Browning and His Century

by Helen A. Clarke

Aristophanes

Thus, through this perfectly natural transition from one mood to another, Balaustion leads up to the real subject-matter of the poem, Aristophanes’ defence of himself, which, however, is preceded by an account of the effect of the death of Euripides upon the Athenians as witnessed by Euthukles, his death being the occasion of Aristophanes’ call on Balaustion. What she calls the prologue is really the main theme of the poem, while all her talk up to this point is truly the prologue. The actual account of the fall of Athens does not come until the conclusion, and is related in comparatively few words.

What seems, then, to be the chief theme of the poem with its setting of wind and wave and bark bears somewhat the same relation to the real theme as incidental music does to a play. Upon first thoughts it may seem like a clumsy contrivance for introducing Aristophanes upon the scene, but in the end it will be perceived, I think, that it serves the artistic purpose of placing Aristophanes in proper perspective. Balaustion with her exquisitely human moods and progressive spirit forms the right complement to the decaying ideals of Aristophanes, and gives him the proper flavor of antiquity. Instead of seeing him in the broad light of a direct dramatic presentation we see him indirectly through Balaustion’s thoughts and moods, who, though permitting him to do full justice to himself, yet surrounds him all the time with the subtle influence of her sympathy for Euripides.

As the better way to follow the development of the preliminary part of the poem is by regarding every step as the outcome of a mood on the part of Balaustion, so the better way of following Aristophanes through what seems his interminable defence of himself is again by tracing the moods through which his arguments express themselves.

Aristophanes comes in half drunk to make his call on Balaustion, and his first mood is one of graciousness toward her whose beauty has impressed his artistic perceptions, but noticing her dignity and its effect in routing the chorus, he immediately begins to be on the defensive. The disappearance of his chorus, however, takes him off on a little excursion about the moves which are being made by the city to cut down the expense of dramatic performances by curtailing the chorus. In a spirit of bravado he declares that he does not care so long as he has his actors left. A coarse reference causes Balaustion to turn and he changes his mood. He acknowledges he is drunk and rushes off into a defence of drunkenness in general for playwrights and for himself, which on this occasion came about on account of the supper he and his players have attended. He rattles on about the supper, telling how the merriment increased until something happened. The thought of this something changes his mood completely. Balaustion notices it, he reads her expression, and characteristically explains the change in himself as due to her fixed regard. The reader is left in suspense as to the something which happened, yet it haunts the memory, and he feels convinced that some time he is to know what it was.

Now Aristophanes bids Balaustion speak to him without fear. She does so, conveying in her welcome both her disapproval and her admiration. Aristophanes, evidently piqued, does not answer, but makes personal remarks upon the manner of her speech, asking her if she learned tragedy from him—Euripides. This starts him off on dreams of a new comedy in which women shall act, but he concludes that his mission is to ornament comedy as he finds it, not invent a new comedy.

This gives Balaustion a chance to ask if in his last play, later than the one Euthukles had seen, he had smoothed this ancient club of comedy he speaks of into a more human and less brutal implement of warfare, and was it a conviction of this new method he might use in comedy which was the something that happened at the feast. Aristophanes, as usual when he is cornered, makes no direct reply, but asks if Euthukles saw his last play, to which Balaustion frankly replies that having seen the first he never cared to see the following. Aristophanes avows he can show cause why he wrote them, but glances off in a sarcastic reference to Euripides, whose art he says belongs to the closet or the cave, not to the world. He prefers to stick to the old forms of art and make Athens happy in what coarse way she desires. He then proceeds to enlarge upon what that is. Then he changes again and asks with various excursions into side issues (for example: the rise of comedy; how it is now being regarded by the government, which favors tragedy, giving him another chance for a dig at Euripides) if he is the man likely to be satisfied to be classed merely a comic poet since he wrote the “Birds?” Balaustion encourages him a little here, and, cheered up, he goes on to tell how he gave the people draught divine in “Wasps” and “Grasshoppers,” and how he praised peace by showing the kind of pleasures one may have when peace reigns—and still at every opportunity casting slurs at the tragic muse, especially Euripides.

He goes on describing his play until he touches on some of the sarcasms which make Balaustion wince.

Then he turns about and declares he loathes as much as she does the things of which he tells, but his attempts at bringing comedy up to a high level having failed, he is obliged to give the Athenians what they want, a smartened up version of the “Thesmaphoriazousai,” which had failed the year before. He describes his triumph with this which was being celebrated at the supper when the something happened which is now at last described—namely, the entrance of Sophocles, who announces that he intends to commemorate the death of Euripides by having his chorus clothed in black and ungarlanded at the performance of his play next month.

This startling scene, being prepared for and not brought in until Aristophanes has done much talking, seems to throw a sudden flash of reality into the poem. Ill-natured criticism, Aristophanes shows, follows on the part of the feasters, though Aristophanes’ mood is one of sudden recognition of the value of Euripides. But when he, sobered for the time being, proposes a toast to the Tragic Muse, the feasters consider it a joke. He quickly accepts the situation, and comes off triumphant by proposing a toast to both muses.