"I praise thee, Menelaus, if thou wilt indeed slay thy wife, but
fly her sight, lest she snare thee with desire. She catcheth men's
eyes, sacketh cities, burneth homes, so potent are her charms. I
know her as thou dost and all who have suffered from her."
Hecuba and Helen then argue about the responsibility for the war. The
latter in shameless impudence pleads that she has saved Greece from
invasion and that Love who came with Paris to Sparta was the cause of
her fault. Hecuba ridicules the idea that Hera and Artemis could desire
any prize of beauty. It was lust of Trojan gold that tempted Helen;
never once was she known to bewail her sin in Troy, rather she always
tried to attract men's eyes. Such a woman's death would be a crown
of glory to Greece. Menelaus says her fate will be decided in Argos.
Talthybius brings in the body of Astyanax, over which Hecuba bursts into
a lament of exceptional beauty and then passes out to slavery.
In this drama Euripides draws upon all his resources of pathos. It is
a succession of brilliantly conceived sorrows. Cassandra's exulting
prophecy of the revenge she is to bring is one of the great things in
Euripides. In this play we have a most vivid picture of the destructive
effects of evil, an inevitable consequence of which it is that the
woman, however innocent she may be, always pays. Hecuba drank the cup of
bereavement to the very last drop.
The _Electra_, acted about 418, is characteristic. Electra has been
compelled to marry a Mycenean labourer, a man of noble instincts who
respects the princess and treats her as such. Both enter the scene; the
man goes to labour for Electra, "for no lazy man by merely having
God's name on his lips can make a livelihood without toil". Orestes and
Pylades at first imagine Electra to be a servant; learning the truth
they come forward and question her. She tells the story of her mother's
shame and Aegisthus' insolence which Orestes promises to recount to her
brother, "for in ignorant men there is no spark of pity anywhere, only
in the learned." The labourer returns and by his speech moves Orestes to
declare that birth is no test of nobility. Electra sends him to fetch
an old Tutor of her father to make ready for her two guests; he departs
remarking that there is just enough food in the house for one day.
The old Tutor arrives in tears; he has found a lock of hair on
Agamemnon's tomb. Gazing intently on the two strangers, he recognises
Orestes by a scar on the eyebrow. They then proceed to plot the death of
their enemies. Orestes goes to meet Aegisthus is close by sacrificing,
and presently returns with the corpse, at which Electra hurls back the
taunts and jeers he had heaped on her in his lifetime. She had sent to
her mother saying she had given birth to a boy and asking her to come
immediately.
Orestes quails before the coming murder, but Electra bids him be loyal
to his father. Clytemnestra on her arrival querulously defends her past,
alleging as her pretext not the death of Iphigeneia but the presence of
a rival, Cassandra. Electra after refuting her invites her inside the
wretched hut to offer sacrifice for her newly born child, where she
is slain by Orestes. At the end of the play the Dioscuri, Castor and
Pollux, bid Pylades marry Electra, tell Orestes he will be purified in
Athens and prophesy that Menelaus and Helen, just arrived from Egypt,
will bury Agisthus real Helen never went to Troy, a wraith of her being
sent there with Paris.
The startling realism of this drama is apparent. The poverty of Electra,
the more certain identification of Orestes by a scar than by a lock
of hair, the mention of Cassandra as the real motive for the murder of
Agamemnon all indicate that Euripides was not content with the accepted
legend. His Clytemnestra is a feeble creation even by the side of that
of Sophocles.
Stesichorus in a famous poem tells how Helen blinded him for maligning
her; she never went to Troy; it was a wraith which accompanied Paris.
Such is the central idea of a very strange play, the _Helen_. The scene
is in Egypt. Teucer, banished by his father, meets the real Helen;
to her amazement he tells of her evil reputation and of the great war
before Troy, adding that Menelaus is sailing home with another Helen.
The latter enters, to learn that he is in Egypt, where the real Helen
has lived for the last seventeen years. Warned by a prophetess Theonoe
that her husband is not far off, Helen comes to be reunited to him.
A messenger from the coast announces that the wraith has faded into
nothingness.
Helen then warns Menelaus of her difficult position. She is wooed by
Theoclymenus, king of the land, brother of Theonoe. Menelaus in despair
thinks of killing himself and Helen to escape the tyrant. Theonoe holds
their fate in her hands; Helen pleads with her; "It is shameful that
thou shouldest know things divine, and not righteousness." Menelaus
declares his intention of living and dying with his wife. The prophetess
leaves them to discover some means of escape which Helen devises.
