has once taken to a new and successful development of art, he will
then fall back again to any considerable extent upon the old, and that
therefore the Middle Comedies of Menander, and also of Philemon,[338]
belong, in all probability, to their earlier period and are anterior to
the introduction of the romantic element, it becomes obvious that the
date of the introduction of this element into Comedy, (that is to say,
the date of the birth of New Comedy,) must be put considerably later than
is usually done, and that, instead of fixing this date at 330, or even
at 322, we must rather fix it somewhere between the years 315 and 310.
For assuming, as we seem in every way justified in doing, that about
a quarter of the plays of Menander belonged in spirit still to Middle
Comedy, and that his rate of production increased rather than diminished
with advancing years, a simple calculation will enable us to put the date
within these limits.
Granted then that the introduction of the romantic element into Comedy
was due to Menander, and took place about the year 312, there remains
the final question, Where did Menander get the idea from? It has,
I trust, been made sufficiently clear by this time that he did not
derive it from his predecessors in Comedy, nor yet from his favourite
model Euripides. He may, of course, have evolved it independently for
himself, but this, seeing that a similar conclusion had been arrived at
some hundred years before, is not very probable. It has already been
demonstrated that the romantic idea, (that is to say, the idea that a
woman is a worthy object for a man’s love, and that such love may well
be the chief, if not the only, aim of a man’s life,) had originally
been propounded by Antimachus of Colophon at the end of the fifth
century[339]; it seems, therefore, well-nigh certain that this idea must
have been communicated in some way to Menander from Antimachus, and the
only point that remains to be considered is the probable method of this
communication.
It is possible that the influence may have been direct. It is possible
that the accident of a copy of the _Lyde_ coming into Menander’s hands
may have suggested to him the idea which he subsequently developed with
such success. It is possible, and, in the absence of evidence, one way
or the other, it would be bold to assert that it was not the case; but,
at the same time, it seems on the whole more probable that the influence
was of a different kind, and that Menander’s attention was first called
to the views propounded by Antimachus through the medium of some third
person. While it is, of course, futile to expect proof in such a case as
this, there is, perhaps, one personality among those we know belonging to
the period, in favour of which, rather than of any other, the evidence
seems to tend. This is Asclepiades, the originator of the erotic epigram,
and a poet of great influence upon various contemporary writers. It is
true that it is usual to place the date of Asclepiades somewhat later
than that which we have decided must be fixed for the appearance of
the New Comedy, but this later date does not rest on any very strong
evidence. Asclepiades is mentioned along with Philetas in Theocritus vii.
40, in a way which, at any rate, does not exclude the possibility that
he was a contemporary;[340] Philetas, as we know, was born in the reign
of Philip,[341] say, 338; Asclepiades may have been born several years
later, even in 330, and yet have had an influence on Menander, for, as
we know, he began his career as an erotic poet at a very early age.[342]
It is by no means improbable that he may have visited Athens to complete
his education; his epigrams show an acquaintance with Athenian comedy and
life as there described which could hardly have been acquired elsewhere;
such visits were paid to Athens by Callimachus, Aratus, and others. It
will, of course, be urged that the influence may have been just the
reverse, and that Menander suggested the romantic idea to Asclepiades;
but this is improbable for two reasons. In the first place, Asclepiades
is known to have been a student of Antimachus,[343] while Menander, as
far as we know, was not; in the second, though Asclepiades shows, as has
been said, evident traces of the influence of comedy, such comedy is not
New, but distinctly Middle Comedy, as is sufficiently plain from the
drinking-scenes described in _Anth. Pal._ v. 181, 185, from the frequent,
or rather, constant allusions to Hetaerae in his epigrams, and from the
complete absence from them of those particular features of the romantic
idea which Menander himself developed. It is therefore well-nigh certain
that, if there was influence from either side,—and, when one considers
the close sympathy between the ideals of the two writers, the conclusion
that there was some more than merely fortuitous affinity between them is
almost irresistible—such influence came from the side of the brilliant
young Samian, who would thus deserve the credit of having originally
inspired not merely the romantic epigram, but also the romantic
drama.[344] That this was actually so, no one can of course affirm; but
that it may have been, no one who is familiar with the “wild-flowers of
Asclepiades” will be likely to deny.
