CHAPTER III

THE WORKS OF ÆSCHYLUS

The place of Æschylus in dramatic history has been discussed in the first chapter. We have still to give some account of his seven extant plays and of the fragments.

The SUPPLICES[207] (Ἱκετίδες, “Suppliant Women”) is no doubt the earliest of these. The scene is laid near the sea-coast, not far from Argos. The chorus, consisting of the fifty daughters of Danaus, enter, and in their opening song tell how they have fled from Egypt to escape marriage with their cousins, the fifty sons of Ægyptus. These suitors have pursued them overseas, but they call upon Zeus, who through Io is their ancestor, to defend them. Danaus, their father, urges them to take refuge upon the steps of the altar.[208] This they do, becoming suppliants of the State-deities and acquiring a claim upon the citizens. The King of Argos enters; to him the women make their appeal. He replies that he must consult the national assembly before facing the possibility of war with the Egyptians; meanwhile he sends Danaus into the city to engage the compassion of the Argives. After another song by the chorus, in which they relate the wanderings of Io and her final peace, Danaus returns with the news that the Argive assembly is unanimous in championing the Suppliants; the women burst forth into lyrical blessings upon the land. Danaus, who has been upon the watch, announces the approach of the hostile ships; he comforts his shrinking daughters, goes to fetch help, and does not return until the danger is over.[209] After a terrified lyric, the Egyptian herald appears, accompanied no doubt by warriors; he harshly bids them go to the ship and submit to their masters. They refuse. He is on the point of dragging them away when the King enters, rebukes the herald, and defies the power of Egypt. The intruder departs with threats of war. Danaus returns, and with his daughters is given lodging within the city-walls. The chorus end the drama with an ode voicing their fear of war and oppression.

Such a close evidently implies that the story was continued in another work, and it has been conjectured that the _Egyptians_ and the _Danaides_ (“Daughters of Danaus”) formed the second and third parts of the trilogy. Scarcely anything of these two plays has been preserved, but there is good reason to suppose that the Egyptians were victorious, that the daughters of Danaus were compelled to marry their ferocious suitors, and that on the command of their father each slew her husband on the wedding-night. Hypermnestra alone spared her lover, by name Lynceus. It seems that she was put on her trial for this disobedience and was saved by the advocacy of Aphrodite, who thus foreshadows the Apollo of the _Eumenides_. The satyric play was perhaps the _Amymone_; this was the name of one of the Danaides, who was delivered from a satyr by Poseidon. Viewed not historically, but æsthetically, especially by a reader already familiar with the _Oresteia_, the play must be confessed bald and monotonous. Many of Æschylus’ most splendid attributes, it is true, are to be discerned, but their fire too often sinks into smouldering grimness. The only really fine passages are those portions of the lyrics which bear the impress of the poet’s masculine and profound theology. Such strictures, however, are merely one way of saying that the _Supplices_ is an early work. It would be fairer (were it only possible) to compare it with the drama of Phrynichus rather than with the _Agamemnon_. Here, perhaps for the first time, we have a genuinely dramatic situation—the collision between the king and the herald. There is little characterization. The chorus are simply distressed damsels (save for their vivid and strong religious faith), the king is simply a magnanimous and wary monarch, the herald simply a “myrmidon”. Danaus, however, shows some interesting traits. He is extremely sententious and rejoices in the fact: “Inscribe this on your hearts beside the many other precepts of your father written there”.[210] His exhortation[211] to chaste behaviour, though long and (as his daughters assure him) unnecessary, is, albeit corrupt textually, one of the most striking passages in the play. But one feels that characterization is perhaps less needed in a work which, literally from the first word, is filled with the name of God, Zeus,[212] the ancestor of the Danaids, the lord of the universe, the guardian of right. “And whensoever it is decreed by nod of Zeus that a thing be brought to fullness, it falls not prostrate, but on its feet. Yea, through thicket and shadow stretch the paths of his decrees, that no thoughts can spy them out.”[213] Equally majestic is the language concerning that other Zeus[214] who judges the sins of men in Hades. Finally, though the thought and diction are in the main stark if dignified, a change comes over the play before the end: we get a little “atmosphere”. Danaus already fears personal enemies (v. 1008), and the arrangements for lodging the suppliants show a tinge of domesticity.

