Lectures on Dramatic Art and Literature Part 8

The observation on the changes of place, which I made when mentioning _Peace_, may be here repeated. The scene is first at Thebes, of which both Bacchus and Hercules were natives; afterwards the stage is changed, without its ever being left by Bacchus, to the nether sh.o.r.e of the Acherusian lake, which must have been represented by the sunken s.p.a.ce of the orchestra, and it was not till Bacchus landed at the other end of the logeum that the scenery represented the infernal world, with the palace of Pluto in the back-ground. This is not a mere conjecture, it is expressly stated by the old scholiast.

The _Wasps_ is, in my opinion, the feeblest of Aristophanes' plays.

The subject is too limited, the folly it ridicules appears a disease of too singular a description, without a sufficient universality of application, and the action is too much drawn out. The poet himself speaks this time in very modest language of his means of entertainment, and does not even promise us immoderate laughter.

On the other hand, the _Birds_ transports us by one of the boldest and richest inventions into the kingdom of the fantastically wonderful, and delights us with a display of the gayest hilarity: it is a joyous- winged and gay-plumed creation. I cannot concur with the old critic in thinking that we have in this work a universal and undisguised satire on the corruptions of the Athenian state, and of all human society. It seems rather a harmless display of merry pranks, which hit alike at G.o.ds and men without any particular object in view. Whatever was remarkable about birds in natural history, in mythology, in the doctrine of divination, in the fables of Aesop, or even in proverbial expressions, has been ingeniously drawn to his purpose by the poet; who even goes back to cosmogony, and shows that at first the raven-winged Night laid a wind-egg, out of which the lovely Eros, with golden pinions (without doubt a bird), soared aloft, and thereupon gave birth to all things. Two fugitives of the human race fall into the domain of the birds, who resolve to revenge themselves on them for the numerous cruelties which they have suffered: the two men contrive to save themselves by proving the pre-eminency of the birds over all other creatures, and they advise them to collect all their scattered powers into one immense state; the wondrous city, Cloud-cuckootown, is then built above the earth; all sorts of unbidden guests, priests, poets, soothsayers, geometers, lawyers, sycophants, wish to nestle in the new state, but are driven out; new G.o.ds are appointed, naturally enough, after the image of the birds, as those of men bore a resemblance to man. Olympus is walled up against the old G.o.ds, so that no odour of sacrifices can reach them; in their emergency, they send an emba.s.sy, consisting of the voracious Hercules, Neptune, who swears according to the common formula, by Neptune, and a Thracian G.o.d, who is not very familiar with Greek, but speaks a sort of mixed jargon; they are, however, under the necessity of submitting to any conditions they can get, and the sovereignty of the world is left to the birds. However much all this resembles a mere farcical fairy tale, it may be said, however, to have a philosophical signification, in thus taking a sort of bird's-eye view of all things, seeing that most of our ideas are only true in a human point of view.

The old critics were of opinion that Cratinus was powerful in that biting satire which makes its attack without disguise, but that he was deficient in a pleasant humour, also that he wanted the skill to develope a striking subject to the best advantage, and to fill up his pieces with the necessary details. Eupolis they tell us was agreeable in his jokes, and ingenious in covert allusions, so that he never needed the a.s.sistance of parabases to say whatever he wished, but that he was deficient in satiric power. But Aristophanes, they add, by a happy medium, united the excellencies of both, and that in him we have satire and pleasantry combined in due proportion and attractive manner. From these statements I conceive myself justified in a.s.suming that among the pieces of Aristophanes, the _Knights_ is the most in the style of Cratinus, and the _Birds_ in that of Eupolis; and that he had their respective manners in view when he composed these pieces. For although he boasts of his independent originality, and of his never borrowing anything from others, it was hardly possible that among such distinguished contemporary artists, all reciprocal influence should be excluded. If this opinion be well founded, we have to lament the loss of the works of Cratinus, perhaps princ.i.p.ally on account of the light they would have thrown on the manners of the times, and the knowledge they might have afforded of the Athenian const.i.tution, while the loss of the works of Eupolis is to be regretted, chiefly for the comic form in which they were delivered.

