_Clitia_. Many of its scenes, indeed, have been literally translated from
the Latin, and the incidents are altered in very few particulars. The
Stalino of Plautus is called Nicomaco, and his wife Sofronia: their son is
named Cleandro, and the dependents employed to court Clitia for behoof of
their masters, Eustachio and Pirro. The chief difference is, that the
young lover, who is supposed to be absent in the _Casina_, is introduced
on the stage by the Italian author, and the object of his affections is a
young lady, brought up and educated by his parents, and originally
intrusted to their care by one of their friends, which makes the proposal
of her marrying either of the servants offered to her choice more absurd
than in the Latin original. The bridal garments, too, are not assumed by
one of the rival servants, but by a third character, introduced and
employed for the purpose. This comedy of Machiavel, his _Mandragola_, and
the renowned tale of Belfegor, were the productions with which that
profound politician and historian, who established a school of political
philosophy in the Italian seat of the Muses—who applied a fine analysis to
the Roman history, and a subtler than Aristotle to the theory of
government—attempted, as he himself has so beautifully expressed it,
“Fare il suo tristo tempo piu soave;
Perche altrove non have,
Dove voltare il viso,
Che gli è stato interciso
Mostrar con altre imprese altra virtute.”
_Cistellaria_, (the Casket.)—The prologue to this play is spoken by the
god _Auxilium_, at the end of the first act. It explains the subject of
the piece—compliments the Romans on their power and military glory—and
concludes with exhorting them to overcome the Carthaginians, and punish
them as they deserve. Hence it is probable, that this play was written
during the second Punic war, which terminated in the year 552; and as
Plautus was born in the year 525, it may be plausibly conjectured, that
the _Cistellaria_ was one of his earliest productions. This also appears
from its greater rudeness when compared with his other plays, and from the
shortness and simplicity of the plot. But though the argument is trite and
sterile, it is enlivened by a good deal of comic humour, particularly in
the delineation of some of the subordinate characters. Like many others of
Plautus’s plays, it turns on the accidental recognition of a lost child by
her parents, in consequence of the discovery of a casket, containing some
toys, which had been left with her when exposed, and by means of which she
is identified and acknowledged.
In ancient times these recognitions, so frequently exhibited on the stage,
were not improbable. The customs of exposing children, and of reducing
prisoners of war to slavery—the little connection or intercourse between
different countries, from the want of inns or roads—and the consequent
difficulty of tracing a lost individual—rendered such incidents, to us
apparently so marvellous, of not unusual occurrence in real life. In
Greece, particularly, divided as it was into a number of small states, and
surrounded by a sea infested with pirates, who carried on a commerce in
slaves, free-born children were frequently carried off, and sold in
distant countries. By the laws of Athens, marriage with a foreigner was
null; or, at least, the progeny of such nuptials were considered as
illegitimate, and not entitled to the privileges of Athenian citizens.
Hence, the recognition of the supposed stranger was of the utmost
importance to herself and lover. In real life, this recognition may have
been sometimes actually aided by ornaments and trinkets. Parents
frequently tied jewels and rings to the children whom they exposed, in
order that such as found them might be encouraged to nourish and educate
them, and that they themselves might afterwards be enabled to discover
them, if Providence took care for their safety(248). Plots, accordingly,
which hinged on such circumstances, were invented even by the writers of
the old Greek comedy. One of the later pieces of Aristophanes, now lost,
entitled _Cocalus_, is said to have presented a recognition; and nearly
the same sort of intrigue was afterwards employed by Menander, and, from
his example, by Plautus and Terence. From imitation of the Greek and Latin
comedies, similar incidents became common both in dramatic and romantic
fiction. The pastoral romance of Longus hinges on a recognition of this
species; and those elegant productions, in which the Italians have
introduced the characters and occupations of rural life into the drama,
are frequently founded on the exposure of children, who, after being
brought up as shepherds by reputed fathers, are recognised by their real
parents, from ornaments or tokens fastened to their persons when abandoned
in infancy or childhood.
The _Cistellaria_ has been more directly imitated in _Gli Incantesimi_ of
Giovam-Maria Cecchi, a Florentine dramatist of the sixteenth century. That
part, however, of the plot which gives name to the piece, has been
invented by the Italian author himself.