EXCURSUS A.
[P. 31.]
_THEOGNIS_ (261 _seqq._).
The great difficulty in the way of a satisfactory reconstruction of
this passage lies in the fact that it is not certain whether it is to
be regarded as simply a description of an erotic incident, or whether
it is a γρῖφος; in the latter and, perhaps, more probable case, it is
impossible to emend without first finding the solution, and to guess a
riddle without knowing what that riddle is, rather requires a Daniel or
some similar commentator. It is not quite so impossible, however, to
improve the passage if it is looked upon as merely descriptive of an
actual event, in which case the account of apparently similar scenes in
the Romance of Eumathius may, perhaps, throw some light on the subject.
In the scene depicted in Theognis, the παῖς τέρεινα is fenced off from
her lover, not only by an objectionable suitor, but also by the presence
of her severe “water-drinking” parents. Under these circumstances,
it does not seem very probable that the lover would (as the ordinary
reading makes him do) throw his arms round her waist and kiss her on the
neck; such behaviour on his part (and its natural consequences) might,
it is true, account for the abrupt termination of the poem, but still
would not be, as I have said, exactly probable, especially after he had
been drinking only water. The scene actually described was, perhaps,
rather somewhat of the following kind. When the time for drinking was
come, the girl in question got up and went round, like the Hysmine of
Eumathius, to hand the cup to the guests,[345] going, however, first
to her parents;[346] as these were only drinking ψυχρόν, her office is
contemptuously described as being that of a water-carrier. The last two
lines I would then read:
ἔνθα μέσην περὶ παῖδα λαβὼν ἀγκῶν’ ἐφίλησα,
δειλήν, ἡ δὲ τέρεν φθέγγετ’ ἄνις στόματος.
_i.e._, as she came on her round to her lover, he put his arm on her
waist and kissed her on the elbow; and she, though she said nothing with
her lips, “her eyes were speaking.”[347]
Whether the actual words ought not to be still further emended, is
questionable; but, anyhow, the general sense thus given is a little more
complimentary to Greek “company” manners.
The chief objection to this interpretation is, of course, that it bestows
on the epigram a decidedly erotic character, which is not elsewhere to be
found in this book, and would certainly be an anachronism if the lines
belong to the fifth century.
EXCURSUS B.
[P. 48.]
The fragments of the _Phaedra_ of Sophocles (among which may be included
Soph. _Fr._ 855, and Eur. _Fr._ 431, which both very possibly belong
to this play) are interesting for the many parallels they show to the
Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (_Hom. Hymn._ iv).
There, too, special emphasis is laid on the universal sway of Aphrodite,
not only over men (l. 3), but also over animals (l. 4-6), and over Zeus
and the gods (l. 34 _seqq._). The animals fawn on her as she comes (l.
69, 70, cp. Soph. _Fr._ 625). From l. 7 one might guess that Soph. _Fr._
855, 13 was originally
τίν’ οὐ παλαίουσ’ ἔς τε τρεῖς σφάλλει θεῶν,
or something similar. Both l. 45 and Soph. _Fr._ 619 give Zeus as well as
Aphrodite the power of inspiring love; and other less important parallels
could be pointed out.
These parallels are very striking; and though one must, of course, beware
of drawing conclusions from what may be merely accidental or external, it
cannot be denied that, if it could be proved that Sophocles was working
with this hymn in his mind and with its conception of Aphrodite before
him, this fact alone would render it very unlikely that he would treat
his love-element in that “modern” way in which it has hitherto been the
fashion to assume that he did.
