Chapter V: Part 5

This insistance on marriage is, of course, most strikingly exemplified in the typical New Comedy plot, which is sufficiently familiar to every student of the Latin comedians. Thus, in five of these Latin plays, the _Heauton Timorumenos_ (of Menander), the _Phormio_ (of Apollodorus), the _Rudens_ (of Diphilus), the _Curculio_, and the _Poenulus_,[269] the story is of exactly the kind that subsequently appears in the Greek novel—a young man falls in love with a virgin, and, after various misfortunes which threaten to separate the pair, they are eventually married, and live happily ever afterwards.

On this class of plot it is unnecessary to dwell, except that it may be worth while just to draw attention to the extremely passionate nature of the love which makes these young men so anxious to marry. The modern reader would instinctively expect that the confinement of love to these legitimate and, as one would now consider them, commonplace channels, would inevitably lead to a lessening of its charm, and a diminution of its force. As a matter of fact, the result was the very reverse. Not only has the character of man’s love for woman changed, but this love has developed an intensity of poetry and passion which has never belonged to it before.[270] Instances are easy to find; the most striking one is perhaps shown us at the meeting of Phaedromus and Planesium, in the _Curculio_ (i. 3):

PL. tene me, amplectere ergo! PH. hoc etiam est quamobrem cupiam
vivere.
quia te prohibet herus, clam hero potior. PL. prohibet, nec prohibere
quit,
nec prohibebit, nisi mors meum animum abs te abalienaverit.
PH. sibi sua habeant regna reges, sibi divitias divites,
sibi honores sibi virtutes sibi pugnas sibi proelia!
dum mi abstineant invidere, sibi quisque habeant quod suum est![271]

But there are others, almost equally forcible, in the _Rudens_ (iv. 8)—where particular enthusiasm is expressed at the prospect of marriage, as opposed to the relation which had previously been the lover’s highest possible ideal,—the _Poenulus_ (v. 4, 49)[272], and elsewhere.

But another and equally important type of story is that in which the man first seduces the woman, and then subsequently marries her. Plays of this description are the _Andria_, the _Eunuchus_, the _Adelphi_ (all by Menander), the _Aulularia_, and the _Cistellaria_.[273]

Of these, the _Cistellaria_ is different from the rest. Here, the girl Silenium, who, though supposed to be the daughter of a _lena_, has been brought up as a virgin (i. 3, 24), is induced by a promise of marriage to live with the man Alcesimarchus, a promise which is afterwards fulfilled only after a considerable delay. (i. 1, 90-100.) In the other four cases, however—and this is very important—the promise of marriage is subsequent to the seduction, and takes the form, not of an inducement to, but of a reparation for the latter. The lover regards the seduction as a crime, for which he is willing to make amends to the utmost of his power, while at the same time he is anxious to perpetuate and legalise his amour. He therefore adopts what we are accustomed in modern times to call an “honourable course,” and offers marriage to the woman whom he has loved and still loves. The importance of this feature is twofold—firstly, the close association thus brought about between marriage and love of the most “romantic” and unconventional description; and secondly, the perpetuation and legalisation of a form of love which is obviously by nature temporary and illegitimate. And thus the love-stories of the New Comedy may be said to begin where those of the Middle Comedy end; while the heroes of the latter are concerned with achieving the temporary satisfaction of their sensual desires, the heroes of the former are occupied in striving to make permanent atonement for the indiscretions which such desires have led them to commit.

To quote instances of what has been said: in the _Andria_ the promise of marriage is distinctly an act of reparation, which the lover feels himself in duty bound to make. This is evident from the argument of Sulpicius Apollinaris,[274] and from various passages in the play.[275] The same is the case in the _Adelphi_.[276] Here Aeschinus, as soon as he considers what he has done, comes to the mother of Pamphila, and begs with tears to be allowed to marry her by way of reparation.[277] In the _Aulularia_, the petition of Lyconides to the miser Euclio is animated by a very similar spirit.[278] In the _Eunuchus_ (which is, it must be remembered, the love-story of a boy of sixteen)[279], there is no opportunity for any such behaviour on the part of Chaerea, though his sincere regret (ii. 3, 33 _seqq._), and his enthusiasm when the possibility of marriage becomes apparent (v. 8, 1 _seqq._), show clearly enough that he is not intended to be an exception to the general rule.