Pretending that Menelaus is a messenger bringing news of her husband's
death at sea, she persuades the tyrant to provide a ship and rowers that
Helen may perform the last rites to the dead on the element where he
died. At the right moment the Greek sailors overpowered the rowers and
sailed home with the united pair.
Very commonly real drama suffers the fate which has overtaken it in this
piece; it declines into melodrama. Here are to be found all the stock
melodramatic features--a bold hero, a scheming beauty, a confidante, a
dupe, the murder of a ship's crew. Massinger piloted Elizabethan drama
to a similar end. Given an uncritical audience melodrama is the surest
means of filling the house. Reality matters little in such work; the
facts of life are like Helen's wraith, when they become unmanageable
they vanish into thin air.
About 412 the _Iphigeneia in Tauris_ appeared. South Russia was the seat
of a cult of Artemis; the goddess spirited Iphigeneia to the place when
her father sacrificed her at Aulis. Orestes, bidden by Apollo to steal
an image of the goddess to get his final purification, comes on the
stage with Pylades; on seeing the temple they are convinced of the
impossibility of burgling it. A shepherd describes to Iphigeneia their
capture, for strangers were taken and offered to the goddess without
exception. One of the two was seized with a vision of the avenging
deities; attacked by a band of peasants both were overpowered after
a stubborn resistance. Formerly Iphigeneia had pitied the Greeks who
landed there; now, warned of Orestes' death by a dream, she determines
to kill without mercy. One of them shall die, the other taking back to
Greece a letter. Orestes insists on dying himself, reminding Pylades of
his duty to Electra. When the letter is brought Pylades swears to fulfil
his word, but asks what is to happen if the ship is wrecked. Iphigeneia
reads the letter to him; it is addressed to Orestes and tells of his
sister's weary exile. After the recognition is completed, Orestes
relates the horrors of his life and begs his sister to help him to steal
the all-important image.
Thoas, the King of the land, learns from her that the two Greeks are
guilty of kindred murder; their presence has defiled the holy image
which needs purification in the sea as well as the criminals. The
priestess obtains permission to bind the captives and take the image to
be cleansed with private mystic rites. The plot succeeds; Orestes' ship
puts in; after a struggle the three board it, carrying the image with
them. Thoas is prevented from pursuit by an intervention of Athena.
Goethe used this play for his drama of the same name; he made Thoas the
lover of Iphigeneia, whom he represents as the real image whom Orestes
is to remove. Her departure is not compassed by a stratagem, but is
permitted by the King, a man of singular nobility and self-denial.
The _Phaenissae_ has been much admired in all ages. Jocasta tells how
after the discovery of his identity Oedipus blinded himself but was
shut up by his two sons whom he cursed for their impiety. Eteocles
then usurped the rule while Polyneices called an Argive host to attack
Thebes. A Choral description of this army is succeeded by an unexpected
entry into the city of Polyneices who meets his mother and tells her of
his life in exile. She sends for Eteocles in the hope of reconciling her
two sons. Polyneices promises to disband his forces if he is restored to
his rights, but Eteocles, enamoured of power, refuses to surrender
it. Jocasta vainly points out to him the burden of rule, nor can she
persuade Polyneices not to attack his own land.
When the champions have taken up their position at the gates, Teiresias
tells Creon that Thebes can be saved by the sacrifice of his own
son Menoeceus. Creon refuses to comply and urges his son to escape.
Pretending to obey Menoeceus threw himself from the city walls. The
struggle at the gates is followed by a challenge to Polyneices issued
by Eteocles to settle the dispute in single combat. Jocasta and Antigone
rush out to intervene, too late. They find the two lying side by side at
death's door. Eteocles is past speech, but Polyneices bids farewell to
his mother and sister, pitying his brother "who turned friendship into
enmity, yet still was dear". In agony, Jocasta slays herself over her
sons' bodies.
Led in by Antigone, Oedipus is banished by Creon, who forbids the burial
of Polyneices. After touching the dead Jocasta and his two sons, he
passes to exile and rest at Colonus.
The harsh story favoured by Sophocles has been greatly humanised by
Euripides, who could not accept all the savagery of the received legend.
Apart from the unexplained presence of Polyneices in the city, the plot
is excellent. The speeches are vigorous and natural, the characters
thoroughly human. The criticising and refining influence of Euripides is
manifest throughout, together with a simple and noble pathos.
