Certain of the characters are caricatures par excellence, embodiments of a single attribute. Leaena of the Cur. is the perpetually thirsty lena: "Wine, wine, wine!"[164] Cleaerata of the As. is a plain caricature, but is exceptionally cleverly drawn as the lena with the mordant tongue. Phronesium's thirst in the Truc., is gold, gold, gold! The danista of the Most. finds the whole expression of his nature in the cry of "Faenus!"[165] Assuredly, he is the progenitor of the modern low-comedy Jew: "I vant my inderesd!" Calidorus of the Ps. and Phaedromus of the Cur. are but bleeding hearts dressed up in clothes. The milites gloriosi are all cartoons;[166] and the perpetually moralizing pedagogue Lydus of the Bac. becomes funny, instead of egregiously tedious, if acted as a broad burlesque.
The panders[167] are all manifest caricatures, too, especially the famous Ballio of the Ps., whom even Lorenz properly describes as "der Einbegriff aller Schlechtigkeit," though he deprecates the part as "eine etwas zu grell and zu breit angefuhrte Schilderung."[168] "Ego scelestus," says Ballio himself.[169] He calmly and unctuously pleads guilty to every charge of "liar, thief, perjurer," etc., and can never be induced to lend an ear until the cabalistic charm "Lucrum!" is pronounced (264).
The famous miser Euclio has given rise to an inordinate amount of unnecessary comment. Lamarre[170] is at great pains to defend Plautus from "le reproche d'avoir introduit dans la peinture de son principal personnage <Euclio> des traits outres et hors de nature." Indeed, he possesses few traits in accord with normal human nature. But curiously enough, as we learn from the argumenta (in view of the loss of the genuine end of the Aul.), Euclio at the denouement professes himself amply content to bid an everlasting farewell to his stolen hoard, and bestows his health and blessing on "the happy pair." This apparent conversion, with absolutely nothing dramatic to furnish an introduction or pretext for it, has caused Langen to depart from his usual judicious scholarship. After much hair-splitting he solemnly pronounces it "psychologically possible."[171] LeGrand points out[172] that his change of heart is not a conversion, but merely a professed reconciliation to the loss. But there is no need for all this pother. The simple truth is that Plautus was through with his humorous complication and was ready to top it off with a happy ending. It is the forerunner of modern musical comedy, where the grouchy millionaire papa is propitiated at the last moment (perhaps by the pleadings of the handsome widow), and similarly consents to his daughter's marriage with the handsome, if impecunious, ensign.
3. Looseness of dramatic construction.
Lorenz with commendable insight has pointed out[173] that Τύχη, the goddess of Chance, is the motive power of the Plautine plot, as distinguished from the μοῖρα of tragedy. A student of Plautus readily recognizes this point. The entire development of the Rud. and Poen. exemplifies it in the highest degree. Hanno in the Poen., in particular, meets first of all, in the strange city of Calydon, the very man he is looking for! When Pseudolus is racking his wits for a stratagem, Harpax obligingly drops in with all the requisites. The ass-dealer in the As. is so ridiculously fortuitous that it savors of childlike naiveté.
Characters are perpetually entering just when wanted. We hear "Optume advenis" and "Eccum ipsum video" so frequently that they become as meaningless as "How d'ye do!"[174]; though, as shown above[175], even this very weakness could at moments be made the pretext for a mild laugh.
For a complete catalogue of the formidable mass of inconsistencies and contradictions that throng the plays, the reader is referred to the Plautinische Studien of Langen, as aforesaid. It will be of passing interest to recall one or two. In Cas. 530 Lysidamus goes to the "forum" and returns 32 verses later complaining that he has wasted the whole day standing "advocate" for a kinsman. But this difficulty is resolved, if we accept the theory of Prof. Kent (TAPA. XXXVII), that the change of acts which occurs in between, is a conventional excuse for any lapse of time, in Roman comedy as well as in Greek tragedy. But it is extremely doubtful that Prof. Kent succeeds in establishing the truth of this view in the case of Roman comedy. We see no convincing reason for departing from the accepted theory, as expressed by Duff (A Literary History of Rome, pp. 196-7): "In Plautus' time a play proceeded continuously from the lowering of the curtain at the beginning to its rise at the end, save for short breaks filled generally by simple music from the tibicen (Ps. 573). The division into scenes is ancient and regularly indicated in manuscripts of Plautus and Terence."
Langen seems surprised[176] when Menaechmus Sosicles, on beholding his twin for the first time (Men. 1062), though he was the object of a six years' search, wades through some twenty lines of amazed argument before Messenio (with marvelous cunning!) hits on the true explanation. It is of course conceived in a burlesque spirit. What would become of the comic action if Menaechmus II simply walked up to Menaechmus I and remarked: "Hello, brother, don't you remember me?"
That the seven months of Most. 470 miraculously change into six months in 954 is the sort of mistake possible to any writer. In the Amph. 1053 ff., Alcmena is in labor apparently a few minutes after consorting with Jupiter; but the change of acts may account for the lapse of time, here as in Cas. 530 ff.
But after the exhaustive work of Langen, we need linger no longer in this well-ploughed field. We repeat, the evidence all points irresistibly to the conclusion that Plautus is wholly careless of his dramatic machinery so long as it moves. The laugh's the thing!