_Curculio_.—The subject of this play, turns on a recognition similar to
that which occurs in the _Cistellaria_. It derives its title from the name
of a parasite, who performs the part usually assigned by Plautus to an
intriguing slave; and he is called Curculio, from a species of worm which
eats through corn.
It is worthy of observation, that in the fourth act of this play, the
Choragus, who was master of the Chorus, and stage-manager, or leader of
the band, is introduced, expressing his fear lest he should be deprived of
the clothes he had lent to Curculio, and addressing to the spectators a
number of satirical remarks on Roman manners.
Vossius has noticed the inadvertency or ignorance of Plautus in this
drama, where, though the scene is laid in Epidaurus, he sends the parasite
to Caria, and brings him back in four days. This part of the comedy he
therefore thinks has been invented by Plautus himself, since a Greek poet,
to whom the geography of these districts must have been better known,
would not have carried the parasite to so great a distance in so short a
period.
_Epidicus_.—This play is so called from the name of a slave who sustains a
principal character in the comedy, and on whose rogueries most of the
incidents depend. Its most serious part consists in the discovery of a
damsel, who proves to be sister to a young man by whom she has been
purchased as a slave. The play has no prologue; but, at the beginning, a
character is introduced, which the ancients called _persona
protatica_,—that is, a person who enters only once, and at the
commencement of the piece, for the sake of unfolding the argument, and
does not appear again in any part of the drama. Such are Sosia, in the
_Andria_ of Terence, and Davus, in his _Phormio_. This is accounted rather
an inartificial mode of informing the audience of the circumstances
previous to the opening of the piece. It is generally too evident, that
the narrative is made merely for the sake of the spectators; as there
seldom appears a sufficient reason for one of the parties being so
communicative to the other. Such explanations should come round, as it
were, by accident, or be drawn involuntarily from the characters
themselves in the course of the action.
The _Epidicus_ is said to have been a principal favourite of the author
himself; and, indeed, one of the characters in his _Bacchides_ exclaims,
“Etiam Epidicum, quam ego fabulam æque ac me ipsum amo.”
But, though popular in the ancient theatre, the _Epidicus_ does not appear
to be one of the plays of Plautus which has been most frequently imitated
on the modern stage. There was, however, a very early Italian imitation of
it in the _Emilia_, a comedy of Luigi da Groto, better known by the
appellation of Cieco D’Adria, one of the earliest romantic poets of his
country. The trick, too, of Epidicus, in persuading his master to buy a
slave with whom his son was in love, has suggested the first device fallen
on by Mascarelle, the valet in Moliere’s _Etourdi_, in order to place the
female slave Celie at the disposal of her lover, by inducing his master to
purchase her.
_Menæchmi_—hinges on something of the same species of humour as the
_Amphitryon_—a doubt and confusion with regard to the identity of
individuals. According to the Delphin Plautus, it was taken from a lost
play of Menander, entitled Διδυμοι; but other commentators have thought,
that it was more probably derived from Epicharmus, or some other Sicilian
dramatist.
In this play, a merchant of Syracuse had two sons, possessing so strong a
personal resemblance to each other, that they could not be distinguished
even by their parents. One of these children, called Menæchmus, was lost
by his father in a crowd on the streets of Syracuse, and, being found by a
Greek merchant, was carried by him to Epidamnum, (Dyracchium,) and adopted
as his son. Meanwhile the brother, (whose name, in consequence of this
loss, had been changed to Menæchmus,) having grown up, had set out from
Syracuse in quest of his relative. After a long search he arrived at
Epidamnum, where his brother had by this time married, and had also
succeeded to the merchant’s fortune. The amusement of the piece hinges on
the citizens of Epidamnum mistaking the Syracusan stranger for his
brother, and the family of the Epidamnian brother falling into a
corresponding error. In this comedy we have also the everlasting parasite;
and the first act opens with a preparation for an entertainment, which
Menæchmus of Epidamnum had ordered for his mistress Erotium, and to which
the parasite was invited. The Syracusan happening to pass, is asked to
come in by his brother’s mistress, and partakes with her of the feast. He
also receives from her, in order to bear it to the embroiderer’s, a robe
which his brother had carried off from his wife, with the view of
presenting it to this mistress. Afterwards he is attacked by his brother’s
jealous wife, and her father; and, as his answers to their reproaches
convince them that he is deranged, they send straightway for a physician.