An ancient critic says of the _Orestes_, written in 408, "the drama is
popular but of the lowest morality; except Pylades, all are villains".
Electra meets Helen, unexpectedly returned from Egypt to Argos with
Menelaus, who sends her daughter Hermione with offerings to the tomb of
Agamemnon. Electra's opinion of her is vividly expressed.
"See how she has tricked out her hair, preserving her beauty; she
is old Helen still. Heaven abhor thee, the bane of me and my
brother and Greece."
The Chorus accidentally awakens Orestes who is visited by a wild vision
of haunting Furies. When he regains sanity he begs the assistance of
Menelaus, his last refuge. His uncle, a broken reed, is saved from
committing himself by the entry of Tyndareus, father of Clytemnestra
and Helen. He righteously rebukes the bloodthirsty Orestes, though he
is aware of the evil in his two daughters. Orestes breaks out into an
insulting speech which alienates completely his grandfather. Menelaus,
when appealed to again, hurries out to try to win him back.
Pylades suggests that he and Orestes should plead their case before the
Argive Assembly, which was to try them for murder of Clytemnestra. A
very brilliant and exciting account of the debate tells how the case
was lost by Orestes himself, who presumed to lecture the audience on the
majesty of the law he himself had broken. He and Electra are condemned
to be stoned that very day. Determined to ruin Menelaus before they die,
they agree to kill Helen, the cause of all their troubles, and to fire
the fortified house in which they live. Electra adds that they should
also seize Hermione and hold her as a check on Menelaus' fury for the
death of Helen. The girl is easily trapped as she rushes into the house
hearing her mother's cries for help. Soon after a Trojan menial drops
from the first story. He tells how Helen and Hermione have so far
escaped death, but the rest is unknown to him. In a ghastly scene
Orestes hunts the wretch over the stage, but finally lets him go as he
is not a fit victim for a free man's sword. Almost immediately the house
is seen to be ablaze; Menelaus rushes up in a frenzy, but is checked by
the sight of Orestes with Hermione in his arms. When Menelaus calls for
help, Orestes bids Pylades and Electra light more fires to consume them
all. A timely appearance of Apollo with Helen deified by his side saves
the situation.
It is plain that Euripides has here completely rejected the old legend.
He never makes Orestes even think of pleading Apollo's command to him to
slay his mother. He is concerned with the defence which a contemporary
matricide might make before a modern Athenian assembly and with the
fitting doom of self-destruction which would overtake him. Like _Vanity
Fair_, the play shows us the life of people who try to do without God.
The _Bacchae_ is one of Euripides' best plays. In the absence of
Pentheus the King, Cadmus and Teiresias join in the worship of the
new god Dionysus at Thebes. Pentheus returns to find that noble women,
including Agave, his own mother, have joined the strange cult brought to
the place by a mysterious Lydian stranger "whose hair is neatly arranged
in curls, his face like wine, his eyes as full of grace as Aphrodite's".
Teiresias advises him to welcome the god, Cadmus to pretend that he is
divine, even if he is only a mortal; this new religion is the natural
outlet of the desire for innocent revelry born in both sexes. The Lydian
is arrested and brought before Pentheus, whom he warns that the god will
save him from insult, but Pentheus hurries him away into a dungeon.
The Chorus of Bacchae are alarmed on hearing a tumult. The stranger
appears to tell how Pentheus was made mad by Dionysus in the act of
imprisoning him. The King in amazement sees his prisoner standing free
before him and becomes furiously angry on hearing that his mother has
joined a new revel on Mount Cithaeron. The stranger suggests that he
should go disguised as a Bacchante to see the new worship. When he
appears transformed, the Lydian comments with exquisite and deadly irony
on his appearance. His fate is vividly and terribly painted. Placing
him in a pine, the stranger suddenly disappeared, while the voice of
Dionysus summoned the rout to punish the spy. Rushing to the tree, the
woman tore it up by the roots and then rent Pentheus piecemeal, Agave
herself leading them on.
She comes in holding what she imagines to be a trophy. Cadmus slowly
reveals to her the horror of her deed, the proof of which is her son's
head in her grasp. Dionysus himself comes in to point out that this
tragedy is the result of the indignity which Thebes put upon him and
his mother Semele. Broken with grief, Agave passes out slowly to her
banishment. The Bacchae was composed in Macedonia; it contains all the
mystery of the supernatural. Dionysus' character is admirably drawn,
while the infatuation of Pentheus is a fitting prelude to his ruin.