It must not, however, be supposed that the feeling, which prompts the various characters of whom we have spoken to make reparation for their wrongdoing, is merely a feeling of repentance, or a regard for public opinion. It is love, and love of a most passionate kind, that makes them so anxious to marry the women they have wronged. Of the enthusiasm of the hero of the _Eunuchus_ at the prospect of marriage we have already spoken; in the _Adelphi_, Aeschinus is equally elated under similar circumstances;[280] in the _Aulularia_, the anxiety and persistency of Lyconides are evidently inspired by the same feeling;[281] in the _Andria_, Pamphilus protests that nothing short of death will divide him from Glycerium.[282] That love which the Middle Comedy could not conceive of as outliving its sensual gratification, appears in the New Comedy, not weakened, but strengthened by time, and obstacles only serve to make the lover more determined to perpetuate and to legalise those emotions which had, to a previous generation, owed their chief charm to their freedom from the restraints of constancy and propriety.

In the _Hecyra_ again, it is by marriage that, through a strange coincidence, the hero is eventually able to repair the wrong done to the heroine. In the _Stichus_, too, the plot turns on the constancy of two wives to their absent husbands,[283] while, in the _Trinummus_, there seems strong reason to believe, that it is not all love for Lesbonicus which makes Lysiteles so anxious to marry the former’s sister.[284]

To this evidence from the plays themselves may be added some further evidence of a more general kind. Marriage is mentioned by the anonymous author of the epigram in the _C. I. G._ 6083, as the most characteristic feature of Menander’s plays—

φαιδρὸν ἑταῖρον Ἔρωτος ὁρᾷς, σειρῆνα θεάτρων,
τόνδε Μένανδρον, ἀεὶ κρᾶτα πνκαζόμενον,
οὕνεκ’ ἄρ’ ἀνθρώπους ἱλαρὸν βίον ἐξεδίδαξεν,
ἡδύνας σκηνὴν δράμασι πᾶσι γάμῳ.

Still more emphatic is the testimony of Plutarch, who asserts (_Sympos._ vii. 712 C) that Menander is peculiarly suited for married men to hear and read—

ἔχει δὲ καὶ τὰ ἐρωτικὰ παρ’ αὐτῷ καιρὸν πεπωκόσιν ἀνθρώποις καὶ
ἀναπαυσαμένοις μετὰ μικρὸν ἀπιοῦσι παρὰ τὰς ἑαυτῶν γυναῖκας ...
αἵ τε φθοραὶ τῶν παρθένων εἰς γάμον ἐπιεικῶς καταστρέφουσι.
κ.τ.λ.

Indeed, the essentially “proper” character of the Menandrean drama is emphasised by more than one ancient writer. That Comedy could be anything but indecent was a revelation to Athens of the fourth century, and it was a revelation for which she does not seem to have been particularly grateful; but the fact that it was a writer whose works were fit “pueris virginibusque legi,” who revolutionized the dramatic art, is one that a modern student of that revolution cannot afford to forget.[285]

Two of the plays mentioned above, the _Hecyra_ and the _Stichus_, lead naturally to the consideration of another feature of the New Comedy treatment of marriage—a feature which, though less strongly marked than that of which we have just been speaking, is yet, if one considers what Greek feeling had previously been on this matter, perhaps even more remarkable. Not only is marriage held up as the lover’s ideal, but the actual married state is described as a state of happiness, and married people, even those who have been married for some time, are introduced to us as strongly attached to one another. How complete a revolution in Greek feeling such a state as this implies, need hardly be emphasised.[286] Yet, in the _Stichus_, we have a plot based on the determination of two women to remain faithful to their husbands (who have been absent for three years) in spite of the efforts of their father to induce them to do otherwise; they insist on remaining faithful, though their husbands are poor (Plaut. _Stich._ i. 2, 75 _seqq._), and though they are uncertain whether their devotion is returned (i. 1, 36 _seqq._). In the _Hecyra_ again, it is the behaviour of Philumena after marriage which wins her husband’s heart (Ter. _Hec._ i. 2, 85 _seqq._)—a remarkably modern form of love-story.

