PLUTUS.
The comedy which takes its name from the god of riches is a lively
satire on the avarice and corruption which was a notorious feature of
Athenian society, as it has been of other states, modern as well as
ancient, when luxury and self-indulgence have created those artificial
wants which are the danger of civilisation. The literal points of the
satire are, of course, distinctly Athenian; but the moral is of no
exclusive date or locality.
Chremylus--a country gentleman, or rather yeoman, living somewhere close
to the city of Athens--has found, in his experience of life, that mere
virtue and honesty are _not_ the best policy; at any rate, not the
policy which pays. He has made a visit, therefore, to the oracle of
Apollo, to consult that authority as to how he shall bring up his only
son; whether he shall train him in the honest and simple courses which
were those of his forefathers, or have him initiated in the wicked but
more profitable ways of the world, as the world is now. He is, in fact,
the Strepsiades of ‘The Clouds,’ only that he is a more unwilling
disciple in the new school of unrighteousness. The answer given him by
the god is, that he must accost the first person he meets on quitting
the temple, and persuade or compel him to accompany him home to his
house.
Chremylus appears on the stage accompanied by his slave Cario,--a clever
rascal, the earliest classical type which has come down to us of the
Davus with whom we become so familiar in Roman comedy, and the Leporello
and Scapin, and their numerous progeny of lying valets and sharp
servants, impudent but useful, who occupy the modern stage. They have
encountered the stranger, and are following him; he is in rags, and he
turns out to be blind. With some difficulty, and not without threats of
beating, they get him to disclose his name: it is Plutus, the god of
wealth himself. But how, then, in the name of wonder, does he appear in
this wretched plight? He has just escaped, he tells them, from the house
of a miser (who is satirised by name, with all the liberty of a satirist
to whom actions for libel were unknown), where he has had a miserable
time of it. And how, they ask, came he to be blind?
_Pl._ Jove wrought me this, out of ill-will to men.
For in my younger days I threatened still
I would betake me to the good and wise
And upright only; so he made me blind,
That I should not discern them from the knaves.
Such grudge bears he to worth and honesty.
_Chr._ Yet surely ’tis the worthy and the honest
Alone who pay him sacrifice?
_Pl._ I know ’tis so.
_Chr._ Go to, now, friend: suppose you had your sight
As heretofore--say, wouldst thenceforth avoid
All knaves and rascals?
_Pl._ Yea, I swear I would.
_Chr._ And seek the honest?
_Pl._ Ay, and gladly too,
For ’tis a long time since I saw their faces.
_Chr._ No marvel--I have eyes, and cannot see them.
Plutus is very unwilling to accompany his new friend home, though
Chremylus assures him that he is a man of unusual probity. “All men say
that,” is the god’s reply; “but the moment they get hold of me, their
probity goes to the winds.” Besides, he is afraid of Jove. Chremylus
cries out against him for a coward. Would the sovereignty of Jove be
worth three farthings’ purchase, but for him? What do men offer prayer
and sacrifice to Jove himself for, but for money? Money is the true
ruler, alike of gods and men. “I myself,” puts in Cario, “should not now
be another gentleman’s property, as I am, but for the fact of my master
here having a little more money than I had.” All arts and handicrafts,
all inventions good or evil, have this one source--both master and man
(for Cario is very forward in giving his opinion) agree in protesting;
while the god listens to what he declares is, to his simpler mind, a new
revelation:--
_Car._ Is’t not your fault the Persian grows so proud?
_Chr._ Do not men go to Parliament through you?
_Car._ Who swells the navy estimates, but you?
_Chr._ Who subsidises foreigners, but you?
_Car._ For want of you our friend there goes to jail.
_Chr._ Why are bad novels written, but for you?
_Car._ That league with Egypt, was it not through you?
_Chr._ And Lais loves that lout--and all for you!
_Car._ And our new admiral’s tower--
_Chr._ (_impatiently to Cario_). May fall, I trust,
Upon your noisy head!--But in brief, my friend,
Are not all things that are done done for you?
For, good or bad, you are alone the cause.
Ay, and in war, that side is safe to win
Into whose scale you throw the golden weight.
_Pl._ Am I indeed so potent as all this?
_Chr._ Yea, by great heaven, and very much more than this,
Since none hath ever had his fill of you:
Of all things else there comes satiety;
We tire of Love--
_Car._ Of loaves--
_Chr._ Of music--
_Car._ Sweetmeats--
_Chr._ Of honour--
_Car._ Cheesecakes--
_Chr._ Valour--
_Car._ Of dried figs--
_Chr._ Ambition--
_Car._ Biscuit--
_Chr._ High command--
_Car._ Pea-soup.