The Syracusan escapes; but they soon afterwards lay hold of the
Epidamnian, in order to carry him to the physician’s house, when the
servant of the Syracusan, who mistakes him for his master, rescues him
from their hands. The Epidamnian then goes to his mistress with the view
of persuading her to return the robe to his wife. At length the whole is
unravelled by the two Menæchmi meeting; when the servant of the Syracusan,
surprised at their resemblance, discovers, after a few questions to each,
that Menæchmus of Epidamnum is the twin-brother of whom his master had
been so long in search, and who now agrees to return with them to
Syracuse.
The great number of those Latin plays, where the merriment consists in
mistakes arising from personal resemblances, must be attributed to the use
of masks, which gave probability to such dramas; and yet, if the
resemblance was too perfect, the humour, I think, must have lost its
effect, as the spectators would not readily perceive the error that was
committed.
No play has been so repeatedly imitated as the Menæchmi on the modern
stage, particularly the Italian, where masks were also frequently
employed. The most celebrated Italian imitation of the _Menæchmi_ is _Lo
Ipocrito_ of Aretine, where the twin-brothers, Liseo and Brizio, had the
same singular degree of resemblance as the Menæchmi. Brizio had been
carried off a prisoner in early youth during the sack of Milan, and
returns to that city, after a long absence, in the first act of the play,
in quest of his relations. Liseo’s servants, and his parasite, Lo
Ipocrito, all mistake Brizio for their patron, and his wife takes him to
share an entertainment prepared at her husband’s house, and also intrusts
him with the charge of some ornaments belonging to her daughter; while, on
the other hand, Brizio’s servant mistakes Liseo for his master. The
interest of the play arises from the same sort of confusion as that which
occurs in the _Menæchmi_; and from the continual astonishment of those who
are deceived by the resemblance, at finding an individual deny a
conversation which they were persuaded he had held a few minutes before.
The play is otherwise excessively involved, in consequence of the
introduction of the amours and nuptials of the five daughters of Liseo.
The plot of the Latin comedy has also been followed in _Le Moglie_ of
Cecchi, and in the _Lucidi_ of Agnuolo Firenzuola; but the incidents have
been, in a great measure, adapted by these dramatists to the manners of
their native country. Trissino, in his _Simillimi_, has made little change
on his original, except adding a chorus of sailors; as, indeed, he has
himself acknowledged, in his dedication to the cardinal, Alessandro
Farnese. In _Gli due Gemelli_, which was long a favourite piece on the
Italian stage, Carlini acted both brothers; the scenes being so contrived
that they were never brought on the stage together—in the same manner as
in our farce of _Three and the Deuce_, where the idea of giving different
characters and manners to the three brothers, with a perfect personal
resemblance, by creating still greater astonishment in their friends and
acquaintances, seems an agreeable addition.
The _Menæchmi_ was translated into English towards the end of the
sixteenth century, by William Warner, the author of _Albion’s England_.
This version, which was first printed in 1595, and is entitled, “Menæchmi,
a pleasaunt and fine conceited comedy, taken out of the most excellent
wittie poet Plautus, chosen purposely, as least harmefull, yet most
delightful,” was unquestionably the origin of Shakspeare’s _Comedy of
Errors_. The resemblance of the two Antipholis’, and the other
circumstances which give rise to the intrigue, are nearly the same as in
Plautus. Some of the mistakes, too, which occur on the arrival of
Antipholis of Syracuse at Ephesus, have been suggested by the Latin play.
Thus, the Syracusan, on coming to Ephesus, dines with his brother’s wife.
This lady had under repair, at the goldsmith’s, a valuable chain, which
her husband resolves to present to his mistress, but the goldsmith gives
it to the Syracusan. At length the Ephesian is believed insane by his
friends, who bring Doctor Pinch, a conjurer, to exorcise him. Shakspeare
has added the characters of the twin Dromios, the servants of the
Antipholis’s, who have the same singular resemblance to each other as
their masters, which has produced such intricacy of plot that it is hardly
possible to unravel the incidents.
