Browning and His Century Part 15

Furthermore, Browning had before him a model of Balaustion in her enthusiasm for Euripides, in Mrs. Browning. These circ.u.mstances are certainly sufficient to prove the appropriateness of making a Rhodian girl the defender of Euripides.

There is nothing more delicious in Browning than Balaustion's relation of "Alkestis," as she had seen it acted, to her three friends. Her woman's comment and criticisms combine a Browning's penetration of the fine points in the play with a girl's idealism. Such a combination of masculine intellectualism and feminine charm has been known in women of all centuries. As the translation of the beautiful play of "Alkestis"

proceeds, Balaustion interprets its art and moral, defending her favorite poet, not with the ponderousness of a grave critic weighing the influences which may have molded his genius, or calculating the pros and cons of his style, but with the swift appreciation of a mind and spirit full of the ardor of sympathy. Moreover, her talk of the play being a recollection of how it appeared to her as she saw it acted, the mere text is constantly enlarged upon and made vital with flashing glimpses of the action, as, for example, in the pa.s.sage just after the funeral of Alkestis:

"So, to the struggle off strode Herakles, When silence closed behind the lion-garb, Back came our dull fact settling in its place, Though heartiness and pa.s.sion half-dispersed The inevitable fate. And presently In came the mourners from the funeral, One after one, until we hoped the last Would be Alkestis, and so end our dream.

Could they have really left Alkestis lone I' the wayside sepulchre! Home, all save she!

And when Admetos felt that it was so, By the stand-still: when he lifted head and face From the two hiding hands and peplos' fold, And looked forth, knew the palace, knew the hills, Knew the plains, knew the friendly frequence there, And no Alkestis any more again, Why, the whole woe billow-like broke on him."

Again, her criticism of Admetos gives at once the natural feeling of a girl who could not be satisfied with what seemed to her his selfish action, and Browning's feeling that Euripides saw its selfishness just as surely as Balaustion, despite the fact that it was in keeping, as numerous critics declare, with the customs of the age, and would not by any of his contemporaries be regarded as selfish on his part:

"So he stood sobbing: nowise insincere, But somehow child-like, like his children, like Childishness the world over. What was new In this announcement that his wife must die?

What particle of pain beyond the pact He made with his eyes wide open, long ago-- Made and was, if not glad, content to make?

Now that the sorrow, he had called for, came, He sorrowed to the height: none heard him say, However, what would seem so pertinent, 'To keep this pact, I find surpa.s.s my power; Rescind it, Moirai! Give me back her life, And take the life I kept by base exchange!

Or, failing that, here stands your laughing-stock Fooled by you, worthy just the fate o' the fool Who makes a pother to escape the best And gain the worst you wiser Powers allot!'

No, not one word of this; nor did his wife Despite the sobbing, and the silence soon To follow, judge so much was in his thought-- Fancy that, should the Moirai acquiesce, He would relinquish life nor let her die.

The man was like some merchant who in storm, Throws the freight over to redeem the ship; No question, saving both were better still, As it was,--why, he sorrowed, which sufficed.

So, all she seemed to notice in his speech Was what concerned her children."

Among modern critics who take the conventional ground in regard to Admetos may be cited Churton Collins, whose opinion is, of course, weighty. He writes:

"Alcestis would be considered fortunate for having had an opportunity of displaying so conspicuously the fidelity to a wife's first and capital duty. Had Admetus prevented such a sacrifice he would have robbed Alcestis of an honor which every n.o.bly ambitious woman in h.e.l.las would have coveted. This is so much taken for granted by the poet that all that he lays stress on in the drama is the virtue rewarded by the return of Alcestis to life, the virtue characteristic of Admetus, the virtue of hospitality; to this duty in all the agony of his sorrow Admetus had been n.o.bly true, and as a reward for what he had thus earned, the wife who had been equally true to woman's obligations was restored all-glorified to home and children and mutual love."

Most readers, however, will find it difficult to put themselves into the appropriate Greek frame of mind, and will sympathize with Browning's supposition that after all Euripides had transcended current ideas on the subject and deliberately intended to convey such an interpretation of the character of Admetos as Balaustion gives.