_Chr._ Of you alone is no man filled too full.
Still Plutus follows his guides unwillingly. His experiences as the
guest of men have not hitherto been pleasant:--
_Pl._ If I perchance took lodging with a miser,
He digs me a hole i’ the earth, and buries me;
And if some honest friend shall come to him,
And ask the loan of me, by way of help,
He swears him out he never saw my face.
Or, if I quarter with your man of pleasure,
He wastes me on his dice and courtesans,
And forthwith turns me naked on the street.
_Chr._ Because you never had the luck, as yet,
To light upon a moderate man--like me.
I love economy, look ye--no man more;
Then again, I know how to spend, in season.
But let’s indoors: I long to introduce
My wife, and only son, whom I do love
Best in this world--next to yourself, I should say.
So Plutus goes home with his new host, and Cario is forthwith sent to
call together the friends and acquaintances of his master from the
neighbouring farms to rejoice with them at the arrival of this blessed
guest. These form the Chorus of the comedy. They enter with dance and
song, and are welcomed heartily by Chremylus, with some apology for
taking them away from their business,--but the occasion is exceptional.
They protest against any apology being required. If they can bear the
crush and wrangle of the law-courts, day after day, for their poor dole
of threepence as jurymen, they are not going to let Plutus slip through
their hands for a trifle. Following more leisurely in the rear of the
common rush,--perhaps as a person of more importance,--comes in a
neighbour, Blepsidemus, whose name and character is something equivalent
to that of “Mr Facing-both-ways” in Bunyan’s allegory. He has heard that
Chremylus has become suddenly rich, and is most of all surprised that in
such an event he should think of sending for his old friends,--a very
unusual proceeding, as he observes, in modern society. Chremylus,
however, informs his friend that the report is true; at least, that he
is in a fair way to become rich, but that there is, as yet, some little
risk in the matter:--
If all go right, I’m a made man for ever;
But,--if we slip--we’re ruined past redemption.
Blepsidemus thinks he sees the state of the case. This sudden wealth,
this fear of possible disaster,--the man has robbed a temple, or
something of that kind, it is evident; and he tells him so. In vain does
Chremylus protest his innocence. Blepsidemus will not believe him, and
regards him with pious horror:--
Alack! that in this world there is no honesty,
But every man is a mere slave to pelf!
_Chr._ Heaven help the man!--has he gone mad on a sudden?
_Bl._ (_looking at Chremylus, and half aside_). What
a sad change from his old honest ways!
_Chr._ You’ve lost your wits, sirrah, by all that’s good!
_Bl._ And his eyes quail--he dares not meet my look--
For damning guilt stands written in his face!
_Chr._ Ha! now I see! you take me for a thief,
And would go shares, then, would ye?
_Bl._ (_eagerly_). Shares? in what?
_Chr._ Stuff! don’t be a fool! ’tis quite another matter.
_Bl._ (_in a whisper_). Not a mere larceny then, but--robbery?
_Chr._ (_getting angry_). I say, no.
_Bl._ (_confidentially_). Hark ye, old friend--for
a mere trifle, look you,
I’ll undertake, before this gets abroad,
To hush it up,--I’ll bribe the prosecutors.
Chremylus has great difficulty in making his conscientious friend
understand the real position--that he has Wealth in person come to be
his guest, and means to keep him, if possible. But the god is blind at
present, and the first thing to be done is to get him restored to sight.
“Blind! is he really?” says Blepsidemus; “then no wonder he never found
his way to my house!” They agree that the best means to effect a cure is
to make him pass the night in the temple of Æsculapius; and this they
are proceeding to arrange, when they are interrupted by the appearance
of a very ill-looking lady. It is Poverty, who comes to put a stop, if
it may be, to a revolution which threatens to banish her altogether from
Athens. Chremylus fails to recognise her, in spite of a long practical
acquaintanceship. Blepsidemus at first thinks she must be one of the
Furies out of the tragedy repertory, by her grim visage and squalid
habit. But the moment he learns who his friend’s visitor really is, he
takes to flight at once--as is the way of the world--scared at her very
appearance. He is persuaded, however, to return and listen to what the
goddess has to say. She proceeds to explain the great mistake that will
be made for the true interest of the citizens, if she be really banished
from the city. For she it is who is their real benefactor, as she
assures them, and not Wealth. All the real blessings of mankind come
from the hand of Poverty. This Chremylus will by no means admit. It is
possible that Wealth may have done some harm heretofore by inadvertence;
but if this blessed guest can once recover his sight, then will he for
the future visit only the upright and the virtuous; and so will all
men--as soon as virtue and honesty become the only introduction to
Wealth--be very sure to practise them. Poverty continues to argue the
point in the presence of the Chorus of rustic neighbours, who now come
on the stage, and naturally take a very warm interest in the question.
