sinner with whom a long course of modern literature has
sufficiently familiarized us. Her seduction is undeniable. But
she is plainly a dangerous woman, a femme fatale; and it is
better that she should be put away. And in this decision we ac-
quiesce without difficulty. There is no ambiguity in her lot, no
misgiving in the minds of her judges.

The only compunction that her lot arouses has to do with the
fate of her victim, Hippolytus; and to that problem, it has been
seen, no solution is vouchsafed. In short, the logic of the tragedy
is of a thoroughly modern type, of which Macbeth and Richard
ITI are the readiest examples—the tragedy of wickedness or de-
pravity. And like all tragedies of the type, it is a little awry.
For what we fail to notice in our preoccupation with such pro-
tagonists is the circumstance that the merited visitation of their
iniquities provides no satisfaction or compensation for the suf-
ferings of their victims—the endless procession of Duncans,
Banquos, and Lady Macduffs. It is they who rise,

With twenty mortal murthers on their crowns,

in speechless expostulation with the ordering of their destiny.
What warrant can we produce for their ills? ‘Theirs is the tra-
gedy—unrecognized and unriddled; for every tragedy is some-
thing of a mystery as of a sacrament. No, such tragedies are out
of focus somehow ; and the Greek with his habitual tact avoided
them. It is not Phedre’s subtle and pervasive corruption—that
only proclaims her a moral outlaw and debars her from tragic

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Racine 21

citizenship altogether, as Aristotle explains clearly enough**—it
is Hippolytus’ waywardness which makes the Greek subject:

Ουδείς μ' ἀρέσκε νυκτὶ θαυμαστὸς fedy.%8

To Euripides the woman is a malign influence, a calamity to
which Hippolytus’ impudence exposes him. And if in the case of
Racine’s heroine there is a trail of fatality lying across her house,
which simulates the immanence of divinity after the Greek
fashion,
τὰ Yap ἐκ προτέρων ἀπλακήματά νιν
πρὸς τάσδ᾽ ἀπάγει, 5:

it does little more, in reality, than give depth to the tableau and
perspective to the picture. It is physiological—an heredity, not a
dispensation; a transmitted taint rather than a suspended judg-
ment re-incurred for himself by every new successor to the title.
Its moral, as distinguished from its esthetic, effect would be, if
anything, to raise a doubt of her responsibility and throw sus-
picion upon the criminal rationale of her catastrophe. And while
it is hardly emphasized to that degree—being intended, I sup-
pose, toward holding the sympathy of the audience a little more
surely—still in the upshot, the whole affair, with respect to
Phédre as well as Hippolytus, comes in the modern version to
take on the appearance of an act of wantonness on the part of
Venus:

Puis que Venus le veut, de ce sang déplorable
Je peris la derniere et la plus miserable.35

Not that Racine’s drama has no sense; far from it. But it is not
the sense of the antique. And if 1 am perchance singular in pre-
ferring the thorough consequence and conclusiveness of the
latter’s dialectic; on the other hand, I believe that I am only
speaking in the spirit of my time when I add that I prefer the
former’s interpretation of character for its inherent momentous-
ness and significance. In spite of the dubiety and indecision of

32 Poetics, XIII, 2.
33 Hippolytus, τοῦ.
84 7Eschylus’ Eumemides, 935-0.
35 Phédre, I, iii.
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22 Prosser Hall Frye

Racine’s Providence, I must confess that to me his Phédre is
more appealing than Euripides’, not only in her reticences and
indiscretions but in that by virtue of which they subsist—her own
being. For after all, how much richer the character of the
former than that of the latter! And the change of taste or senti-
ment, if 1 am right in my diagnosis, is far from trivial; for it is
inevitable that this enhancement of personality, which is at the
bottom of it, should have exerted a tremendous influence upon
the modern treatment, not only of character itself, but also of
the issues and eventualities of the action.