_Plutus_ was one of the earlier pieces of the poet, but as we have it, it is one of his last works; for the first piece was afterwards recast by him. In its essence it belongs to the Old Comedy, but in the sparingness of personal satire, and in the mild tone which prevails throughout, we may trace an approximation to the Middle Comedy. The Old Comedy indeed had not yet received its death-blow from a formal enactment, but even at this date Aristophanes may have deemed it prudent to avoid a full exercise of the democratic privilege of comedy. It has even been said (perhaps without any foundation, as the circ.u.mstance has been denied by others) that Alcibiades ordered Eupolis to be drowned on account of a piece which he had aimed at him. Dangers of this description would repress the most ardent zeal of authorship: it is but fair that those who seek to afford pleasure to their fellow-citizens should at least be secure of their life.

APPENDIX TO THE TWELFTH LECTURE.

As we do not, so far as I know, possess as yet a satisfactory poetical translation of Aristophanes, and as the whole works of this author must, for many reasons, ever remain untranslatable, I have been induced to lay before my readers the scene in the _Acharnians_ where Euripides makes his appearance; not that this play does not contain many other scenes of equal, if not superior merit, but because it relates to the character of this tragedian as an artist, and is both free from indecency, and, moreover, easily understood.

The Acharnians, country-people of Attica, who have greatly suffered from the enemy, are highly enraged at Dikaiopolis for concluding a peace with the Lacedaemonians, and determine to stone him. He undertakes to speak in defence of the Lacedaemonians, standing the while behind a block, as he is to lose his head if he does not succeed in convincing them. In this ticklish predicament, he calls on Euripides, to lend him the tattered garments in which that poet's heroes were in the habit of exciting commiseration. We must suppose the house of the tragic poet to occupy the middle of the back scene.

DIKAIOPOLIS.

'Tis time I pluck up all my courage then, And pay a visit to Euripides.

Boy, boy!

CEPHISOPHON.

Who's there?

DIKAIOPOLIS.

Is Euripides within?

CEPHISOPHON.

Within, and not within: Can'st fathom that?

DIKAIOPOLIS.

How within, yet not within?

CEPHISOPHON.

'Tis true, old fellow.

His mind is out collecting dainty verses, [1]

And not within. But he's himself aloft Writing a tragedy.

DIKAIOPOLIS.

Happy Euripides, Whose servant here can give such witty answers.

Call him.

CEPHISOPHON.

It may not be.

DIKAIOPOLIS.

I say, you must though-- For hence I will not budge, but knock the door down.

Euripides, Euripides, my darling! [2]

Hear me, at least, if deaf to all besides.

'Tis Dikaiopolis of Chollis calls you.

EURIPIDES.

I have not time.

DIKAIOPOLIS.

At least roll round. [3]

EURIPIDES.

I can't. [4]

DIKAIOPOLIS.

You must.

EURIPIDES.

Well, I'll roll round. Come down I can't; I'm busy.

DIKAIOPOLIS.

Euripides!

EURIPIDES.

What would'st thou with thy bawling.

DIKAIOPOLIS What! you compose aloft and not below.

No wonder if your muse's bantlings halt.

Again, those rags and cloak right tragical, The very garb for sketching beggars in!

But sweet Euripides, a boon, I pray thee.

Give me the moving rags of some old play; I've a long speech to make before the Chorus, And if I falter, why the forfeit's death.

EURIPIDES.

What rags will suit you? Those in which old Oeneus, That hapless wight, went through his bitter conflict?

DIKAIOPOLIS.

Not Oeneus, no,--but one still sorrier.

EURIPIDES.

Those of blind Phoenix?

DIKAIOPOLIS.

No, not Phoenix either; But another, more wretched still than Phoenix

EURIPIDES.

Whose sorry tatters can the fellow want?

'Tis Philoctetes' sure! You mean that beggar.

DIKAIOPOLIS.

No; but a person still more beggarly.

EURIPIDES.

I have it. You want the sorry garments Bellerophon, the lame man, used to wear.