She contends that were it not for the stimulus which she continually
applies, the work of the world would stand still. No man would learn or
exercise any trade or calling. There would be neither smith, nor
shipwright, nor tailor, nor shoemaker, nor wheelwright--nay, there would
be none either to plough or sow, if all alike were rich. “Nonsense,”
interposes Chremylus, “the slaves would do it.” But there would be no
slaves, the goddess reminds him, if there were no Poverty. It is Wealth,
on the other hand, that gives men the gout, makes them corpulent and
thick-legged, wheezy and pursy; “while I,” says Poverty, “make them
strong and wiry, with waists like wasps--ay, and with stings for their
enemies.” “Look at your popular leaders” (for the satirist never spares
the demagogues)--“so long as they continue poor, they are honest enough;
but when once they have grown rich at the public expense, they betray
the public interest.” Chremylus confesses that here, at least, she
speaks no more than the truth. But if such are the advantages which
Poverty brings, he has a very natural question to ask--
How comes it then that all men flee thy face?
_Pov._ Because I make men better.
But her pleading is in vain. “Away with your rhetoric,” says Chremylus;
“our ears are deaf to all such arguments.” He uses almost the very words
of Sir Hudibras--
“He who complies against his will,
Is of his own opinion still.”[54]
And an unanimous sentence of expulsion is passed against the unpopular
deity, while Plutus is sent, under the escort of Cario, with bed and
bedding, to take up his quarters for the night in the temple of
Æsculapius, there to invoke the healing power which can restore his
sight.
An interval of time unusually long for the Athenian drama is supposed to
elapse between this and what we may call the second act of the
comedy--the break in the action having been most probably marked by a
chant from the Chorus, which has not, however, come down to us in the
manuscripts. The scene reopens with the return of Cario from the temple
on the morning following.
The resort to Æsculapius has been entirely successful. But Aristophanes
does not miss the opportunity of sharp satire upon the gross
materialities of the popular creed and the tricks of priestcraft. Cario
informs his mistress and the Chorus, who come to inquire the result,
that the god has performed the cure in person--going round the beds of
the patients, who lay there awaiting his visit, for all the world like a
modern hospital surgeon, making his diagnosis of each case, with an
assistant following him with pestle and mortar and portable
medicine-chest. Plutus had been cured almost instantaneously--quicker,
as the narrator impudently tells his mistress, than she could toss off
half-a-dozen glasses of wine. But one Neoclides, who had come there on
the same errand (though, blind as he was, observes Cario, not the
sharpest-sighted of them all could match him in stealing), fares very
differently at the hands of the god of medicine; for Æsculapius applies
to his eyes a lotion of garlic and vinegar, which makes him roar with
pain, and leaves him blinder than ever. Another secret of the temple,
too, the cunning varlet has seen, while he was pretending to be asleep
like the rest. He saw the priests go round quietly, after the lamps were
put out, and eat all the cakes and fruit brought by the patients as
offerings to the god. He took the liberty, he says--“thinking it must be
a very holy practice”--of following their example, and so got possession
of a pudding which an old lady, one of the patients, had placed
carefully by her bedside for her supper, and on which he had set his
heart when first he saw it. His mistress is shocked at such profanity.
Unhallowed varlet! didst not fear the god?
_Cario._ Marry did I, and sorely--lest his godship
Should get the start of me, and grab the dish.
But the old lady, when she heard me coming,
Put her hand out; and so I gave a hiss,
And bit her gently; ’twas the Holy Snake,
She thought, and pulled her hand in, and lay still.
But the mistress of the house is too delighted with the good news which
Carlo has brought to chide him very severely for his irreverence. She
orders her maids at once to prepare a banquet for the return of this
blessed guest, who presently reappears, attended by Chremylus and a
troop of friends. Plutus salutes his new home in a burlesque of the high
vein of tragedy:--
All hail! thou first, O bright and blessed sun,
And thou, fair plain, where awful Pallas dwells,
And this Cecropian land, henceforth mine home!
I blush to mind me of my past estate--
Of the vile herd with whom I long consorted;
While those who had been worthy of my friendship
I, poor blind wretch! unwittingly passed by.