Balaustion shows her penetration again in her appreciation of Herakles. He distinguishes clearly between evil that is inherent in the nature as the selfishness of Admetos, and evil which is more or less external, growing out of conditions incident to the time rather than from any real trait of nature. Herakles' delight in the hospitality accorded him, his drinking and feasting in the interim of his labors, did not touch the genuine, large-hearted helpfulness of the demiG.o.d, who became sober the moment he learned there was sorrow in the house and need of his aid.

In her proposed version of the story, Balaustion is surely the romantic girl, who would have her hero a hero indeed and in every way the equal of his spouse. Yet if we delve below this romanticism of Balaustion we shall find the poet's own belief in the almost omniscient power of human love the basis of the relation between Admetos and Alkestis.

The soul of Alkestis in one look entered into that of Admetos; she died, but he is entirely guiltless of agreeing to her death. Alkestis herself had made the pact with Apollo to die for her husband. He, when he learns it, refuses to accept the sacrifice, and unable to persuade him that his duty to humanity demands that he accept it, Alkestis asks him to look at her. Then her soul enters his, but when she goes to Hades and demands to become a ghost, the Queen of Hades replies:

"Hence, thou deceiver! This is not to die, If, by the very death which mocks me now, The life, that's left behind and past my power, Is formidably doubled--Say, there fight Two athletes, side by side, each athlete armed With only half the weapons, and no more, Adequate to a contest with their foes.

If one of these should fling helm, sword and shield To fellow--shieldless, swordless, helmless late-- And so leap naked o'er the barrier, leave A combatant equipped from head to heel, Yet cry to the other side, 'Receive a friend Who fights no longer!' 'Back, friend, to the fray!'

Would be the prompt rebuff; I echo it.

Two souls in one were formidable odds: Admetos must not be himself and thou!

"And so, before the embrace relaxed a whit, The lost eyes opened, still beneath the look; And lo, Alkestis was alive again, And of Admetos' rapture who shall speak?"

How unique a treatment of a cla.s.sical subject this poem is, is self-evident. Not content with making a superb translation of the play, remarkable both for its literalness and for its poetic beauty, the poet has dared to present that translation indirectly through the mouth of another speaker, and to incorporate with it a running commentary of criticism in blank verse. Still more daring was it to make play and criticism an episode in a dramatic monologue in which we learn not only the story of the rescue of the shipload of Athenian sympathizers, but the story of Balaustion's love. Along with all this complexity of interest there is still room for a lifelike portrayal of Balaustion herself, one of the loveliest conceptions of womanhood in literature.

To reiterate what I have upon another occasion expressed in regard to her, she is a girl about whom the fancy loves to cling--she is so joyous, so brave, and so beautiful, and possessed of so rare a mind scintillating with wit, wisdom and critical insight, not Browning's own mind either except in so far as his sympathies were with Euripides. Her ardor for purity and perfection is perhaps peculiarly feminine. It is quite different from that of the mind tormented by the problem of evil and taking refuge in a partisanship of evil as a force which works for good and without which the world would be a waste of insipidity. Her suggested version of the Alkestis story converts Admetos into as much of a saint as Alkestis, and makes an exquisite and soul-stirring romance of their perfect union, though it must be admitted that it would do away with all the intensity and dramatic force of the play as it is presented by Euripides. Like the angels who rejoice more over one sinner returned than over the ninety and nine that did not go astray, an artist prefers the contrast and movement of a sinning and regenerated Admetos to an Admetos more suited from the first to be the consort of Alkestis. This is the touch, however, which preserves Balaustion's feminine charm and makes her truly her own self--an ardent soul very far from being simply Browning's mouthpiece.

"Aristophanes' Apology" is a still more remarkable play in its complexity.

Again, Balaustion is the speaker, and Browning has set himself the task in this monologue of relating the fall of Athens, of presenting the personality of Aristophanes, of defending Euripides, a translation of whose play, "Herakles," is included, and incidentally sketching the history of Greek comedy, all through the mouth of the one speaker, Balaustion. Not until one has grasped the law by which the poet has accomplished this, and has moreover freshly in his mind the facts of Greek history at the time of Athens' fall, and Greek literature, especially the plays of Aristophanes and Euripides, can the poem be thoroughly enjoyed.