Anyhow, it may not be inapposite to glance at the love-incident which
occurs in this Hymn, for, if nothing else, it is interesting as a very
typical Greek “love-story.” What happens is briefly this:
Aphrodite, having fallen in love with Anchises, disguises herself as
a mortal maiden, and comes upon the object of her affection as he is
wandering alone among the byres, singing to himself.
At first he takes her for a goddess, and is duly humble; but she assures
him that this is not the case, but she is the daughter of the king of
Phrygia, and she asserts that she has been carried by Hermes away from
her home to be his (Anchises’) bride. In her helpless condition, she,
therefore, throws herself on his mercy, and begs him by Zeus and his
parents:
ἀδμήτην μ’ ἀγαγὼν καὶ ἀπειρήτην φιλότητος
πατρί τε σῷ δεῖξον καὶ μητέρι κέδν’ εἰδυίῃ. κ.τ.λ.
His answer to this appeal to his chivalrous feelings is prompt and to the
point:
“If you are really not a goddess, but only a mortal,
οὔτις ἔπειτα θεῶν οὔτε θνητῶν ἀνθρώπων
ἐνθάδε με σχήσει, πρὶν σῇ φιλότητι μιγῆναι
αὐτίκα νῦν.”
After this, perhaps even the last two lines of his speech are an
anti-climax.
EXCURSUS C.
[P. 52.]
_THE ANDROMEDA OF EURIPIDES._
Of all the plays of Euripides, the one which is generally looked upon as
especially “romantic” is the _Andromeda_,[348] and it must be confessed
that, at first sight, it does appear to have a certain character of its
own. The common view of the story is, that Perseus, seeing Andromeda
exposed, falls in love with her, and therefore rescues her. If this view
is correct, this play will furnish the solitary instance in Euripides of
a man’s falling in love with a woman.
But how far is this view correct? A careful examination of the fragments
will, perhaps, show that it requires at least to be modified.
When the play opens, Andromeda is found exposed on her rock, and after
she has made due lamentations, there appears Perseus, bearing evident
marks of his long journey, and generally in a deplorable condition.[349]
On learning from her the state of the case, he pities her, and, say
the modern critics, falls in love with her. I doubt it. This is not at
all the sort of occasion on which a Greek would be likely to fall in
love. Perseus is wet and dirty and hungry, and has the prospect of a
dangerous encounter before him. Love, to the Greek, is essentially the
child of ease and idleness;[350] to connect it with stress and struggle
is entirely a modern notion. The one and only thing which a Greek
in Perseus’ position would be likely to do, would be to try whether
he couldn’t find someone—a king by preference—to lend him some new
clothes;[351] and this, or something of the kind, is, in all probability,
what he makes the condition of his saving Andromeda.[352] Then, cheered
by the prospect of a warm bath and of a comfortable night’s rest, he goes
to face the monster.
But though he does not fall in love with Andromeda, _she falls in love
with him_, and begs him, when he returns victorious,[353] to take her
with him anywhere, if only as a slave. She will follow him anywhere,
she says, even through the sky if he likes.[354] In the improved state
of affairs,[355] Perseus is not averse to these advances; but an
obstacle arises in the shape of Cepheus, who objects to the disreputable
appearance of his would-be son-in-law. Perseus argues his case with
considerable fervour, but apparently without success; and it is Andromeda
again who, by some bold stroke, overcomes or outwits her parents,
and brings off what she wishes—οὐχ εἵλετο τῷ πατρὶ συμμένειν οὐδὲ τῇ
μητρί, ἀλλ’ αὐθαίρετος εἰς τὸ Ἄργος ἀπῆλθε μετ’ ἐκείνου εὐγενές τι
φρονήσασα.[356]
In other words, the initiative in the love-affair of Perseus and
Andromeda is again almost entirely on the side of the woman, and this
play forms in reality no exception to the general rule in this respect.
EXCURSUS D.
[P. 59.]
While on the subject of the _Hippolytus_, I cannot refrain from
suggesting a couple of emendations in the last scene of the play, which
certainly improve the present text artistically, and, perhaps, gain some
support from what we know of the two versions of the work.