In order to explain these consequences, however, 1 must refer
hurriedly to the intellectual structure of tragedy as far as it fur-
nishes a scaffolding for the problem which is the peculiar con-
cern of the genre.*® Universally, tragedy would appear to in-
clude two components—the “fable,” which represents the fact
upon which it is founded, and the “art,” whereby this raw ma-
terial is fashioned into drama. As far as the subject-matter goes,
the sentiment of tragedy seems to be aroused by the perception,
in some event or other, of a dissidence between the demands of
conscience and the data of experience—between our notion of
justice or equity and our knowledge of actuality. Obviously this
dissidence must be a serious one—so serious, indeed, as to upset
momentarily our feeling of moral security—to trouble and per-
plex and even confound for the time being our intelligence. This”
temporary sense of queasy and vertiginous insecurity I would
call, with Aristotle’s term catharsis in mind, the tragic qualm.
From what precedes it is evident that the subject of tragedy in-
volves a contretemps—or as Aristotle puts it for his own stage, a
metabasis—and implies the agency of fortune. Any occurrence
which meets these conditions, does in a measure inspire the on-
looker with the crude sentiment, and in so far raises the question,
of tragedy.

But such a state of consternation is intolerable—especially if
it is prevalent, as happens particularly whenever the tenure of

2)

861 have already expressed myself at large on this topic in a paper on
“The Theory of Greek Tragedy,’ published in UNiIversity Stupres for
October, 1913, which I summarize here as briefly as possible.

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life becomes generally precarious—in seasons of public insecurity,
for example, in times of war or pestilence—conditions under
which or the recollection of which tragedy is most likely to
flourish. In the interests of sanity, then, it is necessary that the
reason should be reconciled to existence and that the apprehen-
sions to which it is subjected by the perfidies of nature should be
composed and tranquillized. In other words, if the observer is
to be brought to acquiesce in the shocking terminations of tra-
gedy, he must be made to find in the apparent miscarriage of
justice which the dramatist has chosen for his theme some solace
of a sort for his own outraged sense of propriety. This is the
“art” of tragedy. Without it there is only the representation of
some harrowing and inscrutable casualty.

Now, as a matter of course, the gravest of such outrages occur
in connection with the conflict of good and evil on those occa-
sions when the latter seems to have won an unwarranted triumph
over the former to the detriment of the personal happiness or
well-being of its vanquished representatives. Hence tragedy has
ever sought pretty much to this one kind of subject. It has
always been moral and eudemonistic. And it has been greatest
where its preoccupation with this topic has been most exclusive,
as was the case with the Attic drama of the great epoch. Among
moderns the New Englander has had something of the same con-
viction of moral immanence which inspired A‘schylus and Sopho-
cles. For him as for them the world was compact of good and
evil; there was no room for moral indifference, no neutral zone
in his universe—nothing but “the gods still sitting around him
on their thrones,—they alone with him alone.” But his end was
not well-being but duty. And in this intent he was invulnerable
to adversity, the stage-manager of the tragic scene. Nay, to the
Puritan conscience with its suspicion of fortune and her works,
the very name of tragedy was anathema.

To the Greek, however, with his moral and eudzmonistic lean-
ings—nor should his intellectual and inquisitive temper be for-
gotten either—the problem presented itself in some such guise as
this. Why did misery come to attach itself to a sort of action
naturally calculated to ensure happiness? I say “why,” not

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“how ” advisedly ; for unlike the modern, he was not to be fobbed
off with anything less than a reason. In other words, with no
discernible difference as between two acts—or at least, of two
acts equally laudable as to purpose, why should the one promote
disaster and disgrace, the other prosperity and repute? Or more
narrowly still, why in this particular instance, say, should a cer-
tain design which might be predicted on general principle and
analogy to further the advantage of its author—why should such
a course of conduct, on the contrary, plunge its pursuer into an
abyss of wretchedness and humiliation? How was such seeming
perversity of circumstance to be explained? Such, I believe, was
the riddle that A*schylus and Sophocles set themselves to read.
And they solved it by the affirmation, tacit or explicit, of a cosmic
law of righteousness, as a transgression of which they accounted
every such outward act a crime, reckoning its frustration and
disgrace a legitimate penalty of wrong-doing.