In the very first line the suggestion of the scene setting is given, and such suggestions occur from time to time all through the poem. It should be observed that they are never brought in for themselves alone, but are always used in connection with some mood of Balaustion's or as imagery in relation to some thought. While the reader is thus kept conscious of the background of wind and wave, as Balaustion and her husband voyage toward Rhodes, it is not until the end of the poem that we learn with a pleasant surprise that the boat on which they are sailing is the same one saved once by Balaustion when she recited Euripides' "sweetest, saddest song."

Thus there is a dramatic denouement in connection with the scene setting.

Through the expression of a mood of despair on the part of Balaustion at the opening of the poem the reader is put in possession not only of the scene setting but of the occasion of the voyage, which is the overthrow of Athens. From the mood of despair Balaustion pa.s.ses to one in which she describes how she could better have borne to see Athens perish. This carries her on to a more hopeful frame of mind, in which she can foresee the spiritual influence of Athens persisting. The peace of mind ensuing upon this consideration makes it possible for her calmly to survey the events connected with its downfall, among which the picturesque episode of the dancing of the flute girls to the demolition of the walls of the Piraeus is conspicuous. She then sees the vision of the immortal Athens while Sparta the victorious in arms will die. Then comes a mood in which she declares it will be better to face the grief than to brood over it, which leads to her proposing to Euthukles that they treat the fall of Athens as a tragic theme, as the poet might do, and enact it on the voyage. Then grief over the recent events takes possession of her again, and now with the feminine privilege of changing her mind, she thinks it would be better to rehea.r.s.e an event which happened to herself a year ago as a prologue. Speaking of adventures causes her very naturally to drop into reminiscences about her first adventure, when she recited Euripides and met the man who was to become her husband.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ARISTOPHANES]

Thus, through this perfectly natural transition from one mood to another, Balaustion leads up to the real subject-matter of the poem, Aristophanes'

defence of himself, which, however, is preceded by an account of the effect of the death of Euripides upon the Athenians as witnessed by Euthukles, his death being the occasion of Aristophanes' call on Balaustion. What she calls the prologue is really the main theme of the poem, while all her talk up to this point is truly the prologue. The actual account of the fall of Athens does not come until the conclusion, and is related in comparatively few words.

What seems, then, to be the chief theme of the poem with its setting of wind and wave and bark bears somewhat the same relation to the real theme as incidental music does to a play. Upon first thoughts it may seem like a clumsy contrivance for introducing Aristophanes upon the scene, but in the end it will be perceived, I think, that it serves the artistic purpose of placing Aristophanes in proper perspective. Balaustion with her exquisitely human moods and progressive spirit forms the right complement to the decaying ideals of Aristophanes, and gives him the proper flavor of antiquity. Instead of seeing him in the broad light of a direct dramatic presentation we see him indirectly through Balaustion's thoughts and moods, who, though permitting him to do full justice to himself, yet surrounds him all the time with the subtle influence of her sympathy for Euripides.

As the better way to follow the development of the preliminary part of the poem is by regarding every step as the outcome of a mood on the part of Balaustion, so the better way of following Aristophanes through what seems his interminable defence of himself is again by tracing the moods through which his arguments express themselves.

Aristophanes comes in half drunk to make his call on Balaustion, and his first mood is one of graciousness toward her whose beauty has impressed his artistic perceptions, but noticing her dignity and its effect in routing the chorus, he immediately begins to be on the defensive. The disappearance of his chorus, however, takes him off on a little excursion about the moves which are being made by the city to cut down the expense of dramatic performances by curtailing the chorus. In a spirit of bravado he declares that he does not care so long as he has his actors left. A coa.r.s.e reference causes Balaustion to turn and he changes his mood. He acknowledges he is drunk and rushes off into a defence of drunkenness in general for playwrights and for himself, which on this occasion came about on account of the supper he and his players have attended. He rattles on about the supper, telling how the merriment increased until something happened. The thought of this something changes his mood completely.

