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Euripides, son of Mnesarchus, was born in the island of Salamis, on the day
of the celebrated victory (B.C. 480). His mother, Clito, had been sent
thither in company with the other Athenian women, when Attica was given up,
and the ships became at once the refuge of the male population, and the
national defense. Mr. Donaldson[1] well remarks, that the patronymic form
of his name, derived from the Euripus, which was the scene of the first
successful resistance offered to the Persian navy, shows that the attention
of his parents was fully excited by the stirring events of the time.
Notwithstanding the fact that his mother had been an herb-seller, it is
probable that his father was a man of some family. That he was at least
possessed of ample means, is evident from the care and expense bestowed
upon our poet's education. Under the tutorship of Anaxagoras, Prodicus, and
Protagoras, he had studied both natural philosophy and rhetoric in its
sophistical form. In gymnastic exercises he exhibited a successful prowess,
being twice victorious in the Eleusinian and Thesean games. Of his skill in
painting, some specimens were preserved at Megara.
His appearance as a dramatist was at an earlier age than that of his
predecessors, as he was only five and twenty years old when he produced the
"Peliades," his first tragedy. On this occasion, he gained the third prize
in the tragic contests, but the first, fourteen years after, and
subsequently, with the "Hippolytus," in 428 B.C. The peculiar tendency of
some of the ideas expressed in his plays, was the probable cause of the
retirement of Euripides to Macedonia, where he obtained the friendship of
King Archelaus. Perhaps, however, the unhappiness of his connubial state,
arising from the infidelity of his two wives, might have rendered Athens a
disagreeable place of abode for the woman-hating poet, especially when his
"domestic bliss" was continually seasoned by the sarcastic jokes and
allusions of his political enemy, Aristophanes. Moreover, his acquaintance
with the talking philosopher, Socrates, must have been unfavorable to the
continuance of his popularity.
The fate of Pentheus in our author's noble play, the "Bacchæ," appears to
have given origin to the tradition that he himself was torn to pieces by
dogs. If we reflect that this play was probably the last of his works, the
mistake seems a plausible one. The death of Euripides, which probably
happened in the ordinary course of nature, has, like that of Æschylus, been
associated with the marvelous.
The Athenians vainly craved the honor of giving a resting-place to the
ashes of their philosopher-poet. He was buried at Pella, but a cenotaph at
Athens showed that his countrymen had not forgotten Euripides. His death
took place B.C. 406.
The inferiority of our author to the greater tragedians, prevents our
feeling much desire to enter upon the respective merits and demerits of his
several plays, especially as we are completely anticipated by Schlegel,
with whose masterly analysis every reader ought to be acquainted.
Nevertheless, a few general remarks may, perhaps, be not wholly
unprofitable.
It has been truly remarked, that tragedy, in no small degree, owed its
downfall to Euripides. Poetry was gradually superseded by rhetoric,
sublimity by earnestness, pathos by reasoning. Thus, Iphigenia and Macaria
give so many good reasons for dying, that the sacrifice appears very small,
and a modern wag in the upper regions of the theatre would, at the end of
the speech of the latter heroine, almost have exclaimed, "Then why don't
you die?"
It has been said, that our poet drew the characters of life as he found
them, but bad as his characters are, they exhibit only a vulgar wickedness.
Unable to portray a Clytæmnestra, he revels in the continual paltriness of
a Menelaus or Ulysses. As if he took a delight in the black side of
humanity, he loves to show the strength of false reasoning, of sophistry
antagonistic to truth, and of cold expediency in opposition to the natural
feelings of humanity. From a similar reason, his occasional attempts at
comedy degenerate into mere farce. We question whether the scene between
Death and Apollo in the "Alcestis," could be surpassed in vulgarity, even
by the modern school of English dramatists, while his exaggerations in the
minor characters are scarcely to be surpassed by the lowest writer of any
period.
Under Euripides, the stage began gradually to approximate more closely to
the ordinary and, at that time, debased character of Athenian society. A
contempt for the Lacedæmonians, a passionate taste for the babbling and
trickery of the forum, and an attempt to depreciate the social position and
influence of the weaker sex, form the most unamiable features of this
change. Yet we must allow, that if Euripides has reveled in the
amiabilities of a Melanippe or a Phædra, in the gentle revenge of a Medea
or Hecuba, he has at the same time given us an Alcestis, the only real
example of genuine conjugal affection on the Greek stage.
Nor must we forget that Euripides is a greater admirer of nature, a more
complete delineator of her workings, than the two greater tragedians. He
has more of illustrative philosophy, more of regard to the objects of the
animated creation, the system of the universe, than his greater rivals
exhibit. He is, as Vitruvius has justly styled him, a "stage-philosopher."
Did we possess a larger acquaintance with the works of Parmenides,
Empedocles, and other early cosmogonists, we should perhaps think less of
his merits on this head: as it is, the possession of some such fragments of
our poet makes us deeply regret the loss of the plays themselves.