But now the wrong I did will I undo,
And show henceforth to all mankind, that sore
Against my will I kept bad company.
[Enter Chremylus, surrounded and followed by a crowd of congratulating
friends, whom he thrusts aside right and left.]
_Chr._ To the devil with you all--d’ye hear, good people!
Why, what a plague friends are on these occasions!
One hatches them in swarms, when one gets money.
They nudge my sides, and pat me on the back,
And smother me with tokens of affection;
Men bow to me I never saw before;
And all the pompous dawdlers in the Square
Find me the very centre of attraction!
Even his wife is unusually affectionate; and the welcome guest is
ushered into the house with choral dance and song--highly burlesque, no
doubt; but both are lost to us, and such losses are not always to be
regretted.
The scene which follows introduces Cario in a state of great contentment
with the new order of things. It is possible that, as in ‘The Knights,’
there was an entire change of scenery as well as of dresses at this
point of the performance; that the ancient country grange has been
transmuted into a grand modern mansion, with all the appliances of
wealth and luxury. At all events, Cario (who from a rustic slave has now
become quite a “gentleman’s gentleman”) informs the Chorus, who listen
to him open-mouthed, that such has been the result of entertaining
Plutus.
_Cario_ (_stroking himself_). Oh what a blessed thing,
good friends, is riches!
And with no toil or trouble of our own!
Lo, there is store of all good things within,
Yea, heaped upon us--yet we’ve cheated no one!
Our meal-chest’s brimming with the finest boltings,
The cellar’s stocked with wine--of such a bouquet!
And every pot and pan in the house is heaped
With gold and silver--it’s a sight to see!
The well runs oil--the very mustard-pot
Has nothing but myrrh in it, and you can’t get up
Into the garret, it’s so full of figs.
The crockery’s bronze, the wooden bowls are silver,
And the oven’s made of ivory. In the kitchen,
We play at pitch-and-toss with golden pieces;
And scent ourselves (so delicate are we grown) with--garlic.[55]
As to my master, he’s within there, sacrificing
A hog and a goat and a ram, full drest, good soul!
But the smoke drove me out--(_affectedly_)--I can_not_ stand it.
I’m rather sensitive, and smoke hurts my eyelids.
The happy results of the new administration are further shown in the
cases of some other characters who now come upon the scene. An Honest
Man, who has spent his fortune on his friends and met with nothing but
ingratitude in return, now finds his wealth suddenly restored to him,
and comes to dedicate to the god who has been his benefactor the
threadbare cloak and worn-out shoes which he had been lately reduced to
wear. A public Informer--that hateful character whom the comic dramatist
was never tired of holding up to the execration of his audience--has now
found his business fail him, and threatens that, if there be any law or
justice left in Athens, this god who leaves the poor knaves to starve
shall be made blind again. Cario--quite in the spirit of the clown in a
modern pantomime--strips him of his fine clothes, puts the honest man’s
ragged cloak on him instead, hangs the old shoes round his neck, and
kicks him off the stage, howling out that he will surely “lay an
information.” An old lady who has lost her young lover, as soon as under
the new dispensation she lost the charms of her money, in vain appeals
to Chremylus, as having influence with this reformed government, to
obtain her some measure of justice. Not only the world of men, but the
world of gods, is out of joint. In the last scene, Mercury knocks at the
door of Chremylus. He has brought a terrible message from Jupiter. He
orders Cario to bring out the whole family--“master, mistress, children,
slaves--and the dog--and himself--and the pig,” and the rest of the
brutes, that they may all be thrown together into the Barathrum--the
punishment inflicted on malefactors of the deepest dye. Cario answers
the Olympian messenger with a courtesy as scant as his own; under the
new _régime_, he and his master are become very independent of Jupiter.
“You’d be none the worse for a slice off your tongue, young fellow,”
says the mortal servant to him of Olympus; “why, what’s the matter?”
“Matter enough,” answers Mercury:--
Why, ye have wrought the very vilest deed;
Since Plutus yonder got his sight again,
No man doth offer frankincense or bays,
Or honey-cake or victim or aught else,
To us poor gods.
_Car._ Nay, nor will offer, now;
Ye took poor care of us when we _were_ pious.
_Mer._ As for the other gods, I care not much;
But ’tis myself I pity.
_Car._ You’re right there.
_Mer._ Why, in the good old times, from every shop
I got good things,--rich wine-cakes, honey, figs,
Fit for a god like Mercury to eat;
But now I lie and sleep to cheat my hunger.
_Car._ It serves you right; you never did much good.
_Mer._ Oh for those noble cheesecakes, rich and brown!