Balaustion notices it, he reads her expression, and characteristically explains the change in himself as due to her fixed regard. The reader is left in suspense as to the something which happened, yet it haunts the memory, and he feels convinced that some time he is to know what it was.

Now Aristophanes bids Balaustion speak to him without fear. She does so, conveying in her welcome both her disapproval and her admiration.

Aristophanes, evidently piqued, does not answer, but makes personal remarks upon the manner of her speech, asking her if she learned tragedy from _him_--Euripides. This starts him off on dreams of a new comedy in which women shall act, but he concludes that his mission is to ornament comedy as he finds it, not invent a new comedy.

This gives Balaustion a chance to ask if in his last play, later than the one Euthukles had seen, he had smoothed this ancient club of comedy he speaks of into a more human and less brutal implement of warfare, and was it a conviction of this new method he might use in comedy which was the something that happened at the feast. Aristophanes, as usual when he is cornered, makes no direct reply, but asks if Euthukles saw his last play, to which Balaustion frankly replies that having seen the first he never cared to see the following. Aristophanes avows he can show cause why he wrote them, but glances off in a sarcastic reference to Euripides, whose art he says belongs to the closet or the cave, not to the world. He prefers to stick to the old forms of art and make Athens happy in what coa.r.s.e way she desires. He then proceeds to enlarge upon what that is.

Then he changes again and asks with various excursions into side issues (for example: the rise of comedy; how it is now being regarded by the government, which favors tragedy, giving him another chance for a dig at Euripides) if he is the man likely to be satisfied to be cla.s.sed merely a comic poet since he wrote the "Birds?" Balaustion encourages him a little here, and, cheered up, he goes on to tell how he gave the people draught divine in "Wasps" and "Gra.s.shoppers," and how he praised peace by showing the kind of pleasures one may have when peace reigns--and still at every opportunity casting slurs at the tragic muse, especially Euripides.

He goes on describing his play until he touches on some of the sarcasms which make Balaustion wince.

Then he turns about and declares he loathes as much as she does the things of which he tells, but his attempts at bringing comedy up to a high level having failed, he is obliged to give the Athenians what they want, a smartened up version of the "Thesmaphoriazousai," which had failed the year before. He describes his triumph with this which was being celebrated at the supper when the something happened which is now at last described--namely, the entrance of Sophocles, who announces that he intends to commemorate the death of Euripides by having his chorus clothed in black and ungarlanded at the performance of his play next month.

This startling scene, being prepared for and not brought in until Aristophanes has done much talking, seems to throw a sudden flash of reality into the poem. Ill-natured criticism, Aristophanes shows, follows on the part of the feasters, though Aristophanes' mood is one of sudden recognition of the value of Euripides. But when he, sobered for the time being, proposes a toast to the Tragic Muse, the feasters consider it a joke. He quickly accepts the situation, and comes off triumphant by proposing a toast to both muses.

After this Balaustion asks Aristophanes if he will commemorate Euripides with them. But his sober mood is gone. He looks about the room, sees things that belong to Euripides, and immediately begins stabbing at him.

Balaustion objects, and upon the theme of respect to the dead he begins his usual invective against his rivals, but finally ends by giving respect to Euripides, him whose serenity, he declares, could never with his gibes be disturbed.

After venting this mood of animosity he begins soberly to discuss the origin of comedy. He traces its growth to the point where he found it, and enlarges on the improvements he has made, touching, as always, upon the criticisms of his opposers, and finally arriving at the chief point of difference between himself and Euripides, which he enlarges upon at great length. Here the incidental music breaks in with talk between Balaustion and Euthukles, in which the former rather tries to excuse herself from relating her reply to Aristophanes.

However, she does give her reply, which is conducted in a more truly argumentative fashion than the defence of Aristophanes. She picks up his points and makes her points against him usually by denying the truth of what he has said. Her supreme defence is, however, the reading of the play "Herakles."