The first version ended with the promise of immortality to Hippolytus as
a reward for his constancy (Eur. _Fr._ 446); in the second, this feature
has entirely disappeared, and the last words of the play are a lament
for the dead and a complaint of the injustice of heaven. Indeed, it may
be said that the injustice of heaven is the chief moral of this second
version.
Read therefore in l. 1415
εἴθ’ ἦν ἀραιὸν δαίμοσιν βροτῶν γένους.
“Were there but a little humanity in the gods!”
Could one but
Pierce the cold lips of God with human breath,
And mix his immortality with death!
And, once again, in l. 1440, when Artemis leaves Hippolytus with the
remark that she is very sorry, but she doesn’t like death-bed scenes, he
exclaims bitterly:
χαίρουσα καὶ σὺ στεῖχε, παρθέν’ ὀλβία.
μακρὰν δὲ λείπεις ῥᾳδίως ὁμιλίαν.[357]
I don’t much think that Euripides wrote either of these lines so, but I
think it is a pity he didn’t.
EXCURSUS E.
[P. 87.]
_THE SECOND BOOK OF THEOGNIS._
The second book of Theognis consists almost entirely of love-poems
addressed to boys, and might therefore be expected to furnish
particularly valuable evidence in the present connection, especially
as many of these poems are of a far more personal and purely erotic
character than those in the first book. The date of this book is,
however, disputed, and I personally am inclined to believe that it is
very much later than the time of Theognis—too recent, in fact, to belong
to the period we are discussing at all. This being so, I have naturally
not chosen to lay stress on its contents. For the sake of completeness,
however, I have added here a brief examination of its character, for the
benefit of anyone who may believe in it.
The general tone of these poems, though noticeably more passionate than
that of the earlier collection, is still chivalrous and dignified,
and occasionally rises to a very high level indeed. That spirit of
self-negation, which we have already observed to be peculiar among the
early Greeks to this form of love, is in places very marked. Few passages
in all classical poetry can equal the pathetic dignity of these words of
resignation:
οὐκ ἐθέλω σε κακῶς ἕρδειν, οὐδ’ εἴ μοι ἄμεινον
πρὸς θεῶν ἀθανάτων ἔσσεται, ὦ καλὲ παῖ·
οὐ γὰρ ἁμαρτωλῇσιν ἐπὶ σμικρῇσι κάθημαι,
τῶν δὲ καλῶν παίδων οὔτις ἔτ’ οὐκ ἀδικῶν.[358] (l. 1279)
or of this farewell:
καλὸς ἐὼν κακότητι φρενῶν δειλοῖσιν ὁμιλεῖς
ἀνδράσι, καὶ διὰ τοῦτ’ αἰσχρὸν ὄνειδος ἔχεις,
ὦ παῖ· ἐγὼ δ’ ἀέκων τῆς σῆς φιλότητος ἁμαρτών,
ὠνήμην ἕρδων οἷά τ’ ἐλεύθερος ὤν. (l. 1377)
or of this:
οὐδαμά σ’ οὐδ’ ἀπιὼν[359] δηλήσομαι, οὐδέ με πείσει
οὐδεὶς ἀνθρώπων ὥστε με μή σε φιλεῖν. (l. 1363)
Similarly, that fatherly attitude on the part of the older man, which
we have noticed both in Theognis and in the Theocritean imitation of
Alcaeus, is apparent in more than one place (_e.g._ 1351 _seqq._). This
lends a particular point to those passages which compare the lover to a
horse’s owner or rider (1249 _seqq._, 1267 _seqq._)
Again, there is the same appeal to the friend’s better feelings that
we have noticed in Theocritus (1319 _seqq._), the same appeal to his
care for his good name (1295 _seqq._), all marked, too, by the same
consideration and courtesy (1235 _seqq._); there is the same exhortation
to constancy, the same reproof of faithlessness (1257 _seqq._, &c.), the
same warning, full of earnestness, but withal full of tenderness, as to
the shortness of youth (1299 _seqq._, 1305 _seqq._).[360]
But it is needless to go further into detail. Enough has been said to
show the general character of these poems, and anyone who reads them can
easily supplement these instances with others. So, whatever value one may
be inclined to assign to the evidence here adduced, it must, at least,
be admitted that there is nothing in it which in any way contradicts
anything that has gone before.[361]
EXCURSUS F.