Various fragments, too, of Menander have a similar import, such as the famous passage from the _Misogynes_ on the advantages of marriage—

ἐλθόντ’ εἰς νόσον
τὸν ἔχοντα ταύτην ἐθεράπευσεν ἐπιμελῶς,
ἀτυχοῦντι συμπαρέμεινεν, ἀποθανόντα τε
ἔθαψε, περιέστειλεν οἰκείως. (_Fr._ 1, 9.)

or Menand. _Incert._ 73, where the husband takes up the cudgels in his wife’s behalf. _Incert._ 101, again, dwells on the close relationship existing between man and wife—

οἰκεῖον οὕτως οὐδέν ἐστιν, ὦ Λάχης,
ἐὰν σκοπῇ τις, ὡς ἀνήρ τε καὶ γυνή,

_Incert._ 100 points out that a wife must rule her husband by love—

ἕν ἐστ’ ἀληθὲς φίλτρον, εὐγνώμων τρόπος.
τούτῳ κατακρατεῖν ἀνδρὸς εἴωθεν γυνή,

and a careful reader will have no difficulty in finding other more or less important examples of the same spirit, both in Menander and in the Latin Comedians.

One important exception there is, of course, to this state of affairs, and that is the relation between the old men and their wives. The types of the hen-pecked husband and the Xanthippe-like wife are too familiar to need illustration. But here it is to be observed, that the husbands who appear in this position, are always old or elderly men, and this fact is probably not without its significance. In describing his elderly married men as unhappy, Menander was ridiculing, not marriage, but the _mariages de convenance_ which had, before his time, been the regular thing at Athens. “These men are unhappy,” says Menander, “not because they are married, but because they have married wives whom they never loved, and whom they chose merely because of their money, or to please their relations. If they had married for love, the case might well have been different.” And thus the hen-pecked husband, who belongs to the old _régime_, is only a further argument in favour of the romantic love-matches of which Menander approved.

Of course the matter did not stop here. It was so easy to raise a laugh with a row between husband and wife, that Comedy was sure not to abandon the subject, even after its _raison d’être_ had disappeared; and a modern audience, we know, is just as ready to laugh at the husband who has lost his latch-key as were the Athenians of the fourth century. But the point to be remembered is, that a pair of characters like Chremes and Sostrata in the _Heauton Timorumenus_, or Laches and Sostrata in the _Hecyra_, furnishes no real argument against the view that Menander and his followers of the New Comedy regarded marriage, if properly entered upon, as a state of happiness.

Another exception, and one that is perhaps in reality a more important one, is furnished by Menander’s _Misogynes_, a work which gained very great popularity, doubtless owing to the way in which it appealed to the lower instincts of the audience whom its author was trying to educate up; but here it has to be observed that, in the first place, as the play is lost, it is impossible to say what the actual _dénouement_ was; while, secondly, there was no reason why a man of Menander’s versatile genius should not for once treat the subject of married life in an unusual manner, without in any way abandoning his general views on the subject.[287]

A further feature of the New Comedy treatment of marriage is the universal respect for its sanctity.[288] The adulterer, who is the favourite hero of mediaeval romance, is here invariably held up to contempt and hatred. The most familiar instance of this is, of course, the story in the _Miles Gloriosus_ of Plautus, but it is far from being an isolated one. The _Halieis_ of Menander evidently treated of a somewhat similar subject,[289] which appears once more in the _Eunuchus_.[290] In the _Andria_ again, Charinus is horror-stricken at the idea of committing adultery with the woman he loves, though, when accused of seducing the same woman, his only regret is that he cannot plead guilty to the charge.[291] An even more remarkable instance, and one perhaps without parallel, is furnished by the _Hecyra_, where the Hetaera Bacchis asserts that she had refused to admit her lover, Pamphilus, as soon as she learned that he was married.[292] It may be argued, of course, that she did this out of pique, but the very cordial nature of the meeting between the two (Ter. _Hec._ v. 4, 16, _seqq._), and the fact that Bacchis knew that her lover had abandoned her sorely against his will (i. 2, 45 _seqq._), and was still devoted to her (i. 2, 82), seem to suggest that this is not the most natural explanation of her conduct.[293]