Aristophanes, touched but not convinced, finally insists that he is Athens' best friend. He is no Thamuris to be punished for seeing beyond human vision. The last characteristic touch is when Aristophanes catches up the psalterion and sings the lyric of Thamuris. Then he departs, and Balaustion rehea.r.s.es the last days of Athens, with Euthukles' part in delaying the tragedy of the doomed city.

By threading one's way thus through the apology, not from the point of view of Aristophanes' arguments, but from the point of view of his moods, one experiences a tremendous sense of the personality of the man.

Repet.i.tions which are not required for the full presentation of his case take their place as natural to a man who is not only inordinately vain but is immediately swayed by every suggestion and emotion that comes to him.

Owing to his volatile temperament the argument is varied by now a bit of vivid description like that of the archon's feast when Sophocles appeared, now by some merely personal remark to Balaustion.

The criticism in this play, as in that of "Balaustion's Adventure," may be considered either as representing some phase of contemporary opinion about Aristophanes or as expressing the opinion of the poet himself.

Balaustion's indignation is especially aroused by the two plays, "The Lusistrata" and the "Thesmophoriazousai," both of which she finds utterly detestable. It is interesting to compare with this entirely unfavorable criticism the feeling of such distinguished cla.s.sical scholars as Gilbert Murray and J. A. Symonds. The first Murray describes as a play "full of daring indecency, it is true, but the curious thing is that Aristophanes, while professing to ridicule the women, is all through on their side. The jokes made by the superior s.e.x at the expense of the inferior--to give them their Roman names--are seldom remarkable either for generosity or refinement, and it is our author's pleasant humor to accuse everybody of every vice he can think of at the moment. Yet with the single exception that he credits women with an inordinate fondness for wine parties--the equivalent it would seem of afternoon tea--he makes them on the whole perceptibly more sensible and more sympathetic than his men."

Of the second play Symonds speaks with actual enthusiasm. "It has a regular plot--an intrigue and a solution--and its persons are not allegorical but real. Thus it approaches the standard of modern comedy.

But the plot, though gigantic in its scale, and prodigious in its wealth of wit and satire, is farcical. The artifices by which Euripides endeavors to win Agathon to undertake his cause, the disguise of Muesilochus in female attire, the oratory of the old man against the women in the midst of their a.s.sembly, his detection, the momentary suspension of the dramatic action by his seizure of the supposed baby, his slaughter of the swaddled wine jar, his apprehension by Cleisthenes, the devices and disguises by which Euripides endeavors to extricate his father-in-law from the sc.r.a.pe, and the final _ruse_ by which he eludes the Scythian bowmen, and carries off Muesilochus in triumph--all these form a series of highly diverting comic scenes." Again, "There is no pa.s.sage in Aristophanes more amusing than the harangue of Muesilochus. The portrait, too, of Agathon in the act of composition is exquisitely comic. But the crowning sport of the 'Thesmophoriazousai' is in the last scene when Muesilochus adapts the Palamedes and the Helen of Euripides to his own forlorn condition, jumbling up the well-known verses of these tragedies with coa.r.s.e-flavored, rustical remarks; and when at last Euripides, himself, acts Echo and Perseus to the Andromeda of his father-in-law, and both together mystify the policeman by their ludicrous utterance of antiphonal lamentation."

In her welcome of him, Balaustion expresses rather what she thinks he might be than what she really thinks he is. She welcomes him:

"Good Genius! Glory of the poet, glow O' the humorist who castigates his kind, Suave summer-lightning lambency which plays On stag-horned tree, misshapen crag askew, Then vanishes with unvindictive smile After a moment's laying black earth bare.

Splendor of wit that springs a thunder ball-- Satire--to burn and purify the world, True aim, fair purpose: just wit justly strikes Injustice,--right, as rightly quells the wrong, Finds out in knaves', fools', cowards', armory The tricky tinselled place fire flashes through.

No damage else, sagacious of true ore; Wit learned in the laurel, leaves each wreath O'er lyric sh.e.l.l or tragic barbiton,-- Though alien gauds be singed,--undesecrate."

Her att.i.tude here is very like that of criticism in general, except that she is more or less sarcastic, meaning to imply that such Aristophanes might be but is not. Symonds, on the other hand, thinks him really what Balaustion thinks he might be.