The _Comedy of Errors_ is accounted one of the earliest, and is certainly
one of the least happy efforts of Shakspeare’s genius. I cannot agree with
M. Schlegel, in thinking it better than the Menæchmi of Plautus, or even
than the best modern imitation of that comedy—_Les Menechmes, ou Les
Jumeaux_, of the French poet Regnard, which is, at least, a more lively
and agreeable imitation. All the scenes, however, have been accommodated
to French manners; and the plot differs considerably from that of Plautus,
being partly formed on an old French play of the same title, by Rotrou,
which appeared as early as 1636. One chief distinction is, that the
Chevalier Menechme knows of the arrival of his brother from the country,
and knows that he had come to Paris in order to receive an inheritance
bequeathed to him by his uncle, as also to marry a young lady of whom the
Chevalier was enamoured. The Chevalier avails himself of the resemblance
to prosecute his love-suit with the lady, and to receive the legacy from
the hands of an attorney, while his brother is in the meantime harassed by
women to whom the Chevalier had formerly paid addresses, and is arrested
for his debts. It was natural enough, as in Plautus, that an infant,
stolen and carried to a remote country, should have transmitted no account
of himself to his family, and should have been believed by them to be
dead; but this can with difficulty be supposed of Regnard’s Chevalier, who
had not left his paternal home in Brittany till the usual age for entering
on military service, and had ever since resided chiefly at Paris. The
Chevalier finds, from letters delivered to him by mistake, that his
brother had come to town to receive payment of a legacy recently
bequeathed to him: But, unless it was left to any one who bore the name of
Menechme, it is not easy to see how the attorney charged with the payment,
should have allowed himself to be duped by the Chevalier. Nor is it likely
that, suspicious as the elder Menechme is represented, he should trust so
much to his brother’s valet, or allow himself to be terrified in the
public street and open day into payment of a hundred louis d’or. It is
equally improbable that Araminte should give up the Chevalier to her
niece, or that the elder Menechme should marry the old maid merely to get
back half the sum of which his brother had defrauded him. That all the
adventures, besides, should terminate to the advantage of the Chevalier,
has too much an air of contrivance, and takes away that hazard which ought
to animate pieces of this description, and which excites the interest in
Plautus, where the incidents prove fortunate or unfavourable
indiscriminately to the two brothers.
In Plautus, the robe which Menæchmus of Epidamnum carries off from his
wife, suffices for almost the whole intrigue. It alone brings into play
the falsehood and avarice of the courtezan, the inclination of both the
Menæchmi for pleasure, the gluttony of the parasite, and rage of the
jealous wife: But in the French _Menechmes_,—trunks, letters, a portrait,
promises of marriage, and presents, are heaped on each other, to produce
accumulated mistakes. Regnard has also introduced an agreeable variety, by
discriminating the characters of the brothers, between whom Plautus and
Shakspeare have scarcely drawn a shade of difference. The Chevalier is a
polished gentleman—very ingenious; but, I think, not very honest: His
brother is blunt, testy, and impatient, and not very wise. The difference,
indeed, in their language and manners, is so very marked, that it seems
hardly possible, whatever might be the personal resemblance, that the
Chevalier’s mistress could have been deceived. These peculiarities of
disposition, however, render the mistakes, and the country brother’s
impatience under them, doubly entertaining—
“Faudra-t-il que toujours je sois dans l’embarras
De voir une furie attachée a mes pas?”
And when assailed by Araminte, the old maid to whom his brother had
promised marriage—
“Esprit, demon, lutin, ombre, femme, ou furie,
Qui que tu sois, enfin laisse moi, je te prie.”
When his brother is at last discovered, and indubitably recognized, he
exclaims,
“Mon frere en verité—Je m’en rejouis fort,
Mais j’avais cependant compté sur votre mort.”
Boursault’s comedy, _Les Menteurs qui ne mentent point_, though somewhat
different in its fable from the Latin _Menæchmi_, is founded on precisely
the same species of humour—the exact resemblance of the two Nicandres
occasioning ludicrous mistakes and misunderstandings among their valets
and mistresses.