_Car._ ’Tis no use calling--cheesecakes an’t in season.
_Mer._ O those brave gammons that I once enjoyed!
_Car._ Don’t gammon me--be off with you to--heaven!
Mercury begs him at last, for old acquaintance’ sake, and in remembrance
of the many little scrapes which his pilfering propensities would have
brought him into with his master, but that he, the god of craft, helped
him out of them,--to have a little fellow-feeling for a servant out of
place and thrown upon his own finding. Is there no place for him in
Chremylus’s household? What? says Cario; would he leave Olympus and take
service with mortals? Certainly he would--the living and the perquisites
are so much better. Would he turn deserter? asks the other (deserter
being a word of abomination to Greek ears). The god replies in words
which seem to be a quotation or a parody from some of the tragic poets--
That soil is fatherland which feeds us best.
The dialogue which follows is an amusing play upon the various offices
assigned to Mercury, who was a veritable Jack-of-all-trades in the
popular theology. The humour is very much lost in any English version,
however free:--
_Car._ What place would suit you, now, suppose we hired you?
_Mer._ I’ll turn my hand to anything you please;
You know I’m called the “Turner.”
_Car._ Yes, but now
Luck’s on our side, we want no turns at present.
_Mer._ I’ll make your bargains for you.
_Car._ Thankye, no--
Now we’ve grown rich, we don’t much care for bargains.
_Mer._ But I can cheat--
_Car._ On no account--for shame!
We well-to-do folks all go in for honesty.
_Mer._ Let me be Guide, then.
_Car._ Nay, our godship here
Has got his sight again, and needs no guiding.
_Mer._ Well, Master of the revels? don’t say no--
Wealth must have pleasures,--music, and all that.
_Car._ (_ironically turning to the audience_). Why,
what a lucky thing it is to be Jack-of-all-trades!
Here’s a young man, now, who’s sure to make a living!
(_To Mercury._) Well--go and wash these tripes,--be quick--let’s see
What sort of training servants get in heaven.
If the gods are suffering from this social revolution in the world
below, still more lamentable are its effects upon the staff of officials
maintained in their temples. The priest of Jupiter the Protector--one of
the most important ecclesiastical functionaries in Athens--enters in
great distress.
_Priest._ Be good enough to tell me, where is Chremylus?
_Chr._ (_coming out_). What is it, my good sir?
_Priest._ What is it?--ruin!
Why, since this Plutus has begun to see,
I’m dying of starvation. Positively,
I haven’t a crust to eat! I, my dear sir,
The Priest of the Protector! think of that!
_Chr._ Dear me! and what’s the reason, may I ask?
_Priest._ Why, because everybody now is rich:
Before, if times _were_ bad, there still would come
Some merchant-captain home from time to time,
And bring us thank-offerings for escape from wreck;
Some lucky rogue, perhaps, who had got a verdict;
Or some good man held a family sacrifice,
And asked the priest, of course. But now no soul
Pays either vows or sacrifice, or comes
To the temple--save to shoot their rubbish there.
_Car._ (_half aside_). You take your tithe of that, I warrant me.
Chremylus, whose good fortune in entertaining such a desirable guest has
put him into good-humour with all the world, comforts the despairing
official. The true Father Protector--the deity whom all men
acknowledge--is here, he tells him, in the house. They mean to set him
up permanently at Athens, in his proper place--the Public Treasury. And
he shall be the minister of the new worship, if he likes to quit the
service of Jupiter. The priest gladly consents, and an extempore
procession is at once formed upon the stage, into which the old lady who
has lost her lover is pressed, and persuaded to carry a slop-pail upon
her head, to represent the maidens who, on such occasions, bore the
lustral waters for the inauguration. Cario and the Chorus bring up the
rear in an antic dance, and they proceed to establish at Athens, with
all due formalities, the worship of Wealth alone.
