“This vain speech moved amongst the Athenians some laughter, and was heard with great content of the wiser sort. For of two benefits, the one must needs fall out; either to be rid of Cleon (which was their greatest hope), or if they were deceived in that, then to get those Lacedæmonians into their hands.”[81]
Cleon sailed accordingly; but in the interim a fire had consumed the woods on the island, and Demosthenes, an able and successful general, was already preparing to attack the Lacedæmonians. Cleon was prudent enough to leave the direction of the assault in his hands. After an obstinate resistance, the Lacedæmonian force at last surrendered, being reduced in number to 292, of whom 120 were Spartans; and within the time prescribed Cleon returned in triumph to Athens with his prisoners. Thucydides says, that no event throughout the war created so much astonishment in Greece as this; it being the general opinion that the Lacedæmonians would not yield up their arms for famine, or for any other extremity, but rather die with them, fighting as they best could.
Since this chapter was written, we have seen, in a work the scanty sale of which says little for the general diffusion of a taste for sound scholarship in England, an ingenious parallel between the remarkable transaction above narrated, and a passage in English history. The work in question, the ‘Philological Museum,’ is likely not to be in the hands of a large proportion of our readers; and instead of merely referring to it, we shall proceed to transcribe a portion of the article in question.
“Mr. Mitford, in his elaborate narrative of the Peloponnesian war, has drawn a comparison between the military operations of Brasidas in the Athenian dependencies lying towards Thrace, and those of General Wolfe, the hero of Quebec, in Canada. The points of resemblance are very remarkable; but, as he observes, the differences are also obvious. The parallel is, however, sufficiently close to awaken that interest which all men naturally feel in marking the identity of the human character, under similar circumstances, in ages and countries far removed from each other. Such indications of a common nature connect one generation with another, and bring home to the mind a more lively conception of the past. The parallel about to be drawn fetches one of its subjects from the same period of Grecian history, so fertile in remarkable men and striking incidents. If, in Mr. Mitford’s case, the points of difference be thought to outweigh those of resemblance, it may perhaps be said, that in the following comparison the preponderance is exactly reversed. It is needless to give a second account of what we have fully described, the transactions at Sphacteria, and the singular arrangement between Cleon and Nicias.” After a short notice of these events, the author continues: “The people applaud Cleon’s bold proposal, and insist on his going to redeem his word, whether he would or not. He goes, and is completely successful, bringing the captives to Athens within the specified twenty days. The applause of the citizens exceeded all moderation, with which party spirit had perhaps something to do. Cleon was esteemed a first–rate general, and accordingly sent out to match the incomparable Brasidas.
“The temper of the English public, at the period to which we are about to refer, is well evinced by the uncommon popularity of Glover’s ballad, entitled Admiral Hosier’s Ghost, which was a political squib. Hosier had been sent out to protect the West Indian trade against the Spaniards, who were a terror to our merchantmen in those seas. Their principal station was Porto Bello; off which accordingly Hosier cruised. But he had instructions not to make aggressions on the enemy; and he remained inactive at sea, insulted and despised by the Spaniards, till his crews became diseased, and he at last died of a broken heart. He was a brave sailor, but his orders kept him inactive. This state of things, so disgraceful to our naval power, continued till 1739; when Admiral Vernon, who was a fierce and not ineloquent assailant in debate, and the delight of his party in the House of Commons from his blunt impudence and harassing hostility to Ministers, came prominently before the public. He was esteemed a pretty good officer; but his boisterous manner in the house was his principal recommendation. In a debate on the Spanish depredations, which still continued unrepressed, he chanced to affirm that Porto Bello might be easily taken, if the officers did their duty; and led on by the ardour of debate, he even pledged himself to capture the place, with only six ships of war, if they would put him in command. The opposition re–echoed his proposal. Vernon was called by anticipation a Drake and a Raleigh; and his popularity no bounds. The minister, Sir R. Walpole, glad to appease the popular clamour, and to get rid for a time of Vernon’s busy opposition in the Commons; and hoping perhaps, like Nicias, that by the failure of his boast he would disgrace himself and his party, or else clear the seas of the Spaniards; closed with the offer so lightly made, and actually sent him out with a fleet to the West Indies. Vernon sailed, and was as good as his word. He speedily took Porto Bello, and demolished all the fortifications. Both houses joined in an address; Vernon rose to the highest pitch of popularity; and the ‘nation in general (observes the historian) was wonderfully elated by an exploit, which was magnified much above its merit.’ A Sacheverel or a Vernon are quite sufficient pillars for a party to rear a triumphal arch upon.
“The extraordinary performance of an extravagant boast, under circumstances unexpectedly favourable, is not more observable in both cases, than the speedy exposure of the inability of both commanders, when subsequently put to the test. The hero of Sphacteria at the head of a brave army in Thrace, with which he did not know what to do[82] next, like a chess–player who does not see his next move, is absolutely ludicrous. The conduct of the conqueror of Porto Bello, when intrusted with a powerful fleet on a larger field of action, is equally decisive of his real merits. He failed most miserably as admiral on the West India station; thus showing that a coup de main, whether in politics or war, though it often succeed most signally, is no safe evidence of general ability.”[83]
Fortified as to our facts by the authority of history, we may proceed, after this digression, to develop the chief object of this chapter, which is to give a sketch of one of the most remarkable productions of Greek literature, the ‘Knights’ of Aristophanes, and to exhibit the Aristophanic Cleon, who, even after this preface, will surprise those who are unacquainted with him. We shall not be at a loss to find a parallel for him in our own history. To Cleon and his politics Aristophanes was violently opposed. Much undeserved obloquy has been thrown in times past upon this poet: it is now pretty generally acknowledged that the heaviest charges against him are undeserved: that he saw clearly what were the true interests of his country, and feared not to tell his turbulent countrymen their faults to their face. The medicine indeed required to be disguised to render it palatable, and we must regret that the vehicle employed was such as to render it disgusting to modern delicacy: but the fault of this lay partly in the state of society in which the poet lived; the courage, the clear–sightedness, and the brilliant talent are his own peculiar glory.