The PERSÆ[215] (Πέρσαι, “Men of Persia”), though perhaps twenty years later, comes next among the surviving plays. The action takes place before the palace of Xerxes. It opens with a song from the chorus, who represent aged councillors of the Persian Empire. They describe the departure of the host which is to conquer Greece, and their own anxiety for news. Atossa, widow of Darius and mother of Xerxes, enters, distressed by an ill-omened dream. The councillors discuss this portent and the prospects of victory. A messenger arrives who announces the complete overthrow of the “barbarians”. The queen speedily rallies from her grief, learns that her son himself is safe, and hears the narrative of Salamis and the flight of the Persians back to Asia. She determines to offer supplications to Heaven and retires to fetch the materials of sacrifice; the chorus pour forth a lyric lament and deplore the loss of Darius the conqueror. Atossa returns bearing the libation which she offers to the shade of Darius, while the chorus invoke the dead king, praying him to appear and give counsel. In answer, the ghost of Darius rises from his tomb. He learns the evil tidings, laments the impious folly of his son, and foretells the coming disaster of Platæa. After the shade has sunk back into the tomb, and Atossa has gone to meet Xerxes,[216] the elders sing of Persia’s greatness under Darius. Finally, Xerxes appears, plunged in despair. Amid the antiphonal wailings of the king and his councillors the tragedy ends.

The scholiast says that “Æschylus won the prize in the archonship of Menon, with _Phineus_, _Persæ_, _Glaucus of Potniæ_ and _Prometheus_”.[217] This tetralogy seems (to judge from the titles and the fragments) to have been a collection of plays which had no relation of subject-matter. Interesting to the historian as the only extant tragedy dealing with a contemporary subject, the _Persæ_ also wins the highest admiration as a piece of literature not unworthy of its theme. The muscular and majestic diction of the speeches, the noble sweep of the lyrics, the colossal dignity of the characters, the picturesqueness and vigour which make the story of Salamis one of the greatest passages even in Æschylus—these are characteristics of the poet which the _Supplices_ presents only in germ. But the noblest feature of the whole is the manner in which Æschylus has faced his chief obstacle. To dramatize the heroic spirit and overwhelming success of Athens in the presence of Athenians—was this an easy task? Nothing could be more cloying at the moment, more thin and unsatisfying to the after-reflection. Æschylus rises clear above all this. First, he places the scene not in Athens, but before the gates of the palace at Susa; that dignity which elsewhere in Greek tragedy is secured by remoteness in time, is here obtained by remoteness in space.[218] The whole incident is held at arm’s length that it may be viewed with soberness, and as a whole in perspective. Next, it has often been observed that on the one hand he chronicles a host of Asiatic nobles while on the other not a single Greek—not even Themistocles—is named. Both these facts spring from the same source. Æschylus, it cannot be repeated too often, was a deeply religious man. When he takes it in hand to dramatize an event of recent history his instinct impels him, just as infallibly as if he were writing of Heracles or Prometheus, to describe occurrences not in the language of politics or of tactics, but of theology. Athens has been but the instrument of Heaven; Persia has fallen, not through the brawn of oarsmen or the skill of captains, but through the blasphemous infatuation of her prince and the wrath of God following thereupon.

O God, thy arm was here; And not to us, but to thy arm alone, Ascribe we all! When, without stratagem, But in plain shock and even play of battle, Was ever known so great and little loss On one part and on th’ other? Take it, God, For it is none but thine![219]

He is little concerned with that play of human psychology on the Greek side, which forms so brilliant a page of Herodotus. Even when he narrates that trick by which the conflict was precipitated, the false message from Themistocles to Xerxes, nothing is said of the reasons for sending it. Though the antecedent “facts” are known, yet he chooses to tell what he does indeed regard as the truth, that the whole error of the king came from “a fiend or evil spirit,” and that he fell into the trap because “he perceived not the guile of the Greek nor _the spite of Heaven_”.[220] On the Greek side, then, “the creatures of a day” are lost in the vision of eternal righteousness. But the poet has no such reason to obliterate the mighty names of Persia. Almost the whole effect of them is for us lost; but to an Athenian ear these barbaric polysyllables must have sounded with all the pomp of an ancient chivalry, the waves of the boundless and terrible Orient descending in deluge upon the tiny states of Hellas. But the billows at their highest had been stayed and had sunk; the appalling roll of warlike titles was changed into a proclamation of glory—but not the glory of Greece. No Greek name is immortalized in this play, which resounds at every moment with the name of God.