[P. 106.]
_WOMEN IN THE MIDDLE COMEDY._
[NOTE.—A considerable part of the contents of this Excursus
(originally written for the first of the two Essays in this
volume) is repeated in the second Essay. The Excursus is
printed here without alteration, but it should be noted that
the author did not regard it as having attained its final form.]
The fragments of the Middle Comedy, belonging, as they do, to the
earlier and middle part of the fourth century—that is, to the period of
transition between the two great epochs of Greek literature—might have
been expected to afford very valuable evidence as to the development
of the romantic feeling. Unfortunately, however, this is not the case;
indeed, the information to be gathered from them is, in this respect, of
so little importance, that it is hardly worth considering at all.
Various explanations suggest themselves to account for this somewhat
surprising fact. In the first place, the remains of the Middle Comedy are
very small compared with the enormous original bulk of this literature,
and, besides this, nearly all the more important fragments that we
possess are derived from Athenaeus, who generally quotes them with a
view to elucidating questions of cookery, or illustrating the habits of
fishmongers. But the real cause of the absence from these fragments of
all traces of a romantic element is probably a less fortuitous one, and
is to be found in the nature of dramatic literature in general, and of
comedy in particular. A play, to be successful, must be behind the times;
if it treats its subjects in an enlightened manner, it will be above
the level of the mass of its audience, and they will declare it dull,
or ridiculous, or both.[362] Dramatic authors know this well enough,
and, for the most part, carefully refrain from insulting the spectators
by telling them anything new. The writers of the Middle Comedy were no
exception to this rule; and so, while their plays dealt very extensively
with women, and not unfrequently, it would seem, with love-stories of
a sort, the treatment of these subjects was, out of deference to their
public, far more antiquated and unsympathetic than one would have been
inclined to expect from writers who were often well acquainted with the
works of the most enlightened thinkers of the time. Thus, therefore,
strange as it may at first sight appear, in all probability those
fragments which have survived furnish, on the whole, a very good general
idea of the relations between men and women, as depicted in the Middle
Comedy; and there is in reality little reason to believe that, even if
we possessed a far larger quantity of this literature, we should be able
to learn much more about this particular subject. The romantic element
is absent from these fragments because it was absent from the complete
works to which they originally belonged.
The main features of the Middle Comedy treatment of erotic subjects
(as illustrated by the fragments) are very plain. There is nowhere any
trace of the romantic feeling; where “love” is praised or recommended,
as is, of course, not unfrequently the case, what is understood thereby
is always merely sensual gratification. Plato and “Platonic” love are
stock subjects of ridicule. Marriage is invariably alluded to in terms
of contempt and dislike, and the women introduced are almost always
Hetaerae; but even these are hardly ever spoken of with any respect or
affection, being generally described as vulgar, drunken, and stingy, and
in some cases attacked with the most savage brutality. The effort which
the women at Athens were making about this time to gain larger liberties,
also comes in for its share of ridicule; and altogether, these comedies
show a want of sympathy with every honourable ambition of the age, which
throws a strange light on that cultured and artistic Athenian audience
which one is generally taught to admire.
I have before me an analysis[363] of all the passages in which women
are in any way referred to in this literature; but, as I have already
remarked, the amount of information to be gained from them is not
sufficient to warrant a lengthy discussion. A few specimens from the
best-known writers will serve to illustrate what has been said, and will
give a sufficiently clear idea of the nature of the rest.