This play, as we now have it (for it had been brought out in a different
form twenty years before), shows evident signs of a transition in the
character of Athenian comedy. It is less extravagant, and more domestic,
and so far approaches more nearly to what is called the “New” Comedy, of
which we know little except from a few fragmentary remains and from its
Roman adapters, but of which our modern drama is the result. Possibly,
now that the great war was over, and the spirit as well as the power of
Athens was somewhat broken, Aristophanes no longer felt that deep
personal interest in politics which has left such a mark on all his
earlier pieces. Another reason for the change, independent of the public
taste, seems to have been the growing parsimony in the expenditure of
public money on such performances. Critics have detected, in the
character of the Chorus of ‘The Ecclesiazusæ,’ exhibited five years
previously, in which the masks and dresses for a body of old women could
have involved but little expense in comparison with the elaborate
mounting of such plays as ‘The Birds’ and ‘Wasps,’ an accommodation to
this new spirit of economy; and the same remark has been made as to the
poverty of the musical portion of the play. The same may be said of the
Chorus of rustics in this latter drama. ‘Plutus’ was the last comedy put
upon the stage by Aristophanes himself, though two pieces which he had
composed, of which we know little more than the titles, were exhibited
in his name, after his death, by his son. They appear to have approached
still more nearly, in their plot and general character, to our modern
notions of a comedy than even ‘Plutus.’ Whether the author made any
important alterations in this second edition of the play is not known;
but in its present state, the piece seems to want something of his old
dash and vigour. He was getting an old man; and probably some young
aspirants to dramatic fame remarked upon his failing powers in somewhat
the same terms as those in which, thirty-seven years before, he had
spoken of his elder rival Cratinus--
“The keys work loose, the strings are slack, the melodies a jar.”[56]
If so, Aristophanes never challenged and won the dramatic crown again,
as Cratinus had done, to confound his younger critics. The curtain was
soon about to fall for him altogether. He died a year or two afterwards.
END OF ARISTOPHANES.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Introd. to ‘Cicero’ (A. C.)
[2] “Here, in his native tongue and among his own countrymen, Punch is
a person of real power: he dresses up and retails all the drolleries
of the day; he is the channel and sometimes the source of the passing
opinions; he could gain a mob, or keep the whole kingdom in good
humour.”--Forsyth’s Italy, ii. 35.
[3] See ‘Æschylus’ (A. C.), chap. i.
[4] The appeal which Harpagon makes to the audience to help him to
discover the thief who has stolen his money (‘L’Avare,’ act iv. sc. 7)
is an exact parallel with that of the two slaves in ‘The Knights’ (see
p. 18), and again in ‘The Wasps,’ when they come forward and consult
them confidentially in their difficulties.
[5] The Knights, I. 233.
[6] The Clouds.
[7] The Frogs, l. 1073.
[8] Alluding to the passion of the Athenian citizens for the
law-courts, in which the verdict was given by depositing in the
ballot-boxes a black or white bean or pebble.
[9] This affair at Pylos is so repeatedly alluded to in this comedy,
that at the risk of telling what to many readers is a well-known story,
some explanation must be given here. About six months before this
performance took place, a detachment of four hundred Spartans, who had
been landed on the little island of Sphacteria, which closes in the
Bay of Pylos (the modern Navarino), had been cut off by an Athenian
squadron under Eurymedon and Demosthenes, and were closely blockaded
there, in the hope of starving them into surrender. The Spartans
offered terms of peace, for the men were all citizens of Sparta itself,
and their loss would have been a calamity to the state. The proposal
was refused by the triumphant Athenians; but afterwards the blockade
was not maintained effectively, and the capitulation became doubtful.
At this juncture, Cleon came forward in the Assembly, and boasted
loudly that, if the command were given to him, he would bring the men
prisoners to Athens within twenty days. He was taken at his word;
and possibly to his own surprise, and certainly to the dismay of his
political opponents, he made his boast good. The constant sneers at
this exploit on the part of Cleon’s enemies seem to prove that it was
not the mere piece of good luck which they represented it.
[10] “A general feature of human nature, nowhere more observable than
among boys at school, where the poor timid soul is always despatched
upon the most perilous expeditions. Nicias is the fag--Demosthenes the
big boy.”--Frere.
The influence of oracles on the public mind at Athens during the
Peloponnesian War is notorious matter of history.
[11] The Senate was an elective Upper Chamber, in which all “bills”
were brought in and discussed, before they were put to the vote in the
General Assembly.
[12] This Chorus has been imitated, in the true Aristophanic vein, by
Mr Trevelyan, in his ‘Ladies in Parliament:’--
“We much revere our sires, who were a mighty race of men;
For every glass of port we drink, they nothing thought of ten.
They dwelt above the foulest drains: they breathed the closest air:
They had their yearly twinge of gout, and little seemed to care.
They set those meddling people down for Jacobins or fools,
Who talked of public libraries and grants to normal schools;
Since common folks who read and write, and like their betters speak,
Want something more than pipes and beer, and sermons once a-week.
And therefore both by land and sea their match they rarely met,
But made the name of Britain great, and ran her deep in debt.
They seldom stopped to count the foe, nor sum the moneys spent,
But clenched their teeth, and straight ahead with sword and musket went.