The passages just described may serve to introduce us to a further feature of our subject—a feature in which the New Comedy is, if possible, even more remarkably unlike the Middle Comedy than in those which have already been discussed. In the Middle Comedy, as we have already had frequent occasion to observe, the wife and the husband are invariably held up to ridicule when compared with the Hetaera and her lover; in the New Comedy we may find this position exactly reversed. Instances are rare, (as is indeed to be expected, when we consider, in the first place, the strong current of popular feeling on the subject, and, secondly, the personal relations between the leading writers of the New Comedy and the prominent Hetaerae of the time,) but they do unquestionably occur. The most striking example is perhaps that in the _Heauton Timorumenus_, where not only is the Hetaera contrasted unfavourably with the virgin, (as she herself admits,)[294] but her lover is made consistently ridiculous as compared with the lover who contemplates marriage, and in the end comes off badly in the extreme. Very similar evidence is furnished by the _Hecyra_. In the struggle for the love of Pamphilus, which takes place in that play between the wife and the Hetaera, the former is completely successful, and her victory is gained by sheer amiability of temper (Ter. _Hec._ i. 2, 85 _seqq._); indeed, so charming is she, that the Hetaera is driven in the end to congratulate her husband on his good fortune in having married her. (v. 4, 22.) And this victory of the wife becomes the more remarkable, when we observe that the Hetaera is evidently intended to be a very favourable specimen of her class, in every way deserving of the lover she is compelled to lose.[295]

While on this point, it may not be amiss to remark that it is by no means impossible that the famous _Thais_ of Menander really belonged to this class of plays, and that the Hetaera, who gives her name to the piece, is intended as a _parody_ on the typical Hetaera of Middle Comedy. This view, which is not improbable in itself, receives some support from the mock-heroic tone of _Fr._ 1 of the _Thais_,[296] and still more from Mart. xiv. 187;[297] but cannot, of course, be regarded as more than a possible suggestion.[298]

Of mere vulgar ridicule or abuse of the ordinary Hetaera, as heartless,[299] mercenary,[300] and the like, there is, of course, enough and to spare; but it would be unjustifiable to claim expressions such as these as distinctive of New Comedy, in the face of passages like Epicrates, _Antilais_, 2, or Anaxilas, _Neottis_, 1. Menander indeed makes a more serious charge, perhaps, when one of his characters asserts that an Hetaera cannot be good, for she makes a trade of sin:

οὐδέποθ’ ἑταίρα τοῦ καλῶς πεφρόντικεν,
ἣ τὸ κακόηθες πρόσοδον εἴωθεν ποιεῖν.

(_Incert._ 107.)

This is, however, an isolated expression, for Menand. _Incert._ 36, at first sight similar, is really different.

But, though the writers of the New Comedy are careful, as a general rule, to avoid anything that might have seemed too severe a stricture on that system of Hetaera-worship which was so distinctive a feature of the age, they are unmistakably emphatic in their assertion that such sensual love is not the only kind of love of which a man is capable. The chivalrous manner in which the lover of New Comedy often behaves to his lady, is one of the clearest features of the change which the authors of the romantic school had succeeded in bringing about on the Athenian stage.

At once the most striking and the most perplexing illustration of this is furnished by the character of Thrasonides in Menander’s celebrated play, the _Misumenus_. This Thrasonides, who belongs to the regular type of the _Miles Gloriosus_, is in love with a slave-girl, whom he has obtained in the course of his wars;[301] but he has so disgusted her with his boasting (like Leontichus in Lucian) that she has conceived a most violent hatred for him. He then, though she is his slave, and though his passion is so great that he cannot sleep for thinking of her,[302] instead of using his undoubted power to accomplish what he wishes,[303] tries every means that he can imagine in order to conciliate her, “sending her gifts, and weeping, and praying,”[304] that she may look more favourably upon him.