ANAXANDRIDES is described by Suidas as having been the first to introduce
ἔρωτας καὶ παρθένων φθοράς,[364] and is therefore important as forming a
connecting-link between Old and Middle Comedy; but there is no important
example of this peculiar feature in any of the fragments of him that have
survived, though passages like that in the _Gerontomania_ (_ap._ Athen.
xiii. 570 D), and titles of plays like _Anteron_ or _Kitharistria_, serve
to give a very fair idea of the nature of the “erotic element” thus
introduced.[365]
ANTIPHANES again, though making frequent mention of women, yet does not
tell one anything of importance about them. His opinion as to their
untrustworthiness is at least emphatic,
ἐγὼ γυναικὶ δ’ ἕν τι πιστεύω μόνον,
ἐπὰν ἀποθάνῃ μὴ βιώσεσθαι πάλιν,
τὰ δ’ ἄλλ’ ἀπιστῶ πάνθ’ ἕως ἂν ἀποθάνῃ.
(_Incert._ 54.)
and his invectives against marriage are occasionally humorous—
_Α._ γεγάμηκε δήπου. _Β._ τί σὺ λέγεις; ἀληθινῶς
γεγάμηκεν, ὃν ἐγὼ ζῶντα περιπατοῦντά τε
κατέλιπον;
(_Philopator._)
but, on the whole, his allusions are not very interesting.
EUBULUS was notorious as a special student and parodist of Euripides, a
feature apparent in the misogyny, real or affected, in which he indulges.
A good specimen of this is the passage quoted in Athen. xiii. 559 B from
his _Chrysilla_. There is, besides, in the _Campylion_ an interesting
description of violent love for a certain κοσμία ἑταίρα, one of whose
chief charms, however, seems to be that she knows how to eat decently.
The same writer, in the _Nannion_, dwells on the folly of adultery,
supporting his view by arguments which hardly appeal to the “romantic”
sense.[366]
AMPHIS grows enthusiastic over the superiority of ἑταῖραι to γαμεταί,
ἡ μὲν νόμῳ γὰρ καταφρονοῦσ’ ἔνδον μένει,
ἡ δ’ οἶδεν ὅτι ἢ τοῖς τρόποις ὠνητέος
ἄνθρωπός ἐστιν ἢ πρὸς ἄλλον ἀπιτέον.
(_Athamas._)
and in the _Dithyrambus_ makes a contemptuous allusion to “Platonic” love:
τί φῄς; σὺ ταυτὶ προσδοκᾷς πείσειν ἐμέ,
ὡς ἔστ’ ἐραστὴς ὅστις, ὡραῖον φιλῶν,
τρόπων ἐραστής ἐστι, τὴν ὄψιν παρείς;
ἄφρων γ’ ἀληθῶς. οὔτε τοῦτο πείθομαι,
οὔθ’ ὡς πένης ἄνθρωπος ἐνοχλῶν πολλάκις
τοῖς εὐποροῦσιν οὐ λαβεῖν τι βούλεται.
(_Dithyrambus._ 2.)
EPHIPPUS gives us a pretty picture of a woman (an Hetaera, of course)
coaxing away a man’s trouble:
ἔπειτά γ’ εἰσιόντ’, ἐὰν λυπούμενος
τύχῃ τις ἡμῶν, ἐκολάκευσεν ἡδέως,
ἐφίλησεν, οὐχὶ συμπιέσασα τὸ στόμα,
ὥσπερ πολέμιον, ἀλλὰ τοῖσι στρουθίοις
χναύουσ’ ὁμοίως ἧσε, παρεμυθήσατο,
ἐποίησέ θ’ ἱλαρὸν εὐθέως τ’ ἀφεῖλε πᾶν
αὐτοῦ τὸ λυποῦν κἀπέδειξεν ἵλεων.
(_Empole._ 1.)
EPICRATES is chiefly noticeable for the brutality of his _Antilais_, a
considerable fragment of which is preserved in Athen. xiii. 570 B.
XENARCHUS’ best contribution to literature is, perhaps, his famous
ὅρκους ἐγὼ γυναικὸς εἰς οἶνον γράφω.
(_Pentathl._ 3.)