The most recent French imitation of the play of Plautus is the _Menechmes
Grecs_, by Cailhava, in which the plot is still more like the Latin comedy
than the _Menechmes_ of Regnard; but the characters are new. This piece
has been extremely popular on the modern French stage.—“Le public,” says
Chenier, “s’est empressé de rendre justice a la peinture piquante de mœurs
de la Grece, a la verité des situations, au naturel du dialogue, au merite
rare d’une gaité franche, qui ne degenere pas en bouffonnerie(249).”
_Miles Gloriosus_, (the Braggart Captain.) This was a character of the new
Greek comedy, introduced and brought to perfection by Philemon and
Menander. These dramatists wrote during the reigns of the immediate
successors of Alexander the Great. At that period, his generals who had
established sovereignties in Syria and Egypt, were in the practice of
recruiting their armies by levying mercenaries in Greece. The soldiers who
had thus served in the wars of the Seleucidæ and Ptolemies, were in the
habit, when they returned home to Greece after their campaigns, of
astonishing their friends with fabulous relations of their exploits in
distant countries. Having been engaged in wars with which Athens had no
immediate concern or interest, these partizans met with little respect or
sympathy from their countrymen, and their lies and bravadoes having made
them detested in Athenian society(250), they became the prototypes of that
dramatic character of which the constant attributes were the most absurd
vanity, stupidity, profusion, and cowardice. This overcharged character,
along with that of the slave and parasite, were transferred into the
dramas of Plautus, the faithful mirrors of the new Greek comedy. The first
act of the _Miles Gloriosus_ has little to do with the plot: It only
serves to acquaint us with the character of the Captain Pyrgopolinices;
and it is for this purpose alone that Plautus has introduced the parasite,
who does not return to the stage after the first scene. The boasts of this
captain are quite extravagant, but they are not so gross as the flatteries
of the parasite: indeed it is not to be conceived that any one could
swallow such compliments as that he had broken an elephant’s thigh with
his fist, and slaughtered seven thousand men in one day, or that he should
not have perceived the sarcasms of the parasite intermixed with his
fulsome flattery. Previous, however, to the invention of gunpowder, more
could be performed in war by the personal prowess of individuals, than can
be now accomplished; and hence the character of the braggart captain may
not have appeared quite so exaggerated to the ancients as it seems to us.
One man of peculiar strength and intrepidity often carried dismay into the
hostile squadrons, as Goliah defied all the armies of Israel, and, with a
big look, and a few arrogant words, struck so great a terror, that the
host fled before him.
Most European nations being imbued with military habits and manners for
many centuries after their first rise, the part of a boasting coward was
one of the broadest, and most obviously humorous characters, that could be
presented to the spectators. Accordingly, the braggart Captain, though he
has at length disappeared, was one of the most notorious personages on the
early Italian, French, and English stage.
Tinca, the braggart Captain in _La Talanta_, a comedy by Aretine, is a
close copy of Thraso, the soldier in Terence, the play being taken from
the _Eunuchus_, where Thraso is a chief character. But Spampana, the
principal figure in the _Farsa Satira Morale_, a dramatic piece of the
fifteenth century, by Venturino of Pesaro, was the original and genuine
Capitano Glorioso, a character well known, and long distinguished in the
Italian drama. He was generally equipped with a mantle and long rapier;
and his personal qualities nearly resembled those of the Count di Culagna,
the hero of Tassoni’s mock heroic poem _La Secchia Rapita_:—
“Quest’ era un Cavalier bravo e galante,
Ch’era fuor de perigli un Sacripante.
Ma ne perigli un pezzo di polmone:
Spesso ammazzato avea qualche gigante,
E si scopriva poi, ch’era un cappone.”
This military poltroon long kept possession of the Italian stage, under
the appellations of Capitan Spavento and Spezzafer, till about the middle
of the sixteenth century, when he yielded his place to the Capitano
Spagnuolo, whose business was to utter Spanish rodomontades, to kick out
the native Italian Captain in compliment to the Spaniards, and then
quietly accept of a drubbing from Harlequin. When the Spaniards had
entirely lost their influence in Italy, the Capitan Spagnuolo retreated
from the stage, and was succeeded by that eternal poltroon, Scaramuccio, a
character which was invented by Tiberio Fiurilli, the companion of the
boyhood of Louis XIV(251).