The _dénouement_ of the play is lost. It is not impossible that in the end the slave-girl was identified as an Athenian, and carried off by some more acceptable lover, who thus profited by the chivalrous conduct of his rival, or she may even have turned out to be the soldier’s sister, as in the _Curculio_ or the _Epidicus_, in either of which cases the scruples of Thrasonides would be necessary to the working of the plot. But all this is, for our present purpose, of no importance. What is of importance, and of the utmost importance, is the fact that Thrasonides, though he is so violently in love with the girl, will not make use of his unquestioned power to gratify this passion, because of the dislike which she feels for him. In fact, his love is of such a kind that he does not merely want to satisfy a sensual appetite—he wants to be loved. Unless he can feel that she loves him, none of those privileges, which, to the ordinary Hetaera-lover of the day, would have been of themselves the complete consummation of love, are of any value to him. ἔξεστί μοι τοῦτο καὶ βούλομαι, οὐ ποιῶ δέ.

The aim of the lover is not to gratify himself, but to inspire love.[305] That we are here face to face with a form of love which is not only actually absent from Middle Comedy, but is by nature absolutely foreign to that literature and could not possibly appear in it, is too obvious to need further emphasis.[306]

This much, then, is clear; but there remains a most perplexing question, which, though it is a little aside of our immediate subject, is yet too interesting to be passed by altogether. Why is it Thrasonides, the _Miles Gloriosus_ whom all the Comedians are banded together to ridicule, who appears as the most chivalrous lover of the whole of New Comedy?[307] Why is a man who is universally regarded as a fool, made to give expression to such elevated sentiments, and to follow such a noble line of conduct? The first explanation that suggests itself is, of course, “Because he is a fool.” This view is certainly advanced in a passage of Plutarch, where Thrasonides is compared to the miser who starves rather than make use of the food he has in the house,[308] and seems to find favour too with Thrasonides’ own slave.[309] But this explanation is not a very satisfactory one, somehow. However great a fool Menander might wish to make of the mercenary soldier of the time, this does not seem the natural line for his folly to take, nor was it the line, as we know from historical evidence, that the folly of these people actually did as a rule take. A Pyrgopolinices must, one would have thought, have been a far more familiar figure to citizens who had enjoyed a Macedonian occupation, than a Thrasonides. One might, perhaps, imagine that the behaviour of Alexander to the wife and daughters of Darius—behaviour which was regarded in Greece as somewhat remarkable[310]—had suggested the character of Thrasonides, for, after all, the ideal soldier of the age, whether for good or evil, is always Alexander; only it seems doubtful whether a single action of an unusual kind could serve to form so constant a type as the chivalrous soldier-lover. At one time I thought that, as the soldier of New Comedy has generally served in Asia, perhaps he might be supposed to have imported his advanced romantic ideas from one of those Greek Asiatic cities which were, as we know, the original home of Greek romance, and indeed of all important developments of Greek erotic literature.[311] But there is to modern notions so great an incongruity in the idea of, say, the Colonel of a West India regiment so influenced by the latest school of literature as to model his life on it, that, though such a character would not, perhaps, have seemed so absurd to the Greeks as it does to us, still, in the absence of all definite evidence, I have preferred not to lay undue stress upon what is, after all, entirely a matter of conjecture. Indeed, the question remains to me a very obscure one, and I cannot at present see any satisfactory solution of it.

But, whatever may have been the causes which led to the creation of this particular character, the soldier-lover of a more or less Thrasonides type is an unquestionable feature of New Comedy. Besides the hero of the _Misumenus_, of whom we have spoken, in the _Sicyonius_ (also by Menander) we find another soldier, Stratophanes, who buys a slave-girl, and then treats her as if she were a free woman.[312] To the same class of feeling, though expressed in a somewhat different way, belongs the remorse which the soldier Polemon (in the _Periceiromene_ of Menander) feels for the wrong he has done to his αἰχμαλώτῳ ἐρωμένῃ.