Nor was this notion of a supra-mundane policing of human
activities singular to A*schylus and Sophocles. To be sure, it
had its scoffers like Thrasymachus and Callicles, and its critics
like Euripides. But it was so obviously a matter of course that
the dramatist was safe in appealing to it as the basis of his solu-
tion and in deducing the necessary corallaries from it acceptably
to his public. In this way, by the identification of adversity with
guilt, he was in a position to explain the sufferings of his pro-
tagonist by holding him responsible for the misconduct (and
notice how easily our own language falls in with the same kind
of reasoning) of which they were supposed to be the conse-
quences at the same time that he was able to soften the audience
to the proper degree of indulgence for the sufferer by represent-
ing his transgression as uncalculated and involuntary. But
though as the victim of a contretemps, he might well be regarded
with a moderate pity, still as a transgressor and a source of im-
piety and pollution, he was an abomination®’ and an object of
horror. Hence the complementary emotions of pity and horror
by which Aristotle defines tragedy in exponents of the action.**

81 Μίασμα and μιάστωρ in the language of A%schylus and Sophocles.

SUID eo WI, A, εὐ! SOD, τὸ

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Racine 35

With the modern conceit of personality and its surpassing im-
portance, however, such a resolution of the contrarieties of for-
tune becomes impossible. What is decisive in such an estimate
of character is purity of motive, not precision of conduct.
“Tnfirmity and misery do not, of necessity, imply guilt. They
approach, or recede from the shades of that dark alliance, in
proportion to the probable motives and prospect of the offender
and to the palliations, known or secret, of the offense.” Such, in
the heart-felt words of De Quincey at the confessional, is ap-
proximately the modern and romantic doctrine of responsibility.
Consistently with such a view a formal contravention of pre-
scription can not be pleaded in extenuation of that loss of hap-
piness to which one is felt to be entitled by virtue of such merit
as consists with good intentions. That good intentions alone are
no guarantee of prosperity, however, is a depressing certainty of
daily observation. With the moral negligibility of conduct the
centre of tragedy has begun to shift, and the old explanation is
thrown out of focus. And yet the radical detestation of injustice
persists unaltered—only it is now impossible to palliate the mis-
carriage by convicting the sufferer of involuntary culpability ;
he is exonerated by the sense of his personal worthiness. To all
appearance, virtue has simply lost the partie; and there is noth-
ing left for tragedy but to affix her signature to the humiliating
admission. :

And yet there does remain one way of escaping this recanta-
tion of our most earnest professions. While conceding, as now
seems unavoidable, that there is but “one event to the righteous
and the wicked,” the dramatist may still claim a spiritual supe-
riority for the former, not only in an equality of fortune, but also
in an inequality of fortune which is all to the advantage of the
latter. In other words, he may still solicit and win approval for
a certain sort of character in the face of its material collapse. In
this manner it is possible to restore that confidence in the primacy
of the individual conscience by which the modern sets such store.
In spite of an ineptitude for affairs, an inadequacy to the situa-
tion which the ancient would have construed as the infatuation
of guilt, Hamlet, Othello, and Lear are esteemed to have the

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nobler part for all their calamities, as contrasted with the wholly
despicable conspiracy to which each falls a victim. And so this
assertion of the sentimental pre-eminence of an approved char-
acter, irrespective of its ends and activities, has come—thanks to
its conformity with our modern, and perhaps I should add our
Christian, prepossession—to form the resolution of modern tra-
gedy, of the neo-classic as well as the romantic.