But his very love for the contemplation of nature has in no small degree
contributed to the mischievous skepticism promulgated by our poet. In early
times, when a rural theogony was the standard of belief, when each star had
its deity, each deity its undisputed, unquestioned prerogative and worship,
there was little inclination, less opportunity, for skepticism. Throughout
the poetry of Hesiod, we find this feeling ever predominant, a feeling
which Virgil and Tibullus well knew how to appreciate. Even Euripides
himself, perhaps taught by some dangerous lessons at home, has expressed
his belief that it is best "not to be too clever in matters regarding the
Gods."[2] A calm retreat in the wild, picturesque tracts of Macedonia,
might have had some share in reforming this spoiled pupil of the sophists.
But as we find that the too careful contemplation of nature degenerates
into superstition or rationalism in their various forms, so Euripides had
imbibed the taste for saying startling things,[3] rather than wise; for
reducing the principles of creation to materialism, the doctrines of right
and wrong to expediency, and immutable truths to a popular system of
question and answer. Like the generality of sophists, he took away a
received truth, and left nothing to supply its place; he reasoned falsehood
into probability, truth into nonentity.
At a period when the Prodico-Socratic style of disputing was in high
fashion, the popularity of Euripides must have been excessive. His familiar
appeals to the trifling matters of ordinary life, his characters all
philosophizing, from the prince to the dry-nurse, his excellent reasons for
doing right or wrong, as the case might be, must have been inestimably
delightful to the accommodating morals of the Athenians. The Court of
Charles the Second could hardly have derived more pleasure from the
writings of a Behn or a Hamilton, than these unworthy descendants of Codrus
must have experienced in hearing a bad cause so cleverly defended. Whether
the orators and dikasts followed the example of the stage in those days,
can scarcely be ascertained, but it is more than certain that they
practically illustrated its principles. At least, the Sicilians were so
fond of our author, that a few of the unfortunate survivors of the
Syracusan disaster, were enabled to pick up a living by quoting such
passages of our author as they had learned by heart. A compliment paid to
few living dramatists in our days!
In dramatic conduct, Euripides is at an even greater disadvantage with
Æschylus and Sophocles. The best characters of the piece are often the
least employed, as in the instance of Macaria in the "Heraclidæ," while the
play is dwindled away with dull, heavy dirges, and the complaints of senile
childishness. The chorus, as Aristotle[4] has remarked, is most
unfortunately independent of the plot, although the finest poetry is
generally to be found in the lyric portions of our author's plays. In fact,
Euripides rather wanted management in employing his resources, than the
resources themselves. An ear well attuned to the harmony of verse, a
delicate perception of the graceful points of language, and a finished
subtilty in touching the more minute feelings and impulses of the mind,
were all thrown away either upon bad subjects or worse principles. There is
no true tragedy in Euripides, He is a melodramatist, but not according to
the modern acceptation. His plays might end either happily or the reverse.
A deity conveniently brought in, the arrival of a messenger, however
unexpectedly, together with a liberal allowance for a cowardly revenge upon
the vanquished--these are the Euripidean elements for giving a tragic end
to a play. Nay, so great is the prodigality of slaughter throughout his
dramas, that we can but imagine morbid cruelty to have formed a
considerable ingredient in the disposition of Euripides. Even his pathos is
somewhat tinctured with this taste for painful images. As we have beheld in
our own times a barbarian alternately glut his sight with executions, and
then shed floods of tears, and sink into idiot despondency; so the poetry
of Euripides in turn disgusts us with outrageous cruelty, and depresses us
with the most painful demands upon our compassion.
In the lyric portions of his dramas, our poet has been far more successful.
The description of the capture of Troy by night,[5] is a splendid specimen
of animation blended with true pathos. But taken as a whole. Euripides is a
most unequal author. We may commence a play with pleasure (but O for the
prologues!), we may proceed with satisfaction, but the feeling rarely lasts
to the end. If I may venture an opinion upon so uncertain a subject, I
should name the Hippolytus, Ion, Troades, Bacchæ, and Iphigenia in Aulis as
his best plays, placing the Phœnissæ, Alcestis, Medea, Hecuba, and Orestes
in a lower rank. The Helena is an amusing heap of absurdities, and reads
much better in the burlesque of Aristophanes; the Electra is utterly
beneath criticism; the Cyclops a weak, but humorous imitation of Homer. The
other plays appear to be neither bad nor good.
The style of Euripides is, generally speaking, easy; and I can mention no
author from whom a taste for elegant Greek and a facility in composition
can more easily be derived. Some of his plays have suffered severely from
the ravages of time, the ignorance of copyists, and the more dangerous
officiousness of grammarians. Some passages of the Bacchæ, Rhesus, Troades,
and the two Iphigenias, despite the ingenuity and erudition of such
scholars as Porson, Elmsley, Monk, Burges, and a host of others, must still
remain mere matter for guessing. Hermann's Euripides is, as a whole, sadly
unworthy the abilities of the Humboldt of Greek literature.
The present volume contains the most popular of our author's works,
according to present usage. But the spirit which is gradually infusing
itself into the minds of those who are most actively engaged in the
educational system of England, fully warrants a hope that Porson's "four
plays" will shortly cease to be the boundaries of the student's
acquaintance with Euripides.
I need scarcely observe, that the study of Aristophanes is indissolubly
connected with that of our author. If the reader discover the painful fact
that the burlesque writer is greater than the tragedian, he will perhaps
also recollect that such a literary relation is, unfortunately, by no means
confined to the days of Aristophanes.
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