A case in some respects similar, though in others different, is that of the soldier Stratippocles, in the _Epidicus_, who falls in love with his captive, but does not touch her.[313] The differences, of course, here are that, firstly, the play belongs to Middle Comedy, its moral being that Stratippocles will be happier with his _fidicina_ than with the girl of high birth, for whom he has formed the chivalrous attachment;[314] while, secondly, the continence of the hero is not so much a feature of his character as a necessity for the development of the plot; and, thirdly, the soldier is here not a mercenary, but an Athenian citizen, who has been fighting against the Thebans. But though, therefore, the case of the _Epidicus_ does not belong to the same category as those previously discussed, the association in it of the soldier with chivalrous behaviour towards women is yet worthy of notice, and, even if only a coincidence, is still an interesting one.[315]

Apart, too, from these very remarkable instances, there are not a few passages scattered about in the remains of the New Comedy which serve to show that the “love,” of which there is so much talk in that literature, is not the merely animal passion of an earlier period. Of these, a striking one is that preserved in Plutarch, _ap._ Stob. _Flor._ lxiii. 34:

τῶν Μενάνδρου δραμάτων, says Plutarch there, οὐκ ἴσως ἁπάντων
ἓν συνεκτικόν ἐστιν ὁ ἔρως, οἷον πνεῦμα κοινὸν διακεχυκώς; ὃν
οὖν μάλιστα θιασώτην τοῦ θεοῦ καὶ ὀργιαστὴν ἴσμεν, τὸν ἄνδρα
συνεπιλαμβάνωμεν εἰς τὴν ζήτησιν, ἐπεὶ καὶ λελάκηκε περὶ τοῦ
πάθους φιλοσοφώτερον. ἄξιον γὰρ εἶναι θαύματος φήσας τὸ περὶ
τοὺς ἐρῶντας, ὥσπερ ἐστὶν ἅμα λαλεῖ. εἶτα ἀπορεῖ καὶ ζητεῖ πρὸς
ἑαυτόν·

τίνι δεδούλωταί (sc. ὁ ἐραστής) ποτε;
ὄψει; φλύαρος. κ.τ.λ....
... καιρός ἐστιν ἡ νόσος
ψυχῆς.

(Menand. _Incert._ 14.)

That is: Menander, a writer familiar with love in its most passionate forms (θιασώτην καὶ ὀργιαστήν), gives us a sober and serious view of the matter. After expressing his astonishment at the ways of lovers, he furnishes us with a realistic account of love as it actually is (ὥσπερ ἐστὶν ἅμα λαλεῖ),[316] and then proceeds to investigate its causes. For a moment he is puzzled, and questions with himself, but soon he finds the true answer. καιρός ἐστιν ἡ νόσος ψυχῆς. Love is an affection of the soul as distinct from the body, and has only an accidental connection with the latter.[317]

Equally forcible, though in another way, is a passage from the _Poenulus_. The lover and his slave are watching the two girls, and the slave expresses his utter contempt for his master’s “Platonic” affection, to which the latter answers that he loves Adelphasium as he loves the gods.[318] Another case is in the _Curculio_, where the love of Phaedromus for Planesium is fed on nothing more substantial than kisses;[319] another in the _Hecyra_, where it is distinctly pointed out that the love of Pamphilus for his wife is induced by other than sensual considerations.[320] Other instances, of more or less significance, every reader of the Latin comedians will be able to supply for himself; and it is further worth observing that when a New Comedy character, as occasionally does happen, is made to speak slightingly of “Platonic” love, such a character is always a slave, never a person of refinement.[321]

To proceed to the final point of essential difference between Middle and New Comedy, it will be remembered that, in the former class of literature, family life and the mutual relations of members of a family were among the stock subjects of ridicule, and that no remarks expressive of any other views on this matter are to be found there, at any rate before a very late period.[322] Family life, as depicted in the New Comedy, is by no means ideal; indeed, as we have already had occasion to remark, the unhappy relations between husband and elderly wife are, under certain circumstances, a favourite subject of ridicule, even with Menander.[323] But yet instances to the contrary are to be found, and are, in fact, by no means very uncommon. Not to speak of the cases of devotion of wife to husband and husband to wife—such as those in the _Stichus_, &c., already sufficiently discussed[324]—the relations between father and children, and, still more, mother and children,[325] are often described as of the most delightful character.

