For the sake of human nature it is to be lamented that popular applause produced envy, and jealousy between them, and notwithstanding their divine talents, they sunk into the littleness that degrades the lowest of the poets (irritabile genus) and regarded each other with abhorrence. It is said, in vindication of the character of these great men, that they were abused into a mutual dislike merely by the calumnious misrepresentations of pretended friends. Finding, however, that their animosities provoked general ridicule and contempt, and that their quarrels had become the common theme with which the witlings and poetasters of Greece amused the people,[2] they judiciously resolved to treat each other with the respect and confidence that became such exalted characters, and became friends again. It should seem that Euripides was the first to make an advance towards reconciliation; as appears from a letter of his, in which he speaks thus: “Inconstancy is not my character. I have retained every friend except Sophocles; though I no longer see him, I do not hate him. Injustice has alienated me from him; justice reproaches me for it. I hope time will cement our reunion. What mortal ill is not caused at times by those wicked spirits who are never so happy as when they sow dissension among those who by nature and reason are meant to promote the felicity of each other.”
A weakness of voice under which Sophocles laboured often prevented his appearing in his own tragedies; but this did not at all injure his fame, for he continued to write into extreme old age with uniformly increasing reputation. It is recorded that he composed one hundred and twenty tragedies, of which not more than seven are extant—namely, Ajax, Electra, Oedipus the Tyrant, Antigone, The Trachiniæ, Philoctetes, and Oedipus at Colonos. The last of those tragedies has been ever marked with particular regard on account of a most interesting circumstance that attended its production, and made it the apex of that great man’s fame and fortune.
Like old Lear, Sophocles was cursed with ungrateful children. Shakspeare’s imagination went no further than TWO ungrateful daughters: Sophocles had in reality four sons, all as ungrateful as those monsters of Shakspeare’s brain. The extreme age and bodily infirmities of their venerable parent, having for sometime inflamed their anxiety to become masters of his possessions, they grew at last impatient and, weary of his living so long, formed a conspiracy against him, and accused him before the Areopagus, of being insane, a driveller incapable of governing his family, or managing his concerns—in short, a fool, a madman. He had fortunately, at that time, just finished his Oedipus at Colonos. When he heard the charge made against him by his ingrate sons, he offered no defence but this tragedy, which he read to the judges, and then with the boldness of conscious superiority demanded of them whether the author of that piece could be taxed with insanity. Heart-struck with the exquisite beauties and sublime sentiments of the piece, and astonished at the vigorous mind, the exalted truth, the profound moral wisdom, the accurate and solid judgment, and the almost divinely persuasive language that pervaded every act of it, they heaped honours along with their acquittal upon his head, dismissed him with a shout of praise, and sent his sons home covered with shame and confusion. If firm reliance can be placed on the authority of Lucian,
the sons were, by the Areopagus, voted madmen for having accused their father.
Like Æschylus, Sophocles was a high military character, and was ranked among the foremost defenders of his country. He commanded an army in the war which the Athenians (by the desire of the renowned Pericles, who so willed it at the instance of his mistress Aspasia) waged against the inhabitants of Samos; and he returned from it triumphant.
Great men are seldom let to die like ordinary people: a man like Sophocles of course must be provided with one or more modes of death unlike those which take off other men. Some have said that on the extraordinary success of one of his tragedies, he expired with extreme joy;—an effect rather extreme for one who had for more than sixty years been accustomed to such successes. Others have asserted that he dropped dead in consequence of holding in his breath, while reading his tragedy of Antigonus, so long that the action of his lungs ceased—an event not at all probable. Another (Lucian) says he was choked by a grape-stone. These various rumours destroying each other, not only by their contradiction but by their improbability, leaves the cause of his death in that uncertainty in which it might hitherto, and may forever remain, without any injury to the subject. Men of ninety-five are likely enough to go off suddenly, without violent joy—violent exertion, or even grape-stones. The story of the grape-stone is told also of Anacreon. Perhaps in both cases it was a poetical fiction to mark the love of wine which distinguished these two personages; for Sophocles is accused by Athenæus of licentiousness and debauchery, particularly when he commanded the Athenian army. In like manner it is asserted by Pausanias that Bacchus appeared to Æschylus under the shadow of a vine, and ordered him to write tragedies, thereby figuratively alluding to the well known truth that that poet drank wine excessively, and composed his tragedies while he was drunk.
The public influence of Sophocles was so great that, at his instance, the people of Athens went to the most unbounded expense in the construction and decoration of their theatres. The additional magnificence they derived from him is scarcely credible. In fact the expense was carried so far that it became a reproach to the country, and it was said that the Athenians lavished away more money on the representation of a single play, than on all their wars with the barbarians.
Some of the sons of Sophocles composed tragedy and wrote some lyric poems. But there exist no remains of their works, nor anything particular respecting themselves; some loose anecdotes excepted, which Plutarch has related respecting one of them of the name of Antiphon, who wrote a tragedy by which Dionysius the tyrant obtained a prize, long after he had put the author to death for dispraising his compositions.
Euripides was born at Salamis in the year four hundred and eighty-five before the Christian era, and on the very day on which Themistocles with a handful of Grecians defeated the immense army of Xerxes. He was nobly descended on the maternal side, and was placed in due time under the first preceptors. From Prodicus he learned eloquence; from Socrates, ethics, and under Anaxagoras he studied philosophy. His parents having, before he was born, consulted the oracle of Apollo respecting his fate, were informed that the world should witness his fame, and that he would gain a crown. Of this answer which, like all the responses of the oracle, was constructed with purposed ambiguity, they could come to no decisive explanation: however, thinking it unlikely that the oracle could mean any other than the athletic crown, the father took especial care to fit him for a wrestler, and with such success, that he actually won the athletic crown at the games and festivals celebrated in honour of Ceres.
His original destination was to painting, to the study of which he applied for sometime, and, as tradition informs us, with considerable success. But nature, and the impulse of a vigorous genius, pointed out another road to him. He abandoned the pencil, and devoted his whole labours to the study of morality, philosophy and poetry. The drama being most congenial to his mind, greatly engrossed his attention: he lamented that the tragedies of even Æschylus and Sophocles themselves, contained very little philosophy, and he diligently applied himself to the effecting of a more intimate union between moral philosophy and dramatic representation.