That such a resolution is emotional rather than rational can
not be disputed. All too obviously it supplies no genuine solu-
tion of the mystery of good and evil, happiness and misery which
has vexed the heart of man for so many.centuries. It is but a
compromise at best; and as such it is an inherent defect of mod-
ern tragedy. Nevertheless there are two remarks to be made in
extenuation. In the first place, the immediate appeal of tragedy
is emotional any way; and such a reconciliation, though failing
to satisfy mature reflection, does at least offer temporary allevia-
tion of the heart-ache that accompanies the spectacle of such
enormities as make the subject-matter of tragedy. While further,
since it is unreasonable to expect a thoroughly congruous art of
an age without consistency, it is only by some such compromise
that the dramatist can hope to mediate between the warring tend-
encies of our post-renaissance mood. In an order purely physical,
for example, it is inconceivable that righteousness should influ-
ence our material well-being in one way or the other. Or else,
if a man’s fortunes are to be taken as the index of his deserts, as
antiquity was prone to believe, then the protestations of his own
conscience are unreliable as against the evidences of adversity.
But either of these alternatives we are loathe to embrace. The
former implies an insensible determinism; the latter a moral
causation. And in our reluctance we are driven to make the
benefits and dignities of virtue, as of character, largely subjective
and intimate—an affair of sentiment pretty exclusively.

As a result of this expedient of reconciling the heart, irre-
spective of the head, to the contingencies of the dénouement or
catastrophe, there has ensued a momentous change of attitude
toward the protagonist. I speak of the dénouement or catas-
trophe as a contingency deliberately; for in this light we are

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bound to consider it, ex hypothesi, on the strength of its hideous
disproportion with the presumptive innocency of the victim. At
least, since the “hero” is no longer to be held to strict account-
ability for his conduct to the extent of sharing impartially in the
obloquy of his misdeeds, there is no choice save to call the catas-
trophe morally indifferent whatever his instrumentality in its
production. As Othello and Hamlet are written, it is impossible
to visit upon the heads of the titular characters the full measure
of abhorrence proper to their infamies as such. Taken in them-
selves, the crazing of Ophelia by the meditative Dane and the
smothering of Desdemona by the valiant Moor are not exploits
particularly creditable to their perpetrators. And yet in spite of
the egotistic squeamishness of the one and the jealous credulity
of the other character, we are induced to shift the blame from
their shoulders to the instigation of circumstance and the con-
nivance of opportunity—agencies admirably symbolized in the
Phedre, for instance, by the person of the nurse. Herein, ob-
viously, consists the utility of the “villain”; he lets the “hero”’
out. For notice that with this gentry Sophocles and A‘schylus,
whose protagonists bear, like C#dipus, the opprobrium of their
own mischief, have no traffic. And though there are fore-
shadowings of the villain, in the present acceptation of the word,
in Euripides as a scapegoat for some of the interesting adven-
turesses, like Medea, for whom that author had such a particular
tenderness; yet the réle owes its sinister prominence to the exi-
gencies of the sentimental reconciliation and the modern trage-
dian’s efforts to save his hero’s face at all odds—an effort in
which he is inevitably led to develop the ethical rather than the
moral possibilities of his action, treating it as revelatory of the
complexity and richness of the protagonist’s temperament, which
to our notion constitutes its worth and value.

As a result of these conditions, then, the modern protagonist
or hero is invariably a “sympathetic” character. If he were not
—if he were to forfeit the indulgence of the audience, he would
lose what standing he has and become identified with his own
performances. In that event, being as he is the source of irre-

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parable injury to others no less than to himself, the illusion of
his merits would vanish and his tragedy would turn into the ex-
ceptional type of which I have already spoken as the tragedy of
depravity or turpitude, exemplified by Macbeth and Richard III
and of which, as it is anomalous, I need speak no further in this
connection. Or else, the audience, deprived of their faith,in his
innate nobility, even if they succeeded by a miracle of subtlety in
retaining a purely intellectual confidence in his conscientiousness
despite the damning evidence of his own misdoing, would remain
unreconciled to the hardship of his lot, and the tragedy itself as
“art”? would be a signal failure. There are no two ways about
it: while the Greek protagonist might be represented as simply
infatuate, the unavoidable outcome of the sentimental reconcilia-
tion is the “sympathetic” protagonist.