Of the former, there are interesting examples in Menand. _Incert._ 59:

αἰσχύνομαι τὸν πατέρα, Κλειτοφῶν, μόνον,
ἀντιβλέπειν ἐκεῖνον οὐ δυνήσομαι
ἀδικῶν· τὰ δ’ ἄλλα ῥᾳδίως χειρώσομαι.

_Incert._ 108:

ὁ σκληρότατος πρὸς υἱὸν ἐν τῷ νουθετεῖν
τοῖς μὲν λόγοις πικρός ἐστι, τοῖς δ’ ἔργοις πατήρ.

_Incert._ 113:

μηδὲν ὀδύνα τὸν πατέρα, γιγνώσκων ὅτι
ὁ μέγιστον ἀγαπῶν δι’ ἐλάχιστ’ ὀργίζεται.

_Incert._ 117:

οὐδέποτ’ ἀληθὲς οὐδὲν οὔθ’ υἱῷ πατὴρ
εἴωθ’ ἀπειλεῖν, οὔτ’ ἐρῶν ἐρωμένῃ.[326]

The charming interview between the father and his two daughters in the _Stichus_ (i. 2, 32 _seqq._), is a further, equally striking instance.

Of the latter relation, that between mother and children, there is a good instance in this same play (i. 2, 51), where, after the father has propounded his intention of marrying again, his daughter reminds him that it will be hard for him to find a second wife like his first.

AN. pol ego uxorem quaero, postquam vostra mater mortua est.

PA. facile invenies et peiorem et peius moratam, pater,
quam illa fuit; meliorem neque tu reperies neque sol videt.

A still more striking case is that in the _Hecyra_, where the mother of Pamphilus, thinking that it is her presence which renders it impossible for her son’s wife to live with him, resolves to sacrifice herself, and go into voluntary exile into the country.[327] The same idea, though less pleasantly expressed, is apparent in Syrus’ remark in the _Heauton Timorumenus_ (v. 2, 38):

matres omnes filiis
in peccato adiutrices, auxilio in paterna iniuria.

But it is needless to multiply instances of a state of affairs with which every attentive reader of Plautus and Terence must be sufficiently familiar.[328]

IX. THE ORIGINS OF THE ROMANTIC COMEDY.

The above investigation into the nature of New Comedy, and into the points of difference between it and the earlier literature, leads naturally to the consideration of a further and final question—that of the origin of these differences which are so strikingly apparent. We have seen that the romantic New Comedy differs entirely in its treatment of women from every form of dramatic art which had preceded it.[329] In fact, we have seen that, while the Middle Comedy belongs still entirely to the first or classical period of Greek literature, the New Comedy, with its striking romantic features, belongs essentially to that second period, which it is usual to call the Alexandrian, and forms, indeed, one of the departments of literature in which the romantic tendencies of that period can be studied to the best advantage. What we have to consider is therefore this: How did Athenian Comedy acquire these romantic features which are so conspicuously absent from its earlier phases? when did it acquire them? and to whom was the acquisition due?