And, though they thought if trade were free that England
ne’er would thrive,
They freely gave their blood for Moore, and Wellington, and Clive.
And though they burned their coal at home, nor fetched
their ice from Wenham,
They played the man before Quebec, and stormed the lines at Blenheim.
When sailors lived on mouldy bread, and lumps of rusty pork,
No Frenchman dared his nose to show between the Downs and Cork;
But now that Jack gets beef and greens, and next his skin wears flannel,
The ‘Standard’ says, we’ve not a ship in plight to keep the Channel.”
[13] Karkinos (_Crab_) was an indifferent tragedian of the day, some of
whose lines are here parodied.
[14] See note, p. 19.
[15] The speech of a late member for Sheffield--much missed in the
House, and whom it would be most unfair to compare with Cleon--will
occur to many readers: “I’m Tear’em.”
[16] A parody on the touching farewell of Alcestis to her nuptial
chamber, in the tragedy of Euripides:--
“Farewell! and she who takes my place--may she
Be happier!--truer wife she cannot be.”
[17] Preface to The Knights.
[18] Half the joke is irreparably lost in English. The Greek word for
“_treaty_” or “_truce_” meant literally the “_libation_” of wine with
which the terms were ratified.
[19] Which each soldier was required to take with him on the march.
[20] Telephus, Philoctetes, Bellerophon, and probably other tragedy
heroes, were all represented by Euripides as lame. But no one could
possibly have made greater capital out of the physical sufferings of
Philoctetes from his lame foot than the author’s favourite Sophocles.
[21] Of course every Athenian would be amused by the parody of the
well-remembered scene in the Iliad:--
“The babe clung crying to his nurse’s breast,
Scared at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled,
And Hector hastened to relieve his child;
The glittering terrors from his brow unbound,
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground.”
[22] Their reputation has continued down to modern days. “I was able to
partake of some fine eels of an extraordinary size, which had been sent
to us by the Greek primates of the city. They were caught in the Lake
Copais, which, as in ancient times, still supplies the country round
with game and wild-fowl.”--Hughes’s Travels in Greece, i. 33. (Note to
Walsh’s Aristophanes.)
[23] The old commentators assign the story to Æsop. The eagle had eaten
the beetle’s young ones; the beetle, in revenge, rolled the eagle’s
eggs out of her nest: so often, that the latter made complaint to her
patron Jupiter, who gave her leave to lay her eggs in his bosom. The
beetle flew up to heaven, and buzzed about the god’s head, who jumped
up in a hurry to catch his tormentor, quite forgetting his duty as
nurse, and so the eggs fell out and were broken.
[24] Her name, like most of those used in these comedies, is
significant. It means, “Dissolver of the Army.”
[25] Hom. Iliad, vi. 490. Hector to Andromache:--
“No more--but hasten to thy tasks at home;
There guide the spindle and direct the loom.”
--POPE.
[26] Susarion. So also the Roman censor, Metellus Numidicus: “It is not
possible to live with them in any comfort--or to live without them at
all.”--Aul. Gellius, i. 6.
[27] Lucian, Dial. ‘Piscator.’
[28] For fear lest they should desert at once to the enemy.
[29] Names thus compounded with ‘_ippos_’ (‘horse’) were much affected
by the Athenian aristocracy. ‘_Pheidōn_,’ on the other hand, in the
proposed name Pheidōnides, means ‘economical.’
[30] A caricature of the doctrine of Heraclitus, that Heat was the
great principle of all things.
[31] Eubœa had revolted from its allegiance to Athens some years before
this war. Pericles had swept the island with an overwhelming force,
banished the chiefs of the oligarchical party, and distributed their
lands amongst colonists from Athens.
[32] The Greek commentators inform us very particularly by what
appliances thunder was imitated on the Athenian stage; either “by
rolling leather bags full of pebbles down sheets of brass,” or by
“pouring them into a huge brazen caldron.” (See note to Walsh’s
Aristoph., p. 302.) But Greek commentators are not to be depended upon
in such matters.
[33] A doctrine taught by the philosopher Anaxagoras, whose lectures
Socrates is said to have attended.
[34] A hit, no doubt, at theories of education which were in fashion
then, and which have been revived in modern days. Plato, in his
treatise on Legislation, advises that the child who is intended for an
architect should be encouraged to build toy-houses, the future farmer
to make little gardens, &c.--(De Leg., i. 643.)
[35] Some of the old commentators say that the disputants were brought
upon the stage in the guise of game-cocks; but there are no allusions
in the dialogue to justify such an interpretation of the scene.