The cult of Dionysus was essentially democratic, intended for those who
could claim no share in aristocratic ritual: hence its popularity and
prevalence. We may regard the Bacchae as the poet's declaration of faith
in the worship which gave Europe the Drama; it is altogether fitting
that he who has left us the greatest number of tragedies should have
been chosen by destiny to bequeath us the one drama which tells of one
of the adventures of its patron deity.
The _Iphigeneia in Aulis_ was written in the last year of the poet's
life. Agamemnon sends a private letter to his wife countermanding
an official dispatch summoning her and Iphigeneia. This letter is
intercepted by Menelaus, who upbraids his brother; later, seeing his
distress, he advises him to send the women home again. But public
opinion forces the leader to obey Artemis and sacrifice his daughter.
When he meets his wife and child, he tries to temporise but fails.
Achilles meets Clytemnestra and is surprised to hear that he is to marry
Iphigeneia, such being the bait which brought Clytemnestra to Aulis.
Learning the real truth, she faces her husband, pleading for their
daughter's life. Iphigeneia at first shrinks from death; the army
demands her sacrifice, while Achilles is ready to defend her. The knot
is untied by Iphigeneia herself, who willingly at last consents to die
to save her country.
This excellent play shows no falling in dramatic power; it was imitated
by Racine and Schiller. The figures are intensely human, the conflict of
duties firmly outlined, the pathos sincere and true, there is no divine
appearance to straighten out a tangled plot. Thus Euripides' career ends
as it began, with a story of a woman's noble self-sacrifice.
The poet's popularity is indicated by the number of his extant dramas
and fragments, both of which exceed in bulk the combined work
of Aeschylus and Sophocles. All classes of writers quoted him,
philosophers, orators, bishops. In his own lifetime Socrates made a
point of witnessing his plays; the very violence of Aristophanes' attack
proves Euripides' potent influence; his lost drama _Melanippe_ turned
the heads of the Athenians, the whole town singing its odes. Survivors
of the Sicilian disaster won their freedom by singing his songs to their
captors, returning to thank their liberator in person; the fragments
of Menander discovered in 1906 contain many reminiscences of him, even
slaves quoting passages of him to their masters. For it was the very
width of his appeal that made him universally loved; women and slaves in
his view were every whit as good as free-born men, sometimes they were
far nobler. If drama is the voice of a democracy, the Athenians had
found a more democratic mouthpiece than they had bargained for.
With the educated men it was different. They suspected a poet who was
upsetting their tradition. Besides, they were asked to crown a person
who told them in play after play that they were really like Jason,
Menelaus, Polymestor, poor creatures if not quite odious. He made them
see with painful clearness that the better sex was the one which they
despised, yet which was sure one day to find the utterance to which it
had a right in virtue of its greater nobility. The feminism of Euripides
is evident through his whole career; it is an insult to our powers
of reading to imagine that he was a woman-hater. It is then not to be
wondered at that he won the prize only five times, and it can hardly
be an accident that he gained it once with the Hippolytus, which on a
surface view condemns the female sex.
For the officials could not see that Euripides was not a man only, he
was a spirit of development. Privilege and narrowness in every form he
hated; he demanded unlimited freedom for the intelligence. The narrow
circle of legends, the conventional unified drama, state religion, a
pseudo-democracy based on slavery he fearlessly criticised. Rationalism,
humanism, free speculation were his watchwords; he was always trying new
experiments in his art, introducing politics, philosophy, melodrama and
trying to get rid of the chorus wherever he could. He was a living and a
contemporary Proteus, pleading like an advocate in a lawsuit, discussing
political theory, restating unsolved problems in modern form and
seasoning his work with his own peculiar and often elevating pathos.
Such a man was anathema to conservative Athens.
But to us he is one of ourselves. He exactly hits off our modern
taste, with its somewhat sentimental tendency, its scepticism, love of
excitement, and its great complexity. We know we have many moods and
passions which strangely blend and thwart each other; these we treat in
our novels, and Euripides' plays are a sort of novel, but for the
divine appearances in the last scenes. He shows us the inevitable end
of actions of beings exactly like ourselves, acting from merely human
motives, neither higher nor lower than we, though perhaps disguised
under heroic names. He is in a word the first modern poet.