I can not disguise that in all this there is more than a trace of
casuistry. But what then? Such is modern sentiment, romantic
even at its best and in spite of itself; and since art must comply
with the convictions of its devotees, such is modern tragedy. In
contrast with the classic Greek it takes the hero subjectively, as
he is reflected in the mirror of self-consciousness, and not ob-
jectively, as he would impress the dispassionate observer. It
does not consider him an example but an exception, unique and
individual. It is less concerned to bring him to trial as the citi-
zen of a moral polity whose constitution he is under suspicion of
having violated than to plead in his behalf the privilege of an
unnaturalized sojourner in a strange land with whose institu-
tions, customs, and manners he is unfamiliar and to whose juris-
diction he is not properly subject. So patently unadapted are
Hamlet and Othello to their milieu that it is rather naive to ex-
press surprise at the havoc they play with it. In this respect
modern tragedy is uniformly confidential and biographical—not
common and public, not historical. It embodies a distinct and
hitherto unstudied variety of the “pathetic fallacy.” Consis-
tently, it has ceased little by little, notwithstanding is early def-
erence for tradition, to draw its material from generally acces-
sible and verifiable sources, and has taken more and more to

3)

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substituting invention for interpretation. As far as the results
go, it is not wholly inexcusable to distrust the sincerity, if not
the legitimacy, of “private” tragedy altogether. For once the
dramatist has begun to rid himself of fidelity to the record
written or oral, there is nothing to prevent him from abusing his
audience’s sympathy “at discretion” to the confusion of all moral
values whatsoever. Indeed, he is bound by the nature of the
case to do a certain amount of violence to the judgment of his
audience. Euripides himself has shown how the trick may be
turned in his Medea, and Racine has not been slow to imitate
him in Phédre. I will not go so far as to say that Racine has
passed the bounds permissible to his genre, but 1 can not deny
that he has pushed our indulgence for his heroine to something
of an extreme. And if the “sympathetic” hero is capable of
‘such license while still subject to the authority of legend or
notorious fable, what limit to his excesses when these last fetters
are finally removed? The answer, I suspect, is Ibsen. How
many of the tremendous figures that dominated the Attic stage
in the heyday of its splendour are “sympathetic”? Not Orestes,
nor Agamemnon, nor CEdipus Tyrannus, nor Electra, nor Cly-
temnestra. Prometheus and Antigone? Or do they only seem
so to us? For it is significant that these two pretty nearly ex-
haust the unqualified enthusiasm of the modern for ancient tra-
gedy. I omit to mention Philoctetes and C£dipus Coloneus be-
cause the “happy ” tragedy in which they figure is as anomalous
to our experience as the tragedy of evil or turpitude was to that
of the Greek, and hence lends itself as little to comparison. But
if Antigone and Prometheus were, in reality, “sympathetic”
characters originally, they at least were so by disposition, not by
theatrical necessity, as is the case with their younger colleagues.
As for Hamlet, I sometimes wonder, for example, whether he
was actually so “sympathetic” as he is painted. The remark is
fatuous, of course, since Hamlet is just what Shakespeare has
made him, no more, no less. But it serves to illustrate the point,
if the point is worth making at all, since it assumes an affect en-
tirely at variance with Aristotle’s first-hand impression. On the
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authority of this one deponent, whose competence I fancy no one
will question, the Greek protagonist, while laying claim to the
pity of the audience for his reverses, was effectually disqualified
as a “sympathetic” character by the horror that he excited by
his misdeeds. The evidence is conclusive: the “sympathetic "ἢ
protagonist, with the sentimental reconciliation of which he is an
outcome, is a persistent characteristic of modern, in contradis-
tinction from ancient tragedy.

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SMITHSONIAN ΙΝΒΤΙΤΙ

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