[36] See Plato’s Republic, Book I. Of course it must be remembered
that we have here only the representation of Thrasymachus’s teaching
as given by an opponent. As Mr Grote fairly remarks: “How far the real
Thrasymachus may have argued in the slashing and offensive style here
described, we have no means of deciding.”--Grote’s Plato, i. 145.
[37] See p. 8.
[38] See p. 92.
[39] Dialog. Icaro-Menippus.
[40] The names in the Greek are significant. “Philocleon” means “friend
of Cleon” (who represents litigation, as he does most other things
which are bad, in the view of Aristophanes); “Bdelycleon,” the name of
the son, means “hater of Cleon.”
[41] The Athenians affected to wear a golden grasshopper in their hair,
as being “sprung from the soil.”
[42] K. Henry IV., Pt. ii., act iii. sc. 2.
[43] There is a political allusion here to the conduct of Laches,
(whose name is slightly modified), an Athenian admiral accused at the
time of taking bribes in Sicily.
[44] This scene has been borrowed by Racine (Les Plaideurs, act iii.
sc. 3.) The French dramatist has added, as to the behaviour of the
puppies in court, a touch of his own which is very Aristophanic indeed.
Ben Jonson has also adapted the idea in his play of ‘The Staple of
News’ (act v. sc. 2), where he makes the miser Pennyboy sit in judgment
on his two dogs. It is somewhat surprising that two such authors should
have considered an incident which, after all, is not so very humorous,
worth making prize of.
[45] If the reader would like to see how thoroughly this kind of
humour is in the spirit of modern burlesque, he cannot do better
than glance at Mr Planché’s “Birds of Aristophanes,” produced at
the Haymarket in 1846. This is his free version of the passage just
noticed--(‘Tomostyleron’ and ‘Jackanoxides’ are the two adventurers of
the Greek comedy):--
“_King of Birds._ And what bird will you be--a popinjay?
_Tom._ No, no; they pop at him. (_To Jack._) What kind would you be?
_King_ (_aside_). The bird you’re most akin to is a booby.
_Jack._ For fear of accidents, some fowl I’d be,
That folks don’t shoot or eat.
_Tom._ Humph! let me see--
There may be one I never heard the name of.
_King_ (_aside_). You can’t be anything they won’t make _game_ of.”
[46] The play on the names is, of course, not the same in the Greek as
in the English. Mr Frere has perhaps managed it as well as it could be
done.
[47] A sort of Night-hag belonging to Hecate, which assumed various
shapes to terrify belated travellers at cross-roads.
[48] The priests of Bacchus had probably (and very naturally) a
reputation as _bons vivants_. At all events, they gave a sumptuous
official entertainment at these dramatic festivals.
[49] We find something of this professional _badinage_ to the audience
in Shakspeare’s “Hamlet” (act v. sc. i.):--
_Ham._ Marry, why was he sent into England?
_1st Grave-d._ Why, because he was mad: he shall recover
his wits there; or if he do not, ’tis no great
matter there.
_Ham._ Why?
_1st Gr._ ’Twill not be seen in him there--there
the men are as mad as he.
[50] See, however, on this question, ‘Euripides’ (Anc. Cl.), p. 37, &c.
[51] Perhaps his most bitter words are those addressed to Phædra by
Bellerophon, in the lost tragedy of that name,--
“O thou most vile! thou--_woman_!--For what word
That lips could frame could carry more reproach?”
But we must not forget Shakspeare’s--“Frailty, thy name is woman!” or
judge the poet too harshly by a passionate expression put into the
mouth of one of his characters.
[52] The “situation” seems to have been a favourite one. It may be
remembered in Kotzebue’s play, which Sheridan turned into ‘Pizarro,’ in
the scene where Rolla carries off Cora’s child.
[53] Tennyson’s ‘Princess.’
[54] “I’ll not be convinced, even if you convince me,” are his words.
[55] This is a good instance of those jokes “contrary to expectation”
(as the Greek term has it) which are very common in these comedies, but
which can very seldom be reproduced, for more reasons than one, in an
English version. Of course the audience were led to expect something
more fragrant than “garlic.” We are accustomed to something of the
same kind in the puns which frequently conclude a line in our modern
burlesques. In neither case, perhaps, is the wit of the highest order.
Mr Walsh, in the preface to his ‘Aristophanes’ (p. viii), illustrates
not inaptly this style of jest by a comparison with Goldsmith’s “Elegy
on the Glory of her sex, Mrs Mary Blaize.”
[56] The Knights, l. 532.