The last of these three questions may be best considered first. There seems every reason to believe that this introduction of the romantic element was due to Menander rather than to Philemon.[330] There can be no question that of the two writers, Philemon is the less distinctively romantic. Of the typical New Comedy love-stories preserved in Plautus and Terence, not one professes to be derived from him. The allusions to women altogether are proportionately much fewer in his fragments than in those of Menander; while a large proportion, again, of such allusions as there are, are either references to Hetaerae, or else belong to the old-fashioned misogyny of Middle Comedy. The detailed examination of his style of art, which occurs in the _Florida_ of Apuleius, is altogether strongly suggestive of Middle Comedy;[331] indeed, Apuleius actually describes him as “mediae comoediae scriptor.” It is further to be remarked that the number of coarse allusions to women is proportionately far greater in Philemon than in Menander. Indeed, the whole study of Philemon’s treatment of women leaves one with the impression, not only that he was at heart a follower of the old school, but that even when he did for any reason adopt the romantic principle, he developed this principle from a more sensual point of view than Menander. That this tendency to coarseness is in sympathy with the earlier spirit of Athenian comedy, but is entirely foreign to its romantic development, need hardly be emphasised, after all that has already been said on the subject. And it may not be altogether beside the question here, to call attention to Philemon’s invariable pessimism—pessimism most characteristic of a conservative mind in an age of progress, but hardly consistent with such qualities as would be required of the originator of a great artistic and social revolution.[332] Furthermore, Philemon is regularly spoken of as the rival of Menander;[333] the reverse is never the case, notwithstanding the fact that the relative ages of the two playwrights would have made the latter the more natural way of putting the case. Again, the much greater success of Philemon at the time, notwithstanding the well-nigh unanimous contrary verdict of subsequent ages,[334] seems to show clearly that he was the more old-fashioned of the two; for, as is well known, originality is seldom very welcome on the stage. And lastly, the very large proportion of Philemon’s works which appear to have belonged to Middle Comedy pure and simple—a point which will be further discussed directly—seems to be further evidence that this was his natural _métier_, and that it was only a spirit of rivalry with Menander which made him turn his attention to a style of art with which he had no real sympathy.[335] As for the _Hypobolimaeus_, that proves nothing, for there is no evidence whatever by which to fix the date of this resuscitation of the _Cocalus_ of Aristophanes; indeed, if anything, it rather suggests that Philemon found such subjects so little congenial, that he had to borrow his materials, instead of being able to produce them himself.

All this, it may be argued, proves little as to the claims of Menander over Philemon. Indeed, it may even be urged that the very fact that Philemon is the less distinctively romantic of the two, renders it probable that the first introduction of the romantic element was due to him. But such an argument, though at first sight plausible enough, rests on an imperfect comprehension of the real nature of the romantic principle in Greek comedy. Were this principle a direct development of tendencies characteristic of the earlier phases of the literature, it would doubtless be right to assume that its first appearance in any tangible shape would be of an unemphatic and tentative kind; but the romantic principle is no such development of previous tendencies. It is not a development, but a regeneration; it is not a growth from within, but an annex from without. Whatever anyone may suppose to be the origin of the romantic element, no one with any acquaintance with the subject is likely to wish to maintain that the virgin-love of New Comedy is developed out of the Hetaera-worship of its predecessor on the stage. Indeed, there can be little doubt that, so far from New Comedy appealing to those tastes which Middle Comedy had fostered, its remarkable success was in great part due to a strong reaction against the latter. And thus there is every reason to believe that, when once the new emotion found expression on the stage, such expression was immediately clear and unmistakable; and that therefore, in looking for the originator of the movement, one must look for that writer of the period whose works exhibit the romantic features most strongly and consistently, and must regard those other writers, in whom such features are less prominent, as more or less unwilling imitators. And if this be so, there can be little real doubt as to the validity of Menander’s claim.

The next question to be considered is—When was this introduction of the romantic element into Greek comedy first brought about? We know that Philemon began to exhibit in 330, and that the date of Menander’s first play is 322; but these facts do not of themselves furnish any information as to the origin of New Comedy proper. For it is an unquestionable fact, and one of the greatest importance in this connection, that both Philemon and Menander wrote plays which are not romantic, and which belong, therefore, to Middle, rather than to New Comedy. And on this fact hinges the whole question of the date of the introduction of the romantic element into Athenian Comedy.

Of the ninety-seven plays of Philemon, which Platonius states were in his time extant,[336] hardly fifty titles are preserved, and of these, well-nigh a third obviously belong to what were evidently Middle Comedies.[337] When we consider how extremely probable it is that the majority of the plays now entirely lost belonged also to this class (for it is obvious that a later age would tend to preserve such plays as were in harmony with the romantic tastes then prevailing, rather than those that were not), it becomes clear that a very large proportion of the plays of Philemon were not New Comedies at all. With Menander the same is to a certain extent, though not in an equal degree, also true. Of about a hundred plays that he produced during the thirty-two years of his literary activity, while a dozen or so, presumably unsuccessful efforts of his earlier years, are entirely lost, some twenty besides, of those whose titles we know, must be ranked with the old, rather than with the new form of dramatic art.

Now when we further reflect that it is not probable that, after a writer 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._)