The Grecian comedy is a delicate and difficult subject to touch upon: for to those who are unacquainted with the original, abstracts and translations present little more than the lifeless form in its somewhat startling extravagance. Of the wit, the greatest part must evaporate, and the remainder requires, in order to be relished, some familiarity with the manners to which it refers. The Grecian drama had its origin in religion. In the worship of Dionysius, or Bacchus, one of the earliest of the Grecian deities, it was usual to introduce two sorts of poetry; the one lofty and panegyrical, the other ludicrous and satirical. As these rude attempts acquired extent and polish, they separated in character more and more widely: until the former acquired the exalted and highly reverential cast which we see in the tragedies of Æschylus; while the latter retained its original features, more pleasing to a deity who is mythologically represented as inspiring and partaking the most fantastic rites of his followers, and as being offended by nothing except sobriety or gravity. Extravagance and indecency therefore became a religious duty, and one that the Athenians fulfilled with pious fervour. The drama was a matter of public interest; plays were performed, not daily, but upon the festivals of Bacchus, in the early spring,[84] in theatres of vast extent, with all the magnificence and effect which anxious care and unsparing expense could produce; judges were appointed by the public to decide upon the merits of the pieces represented, and the prize of victory was sought with an eagerness totally disproportioned, according to modern notions, to the object in view.
In co–operation with the author, certain persons, called Choragi, were appointed by law, at whose expense the Chorus was provided, and carefully instructed in the parts which they were to perform. Upon the taste and liberality of the Choragus the success of the author mainly depended; and if successful, he consecrated to Bacchus a tripod inscribed with his own name, that of the author, and of the magistrate who gave his name to the year. The modern drama possesses nothing which resembles the Chorus. We have already noticed the religious songs from which theatrical entertainments were derived. The first step to their improvement was the introduction of some mythological narration by another person to relieve the singer; the second, the conversion of this narrative into dialogue, by the introduction of a second actor. For some time the original Bacchic song maintained its ground in the intervals of recitation; but at length the lyrical part was made to bear upon the rest of the performance, and as a taste for splendour was developed, the number of singers was increased from one to three, fifteen, or even a greater number.[85] In the advanced state of the art the Chorus bore marks of its original constitution, being still regarded as a single actor, and mingling in the dialogue by means of its Coryphæus, or leader. In tragedy it was composed of old men, maidens, or any class of persons who were interested in the catastrophe of the piece: the comic poets took a wider range, and availed themselves of the boldest personifications which they thought likely to produce effect. Thus in one play of Aristophanes there is a Chorus of Clouds, in another of Birds, in another of Frogs, in another of Wasps, which were all so habited as to bear some vague resemblance to the things they personated, in a manner which such as recollect a pantomime of no very old date, called Harlequin and the Queen Bee, will be at no loss to comprehend. The introductory scenes of our pantomimes often seem to imitate these freaks of Grecian comedy; as for instance, in Harlequin Gulliver, where the inhabitants of the dogstar, as described by another eminent traveller, Baron Munchausen, came in to sing; also a chorus of men with their heads under their shoulders. And indeed the latter scenes of pantomime, by retrenching the practical jokes, and by the introduction of dialogue, might be made to bear considerable resemblance to Grecian comedy. Grimaldi’s parody of the dagger–scene in Macbeth, although principally aimed at a particular actor, was a capital parallel to the pitiless pelting of wit carried on by the comedians of Athens against the tragedians, and against each other.
No history of the gradual formation of comedy has come down to us, but in the time of Aristophanes we find her possessed of most extraordinary privileges, and availing herself of them to the extremity of licence. To laugh was the grand object of the audience, and any thing was tolerated which led to this conclusion. The slang of the port and the market, the pleadings of the law courts, the peculiar language of handicrafts, were all carefully studied and profusely introduced, in combination with the grossest buffoonery and indecency, and the most unsparing personal abuse. In a town like Athens, the population of which, though large, was crowded within a narrow space and almost living in the open air, a joke directed against the peculiarities, corporeal or moral, of any person of any sort of notoriety, was pretty sure to be understood, and if understood, quite sure to be relished. Masks were always worn by the actors, and if a living character was brought on the stage the mask was a portrait. Unlucky poets, public defaulters, peculators, and notorious profligates, formed the stock in trade common to all comedians; and a more exceptionable source of amusement was found in the unrestrained indulgence of private malevolence. Even the sacred persons of the gods were fair game; and Bacchus, the patron of the festival, was made to minister to the amusement of his riotous worshippers as the earliest Captain Bohadil upon record.[86] Such are the features of the elder Grecian comedy, confirmed by, and indeed mainly derived from the works of Aristophanes, the only comedian of whom a perfect specimen remains.[87]