The SEVEN AGAINST THEBES[221] (Οἱ Ἑπτὰ ἐπὶ Θήβας) was produced in 467 B.C. and deals with the fratricidal quarrel of the sons of Œdipus. Eteocles, the elder, had become King of Thebes and expelled his brother Polynices. The latter with six comrades-in-arms and an host led by Adrastus, King of Argos, attacked the city. The seven invading champions were met at the seven gates by as many Theban warriors. The scene is laid in an open space in the town. A messenger brings to Eteocles the news that the enemy are on the point of assaulting the walls. The chorus, consisting of Theban maidens, enter, and in a vivid lyric express their frantic terror. Eteocles attempts to calm them, urging that their outcries will demoralize the citizens; but soon they burst forth again into wild forebodings. Then follows a long scene in which the messenger describes the seven heroes who are to attack at the seven gates. As each is described Eteocles allots one of his comrades for defence. The seventh enemy is Polynices, the king’s own brother; Eteocles, spurred on by the curse of his house, declares that he will himself confront Polynices. He rushes away and the maidens lament the frightful story of Œdipus’ curse. The messenger returns with the news that the invaders have been routed and that the brothers have fallen by each other’s hand. After the chorus have lamented this crime, the corpses are brought forward, accompanied by Antigone and Ismene, sisters of the dead, who utter an antiphonal dirge. They are interrupted by a herald who proclaims the decree of the “people’s councillors”. Eteocles is to be honourably buried; his brother is to be left to the dogs and birds of prey. Antigone defies the decree and declares that she will bury Polynices. The chorus divide into two parties, one supporting Antigone, the other giving obedience to the State.

This tragedy won the prize. The trilogy consisted of _Laius_, _Œdipus_, the _Seven_, with the _Sphinx_ as satyric play. Aristeas and Polyphradmon, the sons of Pratinas and Phrynichus respectively, were second and third. Very little is known about the companion plays. The _Laius_ contained a reference to the exposure of the infant Œdipus; the _Œdipus_ described the death of Laius.

The _Seven_ is a magnificently vigorous and graphic presentment of war in one of its aspects. As such it is eulogized by Aristophanes, who puts into the mouth of Æschylus the boast that he “composed a drama full of the War-God—my _Seven against Thebes_”.[222] The chief excellences are the first chorus and the celebrated Choosing of the Champions. This latter contained the best-known passage in the play, where the messenger says of Amphiaraus:—[223]

σῆμα δ’ οὐκ ἐπῆν κύκλῳ οὐ γὰρ δοκεῖν ἄριστος, ἀλλ’ εἶναι θέλει, βαθεῖαν ἄλοκα διὰ φρενὸς καρπούμενος, ἐξ ἧς τὰ κεδνὰ βλαστάνει βουλεύματα.

His buckler bore no blazon; for he seeks Not to seem great, but to be great indeed, Reaping the deep-ploughed furrow of his soul Wherefrom the harvest of good counsel springs.

As these lines were declaimed in the theatre, Plutarch[224] tells us, every one turned and gazed at Aristides the Just. The first half of the play is in strictness not dramatic[225] at all—a merely static presentment of the situation: a city in a state of siege, panic among the women, resolution in the mind of the general. The later portion gives us decisive action. The King rushes to his fratricidal duel, spurred on by the invisible curse; but even here there is no dramatic conflict of personalities like the altercation between the brothers in the _Phœnissæ_ of Euripides. Such a collision is, however, provided at the very end, where Antigone defies the State.

As regards the PROMETHEUS VINCTUS (Προμηθεὺς δεσμώτης, “Prometheus Bound”) we are in doubt as to the date, the arrangement of the cast, and the other parts of the trilogy.

Concerning the date, we know that the play was written after 475 B.C., the year in which occurred that eruption of Etna described by Prometheus (vv. 363-72). Further, it is usually regarded as later than the _Seven_ owing to the increased preponderance of dialogue over lyrics. Also, the supposition that three actors are required has led some scholars to believe that the _Prometheus_ belongs to the period when Sophocles had introduced a third actor, and so to place it in the last part of the poet’s life.[226] The static nature of the drama might seem to forbid such a view, but possibly it formed the centre of the trilogy, the most likely place for an equilibrium of the tragic forces. And the theological basis of the whole series is so profound, that an approximation in date to the _Oresteia_ is not unreasonable. On the whole, then, the _Prometheus_ may be conjecturally assigned to about the year 465 B.C.

As for the division of the parts among the actors, we find in the opening